The Brand Ch. 09

It was early on that following Monday morning, that Victria was summoned to the board room. She passed by Aaron, the suite's secretary, staring at her somberly and dressed in a stark black suit behind his low semicircular desk. She too was dressed in her most severe and conservative black suit, her hair down, her make up negligible. Victria could hardly contain her shaking as she knocked, and then gripped the door knob. She'd rationalized her way back to her usual state of mind, but she still couldn't help but imagine that two or three large, well dressed, goons were waiting just inside the door to escort her right back out of the building.

She heard nothing but her own heart beat pounding inside her head, her turning of the knob and the swoosh of the bottom of the door against the carpet. Once inside, she saw Cheevers at his end of the long, gleaming black granite conference table; his fingers interlaced under his chin. There was no one else. The other, remaining, members of the board were elsewhere, certainly not by choice, but elsewhere; fearful, mourning, or perhaps gloating or laughing. Cheevers said nothing, did not move, as she stepped closer to the table. Victria took the time to read, evaluate, her CEO's expression. He was worried, that was for sure. Though his eyes were shaded with thick white brows, there was something unfamiliar to his gaze, unfamiliar at least to her, not ever having before been allowed so much silence on his part.

He's tired. There's no mistaking that either. Holy shit, she thought, his face is whiter than his hair. Hold on; that's because he's wearing black today. I don't know. I've seen him in black before. Then it struck her: his waiting in an empty room, the rest of the board not present, knowing who knew what about her, about Simon's discovery and his ultimate demise, the horrible fate of Ricchio, Rancourt and Duffy too, the remaining board members given the task of determining exactly how the company's responsibilities and power should be redistributed. It was then, that Victria abruptly stopped shaking.

"It is a sad day, I know, Mr. Cheevers." Victria finally intoned; breaking the silence in as mournful a tone as she could muster while she slid into Simon's former seat.

Cheevers raised his eye brows as he trained his blood shot, yellow tinged blue eyes on the insolent woman seated in his dead co-pilot's chair. She had provoked his ire. But, what of it? Now it's your turn chief. Give me what you've got. Victria's stare was respectful, but unwavering as she watched Cheevers' fluffy white brows slowly settle back down to shade his eyes again, his forehead lined with age sagged furrows.

"We have; due to the untimeliness of death, four vacancies on the board at this time." He said; clearing his throat, his voice harsh with weariness, "In order to have a quorum, we'll have to appoint at least three new directors. The board is discussing the merit and pragmatism of moving certain juniors up to the higher tier, prior to our advertising out of house."

In the ensuing silence, Victria could hear Coleman's slow, raspy, inhalations. There was a smell in the room, beyond her subtlely applied perfume; something acrid, human, base and animal, something that always smelled better coming from others.

"I am in agreement with the board," the certainly well to do, but very very old man continued, "That, once you've presented your budget proposal and it meets the collective bottom line, then you will be granted senior status and you will thereby have earned yourself a very, very coveted seat of influence on the board."

Again, silence. Victria closed her eyes, and then lowered her head in gratitude and feigned deference.

"Your proposal will be ready for review by the board this Thursday?" asked Cheevers.

Victria met Cheevers gaze again.

"It will sir; yes."

"Very good then." Said Cheevers; sighing as he slowly sat back in his chair, "Now, it is also my wish that you accompany me at each of our colleagues' funeral services. Does that sit well with you Victria?"

Proposal my ass, she thought. You know I know how to save you money. The real test is seeing how I do with Rancourt's, Ricchio's and Duffy's widows and families. Or; maybe you want to keep me close, study me, get a better sense of the most powerful woman you've ever known, you know, just in case she's got some Voodoo doll of you hidden somewhere. Well then; I suppose I don't blame you.

"I would be honored; sir."

Cheevers slowly nodded. Victria rose from her seat, and then walked confidently to the door.

"Ms. Charpentier?" said Aaron as Victria closed the door behind her, "There's a man, in your office, to see you; a Detective Mangiafico?"

Victria glared at the suite's secretary; a handsome enough young man, thin, slightly gaunt faced, effeminate, as gay as they come. You dumb prick, she thought. Will all of these fucking chairs around here, you just let him go right into my office? Stupid bitch. Victria rolled her eyes at Aaron before stepping away from the board room door. And this ridiculous cop, he's a prick too; making me wrestle with my conscience. Fucker, I'm not used to this.

As she made her way back to her office, Victria took mental inventory. It was already legal to monitor all staff e-mail, watch every key stroke and record every last click they made on both the Inter and Intranet. There really wasn't a need to install a camera system in each office, so Victria deduced that they were installed prior to the company's purchasing of the building. But, shortly after Simon's death, Victria had found the camera in her office. It was small, digital, one inch by one and a half inches, set in the corner of her window's molding, hidden by its matching color. Noticing it for the first time, she realized that it was new, and had to have been installed just before she'd moved into the space.

What about whether she'd been recorded looking at Melody on the tablet? It would be a truth, and nothing Mangiafico could use against her. Could the board? Would the board, who remained of it, and Cheevers; would they witch hunter her out of the building for being lesbian and watching her lover performing various acts from behind her desk? As soon as she'd gotten in that morning, Victria had regarded the tiny digital camera, took her tablet out, and then adjusted her posture and rolled her chair into her customary viewing position. Then, looking over her shoulder, Victria realized that the back of her chair was facing the camera. She checked her desktop's screen for any compromising reflection, and there was none. Of course I was seen playing with the dolls, she thought, because when I had them out, I pushed my seat back and turned it toward the right, allowing the camera vantage. Dumb ass.

Victria wondered if she'd been perceived as a security risk by virtue of her femininity. It was all so much bull shit. They could not question her general performance, since they watched her computer as closely as they watched everyone else's. She never betrayed client trust. She hadn't shared trade secrets. But still; why the camera? Why a new camera, just for her? Unless, she thought, it wasn't installed for the sake of spying on me. It was installed, just as electronic correspondence and web browsing monitoring software was installed, for the sake of the company avoiding liability. They were watching for the potential of discrimination or harassment; the possibility of Simon's sexually harassing her. It certainly would have been the case, if the man had a reputation, had discussed certain topics at the hitherto exclusively male executive suite water cooler, the company would have been held liable for any breach of conduct on his part. Because if there hadn't been surveillance, and Simon tried to pull some crap in Victria's office, Cheevers and the board would still have to defend themselves and answer for Simon's iniquity.

So, he'd pulled his shit somewhere else; gained her confidence, set his trap, led her chasing her fear like a desperately starved lamb and violated her with the brazen sleaze of his arrogance. But, Simon had paid, and he had paid dearly. Malicious intent, thought Victria. Hadn't that been what he'd described her doll play as? No. It was he that had motive. It was he that had opportunity and it was his own probable cause, not hers. Simon led himself to his own slaughter and, no matter what any video surveillance revealed, Victria had nothing to do with it. So then, to what did she owe Detective Mangiafico's presence in her office?

Victria entered the room to find the detective seated in one of the two chairs behind the low coffee table across from her desk.

"Detective Mangiafico." She said, extending her hand, not smiling.

"Ms. Charpentier." Said the detective, standing, taking her hand, smiling warmly.

Mangiafico was a thin man with a long face, high forehead and a mouth like a fish. His hair was gray, curly and cut short, on the Caucasian side of nappy. He was dressed in an old brown suit, threadbare brown tie, a beige overcoat and he was wearing a scarf, brightly colored, possibly a gift from some cute little granddaughter.

"To what do I owe this visit Detective Mangiafico?" asked Victria as she strode to the chair behind her desk.

"Well," he began; still smiling, seeming a very contented old man, "I was just wondering if you could tell me more about your exchange with Mr. Dobbs that day."

"There really isn't much else to tell. Which exchange? When?"

"Uh, in the woods, when you brandished your weapon at him."

"I asked him to think seriously about re-considering his offer."

"And?"

"And, he said if I didn't comply with his demand, he would see to it that I never worked again."

"And again, he was blackmailing you with what information?"

Victria paused, and eyed him squarely. She had entertained the possibility of having a little chat with Dick Vandermier, head of security, before the detective got to him. But, she immediately thought better of it. Mangiafico would certainly look at the case from the sexual harassment angle. He could conceivably come into the office, as he apparently had, and ask around about Simon's conduct, as well as her conduct with him. Still, Mangiafico had nothing, no gunshot wound, no bullet; just a huge tree limb fallen onto the victim's head.

Why look hard at Victria? Because she was there? Because Simon had ejaculated, his pants down around his ankles? Victria wondered. Jesus, does Mangiafico think I fucked him after he died, before I called it in? She decided then that the detective was either very bored with his boring little one horse town of a jurisdiction or he was just being a typical male; aroused by the prospect of collaring the freaky necropheliac marketing executive. Victria shivered at the thought of a post mortem coitus, with a man no less.

"He threatened to expose my sexual orientation."

"As well as the fact that you'd been watching your lover on your personal technology while at work via a web based home surveillance system. I mean, I'm sorry; you do it through a home surveillance system, right?"

Victria kept her eyes on the man as she slowly nodded.

"I suppose it's a fact." She sighed, "I wouldn't know for sure. I didn't have access to viewing the films. Forgive me Detective, but I don't see what any of this has to do with Simon being at the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Well, I can see why you'd say that. However, I'm just totally astounded by the fact that it was also the right place at the right time."

"I don't follow you Detective."

Mangiafico paused, and checked his watch. She too regarded the time on her desktop screen. No; even if Mangiafico was granted access to the surveillance video, what would it prove? Well, it would prove that she lied by omission. Oh, I was recorded playing with Voodoo dolls? Yes, I do recall playing with dolls dressed in three piece suits. Who were they representing? Well, I never named them, actually. That; would be a little weird, wouldn't it? Their faces are very detailed, really? Why I don't see anyone in particular in each. Who do you see? Really? Nope, I still don't see any resemblance.

"Where there's smoke," Mangiafico said, "There's usually fire. And, from what I've heard, you're fire."

My, you have some balls for a little old dick from out in the sticks.

"Detective Mangiafico; I suggest you tread carefully." Victria said with confidence, "You sir have no motive nor do you have probable cause, which essentially gives you absolutely no ground for slander or anything else."

"There is your ambition."

"And since when is it a crime to be ambitious? I'm going to ask you to leave now detective, and I expect that this will be the last time we see each other. Good bye to you sir."

The detective got to his feet, a smile still on his face, though a bit smaller, the look in his eyes more severe than amiable.

"You're right." He said; casually stepping toward her door, "I apologize. I'm sorry, and I'm sorry for your company's other, untimely, losses; Mr. Duffy, Mr. Rancourt and Mr. Ricchio. Such a shame; such, such a shame."

Opening Victria's door, Mangiafico paused once more.

"You know," he continued, "When I met security down stairs, he told me about what happened, the plane crash, all those other innocent people and I thought: There were such nice men when I interviewed them. Ah well; take care of yourself Ms. Charpentier."

The door clicked quietly closed, and then the detective was gone. For a long time, Victria stared at the door's smooth surface, finely beveled edges and fine grain. Meddling fucker, she thought. Presently, she lowered her head, closed her eyes and mourned, just as many others in the building were mourning. Eventually, the young, female executive slowly whirled her chair around so that she faced her office's high window and the great cold blue sky beyond it. Victria opened her eyes again, peered into the vast, limitless bright winter azure sky and suddenly began to feel as if one great nebulous eye stared back at her, burning its gaze through every layer of her, and then into the depth of her soul. I said thank you, she thought, didn't I? Now what do you want; an apology? For what? It wasn't me that put me in this mess.

"Oh, are we getting a dog?" Melody asked excitedly.

It was one afternoon, three days after their reunion, two days after Mangiafico's visit to the office, that Victria announced that she had a surprise. Melody knew her mistress was planning something, but she never suspected that it would mean a trip to the local pet store. The junior executive's slave could only surmise that they were going to get some kind of little companion of her own, to keep her company while Victria was at work. A little dog, she thought, would be nice. I've always wanted a little dog; maybe one of those pushed in face things. They're so cute, like ugly little hairy faced babies. Actually, a bird might be nice too.

"Oh God no." answered Victria; stopping to peer into a few fish tanks, "All that dog hair and slobber all over the floor. I think we can agree that you have plenty to attend to as it is. No; we're not getting a dog."

"Oh." Said Melody; once again affecting her new habit of gliding the tips of her fingers along her collar, "Then; what will we be getting? Fish are nice. Oh, those are pretty."

Victria shrugged as she turned to look into the clown fish tank and jangled the keys in her P coat's pocket.

"Well how about a bird?" Melody continued, "Oh, we could get one of those exotic parrots and I can teach it to speak French."

Victria turned to regard Melody, a quizzical look in her eyes, and said:

"You don't speak French."

"I know." Smiled Melody, "But I could learn it, and then teach it to the parrot."

Victria frowned, turned on her heel, and then resumed her walk through the store.

"What?" called Melody, "That was funny! Come on!"

Melody dutifully followed; maintaining a slave's distance and locus beside her domme, keeping two paces behind and to her left. Goodness, she can be so weird, she thought; hot and cold running mistress. Was the surprise a gift? Goodness knew she deserved it; having suffered through her enslavement to Dr. Tucker. Dear God, please don't trade me away again. Yes, a gift would be nice. Why not? Melody was a very good slave, and more. She was Victria's ever present house keeper, her model, her muse, her protégée, her ward, her executive secretary in training and; her unequal yet significant other .

It would be nice, she thought, something sweet and tender, like all those flowers she bought that day at the Super Shopper, after I was returned. Melody recalled that Victria had become quite nervous and oddly antsy as they got closer to the flower department. That, Melody attributed to her domme's disinclination toward sentimentality. But, once there, Victria had actually purchased dozens and dozens of various flowers, ferns and baby's breath. Then, once at home, while Melody put the groceries away, her domme had gone upstairs to arrange the hundred or more flowers in the master bedroom.

The love they made had been wonderful, cozy and luxurious, curative in its leisureliness; their bodies surrounded by thousands of silky petals and leaves, their varied scents mingling gloriously with the aroma of Victria's luscious skin. A cat maybe, thought Melody as she followed Victria past a display of scratch posts. Who am I kidding? The flowers, the love we made on them that was my gift. Victria is getting something for herself, something for me to take care of. A cat; hmm, I think she's asking for trouble. Victria, if anything, was a cat person. But, that didn't mean that they'd get along. No, it won't be a cat. They shed too, and those hair balls; yuck.

"Ah, here we are." Announced Victria.

They came to a stop. Melody scanned the merchandise of the dog accessories aisle: squeaky toys, tug ropes, bones, dried pig's ears, oh that's so nasty, food and water bowls, collars, I don't get it, leashes, choke chains- Oh wait. Oh no.

"I thought; we weren't getting a dog." Said Melody; some degree of anxiety adding to her confusion.

"We're not." Victria answered, "We're getting a dog crate, a nice, roomy one."

Trying to keep her aversion to the idea as small as she could get it, Melody looked on as Victria kneeled to get a better look at a few long flat boxes stacked on one of the lower shelves. Then, without turning to meet her eyes, Victria said:

"This; will be your new sleeping arrangement for a while."

Yep, thought Melody, doing very well at keeping her expression as pleasant as she could muster, hot and cold running mistress; that she is. Dog crate? Jeezum! Oh well. I suppose I don't have much more to lose if I inquire, even if curiosity is not becoming of a slave:

"That is to be my punishment, Mistress; for my bringing up your art at your Christmas party?"

Victria turn to regard her slave; her expression placid, though a glimmer of danger shown in her eyes.

"Yes." She intoned, "And yes; as glad I am of your return, I can't let your little breach of confidence go."

Melody had wanted to forget. Having been reunited with her mistress, having been made love to so tenderly and having had the honor of serving at her domme's pleasure again; all of it had made it very easy to not remember. But, there it was: her punishment, her getting herself into the dog house, as it were. At least Melody hoped it would indeed be roomy enough to accommodate her. As she weighed the prospect out in her mind, the slave watched her domme pull one of the boxes from the shelf. Being manacled and chained to the foot of the bed hadn't been all that bad. Sleeping inside a steel cage, manacled and still likely chained, at the foot of the bed may not necessarily be so bad either. Wait! A nice big doggie pillow would be cool! Hold on. It's going to be at the foot of the bed, isn't it?