Disciplining Little Abby (3 page)

“Miss Willis?” he smiled, motioning for her to take a seat across from him. “I’m Mr. Green. I’m afraid you have me at a decided disadvantage. Ordinarily our clients give us some advance warning when they have a referral for us, but it appears you’ve arrived ahead of your information. Which is not a problem,” he added hastily. “You’ll just have to humor me while we determine if our service can be of benefit to you.”

“And your service is?” she asked, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Abby preferred to sit where she could slip one foot underneath her, but the narrow armchair didn’t allow her that option.

“Before I explain that, let me ask you a question.” He folded his hands beneath his chin, fingertips lightly touching each other, and studied her for an uncomfortable amount of time before continuing. “Tell me, Abby dear, how old are you?”

“Thirty-two as of last month.”

“But that’s just what your birth certificate and driver’s license says, isn’t it? It isn’t how old you really are, not how old you feel when you wake up in the morning or go to bed at night. What I’d like to know now is how old you really feel.”

Abby started to ask what he meant, but somehow she knew she didn’t have to pretend with this man. Mr. Green knew about the blonde woman at the park, the one who was clearly in her twenties but dressed like she was ten. She imagined he knew what it was like to have to look at your driver’s license to remember how old you really were. He watched her patiently now, hands folded under his chin as he waited for her to answer him. At first she couldn’t bring herself to admit it. The truth stuck in her throat, but once she started talking, the words poured out like a flood that couldn’t be stopped.

“Fifteen. Maybe. Twelve sometimes? I don’t really know.” She fidgeted in the seat, trying to find the words, and then suddenly they came pouring out in a rush. “If I’m happy, I want to run and shout and do cartwheels. If I’m sad, I want to curl up with my blanket and put my thumb in my mouth. If I’m stressed, I want to hide behind someone. When I’m angry, I just fly into a rage without any control. I’m into skateboards and stuffed animals and cartoons, while everyone else my age is into mortgages and politics, life insurance and having kids. Everything goes fine for a while. Then something just overwhelms me, and I don’t have anyone to turn to. My mother keeps telling me to get it together, to grow up. I pretend I don’t care, but like, I don’t fit in anywhere. Not at home, not at work, not anywhere.” Just admitting it felt like a weight had been lifted from her heart, and Abby blew out her breath in surprised relief. “That girl at the park, woman, whatever. She’s the same way, isn’t she.” It was more of a statement than a question, and Mr. Green waited for her to continue.

“She was in public dressed like a little girl and carrying her bunny and… and that man with her, he was okay with it. Every man I ever dated, he’d say how he liked my ‘youthful spirit’, but mostly he just liked the idea of having me dress up like a high school cheerleader or a dirty school girl for sex. But they didn’t understand
me
, not even a little, and after a while they’d just call me immature or childish, complain I was too clingy, and then they’d leave.” Abby closed her eyes against the bitter tears that threatened to return yet again.

“Do you have anyone in your life who knows this about you?”

“No. No way.” Abby couldn’t imagine opening up about her secret to anyone she knew, not her friends, and certainly not her family. Her coworkers often joked that she was thirty-two going on thirteen, but they didn’t know the half of it. They didn’t know how much she loved her blanket and Mr. Jingles and the zoo and her most awesome set of watercolor markers that she could spend hours drawing with. As the realization of everything she kept hidden hit her, the tears spilled over at last.

Mr. Green quickly pushed a box of tissues across the desk and waited while Abby blew her nose and tried to pull it together. When she seemed to have gotten herself back under control, he continued.

“The woman who referred you may be a grown woman, but in her heart and emotions, she is a child. Everyday life can be particularly challenging for people like her and you, without the help of someone who both understands their unique needs and can be trusted to protect them. Obviously, you can’t find such a person by hopping into the nearest bar and seeing what’s left by last call. That’s where I come in.”

“So you’re a dating service then,” Abby mused.

“It’s considerably more involved than that. Think of it as a very discreet, exclusive matchmaking service for unique people that goes far beyond initial introductions. It takes more than pairing up two people by zodiac signs, I assure you. The responsibility of the nurturer in the relationship is great, and potential for negligent behavior enormous. We thoroughly screen all dominant applicants prior to acceptance, and I put a great deal of thought and research into the pairing. In addition, we provide a safe, secure, completely self-contained facility for the use of our members until such time as they are comfortable meeting in more personal settings.”

“Lucky me,” Abby smiled sadly. “Living where there are so many Peter Pan wannabes they actually opened up a dating service for them.”

Mr. Green frowned. “We cater to people with many different needs,” he told her. “But there are more people like you than you could ever comprehend. We operate facilities like this across the globe, in twelve different countries, and many times more cities. As impossible as it must be to imagine, I am but one Mr. Green among many.”

While Abby processed this astonishing bit of information, he retrieved a set of papers from his briefcase and pushed them across the desk. “This is an agreement between you and I, stating that you will allow me to select the most suitable match available and that once that selection is made and approved by all parties, you will abide by the rules your new daddy makes.”

“Daddy?” Abby couldn’t help but grin. “I thought you were going to find me like, a boyfriend or a therapist.”

Mr. Green set a pen beside the agreement. “The terms of your individual relationship would be up to the two of you to negotiate and agree upon prior to signing the contract. A non-binding contract,” he added quickly upon seeing her eyebrows shoot up. “Either party is free to back out of the agreement at any time, for any reason. However,” he emphasized, “once either party backs out of their agreement, their association with my organization ends. There will be no coming back to complain or whine for a second chance.”

Abby quickly skimmed over the papers before her. According to the letterhead, the organization’s formal name was Spectrum International. The agreement itself seemed harmless enough, simply stating her approval for him to initiate a search for a suitable match and arrange the initial introduction. It clearly stated that if she found the match unsuitable, she was free to walk away, no obligation. The one thing she didn’t see mentioned was the fee, and so far Mr. Green hadn’t mentioned how much the service would cost. She’d used a few online dating services in the past, most of them for around fifteen or twenty dollars a month, but suspected the fees for this particular service would dwarf those. Positive it’d be out of her reach, she asked what she’d have to pay.

“There will be no cost to you,” he smiled benevolently. “Your new daddy will assume responsibility for all expenses, from use of our facilities—which I promise you’ll find far exceed their outward appearances—to any activities the two of you might engage in outside of these walls.”

She skimmed the agreement one last time, signed beside each highlighted X, and then pushed them back to him. While he returned them to the leather briefcase, the phrase “abide by the rules your new daddy makes” came back, and Abby asked what exactly that meant.

“Your daddy will set out rules that you are expected to obey,” he told her. “While I cannot tell you exactly what will happen if you disobey, I can tell you that you won’t like the punishment.”

“And how would he know I broke them? I mean, it’s not like we’re going to be together all the time… right?”

“Little birds will tell me of your misdeeds, Miss Abby, and I in turn will immediately inform your daddy. I assure you, my birds are very good at spotting mischief.”

“Birds,” she snorted in disbelief. “Birds will tell you I’ve broke a rule? Right.”

“Little birds,” he smiled slyly. “They tell me so many things. Feel free to test them if you doubt me, but don’t complain to me when they come home to roost. They flit here and there and always come back to me. It would be best if you never forgot them. Moving on. Once I’ve selected your daddy and he agrees to accept you, the two of you will enter a separate agreement at another meeting which will take place here later this week. As individuals vary, so do the agreements. While I can assure you it will require your complete obedience, I cannot be specific as to what that might entail at this time, nor the penalties for failing to behave.”

Birds my ass
. She pictured a flock of headset-wearing sparrows shadowing her every move and reporting back to base. “So, just to be a hundred percent clear, if I take one look at him and decide I don’t want anything to do with him?”

“Then our association with one another is finished.”

“Have you ever had anyone quit?” she asked.

“Only once,” he assured her. “Of course, they came back later to cry and plead, but to no avail. I take great care in my selection, Miss Abby. I assure you I won’t pair you with anyone but the best, and I don’t intend to be run ragged by capricious whims of clients who dismiss my selections based on facial hair, or eye color, or some other insignificant nonsense.” The way he tucked the contract into his briefcase and snapped it shut told her their appointment had come to an end.

“Now what?” she asked as he came around the desk and opened the door for her.

“Now I need you to go knock on the first door you passed on the way to my office. My secretary is in there. She’ll get your information taken down. Contact numbers, address, any information required for the service to run our background checks. While she’s doing that, I’ll make a few calls and get busy finding the best match for you. Keep an eye on your inbox for your first and quite important email from him. By all means do as it says, or you’ll get off to a very unpleasant start,” he warned, waggling a finger as he returned to his seat on the other side of the desk. “In the meantime, go home and relax. Things are about to change!”

Tension bordered on panic at work Thursday morning as everyone scrambled to wrap up last second changes and last minute editorials for the paper that would hit the stands in less than twenty-four hours. As usual, Abby was ahead of the game and had turned the last of her edits in the day before. Now she was able to relax and watch the chaos and panic around her. She’d been one of a handful of copy editors at the paper for going on ten years. Though she had no love for the dead-end job and the marginal pay that came with it, the likelihood of being fired was non-existent and the higher ups had long since accepted her idiosyncrasies. For the most part they ignored her, and though she recognized that being ignored would not lead to promotional opportunities, she was okay with that.

It was her coworkers who started calling her Abby. Up until then she’d gone by Mal, the most tolerable variation of Mallory she could come up with. One night while watching JAG, a new forensics character appeared, a brilliant goth chick, with black hair and an infectious smile. Mal immediately developed a minor league crush on the quirky character, and when she resurfaced on NCIS, Mal became a devoted follower. The fact that Abby Sciuto had a farting stuffed hippo only cemented Mal’s idolization. It wasn’t long before she began copying the character’s style, and when one of the sports reporters took to calling her Abby, she accepted the new moniker with pride.

She retrieved her blanket from the bottom desk drawer and snuggled it to her chest, inhaling the faint scent of Julia’s perfume as she watched the staff race about the office. It had been dark by the time the driver had delivered her to her parents’ house. Not wanting to go inside, she had stood beneath Julia’s windows and tossed pebbles at the glass until her little sister finally stuck her head out to see what was going on.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Julia had gasped in relief as she’d leaned out of the window and demanded a hug. “Mom was
livid
and Eva didn’t shut up about you for half an hour. Where did you go?”

Abby told her about running to the skateboard park but kept the details of her appointment to herself. She begged Julia to go upstairs and get her stuff for her. “Look under the pillows!” she whispered as loudly as she dared, just before Julia ran off.

When Julia reappeared at the window, she’d handed over the bag, the blanket, and Mr. Jingles. “I can’t believe you still have him!” she’d squealed as she held him out the window. “Remember when Dad snuck him out of the trash can? Abby, I’m sorry. Really, and so is Dad. You know how mom is when she gets worked up. She puts everything into these dinners, and if anything is off, she just loses her mind. And Eva, well, she’s not as mature as she likes to pretend. She’s just not as obvious with her button-pushing is all.”

Abby had shrugged it off at the time, just happy to have her stuff back without further confrontation, but the words still hurt even five days later.
Childish behavior. Your own failure
. Even now her teeth ground at the echoes in her head.

She’d also yet to receive the promised email and was beginning to think Mr. Green had decided not to work with her.
Maybe it was all just some crazy joke, and now I’m the laughing stock of YouTube
.

“Abby Willis?”

From across the room she heard her name called out in a deep voice she didn’t recognize. Answers of “in the back” called out in response, and a few moments later, the voice called her name once more. Setting her blanket aside, she stood up and spied a bouquet of balloons midway across the room, their handler hidden from view behind them.