The Right Thing (4 page)

Mr. Lee had sat on the curb and proceeded to blow her away with his
down-home southern boy drawl with an Asian accent, cutting through the
lethargy. At first she thought Mr. Lee was propositioning her and was summoning
the energy to move on when his petite wife came outside. The other woman stared
assessingly, gaze roaming over manicured hands, glossy hair and pampered
complexion, so at odds with ’Kenzie’s attire. ’Kenzie didn’t know what they saw
or how they interpreted their assessment, but after a brief discussion in what
she later learned was Mandarin, they offered her a job. Their unexpected
kindness, a hand up instead of a hand out, brought tears to her eyes, something
clearly upsetting Mr. Lee, his face tightening, head shaking, so she quickly
blinked them away. She agreed to start at eight the next morning and shook on
it. She remembered staring after their diminutive forms as they walked towards
their apartment just a few blocks away.

’Kenzie was motivated enough by the exchange that day to make her
way to a cheap hotel after carefully memorizing the address of the dry
cleaners. Washing out her underwear, hanging the jeans and shirt up in the
bathroom for the wrinkles to drop out, then brushing the dust off the hoodie.
She didn’t eat, having no appetite. Falling into the bed naked, after checking
the linens for cleanliness, she rolled to the middle of the mattress, sagging
from the burden of countless bodies, either alone, or paired, or in tandem. She
slept the sleep of the soul dead and emotionally spent.

Waking before dawn the following morning she showered, using the
little complimentary bar of soap on her body and scalp. Her hair was already
drying out and losing its shine from the lack of luxury. She studied her
reflection dispassionately and thought to cut the mass, sport a buzz cut.
Rinsing her mouth over and over, she wished she’d thought to take a toothbrush.
Seven o’clock found her standing nervously outside of the dry cleaning
storefront holding a bottle of orange juice and a bagel, still with no appetite
but aware of needing the fuel in order to work. The cash reserves were
seriously depleted but she discovered a flicker of hope and maybe the will to
live another day.

And, despite the initial awkwardness, McKenzie’s willingness to
learn and not become discouraged or give up impressed Mr. and Mrs. Lee. She
owed those abilities to him too. He had enhanced those qualities or trained
them into her. The other employees were willing to give her a hand, and months
without what many people would deem as normal human contact, she found herself
ever so carefully enjoying the camaraderie. Donna absolutely lit up when
’Kenzie accepted the invitation to go for that drink.

“We’ll go to the Silver Stud, if that’s okay.”

She shrugged, not knowing the area personally, so Donna led on.

It was a short walk to the small, dimly lit bar. ’Kenzie looked
around once her eyes had accustomed to the poor lighting and saw working folk,
much like herself, mostly nursing beers. There was no wine glass in sight,
although that was probably rye and cola in front of some of the drinkers. Beer
was gross, but not wanting to trust a mixed drink, she ordered the same thing
as Donna, which turned out to be a beer with a name quite unknown. Donna pushed
a small dish of nuts over, but she declined. Even after all the things she’d
done with her mouth, avoiding anything that could harbor diseases was habit,
and she was certain many unwashed hands had pawed through those nuts.

That was probably why she liked working at Mr. Lee’s. The place was
clean and she helped to get things clean, even if she’d never again be clean
herself. McKenzie hadn’t felt dirty during the entirety of her service, but now
could barely bring herself to consider what she had done in the name of love.
Because she’d come to recognize the truth of what she was. A sex toy. A fuck
bunny. A whore. Didn’t matter if it had all been in the name of love. These
people would never understand, and she would be a pariah.

Catching herself drifting again, she turned her thoughts to the
simple matter of reaching up to tighten the elastic band on her hair, trying to
hold herself in the present with the little sting. Glad now she’d decided not
to shave her head, investing in some decent conditioner instead. She called
less attention to herself this way, tying her mane back and tucking the tail
under her collars. Donna pulled the dish toward her and sorted through the
contents with the intensity of a gourmet chef searching for just the right
ingredients for a special meal. She looked up and gave ’Kenzie a crooked smile.

“Didn’t get this size by not putting shit in my face, ’Kenzie. And I
didn’t get this size by being happy. What’s your story?”

McKenzie managed not to flinch away from the question. Donna didn’t
appear deep at work, not interested or insightful, let alone observant, but
then the other woman rarely spoke and was always focused on her job. Donna’s
affect was usually flat and she seemed so introverted. ’Kenzie herself had been
extremely observant, alert to his every nuance and need, but that was
necessary, part of being in service. And in truth, he’d been as in tune and
aware of her as she’d been of him, for the most part. Which was why giving her
to the twins didn’t make sense, other than as a desperate attempt to push her
away. She sighed. What was done was done and there would be no more regrets.
She’d given him one final, last part of herself, saved him from regret and self-hatred.
’Kenzie had begun to work on convincing herself she didn’t want to be in
service ever again and knew there wouldn’t likely be anyone to serve in any
event. Now she needed to take him off his pedestal and accept he was only a
man.

 
The best she could manage was
a cool, “I don’t know what you mean?”

Donna saw right through her. “Yeah, you do. I just thought maybe
you’d like to talk about it. I could use someone to talk to, and share things
with, but that’s okay. I open my mouth sometimes and stuff falls out. Forget
it.”

The pain in Donna’s voice was well camouflaged, but McKenzie heard
it. Maybe it would be okay to listen and maybe she could share a little of the
vanilla stuff. Maybe. Hurrying to reply before the silence dragged on too long
and the opportunity lost, she answered. “I haven’t talked to anyone about this.
Ever, Donna. I don’t know how. But I’ll listen and maybe you could teach me.”

Donna’s big brown eyes misted over and a faint flush spread over
round cheeks. ’Kenzie looked past the protective pounds and saw a lonely woman
who suffered too. Impulsively reaching out and to lay a hand on Donna’s forearm
McKenzie then snatched it back as though burned. Donna composed herself at the
move and managed a smile.

“Looks like we’re a fine pair, girl. Let’s just have the beer and
try again some other time.”

Feeling both relieved and rejected in that moment Mckenzie nodded
and played with the brew until Donna finished. The other woman grabbed hers
away to swallow it down in a few long swigs, throat working against the liquid.

“We can get a coffee or something next time. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Donna shoved up from the seat and nodded, then took her leave.

McKenzie found herself staring dumbly after Donna’s lumbering form
before standing to walk back to her present residence. At least her mind had
been taken off her own stuff, even for a few minutes. Maybe she would survive
after all, and not just mark time. Probably just needed to keep her head down
and keep busy and think about the fact other people had tough times too. After
all, that’s what she’d been studying for, studying to become and do before all
this. To help others with their tough times as a social worker. After this
realization, she decided she liked herself a bit better and that he existed in
another time and place in a universe far, far away. She’d also been in school
long enough to know what denial was, and how powerful it could be. But if
denial saved her she would
savor
it like a drug.

Chapter Three

The days ground past and the nights somehow brightened with the
rising sun and turned into more days, but Michael was impervious. He found McKenzie
on the security tape leaving the building in jeans and that hoodie, his last
sight of her. The guard hadn’t even protested when he yanked the tape from the
machine and took the precious thing with him. A quick sweep of the apartment
determined she took nothing not belonging to her when she’d come to him. In
fact, she took less than nothing, because he found the suitcase in the back of
the closet, mockingly empty. Michael flirted with the idea of reporting a theft
to the police in the hope they could find his woman, but what would he tell
them she’d stolen? His selfish heart? His soul? His life?

In the end he put a few more holes in the sheetrock and broke any
number of decorative items before calling everyone McKenzie knew, being totally
honest in his desperation to find her. They all denied any knowledge and not a
few of them told him to fuck off and die. Fair game. He then called the head of
the private detective agency providing security for his company. Giving them
the tape tore his soul, letting that last visual of his sub out of his sight,
because he had absolutely no pictures of McKenzie, not a video, not one.
Nothing. Not even of her looking beautiful in bondage or being tormented to
gorgeous orgasm or doing his bidding with other players, accepting their lust
and their correction for his pride and pleasure. He called all his
colleagues
and asked them if anyone had
taken a picture with their phones, begging them to look, to no avail. How was
it possible he had nothing to look at except for a grainy surveillance tape now
out of his hands?

The memories in his head fucking well hurt too much to examine and
he didn’t let himself go there. Not at first. Then he called in an artist and
had the man draw McKenzie like one of those police sketches, only in color.
Describing her treasured features was an exercise in anticipation and
excruciating emotional pain. Michael slept with the picture that first night
before having copies made and distributed in poster form to every place in the
city that would hang them.

REWARD! MISSING PERSON! CALL!

Michael made the advertisement look as attractive and obvious as
possible to all the mercenary creatures in the city and assigned dedicated
phone lines to the cause, staffed twenty-four seven. He came home each night to
nothing and no one. Dozens of calls rolled in but none came to fruition. He
wondered if McKenzie had left the city. He even called her mother. The woman
sounded like she didn’t even know she had a daughter and only the hint of money
elicited any interest, although with no results. He drove the streets at all
hours looking for his sub, hoping against hope he’d catch a glimpse. He prayed,
for the first time in forever, making promises to reform and do good works.
Michael wanted to be that better man, that man worthy of McKenzie’s love. He
castigated himself every fucking moment of every fucking day.

The business chugged along under the watchful eyes of the directors
and talented employees. In truth, Michael wasn’t needed there in his present
state of mind, and it freed him up to look for McKenzie. If only he knew where
to start amongst the teeming millions. The weather would soon change and if McKenzie
had nowhere to live she might die along with the others who didn’t survive a
winter in the harsh city. He had a designer come in and do the little room over
in McKenzie colors—warm earth tones and pale sages and blues. Then he slept in
the new queen sized bed every night, holding the pillow that still held her
scent. He sat in the aviary and tried to take heart from her feathered friends,
those jewel-like winged creatures she cared for so diligently when
she
had actually been the bird in the
gilded cage. The bird he had almost inadvertently set free without any kind of
preparation. The feeling of powerlessness and utter fear took its toll. Michael
didn’t realize how bad things were until Jenifer confronted him.

“You need to pull yourself together, Michael. And don’t look at me
like that. I’m not one of your terrorized women. Have you looked at yourself
lately?”

Michael muttered at his cousin and tried to ignore the terrorized
women part when he really wanted to slap Jenifer for speaking the truth. How
could he have been so absolutely fucking stupid? Jenifer followed him as he
tried to escape to McKenzie’s room.

“Michael! Attend to the problem like you’ve done with any other
problem! Get a grip and fix this.”

Michael put his head in his hands as he sank onto the bed, shoulders
no longer capable of carrying the burden. Jenifer’s voice kept thumping in his
ears and he listened because he was too tired to tune her out.

“You either find McKenzie or you bury her and move on. And to do
either you need to be well to get it done.”

“I can’t bury her. I can’t. I’m so fucked up, Jen.” Was that really
him? That plaintive, childish voice? He tipped his head up with a concerted
effort and stared at his cousin. Jenifer was the most ruthless person he knew,
and if she wanted to be a Domme, had those kinds of interests, she’d excel at
it. His cousin glared back at him, dark eyes flashing, blue black hair fairly
bristling with indignation.