“Did you pay my phone bill?” I lift my legs and a broom slides beneath them. I look up at June, and she’s pondering. Her face is wrinkled in concentration, and she pulls her lips to one side. God, I love when she does that.
“I thought so,” says June. She shrugs and keeps sweeping. “I hate that the stupid auto-pay isn’t through yet.”
“Did you use one of the new cards?”
“Yeah.”
“Not one of the old cards?”
“No. Didn’t you cut them up?”
“Yeah, but I thought maybe you wrote them down or memorized them.”.
“I have them memorized. Do you need them?” June did have a freakishly good memory. I guess it comes from being a waitress, but strings of numbers, dates, or events never slip her mind. She’s handy that way
“That’s unsettling,” I say.
She winks at me. “I have the new ones memorized, too.”
“The identity thief, June Gladwell.”
She sticks her tongue out at me and goes back to sweeping, giving her bare ass a light shake as she passes. I look back at the statement from my new phone saying that I’m behind on payments. There’s no way I’m behind. It should be on auto-pay. Maybe something’s wrong with the card.
I put a reminder in my phone to call the bank tomorrow, and put aside the bill. I grab my coffee from the table next to me and sip slowly. I hold the cup in front of my nose and enjoy the smell, the warmth in my hands, and the majesty of a naked woman cleaning my apartment. June does all the chores. She takes care of the bills. She cleans and does laundry. I grocery shop and cook. Old habits die hard. But for the most part, June plays dutiful housewife. I handle food, bring home the money, and get a nightly tongue bath on my pussy. It’s a much nicer arrangement than I ever had with Carl.
It’s been a few weeks like this. For a while, I was afraid to make any major movements. I ignored my family and what few friends I had. I haven’t contacted work except to change my address and banking information. I was terrified that the smallest change would alert Reyna to my presence. I seem to be safe here. For now.
But “for now” turned into life. It turned into June growing attached to me, and honestly, I’m attached to June. She’s wonderful in bed, and it’s great to have a servant. But it’s more than that. She’s funny. And as submissive as she is around the house, she’s quite aggressive in bed, giving me random bites or slaps on the ass. Last week she talked me into using the strap-on on her. It was great. I thought I’d get nothing out of it, but it builds pressure against the clit, and we can cum at the same time. She insists she’s going to use it on me eventually, but I don’t see it.
I know there’s more to our relationship than sex, but frankly, the sex is the most distracting and time-consuming part. I was almost thankful when she got sick two weeks ago, and we had less sex. We would watch each other masturbate across the room, but we never made contact. Outside of sex, I’ve discovered she’s kind of a yoga nut. I’ve enjoyed working with her on it. She’s also encouraged me to start writing. I always said I would write, but I never found time. I became an editor thinking I’d have plenty of time to start writing and contacts to get published. Instead, I got so fed up with reading that I never made time or space to write.
What I thought was going to be a refuge in the middle of a hurricane ended up being a little slice of heaven. I don’t think I’ll marry June or anything like that, but this is nicer than anything I’ve ever had. I think one part of me still has a foot out the door. In case something goes wrong, I can’t get too close to June. But she is soft and yummy. It’s hard to resist.
These days, I’ve become terrible at resisting.
******
The bank tells me that my card has been frozen because of frequent charges to the card drafting more than the remaining balance. That leads me to ask what the balance of my account is because that can’t be possible. I’m a careful budgeter, and try to be wise with money. Apparently, I owe my bank a few hundred dollars.
“How the hell is that possible?” I ask, pacing around the apartment in my bare feet.
“You are charging the card when there are insufficient funds –“ intones some idiot on the other end.
“But there should be plenty of funds.”
“There hasn’t been a deposit in … four weeks.”
“That’s when I opened the account.”
“That is correct.”
“There’s been no money added since I opened the account?”
“That is correct.”
“What about my paycheck?”
“Excuse me?”
“There should be a direct deposit from my job.”
“There have been no deposits since –“
“But there should be!”
“You’ll have to take that up with your employer, ma’am. I’m not in a position to –“
I hang up the phone and dial the office. The intern, Kathy, tries to send me to payroll, who I’ve already talked to twice, but I raise enough hell for her to put me through to my boss, Diana.
“Yes?” comes Diana’s voice over the phone. Diana has the voice of a matron, calm, even, commanding, and slightly elderly. She isn’t ancient, in her late forties, but she dresses like she’s seventy and reminds me of my grandmother.
“It’s Sarah.”
“Ah, yes. So good to hear from you. I was just –“
“Is there a reason I haven’t been paid in weeks?”
“What? Uh, that’s a question for payroll, you know that.”
“I talked to payroll weeks ago. I called payroll twice. They say I’m not getting paid.”
“Well, uh, yes.”
“Why the hell am I not getting paid?”
“P-perhaps you should come into the office.”
“What’s going on, Diana?”
“Come into the office. Let’s talk.”
“Am I being fired?”
“No, nothing like that. But we've noticed some changes in your work these past few weeks and, well, it's just something I'd rather handle in person.”
“You could have called me. You don’t need to stop paying me. I’m still doing the work. Sure, it’s slower than normal, but you need to tell someone before you fire them.”
“You’re not fired. Come into the office this afternoon.”
She hangs up. I shake with frustration. I can’t believe I’ve been reading trash romance novels for weeks for no pay. I’ll sue them. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll get back my pay. I can’t believe this! This is preposterous. It’s unprofessional. It’s gotta be illegal.
I take an angry shower and keep fuming. My mind swirls with all the things I’m going to say to Diana. I imagine punching her or slamming the desk or smashing something. I should punch her through a desk. That’s right; that’s what I’ll do.
After the shower, I eat something quickly, leave a note for June, and head to the office. I have to go downtown for our office building. It’s not a huge publishing company, but it’s big enough to have fancy downtown offices. Whenever I talk about it at parties, no one has ever heard of the company. But we’re real, and, until four weeks ago, my paycheck was real too.
After parking, I get inside the building and head up to the fifth floor. I’m not with all the fancy publishers. I’m an editor, like a lackey or serf. Important people deal with authors and the media. I deal with books. Books are simple. Words are easy. Words never decide to randomly stop paying you.
The elevator door to the fifth floor opens, and I step out without thinking. I look around and wish I’d stayed in. The whole floor is blacked out. I see a few lights in a couple of the offices flickering, but other than that, it’s like I’ve come in the middle of the night instead of right after lunch. The place should be swarming with interns and secretaries and editors and slave-drivers. Instead, it looks closed.
I hear something shuffling down the hallway and brace myself. It could be a janitor, or I could have walked into the middle of a zombie movie. I grab the edge of my purse strap, ready to swing the purse at anything that moves too quickly. Instead, the squirrely intern, Kathy, rounds the corner and quickly totters up to me, taking small steps on her heels and almost falling over.
“Oh, y-you’re h-h-here,” she says as she approaches. Kathy is an odd girl. She’s in her late teens, in college I think, and she hopes to be an editor and then writer one day. Don’t we all? She’s cute, but under a wild mane of frizzy hair, thick circular glasses that are too large for her face, is a face covered in acne and freckles. I’m sure she’ll bloom and look incredible one day, she certainly has the body for it, but that day is not today. My eyes linger on her breasts. Her shirt is unbuttoned one too many buttons to be decent, but not enough to be slutty. I can see the freckles on her cleavage as they spiral down from her neck. How did I never notice her beautiful breasts before? They’re probably delicious.
“Uh, yes,” I say. Kathy stands by, expectantly, as though I’m supposed to offer her my purse and coat. But I tear myself away from her tits and look past and around her, trying to see if anyone else is here. Diana must be here, I guess. I talked to her earlier, and Kathy is here. There also seems to be a definite lack of zombies, which makes me think that Diana is alive and kicking. But I still have no idea what’s going on here. Did they stop paying me because they ran out of money?
“Where is everyone else?” I ask.
“W-who else?” stammers Kathy.
“Everyone. All the other ...” I wave my hand in front of me, indicating the entire floor, “people. Where did all the people go?”
“Oh. They left.” She turns and rounds the corner, as though I’ll follow, but I’m not going anywhere without answers.
“Left where?”
“The company,” she says without looking behind at me. She rounds the corner to my right and disappears. I hesitate to follow. There is obviously something wrong. Why wouldn’t I hear about the company letting go of so many people. Is this why I haven’t been getting paid? Is the company going under? There’s no way they’d be going under and still keep Kathy around. Did everyone quit when they stopped getting paid? I admit, I was preparing my quitting speech on the drive down here. I couldn’t blame them.
“You coming?” Kathy pops her head around the corner and looks at me. “Diana’s waiting for you.”
“Diana still works here?”
“Of course, she does.”
I chew my lip. I don’t like this. “Have her come out here, then,” I say.
Kathy gives an over-dramatic sigh and disappears back around the corner.
A few minutes later, Diana comes around the corner and my jaw drops. She’s gone from my grandmother to a total milf, like a killer porn star in her late forties that only gets cast in roles as the slutty step-mother. Damn. Her blouse isn’t flowery or bulky. It’s smooth crème-colored silk with sleek lines and enough undone buttons to let me know she has no bra on. Her black pencil skirt is tight and has a slight slit on the right leg. She has beautiful, fuck-me stilettos on to top it all off. She’s clearly had her hair done. It’s not colored, still slightly greying, but it’s not puffy. It’s straight and up in a tight ponytail. She’s also learned to lighten up on the makeup and accentuate her eyes instead of her lips or cheeks. Damn.
“Sarah,” she says with a smile on her face as she approaches. She spreads her arms and wraps me into a hug. I reluctantly accept, but I’m then delighted to feel how soft her blouse is. This must be incredibly expensive.
“Diana,” I mumble into her shoulder while she rocks me back and forth. “What happened here?”
“What?” Diana breaks the hug and looks around the dark room of abandoned cubicles. “Ah, yes. Downsizing, unfortunately.”
“Is the company in trouble?” I ask.
“Oh, not at all. We have a new CEO that is taking this specific division in a new direction.”
“Is that why I haven’t been getting paid? Am I being laid off?”
Diana looks confused for a moment and then laughs. “Oh no, nothing like that. Your situation is special, which is why I’ve called you in here.”
“What’s special about my situation?”
“Come,” she says and takes my hand. I tense. Why is she grabbing me? This isn’t just unlike Diana, this is unlike any employer. “Come into my office.” She guides me around the corner towards her office. Her grip is tight on me, not allowing me to slow down as I try to get a better look at the office. Some cubicles and offices do have lights on, but very few of them. All of them are women, and few of them are ones I recognize. Most of them are clustered around Diana’s office, which is in the back-right corner of the floor. Her office has glass windows, so normally anyone can see inside of it, but the blinds are drawn and all I can see is a dim light from inside. Thankfully, the sight of the other women present and working relaxes me. This isn’t a zombie movie, and I’m not about to be killed. All of the women appear perfectly normal. They’re working at their desks, reading a manuscript, or typing at their computers. This is business as usual, but with less people and less lighting.
