I like when he’s scared. I like when he’s overwhelmed and alert and doesn’t know how to respond. But I only like it when there’s another side to it, a purpose. Having him shrink from me because I’m being an asshole just feels shitty.
“Don’t apologize when you haven’t done anything wrong, Elias.” I wait him out. When his big dark eyes finally meet mine, I tell him, “I’m sorry.”
He gives me a tiny, tentative smile. “It’s okay. I know you don’t want to go to this meeting.”
He’s not wrong and it unsettles me a bit that he realizes that, but I’m happy enough to let him blame my mood on the meeting, so I let it go.
When we take the private elevator to the third floor, Elias holds his work tablet against his chest. He’s nervous. He’s never been responsible for taking notes for me at a meeting.
It’s such a perfect opportunity for me to touch him. I could pretend to fix his collar or tie. I could tilt his chin up, make him look at me while I tell him that he looks perfect. I could be the firm, commanding presence that he needs.
But I have to stop giving him that. It’s too unsatisfying for both of us, too shallow. He has to make a deeper place for me. He has to submit another fantasy.
At the moment, though, it’s just as well that I leave him alone. I have to be fully in my role as Andre Black, wealthy and sophisticated owner of The Axis.
One of the ugly truths of life is that no matter what level you’re at, you’re always whoring yourself out in some way to someone. The Axis makes a lot of money, but you only make money from people with money, and you only retain your status with constant effort. The Axis needs events like this wedding next fall to remain such a high-end whore.
When the elevator doors slide open, letting us out into the third-floor foyer, I sense how fully I’ve locked into my role by the disconnect I feel from Elias. He’s beside me, but it feels like he’s a thousand miles away.
Automatically, because it’s my role, I sidetrack to the concierge desk, where Gregory is talking to a chic Italian couplein their sixties. Their accents are thick and Gregory’s Italian isn’t the best, so I step in. They’re looking for historical sites and “authenticity” so I suggest a few outings and restaurants.
They both touch me throughout the brief conversation. I really don’t like it, but I know it doesn’t mean anything. It’s fine, and it’s my role to accept it. These days, like the hotel, I’m a high-end whore.
Even while I’m locked into myself, some part of my brain is still tracking Elias. He stands back from the encounter, but he’s alert. I know how people’s eyes glaze over when they don’t understand a language. He’s listening. But he surely doesn’t know Italian? He’s probably just watching me.
When I manage to extricate myself, Elias and I walk along the mezzanine that looks down onto the black-and-white-tiled lobby with its marble fountain. I’d love to tear that thing out. I never liked it even before I knew Rebecca Grange had it installed, but the removal would be a mess.
Sometimes, though, a mess is worth making.
By the time I get to the informal conference space that we reserve for more personal business meetings like this one, Gina’s PA, Stephanie, is giving last-minute instructions to the serving staff. Steaming carafes wait on the coffee table, along with a three-tiered platter of sweets and miniature quiches.
As Gina sweeps in with both families and the wedding planner, Stephanie draws Elias away. It makes something scratch somewhere in my mind. I don’t like that. No one gives Elias instructions but me. I also don’t like how quickly he follows her instructions. Would he do what anyone says?
It’s not a logical thought. It’s from somewhere outside my role, somewhere outside my control.
I have to lock this shit down, right now.
I do fine through the meeting. I smile when I’m supposed to. I use the right tone of voice. I drink the espresso. I make a few suggestions about amenities of The Axis that could be utilized.
The mother of the bride keeps touching my arm. I’m so locked into my role that I don’t really feel it. The scream in my head is distant. The violent imaginings are playing on a TV somewhere deep in my mind. They don’t show. I’m sure they don’t.
So why does Elias keep looking at me like that?
***
I stay distant from Elias for the rest of the day. I have to compliment his notes from the meeting because they’re really fucking good. He wrote down not only the discussion points and questions asked but also observations about what the bride reacted positively and negatively to. I didn’t notice any of it at the time, but looking back, I can see that he was catching things that I missed. I forward his notes to Gina.
She texts me,KEEP HIM.
So, yeah, I have to tell him how well he did, but I’m otherwise cold. I don’t give him my attention. I don’t give him my dominance.
It’s hard on him and it’s hard on me, but I stick to my fucking role.
Then, at night, I watch him via the cameras in his apartment. I know I’ve affected him because I see how depressed he looks. He doesn’t eat much. He watches TV for a while, some nature documentary about lions, then he goes to bed. He doesn’t even masturbate.
I spend a long night thinking.
Elias will submit a fantasy. I know he will because I know he needs it. But even with my coldness, it could take a while beforeheknows that he needs it because he will simply endure. He is, after all, a masochist.
