Authors: Anneke Jacob
to himself.
"The truck'll be first, boss man. The bike will be one of my many rewards from my outstandingly profitable first year in queer renovations.
Once I'm no longer a wage slave." Her hazel eyes twinkled in my direction.
"So, can you find out? I like my fantasies to have a solid basis in fact."
I nodded, relieved to be on my own turf. "Sure. Repair records, too, if you want. Though the information might be out of date by the time you buy.”
“That's cool; I'll just get you to do the research all over again."
There was the sound of fiddles tuning up from the stage. Val looked down at the one she was interested in, shading her eyes. "Hey, I think they're setting up over there. Come and listen to some real music, not this deedle-eedle shit."
"Nah, I'll catch her later on," said Anders. "Take Maia if you like. She could use the education. All she listened to before I got hold of her was baroque recorder quartets." This was a slight exaggeration. I had also listened to baroque string quartets and Medieval dance music.
"Baroque! Holy shit, she's worse than you. Come on, girl, let's introduce you to a later century."
I turned my eyes to Anders and got a reassuring nod; he was taking his hand out of his pocket. It still felt dangerous moving away from him, even with permission. Up and sauntering toward the distant stage, Val gave me a sideways look – she was taller, but not by a lot – and said, "So, it's all okay with you? Still?"
I knew what she meant, but I had trouble meeting her eye. "Yes. It's still okay. Really; more than okay."
"That's not the brainwashing talking, is it?" I frowned down at the path in front of me. "Or wishful thinking? He's a good guy, you know, Anders, I'd trust him a long way, but he is a man. They have their limits. Especially with really getting it when it comes to women."
I didn't know what to say to that. As master and slave Anders and I were so entwined, so engaged within each other's heads, that Val's observations seemed to be coming from some other planet altogether. A planet where men were dumb guys for whom foreplay was big news, and whose height of culinary skill was remembering to take the plastic off the frozen pizza before they put it in the oven.
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"I – don't see him hitting any limits like that, to be honest with you."
She laughed. "He's got you good.”
“He does."
"But you could get loose if you needed to, right? This isn't some brainwashed abused woman thing here, I hope, because I'd have to start trying to rescue you and my job might get a little tense. Not that that would matter; just say the word."
I gaped at her again. Her bluntness was bowling me over. There was no sensitive manoeuvring here with a potentially vulnerable stranger. No matter; I had to appreciate the gesture. This woman was perfectly willing to put her job at risk to pull another woman to safety, should that be required.
Could I get loose if I needed to? Not long ago the question would have been disturbing, might even have given me nightmares. Much as I had avoided entertaining the thought, the possibility had existed. But months of lockstep control, training, obedience and mercilessly swift punishment had tightened the web; each strand had acquired the tensile strength of Kevlar.
The concept of walking away was now so unreal as to be meaningless.
Today it seemed especially inconceivable.
In the abstract I knew it was possible. Not believable, not for me. Not from Anders. But possible for someone else, maybe, in the same situation.
"Val, I really don't need that or want that; I swear. But wow! That's really kind, thank you."
She eyed me silent and sidelong with an odd smile. Techies were still moving things around at the stage when we arrived. A guitar twanged. An amplified voice said, 'Check.' Val took a rug out of her pack and squeezed us into a space in the centre of the audience, already big and getting bigger. She observed the careful way I sat down, and gave me a knowing grin that embarrassed me no end. I wondered how much she knew. But there was no room in that crowd for any more true confessions. We watched the singer and her backup arranging themselves.
"This is fabulous blues. She's cool to watch; real gritty and tough. Great guitar picker." Val looked around at the cheerful scene, toddlers rolling in the grass. "You'd get the idea better in a smoky bar than out in daylight like this."
The set started, and Val was right. It wasn't my favourite kind of thing –
I would have preferred the very structured Celtic fiddle tunes Anders was 232
As She’s Told – Anneke Jacob
listening to – but it was good and raunchy, and the guitar was amazing.
"What do you think, is she lesbian?" Val asked.
"Um…I don't know. How would I know? She just sang something about men doing whatever she wanted.”
“So what? Damn, my gaydar's usually better than this; I can't tell."
She gave me a look, and I wondered what her gaydar was telling her about me. Could she tell I was about a Kinsey one? Not a zero, I wasn't horror-struck by the idea, but it didn't have a lot of pull for me, either.
"Shit," said Val when the set was over and the cheering died down, "I wish I could play like that."
"You play guitar?"
"Yeah, well, I mess around with it, but I'm a whole lot better with power tools, to tell you the truth."
"When do you think you'll be ready to buy a truck and start up on your own?"
"Six months or so. If I can find the right kind of used one at the right price. Then I get the word out and start making the bucks. Earning my motorcycle. There are a lot of dykes who'd rather hire a woman to do their renos."
"Not many women doing it?"
"Damned few. And I'm good. I was pretty good before I started working for Thygesen, and now I am kick-ass." She grinned.
"From working with him? How come?"
"The guy is seriously into quality. Did you know that? Meticulous, organized as a fucking physics professor. And manages to insist on all that without pissing us all off." I smiled. "Sounds familiar."
"I've learned a lot from him. Young cub though he is." She wasn't that much older than him, I thought; she looked about thirty. "He picked up a lot of good stuff from his daddy.”
“What's he like to work with?"
"Well, like I told you, organized. High standards. But he doesn't yell and scream like so many of these assholes. Takes care of his crew; doesn't skimp on safety equipment or take risky shortcuts. Makes the site comfortable to work in, even when we're in a building with no windows in January. Take it from me, that alone makes him a fucking saint. And he keeps weekend work to a minimum; you may have noticed."
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I nodded. Anders did plenty of phoning and paperwork on weekends, and some Saturdays he had to spend a couple of hours on a worksite, but most weekends he was with me. It hadn't occurred to me before that this probably wasn't standard contractor behaviour.
The crowd was shifting; we got up and Val started to stuff her rug back into her knapsack. "He probably sacrifices something in profits, you know;
'cause he isn't out for the quick buck. It drives him nuts when he promises something and can't deliver. So his schedules leave room for delays, which there usually are. Suppliers not coming through, that kind of thing."
"I wonder if he makes more in the long run that way. Quality work.
Reliability." We began walking back.
"In an ideal world, maybe. In this world, probably not, but he lives longer. Less stress. So what's he like at home?" She looked at my face and laughed.
I laughed, too, red-faced. "There are similarities. Quality, standards, organization, safety. Same man, different program."
"I'll bet he adds things up in Danish."
"Yes!" I laughed. "Anything with numbers is Danish, always."
"Does he swear in Danish when he's pissed off?"
"Only when he's banged himself with a hammer or something. When he's mad it's just, um, the accent." I disguised my shiver as a glance over my shoulder.
"Oh, yeah, the accent! That is weird. The first time I heard it I thought some very pissed off relative of his had turned up out of nowhere. We were working in an apartment building, and a plumber upstairs completely fucked up, flooded the place and brought down a ceiling we'd just put in. I don't think the asshole was even licensed; someone was cutting corners. Anders got the message across all right. Funny how that accent sneaks in."
Something she had said earlier still niggled at me. I didn't want her to think Anders was some kind of Svengali, seducing innocent girls. "That
'brainwashing' thing – is it brainwashing, to be this immersed, this totally absorbed when – when this is what I want?"
"You're absorbed in the relationship? Or he's absorbing you?"
"Well, both. No, he's not exactly absorbing me. I'm still here, still me.
Just – part of him." She blew out a breath and shook her head. "Part of him, huh? Digestion tends to change the, uh, object digested, don't you think?"
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"Digestion?" How had we got to that point? I shook my head. "No, no, it's not like that. It's more like –" My hands circled a little, searching for the right words, " – more like symbiosis. An organism that lives more successfully as – I don't know, as part of something else. And is changed and developed by it to suit them both."
"Meaning, you've always thought of yourself as a slave and now you are one. And Anders is turning you into the version that turns his crank."
She seemed to have a habit of casting aside all circumlocutions whenever it suited her, god damn it. My face went hot. "That's – that about covers it, yes.”
“Does he do any developing himself, or is that all on your side?"
I considered. "Not as obviously. But yes, in a way. We're both getting to be what we are. And he can take that as far as he wants it to go. Which is a kind of growth and self-ctualization, I suppose." I looked up at her. "And this really is what we are.”
“I get it." Her eyes went to something behind me.
I felt a familiar hand take hold of me and tuck me under an arm. The grip was solid, and I relaxed into my niche and sighed. Safe again.
We walked toward another stage, and the two of them had a lively conversation about blues singers I'd never heard of. Eric's progress also got talked over. As Anders had predicted the relapse had been short, and the kid was back at work, showing some interest in the finer points of the job, which seemed like a good sign. They'd worked out some other way to manage his money, to avoid those lump sums which were such a trigger, and Eric was back in counselling.
Later, while we lined up for food together and then ate dinner, Anders resumed amusing himself with the remote vibrator. It took everything I had to look normal in front of Val, and I doubt I entirely fooled those sharp eyes.
Or perhaps it was her nose; I was swimming in juices by that time.
Anders spotted something amiss with a nearby stage, and I got a break.
"Look at that," he said to Val, frowning. "That canopy's sagging to one side.
I don't like it. Keep an eye on Maia for a minute, will you?" I got a momentary buzz as he strode away, and then it stopped.
"I'm babysitting, am I?" said Val. "How cute. What does he think you're going to do, hotwire his truck and take off? Set up a booth and give away your favours?"
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I blushed and said nothing, not being able to think of anything to say.
"All right, I'm being mean. Do you panic when you're alone or something?"
"No, no. He's just – he's –"
"A controlling son of a bitch; yes, I know."
"He likes to know where I am. Without any – leeway, so to speak."
"Yeah, he likes to keep track of his tools and equipment, too. None of it is allowed to walk away. That's one of my jobs." She gave a sardonic little laugh. "He should be paying me overtime."
Halfway through the evening concert, Val took her leave. She had decided to check out Casino Rama and play a little poker before she headed back. "No sure things for me. I like an element of risk," she said to me with a wink. "Okay, boss. Sure you can keep track of her without me? Good. See you Monday."
***
"Wow. She's really something. She doesn't pull her punches, does she?”
“What did she say?"
Maia reported their conversations. "I don't know if she's all that happy with us. She probably doesn't approve of me, though she seems to think you're a saint of some kind, at least at work."
He laughed. "Val supports doms doing whatever they like, though she thinks I'm a bit of a head case. At the same time dependency irks her. I think she was just checking to make sure you weren't in need of rescue. Beyond that I don't think she gives a shit, really. Except that she'd like to take you home and do whatever it is she does to her girls."
"Oh, no. How do you know?"
"I've seen that look in her eye."
She clutched his hand a little tighter, and he returned the pressure.
"What's the matter?" he teased. "She could hardly be meaner than me."
"But –"
"In fact she only has subs, not slaves, so she's probably a creampuff compared with me.”
“But – ."
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"Don't worry," he laughed. "Sexual liaisons with staff, even at one remove, are against company policy." Her hand relaxed a little.
They climbed into the truck and as he looked over his shoulder to back up he said, "I think my leash worked well, don't you?"
"Oh, god," she groaned. "Yes, master, really well."
"Any chafing? Either of them?"
"No, not really."
He steered the truck through the parked cars, and joined the lineup heading for the exit.