The Academy (3 page)

“As our schedule is heavy and our time limited, we shall limit discussion on the major proposal to our formal debates. I respectfully request that the usual ‘hallway discourse’ be as limited as possible, so that all of our attendees will have the most complete information possible.” There was a slight wave of laughter at this valiant attempt to control the second oldest human instinct in the world, that to gather and gossip. Noguchi gave the slightest of shrugs, acknowledging the futility of his position, but his face was stern, his voice slightly harder. “When matters of such import come before us, they deserve our best efforts for resolution,” he added. “It is not an exaggeration to say that the very character of our institution might change after this meeting of the Academy. I encourage all of our members to be cooperative both in the process, and in the final results, whatever they may be.”

“Even if we are disenfranchised by this process?” Ken called out, stirring those around her to muted agreements.

Shigeo Noguchi lowered his gaze to her, slowly and with the great majesty that was his to bear. The anger of his students and the surprise of those who would never presume to interrupt such a grandfather in their midst was perfectly palpable. Ken tossed it all off with a casual sniff and stared back at the man with a perfectly insolent smile on her lips.

“I look forward to the debates with great pleasure,” the old man said simply. “But I know no amount of talk will ever disenfranchise you, Ms. Mandarin.”

The light laughter broke the momentary tension until Ken laughed herself. She gave another of her dramatic bows toward Noguchi and turned to leave. He seemed not to take any offense, and continued his introductory words as she and several others quietly left the room.

Michael itched to follow her. Now, there was a hot babe, he thought, fully aware of the massive disrespect such a thought entailed. He had never been formally introduced to her, had only heard of her, seen her from afar. He knew that she and Chris were old acquaintances, if not friends, and that she had spotted several excellent clients, both for Chris and for Chris’s employers, Alex and Grendel. In fact, Chris had told him that Ken’s patience when scoping out potential clients by far exceeded his own. Not a bad compliment from a man who thought that patience came before obedience in the proper attributes of someone in service. Or those who trained them.

Even still, Michael liked the way she looked, exotic and playful, strong and passionate. He liked the way she moved quickly and gracefully, assuming that people would move out of her way. She looked like the kind of woman who had had people surrounding her to see to her every whim for a long, long time. It was frankly sexy, enticing, yet slightly dangerous. In his older days in California, he would have played with her in a minute, gone hunting with her, if she wanted to, and enjoyed her wickedness when it was aimed at someone who was helpless before it. He smiled slightly, imagining her in a latex cat suit and spiked heels.

“I’m loaning you to her later,” Chris said casually. The level of sound rose in the room as people applauded Noguchi and broke up into their little social groups. Michael paled, unsteady for a moment. Damn him! Damn all of them! Was he so transparent that they could all read his mind, or was he so simple that they could all stay two steps ahead of him?

“Speak,” Chris snapped.

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” Michael replied smartly. He had learned that gratitude fit almost every occasion and used it liberally. This time, it seemed appropriate, because Chris nodded and let the matter drop. In any event, there was someone approaching, from behind Michael’s shoulder, according to how Chris’s eyes were tracking. Carefully, Michael edged out of the way, and sighed when he managed to move to the side just as the newcomer came close enough for a personal greeting.

* * * *

“Mr. Parker, what a pleasure to see you again.” The voice behind him was low, smooth, and gently accented; he turned his body to stand behind Chris and to his left, and saw one of the most beautiful women he could possibly imagine.

There he had been, just seconds into a full-fledged erotic fantasy about this slender, angular Asian woman with spiky hair and high cheekbones. But now, Ken Mandarin faded before something ever so much more—ethereal. And Michael struggled to understand why.

She was in her fifties, maybe even her sixties, it was hard to guess. Her smooth, olive-toned skin was faintly glowing in health, that kind of color you got when you lived in a warm place. Her hair was a rich, lush black, touched lightly with silvery white, making you guess at her age, mocking you with the possibilities. She had large, bold, dark eyes, and a body that Americans would describe as heavy. But when she stood and offered an elegantly manicured hand toward Chris Parker, she seemed as tempting as Aphrodite freshly come from the waves, as stunning as an Italian movie actress, as inviting as a warm embrace.

Chris took her hand and kissed the back, European style. Michael couldn’t think of any other way to greet this woman. He realized that his mouth and lips had dried out, and nervously swallowed, hoping that Chris would not introduce him.
I’ll just fade into the background
, he thought, praying that his palms weren’t sweating.

“Ninon,” Chris said, pronouncing it like it was French. “I was so pleased to get your note.”

“And I was pleased to see that you have at last truly joined us,” the woman said. “Your writings have been so useful to me, it seemed a shame you were not more active among us. I hope that I am among the first to give you my full support and encouragement.”

“I’m honored by your interest,” Chris replied. “I just hope that the upcoming discussions won’t be—unpleasant to you.”

“Oh, my young friend,” she laughed, and her laugh was like something warm and soft thrown over bare shoulders. “I have been here much longer than you, and have faced terrible battles in the past. Surely, you know that it is those moments of unpleasantness which accentuate the moments of joy.”

“Of course.” Chris smiled, and was that just the slightest touch of color in his cheeks? Well, there was certainly a lot of heat pumping through Michael’s face, and it intensified when Chris turned toward him and indicated him. “Ninon, please allow me to present Michael, who was chosen by Anderson to train under me.”

Michael felt buffeted when the woman turned her gaze toward him. He bowed deeply, appropriately for a person of such little status, and, he hoped, low enough for Chris’s judgment. She smiled at him, though, and it made everything instantly better. She did not extend her hand to be kissed, for which he was terribly grateful. He didn’t think that it would be appropriate to take one of those pretty hands into his suddenly huge and sweaty paw.

“Ninon is one of the greatest gifts the modern Marketplace has,” Chris said. “And her specialty will interest you, Michael.”

“Yes, sir?” Michael managed to say.

“Ninon exclusively trains pleasure slaves.” Chris smiled again, and Michael gulped as Ninon turned to look into his eyes again.

“Is that truly a field of interest to you, Michael?” she asked, her eyebrows raising delicately. “As a client, or a trainer?”

“I—I hope to be a trainer,” Michael stammered.

“How charming. And fortunate for you, as well. You are at an awkward age for pleasure training,” she said gently. “Too young for the proper experience, too old to be fully trained in the most proper way. But a few months with me, and I would teach you things about pleasure which you could have never imagined.”

I bet
, Michael thought, bitterly hating the way the spikes were digging into his balls and around the base of his cock. “It would be an honor for me to study under you ma’am,” he said. He hated the way it sounded the minute the words left his mouth, but again her smile made everything better. When she turned her attention back to Chris, he tried to breathe in deeply and gently and regain his composure.

“Surely, you have many allies in this,” she was saying.

“All I need,” Chris said confidently. “And I suspect that many of those who have indicated opposition will come around before our meeting is over. I’ve found that there are a lot of irrational fears surrounding what this might mean for independents, especially spotters.” He gave her a meaningful look, and she nodded wisely.

“Still,” she said gently, “it is needed. The quality of merchandise has been declining for years now. I have seen common threads; a lack of dedication, a lack of the proper spark, the passion.” She shook her head sadly. “However, we cannot place the blame entirely upon the clientèle. We must bear this responsibility, as we are the foundation upon which the Marketplace exists. We are more than the conduit, Mr. Parker—we are the shapers of service. Surely, we must admit that there are universal standards of acceptability.”

“Of course we do,” came a deep voice from behind her. “We accept the standards and teach them. But we can’t allow any governing board authority over us and our methods. That would go against the very essence of our origins and place in the world.”

Michael cringed at the sound of that confident, cheerful voice. Chris and Ninon turned to welcome Geoff Negel into their little conversation, and Michael wished even harder that he could sink into the floor, unnoticed.

“Mr. Negel,” Ninon said, extending her hand. He shook it, American style, and offered his hand to Chris as well. Michael half expected his trainer to refuse it, but without the slightest hesitation, Chris returned the greeting.

“A pleasure to see you again, Ninon, Parker,” Geoff said. His eyes sparkling, he turned deliberately to Michael and held his hand out. “And great to see you, Mike! You’re looking well.”

“Thank you, Mr. Negel,” Michael said softly, surrendering to the moment. He shook his old trainer’s hand nervously, and stepped even further back away from the little group.

“Oh, please, we’ve never stood on that kind of formality,” Geoff said cheerfully. “Call me Geoff, the way you always did.”

Michael glanced at Chris, but the man didn’t come to his rescue. “Uh, thank you, Mr. Negel, I’m honored. But, I’m—it would be improper for me to address you so informally. Please excuse me.”

“Of course, of course,” Geoff murmured. “You’re quite the stickler for formality, Parker, aren’t you?”

“Quite.” Chris said with a slight smile. “Which is why I see we shall be the principle opponents over this issue.”

Geoff opened the binder and read, “‘Proposed: That the International Coalition of Trainers and Handlers create a standing committee of Standards of Training, including a certification process for accrediting new Trainers.’ It sounds so innocuous, Parker. But what you’re suggesting could destroy one of the primary freedoms we enjoy in the Marketplace—the ability to create new and innovative methods, to challenge the past and create for the future. I mean no disrespect, I hope you realize this. Your own methods are documented successes, and I have learned much from your input in Anderson’s reports. Anderson herself is truly the greatest American trainer of our generation, I will admit that freely. But there are other styles—perhaps better, perhaps equal, certainly worse. But styles which deserve to succeed or fail on their own merits, not on your personal judgment.”

“What makes you think that my standards would be the sole basis for accreditation, Negel?” Chris asked. “My proposal clearly outlines a method for establishing the criteria by committee.”

“And who selects the committee?” Geoff asked, waving one hand dismissively. “We all know that’s where the real issue is. Who is selected to rule over us, and what training methods will be approved of, hm?”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen. Surely, this is one of those discussions best left for the debating floor?” Ninon said lightly, touching each man and smiling at both in turn.

Geoff immediately assumed a contrite expression. “Of course, Ninon! I apologize. I really just meant to come over and say hello. I’m sorry I interrupted your conversation. You’ll both hear enough from me later! See you in session, Parker. Bye, Mike.” He turned and entered the crowd, immediately greeting someone else and getting drawn into another conversation.

“The battle is joined,” Ninon said softly.

“I wish that he was the worst of my opponents,” Chris said lightly. “You know where the real battle will be—with the spotters.” He coughed, and then added, “And the British.”

The older woman nodded, and laid her hand lightly on Chris’s arm again. She looked sympathetic. “Yes, I have heard. Still, I believe we should gather our friends close, and be sure to listen very carefully to what Mr. Negel and his supporters are saying. It would be a shame to lose because we have underestimated the feelings of those like him. I think I shall see who else is here and in agreement. Let us share our resources at breakfast, yes?”

For a second, Chris Parker looked almost shocked, but he recovered and nodded gravely. “An excellent idea, thank you, Ninon.”

“No, no, thank you. And may I say, Chris, you are looking more handsome than ever! Good-bye, young Michael, and do try to calm down.” She smiled kindly, and as she turned to leave, Mike colored into a blush.

God, this was going to be difficult! It was one thing to just be there, acting as Chris’s valet and all around flunky, being nice and polite to everyone. But he had been dreading this eventual meeting with Geoff Negel. To have it coincide with the erotic flush he had felt upon meeting Ninon was just typical of the exquisite timing that made his life so hard.