Betsy was a distracted mess the rest of the day, sitting at her desk as the world moved around her. More than once she let the phone ring until Beverly had stomped angrily over to answer it, grouchily asking, "Do you even work here, princess?"
She couldn't stop thinking about the leather riding crop tucked into her oversized bag. Jeremy had noticed the angry red patch of skin on her cheek when she'd ducked back into the office, wondering aloud at it's source.
"I, uh… a bird flew into my face."
"Didn't Mindy say you were sick?"
"Not anymore."
"Oh."
The interaction had been more than she'd ever had with him before, and yet she couldn't focus on it, barely noticing the way his eyes had lingered on her as she'd turned away, concern coloring his features.
By the time five p.m. rolled around Betsy had very nearly convinced herself that she should toss the riding crop in the nearest dumpster on her way home, forget all about Lady Analise and the alluring little shop.
Shouldering her bag she stepped out onto the street, one hand at her throat fingering the tiny golden cross nestled there. This certainly was a dilemma, but no matter how she thought about it there didn't seem to be any real reason not to go back. She had absolutely nothing to lose, and a part of her was certain she had everything to gain.
So, when she finally tugged at the wrought iron handle and met with the resistance of a locked door, it was gut wrenching disappointment that flooded her, shoulders slumping down as she turned away.
"Miss Putch, nice to see you again."
As if by magic the clipped accent floated through the air, and Betsy whirled around in surprise. Lady Analise stood in the doorway once again, a striking figure in black, leather riding boots all the way up to her knees, a long sleeved turtleneck clinging to her angular figure. Her hair was different this time, a fiery shade of red cut into a severe bob.
Betsy was at her side in a matter of seconds, heeling like an obedient dog instinctively, waiting with baited breath for her next instructions. Lady Analise patted her gently on the cheek, running the tips of her glove clad fingers against the faded mark. "You came. Good girl."
Betsy nodded, her hands dipping down in her bag, reaching for the gift.
"No, no, my dear, that won't be necessary. Not today." She gently took Betsy by the shoulders, guiding her back into the shop. "Today we talk."
The first thing that struck Betsy when she regained her senses was how different the place seemed. It was larger than before, the dark hardwood floors glowing under the light flickering in the decorative wall sconces. There were heavy curtains drawn over the windows, blocking the view from passersby. Surely it was an illusion, but it seemed like the outside world had disappeared, even the ever present sounds of the city completely faded away as Analise drew Betsy along.
There was a heavy table in the middle of the shop, display tables cleared away, merchandise tucked back into drawers. Lady Analise pulled out one of the matching chairs, thick legs scraping against the floor. "Sit."
Betsy followed the command, wondering at the inflection the woman was able to use. Somehow nearly everything that passed from her own mouth ended up sounding like a question, a meekness that had been trained into her from childhood. She so desperately wanted to learn how to command such a tone.
The table was set with a meal, two wine glasses filled with a deep red wine, plates with carefully arranged morsels sitting on each side of the table. Betsy's companion took the opposite chair, glancing at her over the rim of her wine glass. "What do you see before you?"
Betsy swallowed. "Um.. food and… wine?"
Lady Analise nodded, her blunt bob swinging with the motion. "Yes, what does food mean to you?"
Betsy swallowed, afraid that she was going to say the wrong thing, her interrogator's voice clearly expecting a specific answer. "The absence of hunger?"
"What a pedestrian answer, and yet, I think that's how you view everything in your life." A gloved hand waved toward Betsy's plate, encouraging her to pick up the fork and dig in. "Food is sustenance, your job pays the bills, you have friends so you're not lonely, everything has a base purpose."
Betsy felt a little defensive, but bit her tongue, focusing instead on the strange food before her. There was no silverware, the little creations on the plate looked like finger food, so she plucked one up and popped it into her mouth, feeling suddenly brave.
It wasn't what she expected, a heat searing the tip of her tongue the faint hint of chocolate underneath the warmth. She chewed it, concentrating on not making a face. If her mother had taught her anything, it was to never show how much you disliked someone's cooking.
"Make a face, darling. It's ok if you don't like it."
"What? No, it's… interesting.. I like it." Betsy scrunched her nose, staring longingly at the wine, anything to wash the taste from her mouth.
"You don't have to like it, just experience it. A fried oyster with chilli sauce and ground cocoa nibs, it's a surprising flavor combination to be sure." She smiled at Betsy, swirling the wine around in her own glass before downing the last of it.
Betsy took it as a sign and reached for her own glass, the red wine splashing against her tongue yet another taste she wasn't that familiar with. She smiled. "Well, you're right. I didn't like it."
"Food is more than nourishment, Miss Putch. It's an experience to be savored by every sense. Did you smell the cocoa as it wafted into your sinuses, feel the heat of capsaicin coating the roof of your mouth? Did you hear the crunch of the perfectly fried batter?"
Betsy nodded, setting the suddenly empty wine glass down. She blinked. Had she drank the entire glass? It hardly seemed possible. Her eyes shifted to her plate, clean now, missing the the other two appetizers she'd been served.
Her mouth fell open, looking back to Lady Analise in surprise. The woman was smiling at her in a strange way, affection tinging the gaze she cast in Betsy's direction. She produced a thin box from nowhere, setting it on the table between them. It reminded Betsy of the gift boxes her mother used for her christmas sweaters she gave everyone in the family.
"Another gift?"
Lady Analise shook her head, scooting the box across the table. "It's an assignment, a small one to ease you into the role you'll be taking."
Betsy's eyes widened as she reached for the box, slipping one fingernail underneath the tiny piece of tape holding the lid down. She stared down at the revealing lingerie, heat suffusing the skin over her entire body. Lady Analise's voice cut through the blood rushing in her ears.
"Wear this tomorrow, underneath one of your cute little a-line skirts, one of those demure little cardigans with kittens frolicking on the front. Feel the silk slipping against your skin as you file and answer telephones. Know what's clinging to your body as you make idle chit chat."
It was like nothing she'd ever seen before, sheer material slipping against her fingers accented with the tiniest scraps of lace, hooks and straps intimidating her. She pushed it away. "No… I couldn't. I've never…" She swallowed.
Lady Analise's shoulders tensed as she shoved the box across the table, the formerly soft tone of her voice hardening into an undeniable edge. "No one will make you do what you don't want to do, Betsy, but do you really want to walk out that door, having gained nothing? This part of you already exists, you should at least acknowledge it. This way, it's just for you."
Betsy was taken aback, and not just by the woman's unyielding tone, but by the absolute truth that rang in her words. Longing had zipped through her when she'd seen the lingerie, memories from adolescence, her mother pushing her hurriedly past Victoria's Secret, muttering things about wanton women. She'd never gone back.
The muscle in her jaw ticked, teeth clenching as she scooped up the box, holding it to her chest. "Fine, but not the kitten sweater. Mittens is more of a plain white cotton kind of girl."
