Marketplace (4 page)

“Th-thank you,” he sniffed,
dabbing at the wet spots on his face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to
be a trouble... oh! Look at what I did!” He stared at the soiled
square in shame and then crumpled it in his hand and dropped to his
knees. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault!” The bend of his
body ill-suited his tall frame, the position was comical to the
point of being ludicrous.

The majordomo calmly
extended a hand. “At this time, this behavior is inappropriate, Mr.
Grafton,” he said. “Please get up and accompany me. If you are
accepted for training here, we will discuss your behavior and
faults. Now, you are a guest.”

His voice was soft and
edged with a city accent. Robert looked up in confusion and then
allowed himself to be raised. “Um. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize...”
He sniffed one last time and offered the handkerchief back. “I’m
really making a big mess, aren’t I?” His voice remained in the
stylized “maid” aspect.

“I couldn’t say, Mr.
Grafton. Now please come with me. You will be informed how the
meeting went when the ladies are through.” He gently took the
handkerchief back and folded it before putting it into his
pocket.

“Yes, yes, of course. I’m
sorry. You’re very kind. Much better then I deserve. Are... are you
a master here?”

Chris, who had started to
turn away, twisted back to look up into Robert’s eyes. He smiled,
his eyes dark behind the glasses.

“Not today.”

* * * *

“How did I end up with two
French maids, that’s all I want to know,” Alexandra
complained.

“Just lucky, m’dear.”
Grendel put Robert’s file back on the table. They were in the
garden, the late afternoon sun warming and pleasant. Just past the
ornamental hedges and along a stretch of lawn, the brown rails of
the paddock could be seen. They were far from the public roads, and
the sounds of birds and an occasional snort or cry from the stable
made a soothing background for their consultations. From inside the
house, they could also hear the cook preparing a meal for their
three applicants.

“At least you have Claudia
to work with. That’s certainly a consolation for you. It’s not
often we see such perfection.”

“Ah, not true.”

Grendel looked up for a
moment and then winked. “You’re right, you’re right. But still,
she’s the star of this group. My second interview never even showed
up. I told Chris to contact the next on the list. Have you noticed
how quality continues to plummet? We never had so many no-shows
before.”

Alexandra nodded
absently.

“And this Brian!” Grendel
sighed dramatically. “Barely acceptable. If Claudia bores you so
much, maybe you’d like to trade?”

“Ah, no. That kind leaves
me cold. Let me see him when you put the fear of God into
him.”

They both looked up when
Chris politely cleared his throat. He was standing between the open
glass doors. “Excuse me, Ma’am. Sir. Ms. Sharon Brosa is
here.”

Grendel raised one eyebrow.
“What time is it?”

“Four forty-five,
Sir.”

“Great start,” Alexandra
commented wryly.

“I’ll see her in my office.
Tell her I’ll be there in ten minutes.” He turned back to Alexandra
before Chris left. “See what I mean? No more quality. An hour and a
half late, and she didn’t even call. Didn’t even ask Chris to
deliver her sincere apologies and beg our forgiveness.”

“And she’s all yours,”
Alexandra said with a malicious grin.

* * * *

Sharon followed the guy who
answered the door, smoothing her skirt over her hips. He was real
short. Bad enough it cost so much for the car service and they got
lost anyway, bad enough her skirt was wrinkled and her hair was
starting to uncurl from the heat. But the least she expected was
that the door would be opened by some tall, muscled, naked slave or
something like that.

Nope, only some quiet guy
who looked at her like she was from New Jersey or something. And he
wasn’t a butler or anything, because he wasn’t dressed up like one.
And she knew he wasn’t the master here because she had descriptions
of the two people who ran the place.

He didn’t even offer to
take her bag.

He had taken her to a small
room where she waited with nothing but a large, fresh flower
arrangement and a hard bench for company. She sat down and tapped
her feet impatiently.

All this way and they keep
me waiting. You’d think they’d send people out looking for me by
now. I hope they realize it wasn’t my fault. Maybe they’re trying
to psych me out? Maybe this is some kind of power thing
already?

The guy from the door came
back, his sudden appearance startling her.

“Jeeze!” she exclaimed.
“Give some warning, will you?”

“My apologies,” the guy
said smoothly. “Mr. Elliot will see you in his office in the north
wing. You may leave your piece of luggage here. Please follow
me.”

More surprises. She had
expected rich furnishings and a castle, like in the story books.
Instead, the house was clearly modern and decorated with a light,
contemporary style. Large windows allowed the afternoon sunlight to
penetrate the corridors. When they passed a dining room with open
doors, she saw someone laying the table. Disappointingly, she was
also fully and plainly dressed.

“Don’t you have slaves to
do the work around here?” she asked as they reached the
stairway.

“Sometimes.” Chris turned
down a wide hallway, opened a door and indicated that she enter the
room. She walked into an office showing a lot of use. File cabinets
lined one wall. A table was piled with papers and folders and
stacks of correspondence. There was a computer in one corner, and
at least two phones that she could see. A large oak desk dominated
the room, with a sturdy leather chair behind it. Two more chairs
were angled in front of the desk, and she walked over to one.
Sunlight poured in the large windows behind the desk. There was a
view of a driveway and a grove of trees beyond.

“Mr. Elliot will be here in
ten minutes, Ms. Brosa. Please do not seat yourself or disturb
anything in the room.”

She stopped herself as she
was sitting down. “I can’t sit?”

“No.”

“For ten minutes?” But
Chris was already leaving, and closing the door behind him. She
walked over to the door and reached for the handle, her indignation
growing. But she stopped herself.

It’s a trick, she realized.
If I chew the little guy out, I won’t be acting submissive. She
grinned. Ten minutes? He’ll come in five. He’ll be expecting to
surprise me, like I’d be sitting down and he’d come in all of a
sudden. Not this babe, buster.

She put her purse down on
the floor next to one of the chairs. I’ll just wait here like it’s
the most natural thing in the world. Five minutes isn’t that long.
She checked her watch.

As the seconds ticked past,
she glanced around the room. It was obviously a working office. It
wasn’t dirty, but it could probably use some organizing. Where were
the house slaves, anyway? This wasn’t anything like the books. In
the books, everyone was drop-dead gorgeous, and the slaves walked
around naked, or wearing bikinis and stuff like that. They lived in
pristine palaces or in Victorian mansions with luxurious play-room
dungeons in the basements, where masters and mistresses lolled
around being waited on. They didn’t hang out in boring offices
surrounded by paperwork.

She checked her watch
impatiently, and then wandered over to the table and looked at the
items spread over it. Maybe there were slave files here. Maybe some
pictures? No such luck. Bills. Lists. A diagram of something, she
wasn’t sure what. A Rolodex was open to some guy’s name and number
somewhere in Maine.

Boring.

The bookcase was also dull.
No mysterious books on the training of slaves. In fact, there
weren’t even any of the classic books that she read. Instead, it
was all computer books. And some sailing books, a big dictionary, a
bunch of business books. She looked at her watch again. It was
already five minutes, thank God, but the guy wasn’t
there.

Huh. Double psych-out, she
thought. Like he figured I’d figure him to be here in five, but he
really meant ten. Damn, this stuff could get confusing. She picked
up a small glass dog, looked at it and put it back. Was he really
going to make her wait a whole ten minutes?

Over to the desk to see if
there was anything interesting there. Ah-hah! Right on top, a file
folder with her name neatly typed on the label. She glanced at the
door, and then at her watch. Two minutes to go, just enough time to
take a peek. She picked it up and opened it to find only one sheet
of paper inside. It had her name at the top, and absolutely nothing
written on it anywhere else.

Damn! She carefully put it
back. Where was the letter she sent? Where were the pictures? How
long was this guy going to make her wait?

Pacing filled out the rest
of the ten minutes before she considered the effect all that
walking would have on her hair. She touched it up neatly and had
the brush back in her purse before she realized that ten minutes
were up. Now he was late! And her legs were starting to hurt. It
was almost a two-hour ride in the car, and she was tired and
stiff.

Minutes dragged
by.

Is he going to make me wait
an hour? That horrified thought came to her about the tenth time
she checked her watch. Standing up? She walked to the door and
reached for the door handle. Enough was enough. But as soon as her
hand touched it, it turned by itself. Sharon shrieked and leapt
back from it.

“Jesus! You scared me!” she
cried. Expecting to see the little guy again, she found that she
had to look up. The man standing in the doorway was taller and
broader, his shoulders at the height of her nose. He was casually
dressed, in jeans and a button-down shirt. His hair was black and
longish, his beard a close-cropped mass of black salted with
silver.

Oh shit. He fit the
description she had been given. She composed her features at once
and knelt gracefully, the skirt swirling around her legs in an
elegant way. She had practiced this move hundreds of times, and
knew that it was beautiful. She bowed her head slowly. Don’t speak
until spoken to, she reminded herself.

Grendel looked down and
then walked past her. “I’m glad to see that you aren’t injured, Ms.
Brosa.” He sat down behind the desk, the leather chair
creaking.

Sharon raised her head a
little. He had just walked by, without noticing what she did! She
turned her head, but the angle was wrong, she couldn’t see him. Now
what? What should she do?

“Why don’t you take a
seat?” The suggestion was slowly and firmly made, in a way that
suggested that she was a child. Biting her lip, she rose with the
same grace she used in kneeling and then took one of the chairs
facing the desk.

Grendel opened a drawer and
brought out the real file on her and laid it out on the desk. When
no apology seemed forthcoming, he began to lay out the pages,
putting the photographs to one side. Now that she was here, he
realized that they didn’t do her justice.

Oh, they were well done, a
class act. The photographer had known what he was working with and
had done very little to distract from her natural beauty. But in
the flesh, she was absolutely stunning. From the gentle waves of
her deep auburn hair to the curves of her toned body and her lovely
legs, she was quite a prize. Her eyes, under thick lashes, were
hazel.

“When you failed to appear,
Alexandra and I thought that there might have been an accident,”
Grendel prompted.

Sharon smiled in thanks.
“Oh, I’m OK. The driver was totally lost, though. I’m really sorry
you had to wait.”

She doesn’t get it, Grendel
realized. He sighed and referred to the papers before him. “I see
you’ve never had any formal training,” he began. And stopped when
she frowned. “Yes?”

“Yes, I did,” she said,
leaning over the desk. “With Jerry! And Frank. I know I put that in
there. Do you need another copy?”

“No. Your experiences with
your lovers don’t count, Ms. Brosa. When we refer to formal
training, we are talking about a more intense and structured form
of living. What you did with those two men was more of a negotiated
fantasy relationship between partners who were on an equal
footing.” Grendel tapped the sheets of paper. “These kinds of
experiences are fun, but they aren’t what the Marketplace is about.
And if you had approached us in the proper way, I wouldn’t have to
explain that to you.”

“Well, I couldn’t get
anyone to train me the way you need,” Sharon protested, trying to
keep the whine out of her voice. “I asked everyone I knew, and they
never even heard of you! You wouldn’t believe what I had to do to
just get your names!” She sat back, trying to regain her composure.
Be humble, she said to herself. Be like a slave. “All my life, I’ve
wanted this, master. All my life. But I keep running into guys who,
like, do it on the weekends, you know? I want to live it. Like in
the books.” She nodded toward the papers. “Like I said in the
letter.”