DREAMLAND COMES FOR REAL
Original Fiction by Carn ©
How it all began
Chapter One
Like everybody else in this complicated world, Janet had, in a secret corner of her mind, a place where, in her quieter moments, she went to unravel the tangles of mind and body that went with building her career as an junior executive with one of the bigger marketing outfits. She never told anybody about her mind’s secret place and most certainly not what this secret place did to her. That would have been too embarrassing for words!
This job, however, she suspected she had been pitchforked into as some sort of test, to see how she would cope with a big, expensive project for an important client, a marketing campaign for a new, as yet secret product; novel, ground breaking, different from anything on the market. Something that the public were not even aware as yet that they wanted and which could, with the right marketing, sell like hot cakes, but which the competition would latch onto straight away, like immediately, once they knew about it.
In other words, it was a marketing nightmare.
It was something that, if she got it wrong, could easily sink her career without trace but, also, likewise could make her in the business, shoot her up into the firmament of the very few marketers who had managed to create a new market for a product and lived to tell the tale. She suspected that the top brass were at a loss as to how to go about something so new and totally different and had lumbered her as the scapegoat when, as they fully expected, it fell flat on its face.
She returned to the hotel, took a shower, changed and sat in the foyer, reading her notes, till the boss arrived from head office to take her in to dinner and, obviously, to quiz her on her visit to see, face to face, the new product in the secrecy of the factory. The client, however, had been too concerned about secrecy to even consider letting a prototype out of their sight, even to show it to her boss, which was why she had had to travel here and, now that she was in the know, she could see why, but how on earth could she tell the world its potential in the few second of a television slot or in the attention grabbing few words of an advertisement without really telling them what is was?
“How did it go?” The boss came to the point as they were shown to their table.
“Go?” She shook her head wickedly. “If it goes at all it will be a world beater, but it is so new, so completely original, that, to move it at all, will be like trying to bump start a bulldozer.”
Her boss nodded. “Describe it to me, what exactly are you lumbered with?”
“Even that I just cannot do, not until you have signed this.” She handed him a folded paper and a pen. He read it carefully.
“This is about the most comprehensive confidentiality agreement I have ever seen! It must have taken a whole army of lawyers to dream up anything so menacing, why, it almost says that I shall be locked up in the Tower of London, awaiting beheading, if I spill the beans.”
“That is just the problem. How on earth am I to market something so secret that we can’t tell the world what it is? They are asking us to achieve the impossible. Even they don’t imagine it will be easy, for which reason they have suggested a budget with almost no limit.” She leant across the table and whispered a number at which the boss’s eyes widened.
“Oh dear, my idea till this moment was, on the conditions they impose, to tell them ‘Thank you but no thanks’ and walk away but now, if the board were to find out just what we’ve turned down, we should both get ‘The Order of the Boot, First Class’, and I’ve got bills to pay.”
“Yes, and I’ve also got into this habit of eating. However, desperation concentrates the mind wonderfully, so I’ve had an idea for something new in advertising campaigns. It’s a bit ‘out of this world’ but it might work.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, as I’m the only person in the know, let’s base the ads on ‘The girl who a knows all and wants to tell’ but is prevented by all sorts of means from telling us what she knows’. What I’m thinking of is this girl who must go about her business among the great big world of people yet who cannot run away and tell, desperate though she is to do so.”
“Sounds interesting, tell me more.”
“Very short and cheap to make little snippets inserted between the usual adverts, the first one of this girl who races out of a doorway, waving a piece of paper and shouting something about ‘This terrific new … …’ and being grabbed with his hand over her mouth by a man who comes out after her and bundles her into a car. You see her mouthing something urgent through the window as she is driven away.”
“Go on.”
“Well, always the bit about her crossing the pavement, trying to tell the camera about this great new product till she is driven off but, slowly the ads get to show her more and more restricted time after time as her ‘master’ struggles to keep her ‘shtum’. The second ad would show her in the doorway as her master leashes her through a ring on a steel collar locked round her neck. Step by step she gets more restricted but always trying to tell us as she crosses the pavement. Very short clips, say five or ten seconds, as the TV companies will hardly sell us a smaller one.”
It was something new and sensational, that as well, but it had to be kept secret in the cut throat world of advertising and the surest way to betray a secret is to admit that you have one. So what they decided was to use a very small camera crew and a driver. The boss himself was to be the ‘Master’ who kept her from telling all. As he had secretly hoped all along, Janet herself was to be ‘The Girl’.
They rented an empty shop opposite double yellow ‘no parking’ lines so that the vehicle to carry her away would not be blocked in. They blocked out the windows of the shop with posters for another of the firm’s clients to make it a room for the camera crew and their kit while the back room, with a substantial lock on the door, frosted windows, and a newly fitted carpet was to be their ‘dressing room’. Nobody outside knew anything except that they had to pay the bills and hope for the promised results.
With spine tingling anticipation, Janet noted the appearance of several substantial steel locked cupboards and also some screwed brass bosses dotted about the walls, ceiling and floor onto which as yet mysterious fittings could be screwed. The boss had been busy.
They got up very early that first morning before there was anybody about, no officious traffic wardens to lay down the law about camera lights and camera tripods cluttering the pavement and the black limousine stopping repeatedly on double yellow lines as Janet appeared and started to the camera, “Hey everybody! You’ve just got to hear about … … Mmmm!” As ‘Master’s’ hand clamped over her mouth and she was bundled into the car.
Chapter Two
Over rolls and coffee they stood and watched the tape as shot after shot appeared on the monitor. “Janet, you were superb! That last but one shot really is the ‘business’.” He glanced at his watch. “Just time for another go. Second camera, I want you to set up to shoot the doorway.”
He vanished into the dressing room to reappear carrying something intriguing in a cloth bag, locking the door carefully behind him. “OK everybody, positions please.” The camera crew dispersed, leaving them alone.
‘Master’ was standing behind her and she felt him tip her head back and something touch her throat. Now she realised, Hey! They were going to do the second ad – the one where she was led across the pavement locked in a steal collar, and lead but knew immediately that this was going to be something more, much more!
The collar was not the simple steel ring she had been expecting; it was deep and curved at the front coming out to the tip of her chin and down to the breastbone. As the two back leaves hinged to enclose her neck rigidly, the tops pressed over her ears and pressed down on her shoulders. He squeezed it closed with both hands and, as the back bore against the base of her skull, she heard the catch click. She sensed him doing something behind her but realised that her neck was now fixed and she had no hope of looking over her shoulder, but heard the ‘click, click, click’ behind her and knew at once that he had snapped three little padlocks on her. He led Janet out by the chain which hung from the collar, out into the doorway. “OK, roll ‘em!”
Almost panicking, she grasped the steel collar and tried to wriggle it loose but it was now solidly part of her. Her shaking about produced a clinking rattle and, peering down her nose, she realised that it was the silver chain that hung down from her throat.
“Come along then, out you come.” ‘Master’ stepped from behind her and took the chain to lead her into the open. Just in time she realised that she still had her part to play.
Tottering desperately against the relentless pull of the chain, she turned to look down her high, uptilted nose at the camera there on the pavement. “Hey everybody, quickly! You’ve just got to hear about this new thing! It’s the best thing ever to … …” But she had been pulled into the waiting limo and she skewed round awkwardly to mouth desperately though the window as they sped away.
Once round the block and she was helped out and back through the doorway to watch the shots from the two cameras flicker onto the monitor. Almost with awe she suddenly realised that she was still locked up; nobody had apparently thought to let her out, they were all staring rapt at the screen and the key was on ‘Master’s’ key chain, hanging from his belt into his trouser pocket.
“This is going to go down a storm with the board, I can guarantee it. Well done Janet!” ‘Master’ bubbled with enthusiasm.
“Are we going to shoot it again?” she asked through clenched teeth, clamped together by the collar.
“No, you’ve got it in one! Anyway it’s too late, too many people about now. Now all we have to do is cut the two camera shots together.” They went over to the editing desk and were lost in one of those technical discussions that could go on for hours.
She was still locked up.
Slowly it dawned on Janet that she had found a new world, her secret world where things were done to her out of love – and it was marvellous! She had to be sure, completely sure that all this was intended, that she had come home, that he had taken her as his slave. She slipped behind ‘Master’ as she now thought of him and very gently pressed the end of her chain into his hand.
“Take me, I’m yours.”
For a moment nothing happened; then his hand closed round the chain and gave it two gentle tugs. Without for one second taking his eyes off the screen, he detached a key from his chain and pressed it into her hand. It wasn’t the key to her padlocks; it was the key to the dressing room.
In the dressing room she hustled to the mirror, anxious to see for the first time the new Janet. She didn’t know what she was expecting. Bright shiny chromium plate perhaps? Maybe dull mediaeval blacksmith’s work, heavy and solid? Neither. Iit was smooth steel covered all over with the sort of tracery to be found in the very best armour, the delicate pattern filled with glistening gold and with the satin smooth steel finished in black gunsmith’s ‘blue’ as on the finest guns.
The steel was hard and rigid but light enough not to bear down on her;it was superb work and fitted just tight enough to remind her relentlessly that it was her ‘Master’s’ work and well high enough to remind her every second that, in it, her head was held immovable. It was he who had snapped up the locks and her she would stay till whenever he chose to let her free.
She ran her hand up the back of her neck to hear the padlocks rattle against the steel and, smiling to herself, she locked the dressing room door and sat down to wait. The chatter next door modulated into a series of ‘cheerio, see you later’ remarks, then silence. After a while she heard footsteps and the door handle rattled. “Come on, Janet, open up.”
‘No,’ she thought. ‘You locked me in here now you are locked out there.’ It was what the Americans call a Mexican standoff. She ran her hands once more over her neck corset and smiled smugly.
Not a good move. The boss’s footsteps retreated, the comfortable swivel chair before his desk creaked and she heard him pick up the phone – he was obviously talking to someone important. He sounded very keen about something.
“OK, I’ll do that.” There was the sound of a computer keyboard and a long silence. ‘Oh dear’, she thought, ‘I don’t think I like the sound of that!.’ He was sending the films down the Internet to the client. “Yes, I think it’s a terrific, … yes, that’s the first two adverts in the can and ready to go.” … “Yes, that’s right, a whole series leading up to the great day when this new thing hits the streets.” There was a long pause while he listened to whoever it was the other end spoke at length. “Yes, that’s the idea, she gets more and more restricted every time and always fails to tell the world.” Once more he listened. “Oh yes, it has to be the same girl every time.” “She will I assure you, … yes, … Well, she’s more or less locked into the contract.” He dropped the phone back onto its cradle. “Literally locked in.” He smiled to himself – then sat up with a jerk.
The steel of the neck corset pressed against his ear as she bent down and kissed his neck. She had crept out of the dressing room and stood behind him. “On one condition, Boss.”
“You are hardly in a position to make conditions, you know, but what is it?”
“Only that you, and only you will be in charge of me, do me up, and be with me all the time I am ‘in durance vile’ as it were.”
“That is you sole condition?”
“Yes, ‘Master’.
He stood up and took her in his arms. “Such a bargain should be sealed with a kiss.” Then he smiled down at her. “One thing you forgot in our bargain.”
“What is that?”
“You haven’t any say about when you are to be let out!”
“Oh no, that would never do! I mustn’t impose conditions on my ‘Master’.”
Chapter Three
“So, I’m to be done up more and more with every ad?”
“That’s the idea.” He glanced at his watch, “I think we should sit down and plan at least the first few ads. We have deadlines to meet now, so no time like the present.”
“Yes, ‘Master’.”
“OK then, but first let’s get you into the right mood.” He vanished into the dressing room and returned with a handful of things. “Sit down in the swivel secretary’s chair.”
“Yes ‘Master’.”
Pulling her arms over the back he snapped her into handcuffs.
‘What’s this!’
Then, coming in front, he snapped her into ankle cuffs. ‘Oh my God,’ she thought, ‘he really means business!’ Running a cord round the ankle chain, he threaded it under and pulled her ankles firmly up under her then looped it though her wrist chain, pulled it tight and tying her.
“Sit up straight! My slave must always look to her posture!”
Dumbly, she did as she was told and felt the back rest pulled up to its top position, forcing her arms out and her shoulders up and back. A heavy, six-inch-wide belt was strapped round her waist and buckled tightly behind her. She was pinned immovably to the chair.
He ran his hand up the back of her neck, rattling the padlocks, reminding her suddenly that she was still locked into the black, steel neck corset. Somehow it felt ‘right’, made her ‘complete’.
Taking his camera from a drawer, he took pictures of her from every angle, just swivelling her chair around to get whatever slant took his fancy. ‘Oh my God! ’She thought. ‘Now he really has me! He has only to show my friends those pictures, done up like this and quite recognisable, and I shall never dare to show my face again! He might even post me on the Internet!’
As though reading her thoughts, he held up the camera, pointed to it and smiled at her, then locked it into his desk drawer. “Just insurance, you understand. There is a lot of money at stake here, let alone two careers, yours and mine.”
Straining against her bonds, she just managed to move her shoulders a little from and to, making her rigid neck and corset nod. “Yes, ‘Master’, but I would willingly sign any confidentiality just so long as my ‘Master’ wishes.”
“You say that now, but you don’t know just how this thing will pan out.”
“I can hardly wait!”
“Wait is exactly what you will do! I say, you really do look wonderful, done up like that!” Putting his hand against the back of her head, he kissed her firmly and went and sat in his desk chair. “OK, let me explain your position.”
It was way past noon when he returned the last padlock to the cloth bag and she sat, rubbing her neck, feeling still the pressure of the steel. For hours he had planned outfit after outfit, making sketches and notes that he didn’t show her, listening to her suggestions, but giving no sign that he approved or otherwise, while, towards the end, she had begun to wonder how on earth she was to cover the few feet to the car for each new advert, let alone how she would be able to get into some of the outfits he had suggested. Another thing, she had been hard put to it, with her teeth clamped together in that impossible collar, to speak her lines clearly. Still, too late now, her whole career was on the line
“Take the rest of the day off. In fact, you may as well take a short holiday while I organise all this stuff. I’ll ‘phone you when things are set up and ready.”
Chapter Four
It was all well and good, being invited to take time off at the firm’s expense, and for several days Janet rushed about, doing all those jobs that she had promised herself to ‘get around to some time.’ Being free as air to do as she pleased? It was not at all what she had planned – she tried ‘phoning ‘Master’ but got his answering machine;, she ‘phoned the firm and was told that he ‘was away on business’. She even went to the shop they had rented and rattled the door handle and the door at the back giving onto the car park but it was locked up and deserted.
No contact, nothing. She was left to sit at home or to dream of what might happen while she almost screamed with frustration at the lack of any news from Master of whatever he was up to.
She knew that things were happening when a man arrived one day carrying a large tool kit. He had her sit with each foot in turn resting on a complicated board with sliding fittings while he took complicated measurements of her feet. She asked him what it was all for and he just told her ‘it was to make her last’; whatever was it that it she had to last for? She was to last for how long? Anyway, she was still a young women and expected to last a long time yet! A big envelope arrived. It contained sharp, eight by ten prints of her locked and strapped and rigidly collared into the secretary’s chair. Sitting alone in her flat, she spread out and studied them for a long time, trying to imagine herself back on that secretary’s chair. Then she sat and gazed at the silent ‘phone. She almost screamed with frustration.
“Janet?” At last! His voice was calm and enquiring.
“Your slave here ‘Master’.”
“Five tomorrow morning sharp at the shop. Have you got that?”
“Yes Master, five tomorrow morning. Tell me, please, what are you going to do to me?”
“Five sharp, be there.” The ‘phone clicked and went dead.
* * * * *
A man arrived and had her sit with each foot in turn resting on a complicated board with sliding fittings while he took complicated measurements of her feet. She asked him what it was all for and he just told her ‘it was to make her last’; whatever was it that it she had to last for? She was to last for how long? Anyway, she was still a young women and expected to last a long time yet! A big envelope arrived. It contained sharp, eight by ten prints of her Locked and strapped and rigidly collared into the secretary’s chair. Sitting alone in her flat, she spread out and studied them for a long time, trying to imagine herself back on that secretary’s chair. Then she sat and gazed at the silent ‘phone. She almost screamed with frustration.
“Janet?” At last! His voice was calm and enquiring.
“Your slave here ‘Master’.
“Five tomorrow morning sharp at the shop. Have you got that?”
“Yes master, five tomorrow morning. Tell me, please, what are you going to do to me?”
“Five sharp, be there.” The ‘phone clicked and went dead.
* * * * *
She walked out of the underground station into a cold, grey dawning with a little mist drifting about the still-glowing street lights. Nobody about, no parked cars; the shop seemed to fill her gaze, growing as she approached. The door opened at her push. Master was sitting at his desk, working on the computer. There was nobody else around. “Good morning.” He glanced at his watch, “You are in good time – go into the changing room and strip off completely and put on the underwear I have laid out.”
The changing room was warm and cosy after the dark street and there on a chair were a deep, long line bra, heavily padded, a pair of deep legged rubber pants and a clothes hanger. She hung up her clothes and wriggled into the pants which came almost down to her knees and high at the waist. She pulled and tugged at the black rubber till it fitted smoothly and turned to the bra. ‘Oh Lord, just look at this! These massive things went out in the nineteen fifties!’ She was just lowering herself into the heavy cups as ‘Master’ came in. Without a word, he did up the long line of hooks and eyes at the back, then took her clothes and unlocked one of the big cupboards, hanging wet clothes inside and taking out a hanger of neatly pressed clothes and a generous hanger bag.
He locked the cupboard, cutting off her line of retreat, as she could no longer reach her clothes. She went to look at herself in the mirror. “’Master,’” she gasped, “sticking out like this I look top heavy as a spinning top!”
“Yes, and this will make you even bigger up there.” He held up the pink satin corset for her inspection.
She had seen pictures of corsets like that, a nineteen forty seven ‘New Look’ corset, a high ‘underbust,’ tapering conically down the wasp waist then bulging suddenly out over rounded hips, a style called a ‘Godet’ corset. It had a stiff busk and under busk and lacing at the back spread wide ready to receive her. Without a word she spread her arms and was clipping into the busk and the four hooks and eyes at the bottom that completed the ‘line’. Putting on her stockings, she stood while he fastened and tightened the suspenders, four to each leg,
“Oooff!” That first pull of her laces took her completely by surprise, making her stagger to keep her balance even with his knee against her bottom. Without pause he worked the laces up and down to the waist then took another mighty heave. “’Master, please, this is cutting me in two! Give me a minute to get my breath!” He said nothing, but worked on and with a will till, at last, dizzily, she felt him knotting her laces and heard a ‘snip’ as he cut off the lace tails. Then he took something from his desk and did something behind her. “’Master, what are you doing please?”
He stepped past her to pick up the next garment. “Just a drop of superglue on the knot for safety.”
She tottered over to the mirror. ‘Great heavens, is that me?’ She twisted and turned before the mirror, amazed at the new Janet with her smooth line from thighs over her rounded hips and in to her tiny wasp waist then opening out to her bulging breasts (It all had to somewhere, and the flesh at her waist had been pushed up to make her already bulging bust much bigger.
“’Master’ (gasp), this is ridiculous, I look like a lollipop on a stick!”
“I’ll attend to that in a moment, first we have to adjust your stride.” He strapped what she thought were two garters just above her knees but they were of stout webbing and joined by another, adjustable strap. “Put you heel against your other big toe.” He pulled the adjustment tight and tucked the tail of the end under the buckle. “You will be wearing one of those hobble skirts and we don’t want a big striding modern Miss tearing her way out do we?”
“No, ‘Master’.
“Now step into this.” He was holding a bulging pink waist slip in a pink satin to match her corset. As he pulled it up, it fitted close around her now hobbled legs and, ‘Oh Lord, what’s this! It has thick spongy padding over her hips and bottom’. He zipped her up and pulled the waist tape snugly to rest on her hips. She felt him fiddling with her lacing.
“What are you doing, ‘Master’?”
“Knotting your slip tape into your corset lacing, that way its padding can’t get twisted round and make you look silly.”
‘As if I didn’t look silly enough already,’ she thought as she tripped, heel and toe, back to the mirror. For a moment she looked in wide-eyed wonder. ‘Surely no woman had ever looked like this!’ She turned stiffly from and to, suddenly wildly in love with this smooth, gleaming satin body, her bulging hips balancing perfectly her bulging bust and each emphasising her microscopic waist.
Almost in a daze, she slipped into the satin blouse, cut short so as not to add bulk to her waist. It had a high, stiffly starched Victorian man’s collar and a black ‘bootlace’ tie, holding her chin up and making a swallow a matter of careful planning. Putting her hand on ‘Master’s’ shoulder to steady herself, she stepped into the mid-calf hobble skirt. It had no waistband again to avoid any bulk around the all-important wasp waist but came up almost to her bust, lightly boned to keep it fitting smoothly as it in turn was zipped up.
“Come and sit here.” ‘Thank the Lord he has set this secretary’s chair to its maximum height’ As it was she had to perch primly on the edge as he combed out her hair and pulled it over a padded mould into a large bun at the back of her neck. Onto this was pinned a hat with two murderous looking long hat pins. With a skill that surprised her, her made up her face; what she looked like she had no idea, but she found herself looking at the world from between long sets of black lashes.
Pulling her hands into skin-tight black doeskin gloves, tightly buttoned at the wrist, he commanded, “Lift your foot!” “Now the other!” She found herself in a pair of very high heeled, ankle strap court shoes.
“Stand up!” Staggering slightly ‘Hell, these heels are high!’ She was helped into the royal blue corduroy jacket. It had a ‘regency buck’s ear high collar that stood away from her head, was double breasted, fastened with two big buttons each side and fitted closely over her bust and rib cage to stop a few inches above her waist. The sleeves were deep cut so that she could scarce raise her elbows from her sides and the close-fitting sleeves were zipped up from elbow the wrist.
“Hold out your arms.” Wondering, she did as she was told. Quickly he snapped two silver bracelets on her and, before she realised, snapped them fast with two little silver padlocks. While she stood in wonder, he took two silver chains, looping them around the buttons of her jacket at each side. He twisted the ends together and again, locking the ends together. With the chain in place, she realised she couldn’t unbutton and remove her jacket and thus couldn’t get at any of her fastenings underneath. ‘Oh, great hell and goose guts! This boy doesn’t mess around!’
“Help me, ‘Master’, please!” He steadied her elbow as she hobbled in six inch steps over to the mirror.
Leaving her to examine the new Janet, he slipped quietly out of the room, locking the door behind him.
Chapter Five
‘Janet, oh Janet, just look at yourself!’ Wide eyed, she stared at this woman who stared back at her from the mirror. In setting up the ‘changing room’, ‘Master’ had fitted two full length mirrors into the corner for a good reason. Thus, set at right angles, she could see her front, back and profile at once. By just turning half round she also had a fairly good view of her back; she had to look at this creature he had created without any chance of self deception. She had to admit that she was groomed immaculately, with not a hair out of place, but she was totally artificial.
She turned her back and hobbled with difficulty to the far corner, then turned and examined herself at the hobbled back. ‘Not so good,’ she told herself. ‘Yes, from the knees up she was a picture of almost statuesque elegance, but from there down she reminded herself of two small boys fighting behind a curtain. The stride of a modern woman just didn’t fit in with being tightly hobbled and perched on heels so high that she had to bend her knees slightly. It ruined the effect completely.
The short blue jacket led the eye down to the black, diminutive waist perched on the generous dome of her deeply padded hips. Her outfit screamed ‘A woman, a perfect woman, a proud and perfect woman! Look your fill! I shan’t stop you, I can’t stop you even if I wanted.’ .As she stood there, she realised slowly that she was committed, finally and irretrievably she was committed to this wonderful idea.
Her head was topped by a regency buck’s curved brim, low-crowned top hat at a jaunty angle, firmly skewered to her smoothly pulled back hair from which a black net veil covered her beautifully painted face. Her head’s perfection was perched atop the high, gleaming white collar, and framed by the black satin lining of her high regency collar standing away from her neck to make a perfect frame.
There were two problems: the serious one was her impossibly high heels and thus her grotesquely bent knees, the other she discovered when she tried to touch her face and it made her smile. ‘Master’ had worked another trick on her.
She looked at her hands in the mirror, suspended in mid-air as she tried to reach up to touch her face. Her sleeves were cut so deep that she could scarce raise her elbows from her sides. Her tight, doeskin gloves were cut with very short fingers, coming just to the middle knuckle and thus pinning her fingers together but, worse, they were backed up the fingers by springy slips of some whalebone-like substance that extended to her elbows and made her hands spring back to their straight position if she relaxed for an instant; their tips extended to give her very long, black, gleaming, talon-like nails. From a ring about the middle finger, the silver bracelets fitted closely almost to her elbows, making her hands into two rather lovely costume accessories, but otherwise useless. The silver padlocks, swinging from her forearms drew attention to her being locked in.
She couldn’t reach any of her fastenings and, even had she been able, her little hands were useless for undoing them, even had her glued knots been undoable — and — and — even had she wanted to.
From next door she could hear the early morning chatter as the film crew arrived. ‘No, not possible,’ she thought, I’m not going to be filmed tottering around with these ridiculously bent knees! Never in a million years!’ (Not that there was anything she could do about it – this she knew full well.)
Desperately, almost losing her temper, she hobbled furiously about the room. No way was she going to let herself be filmed tottering about in this semi crouching, ridiculous posture! Had it been possible she would have clenched her fists so far as she was able and hammered on the walls in frustration!
It was because she had clenched her eyes shut in her temper that she bumped into the corner of the cupboard, causing her to spin around, struggling desperately to keep her balance and just caught a glimpse of herself once more in the mirror, facing the glass with blazing eyes. ‘Just look at yourself, you abject fool!’ She set off accusingly towards her reflection and … …!.! … …
‘Hey! What’s this?’ Miraculously the figure she saw stepped elegantly towards the mirror, upright as a pencil and the very picture of a fashion plate model. Somehow her struggles had made the tendons stretch. Her knee joints and ankles ached like fury but, Lord above! Her knees were straight! She tripped triumphantly about the room.
Then she saw the umbrella.
It was a long lady’s umbrella, straight, waist high and pencil slim, the sort that only fashion plate models carry. Left tucked in a corner, it obviously was meant, obviously had been done intentionally, by ‘Master’ so that she would find it at this wonderful moment. Hooking the loop around her wrist and gripping it between thumb and her straight fingers as only the most affected model would, she continued the strut proudly about the room till ‘Master’ unlocked the door and beckoned her out.
The film crew was standing about, drinking coffee and chatting among themselves. As she entered, they turned to stare wide eyed for a moment then burst into spontaneous applause.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” and, turning to ‘Master’, “If you are ready then… ?”
“At your service, Madam! Crew, get into positions.” He spoke into his mobile, telling the limo driver to get moving.
Standing in the doorway, waiting her cue, she saw the two cameras, focussed on a chalk mark on the pavement where the action was to take place and she saw the other chalk mark on the kerb where the front fender of the limo was to stop. ’Master’ was standing to one side and a little behind her in the doorway. Quickly she imagined the scene and saw suddenly how she could improve it – if she dare. The limo glided into view and stopped for a moment at the traffic lights up the road. It would all start in a few seconds. She tensed up ready for her queue.
”OK, crew, roll ‘em!” The limo began to slow down. Suddenly she knew she must try her idea. Dare she? Would it work? It was an awful chance to take! The limo slid silently to a standstill. ‘OK, here I go!’
Stepping daintily out onto her mark, she turned and smiled at the first camera. “Hello, I’m so glad you made it to hear about this wonderful new … !” She heard ‘Master’ leap out from the doorway and, without looking round, jabbed backwards with her umbrella catching him between his legs and tripping him to send him staggering against the side of the car.
She half turned to smile at him. “Ole!” Then back to the camera, she smiled brightly and mischievously. “Oh, they won’t stop me that way from telling you,” she improvised quickly, “as I was saying, this is so new, so brilliant that … … …!” ‘Master had gathered himself to spring at her, lifting her bodily and almost posting her through the car door which was slammed by the chauffeur, who leapt back in his seat and drove off.
As the limo swept away, the second camera got a perfect shot of her struggling to get to the window while ‘Master’ held her helpless with his hand clamped over her mouth.
Laying half across the back seat, half on top of ‘Master,’ she wriggled the umbrella out from among their legs and waited for the tongue lashing she would get for her gross disobedience.
“Ouch! You’re heavy and knobbly!” ‘Master heaved himself up. “If that comes out I shall be amazed!”
“Give me a minute to get my breath back and I think I can do it again, properly this time.”
He looked down at her, laying skewed across his lap, sudden concern in his eyes. “I say, Are you all right? Not hurt or anything? When you started to improvise like that I only had a moment to think, but you were right, it would never have worked if we had rehearsed it.”
“I’m sorry, the idea only came to me at the last moment. Am I all right, ‘Master’? Gosh, I don’t know! I’ve never been done up like this before, but I don’t think anything important is broken.”
Back at the shop, the pavement was deserted, the crew had gone inside. As the limo sped away, Janet tried a few experimental steps. Everything seemed to work. “’Master’, if I may, I would like to walk around the block and go in the back way.”
“Sure, if you wish, but why?”
‘Why?’ She didn’t really know. Here she was in the cold light of dawn, tripping along, feeling the hobble straps snapping tight at each step, ‘Master’ pacing patiently at her side. She was helpless in this great big world, dependant solely upon him yet, in a strange way, she was free! She had done nothing wrong, she was not in any danger, so far as she was concerned the whole world, were it awake, could get out of their little beds and could come and stare at her. It was a wonderful discovery!
Proudly, she tripped to the corner and turned at the traffic lights into the main road to be confronted by a lone beat policeman, patrolling the dawn, whose eyes widened at the sight of her. His official mind struggled with this new sight; what was going on? Was this fascinating looking woman being molested by this man, pacing at her elbow? He stepped up to her. “Good morning, Miss, can I be of any assistance?”
“Good morning, officer,” she flashed him her sweetest smile, “thank you for asking but, no, everything is just perfect.” With calculated impudence she patted him lightly on the arm and tried her best, not entirely unsuccessfully, to wag her tightly corseted butt at him as she almost swaggered away round the next corner and out of sight.
Lord above, this was wonderful! She turned into the back entrance to find the camera crew laughing at something.
“Have you got it, lads?” ‘Master’ asked.
“Yup, all if it.” The head camera man grinned at him.
”All of it? How come?”
Just managing to hold a coffee cup to her lips, Janet watched as the raw shots were run through the monitor. The number one crew had got it in one. Thank the Lord for that, it was perfect. Had it failed the second, hand held camera was also quite good enough.
“Well done, … … “ ‘Master’ was delighted but the crew held up their hands for silence and continued to stare at the screen. Puzzled as to why Janet had not reappeared, the second camera man had filmed her strutting away from the limo toward the traffic lights. Then, when she turned out of sight, he had sprinted up to the corner and zoomed out to film the whole episode with the cop. In the early morning silence, his directional mike had even captured the conversation. The crew almost screamed with laughter. If a bunch of men who didn’t know, couldn’t know, that she was tied up helpless in this outfit reacted this way, then she was suddenly confident and doubly delighted with herself.
She smiled at them. “If you will excuse me, gentleman.” She put down her coffee cup and took herself next door to the dressing room, where she tried to sit down to wait while they cut and edited the third ad. Her corset and tight hobble had different ideas. Even on the high office chair, she could only perch primly on the very edge and had to press down hard with her feet to stop herself ignominiously sliding off onto to floor. In perilously high ankle strap courts this was not easy, and she knew she couldn’t do it for long; the buzz of technical conversation from next door told her that they would be quite happy for hours, putting the third ad together.
“Would you like another cup of coffee?” ‘Master’ had poked his head around the door.
“No thanks, I’ll just sit here in agony while you play with your friends.” She almost snapped at him.
“Oh dear, you don’t look very comfortable.”
“Comfortable? I’m in agony, perched here like this and this corset is killing me!”
“Let me help you.” He helped her to her feet. Quickly, he unlocked her padlocks securing her long bracelets and, trustingly, she let him turn her around to face the other way. He had another trick up his sleeve.
Had she examined the long, silver bracelets, she would have seen that there were three latches securing them, one each at wrist and elbow and another in the centre. The wrist ones were those which he had padlocked previously. Drawing her arms behind her, he snapped one padlock though both wrist latches again then, squeezing her elbows together, snapped the second through the elbow latches. She realised that she was now securely pinioned.
“Oh, you beast! That was a rotten trick!” She twisted from and to, struggling against this new restriction but only succeeded in reminding herself how stiffly corseted she was and how, in this new restriction, she was making her breathing a matter of quite small gasps.
“I do try to give satisfaction.” To illustrate his point, he produced a third padlock and snapped it into the two centre clasps. It made no difference to her, of course but she had to admit as she examined her rear view in the mirror that it did complete the picture. Then he picked her up and laid her into the deep leather executive chair in the corner, releasing the spring up footrest so that she almost lay in it with her head cradled on the top of the backrest. Strapping her ankles together, he kissed her quickly on the lips and left the room, locking the door behind him.
It had all been so quick that she stared at the ceiling in a daze for a moment before she began to examine her new position. Firstly, she realised in amazement, it wasn’t at all uncomfortable, even her hard, pinioned arms were tucked into the hollow between the seat and the backrest and didn’t stick into her back and, secondly, done up in this harness, she couldn’t get up.
There was nothing to be done about it. She lay, staring at the ceiling for she knew not how long; then her eyes slowly closed and she drifted off into her secret place, her ‘Dreamland’, where she was safe and cossetted and helpless and … … wanted and … … … and loved. She wasn’t sleeping, not even dozing, and that she knew, but in a different way, she was roused sexually, but, again, this was a different arousal, powerful, smooth, a new thing in her life; an energy, puissant, irresistible, flowed silently into her. ‘Oh God, what’s this?’
She had no idea how long she lay there in this perfect ‘Dreamland’. The only sound was ‘Master’ on the ‘phone discussing this latest ad with the client- the film crew had obviously packed up and gone. He had sent a couple of edits of the shot down the Internet and they were deep in discussion of their rival merits. From his tone of voice, he obviously had a delighted client on his hands. She wriggled to feel again her bondage and almost snuggled down to wait.
How much later it was that she sensed him standing, looking down appreciatively at his slave she had no idea. She smiled up at him. “Why are you doing this to me, ‘Master’?
He sat in the arm of her chair, bent over and kissed her. “Oh, it started as a spur of the moment impulse but now, well, there are several reasons.”
“Tell me, I suppose I should say ‘I can hardly wait’ but,” she gave a little wriggle, “that’s about all I can do.”
Chapter Six
“Well,” He thought for a moment, “I think we are agreed that we both get something very special out of the arrangement.”
“Agreed.”
“Then we are committed to this great idea, you being more and more restricted as the ad campaign progresses. We can’t do without you now, you and the whole ad idea are now one and the same, so we have to give you some practice at being tied up and also find out just what you can be made to cope with while still playing your part. … … … Then … … …” He sat for what seemed a long time, trying to put words together.
Eventually he came out of his trance and stood up. He unstrapped her ankles and lifted her to her feet then unlocked her arms, but snapped now six padlocks, three to each bracelet to secure her once more. Glancing at his watch, he led her by the elbow into the other room where he left her for the moment to return with a snow white lady’s duffle coat, which he helped her into, as her little flippers of hands were incapable of fastening the toggles. “Are we going outside, ‘Master’?” She stared at him in alarm.
Nodding, he phoned for a taxi. If the taxi hadn’t been so prompt, had she had time to think, she was sure she would either have had hysterics or fainted, but he pulled up the hood of her duffle coat and helped her into the cab. They were driving through the dense morning traffic before she managed to almost whisper, “Where are we going, ‘Master’?”
“Why, to lunch of course! We can’t have you fainting for lack of sustenance, can we?”
‘Ye gods! Going to a restaurant, done up like this for the whole world to stare at, corseted till I can hardly breath and only just perch on the edge of a chair, why, ‘Master’ must have finally taken leave of his senses. Oh hell, what’s the use, I just hope that nobody who knows me will see this disaster.’
Standing on the pavement, watching the taxi drive off, she turned to stare at the West End crowds hurrying past and looked for the restaurant that was to be her nemesis. It could only be one, a famous rich businessman’s watering hole a few yards along.
Those few yards were her saviour. For those few yards she had only her high heels and hobble to cope with while the crowds streamed past, most not noticing a woman in her all-embracing white duffle-coat, the hood hiding the stiff, high Victorian man’s collar and the chin high posture it imposed on her. Even then, there was something about the way the doorman sprang to open it for her that she didn’t quite understand.
‘Master’ murmured something to the head waiter who nodded. “Come and have an aperitif, Janet, our table will be a few minutes.”
They left their coats and mingled among the lunchtime crush. Janet was able, for once, to manage easily on the high bar stool, waiting in the crowded bar for their turn for the barman’s attention, but no! The barman was standing in front of them suddenly, smiling, almost before they had sat down.
“The lady will have a Buck’s Fizz in a long stemmed glass and a straw and a G & T for me please.” It was masterly, a Bucks Fizz is a cocktail of orange juice and champagne, normally served in a long glass but now she could just hold the stem, and the straw reached to her lips without her tight sleeved restriction being obvious. She gave him a grateful smile and a conspiratorial wink. “You think of everything, ‘Master’.
“I try my best. By the way, just take a look in the mirror behind the bar and tell be what you see.”
Janet did as asked, a quick glance, a woman’s glance, instantaneously appraising, taking in everything in an instant. She looked quickly away. “Grief! … …. “
“Quite.” Maybe it was his years of talking to clients, putting them at their ease, but he was a master of small talk and chatted with her amusingly, not speaking of what she had seen till the head waiter came to show them to their table. ‘With my luck it’s a wonder we’re not on a platform,’ she thought bitterly. Their table was right in the very centre of the room, ‘they might at least have been tucked into a corner’ ‘Their’ waiter was almost falling over himself to serve them.
“Shall I order?” He studied the menu, “I know this menu almost by heart.”
“I wish you would.” It was that glance in the mirror. Now everywhere she looked eyes were examining her, covertly; frank, appraising glances from the men, appreciative, lecherous even, but careful examination by the women and not too friendly examinations either. She didn’t know where to look. Fortunately, the soup arrived (another of ‘Master’s’ pieces of forethought, It was an old peasant’s recipe from Provence, served in a squat earthenware bowl with a long curved spoon, a spoon that didn’t require her to raise her arm too far) and she was able to concentrate on the meal and shut all those wretched eyes out of her mind.
Another piece of consideration from ‘Master’, He had chosen a main course and sweet that could be eaten with a fork only, daintily held at her fingertips, American style, and in small and easily digested portions in consideration for her restricted stomach capacity. Realising this, she began to enjoy herself, for, after all, ‘Master’ was also her guardian and with him at her side she not only felt she could cope with this outfit and with those eyes and even managing to sit and stare down the most blatant lechers. This in turn gave her the confidence to smile sweetly at one toffee-nosed old harridan who turned haughtily away but, unable to tolerate the put down, looked back a moment later to receive a sniff from Janet’s upturned nose while she raised her padlocked arm to pat an imaginary hair before she returned her eyes to ‘Master’ and gave him a happy wink – the eye remote from the old hag. ‘Hey, this was fun!’
“We will have our coffee in the lounge bar.” The waiter sped away and ‘Master’ guided her elbow to a settee curved into a corner. Janet stared in horror at the low seat, she knew just what this corset which ruled her life would permit and this was way out of bounds! Some instinct, she knew not what, made her cross her legs from the knees and thus lower herself enough to chance letting herself more or less reach the seat, she couldn’t have told you just how, but her corseted body continued its momentum and she rolled back and found herself leaning back into the corner. ‘Hey Presto!’ She was sitting comfortably in the corner, elegantly surveying the room as ‘Master’ took his seat beside her and the waiter, ever attentive, placed their coffees before them.
“That was perfect! You are learning quickly.”
”Desperation concentrates the mind wonderfully, oh ‘Master’. Now that you have me pinned by my corset into this corner like an impaled butterfly in a display case, you are going to tell me what this is all about”
“I am?”
“Otherwise I shall sit here in haughty silence till the management throws me out into the gutter.”
“That would never do. Black coffee or white?” He poured for them and began to explain. “Today we have discovered a new ‘Force of Nature’ and we mustn’t waste it.” He thought for a moment. “It hit me the moment you came out of the changing room and the lads burst into applause.”
“That was kind of them, it boosted my confidence no end. This outfit must have hit them right in the eye.”
“Oh, it was much more than that. Something happened to you while you were all alone there in the changing room, I don’t know what it was but it radiated from you like gamma rays from a nuclear burst, invisible but deadly; the effect on the crew was instantaneous as you saw, you got a standing ovation. Then you saw the effect on that cop, he almost fell over himself to speak to you; likewise it was what made the camera man chase you to the corner. They’re a hard bitten lot, camera men, not given to violent exercise, but the rest of the crew were almost jealous of him for getting those shots.”
“I hadn’t realised till this moment – but yes.” She smiled suddenly with the picture still fresh in her mind and all those eyes in the mirror behind the bar. “I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun in my life.”
“I’m so glad. It sounds silly I know but something happens when you are done up helpless. You seem to build up some sort of ‘fluence’ that radiates out of you. That’s why I took advantage of you and left you locked up for so long. I wasn’t expecting it but you came out so powerful that I almost expected you to glow!”
Janet thought back to her hours alone in the changing room, of the strange, almost trance like state that had possessed her. She couldn’t understand it, she didn’t feel any different, well, if you didn’t count her corsets and hobble and high heels and that relentless collar.
“You say that this strange power I seem to radiate affected the ad shots?”
“Too true! Another thing we discovered while we were editing the latest ad was that something happens between the camera lens and the electronics that seems to amplify it even more. When I sent the ad to the client they were speechless and, in my years in this business, that has never happened before. Moans of every sort, demands for changes, quite often outright rejection are quite usual. I’ve come to expect it, but gasps of admiration are something new. They are to hold an extraordinary meeting of the board tomorrow morning to discuss a complete revision of the whole ad campaign.”
Janet wriggled a little to remind herself of her restrained condition. “So I have not suffered in vain, I’m most relieved.”
“Well, I hope your realise what you have let yourself in for. Not only all the impossible outfits you will wear as you struggle to ‘tell all’ but also the embarrassment of being done up helpless for hours if we find that that is the way to keep this new power of yours fully charged.”
“I doesn’t embarrass me, not so long as you are in charge and nobody else knows.”
“In that case, this is what I propose we do.”
They were still deep in discussion after the taxi ride back to the ‘shop’, where she returned to being the ‘well-dressed business woman’, the drive to her flat in his car and a final nightcap before she lay snuggled down the dream of this whole new life upon which she had embarked.
Chapter Seven
The next morning she donned her track suit and drove to the riverside park for an early morning jog. Well, if she were going to spend a lot of time tied up, still and helpless, it was important to stay fit, well, wasn’t it? She had just dried herself from the shower when the ‘phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Janet, Get yourself round here to the shop as quick as you can! Disaster has struck!
“What on earth as happened?”
“I’ll tell you all about it when you arrive, don’t stop to change, come as you are. Now!”
“Not wrapped in a towel I’m not!” But the ‘phone was dead, he had rung off.
Janet dragged an old pair of slacks and a roll necked sweater out of her cupboard, just ‘throwing on any old thing’ she told herself, and headed for the door. She used her car for once, driving round the back of the shop where there was room to park and tried the back door, but it was locked, no sign of life, no sound of the camera crew chatting inside, but Master opened it almost at once at her knock. “Come in… er… better sit down.” Slightly dazed, she took one of the swivel chairs and he the other, sitting for a moment in silent contemplation of the floor in front of him. He was obviously trying to put words together.
“What on earth has happened, ‘Master’?”
The word ‘Master’ seemed to jerk him out of his reverie; he looked up suddenly with a look almost of pleading in his voice. “I’m so sorry, Janet, but I’m afraid I’m not your master any more, I’ve been sacked.”
“Sacked! What on earth for!?” She was astounded.
With a sad shake of his head he handed her an e-mail. It was signed by the CEO himself:
Your proposed marketing strategy for ******* (company name deleted here)
I am frankly amazed that you should attempt to couple the good name of this firm with such a disgusting and frankly salacious, almost obscene, display as your proposed advertising campaign.
Your eccentric and little short of pornographic plans for the above client’s publicity campaign for their proposed new product has been drawn to my awareness as requiring my immediate attention on the return from my vacation and I am amazed that one of your experience should have embarked upon a plan which can only bring this firm into derision and disrepute in the business.
I have been in touch with the client and explained our position and that we have withdrawn forthwith from this venture, this thankfully before the first advertisement is ever screened, and that we will have nothing further to do with such degrading practices.
Please make an early appointment with my secretary so that your future position within this firm can be discussed.
Immediately above on the print-out was ‘Master’s’ reply:-
Dear Sir,
I am sorry to be informed that my best endeavours, now on the verge of fruition, which, I would remind you, have been most enthusiastically received by the client, have been the subject of such approbation on your part.
I feel that, it being obvious that you have no faith whatsoever in me, neither in my ability nor judgement, that any further discussion of my position within the firm would be to no purpose and I hereby tender my immediate resignation.
Janet looked up in amazement. “You said you have been sacked, this is a resignation.”
“I ‘phoned his secretary first thing, she said he was just back from holiday and was incandescent on discovering our plans. He had watched the tapes of the first ads and immediately had dictated my dismissal notice even before even he sent that e-mail. I got in first, it will look better on my CV that I resigned when I start applying for another job.”
Janet sat, staring into space and feeling sick to her stomach, it had all been going so well. But her card also, she realised, had been well and truly marked. She would never live this down, not in their business where word got around so quickly.
Almost without thinking, she looked up the number and dialled the client. “Good morning, can I speak to the Marketing Manager please.” As she waited she tried to put into words her heartfelt apology for letting him down. From what ‘Master’ had said about his enthusiasm for the project he must feel as gutted as she. Slowly, as she waited; an idea began to form … … perhaps, just perhaps, it might work.
“Marketing, how can I help you?”
“Good morning sir, I’m Janet, the girl in you TV adverts.”
There was a short silence then, “I’m sorry you have dropped out, but I must remind you that the confidentiality agreement still stands, you must not disclose anything you have learned about the new product.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t dream of it, but perhaps all is not lost. My manger and I have formed a new partnership, ‘Janet and Master’; we are convinced that our marketing plan is still sound and would like to discuss with you the possibility of taking it over.”
There was a short silence then, “Good Lord! That’s something I hadn’t thought of. Look here, we must meet as soon as possible, is your diary clear for lunch today?”
“Er … Yes… er … I think so,“ pretending to run her finger down the non-existent page, “Yes, nothing I can’t re-organise.”
“Splendid! I’ll book a table at the Mirabelle. Is one o’clock OK?”
“I look forward to our meeting.” Slowly, she replaced the ‘phone on its cradle. ‘Oh well, she was committed now’.
‘Master’ slapped her on the shoulder. “Janet, you are wonderful. I wouldn’t have dreamed of pulling a stroke like that!” He thought for a moment, then, “But, great Scot, we’ve got to go like the very clappers of hell to be organised by lunchtime.”
“There is just one insurmountable problem, ‘Master’.”
“Yes? Only one?”
She stood up and did a slow pirouette. “Scruffy old slacks and a sweater will never do for lunch at the Mirabelle.”
‘Master’ sat for a moment, deep in thought.
Sadly Janet said, “I shall just have to stay at home like good girl and leave it to you. I’ve never been to the Mirabelle, I shall be very sad.”
“Not possible! You are ‘The Girl who wants to tell the world’, without you we’ve got nothing and, without you, he can just as well take the idea to any of dozens of other firms.”
Janet’s face lit up suddenly. “Then you will just have to take this ‘Girl who wants to tell the world’.”
“Lord yes! Here, get yourself into the changing room while I make some vital ‘phone calls.” He tossed her his keys and picked up the ‘phone.
In the changing room Janet took the outfit from the cupboard, stripped off and wriggled into the rubber pants, This time she knew just what she was in for and shivered slightly with anticipation. She heard him put down the ‘phone and he came in just in time to hook her into the padded bra.
The corset came next and, as she felt him begin to draw in the laces, now she knew what was coming and she was going to grit her teeth and bear it when she realised that this was, after all, what it was all about and wriggled from side to side the help the laces on their way, but somehow she didn’t remember it getting as tight as this! “Hey! Have I put on weight suddenly?”
She felt his fingers working under the laces, drawing then up and down towards the waist then, with his knee in her back, he really pulled her in, working the laces up and down till again. At last, he knotted her off, cut the tails off and again glued the knot. “No, Janet, you haven’t put on weight. I’ve just pulled the laces closed. Congratulations.”
“Commiserations would be more appropriate,” she gasped, “my waist feels as though it were in the grip of red hot pincers. It feels much, much tighter than last time.”
“Well,” He gasped slightly from his exertions as he gave her hips an encouraging twizzle, “it was just about an inch open last time.”
“And now?
“Closed up tight.”
“Oh, thank you very much!” She muttered through clenched teeth.
For the next few minutes she concentrated on the work in hand till, once more, she was the helpless little doll except that she was still in stocking feet. Master had brought in a high stool which she hadn’t really noticed till now; he must have just added it to the furnishings, she realised. With it set against the wall, she was just able to perch on the edge of it, leaning back against the wall, and raising one foot expectantly. They were not the high heeled court shoes this time. ‘Master’ produced a gleaming black pair of mid-calf button boots and an old fashioned button hook which he proceeded to wield with, to her, surprising efficiency. Fastened into the ridiculously high and rigid ‘man’s’ collar and ‘boot lace’ tie, chin high, she couldn’t see far enough down her nose to watch him in action, but something felt different about these new boots.
She soon found out what it was. Putting her booted foot to the floor and trying to transfer her weight to it so as to raise the other, she couldn’t get the boot under her. “Grief! Help me Master for heaven’s sake! These heels are impossible!”
Master lifted her under her armpits and the boot slid into place under her, leaving her to brace herself to avoid slipping off the stool and with the other foot dangling till master buttoned her up in the other boot. “Here, let me help you to stand.”
It was the same problem all over again. She had never even thought of trying six inch heels, but now she was on them her smaller than average feet were set almost vertical and only her toes touched the floor. The toecaps of the boots were a bare inch long and the little patch of leather sole was all she had to stand on. Tottering desperately with ridiculously bent knees, she glared at ‘Master’ in disapproval.
Heartless beast! He stood regarding her for a moment, then turned up the hem of her hobble skirt and buckled the hobble strap tighter. “You don’t need all that slack in those heels.”
“Thank you very much, oh ‘Master’,” She almost hissed through clenched teeth. This was getting serious.
“My pleasure.” The heartless brute told her. “Now come here.”
Dumbly, obediently she hobbled over to him. ‘Oh, here we go,’ she thought. He slid her middle fingers through the rings at the tips of the elbow length silver bracelets and she heard the clips snap closed. This was the point of no return. The way he had almost bullied her into this outfit had made her angry till she even thought of using the shiny black decorative plastic points of her to her tight leather gloves – like the devil’s fingernails – to give him a vicious prod. That would teach him! Now her hands and forearms were rigid and almost useless, he could do more or less what he wanted with her. Anticipating his next move, resignedly she put her useless arms behind her and, as she expected, he locked them together from wrist to elbow with the three little silver padlocks. Pinioned now, she stood while he locked her collar, the black steel collar she had worn for the first ads which he had decided on the spur of the moment to substitute for the high, white Victorian man’s collar, and fitted the decorative locking chain round the silver buttons of her little matador’s jacket.
He ran his hand up her arms, making the padlocks rattle. “Gosh, but you look quite superb! However, I can’t just stand around all day like you, a man has work to do.” Giving her a quick kiss, he left the room, locking the door behind him.
‘He can’t just stand around’ Damn the man! Just what in heaven’s name else could she do! She hobbled over to the mirror and tormented herself further by regarding the ridiculous figure she made. From the top of her head to her hips she was immaculate, quite rigid but immaculate; the straining material of the corset, invisible of course, had done its work and she was noticeably different from last time – or rather, more or less the same but more rather than less. She could almost forgive him.
It was her desperately-bent knees, forcing her to lean back to keep her precarious balance that infuriated her. Last time she had managed to get the tendons to stretch till she could just manage to trip along, upright as a pencil but, well, six inch heels! She would have loved to kick the damned things off and get a little relief, but the neat rows of black buttons told her that she was booted and booted she would stay.
As before, she hobbled angrily about the room, listening to the faint sound of ‘Master’s’ voice on the phone, listening to the tap, tap, tap of her heels, swinging her body left and right to remind herself that she was the silly cow who had let herself be laced into this palisade of corset steels that imprisoned her. She waited for that strange dreamlike feeling to come to her but no, all she felt was frustration.
She heard the shop door open and a woman’s voice, discussing something with ‘Master’, then approaching footsteps and the door was unlocked to admit a well-dressed, middle aged woman carrying a large vanity box, which she placed on the stool.
“Hello, you’re Janet, how do you do, I’m Mrs. Walander, good morning.” From the box she produced a white smock which she donned with obvious practiced ease. “Come over here please, to the light.” Taking a pack of cleansing tissues from the capacious box, she proceeded to remove every last trace of makeup from Janet’s face then went to work on her. She was obviously a very experienced professional and made not the slightest sign of even noticing Janet’s restrained state except to say “You must excuse me if I am a little slower than usual but I don’t usually serve ladies who are standing up.”
Janet had no idea how long she stood there, perhaps an hour, but she felt that the red hot bands that gripped her waist had sent fire down to her red hot toes by the time that the cosmetician finished with her, stood back to examine her work, and left with an understanding farewell smile.
Alone once more, Janet hobbled over to the mirrors. ‘Hey! Is that me?’ Well, it was her of course but very much the Hollywood version that smiled back at her from under a most provocative set of long lashes. That lady knew her job!
“Hey, will you just look at you!” ‘Master’ had come in behind her and stood, looking over her shoulder and admiring her reflection. “How are you getting on?”
“Ill faut souffrir pour etre belle.” She glared at him through the mirror. “It is necessary to suffer to be beautiful,” she translated the old Victorian saying, “but if I wasn’t quite helpless, pinioned and locked up as secure as the Bank of England I would fetch you the most monumental black eye and storm out here and now.”
“Would you?” He asked, suddenly serious, “I’m so sorry if I’ve gone too far, there is still time to ring up and call the whole thing off.” Sadly, he took the top padlock and went to insert the little key.
Just in time, she realised what he had said. She shook herself free and turned to face him. “Don’t you dare! You are my ‘Master’ and I will drop dead in my tracks before I will let you down now! Throw that damned key out the window and don’t ever again let yourself be persuaded by my tantrums!” She stood, glaring at him. “Go on, open the window and throw it out now, while I stand and watch, I mean it!”
She did mean it, she realised. For a few moments he stood, staring at her in wonder, then he slid the sash up and looked at her again, standing there, relentlessly urging him on.
“Go on, throw it right out, as far as you can.!”
For a moment he stood, looking out after the hard flung key, then slowly closed the window and looked at her in wonder. She really was his slave, his slave and his responsibility.
“Well, you had me frightened for a moment, I thought we had lost it all, but, since you have set the ground rules, I really think I must take you in hand.” He walked her over into the corner till she was pressed between the two mirrors. Before she realised what he was about, she felt a strap pulled tight around her ankles and another threaded under her heels and bucked securely over her insteps. She was well and truly fixed with not the slightest possible movement. “I was going to lay you down in the easy chair as I did last time. There is quite a long time till lunch and it would have given you a little ease, but we mustn’t waste good training time, must we?”
The door closed behind him and the lock clicked.
Janet wriggled and struggled though she knew it was useless. All she managed to do was to make herself aware of every single artefact that made her into this wonderful thing, ‘The Girl Who Wanted To Tell The World’.
From lashes so long that she was sure she could send semaphore signals by just blinking, her high, rigid steel collar that forced her chin up high and made swallowing difficult, her hard braced back shoulders and pinioned arms and, oh Lord, that relentless corset, her hobble straps and, of course, those button boots with their six inch heels.
Slowly, her eyes closed, she felt herself drifting once more into her ‘Dreamland’. In her wandering mind she thought she could feel everything, every false eyelash, every single straining eyelet, every suspender, even every button on her boots, all the things that controlled her, and she knew they were her friends. Somehow, in her drifting mind, she knew that, without her they were nothing. They were there to hold her and bind her and … … yes … … they were there to serve her.
She remembered reading somewhere in the words of some philosopher that the woman in bondage was the one truly in charge and now she knew what he meant. This was her world, hers alone. Even Master could only come in here by invitation.
Janet’s body lay, picture perfect and quite motionless, but the real Janet was far away, feeding her very soul on ecstasy.
Chapter Eight
They descended from the taxi and Janet straightened up and prepared herself for her entrance into the Mirrabelle. No white all-concealing duffle coat this time, now she was ‘The Girl Who Wanted To Tell All’, the mistress of all she surveyed. She stalked in rigid elegance across the pavement.
Inside, she looked around these new surroundings; now she had settled to her outfit, she stood proud and confident with straight knees at last and moved with something close to an elegant swagger. He was used to every sort of sight, but the doorman’s eyes widened as he ushered her in. She strutted past him as though she owned the place, accepting the glances, even outright stares as if her right. Even the way the barman appeared before them as though by magic with “Sir? Madam?” now seemed natural.
‘From just a working girl to this!’ She marvelled to herself. It was all going to take some getting used to but, grief, it was worth it.
“Hello! You are Janet of course, you look just as you do in those ads but even more so.” It was the Sales Manager, their client. She smiled at him and they shook hands all round. She noticed that he held her rigid hand for just a moment longer than was necessary.
She ate very little, almost nothing, but this was only partly because of the miniscule capacity of her tightly squeezed stomach. It was the first time that she had sat in on such a high powered business discussion and she was no secretary, tucked in the corner, industriously taking notes. She was at the very centre of things, or rather, she was the very centre of things. She was ‘The Girl Who Wanted To Tell All’, without her the whole thing was nothing. She found that the discussion flowed not so much ‘about her’ as ‘through her’. Every idea, every thought was addressed to her; without her opinion nothing went forward. Had she not been perched on the very edge of her chair, imposed by the necessity of her corset, she would have sat there by choice.
The Marketing Manager admitted frankly that they had him over a barrel. His board of directors were on his back and he daren’t fail to deliver. In all his years in the game he had never before felt that he had lost control of the situation and these two were still dealing out idea after idea. They had had time to work on the ideas, building up a complete plan for the ad campaign that just couldn’t possibly be turned down. All he had to do was take it on board, swallow it whole. In any case, if he didn’t bring home the bacon then his employers would likely deliver a rocket that would put him into low orbit.
On the other hand, he was sitting opposite this woman who was, he couldn’t put his finger on it, but she was pouring out some strange power, he could feel it flowing into him. She wasn’t flirting with him, she was calm and business-like to the last degree, ‘proper’ in every respect, but there was some form of ‘power field’ around her which he could see extended even out to the adjacent tables.
“OK then,“ ‘Master’ tied up the ends of the meeting, “we are agreed with the outline plan? If so, I’ll get a more detailed set of proposals typed up in a day or two but I first need some idea of the budget at our disposal.”
The Sales Manager was home and dry! They were on board and he could breathe again. He took one of his cards and wrote two numbers, passing it to ‘Master’, out of the reach of preying ears at nearby tables. “The first number is my suggested initial retainer for the use of the idea, the second your payment for each separate ad. I hope that is satisfactory.”
She had to give ‘Master’ his due, his face didn’t show a thing. “Well, I think that will be satisfactory for the first three ads. For the moment I have no firm idea how much the subsequent series will cost.”
“Oh, I should have said, that is purely to cover your professional fees and intellectual services. Out of pocket expenses, premises, camera crew, limo hire, costumes and all other equipment to be charged to us at cost.”
‘Master’ passed the card across to Janet. Her heart made a bold jump for freedom, reaching her throat before thinking better of it and sinking back once more to rest on the stays. Her long lashes flickered for a moment but her boning held her from swaying on her chair. She passed the card back to ‘Master’ with a brief nod. There are some very big numbers in the finance of advertising.
* * * * *
That evening the Sales Manager sat and watched TV. He had a very comfortable service flat in a fashionable part of town, the sort of flat where a bachelor could bring his lady for a nightcap and beyond, but, of late, he had been worried out of his life. He had started something huge and the sudden default by the ad agency had knocked the bottom out of his very existence, but now all that was changed, he would soon be on ‘easy street’.
That girl was something wonderful. He finished his drink and went to bed but she had got to him, his dreams were filled with her power, power that pursued him through the night.
* * * * *
“Well, at least, ‘Master’, you will be able to afford my wages.”
“Wages my left foot! You’re a partner in ‘Janet and Master’, I don’t know how the accountants will set things up but you will, of course, get half of everything – if that is satisfactory.”
“Yes, that will be quite satisfactory, thank you.” ‘A partner, and equal partner! Yes gods and little fishes!’ Janet felt that she had been picked up by a whirlwind and, like Dorothy in ‘The Wizard of Oz’, carried off into some Never-Never Land. And the whirlwind had only just started with her.
Craftsmanship takes time and they wanted the very best, so they started with labour intensive, bespoke corsets. They entered a little shop in a backstreet off the Whitechapel Road, the premises, as it said over the door, of ‘Elska Mowkerwitz – maker of good corsets’. Madam Mowkervitz was an elderly lady who had learnt her trade from her mother and grandmother, perhaps even her great grandmother, when they had set up business here as destitute refugees from a ravaged Austria at a time when Austria was the home of hard, severe corsets, which imposed a relentless Teutonic discipline. Today she served a shrinking clientele of old women fighting a losing battle with fat and who insisted upon huge elastic inserts which did little to encompass the mass of sagging flesh. She was sad, but it was a living.
This client was a refreshing change, and potentially a most profitable one.
‘Yes, she still had all the old equipment.’ Proudly, she showed them the eyelet presses and heavy duty sewing machines, together with her vast stock of busks, under busks, steels and materials, coutils, beautiful figured broches, heavy satins and brocades, all in a beautiful range of colours. ‘No, there was no model of strong controlling corset that she couldn’t produce.’ ‘Master’ handed her a sheaf of pencil sketches which Janet was careful not to see (knowing what she was in for would take the edge off the excitement); then she stood while Madam Mowkerwitz measured her. The sketches were numbered in the order she was asked to make them. Number one was called her ‘business corset’ and was to be ready as soon as possible.
They visited a firm of specialist solicitors and explained the terms of the partnership. It would be drawn up in a few days.
They sat across the desk from a high powered accountant and described the business they were embarking on and the financial arrangement with the client. He agreed to take them on as clients.
The cheque turned up from the client for the retainer, services so far and reimbursement for out of pocket expenses so far incurred. On seeing the bottom line, the bank manager tried very hard to interest them in several of the bank’s other services. ‘Master’ was having none of it. “Our finances are in the hands of our accountant.” He passed the accountant’s card across the desk. The Bank Manager gave up. He was used to screwing naïve beginners starting out in business but that accountant would soon put a stop to that.
She discovered just what a ‘last’ was, a precise wooden form of her feet and legs to the knee. The boots and shoes were made to her exact fit, and were delivered in by special messenger in several plain boxes. She wasn’t allowed to open them, not yet.
They visited a bespoke dressmaker. “Well, I can, of course, make these dresses, but the business suits really are the province of a tailoress.” She referred them to a very good outfit near Saville Row. Janet just went along with it.
Slightly dazed by it all, she realised that she really wasn’t an employee any more. She was joint signatory to everything; not only that, her signature stood alone as authority for practically everything financial. “Do you realise, ‘Master’, that I could transfer all our money to a tax haven and just vanish?”
“You could, so could I and likely no law would have been broken. But where’s the fun in that?” He passed across her debit card on the new account. “If you really want to be a spendthrift, you’d better start now. Go and buy all the accessories of the successful business women – blouses, underwear, handbags, anything else you can think of. The West End shops await you.” She stared at him blankly. “Go on with you, I’ve got work to do.”
Janet put her coat on. She was just going to set out for the Underground station when she realised just what he had said. She picked up the ‘phone and called a cab. The underground was for ordinary working girls.
Chapter Nine
Things began to arrive as ordered. It was frustrating not to be able to try them on. The stuff was delivered to the shop in mysterious packets, hanger bags and boxes, and went straight into the locked cupboards in the dressing room; and the elegant ‘business woman’s’ outfits delivered to her flat needed the shape to be provided by her new corset before they would fasten round her so were not yet unpacked either.
The exception was boots and shoes; well, not all of them, but those for daily wear. ‘Master’ had insisted that, from now on, she was always to be on high heels so as to get her used to being perched there on high. He even insisted that she get rid of all her old shoes, every last pair. As she dropped the last but one pair of trainers (Master had let her keep just one pair) into the bag to go to the charity shop, she felt, for a moment, as though a door back to her comfortable past was slamming shut. Now it was all or nothing.
“Well, things are under control for the moment, there’s nothing much planned so I think we must start on your re-charging routine.”
“Re-charging? What do you mean exactly?”
“As I told you, after a time in bondage you begin to radiate this strange power. It’s our only real secret weapon in this dog-eat-dog business, it’s vital that you keep it up.”
“Yes. ‘Master’, I have noticed.” Well she could hardly not have noticed after all. Although wearing normal business clothes she had been aware of those eyes, always those eyes, whenever she appeared in public. The strange ‘fluence’ she had first generated after an hour or two in tight bondage clung to her still. Now that she came to think, the effect had not been so marked this morning on the way in to the shop, it was fading. “So you are suggesting that I should get all done up now, just for practice?”
“Not exactly, I plan that we shall work up to that but, during the next few days, we will be busy, rushing about, making all the arrangements for the next set of ads and you can’t be spared to sit around ‘in durance vile’ as it were, so now is the moment when you stop being the smart business girl and become the super elegant lady of top management. Your first outfit for the new Janet awaits you.”
He led the way next door.
The changing room had been altered. Overnight they had had that firm of shop-fitters in! It was the smell of new plaster and paint that first struck her. Then she looked around carefully and spotted the new, tall bookcase against the wall beside the mirror. To Janet it didn’t look ‘right’ somehow. When she looked again, it was too thin. The books would have had to be no more than three inches deep to fit on those shelves.
“The Wealth of Nations.”
“Pardon?”
“The right hand end of the middle shelf, ‘The Wealth of Nations’, pull it.”
Janet tried to pull the end book of the middle shelf out, but there was a ‘click’ and the whole bookshelf swung out towards her. It was a disguised door giving onto to a narrow hallway, the hallway to the flat upstairs. To the right led to the bottom of the stairs that led to the apartment above, the other way to the door out into the street.
“Upstairs is your new apartment. Go and inspect it.”
Her ‘new apartment’? She almost ran up the stairs. ‘Master’ handed her the key and she entered into a smartly furnished lounge with comfortable chairs, coffee table and a large plasma TV fixed to the wall. It was carpeted and curtained, lace curtains to keep prying eyes in the building opposite from seeing in, plus most elegant full length, lined drapes. A lovely, modern sitting room except for the ‘special’ chair and the pole.
The special chair was mounted on castors, adjustable for height and had a seat that could be tipped forward to accept a lady too stiffly corseted to consider sitting properly with all sorts of straps and fitting made so that the lady could be secured in place with no chance of slipping off (plus other fittings whose use she didn’t understand, but which looked to be strong and certainly sinister).
The pole, from floor to ceiling, was to support a lady who was too restrained by her corset even to be accommodated by the chair. Standing, secured, on the footplate, she could be made safe from falling – or from doing practically anything else.
Janet couldn’t resist trying the chair. Master showed her how it could be adjusted for angle and height but, to her disappointment, didn’t fasten any of the straps or other devices. “The kitchen is through there.” He diverted her attention, reluctantly, to the business in hand.
The kitchen was small but well equipped, the fridge already stocked with most of the usual things. The bathroom was also small but neat.
“The bedroom is something unusual, I hope it doesn’t scare you too much.” There was the usual wardrobes (three of them) and dressing table with the three mirrors, in this case fitted with full theatrical lights. And the two wall mirrors at right angles for a lady to make a full inspection of herself.
It was the bed that told her that ‘Master’ really meant business.
The ‘bed’ had the usual head and footboards, nothing else was the same. Where the mattress should be there was a six by six timber, black painted and fitted with smoothly curved top board that appeared to have been cut to follow the curves of the back of an elegantly corseted lady and padded with buttoned black leather. Dangling down were straps, big, black straps by which she could be firmly secured. There were also other devices whose use she didn’t understand – yet.
Janet would have spent a lot of time exploring all this stuff which had appeared in her life without her for a moment suspecting what was going on, but ‘Master’ told her to strip off and don her first ‘business’ outfit. It was laid out for her on the dressing table and vanity bench. Starting with the same deep rubber pants as before, She was to discover that, once ‘in’ one of ‘Master’s designs, a trip to the toilet involved a major operation and not to be undertaken unaided, nor was it something to be attempted unaided in a public toilet. Although she was kept on a strict, ‘low residue’ diet, the rubber pants were a last line of defence against accidents. When fully dressed, a visit to the loo would be a major undertaking. Over them, she donned thick, black tights.
The corset was made in an expensive white figured broche lined with black satin. It was long and heavy with more than generous boning. A half cup corset which came well down over her hips, the busk extending from below her crotch to the top was easily two inches wide with a corresponding underbusk, while a set of substantial hooks and eyes extended to the bottom, which reached half way to her knees. At the sides it came up to her armpits and covered her shoulder blades at the back while broad shoulder straps from the high back were buckled under her armpits. Janet picked it up and was examining its massive heaviness almost fearfully when ‘Master’ called her over to sit on the only simple bentwood chair.
Before the chair was one of those combined stool and footrest devices you find in shoe shops. ‘Master’ sat astride it and helped her feet into black, calf length boots with five inch heels, lacing up the front with the lace’s bow covered by a wide strap at the top with a locking buckles at the sides. Once laced in, strapped and padlocked, her legs were rigid below the knees. “There are shaped steel ‘formers’ at the back, all the way down to the toes,” ‘Master’ explained. “They support your ankles and stop them from ‘going over’.”
Janet struggled to her feet, the heels were the highest she had ever worn for every-day and, once more, she stood with bent knees even if less so than last time. On the other hand, the boots fitted perfectly, the smooth leather holding her feet and legs securely but comfortably – but they were quite relentless. “Well, at least they fit perfectly.”
“As well they should. That is why we went to the expense of having lasts made to the exact size of your feet. There are several lasts, each for boots with higher and higher heels.”
“Higher and higher? Just how high do you intend me to have to wear?”
“Have you heard of ballet boots?”
“Ballet boots, you mean like ballerinas on ‘full point’? Oh good grief! I could never wear anything like that!”
“You will. It will take a bit of training, but you will.”
“Never!”
“Oh yes, you’ll see. But first you must get into your new corset.”
“Oh Lord, here we go again!” She felt its massive rigidity the moment he wrapped it round her. The busk and hooks clipped shut and she turned her back on Master, expecting to be laced, but he first pulled the broad shoulder straps over and buckled her securely into the heavy, under arm buckles, pulling her shoulders back immovably.
It took him some time to lace her in. He did it by stages, methodically working the laces first up from the bottom then down from the top, giving her waist an extra pull between each stage. From the bottom up was not too bad, having her thighs and hips compressed was quite pleasant. It was the top part that took her breath away, quite literally took her breath away. Not only did it squeeze the breath out of her rib cage, but the relentless tightening drew the top part on the corset in – that which covered her shoulder blades – which drew the buckled bands securing her shoulder straps back till she felt that her shoulder blades must touch. It made her stand proudly erect, of course, but, combined with her rigidly immured rib cage, took away almost the last gasp of her breath.
She turned stiffly to face ‘Master’. “Oh my Lord, ‘Master’, I shall suffocate in this!”
Master took not the slightest notice. “Turn round and kneel on the carpet.”
Dumbly, she did as she was told. Then he helped her to lay down on her face. ‘Thank heavens that he has chosen a very thick piled white carpet, it could have been intended for a lady at the point of suffocation to lay herself down on … … but then, maybe he had that idea in mind all along.’ Laying there she felt helpless.
Master put his foot on the small of her back and took hold of her laces once more. Slowly, inexorably, the laces did his bidding. Her waist shrank relentlessly, driving the contents of her abdomen up into her rib cage and reducing even further her breathing space. Steadily he worked the laces tighter till the edges were pressed together from top to bottom. She felt him tie the laces at last. Then he cut the tails off and put the inevitable little drop of superglue on the knot. She was sealed in! She felt as though a prison gate had clanged shut behind her.
This was quite impossible! She must call a halt. ‘This really was too much! OK, I give in, I’m beaten.’ She screamed, “This is too tight! I can’t stand any more! Let me out at once!” – Well, that was what she intended but ‘This is too much …’ took all her breath and she had to gasp another little lungful before she could get the ‘Let me out at once …’ bit out and even that it was only a breathless croak and not the ear shattering scream she had intended.
Master might not even have heard. Silently he left the room to return a moment later carrying a cup of coffee. “I think we should let you have a few minutes to settle into your corset.” He started to open the morning mail. Apparently Janet, laying there in the carpet had been dismissed from his mind.
“Please, Master … …“ She tried a little wriggle to try and ease the relentless pressure, but the corset just moved with her body. She was rigidly encased from the thighs up to her shoulders, she realised; her corset and body were, to all intents, one rigid piece.
Master took not the slightest notice of her croaked pleading. Desperately, she forced her hands down on the carpet and just, only just, managed to force herself back to the kneeling position. Kneeling she felt even worse; not much worse but worse. Her thighs tingled with ‘pins and needles’ from restricted blood flow, desperately she felt behind her to find the knot in her laces but of course there was no tempting bow, she felt the hard crisp knot where Master’s superglue had set her into immovability.
Without looking up from his reading, Master said, “You will remember that you begged me to take no notice of your moaning and complaining, that’s what I’m doing, so do be quiet.”
“Yes Master, if you say so, – gasp – but I really don’t think I can – gasp – bear this for much longer.”
“Oh, you will. There’s nothing you can do about it, is there?”
“No, Master.” She sank into miserable silence. She tried to sink back onto her haunches, she had to do something to ease herself, after all.
It was a disaster. Her rigid front busk and underbusk yielded no in the slightest. Her front was a flat, straight ‘up and down’ from between her breasts to the bottom of the long corset clamped against the thick steel underbusk. For a moment, she struggled to keep her balance, her arms wind-milling desperately in thin air, then she tumbled over onto her side with a bump. Laying helpless, she realised that Master had foreseen such an eventuality. She was to discover that the thick piled white carpet had been laid over several layers of foam underlay. She had landed with a bump, yes, but her fall had been cushioned.
“Silly girl!” Master didn’t even look up from his work.
Janet straightened her knees and managed to roll over onto her back. By looking over her head, she could see master’s face, upside down of course and totally immersed in his reading. Now she was down, there was no way she could get back even to her kneeling position. For a time she just lay there.
“Master, these stays – gasp – really are killing me … … “
Master ignored her. She lay there in miserable silence.
“Master, please – gasp – I just can’t take much more – please! – gasp – oh please!”
“Janet, if you don’t shut up I will have to do something about you! Just be quiet! A man has work to do.”
She couldn’t. She just had to do something. It couldn’t go on like this! “Master, for – gasp – heaven’s sake!” She wriggled desperately, which did her not the slightest good. “Oh, you beast! – gasp – You rotten sadistic – gasp – beast!!!”
Master made a marginal note on the letter he was reading and dropped it back into the file. “Oh dear, a man’s work is never done when there is a women in his life! Very well then, if it must be done.” He put the folder aside and, getting up from his chair, took her under her armpits and lifted her to her feet.
She wasn’t on her feet, she was perched once more on those high heeled boots, laced and locked. She tottered about, struggling to keep he balance – which made that damned corset’s grip even more apparent to her dizzy mind. She glared resentfully at Master’s back as he rummaged in a drawer. What the hell was he up to now?
“Turn round!”
Dumbly she turned her back, hoping that he was going to release those merciless laces. No such luck! “Arms behind your!”
She felt the single glove of an armbinder slide up her forearms and he passed the straps over her shoulders and buckled them firmly in place. “Hey! Don’t I – gasp – have enough to – gasp – cope with already!!”
It made not the slightest difference although, since her shoulders were already braced hard back, the laces slid in quickly. Neither did it add much add to her discomfort. The laces were just drawn closed till her elbows were pressed together and the wrist and elbow straps pulled tight.
Losing her temper at last, she swung her body from side to side in her furry, nearly losing her balance on her still-bent knees. Master caught her and steadied her till she regained her balance. “Careful! You mustn’t do unladylike things like that.”
“Damn you!” – gasp – “Damn you to hell and back!! – gasp – gasp – gasp.”
“Such language! That must also stop!” He picked up yet another device. “Open your mouth!”
Damned if I will! – gasp – .”
“Oh you will!” Master took one of those rubber nose clips that divers use and, in a moment, her nostrils were sealed. Looking down her nose, she saw that he had a device of the same fabric as her corset, black satin lined and boned as stiffly and with laces dangling down. He pressed the top part over her mouth, shutting off her breath till she just had to open it for some air and that let the rubber tongue depressor slide in. He let her struggle for breath for a few moments before he removed the nose clip and she could breath, more or less, once more.
As neck corsets go, it certainly meant business. Up to her nostrils at the front, it rose to under her ears at the sides and half way up her head at the back. Spreading out over her shoulders, its wide front steel extended from her nose down to her stay busk, while the back covered her shoulder blades and had a horizontal row of eyelets. Knowing that she was beaten, she stood passively while he threaded the laces up the back and felt her head being pushed up and her shoulders down as he tightened it around her stretched out neck. Her jaws were now clamped tightly together, biting the rubber tongue piece.
Turning her round once more, he pressed the end of the front steel up and clicked the forked end over her stay busk, securing it with a little, built in, clasp, This forced her neck and head up and back, making her stand head high. Not satisfied with this, he threaded a lace through the horizontal eyelets at the back and the corresponding eyelets along the top of her stays. Relentlessly he drew the laces closed till her neck corset and stays were one. Once more he tied a hard knot and put on the drop of superglue. Then he unbuckled her shoulder straps for a moment. I gave her no relief, as the armbinder locked her shoulder back, but it enabled him to slip the straps from under the wide bottom of the neck corset and re-buckle them over the top. Drawing them through the buckles with all his strength once more, he thus pinned the sides of the neck corset down onto her shoulders and added additional sideways stiffness to the boned and laced front and back. Putting his hand on top of her head, he rocked her from and to; from her knees up, she was as stiff as a flag pole.
He hadn’t quite done yet. He screwed a rubber bulb into the valve fitting connected to the rubber tongue depressor and squeezed and the rubber inflated in her mouth, driving her tongue down and pressing against the roof of her mouth, watching her face intently, he gave it a second squeeze, watching her eyes open wide as she felt her mouth filled to overflowing. “That will stop you complaining.”
“Mmmm! … Sniff …. Mmmm!
“Not full enough, you say?”
Desperately, she shook he body from side to side. ’No!’ she wanted to scream but only managed another “Mmmmmm!!!”
“Oh I think so. Just think of it as a little reminder not to complain.” Slowly he squeezed the bulb once more. There was no fighting it, she felt her jaw driven down against the chin piece of her neck corset which yielded not at all. Likewise, the pressure against the roof of her mouth couldn’t force her head up and back as the back ‘cup’ of the neck corset prevented it. It just made her head a little more rigid. Master felt her bulging cheeks, then gave one last little squeeze. “There, that should do nicely.”
“Mmmmmm! … sniff ….Mmmmmm!”
“Quite so.” He unscrewed the bulb and screwed in the cap screw, giving it one last little tighten with a coin in the screw slot. “There, that shouldn’t need topping up for weeks and weeks.” He went and opened two of the wardrobe doors, one fully to reveal the full-length mirror, the other at right angles. “Come here.”
She stood and glared at the Janet who stood before her in the mirrors, glaring back in furious temper. As she stood there, ‘Master’ slipped the hobble straps around her knees, this time pulling the connecting strap tight. “You won’t need these straps when you are in the full length corset of course but, for the moment, they are just a useful precaution.”
‘A precaution against just what?’ Janet asked herself bitterly. ‘In case I make a bold leap for freedom? This lot would hold a mad gorilla, what chance does a girl stand?’
‘Master’ stood back and admired his handy-work. “My, but you look wonderful! Your posture just couldn’t be better. I wasn’t going to put you into that neck corset just yet, the corsetiere said it was for more advanced training, but I put it on to stop your complaining. I’m glad I did now, it does wonders for you. Likewise, the armbinder, but you really look the business, standing there without arms!”
‘Master’ glanced at his watch. “Oh Lord! I have a meeting with the MD of the firm who provide the camera crew. Not to worry, I’ll be back in time to take you to lunch.” With a last, friendly slap on her corseted bum and a cheery smile, he left her to herself. His footsteps descended the stairs and, hobbling over to the window, she watched him back his car out of the parking and drive off.
Chapter Ten
Janet stood for a long time, staring at herself in the mirrors. She went for a little hobble around the room but arrived before the bigger wall mirrors, there was the same Janet in both sets of mirrors, staring back mockingly at her. There really wasn’t anything else to do.
‘Nobody is to blame,’ she told herself, ‘I asked ‘Master’ to take no notice of all my silly pleading and that’s just what he has done. Good grief, but this is tight!’ She tried to bend – nothing happened but her whole body swayed a little. She turned half right. Looking out of the corner of her eye, she had a good view of her back in the second mirror, of the armbinder nestling close against the lacings of her corset. Both sets of laces were tight closed and secure, as was the long lacing of the neck corset. The straps of the shoulder brace were so wide, as they wrapped round her shoulders and clamped the sides of the neck corset firmly down, that they left not the slightest bulge of flesh while the buckles were snug against her sides with the tails of the straps tucked neatly away.
Apart from her black boots and the little of her black tights that were visible under her stockings and suspenders, she was nothing but a life sized statue in white figured broche; an extremely elegant, smooth, perfectly groomed statue it was true, but a statue none the less. She tottered round another circuit of the room, realising as she approached the mirror once more, that the steel stiffeners in her boots, making her ankles rigid and saving her from any chance of her ankle going over and injuring her on unaccustomed high heels, also gave her a strange ‘peg-leg’ gate which, added to her six inch steps, made her look like one of those Victorian clockwork walking dolls. For a moment, she was irritated by this new discovery but then she realised that, somehow, it went with this new Janet, it was rather fun. She went for another tour of the bedroom, examining this little toddling doll from front, side and back. She really did look rather sweet.
For how long she played at being a Victorian automata she had no idea. If you asked her, she would have said that it was just about all she could do, just a way of passing the time. Gradually, several things forced their way into her consciousness.
She should have expected it, of course, but her tendons had stretched and her knees were now straight. Now the little peg legged Victorian Doll also managed an undeniable elegance.
The second thing was that, while she was as tightly laced as ever, rigidly encased, squeezed to the point of suffocation, efficiently gagged till the only sounds she could make were ‘Mmmmmm’ and ‘sniff’ and effectively without arms, she was actually rather proud of herself and pride feels no pain.
All this brought on the third thing. Gradually it dawned on her that she was actually enjoying herself! Yes, as a modern liberated female, she should be ashamed of herself; letting herself be done up like this. Yes, it was all agonisingly tight and stiff to the point of suffocation – but all that was for the world outside to criticize. In here it was Janet’s world, her ‘Dreamland’.
The door had been left open, so she wandered into the sitting room, not for any reason, just for a change of scene. She walked round the pole, casting a professional eye over the various straps and fitting intended to restrain a woman so restricted as not to be safe left unsupported; she felt rather superior about that. She was extremely restricted, nobody could doubt that, rigidly encased, strictly hobbled and perched on two little pegs of legs which made her balance precarious and, if she did fall, made sure that she would go down stiff as a broomstick, yet ‘Master’, knowing all this, had trusted her with his confidence that she would cope!
Suddenly full of confidence, she tottered back into the bedroom. Well, if she did, after all, go for a pearler, it was better to be standing on that thick, springy white carpet. That was nothing but common prudence. Once more she wriggled, not with the slightest hope of escape, but to feel her restraint. It was tight, it was agony and her waist felt as though red hot bands were gripping her, but wasn’t all this something that women took in their stride? It was part of women’s birth-right, they were ‘born to pain as the sparks fly upwards’, or so she had been told.
She stood once more before the mirror, admiring her prefect posture, her long, swan neck and smoothly rounded hips, her bulging bust emphasising that straining, boned white broche that contained her wasp waist. Standing there she was suddenly glad that her arms were hidden away in the armbinder – arms fluffing around distracted attention for her perfect figure. From the back, the armbinder added a certain elegance, a costume accessory, without detracting from the superb shape. All little peg-top dolls should be kept in armbinders.
The whole thing began to meld into that wonderful Dreamland, the restriction, the pain, the little peg-top gait. ‘Master’, out there, coping with the boring, mundane business of running ‘Janet and Master’ had done all the work;, he had planned all this and had admired the handiwork that was this Janet, but he was out there, out in the boring, everyday world while she who had crossed the pain barrier was here to enjoy her ‘Dreamland’. She began to hope that his meeting would be a long one.
What she didn’t realise was that the mysterious force that radiates from some beautiful women was pouring into her, pouring in at a terrific rate.
* * * * *
“Ah, there you are. I thought I’d find you here.” ‘Master’s’ voice broke into her dream. He had come in quietly and was standing in the doorway, frankly admiring her.
‘Fat chance I have of being anywhere else!’ She turned to face him, ready with some witty repost but realised that she could only make a “Mmmmmm.”
“Well, you look as wonderful as ever. Are you OK in there?”
‘Of course not you ninny! I’m in absolute purgatory!’ Janet was about to glare at ‘Master’ for mocking her like that but, just in time, she realised that she also could play that game. She strained and just managed to nod her whole body and made a “Mmmmmm – Mmmmmm” of agreement coupled with a wicked wink. ‘There! Two can play at that game!’
It did in fact pull ‘Master’ up, all standing. He stared at her as though he couldn’t believe his eyes.
Hey! She really was in charge! She managed a disdainful little sniff and, turning her back, did her peg-legged walk over to the window, giving him time to admire her neatly, if complicatedly, laced rear view before half turning to give him another wicked wink then stood and studied, down her up-tilted nose, the roofs of the cars parked below.
‘Master’ couldn’t believe his eyes. He had hurried back from his meeting, expecting to find a tearful girl, reduced to as near hysterics as was possible when done up like that. All through his meeting he had worried about her, it had been an awful chance to take, leaving her like that. Now he found her, laced, strapped and locked, exactly as he had left her several hours before but she had changed, she was using her bondage almost to tease him. It was acting. As women had found over the ages, restriction can act as a powerful ‘sex amplifier’. She was helpless, totally dependent on him and yet, … and yet, … ‘oh God!’ He realised that, in some childish way, she scared him!
He almost panicked. “If you’re ok, I must just make a couple of ‘phone calls.” He stared hard at her, almost hoping for some sign of distress so that he could rush to her aid.
Janet turned slowly to face him, made another stiff, full bodied nod and “Mmm, Sniff Mmmmmm. ‘Take you time, ‘Master’, it’s wonderful to know I have the upper hand!’ He turned and went slowly down stairs.
He did make some ‘phone calls, she could hear him, but he must have then sat in silence, wondering just what had hit him. Obviously he couldn’t run away from the problem, he had to go and release her, but he had not the slightest idea how he would cope with this new Janet. She was a Pandora’s Box in waiting. Once he had cut her free of her lacings the box would have flown open and unimaginable furies of pure sexual power would fly out. Heavens alive! He was just a man and men have no defences against such puissance!
Slowly, he climbed the stairs. He felt as did those intrepid EOD operators must feel as they set of on that lonely walk towards a booby trapped bomb. He was very much on his own now.
She was still standing by the window with her back to him. She had heard his footsteps on the stairs but she ignored it. He stood by the door for over a minute, admiring her from behind, before he managed to speak. “Have you had enough now? Are you asking to be let out?” There was almost a note of pleading in his voice.
She turned slowly to face him. Slowly and deliberately she swung her body from side to side; an unmistakable ‘No!’ Then she turned back to look out of the window once more. ‘If this neck corset, covering half my face, didn’t mask me, I should have given the game away by looking smug as the cat who’s stolen the cream!’
Silence once more filled the room. It went on for so long that she really began to wonder if he had, after all, taken her at her word and tiptoed away. ‘Just like a man!’ She raged. ‘He should have known better than to take me at my word!’ It was a dangerous game she was playing, she realised. There was no ‘Plan B’. She had to win or stay done up like this for heaven knows how long. She began to wonder just what that would be like.
“Come on, Janet, you must have had enough by now.” His voice had lost all its male tone of superiority.
She turned, slowly and deliberately, to face him examining his face carefully. With slow, measured little steps she advanced half way across the room, her boots making no sound on the thick, padded carpet. In the middle of the room she stopped and deliberately swung from side to side once more. ‘No, I’m not going to give in. You wanted me done up like this, you knotted my laces and glued the knots to make me helpless. Now I’m helpless – as you intended – and my power has charged – as you intended – now let this monster loose if you dare!’
“Good Lord! You must be suffocating in there!”
She swayed her body, nodding to and fro in agreement. ‘Yes, ‘Master’.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have done you up quite so tightly.”
She swung from side to side in negation. ‘No ‘Master’, ‘All right, at first I could have murdered you for putting me through all this, but women have this marvellous resilience which I’ve only just discovered. It’s grinding agony perhaps, but I’m enjoying it more that you can ever imagine. It’s you that has the problem now.’
He stood for a long time, admiring her in spite of his worry. “You really are very, very beautiful.”
That was worth a lot!
He stood there against the wall, regarding his feet and wondering what on earth he was to do. Yes, he could take his scissors and cut her free, there was no way she could stop him, but she was saying ‘no’. It was unbelievable but to cut her free now would be in some way to violate her and she was a very private person in there. To do so was unthinkable.
Janet changed the whole game in an instant. Without his realising, she had been very slowly taking little silent, per-legged steps towards him, so slowly that, staring at the ground in perplexity, he didn’t realise what she was doing, till she was just a foot or so in front of him. Then she tipped herself forward till she fell gently against his chest.
Chapter Eleven
In the whole history of mankind there can’t have been more than a handful of men who had found themselves pinned to a wall by a rigidly corseted, pinioned, neck corseted girl, her bulging chest resting on his, her nose pressed against the side of his and her eyes gazing mockingly into his from a few inches. A mere handful if that, if ever.
As an adolescent boy he had wondered, as all young boys do at that age, about these mysterious things called girls who had, about then, suddenly appeared in their lives. Many and weird were those fantasies they had composed, but never in the extremes of their imagination had any of them dreamed of this!
‘Master’ wrapped his arms round her – well there was nothing else he could do, they went there of their own volition. The obvious next move, of course, would have been to kiss her, but there was no mileage in kissing the front steel of her neck corset.
Janet looked into his eyes with an unmistakeable glint of mischief, then she slowly looked down cross eyed to the tip of her nose, which she impudently wrinkled at him. Then she slowly closed her eyes, shutting him out.
“You are taking an unfair advantage of a poor impressionable man.” There was an unmistakeable huskiness in ‘Master’s’ voice now.
Janet rocked slightly to and fro in agreement. ‘Indeed I am. Normally this would be a very dangerous game for a girl to play, helpless and alone with an extremely aroused man, but there’s not a thing he can do about it.’ She took several tiny steps forward till their bodies were pressed together, then wriggled from side to side.
If ‘Master’ had had an ejector seat he would have fired it and shot himself out of this situation. He had been in tight corners before, he had fought his way out of some very sticky business deals that had gone horribly wrong and rejoiced in the battle, but this was worse than the terrible consequences his mother had threatened him with were he ever to play with matches. He had left her ‘in durance vile’ intending that she should have time to build up this mysterious charge and, Ye Gods! Had she just!
Desperation concentrates the mind wonderfully and he thought furiously – it was either that or blind panic. Gathering himself together suddenly, he picked her up bodily, kissed her on the forehead, and carried her to the middle of the room, setting her down carefully. From a drawer he took a couple of straps and buckled her ankles together and passed one under her instep, buckling it tight, pinning her feet together.
To some extent he had turned the tables on her. Now she was fixed immovably to the spot and standing upright with difficulty on those perilously high heels. She couldn’t now approach him stealthily to try the same trick again, her only possible trick. On the other hand, he still had the problem of undoing her without releasing so much pure animal energy as to make Vesuvius look like no more than a heap of smouldering rubbish.
All he had achieved was to buy himself time and not too much of that either. Looking at her, (whew, but she was beautiful!), it was obvious from the smoky, level eyed way she watched him that she was still very much ‘on charge’. To stop that blue eyed look from boring into his very soul, he walked around behind her. He could safely admire her lovely back view but, for the front part of the circuit, he forced himself to look steadfastly at the ground.
“If I let you loose, will you promise to behave?”
Gently she swayed from side to side. ‘No, ‘Master’, where’s the fun in that?’
Before the silence between them became too obvious, ‘Master’ shrugged, produced a coin from his pocket, and undid the cap screw. With a matchstick, he pressed the little valve stem and the air hissed out of the inflated gag. While Janet was still working her tongue about and swallowing, he took the scissors tool on his Swiss army knife and clipped her neck corset free of her corset and then snipped the lacing up the back. It was slipped away, leaving her to roll her head around, getting the kinks from her neck.
“Thank you, ‘Master’.
“Don’t thank me, I had to get you to talk to me some time; and remember, if you don’t behave it can go back on just as easily, I’ve got a big box of spare laces and plenty of superglue.”
“I understand, ‘Master’. You can do as you will with me, I know.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “I shall look forward to it!”
Oooo! The impudence of the girl! ‘Master’ almost took her at her word. He picked up the discarded neck corset and picked off all the cut ends of the laces, generally tidying it up.
‘Oh Lord! I think he may do it too!’
“No, I’ll leave that pleasure for later.” He changed his mind and put it and it’s inflator bulb back in the drawer. “First I have to fill you in on the result of my meeting this morning with the Camera Crew suppliers.” He strolled over to the easy chair and sat down, crossing his legs comfortably.
Janet nearly blew her top. “If you think I’m going to stand here done up like this while you rabbit on about some silly meeting then you’ve got another think coming!” She struggled to somehow twist round away from him but the straps at ankle and instep gave her effectively just one little foot to stand on and she very nearly lost her balance.
In the silence that followed, they both realised that he had turned the tables and now had the ascendancy in their little battle of the sexes. She almost put out her tongue at him, then thought better of it. She really did want to know what was going on in their business and, if she taunted him too much, she could easily end up back in the neck corset and communication would be at an end. She gave up. “OK, ‘Master’, you win.”
“No, we both win, we always will. It’s what makes the so called ‘Battle of the Sexes’ such fun, or it is when we play it like this.” He glanced at his watch. “I say, it’s lunch time. Shall we try that new Italian Restaurant down the street?”
“I suppose that you are going to push me down there on a sack barrow and feed me with a fork?”
“I suppose I can if you really want me to. I was however thinking of something more conventional.” He unstrapped her feet and released her from the armbinder. He opened one of the wardrobes and took out a black, calf length hobble skirt. “Can you bear to stay in that corset? Otherwise I can find something else.”
“If I tell you that these damned stays are eating me alive – which is true – you are under instructions to ignore my moaning. You have to make all those decisions now, my Lord. On the other hand, after all the effort you have put into getting me in here, it would be a pity to cut a perfectly good lace and I would respectably suggest that I be made to stay done up.”
This skirt required only a slightly padded slip and a matching camisole. He helped her into the skirt and zipped her up. At the top she wore a smooth black high necked pullover extending half way down her thighs. She tottered over to the mirror and was disappointed with what she saw. She was still perched on the rigid ankle boots and the hobble strap made sure that she could never snap the cloth of her tight skirt, but the waist she had suffered so much to get into was hardly obvious under the slack pullover. ‘Master’ seemed to agree. He put a four inch wide leather belt round her and buckled the silver buckle firmly.
Janet examined the buckle in the mirror. “That is a locking buckle is it not?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Then lock it for heaven’s sake!”
“As you wish.” ‘Master’ snapped one of the little silver padlocks on. “Is there anything else that my lady requires before we leave?”
Janet studied her reflection. “I think I will have the silver bracelets I wore before – oh, and I think the black steel collar would complete the ensemble.”
“As my lady wishes.”
‘Master’ helped her into the white duffle coat which, to his surprise, she insisted on leaving unfastened to reveal glimpses of her lithe shape underneath, and, fitted her with a smart black French-style beret; they set off along the busy, lunchtime street. They were walking into the wind and her duffle coat blew back behind her. For a moment she tried to grab the edges and keep it wrapped around her then thought ‘No, let the world see me’ and let it fly.
Some people stared, some with very English reserve, looked the other way. Some builders, standing on the scaffolding of some new shops opposite shouted and whistled. ‘Master’ glared at them – which only spurred them on. Janet of course pretended not to have heard. They turned into the little Italian restaurant.
They shed their outdoor coats and perched on high stools at the counter; Janet studied the menu, hardly daring to look up. ‘Oh grief! Every eye in the restaurant was on me! Oh well, perched up here at least they all got a good view.’ Then she thought, ‘No! I’m “The Girl Who Wants to Tell All”. Soon I shall be on every TV screen in the country, no going back now.’ She put down the menu, swivelled her stool round to slip lightly onto the floor, picked up her handbag and set off towards the ladies’ room at the back of the restaurant. In her hobble there was no way she could hurry. She didn’t intend to hurry. Straight and elegant, she did her little peg-doll walk, smoothly and at her own speed, as though she did this as a matter of course, every day of her life.
As she passed one table full of business people she heard a male voice mutter “Cor!” Stopping for an moment with one foot as far behind the other as it would go, she turned to him, did a little bob that might have been a curtsy, smiled and said “Thank you, Sir,” then proceeded though the door of the powder room which swung shut behind her. A lot of people heard that little exchange, one woman particularly was incensed.
In the ladies’ room, Janet opened her bag and, examining herself in the mirror, made a few small (and quite unnecessary) adjustments to her makeup, filling in time till it was reasonable to return to the bar.
A rather overweight, middle aged lady burst in with the light of battle in her eyes. She stood for a moment, regarding Janet’s back critically. “I really must tell you, dear, what a completely ridiculous sight you have made of yourself! I wonder you have the nerve to show yourself in public got up like that.”
Janet slowly turned and looked this overblown specimen of near humanity over from head to foot. “Really? How interesting.” Quite composed, she picked up her handbag and turned to the door.
The woman was not to be so easily dismissed. “Yes, you should be ashamed of yourself. You must know that the whole world is laughing at you.”
Janet shook her head thoughtfully, “I really can’t say that I have heard all this laughter you speak of but, if there is some, I find it is ‘with me’, not ‘at me.’” She gave her a gracious smile. “After all, in this cruel world it is ugly people who are laughed at.” She turned with the door handle in her hand. “But then, from experience, you must be more than aware of that.” The door swung closed behind her.
Looking around the room, Janet saw one table populated solely by women. A table of those ‘Ladies who Lunch’; they were all turned to watch her. One chair was pushed back and empty. They were no doubt waiting for their colleague to bring them a report of the skirmish. Janet gave them a smile, rolled her eyes to look over her shoulder as far as the steel collar would permit and gave a little shrug. It raised a little ripple of male laughter.
“Janet, you handled that beautifully.”
“Thank you ‘Master.’” Janet jacked herself back onto the stool. The helping hand from ‘Master’ lifting her arm now seemed natural, something that an elegant lady on display had a right to expect.
“Don’t you realise that you have captivated the whole room?” he murmured. “At first they didn’t know quite what to make of you, some of them were even sniggering to each other about you, but now, after that little walk, you have invited them to join you in enjoying the situation. Lord above, but you are powerful!”
“Yes! Isn’t it marvellous?” She turned to give her order to the waiter, sipped her drink, glanced around at a whole room that appeared, sotto voce, to be discussing her. A few days ago she would have been shattered, probably have broken down in embarrassed tears. Now, this Janet, fully charged with this mysterious force dredged up from deep in the primeval sisterhood of womankind, this Janet was in full control of her destiny.
She remembered a school chemistry teacher demonstrating that a little pile of gunpowder lit with a spill just flamed and spat, leaving only smoke and ash. It was when the powder was confined, in the shot hole drilled into rock, that it blew the very earth apart.
She wriggled a little to feel the confinement of her stays, she rolled her head to feel the restriction of her steel collar, shook her arm slightly to hear the padlocks securing her obediently rattle for her, trying to flex her ankles in the rigid confines of her boots. OK, so she was confined, the power was locked up in her but, unlike gunpowder (one bang and it was all over) her power was able to flow almost without limit.
The waiter brought their lunch. Toying with a seafood salad, she asked ‘Master’ what had happened at the meeting this morning?” It was one thing being the centre of ever gaze, being a sexual atom bomb in waiting, but a girl has work to do.
Chapter Twelve
‘Master’ explained the new situation. “I had a call from our client last evening. As you know, they have set a date for the launch of the new product and we have planned everything about that date. We agreed to this date with the TV companies for the schedule for the beginning of the TV ads. Because we made arrangements with the TV company well in advance, we got an advantageous rate for the showings.”
“Yes, you explained all that. What’s gone wrong?”
“Nothing has gone wrong with those arrangements, they are set in stone, but, well, the client, bless their little cotton socks, now tells me that, due to production delays, they will not be ready for the big launch for an additional few weeks. If we don’t use the TV slots we have booked then we lose them without compensation and also get up the noses of the TV people, as we will give them a lot of additional work. Janet and Master can’t afford to get that sort of reputation at the very beginning”
“Can’t they just stretch the existing ads, show them a few more times?”
“They could, but, as we have it planned at the moment, the pace of it, the way you get increasingly restricted, ad after ad, is what gives the whole series its ‘punch’. The client can’t bear the thought of spoiling it. He is more or less resigned to just wasting the first few weeks of TV time but that, spread over most of the TV channels, runs into a small fortune. They really are deep in the dumps, almost thinking of jumping in the river.”
Janet was as cheesed off as ‘Master’. Nobody likes to have their carefully worked out scheme ruined like that. “You could say that that is their problem entirely. We have done everything they asked for, planned it just as they wanted. It’s they who have mucked it up. What do they expect us to do, then? Wipe away their little tears, pat them on the head and give them a sweetie?”
‘Master’ smiled and shook his head. “Don’t think their marketing people aren’t as upset as you are. They have offered us the very earth to dig them out of the hole they’ve got themselves into.”
“How much?”
“They say we can more or less write our own cheque.”
“In that case, there is very little I won’t do to help them! Obviously, what we have to do is to film a few more ads to fill in the missing weeks.”
“Do you think you can bear it? It will have to get even more restricting by the time we’ve done.”
“Oh, I can bear it, if only to show those idiots who mucked it up, that you just can’t do that to ‘Janet and ‘Master.’ It would mess up the reputation of the firm completely. Our first big commission just has to ‘go’ or we are rubbish for ever. Besides,” She gave ‘Master’ a conspiratorial look from the corner of her eye, “I think I’m getting to rather like it!”
“Oh dear.”
“Why ‘oh dear’, ‘Master’?”
“Well, doing you up is terrific fun but, when you’ve been done up for a time, you grow so powerful that you terrify me; when I let you lose, I feel as though you will spring at me and eat me alive, like one of those carnivorous spiders that eat their mates..”
“I feel that way too! But never fear, I will do my best to restrain my animal instincts.”
“I’m most relieved.” He glanced at his watch. “Oh dear, I think it’s time to get back to the office and put our thinking caps on, we really do have to come up with something for extra ads and in double quick time.”
While ‘Master’ paid the bill, she gathered her coat and folded it neatly. ‘Master’ folded it over his arm and they stepped out onto the pavement. The sight of ‘the full Janet’ stirred the builders on the scaffolding opposite to new heights of whistling and shouting. Janet raised a silver braceletted arm and wagged an admonitory finger. It didn’t stop the noise but, in some way, it changed into a friendly admiration. There are no text books to tell a lady in bondage how to behave, you have to ‘learn on the job’, but Janet had perforce to learn and learn quickly.
She was giving it her full attention.
“You know, ‘Master’, I don’t have a thinking cap, but that outfit in which I spent this morning did concentrate my mind wonderfully.”
“Did it indeed? In that case I think I will put you back into it straight away, we can’t waste a moment.”
“’Master’ will do as he pleases, of course.” (As I had hoped, she thought smugly).
They had had the builders in again. To get down from the flat in her tight hobble, ‘Master’ had had to practically carry her down the stairs. Laced in her boots with their ridged ankles and hobble, the smallest step was a complete ‘no-no’. Even the low step up from the pavement into the shop required her to skew round and jack herself up sideways with one hand on the corner of the shop window. Now the installers had just finished putting in one of those stair lifts that enabled old people to sit and be lifted up stairs. Janet couldn’t safely sit on the chair but, with the seat raised, she could stand on the foot rest and be carried majestically to the top.
The ‘incoming messages’ light on the ‘phone was flashing and ‘Master’ began to go through the messages, while Janet just stood and waited. Her locked belt, collar and bracelets prevented her from stripping off, ready for his attention. While she waited for ‘Master’s’ attention, she realised from his end of the various conversations that he had been busy planning a whole lot of things that she didn’t know about. She was intrigued.
Putting down the ‘phone, he examined Janet carefully and helped out of her clothes. He unlocked her various padlocks and set her free, turned her round and checked that her corsets were still laced closed.
They were.
“That’s good – but we must get you a smaller pair to keep up your progress.”
“As ‘Master’ wishes.” (She shivered slightly at the thought.)
“Indeed. Arms behind you.” The armbinder slipped into place and was strapped and laced once more. Once more, he knotted the laces, cut off the tails and glued the knot.
“Why do you do that, ‘Master’? Once I’m all laced up in this thing there’s no way I can ever get free, knotted and glued or not.”
“True, but it adds to the picture and you mustn’t deny a man his little pleasures.”
“No, ‘Master’.”
“Come with me.” He walked her into the sitting room. ‘Oh Lord! He’s going to strap me to that pole.’ She thought, but no. ‘Master’ drew what looked like a long ironing board from the corner and set it up. It was set up nearly vertically, padded side up. Janet had seen pictures for those things, called ‘leaning boards’ for actresses whose costumes didn’t allow them to sit. “This will relieve you of any fear of falling over.”
Janet stepped awkwardly onto the foot board and let herself fall forward onto the padded surface. It was surprisingly comfortable. Master removed the adjustable forehead rest and stood before her. “Are you OK there?”
Janet paused to examine her predicament. “Well, ‘Master’, if you discount the fact that these boots are murder, this corset is eating into my flesh like acid and, with my shoulders strapped back like this, I can hardly breath then, yes, I’m perfectly comfortable.”
“Splendid. Open your mouth!” Janet knew it was no use resisting but she did all the same. Somehow it added to the fun. Knowing what was coming, she took a number of quick breaths till her clipped nose and the mouth part of the collar, having shut off her breath, eventually forced her to open her mouth, of course, to let the rubber tongue depressor in, but the little struggle was fun. Wrapping the ridged collar round her, he stepped behind and threaded the laces, drawing them tight as he went and then going over them to make sure that the edges were pressed tightly together.
He lifted her off the leaning board to get at her front steel and clipped it back onto her stay busk, then lowered her back while he threaded the laces, which pulled the collar back onto the top of her stays. He put his hand on her head and rocked her a little to test how rigid she was (completely rigid) and, satisfied with his handiwork, he re-threaded her corset shoulder straps over the sides of the neck corset to further stiffen her neck; he then strapped her ankles and insteps once more, and put another strap right round the leaner, fixing her ankles to it. Further straps round her knees and bum made his intentions quite clear to her, she was going to be really fixed. The last strap, threaded under her armbinder, strapped her waist firmly to the board.
He walked round in front of her once more. Holding up the wretched inflator bulb he asked, “One squeeze or two, Madam?”
“Mmmmmm!” Which Janet meant to mean ‘None if you please!’ but which ‘Master’ interpreted quite differently. He screwed the bulb into place and, watching her intently, slowly squeezed it till the last little bit of air was forced into the inflating tongue depressor.
“One.” He said as the relaxed bulb refilled.
“Mmmmm!” Which was meant to mean ‘Enough’!
“That was fun, wasn’t it!” Relentlessly, slowly, he gave the bulb the second squeeze. Her mouth filled with the inflating tongue depressor. She tried to waggle her jaw from side to side to get it into a more comfortable position but it just took up any space she made for it.
‘Master’ felt her cheeks and thoughtfully shook his head. Slowly, but irresistibly, he squeezed again. Had her jaws not been locked together in the neck corset, she was sure her cheeks would have burst. As it was, once the gag had filled her mouth and driven her tongue down and the roof of her mouth up to bursting point, it drove her tongue back into her throat.
“MMMMMMMMMMMMM!” Sniff “MMMMMMMMMMMM!”
“Really? I’m glad you approve.” Calmly he unscrewed the bulb and screwed in and tightened the cap screw. Plainly he had no intention of relenting.
‘The beast! The rotten beast! He can’t keep me like this! “MMMMMMMMMMMM! Snif MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM! Snif MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!”
‘Master’ smiled into her wide-eyed stare and shook his head. “No, no, no. You are almost shouting. A lady should never shout, what would the neighbours think?”
“MMMMMMMMMMM … … … !” In an instant her had clipped her nose once more. Her breath being totally shut off, the room was suddenly silent.
“Now, who’s going to be a good girl?”
Madly, she struggled against the relentless bondage, knowing that it was not the slightest use, but was only using up her tiny supply of oxygen. There was no help for it, she did her best to nod her agreement.
‘Master’ removed the nose clip and stood quietly while she got her breath back. “There. I’m glad we understand each other.”
“Mmmmm.” Which they both understood to mean ‘Yes ‘Master’.’
Master sat comfortably and went over the situation as he saw it. If they took the stuff already ‘in the can’ and spliced in some more ‘scenes’ they could build up an ongoing story of the ‘Girl Who Wanted To Tell All’ as her mysterious captor steadily put her into more and more restricting outfits. Watching him intently, Janet saw in her mind’s eye just how it all strung together, leading up to the inevitable climax, when the new device burst onto an eagerly awaiting world.
Then he raised a new point. The client, realising that the whole launch strategy was wrapped around ‘The Girl Who Wanted To Tell All’ had decided that they wanted the promotion to climax with a big launch shindig where ‘The Girl’ would appear live before the TV cameras, live and in person to unveil the product and tie the whole campaign together into a triumphant end. The client wanted them to dream up a suitable event, glitzy and as OTT as possible. As though reading her thoughts, he went on, “I know it will cost the earth and so do they, but, if it really goes, it will make the name of ‘Janet and Master’.”
Janet tried to imagine herself doing the grand unveiling under the glare of TV lights. The unblinking eyes of the TV cameras, the crowds, the professional TV interviewers who did this for a living. She wanted to panic! If she could she would have fled the building. For a moment she struggled madly against her bondage but only to confirm just how completely secure she was. ‘Oh my God! I’m just a working girl. I can never do all that!’ But, as the thought raced through her mind, she realised that, yes, she had to. She was ‘The Girl Who Wanted to Tell All’, there was nobody else.
“We only have a few weeks, we will never manage to do it all on our own, it will demand too great a range of resources. I’ll get a plan together and get some more people on board. You try for heaven’s sake to think of some more ideas for ads, it’s what you are supremely good at.” He stood up and took something from a drawer. “This may just help concentrate you mind.” It was a blinder. He adjusted the soft pads over her eyes and she felt him pull the elastic round her head and press the Velcro fast behind her. She was in total darkness.
She heard him adjust the headrest and felt it press her high, helpless head back a little further and the brow strap was pulled tight. It took away the last little fraction of freedom. “Now I must go down to the office and start things in motion. One last little thing before I leave you to think.” He pressed two rubber ear plugs firmly into place and gave her tightly corseted bum a quick slap; then silence. She didn’t hear him go down stairs.
Chapter Thirteen
Janet let herself drift into her ‘Dreamland’, she was beginning to know the place now, was confident of her place in it. Whatever it was that made her submissive side revel in her bondage, it snuggled down to enjoy itself.
Softly in the black silence, she thought back to the encounter with that unpleasant old harridan in the lady’s room. Pompous old cow! Janet had every right to dress as she pleased, she was breaking no law, and so she was going to do so and to hell with them. The old Janet, Janet the working girl, would have fled the scene in embarrassment but now… … … it had taken only a small spark of this new power to cope with the situation. She thought she had come out of it rather well. One the other hand, she feared that, if she continued down this road, there were many more such skirmishes in store.
Now? Well, now let them all come! ‘The Girl Who Wanted to Tell All’ would certainly tell them where they got off.
‘Down to work’, she made her mind go over the ads they had already shot. The first in ordinary business clothes, the second in the same outfit but with the black steel neck corset on a chain, the third in virtually similar clothes but hobbled and with her form exaggerated by tight lacing and padding. It didn’t seem a lot for all the rushing about they had done. Surely they could think of something else.
She didn’t know if she actually planned any new ads as such. Gradually, little mind pictures of all sorts of semi mobile bondage began to emerge from the darkness, to drift through her head in some Technicolor kaleidoscope of images crossing that little stretch of pavement, swirling one over another in tumbling confusion. She went with the rising flow, realising vaguely that some long suppressed force in her psyche was shaking the very earth of her being, rumbling irresistibly to the surface with volcanic force.
The climax hit her with the force of an express train; desperately in the darkness she writhed with all her strength against the unyielding restraint. It only spurred her on, her images of Janet in bondage being bundled out of camera range merging into one huge, glorious firework display of sunburst energy.
Gradually the waves receded. Janet was never to know, but ‘Master’, who had entered silently, checking that his precious lady was coming to no harm, watched the writhing, straining, whimpering form, creaking against the straps, relax slowly into a softly breathing silence. ‘Master’ smiled to himself, only partly in relief, and returned to his desk, his telephone and his paperwork. The genie was now well and truly out of the bottle. He hoped he could cope with her.
Janet sailed these dark new waters, easily, smoothly in her bondage; for how long she had no idea. It may have been an hour, a day, or a week. Though she may have been in high heeled boots, tight laced to suffocation point, rigid in her neck corset, deaf and blind, and strapped immovably to the leaner, but not the real Janet. She was flying beyond the distances which miles measure, beyond the time of clocks and calendars. So it was with a pleasant surprise but a little regret that she felt ‘Master’ undoing the straps and lifting her off the leaner. He removed the blinder and unplugged her ears.
“Are you all right in there?”
“Mmmmmm.”
“What does that mean? One ‘Mmmm’ for yes, two Mmmms for no.”
“Mmmmmmmmm!”
“Oh good. And have you had any ideas for extra ads?”
“MMMMMMMM!”
“Splendid! I think we had better go down to the office and get them all written down.” He walked her to the top of the stairs and onto the chair lift.
Back in the office, he tipped the office chair forward so that he could thread the chair-back under her armbinder and more or less tipped her onto it. Even then, had he done nothing else, she was pinned to the chair, her arms pinioned in the armbinder, hooked her securely over the chair-back locking her into the chair but, none the less, he strapped her corseted waist back, strapped her ankles and used the strap’s ‘D’ ring to pull her legs back and fastened them under the chair to the ring at the end of her armbinder. He let the air out of her gag and removed the neck corset. That was altogether too easy! Before she had realised what he was up to, she was back in the black steel collar, the catches snapped closed and padlocked.
‘Master’ returned to his desk and booted up the computer, opening Windows at a new document page. “OK, fire away. Just shoot your ideas at me in any old order and I’ll try and get them down.”
“In no particular order then.” Janet closed her eyes and let the images she had dreamed up come tumbling out one after another. She realised through the cascade of ideas, scrambling over each other in their demands for her to give them voice, that had she not been securely tied to the chair in that stimulating, secure bondage that she would not have had anything like this fluency of recall. ‘Master’ thought of everything!
The keyboard rattled desperately as ‘Master’ started page after page, one for each new idea, just a few lines – ungrammatical, frequently misspelled, just enough he hoped to catch the essence of the idea before Janet’s speeding mind was off on another scene.
Gradually the flow slackened to a trickle and died. Janet went over in her mind that wild Technicolor dream, sweeping out the corners of her memory, tipping the last vestiges onto ‘Master’s’ now almost smoking keyboard. Janet opened her eyes and smiled, “Well, that’s it. I hope at least some of them will help fill in the gaps in the new schedule.”
‘Master’ sat, flicking from and to through his notes. “One or two may even be a bit too ‘hot stuff’ for the client; the winch for example, but, whew! There’s enough here to much more than fill the new schedule. If you can stand it, I would dearly love to get these ideas fleshed out while it’s all fresh in your mind.”
Janet wriggled just enough to make a little creaking noise. “If that is ‘Master’s’ wish then there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“Good Girl!” He copied the idea he had picked as best to start the new schedule to the top of the file and they discussed it together, adding, amending, and adjusting the idea to fit in with their planned stream of fast changing TV ads.
On to the next one and the same, on and on till each was a two or three page word picture of the ‘scene’, now set in order of screening.
Master took a sketch pad and made quick cartoon-like diagrams of each idea, discussing it with her as he went. No more concealing things from her, he wanted her to see, wanted her input. Finished at last, he put the drawings through the scanner and inserted them into the new file. He attached the files to an e-mail and sent it to the Marketing Manager, then picked up the phone and punched his number.
Janet glanced at the clock. “Hey, isn’t it a bit late to start ‘phoning the client!” She realised suddenly just how late it was, they had been totally immersed in their work for hours.
“Nope. I don’t care even if he’s in bed with his mistress, this needs his approval and that means now!”
In any event, the ‘phone was answered at the first ring. The Marketing Manager had been sitting, staring at his laptop, quietly cursing the production department for dropping him into this mess. Almost by reflex, he snatched up the ‘phone. “I’m getting your e-mail, it’s coming through now. Holy cow! It looks good! Give me a few minutes to digest it and I’ll ring you back.” The line went dead.
“Well, we’ve done it now. You are in for a somewhat restricted time. Are you really sure you can cope?”
“I’ll have too! Anyway, you can’t make me much more restricted or I’ll never get out of the door and speak my lines before I pass out from those damned stays.”
“Well, I suppose we could set you in concrete and wheel you out on a sack barrow.”
“Don’t you dare even think it!”
They were still laughing and tossing quite ludicrous ideas about when the ‘phone rang.
“What do you think? Can we keep the contract?” ‘Master’ spoke as he picked up the receiver, punching the ‘loudspeaker’ button as he did so.
“Please, I thought you were on my side. Don’t make fun of a benighted old Marketing Manager who’s desperately treading water in an ocean of the smelly.”
“Well, sympathy come at an extra charge.”
“Look, if you could actually shoot half of those ideas, I would be eternally grateful.”
“And if we shoot the lot?”
There was a tone of wonder in the Marketing Manager’s voice. “If you could shoot the lot without actually killing the girl I would petition the Pope to have you raised to the sainthood.”
Janet laughed. “Tell me, how much do they pay saints these days?”
The Marketing Manager stopped short. “Janet! I didn’t know you were there! If I’d known I wouldn’t have referred to you as ‘the girl’ – I’d have given you your proper title as ‘The Girl’ with two capital letters. You’re right, saints aren’t well paid –the other lot pay much better in my experience but they do smell so of sulphur. Look … … tell me straight … … just how many of those crazy ideas can you actually do?”
“Sir!” Janet put on an indignant voice. “The ‘Janet and Master’ team don’t mess about, Sir. That is what we are offering and that, if it suites you, is what we will deliver, come what may. Just say the word and I will play ’The Girl Who Wants to Tell All’ all the way or die in the attempt – just so long as ‘Health and Safety’ don’t find out till it’d too late, of course.”
“You really and truly mean that?”
“I do.”
“If you really are serious then I will print out your e-mail, several copies, and beat the whole Board of Directors round the ears with it first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Have fun. I would just love to be a fly on the wall.”
“I will report back, of that you may be sure. Good night.”
“Good night.”
In the silence that followed, ‘Master’ undid her from the chair and removed the armbinder. “I must take you to supper.”
“At this time of night?”
“There’s a very nice little ‘all-night’ place in Covent Garden. You’ll like it.”
“Then I’d better dress for the occasion.”
“Pardon?”
“I look a bit incomplete. I’d better wear the silver bracelets, don’t you think?”
“You ‘phone for a cab. I’ll go and fetch them.”
Chapter Fourteen
Janet pried herself out of bed, splashed cold water in her face and donned a track suit. She was just lacing up the last pair of trainers that ‘Master’ her allowed her to keep when he strolled in. By one of chances that defy coincidence, he was also wearing a track suit. “Janet! Great minds think alike! I was just going to see if you were all right after yesterday, then go for a quick run. How did you cope with the bed, by the way, I forgot to explain it to you, I hope you didn’t have to sleep on the floor.”
“No, I worked it out for myself, thank you.”
She had, indeed. The heavy, square six inch square section ‘posture board’ extended between head and footboards of a bed frame and carried some complicated fixtures. It was on pivots between vertical arms at each end, arms which could be used as leavers to rotate it to bring a mattress attached to one side up to make a comfortable bed, or to bring the posture board to which she could be strapped for rigorous restraint if rotated another half turn. Once more ‘Master’ had thought of everything. Janet, cut loose from her corsets and neck corset, had snuggled down to sleep like a log, waking, refreshed, to start the new day. She was not to know, but this was to be the last time she did so for ages.
* * * *
Together they slipped out to jog off through the silent streets. The lone beat copper, once more on early turn, recognised them and gave them a friendly salute. He was quite well aware of the goings on outside the shop, had discussed it with his boss and they had decided that the only questionable thing they were doing was theoretically obstructing the pavement. The short stop on double yellow lines was to be counted as a delivery, it was so quick but, as not a soul had wanted to use that piece of paving at that ungodly hour, even to do anything about it would be ‘To waste the court’s time.’
As they jogged on, ‘Master’ explained in short bursts between gasps for air, that he had worked out a rough schedule for the weeks ahead, there was far too much to cover in the time and it was quite obvious that they hadn’t a hope of doing everything with the tiny team they had. He had been busy engaging all sorts of services and an employment bureau would be sending along, at decent intervals, possible candidates for a ‘personal assistant’ for Janet, as there was too much for her to organise while still being ‘The Girl Who Wanted to Tell All’.
Janet was still trying to digest all this when they arrived back at the shop. The copper was standing at the door. “Could I just have a word with you, Sir, Madam?”
“Sure, come on in.”
Wiping the sweat off their faces, then wrapping the towels round their necks, they flopped down, ‘Master’ on his swivel office chair, Janet in the secretary’s chair that she had occupied last evening. They indicated another chair and the copper sat as well. “What’s the problem, Officer? Nothing involving a prison sentence I hope?”
“Nothing like that, Sir. Nobody has complained, whatever you’re up to, it’s just that the lads at the nick are wondering just what’s going on. Sooner or later, someone’s going to start asking questions and it would save us a lot of embarrassment if we knew something of what you’re about.”
“Can you keep a secret?”
“That depends, Sir, on what it is.”
‘Master’ gave him a brief summary of what they were up to. Tapping a few computer keys, the copper became the first member of the public to see the early ads flash across the screen. He then went on to explain how Janet was going to get increasingly restricted as she struggled to ‘Tell All’ up to the big exposure day.
“And are you doing all this willingly, Miss? I have to ask in case some busybody decides to make a fuss, suggests that, with you in all that bondage, you are being coerced or some such.”
“Willingly? It was my idea in the first place!”
“Well, in that case, Miss, I’d put something to that effect in writing and file it somewhere safe. If it gets nasty, we can say that we investigated everything well in advance.”
“Good thinking, officer, we’ll do that, and to be sure we’ll give you’re a copy ‘For your information’.”
The copper rose to his feet, turning to leave, but stopped himself just in time. “Oh, and by the way, the Chief Inspector thinks you should have these.” He handed them two old fashioned police whistles on lanyards. “We don’t use them any more of course, but any copper knows what they are for. A few good blasts will bring us running, we shan’t be far away. Out in the streets at these hours, you may meet all sorts of unsavoury characters.”
“Officer, I would kiss you but you would get all sweaty!”
Blushing slightly, the copper bid them a ‘good morning’.
While ‘Master’ fetched his business suit from his car, Janet went and showered.
* * * *
When ‘Master’ accompanied her down stairs a little later, Janet was ‘The New Janet, dressed for the office’.
Starting with the inevitable rubber underwear, the new ‘business’ corset in white-figured broche covered her derriere and thighs half way to her knees with a cut-out in front to allow her some chance of actually sitting, but was anchored down by no less than eight straining suspenders to black stockings that vanished almost at once into knee high, black leather boots with six inch heels, laced tightly and securely. The half bust corset came up to her armpits and higher still over her shoulder blades while the shoulder straps were at least three inches wide so as to leave no tell-tale ridges as they passed tightly over her shoulders. She had held grimly to the bed’s footboard while ‘Master’ had laced her at least as tightly as yesterday, threaded the tails under the taught lacing and knotted the lace at the top where she had little chance of fumbling it loose, but didn’t cut off the tails or glue the knot. These were just business clothes, after all.
Janet ran her hands over the hard, straining broche with its regular ridges of massive steels. It was like running her hands over the curves of a ridged, dressmaker’s dummy, but more so. She held her arms over her head for the special slip to slide, and be pulled, down. It was made of some unusual, foam backed stockinet material, zipped up the back to fit smoothly and conceal any tell-tale ridges from her boning showing through her dress.
The dress was simplicity itself, a rich, bottle green knitted stockinet, fitting smoothly from neck to just under her knees, displaying a figure as smooth as an eel down to just below her knees, but the material’s elasticity which made it such a clinging fit also allowed her to make small steps. That was altogether too simple of course. ‘Master’ slipped a belt around her. It was made of thick cow hide, hard and rigid. Shaped to her form, eight inches deep at the sides, more at the front and back, where it was fastened by a long pin inserted through a gold plated ‘piano hinge’ affair.
Janet was just about to set off towards the mirror when ‘Master’ stopped her to fit her with a collar to match the belt, secured likewise with a long gold pin at the back and, a moment later, with a wig,
Standing before the mirror, Janet had to admit that ‘Master’ had got it just about right. The belt and collar, steam moulded exactly to her corseted shape, were smooth and with a polish that would have done credit to a guardsman’s parade boots. The belt, of course, did nothing that the massive corset hadn’t done to her already by way of restraint, but the collar, though not covering her mouth this time, did a thorough job of immobilising her head, chin high, in a slightly disdainful posture.
As she stood, studying this morning’s Janet, master slipped the rings over her middle finger in turn and slipped the long securing pins into the gauntlets of thick, embossed Spanish leather, twins of the silver ones that had previously covered her forearms. “There, will that do for ‘Janet the business woman’?”
‘Janet the business woman’ stared back at her out of the mirror. From the jet black hair, drawn back into a big, soft, oval bun down to her gleaming boots, well, there could never have been a business women like this – but – what else could she be? Janet turned from and to, examining this new creature. Immaculate, certainly not over-dressed (at least from the outside), she radiated the power of a woman who knew her worth and her place in the order of things and woe betides anyone who should trespass in that space.
“Good Lord yes! You’ve got me looking just about perfect for the job! Mind you, I’m near enough helpless in here – but that’s our secret – and this corset is so tight that I’m sure I shall squeeze out of the ends like toothpaste if I stay in it long enough – she wrinkled her nose at ‘Master’ – but that’s my secret. Shall we go down and face the world?”
Together they went over the rough draft of the schedule. Janet realised that there was far too much to be packed into the time available and, most worrying of all, that a day or even an hour of overrun would be quite fatal. Applying for the first time the management techniques she had learnt at college, they drew up a bar chart on a sheet of A3 paper. As they added task after task, they taped extra sheets to the bottom till it grew too long for the desk and they taped it to the wall. They couldn’t add to the width as a thick black line down the right hand side marked the great day when she ‘Told the World All’, the relentless deadline. The little two man team on ‘Janet and ‘Master’ just hadn’t a hope.
Janet, the old Janet, would likely have sagged in defeat. This was desperate. For this new Janet, sagging was not an option, her corset steels and leather collar saw to that. “Let’s try an arrow diagram, at least that will show just how too long a ‘critical path’ we are faced with.” On the back of one of the old posters left over from covering the window, they were busy with a soft pencil and ruler when the doorbell rang.
‘Master’ glanced at his watch. “That will be the first applicant.”
“Applicant for what, ‘Master’?” Janet was suddenly all attention.
“For the job of your personal assistant – or rather my assistant in assisting ‘The Lady Who wants to Tell All’. If that makes sense.”
“Not a lot, but I assume you know what you’re about. I’ll go and let them in.”
Janet chose to open the door herself for a reason. If this person was to be her ‘assistant’, working with her day by day, then she had to see what she was up against from the very first moment. She opened the door to the street.
“Good morning.” She found herself face to face with one of the less savoury examples of Goth fashion.
“ ‘Ere, is this that Janet and Master thing?” She looked Janet up and down with an almost truculent sneer.
“Yes, that’s right. Can I help you?”
“Not till yers tells me who what I’m talking to yers carn’t.”
“I see. Well, I’m Janet. I assume you have some sort of business here?”
“Dun yers come all hoity toity wiv me.” She produced a ‘Janet and ‘Master’ letterhead on which was typed something under the heading ‘Personal Assistant to a partner – job description’. “I’ve come to take the job.”
‘Oh no, you’re not! Not till you’ve been hosed down and fumigated you’re not.’ But Janet’s smile didn’t flicker for a moment. “Come in please.”
The object brushed past her, strode into the office and sat down, uninvited, on Janet’s chair.
‘Master’ was talking on the ‘phone. He took one look at the Goth, his eyes widened for a moment, then he put his hand over the receiver and smiled. “Hello, I shan’t keep you for a moment.” And he returned to his conversation. An attentive ear would have heard a sudden urgency in his voice.
Janet didn’t know what to make of all this. The girl was obviously entirely unsuited to the job, whatever it was, but ‘Master’ was suddenly up to something. She decided to play along.
“We’re so sorry to keep you waiting, but things are so very busy at present. – er – would you like a drink while you’re waiting?”
“Yers, a gin and tonic would be good.”
‘Ye gods!’ At ten in the morning! “I’m afraid we don’t keep alcohol in the office. Will tea or coffee do?”
“Well, s’pose so if yers ain’t got nuffing stronger.”
Janet wasn’t born yesterday. She looked warningly at ‘Master’ and at her desk drawers then went and brewed three cups of instant, handed them round with a biscuit each and sat in the spare chair to watch developments.
Thinking that Janet wouldn’t see her, on the side away from her, the Goth slyly opened the bottom desk drawer and peered in to see only the ends of the suspension files that lived there. Thwarted in her attempted pilfering, she tried the next one up and did succeed in lifting a nearly empty ballpoint pen before Janet cleared her throat in warning.
The Goth looked sneeringly at Janet, not intending in the least to be put down. Janet sat primly on the edge of her chair and watched ‘Master’.
Master put the ‘phone down. “Sorry about that. Can we get straight down to business? The film crew will be here shortly and we will have to get down to business straight away. You’re applying for the job of Assistant to my partner Janet here, I understand. I assume you’ve read the job description?”
“Nar, I fort as you’d explain all that.”
“Oh dear, er, you can read I take it?”
The Goth looked embarrassed for a moment but, to Janet’s surprise, ‘Master’ didn’t press the point.
“Did you say ‘film crew? You bain’t be making films are you?”
‘Master managed a modest shrug. “Just a series of advertising shorts, nothing very grand.”
“Cor! I’ve always wanted to be in pictures!”
Janet nearly exploded. Fortunately she had just breathed out and thus only managed a subdued splutter, her ribs convulsing against her stays. ‘Her? In pictures? Well, I suppose she might make a good monster in a horror movie.’
The Goth glanced at her accusingly. “Yer dun fink I could then?”
“Do you know,” ‘Master’ managed to sound as though he had suddenly recognised a talent, “I think you may be right, there’s always a place in movies for someone who brings originality. Look here, the film crew will be here in a few minutes, how would it be if we made a film test?”
“Blimy! That would be terrific!” A look of sly calculation came into her eyes. “An’ what do I get paid for it?”
“How much does a wrap of ‘speed’ cost these days?”
“Wot? A good one can cost half a century.”
“OK, make a good job of the test and we’ll give you fifty quid, cash.”
Janet had to put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud. ‘The cunning old so-and-so! Quietly she left the room to ride the stair lift up to her room. There she managed to add a pair of long lashes and a few emphasising touches to her makeup and, turning up the hem of her skirt, fastened on the hobble straps round her knees, drawing the buckle tight. She arrived back at the doorway where ‘Master’ was standing, his mobile in one hand, a stopwatch in the other. He glanced at Janet’s tiny, mincing steps and nodded. “Well done.” He turned to look down the street towards the traffic lights.
The Goth had walked back to the traffic lights. At ‘Master’s’ signal she started to slouch back towards them through the morning crowds. ‘Master’ had timed the cycle of the lights and watched the film van emerge from the crossroads and cruise slowly with the traffic to stop on its mark. The back door opened and the second cameraman jumped out while the main crew crouched behind the one on its big tripod in the open doorway of the van. The cameras were already rolling.
As the Goth slouched into shot, Janet, her hobbled legs going like mad, tottered out of the doorway and took the Goth’s arm.
“Hey, quickly, this new thing, it’s terrific! You really must help me tell the world … “
The Goth shook her arm free. “Gerrorf of me, you disgusting old perv!” The black leather collection of chrome studs and chains and greasy hair ran out of shot.
Janet just had time to turn to the camera and spread her hands in despair. “Oh well, I tried, I really tried to tell … “ ‘Master’ jumped out of the doorway and clamped his hand over Janet’s mouth, posting her once more into the limo which, dead on cue, had slid to a stop by the kerb and was gone before the traffic was held up for a moment.
‘Master’ looked down at Janet, sprawled across his lap. “Got it in one! But, Lord, that was close.”
Chapter Fifteen
The second cameraman handed the envelope with the money to the Goth who took it without a word of thanks, made some illegible scrawl on the receipt and slouched off.
From a doorway opposite, the plain clothes copper trailed her to behind a shed tucked away in the corner of the supermarket car park where she was just exchanging her fifty quid for a few rocks of crack when the cops grabbed the pair of them.
They had been after that particular pusher for some time and they got him just as he had stocked up with a big new supply – which added considerably to his troubles. He was going to cost the taxpayer quite a lot in bed and board for his extended stay in one of Her Majesty’s penal establishments.
The Goth got a good talking to and an offer of a place in a Drug Re-Habitation Centre – which she refused. They let her keep her fifty quid – after all she had earned it honestly – and she went off in search of another dealer.
The coppers noted that ‘Master’ had been the one to tip them off with a quick ‘phone call while the others had been getting organised. It did ‘Janet and Master’ no harm at all.
* * * * *
They had installed a new, big, flat monitor, hung on the wall where they could all see it. Janet found that perching on the edge of her desk was the least uncomfortable place to be as they watched the raw footage. Being among a laughing crowd of professionals was natural now, it felt good; she was one of the team, trusted to do her part, listened to when she had a suggestion, no longer waiting in durance vile in the changing room, listening to the distant chatter. Together they cut and edited the vital few seconds of film and dubbed the sound. It seemed to get funnier as they worked on it.
Over yet more coffee and biscuits, ‘Master’ explained to the crew the mess that they were in with the new deadline and was busy scribbling down the suggestions for various commercial outfits that could be employed to help. It would take a bit of organising but, well, things looked slightly less daunting. The crew finished their coffee and departed.
‘Master’ glanced at his watch. “How about an early lunch?”
“Good idea. Where do you suggest?”
“Will that Italian restaurant we went to last time do?”
“Perfect.”
“Do you want to change into something easier? There’s plenty of time.”
Janet drew herself up to her highest and looked indignant. “Are you suggesting, Sir, that I am improperly dressed for you to be seen with me in public?”
‘Master’ laughed. “No, of course not, I was just thinking that you deserved a little reward for giving us one free ad that we weren’t expecting.”
“Oh ‘Master’.” She shook her head. “Please don’t go all soft on me, not now, not just as I’m getting into the swing of things.”
‘Master’ adopted his stern tone of voice “In that case, young lady, you will stay in that outfit till bed time,” but went on easily, “but I can’t imagine how you will cope with that hobble strap done up so tight.”
“Neither can I – we shall just have to see.”
‘Master’ ‘phoned for a cab.
* * * * *
Seated at their table, Janet asked how ‘Master’ had known that the Goth was a druggie. “Simple, didn’t you see the pupils of her eyes?”
“What about them?”
“Like pin pricks. Then the veins in her nose were all inflamed and broken. There were old needle marks on her forearm. She’s been on drugs for ages, all sorts of drugs. I imagine that’s why she was all defensive belligerence in her manner. Another thing, didn’t you notice that she smelt sort of smoky? She’s been living rough.”
“Poor cow.” Janet imagined trying to sleep in whatever shelter she could creep into out of a biting cold winter wind. The cold, always the merciless cold, the dirt, the smell, the gnawing hunger, the relentless, unendurable craving for the next ‘fix’. Suddenly Janet felt safe in her stays, her heels, her hobble, her collar. Only a woman who had her secure place in the world could dare to dress like this, a woman who had her ‘Master’ to look out for her. Grief, what a crazy world she had carved out for herself, a universe tuned into her ‘Dreamland’.
“Who on earth sent her to us? She’s illiterate I’m sure. She can’t have read any advertisement.”
“She was sent by the employment agency I contacted, but why they thought she could ever do the job I cannot imagine. Let’s hope that the other two are a bit better.”
“Another two?
“Yes, due this afternoon.
They settled down to discuss just how they were to fit in all the many and various details of getting the new series of ads shot in the time. It was still going to be touch and go but the fog was beginning to clear. For instance, there were several ads that had to be shot in pitch darkness after midnight when the time switch had doused the street lights. With a bit of planning they could then shoot one of the dawn-light ads a few hours afterwards and save a day in the schedule.
Together they planned which of them would tackle each job.
As they got up to leave, Janet glanced round the room. Everywhere covert glances were aimed in her direction: of course they were. Yes, she was breaking all the rules of female prudery, but such rules were made to be broken by women with the courage, the style, the intelligence to carry it off. The vicious cattiness of lesser members of her sex would, in full measure, no doubt descend on her but, if that was to be her lot then ‘let ‘em all come!’ She was ready for them.
Head high, laughing and joking with ‘Master’, she strutted elegantly out into the crowded street.
They went over the bar chart in red felt tip pens, editing tasks that could be combined, then they went over that in green, editing those tasks that they could just about do without. They stood in front of it, discussing the changes. Taking a broad tipped high-liner in a startling tone of mauve, they highlighted those tasks which could be farmed out. They had begun to realise that it really wasn’t all that impossible after all when the doorbell went again.
Misses Angie O’Rafferty, without asking permission, sat down in ‘Master’s’ chair and lit a cigarette which she held, pointing upwards in her fingertips. She was a Glaswegian/Irish Scot from the tenement blocks of Cumbernauld. She made it plain that she was going to do the job, if at all, strictly on her terms, for the wages she thought was reasonable and in her way.
If you ever needed an Amazon to lead a hopeless charge on the ramparts of a medaeval castle or stand her ground in a drunken razor fight in a Glaswegian bar then she was your obvious choice. The very thought of having her around her while in any form of bondage sent shivers down Janet’s spine. ‘Master’ patiently explained the real details of the job to her and assured her that her idea of a wage scale was way off the beam. Misses O’Rafferty rose majestically to her feet. ”I wouldna’ dee that job for twice tha’ mooney! Ye’re a bunch o’ slags an’ pervs an’ shud be put awa! She demanded her train fare ‘fe’ coomin’ al’ thus way’ and stalked off.
“Lord, give me strength!”
“Oh, I don’t know, ‘Master’, looking back – from a safe distance of course – I thought she was rather fun.”
“Maybe, but dear God give me patience – and hurry!”
They divided the list of possible outside contractors between them and Janet took herself off to the changing room so that their ‘phone chatter didn’t drive each other crazy. She had been working her way down the list for, perhaps, an hour when the doorbell rang again.
Misses Wickford was a middle aged, grey haired lady. She gave her name and announced that she had been sent by the agency to see if she was suitable for the job. She followed Janet into the office and waited till a chair was indicated, sitting with that upright posture that told any experienced eye that she wore a corset.
Yes, she had read the job description and was interested. While ‘Master’ explained the details of the job, Janet examined the woman carefully. She wore a tailor made, grey pinstripe coat and skirt with a white, frilly blouse. Her shoes had two inch heels, were obviously not new, but were clean and polished. She was of that generation of women who always wore a hat in public, a low, grey ‘pork pie’, secured with, of all things, a long and murderous looking hat pin. From the quiet voice in which she asked for clarification of any points of ‘Master’s’ explanation that she didn’t quite understand, Janet thought she was a rather pleasant, intelligent lady.
“Would you like to see over the premises to get some idea of what the job entails?”
“Oh, yes, please, very much so.”
This was a job for ‘Master’, as the little attic flat was way out of reach to stiffly corseted Janet, even had she released the hobble straps. The fact that it was unfurnished didn’t bother Misses Wickford as, she explained, she had to vacate her present flat very soon and her stuff would fit in nicely. She was not in the least fazed by the idea of helping ‘Master’ to look after a girl in extreme fashion and occasional bondage. She explained that she had a small dress shop and dress making business which had to close, as the landlord had sold the building to developers who were going to demolish it and build an office block. Could she bring her dress making equipment? It might come in very handy.
Over that traditional English conversational standby, a cup of tea, Janet chatted to her and liked what she saw. ‘Master’ raised a quizzical eyebrow and Janet nodded. “Well, Misses Wickford, we would like to offer you the job if the salary is satisfactory. When can you start?”
“Well, Sir, right away if that’s all right. My nephew will bring my few sticks of furniture over in his van. If I may, I’d like to move in today.”
‘Well! This lady certainly didn’t waste time!’ “Then welcome to the mad-house! We shall most certainly need your helping hand. By the way, what shall I call you?”
“I was christened Josephine Wickford, Mam, but at school they ran both names together and called me ‘Jowicky’, which I’ve always hated so, if you please, just Wickford will do very well.”
“Then ‘just Wickford’ it will be.” Janet indicated the ‘phone. “Perhaps you had better ring this nephew of yours right away. There’s much to do.”
Chapter Sixteen
There was no moon. In the early hours of the morning. When the streetlights flickered out, the street was plunged into a stygian blackness. Immediately the van doors opened and two strong men manhandled a big roll of make believe cobbles to the kerbside and unrolled it. Two other men manhandled a stage flat of the portico of an eighteenth century town house into position and, almost at once, Janet, wearing a sky high wig, a period dress with huge panniers and a long tapering waisted and very tight bodicem, swept through the door, accompanied by two period ‘link men’, also in costume, carrying flaming torches.
“Prithee, kind people, gather ye and list to my wonderful news!” That was as far as she got, as ‘Master’, in knee britches, silver buckled shoes, flashy embroidered jacket and full bottomed wig strode masterfully after her, dropped a bag over her head and lifted her bodily into a sedan chair which two burley men carried into shot. As he turned to the camera, dusting off his hands in triumph, the sedan chair was carried back out of shot.
Within a couple of minutes the flambeau were doused in a bucket of water, the stage flat and cobbles were gathered up and the props van moved off. Nobody was there to witness the whole thing except for an old lady who lived in the flat over the shop opposite. Like so many old people, she was an insomniac who had seen from her window every one of the shots to date. She enjoyed them immensely, they made her feel that she was in some way part of a great and exciting secret – which, in a way, she was.
The camera crew drifted in to help themselves to coffee while Wickford helped Janet out of her voluminous costume. “Thank you, Wickford.” She rubbed her aching sides. “Ooof! If women had been designed to wear that fashion we should have been born with rubber ribs!”
“You did it very well, Mam. I watched the scene from the upstairs window and I could really have believed I was back in those olden times.”
“Thank you, Wickford. A few encouraging words are very welcome. Do you know, standing there waiting for my queue, I really had the most awful stage fright. We can only get away with these shenanigans just so long as nobody complains, so we can’t clutter up the street, even in the wee small hours, for more than a minute or two. We have to get each shot in one. The very thought of making a mistake terrifies me, it really does.”
Wickford brought two coffees from the office next door and handed one to Janet, now dressed in a track suit and trainers. The two women looked at each other for a moment. “Well, as ‘Master’ said, ‘welcome to the madhouse’. At least you won’t be bored. Do you think you are going to enjoy being my jailor?”
“An old widow woman all alone has to be grateful for a roof over her head, Mam. To have to look after a real feisty girl like you will be an adventure, a real adventure such as doesn’t come very often at my age.”
Janet looked again at her. She was old enough to be the mother that she had never known. For as long as she remembered, Janet had been an orphan, having not the slightest memory of her dead parents. She had been passed around between various aunts and uncles till she was old enough to go to a boarding school, then spending school holidays with various school friends or, if nobody offered her their hospitality, staying at school as a lone girl, cluttering up the place till she was old enough to take up the scholarship she had won to Cambridge. Now this woman, in some way, was offering the mature support of a mother she had never known.
Wickford had never had children. It was not her decision, it had just never happened. Too old now to really bond with youngsters, this mature young women somehow slotted neatly into a space in her life that she had never till this moment known existed.
They were going to make a terrific team.
‘Master’, in his tracksuit, stuck his head around the door. “There’s just a glimmer of daylight, shall we go?” Together they padded off into the morning darkness.
“Give a girl the money for a cup of tea, Guv.” They stopped to look for where the whining voice was coming from. It was from the head of that Goth, sticking up out of a cardboard box in the gloom of a shop doorway. She was visibly shivering, shaking even, and her eyes were ringed by dark circles of sleeplessness.
Before ‘Master’ had time to tell her where she got off, Janet murmured softly “Oh grief! There, but for the grace of God, go I … … . How could a fellow human being be dragged so low? Had she been an animal then the RSPCA would surely have intervened long ago.”
‘Master’ stood looking down at her. There was no tone of kindness in his voice. “Sorry, we don’t carry money in these clothes but, if you turn up back at the shop in a little while, I’ll see what we can do.”
As they jogged off into the dawn, ‘Master’ remarked that he doubted if they would see her again. He was wrong for once.
* * * * *
The camera crew were slumped around the office as they returned, some of them snoring loudly. All their gear was, however all set up and ready for instant action.
Janet showered and presented herself to the sitting room in her flat where Wickford had set out the next outfit and stood ready with, to Janet’s despairing eyes, something of the attitude of a mediaeval executioner.
They were the highest heels she had worn to date, glistening silver thigh platform boots, even the laces were in some silver tape. “Heavens! How on earth I shall manage perched up here I can’t imagine.” Janet managed a slow experimental totter round to room. She turned to find Wickford standing, holding the next corset, spread out to receive her. She stared at it in unbelieving horror. “I wonder where on earth ‘Master’ got that made, perhaps the Steel Company of Wales or in the Royal Naval Dockyard, perhaps?”
The latest corset certainly meant business. It was knee length and came up to her armpits with the inevitable shoulder straps and it was equipped with boning that could have been designed by a structural engineer. Janet took hold of the floor to ceiling pole and hung on grimly as Wickford worked the laces up and down from the bottom and top towards the waist, gave a mighty haul, which caught Janet at the moment she had breathed out and shrank her visibly. The working in of the laces continued then another mighty haul and so on. “Grief! Just how tight are you going to lace me for heaven’s sake?”
“I am instructed that the lacing mustn’t be more than an inch open or the dress won’t fit.”
“Oh well, never let it be said that I wasn’t game to the last!” Janet was clinging on grimly as her living space within this diabolical corset continued to shrink. She took a breath. “Go on, do your worst. You’ll know when I’m laced too tight – I shall just drop dead!”
In spite of the raving in various prints (written, as is usual, in sensational journalese by people with absolutely no personal experience but with a monster axe to grind) about the torture of tight lacing, done competently and, well, it is almost invariably habit forming. As the long corset shrank to size, Janet realised that, once again, she stood at the portals of her Dreamland. With her laces knotted at last, she almost staggered over to the mirror. The corset was built for serious business, not for show; she was only going to wear it once or twice. Made of cheap but stout collar cloth in a pink that the advertisements use to call ‘tea rose’, it gave her a ‘full length’ control, fitting without wrinkle or bulge.
She examined the smoothly curving but wildly exaggerated shape it imposed. “Whoever thought for a moment that there has ever been a real women even remotely this shape must be totally bereft of their marbles! Come on, get me into the rest of it and let’s get the ad shot – before the world wakes up and dies laughing.” In some half way house to her ‘Dreamland’ she tottered off towards the street door.
The grey dawn-light emphasised the golden pool of spotlight on the pavement. “OK, roll ‘em!” The cameras shot a few seconds of the empty pavement.
“Five – four – three – two – one – Go Janet.” Janet, in a skin tight silver dress from knees to throat, hobbled onto her mark, struck a pose and stood stock still. “Five – four – three – two – one – go!” She peeled off her space helmet revealing ‘The Girl Who Wanted to Tell All’s’ familiar face.
“Greetings earthlings! From the ends of the galaxy I bring you news of this wonderful new thing. Your earth-lives will for ever. … … … …” As she spoke, ‘Master’ in a silver space suit stepped from the doorway carrying a complicated ray gun, which he fired from the hip. Then he froze and stood stock still.
“Go Janet!” The chief cameraman’s voice commanded and she hobbled quickly back into the doorway. Master unfroze, nodded triumphantly to the camera and, like a Western gunfighter, blew imaginary smoke from the barrel of his ray gun
“Got it, crew?” Master’s voice followed her as she headed for the stair lift.
“Got it, Boss,” She heard the head cameraman’s cheerful reply. She stepped into the platform of the stair-lift and punched ‘up’, ascending to the welcome attentions of Wickford and the next change into today’s business clothes.
Today’s ‘business’ outfit was worn over the same underwear and rigid corset, laced to the same size; otherwise it was exactly the same as yesterday, except that the dress was in a tone that the Royal Navy would call ‘North Atlantic grey’ and the belt and collar were in gleaming black leather. Janet was beginning to think of it as being in ‘her’ style. Turning stiffly to and fro before the mirror, she was rather proud if herself. Wickford picked a microscopic piece of fluff from the dress. “My, what a change, Mam. You really do look smart!”
“Thank you Wickford. I hope the others will approve.” Turning she set off to descend on the stair lift.
* * * * *
As Janet entered the office there was an appreciative murmur of applause. Janet nodded her acknowledgment, accepted the coffee they handed her and stood by the wall to watch the raw shots from their mornings work flash onto the big, high definition monitor.
The night shots of the eighteenth century street scene needed little editing. Modern low light TV cameras were quite capable of working with the flickering light of the two flambeau helped only be a little judicious fill in lighting to make Janet’s sumptuous period costume stand out against the glooming, pitch dark street. Quick cuts between the dolly camera on the pavement and the two hand held, gyro stabilised, cameras manoeuvring about her in the street gave the short film an exciting urgency appropriate to a TV ad.
They went on to the spaceman shots.
This really did call for the skills of the camera crew and the modern computer editing software. They started with a second or two of the empty street with a growing background of whirling ‘space fiction’ noise. The last couple of seconds of the empty street shot were faded into the shot of a silver Janet, her superb, curving figure emphasised against the dark background, appearing ‘from some other dimension’. Then she spoke her lines as ‘Master made his entrance. Using a modern software trick, she shimmered like a shaken jelly in the beam from the hissing ray gun and disappeared back into her other dimension, leaving the shot of ‘Master’ standing in the empty street with his ray gun, blowing computer generated smoke from the barrel. Janet didn’t miss the fact that he had almost film star good looks.
‘Master’s’ nod and knowing smile into camera gave the ad just that last amusing fillip. “OK, I’ll buy those two. Well done, crew. Same ungodly hour tomorrow.” Coffee mugs were drained and the yawning camera crew drifted off.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Master’ drove a Range Rover, which was fortunate as it stood high off the ground with more than sufficient headroom. Even then and with the seatback tipped far back and the seat adjusted to its limits, Janet in her ‘business’ outfit felt more than slightly ridiculous, sitting rigidly corseted and collared, and staring stiff necked at the roof liner. “Where are we going, ‘Master’?”
“To look at our new prospective office. You must have noticed that it was ‘standing room only’ during editing this morning; things are going to get much worse in the next few days. Then there are those other ads we just can’t shoot in the street. We need a studio – and quickly.”
“Yes, I hadn’t thought. But how are we going to fit the undoubted upheaval of moving office into an already almost impossible schedule?” She suddenly realised that she had been so busy with her equally almost impossible problems with being ‘The Girl Who Wants to Tell All’ that she hadn’t realised the amount of shear background organisation that ‘Master’ had shouldered. Even then, she almost resented his dragging her out here to look at a prospective new office. He could have quite easily coped on his own.
Then she realised that that was not his way. While he could so easily have just left her to be just, ‘lens fodder’, the decorative bimbo pushed into the background and then, quite possibly have dumped her when the ads were finished. No, he respected the fact that ‘Janet and Master’ was a true partnership and she was valued as much for her mind as for her remoulded and most decorative body.
‘Bless the man!’
* * * * * *
The woman from the commercial estate agents was waiting outside the prospective new office. It had been specifically built for a firm with very special requirements and had therefore an unusual layout, which made it difficult to persuade any new client to take it on. It had stood empty for a long time, grass was sprouting through cracks in the parking area and the windows were dirty to the point of obscurity; even the estate agent’s board, knocked onto a slant, had somehow a despairing, beaten air about it.
She watched ‘Master’ handling Janet out of the Range Rover and stand waiting as she gathered her black satin, sleeveless coat, hanging open to real rather than cover her figure. ‘Oh my God, he’s even brought his bit of fluff with him!’
Master’ caught the disparaging glance from the estate agent. He was having none of it. “Good morning. May I introduce my business partner in ‘Janet and Master’?”
The woman’s instinctive reaction was to spit some catty put down at this obvious bimbo but remembered that, unlikely though she now thought it, they might actually take the place and hastily synthesised a smile. “Pleased to meet you.”
Janet realised that Master was offering her the chance to assert herself. “How do you do. Shall we get on then?”
The front of the ground floor was floor-to-ceiling glass. The reception desk was in the far right corner by the stairs, then there were the double doors to the back of the building and, tucked away in the other corner, next to a small office, were the lifts. It had once been a light, attractive modern space and could be again with a good clean and polish. “The main offices are upstairs.”
“Indeed? I think we should explore through there.” Janet pointed to the double swing doors.
“Oh, that just leads to the old workshop, there’s nothing much to see.”
“Then I would like to see this ‘nothing much’ if you please.”
It was a big, square, two story high space. It had a granolithic floor, concrete ceiling with fire sprinklers and three concrete block walls. The third side was composed almost entirely of windows and floor-to-ceiling roller shutters.
On one wall was the very large, cast iron electric mains incoming power box. Janet remembered something from the college lectures. If this was to be their new film studio then adequate power for lights was essential. “I see there is a three phase supply. Tell me please, what is the available connected load?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know.” The agent was pulled up all standing but it was a perfectly reasonable question to ask.
“Then find out please. It would be most inconvenient to have to wait on the bureaucracy while the Power Company comes and ‘reinforces’ it. Shall we look upstairs?”
The first floor comprised a range of offices plus a large conference room, which was ripe for conversion into a presentation suite. It all needed decorating and furnishing – once the spiders and their cobwebs were evicted.
“And the floors above?”
The smaller offices above were divided by those modern, movable partitions, they could make what they liked of it. The top floor was the surprise. It was composed of what had been two spacious penthouse flats where the old top people had lived ‘over the shop’ – till they went broke.
Master raised an eyebrow at Janet who nodded slightly – the place was just about perfect – if perhaps much too big. “What are they asking for this place?”
The estate agent told them the asking rent.
“And for an outright sale?”
‘Stupid people, she would never believe such a pair would ever buy such a place outright.’ None the less she named a figure.
‘Master’ showed the palm of his hand to Janet. In it was the back of one of his cards on which he had written ‘–20%’.
Janet did some quick mental arithmetic. “It needs a lot of work I’m afraid. None the less, for an immediate sale,” she named the new figure, “That is for a completion this day, cash.”
The woman looked as though she had been struck by a thunderbolt, a friendly thunderbolt perhaps as the place had cluttered up their books for far too long, but the offer was slightly more than the Official Receiver would have expected to raise in a force sale. “I must ‘phone the client.” For a few minutes she stood in the car park in animated conversation on her ‘mobile’. She returned smiling broadly. “You offer has been accepted, can you arrange finance at once?”
“I assume a cheque will be acceptable? Where are the papers?”
“I’m afraid I don’t carry them with me.”
“You don’t?” Janet looked surprised and shocked. “Then go and fetch them at once! Oh, and bring someone back with you to witness the transaction.”
They watched the woman scurry back to her car and drive off. “Well, Janet, I think we can say that she was well and truly ‘SOTHBAB’.”
“What on earth is SOTHBAB?”
“Stamped on the head by a bimbo.”
“So, I’m a bimbo am I?”
“Of course you’re not! But that’s what she took you for till the very moment you struck. I’ve practically given myself indigestion trying not to laugh.”
Laughing together they went and explored the new home of ‘Janet and Master’.
It was about an hour later when the ‘Janet and Master’s appointed lawyer just about dead heated with the returning estate agent, bringing her legal lady and another little man who was to witness the deal. It was all routine stuff, but they thought it better to have it all professionally checked.
Janet signed the documentation – which drew some odd looks. She took her chequebook out of her expensive designer handbag and began to write.
“I would prefer it if you signed the cheque, Sir.”
‘Master’ turned to the house agent with a shocked expression. “I do so hope that that wasn’t a sexist remark I just heard.”
“I’m afraid it was, Sir.” Their lawyer chipped in. “In the light of which I must advise you that you have every right to repudiate the contract if you wish.”
The Estate agent was horrified at her gaff. If she lost the sale at this point it would cost her her job.
“Do you, Janet? There are several other likely places we can go and look at.”
Janet thought for a moment, sucking her cheek then, slowly, “No, I don’t think so – one SOTHBAB should be enough for her for one day.” She finished the cheque and handed it over, accepted the keys and put them together with her chequebook and the deeds to the place back into her bag.
Leaving the estate agent standing in the car park, wondering just what a SOTHBAB could be, they drove back to the shop.
* * * * * *
Wickford met them at the back door. She looked worried. “A rather nasty girl came while you were out, she said that you had promised her money.”
“I hope you didn’t give her any.”
“No, of course not, … … but, well, she did look so in a state that I offered her a meal.”
“Did she accept?”
Yes, I cooked her a big plate of sausages and mash, Mam, and she just wolfed it down with about half a loaf of bread and butter and several mugs of coffee. Then she ate two oranges and just more or less keeled over.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s sleeping on the changing room floor. Everything is locked up in there and I’ve been keeping an eye on her, she hasn’t moved. I’m sorry if I didn’t do right.”
“You did quite right, Wickford. Keep a sharp eye out for her though, I suspect she will steal anything that isn’t screwed down.
Back in the office, they re-drew their bar chart, adding the extra tasks then, working with the yellow pages and a trade directory, they started a telephone battle that would have done credit to the planners of D-day. They just picked off jobs as they got to them and engaged the various services as they could fit them in. Starting with an office janitorial service who promised to send a team in the next afternoon, hoping thus to get the ongoing cleaning contract. By the end of office hours, they had more or less broken the back of the job and had redrawn a slightly less impossible bar chart and PERT.
‘Master’ looked at his watch. “Well past supper time. Will our usual restaurant do?”
“That sounds perfect – shall I change?”
Not unless you want to. If you can bear to stay in that dress, it will save a lot of time.”
‘No’, she realised, ‘She didn’t want to change. She never wanted to leave this corseted and collared world, up here on her sky scraper heels. She had read the works of Sir Basil Liddle Hart, Havlock Elis, the Cunningtons and other writers on this arcane corner of social history and had sneered at their assertion that tight lacing was, after a time, addictive. Now she knew it was true.
Tied up in there, perched on these perilous heels, inside this rigid bastion, she was in her Dreamland, looking down at all the lesser mortals. This strange animal power that she engendered had grown so strong now that even she herself was conscious of it radiating from her like some psychic lighthouse.
The restaurant had decided that ‘their usual table’ was now in the very centre of the room, their service taking priority over all other dinners. Janet was perfectly well aware of the effect she was creating: what woman wouldn’t? It could easily have gone to her head, turned her into one of those conceited, overbearing bitches who poisoned the very air about them – but that wasn’t Janet’s way.
Chapter Eighteen
The Goth was waiting for them when they got back for the restaurant. She looked a lot better for a meal and a long sleep, but she still smelt.
“Gimee the money what you promised, gov.”
Master stood and looked at her with obvious distaste. “I promised you no money but, well, here.” He took a five pound note from his back pocket and gave it to her. “There. That will feed you for a while, but is nowhere near enough for another ‘fix’. Be on your way.”
With a mumbled thanks, looking only slightly disappointed, the Goth walked out into the night.
Now that Janet had someone to look out for her, they decided that it was time she tried the ‘posture board’ bed.
She slipped into a corset liner and presented herself in the bedroom, where she made the acquaintance of the sleeping corset which came from her ankles up to her armpits. It zipped up the front and was, of course, back laced. She clung to the bedhead while they laced her in. It was tight but not particularly stiff. She was soon to find out why.
‘Master’ lifted her onto the posture board, which didn’t fit her curves at all, “Ouch! This is like laying on a heap of boulders!”
“Hang on a minute.” The padded face of the board was mounted on a flat spring steel plate whose curves could be adjusted by a series of screw jacks. Janet felt herself settling onto a padded form of herself which was not at all uncomfortable.
“Now for the foot formers or whatever they call them.”
“Eh?”
They were the traditional devices for training the foot into the super high heeled position; Her feet were pushed into the wide straps over her insteps and the massive wooden ‘formers’, shaped to the form of the backs of her legs would take if perched on full ballet boots, were pulled slowly round till they touched her calves and the knee and ankle straps fastened. Her feet were fixed in the ‘ballet boot’ position. The wooden ‘formers’ were fixed to the posture board by wing nuts.
They lifted her head and slipped into a black leather ‘depravation hood’ and combined neck corset, laced tightly up the back, and further secured by a series of straps. That was indeed a new experience for Janet.
In the pitch black silence she felt herself, strap after strap, being pinned immovably to the board, her arms pinned to her sides by yet another series of straps. Janet tried a few experimental wriggles, just to confirm her total confinement and tried to relax, waiting for her ‘Dreamland’ to come to her.
Gently, silently, it drifted into her as she knew it would. Time had no meaning in Janet’s ‘Dreamland’, all the clocks are disconnected, as are all the dimensions of space, folded and condensed into a weightless, floating point in another space/time continuum entirely. The essence of Janet floated free in a soft ecstatic field of some dark energy, which permeated her very soul.
It could have been an hour, a day, a month even when they came and released her, she had no idea. Outside the window it was pitch black, except for the glow of the streetlights. “What time is it, or rather what day is it?”
“It’s about one thirty, time to start getting into today’s outfit; the street lights will go out in about half an hour.
* * * * *
The van accelerated quickly away from the traffic lights till the driver knocked it into neutral for it to coast silently to its mark by the kerb. The flat representing the front of a Victorian town house was manhandled into place as was a glowing, make believe Victorian gas lamp post. The camera crew swung into their now well-rehearsed routine.
Janet had no ‘well-rehearsed routine’, every dress she wore presented its own problems. She remembered a fashion historian writing the ‘every new fashion pre-supposes that there is, somewhere, a woman with the skill to wear it’. This dress was copied from an eighteen-seventy=six fashion plate, but its line had been greatly exaggerated.
The delicate lace collar was on a rigid base of modern, rigid grip, made high so as to exaggerate her swan necked look. The bodice was smooth and long over padding at the sides of her chest, and hips down to well below her hips. That this artificial edifice had to have been erected over a similarly massive corset, laced to rib cracking tightness, goes without saying. The skirt, over a stout canvas tube to prevent her knees from being obvious as she struggled with six in-steps to hobble onto her mark was a revealing, clinging line with all it fullness drawn the back.
The discrete soft edged spotlighting threw an almost unbelievable picture of extreme elegance against the gloom of the make believe sooty Victorian backdrop as she turned to the dolly camera. “Please, good people, I have but a moment to tell you of this marvellous new thing that will change all our lives. It will … … .”
‘Master’ strode into frame. Dressed in a black, Victorian top coat and top hat and carrying a silver mounted cane, he literally scooped Janet into his arms, saying “Now then, young lady, let’s have no more of this!”
An open, four wheeled carriage drawn by two gleaming black horses drew up beside him and he loaded Janet aboard and they drove off.
The old lady in the upstairs window opposite was grateful for the entertainment, but a little sad that the whole thing had been over so quickly, not much over two minutes from an empty street to an empty street. They were getting as well-rehearsed as a Formula1 pit crew. She went and made herself a cup of tea.
The lone beat copper had timed it on his wristwatch. Two minutes fifteen seconds, no way would the courts countenance a case of ‘obstructing the footpath’.
“Did you get it, Crew?” The by now traditional question got the traditional answer. Skilled camera crews just don’t make mistakes. ‘Master’ settled down with them to edit the shots into the next ad to join the accumulating list. Janet didn’t, for once, join them.
“Help me, Wickford!” Janet swayed as she grasped Wickford’s arm. Her face was white with beads of perspiration running down her brow, she was sagging visibly and her eyelids were beginning to droop.
Wickford almost man-handled her onto the stair lift and kept pace as they mounted the stairs, steadying her charge as, otherwise, she would certainly have tumbled off the lift and back down the stairs to heaven knows what disaster. Once back to the safety of the bedroom, she supported the fainting girl against her hip while she unzipped the bodice. To save time she picked up a pair of nail scissors from the dressing table and snipped the laces again and again till the corset burst open with a resounding ‘plumph!’ and Janet relaxed into a shapeless bundle of haberdashery.
Her first real evidence that she was still in the land of the living was the ammoniac fumes of Wickford’s smelling bottle as it was wafted under her nose. She was slumped in the armchair, still half in the Victorian dress. “OK, that will do. I’m back with you.” She struggled back to a sitting position. “But that was most unpleasant, the first time I’ve fainted in my whole life. By the way, where did you get the smelling salts?”
“From the pharmacist down the road. I thought it might just come in useful.”
“Wickford, you’re a treasure. Did you get a receipt?”
“Yes, Mam.”
“Then charge it to petty cash, oh, and you’d better get a couple of spares when you have a moment, this business is getting desperate.”
“I thought you had finished with that dress Mam?”
“I have, but there are two more, even worse in the pipeline and all sorts of other costumes in store for me that certainly won’t be any easier.”
Wickford helped Janet out of the Victorian dress and into her track suite for their morning jog. She hadn’t long to wait before ‘Master stuck his head round the door and announced that there was just enough daylight. Softly they padded out into the silent streets.
It was more out of curiosity than anything that, as they trotted past, made Janet peer into the shop doorway once again. The big cardboard box was still there, but it looked somehow odd. The top flaps had been folded in and the sides were slightly bulging. Janet gave it a tentative tug but it was heavy and didn’t budge. ‘Master’ stepped past her and flipped the lid open, peering in.
“Oh my God! Where’s the nearest ‘phone?”
It was the smell that first struck Janet, she recognised it instantly, the woodland bonfire smell of the Goth. Looking closer, there was the black leather and studs of the Goth’s outfit, a blood stained hand and a mass of tangled hair also matted with congealed blood.
The nearest public ‘phone was miles away, it would have been quicker to run back to the shop. Without hesitation, Janet pulled the lanyard out of the neck of her track suit and, standing in the middle of the road, blew her police whistle just as hard as she possibly could.
The copper had said it would work and it did. The copper came running, took in the scenes in a moment and was on his radio. The silence of a city backstreet was shattered by ‘blues and twos’ as the ambulance and several police cars came racing up. The copper had already ripped the box apart and the paramedics went to work.
“Is she dead?” They asked the copper, who had detached himself from the crowd around the stretcher as they lifted her into the ambulance. They had stood quietly to one side, keeping out of the way, waiting for the inevitable questions.
“No, she’s still alive but, if you hadn’t found her when you did, they don’t think she would have lasted till morning.”
“What’s happened to her?”
“She’s been kicked almost to pulp. We’ve never seen anything this bad, none of us.” The copper became all professional but he was obviously holding himself in with difficulty. “Look, we will be needing a statement, of course, but you’re not going to do any good standing about here, we know where to find you so I should be on your way.”
“Thank you officer.” They padded off into the gloom.
* * * * *
It was yesterday’s corset again. Rigid, all embracing, remorseless though it was, it was nothing compared with this morning’s costume. Basically a black latex tube, it was so tight that they had to turn it inside out and, starting at her feet, roll it up her body, pushing her arms down the sleeves, pulling the helmet part over her head and zipping her in. Now she viewed the world through big, red multi-lensed insect eyes, two waving antennae sprouting from the top of her head. There was a jacket part to the costume. It was there to support six waving, insect like legs, four large, diaphanous wings and a hanging harness.
Once in it, Janet was more or less helpless so they carried her out to the ‘cherry picker’ and hooked her onto the suspension wire.
“Stand by crew. Roll ‘em. Five-four-three-two-one … Action!”
The hydraulic cherry picker lifted Janet on the almost invisible black wire to swing her into shot, her four wings buzzing furiously with the electric drive to hang, six feet over the road.
“I have only a moment before I must buzz off to tell you about this new thing. It’s the most … … .”
‘Master’ stepped into shot. He was wearing gum boots, a white disposable overall and a gasmask under his hard hat. On his back he carried a large knapsack sprayer. He aimed at Janet and she was enveloped in a white mist. It took teamwork between the cherry picker operator, the man on its platform and another, out of shot, but with a fine wire attached the Janet’s feet, as they made her fly round in ever decreasing circles while convulsing and rocking, till she crashed into the road, dead on her marks, and lay with broken wings and legs slowly twitching into motionlessness till two men in similar protective clothes came to gather her up, unceremoniously dumping her into a large wheelie-bin and pushing her out of shot.
“Cut!”
The cherry picker had been running silently on its internal batteries, but that silence was shattered as the diesel started and it, together with the film crew’s truck, drove off, leaving the street silent in the morning light.
With coffee and croissants, still warm from the baker down the road’s oven, they were getting better organised now, helping the editing of the morning’s work. Janet, changed into her royal blue business dress with light grey boots, belt and collar, got downstairs in time to watch the two edited ads flash onto the big wall screen, and be universally accepted as being good. Two more safely ‘in the can’.
Chapter Nineteen
Many years later an older, more mature Janet would tell her children that she could hardly remember the next few weeks. “It has all melded into one huge imbroglio of furious action.” She was to smile at their excited faces as ‘mum’ recounted the tale, “Gosh! I couldn’t do it now but, my word! It was fun while it lasted.”
* * * * *
That first morning, as they unlocked the doors of their new offices to let the cleaning contractors in, was the opening of the flood gates. A firm who specialised in what they called ‘Interior Landscapes’ had come and the sales lady had sketched several sorts of schemes, from a few potted trees to almost a conversion of the foyer into a tropical rain forest. They chose a rather subtle set up where the foliage gave discrete corners where people who were not sufficiently important to be invited into the upstairs offices could sit and discuss business seated on comfortable sofas, while it still left the foyer looking ‘live’ and friendly but largely uncluttered. The ‘interior landscape’ firm undertook also to arrange for the furniture and to maintain the plants.
The film crew had moved in in force. Their very own studio at last! Starting with the essentials like the equipment for making unlimited amounts of coffee, they made themselves at home. They obviously knew just what they were about. Janet and ‘Master’ gave them a copy of the work schedule and left them to it. There was much else to do.
* * * * *
The Goth had survived, as the copper told them when he came to take their statements. She was expected to make a full recovery ‘for all the good that will do’. The copper had seen it all before.
“What exactly do you mean, ‘for all the good that will do’?”
“Well, Miss, the hospital will do their best for her, of course. Then she will no doubt be offered a place on a drug rehabilitation course which I very much doubt if she will take and, even if she did, it never seems to work for long. You see, where can she go? Only back to the streets where a ‘fix’ is just about all there is to relieve her misery. We know full well who did it to her but we can’t prove it, and she certainly won’t shop them, it would be certain death if she did, but they are all she has to go back to.”
“There but for the grace of God go I … … Officer, is there nothing we can do?” Janet just couldn’t accept the situation. Somehow, if they hadn’t given her that fifty pounds. … … . “Would it help if I were to talk to her?”
“I doubt it, Miss. She’s too far gone. But do so by all means, it can’t do any harm.” He gave her the address of the hospital and her ward number and left to do his bit to sort out the perpetual problems of town life.
All this was in addition to the work back at the old shop. The next night Janet wore another Victorian dress, this time with a huge bustle and wasp waist. ‘Master’ played the stern Victorian father with mutton chop whiskers and a curved meerschaum pipe. She was bundled into a full coach and four and driven off.
For the second shot in the first rays of dawn, she burst out of the door dressed only in Victorian long drawers, stays and camisole, hotly pursued by an actress dressed as a Victorian maid. She got in quite a long speech about ‘the family having hidden all her clothes so that she shouldn’t be able to come and tell them about this wonderful new … …’ before two liveried footmen seized her, supervised by and imperious ‘Master’ as she was, this time, dragged back into the house.
* * * * *
The taxi dropped her at the main entrance to the hospital and she waited patiently at the reception desk till the girl entered the Goth’s name into the computer and confirmed for her where she was. The Ward Sister couldn’t help staring. That such an immaculate business woman should come to see such a piece of social flotsam was past her comprehension. “Are you related?”
“No, I just happen to know her.”
“I’m sorry but I don’t think she will speak to you, Miss, she’s still in shock and just stares into space.”
“None the less, I’ll just go and see her if I may?”
The ward sister showed her to the end of the bed and left her. The copper had told her that her name was Paula.
“Hello Paula, remember me?” Janet sat down and watched the blank face, staring fixedly at nothing. It was bandaged and hideously bruised. Her left arm was in plaster. Janet spoke softly, telling her how sorry she was that it had happened to her, that somehow she knew it had something to do with her getting involved with ‘Janet and Master’; that she was so very sorry and was here to help if she could.
A look of something like obstinate truculence came over Paula’s face. Her mind registered Janet as just another of those bloody ‘do-gooders’ but, at least, Janet was getting through to her. Janet opened her bag and took out a small cardboard box. “Look, I’ve brought you some chocolates, they’re all soft centres in case you can’t yet bite very easily.” Paula made no attempt to take them so Janet placed them gently on her lap.
Slowly Paula’s eyes swivelled down to stare unbelievingly at the box. ‘Do-Gooders’ don’t bring chocolates, only friends bring chocolates. Across the barren emptiness of her soul, Janet’s little gift brought the first touch of human friendship. Out there in the grit and dirt of hard, cruel streets Paula had not felt the touch of friendship since … since … sin … Her eyes welled up with tears that flooded down her cheeks. Her shoulders shook slightly with silent sobs.
Impulsively, knowing instinctively that she mustn’t speak, Janet laid her hand gently on Paula’s. For a long time, she knew not how long, Janet sat, silently pouring her power into Paula. Suddenly she knew full well what she was doing: ‘If you’ve got it, flaunt it.’ She could always get this power recharged, that she knew.
The hospital psychiatrist came quickly at Sister’s ‘phone call. Together they stood in the doorway to the ward and watched. “Thank you for calling me, Sister, you did quite right to be concerned. What you are seeing there is that young lady precipitating a crisis in your patient. When the flood has abated, she will start to talk. If her visitor stays and listens, go and offer them a cup of tea. Don’t, whatever you do, start talking about ‘visiting time being over’.
Such a simple thing, a cup of tea, but women over the ages have talked ‘over the teacups’ and Paula just had to unburden herself. It was all a very simple, trite almost, and a not uncommon story. Paula had been a happy, extrovert, party loving girl – till she went to the wrong party. She hadn’t wanted to try drugs but, well, everybody else was and they taunted her till she gave in.
Crack cocaine is the very claw of the devil and, once it takes hold, there is no escape, not without help. She had turned for help to her parents, quiet, respectable people who, till that moment, were inordinately proud of their daughter. They just didn’t understand, were too judgemental;, it had resulted in a monumental row and Paula had fled, like so many, to the unforgiving streets of London, living rough, relying for her protection on a gang of feral louts who stole what they could and shared their booty – and their ‘habits’.
It was the fifty pounds that Paula had earned – it bought enough ‘coke’, or rather crack cocaine, for them all to get high and, when they ‘came down’, had expected her second visit to the shop to produce the same bounty. They just didn’t believe she had got but a fiver. In the frenzy of withdrawal they had turned on her in their anger.
“Well, you can’t go back there you know. You would never be safe again.”
“I shall just have to,” She was sobbing uncontrollably now, “there’s nowhere else to go.”
“You could get a job.”
“Some hopes for the likes of me! Employers run a mile if they think you’re on drugs. Anyway, those leather togs are all I have and, even if I can get the blood off them, who’s going to offer me a job dressed like that?” There was a note of despair in Paula’s voice. It told Janet that she desperately wanted ‘out’ but there was no ‘out’. She had just given up.
Janet sat for a full minute, deep I thought. “OK, then, this is the offer. If you will go on the drug rehab course you’re offered, if you stick it out to the end, I will find you some more respectable clothes in exchange for that hideous outfit, and I will find you a job working for me. It will not be an easy job and, at first, you will hate every minute of it and, be of no doubt, one backslide and you’re back out on the streets.” She stared Paula straight in the eyes. “If you make it, through … if …., then I guarantee that you will be a highly employable and a very ‘sought after’ woman.”
Janet stood up to leave. “What I’m offering is not an easy option, don’t think that for a moment, far from it. It is going to be hell on earth. It’s a matter of whether the ‘crack’ has left you enough guts to take the offer.” She gave Paula one last hard stare. “It’s the only offer on the table, my dear. The alternatives are being found floating face down in the canal or dead in some dark corner. Think about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Sitting in the taxi on the way back to the shop, Janet had a sudden thought. Talking to Paula, her accent had gradually changed. Slowly the harsh ‘estuarine’ voice with its overtones of cockney arrogance, violence and obscenity had modulated into a quiet, educated voice with just a trace of the lilt of Mid Wales. She had hardly noticed it at the time, but maybe that was the real Paula, still flickeringly alive. Janet realised instinctively that there was not the slightest use her mounting a rescue party, the real Paula had to fight her way out under her own power.
Power, that irresistible power that women have, if they did but realise it. Janet knew that power now. Submitting to ‘Master’s’ dominance had taught her where the fountainhead of that power lay. She sucked her cheek and smiled, a wicked, impish smile. It might work. Anyway it was just about the only hope for Paula.
* * * * *
The dressmaker demanded a fitting session for the next generation of ‘business woman’s’ clothes for Janet. It was interesting and exciting in its way of course – but she was a busy woman and spared the time with difficulty, particularly as she had also to be fitted for a whole range of new corsets, each offering a different compromise between extreme figure forming and restriction bordering upon complete inability to perform any of the myriad of functions demanded of her. This was complicated by the fact that corsets which would have defeated her a few weeks ago she could now take in her stride; indeed, she took an almost perverse delight in confounding the aged corsetiere by her acceptance of suggestions for more difficult-to-wear garments.
This was all compounded by time spent in the hands of hair dressers and cosmeticians.
She more than suspected that ‘Master’ was up to something. She saw less and less of him as the project gathered pace, but she knew he was franticly busy. He left her little notes or messages delivered through Wickford and it was obvious that he was up to something important. She assumed that, whatever it was, he wasn’t going to worry her with it, busy as she was, or, at least, she hoped that’s what it was.
* * * * *
The last shoot in the early morning blackness went like clockwork. Janet wore an extreme Edwardian ‘S’-bend costume. It didn’t hobble her but her black button boots twinkled under the hems of voluminous petticoats, underskirts and a massive skirt so bedecked with frills and flounces that it almost stood on its own. “This modern world,” she pronounced, “has struggled for too long without this wonderful new thing. Today I bring you great news, it is here at last that … … .“
Janet spent several hours in hooded darkness, strapped to the posture board before they shot the very last street scene. She sensed that she had spent so much of her power in getting through to Paula that a swift recharge was most definitely required. In any case, a little time spent in her ‘Dreamland’ was infinitely preferable to listening to the snorers of the film crew.
The same Victorian house front and glowing gas lamp post, with Janet dressed only in Victorian long drawers and a strait jacket, her hair standing in wild disorder, rushed out the door, wild eyed and screaming that, “This is the last chance! They would do anything to stop me telling the world about this wonderful th … … .” ‘Master’, dressed in the black frock coat of a Victorian doctor, directed two men dressed in the uniforms of Victorian mental nurses to manhandle her into a black, horse-Victorian ambulance. ‘Master’ looked into camera and shook his head sadly before walking slowly out of shot.
That was it, almost the last time they would invade the silent streets, almost. They edited the last two street shots, two more ads in the can. There was something of an ‘end of term feeling about it all. In a few hours a removal van would back up to the back door and everything would be loaded up for transport to the new offices.
Heaving furniture about was not part of Janet’s CV so, arranging to meet them at the new office later in the day, she shook hands all round and Janet, rigidly corseted as usual and in a beige version of her ‘standard’ business outfit with natural leather belt, cuffs and collar, floppy beret and black satin coat, called a taxi to take her to her old flat. She had paid the rent till the end of the quarter and just hadn’t had time yet to clear it out. She sorted out a couple of changes of clothes that would fit practically anybody and packed them into an old, canvas grip. A taxi took her to the hospital.
“She is in a bad way, I’m afraid. She’s in such a state that we have had to move her into a private ward and her moaning is driving the other patients up the wall. I’m not at all sure she will want to see you.”
“If I walk in the door, she hasn’t got a lot of choice, has she? Come with me, Sister, if you please. I want a witness.”
As they walked down the corridor, the Ward Sister explained that Paula had signed up for the re-hab course and would be taken by ambulance to start the treatment as soon as the doctors here said she was fit to be discharged. Unfortunately, that had not prevented the withdrawal symptoms from kicking in with a vengeance. The hospital had given some palliative medicine, but Janet could hear her moaning long before they reached the door of her room.
“Great hell and goose guts! You really are in a state.” Janet stood by the side of the bed, looking down at the sweating, moaning wreck.
Paula looked up beseechingly. “Help me! Oh, for God’s sake, help me!”
“If there really is a God I can’t see him wanting anything like you in his heaven.” Janet’s quick domineering tone cut through Paula’s misery like knife. “I’m told you have signed up for re-hab. Well done! That’s at least a start. Are you still agreeable to our deal about swapping clothes? If so, this is what I’ve brought you.” She unzipped the grip and took out a trouser suit, a pair of slacks and a sweater and a print summer dress. She showed her the rest of the clothes in the grip. “There you are, that lot in exchange for that disgusting leather outfit, is it a deal?”
She had got it right. Just the right force of personality to get through to Paula’s mind that was running wild in her skull. “Yes! Yes! Oh yes! But help me please, PLEASE!!”
“All right, I’m with you, no need to shout!” Janet turned to the Ward Sister. “Would you take this grip and store it wherever you keep patients’ clothes and dig out that leather stuff for me? I’ll collect it on my way out.”
The psychiatrist had told the Sister that, should Janet return, she should be given every assistance but that he should be called at once. He came in to find Janet perched stiffly on the edge of the bed with her arms around Paula’s shoulders, while Paula was clinging desperately with her arms around Janet’s corseted waist as far as the plaster cast allowed, and her head resting on Janet’s shoulder. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she was listening intently as Janet murmured soft words. Janet nodded to the psychiatrist who came in quietly and sat the other side of the bed. The words, he realised, meant very little but he couldn’t help feeling the power flowing into his patient. It was quite palpable.
Slowly, Paula relaxed and slipped into a deep sleep. Together they lay her down and re-arranged the bed. Janet nodded towards the door and they left silently. “I’ve heard of faith healers who can do things like that, but I never expected to see it done in a National Health Hospital. How on earth do you do it?”
“If I knew that, Doctor, I would publish a book that would camp forever on the Best Seller list. Honestly, I’ve no idea.”
They sat in Sister’s office and drank tea. Part of the stock in trade of a psychiatrist is to make yourself easy to talk to and he listened intently while she explained the kinky life style she had chosen and the strange power it engendered. She expected him to nod condescendingly and not believe a word but; “You know, if you go to the National Portrait Gallery or some such and look at the portraits of the beauties of the past done by the great Masters, if you stand there long enough, you can feel some faint echo of their power coming from the canvas, still there after all those hundreds of years. There’s ‘nothing new under the sun’ as they say.” He looked at her, suddenly serious. “You have that power, I can feel it even now as I sit here. Nobody can take it from you. It is yours for good or evil. Please use it wisely.”
“I’ll try to. Now I must collect those awful leather clothes and be on my way, there is much I must attend to.”
“What do you intend to do with them?”
“Find some safe place to dump them. They are only fit for land fill at best.”
“Well, the hospital has an incinerator where we dispose of bloody dressings, bits that the surgeons snip off, that sort of thing. Blood soaked leather would be quite appropriate to go in there.”
“That would be very helpful, thank you”
That night Paula slept quietly and peacefully such as she hadn’t done in a long time. After breakfast, the ambulance took her to the rehab centre, but now Janet had her in her power.
Chapter Twenty
In the new studio, they set up the entrance to a rocky cave; Janet ran out, dodging between the make believe boulders and, dressed only in a deerskin, started her spiel about ‘this wonderful new … …’ ‘ Master’, in a similar caveman fur, came running after her, carrying a large, menacing-looking ‘blow up’ club with which he batted her over the head and then dragged the ‘unconscious’ girl by the hair (actually by the ‘hanging harness’ hidden under her dear skin) back into the cave.
“Got it, Crew?” The traditional question was answered by them pointing to the big monitor hung on the wall, where they watched the instant playback. It would need practically no editing, so they left it to the crew; they knew the form perfectly well by now.
While the crew set up the scene for the next ad, they changed back to business clothes and an immaculate Janet, dressed in a long pencil skirt with no waist band, it’s boned form following the lines of her stringent ‘business’ corset right up her he breasts, where it gave way to a soft chiffon blouse with a rigid, chin high starched ‘man’s’ collar and ‘bootlace’ tie under a dark blue ‘bolero’ jacket, all perched on polished, calf high button ballet boots with quite perilous eight inch heels, moved smoothly to greet a young graphic artist and accompany him to ’Master’s’ office, where they interviewed him for the job of ‘Graphics Manager’ to ‘Janet and Master’.
His previous employer, a very big advertising agency had sacked him without a reference. ‘Master’ asked him to show them some of his work and, from a big ‘artist’s’ folder he lay scheme after scheme before them. “Is this all your own work?”
The young man shrugged his head sadly. “I’m afraid so, Miss. Sorry. I haven’t had time to produce a new folder; this is just the stuff that they let me keep when they threw me out.”
It looked amazingly good work to both Janet and ‘Master’, even if rather ‘off beat’. “Tell me, but only if you wish. Why did they sack you?”
Sadly and without a word, he produced another sheet. It was a soft pencil ‘story board’ for an ad. It was an ad so commonplace and banal that, even by the standards of modern TV ads, it would be voted ‘the ad most likely to be forgotten’. It was obviously not the work of the young artist.
“So?”
“Well, the boss did this and gave it to me to work up into a ‘camera’ board. The nosy old sod went rummaging through my papers after I had left for the night and he found this.” He took another story board from his folder and laid it over the top. Janet and ‘Master’ stared at it for a moment before it struck them what it was. Beautifully drawn, it was a subtle send up of the pervious sketches. The more they looked at it the more they saw; it was bitingly, wickedly funny. “I wouldn’t have been fool enough to show it to him of course, I only did it to help me think of some way to ‘liven it up’ – to produce a more ‘lively’ ad.”
There are things that a tightly corseted woman just should not do and one of the cardinal sins is to give way to helpless laughter. With her ribs hammering painfully against her corset steels, Janet leant on the edge of the desk for support while tears of laughter did great damage to her makeup. “If they had made that into an ad it would have won all sorts of awards!”
“It got me the sack.”
“And it’s got you the job! When can you start?”
The young man stared at them unbelievingly. ‘Master’ confirmed the decision. “The job is yours if you want it. This industry needs minds like yours – so welcome to the mad house. What do we call you, by the way?”
“My friends call me ‘Mike’.
“Then Mike it is, you’re among friends.”
* * * * *
The crew had set up an early mediaeval mud hut with thatched roof against a painted back-cloth. Janet, dressed in brown skirt and apron, loose blouse and a ‘milkmaid’s white cap emerged from the hut, carrying two milk buckets hanging from the traditional yoke. She started on a carefully rehearsed version of her spiel in mock early English when ‘Master’s’ voice off camera shouted, “Silence woman!” Dressed as a much too-clean version of Robin Hood, he was accompanied by the most miserable looking version of Friar Tuck who, with ‘bell book and candle’ pronounced that ‘her ranting was sacrilege’ and they dragged her off towards a post and pile of brushwood painted on the backcloth where she was, obviously, to be burnt at the stake.
Over the next few days they shot versions of the same scene in sets to imitate renaissance Italy, Elizabethan England and even a scene on the deck of HMS Victory where Admiral the Lord Nelson had Lady Hamilton thrown overboard because she wouldn’t keep quiet about ‘this wonderful new thing that will … … .’ And so on and so on.
They spliced all the ads end to end onto one CD, adding at the last minute ‘leader’ and ‘tail’ by Mike, who managed in short order to produce a set of graphics which told the viewer that this was a preview of the proposed ads devised by the ‘Janet and Master’ partnership, and ending with an invitation to view the great day when this wonderful thing be unveiled to the world.
They viewed it time after time till they were all satisfied – then they invited the client’s Marketing Manager to come and approve it all or otherwise.
* * * * *
The Marketing Manager watched the CD as it was run on the Presentation room’s big screen. Apart from one or two snorts of laughter at some of the more ridiculous scenes, he said nothing.
“Will you show that again, please?” He sat through the re-showing, this time jotting down a few notes.
The curtains in front of the screen slid closed and the room lights were faded up. ‘Master’ broke the silence. “Well, that’s the best we could do, I’m afraid.”
The Marketing Manager nodded. “There are several more ads there than we asked for.”
“True, but while our creativity was on the boil, we shot all the ideas we had. You don’t have to buy the spares if you don’t want them.”
“Oh, we’ll buy them all right. Look, I came here today with my tail between my legs to beg you to get me out of the smelly yet again. You’ll never guess, they’ve put back the launch day yet again! I’ve told them that they will be more than lucky if you can get them off the hook yet again and I’ll make them grovel before I’ll tell them that you’ve done it already. If they do it again I’ve told them that I shall resign. Whatever you do, don’t tell then that we have a couple of ads in hand.”
“Oh, we won’t, that’s our secret.” ‘Master paused for a moment before he asked the million dollar question. “Well, if that’s OK, we will wrap it up and send you the final bill. If you’ve finally fixed the big day, do you want us to contribute to the big launch?”
The Marketing Manager tucked the CD away in his briefcase. “Of course we do. Don’t you realise that you’ve got us over a barrel, don’t you realise that, without ‘The Girl Who Wants to Tell All’ to finally unveil the damned thing, the whole campaign will end up as a damp squib. Yes, we want more than your assistance, we want you to take the whole thing on board. We want you to make the big final exposé, make it big, sensational. Any suggestions you have will be more or less rubber stamped.”
There was something of a shocked silence. Neither Janet nor ‘Master’ had thought along those lines, they had been too focused on spinning the tale of ‘The Girl Who Wanted to Tell All’ to think what would happen beyond.
It was Mike who diffidently dropped the bombshell. “How about doing it live on TV?” He stood up and, with his back to the curtain, more or less mimed it. “We show the last ad – the one where she is taken off as a mad woman in the strait jacket or whatever, then we cut to some big, Hollywood style shindig, all dinner jackets and flashy dresses and the curtains open on the stage and there is Miss Janet in some wonderful outfit who comes forward and does her thing ending with the unveiling of this wonderful new thing.” He looked around at the silent faces. “It could look sensational, it really could.” He ended rather lamely.
“It has one huge advantage.” The marketing manager said, thoughtfully. Except for Janet and the crew from the factory who will bring the thing to the venue, absolutely nobody will know what it is till the very last moment.”
“Live TV,” ‘Master’ mused, “nobody has even done an ad live on TV. The TV Companies will have kittens.”
Janet looked sternly at Mike. “Michael, my lad, we employ you for ideas, not to give me a heart attack. I’m just a working girl, not a TV star.”
“No you’re not, Janet.” ‘Master’s’ voice was soft and conciliatory. “Not any more. You’re ‘The Girl Who Wants to Tell All.’ It has to be you.”
Janet was close to tears. “Yes, I suppose it has to be me. Jesus wept! I’m terrified already. I shan’t sleep for weeks.”
But she did. That night, laced into the sleeping corset, strapped into the foot formers, strapped immovably onto the posture board, her head in the black darkness of the deprivation hood, she slipped quietly into her ‘Dreamland’, where all was safe and, at the same time, exciting. She didn’t know if she was waking or sleeping, she could only feel the power flowing into her.
Chapter Twenty-one
It would have been easy to panic. There always seemed to be more jobs that there were hours in the day. Even half an hour wasted waiting for a taxi that was late was something of a disaster. She tried to get into her little car, but it was immediately obvious that, laced into in her business corsets, she had no chance of getting behind the wheel, let alone driving it. It didn’t worry Janet overly much, driving in London’s dense traffic was no pleasure – but neither was waiting about for cabs.
‘Master’s’ solution was simple. She had just put the ‘phone down when he came into her office with a middle aged man in a charcoal grey two piece suit, immaculately polished shoes and a white shirt with an unusual tie. “Janet, I’ve solved you transport problems, there’s a new Volvo estate parked outside. The firm has bought it for you. This is Mister Pendle, Jack Pendle, if he’ll do, he’s to be your chauffeur.”
Janet was getting good at interviews, it didn’t take long. He was a family man with two boys, he had been on an advanced driving course and a chauffer’s training course. About average height, he had a quiet, relaxed manner that somehow gave her confidence. The only slightly odd thing was that he was wearing a dark blue tie with a pattern of flying daggers, which seemed an odd choice for a chauffeur. The real significance didn’t strike her at the time but ‘Master’ had noted it, which was one of the reasons he had suggested him. “Well, Mister Pendle, I’m sure we shall get on splendidly.” She shook his hand. “I have an appointment with some people just outside Marlow in an hour and a half. Shall we go?”
It made an enormous difference. Not only did he drive her everywhere with a quiet good humour but, sitting, leaning back comfortably, in the back with her laptop, her mobile and her briefcase she had extra productive hours in the day. It was more than that. When, one day, she suddenly had a huge ladder in her stockings, he quietly produced from the boot what he cynically referred to as her ‘spares kit.’ It was a substantial vanity box which he had bought somewhere, filled with just about everything that a lady could possible need to cope with a routine disaster. It was just about the last thing she would have expected a man to think of but, no, he explained, he had consulted with Wickford, who had put it all together – including of course several new pairs of stockings in a variety of shades.
* * * * *
Paula, looking entirely different, was shown up to her office by one of the film crew. Years of sneaking about in the shadows had made her try to creep in via the roller shuttered doors of the studio and he had caught her. “Come in, Paula, and sit down. I’ll be with you in a minute.” As she finished her ‘phone call, Janet examined the repaired Paula. She looked much fitter, but was thinner and drawn with an air of tension about her, as though she had not quite ‘come down’ yet from some frightening battle.
“You look a whole lot better, Paula. All those horrible bruises have gone, but you have lost a lot of weight. That old trouser suit of mine is hanging off you. I assume you have finished the re-hab. course, otherwise they would have ‘phoned me if you had bolted, so congratulations. Now, what can we do for you?”
“You did say that you would find me a job, Miss, and the hostel said I can’t stay there any more now the course is done so I was hoping that you might help me find somewhere.”
There was a clear implication in her voice and manner, a hopeless realisation that she knew she was just a worthless piece of junk to be thrown on society’s scrap heap, that this was her last hope and that she didn’t really expect anything from it.
Janet thought for a moment then, “Move your chair into the middle of the floor, sit on it and say nothing. This is going to embarrass the hell out of you.” She picked up the house ‘phone and made three quick calls, then dismissed Paula from her mind, getting on with her work, till the head of the film crew, Wickford, Mike and Jack Pendle came in and sat around the room on the chairs she indicated with a quick wave of her hand. She closed the folder she had been working on and looked up silently for a moment.
“This will sound quite mad – but we’re going to do it.” Staring fixedly at Paula, she indicated the others one by one, telling her who they were and what they did. Then she indicated Paula to the others. “This is Paula. She did that awful Goth in that ad.”
The head of the film crew looked hard at her for a moment before he recognised her and nodded. “She’s a just dried out drug addict, a thief and has been living rough in the most degrading conditions imaginable. She has made herself into the most disgusting garbage that society could well be rid of.” She paused for a moment to let her words sink in.
“On the other hand, she wasn’t born like that, and she received a beating that all but killed her because she tried to earn an honest crust by doing the ad for us. So, because we were somehow the cause of that and because, for some reason I don’t understand myself, I feel we owe it to her, even if society tries to shuffle off its responsibility as cheaply as possible. So we are going to give her one last chance.”
She looked around the faces of her team. They were still puzzled, but she obviously knew what she wanted. “Pendle, Wickford, you are to find her some decent lodgings. The first week’s rent will come from her first pay packet but, for now, charge it to petty cash, I’ll sign for it.
She is at your disposal for any job that she can do, fetching and carrying, running errands, we’re all rushed off our feet and she must join this Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. Treat her decently but keep her up to the mark. If she steps out of line, tell me at once.” She looked hard at Paula. “You know what will happen if you do – just once.”
Paula nodded but remembered not to speak.
“That’s all for now. Wickford, stay behind please.” The others shuffled out. Janet explained to Wickford that Paula needed clothes, a couple of changes for now but that she had some ideas for her that would take a little time to arrange. Paula’s face was a picture as she was told that, from now on, she would wear a well-fitting girdle and stockings at all times. “The other thing, Wickford, I didn’t mention it before the others, but she is illiterate, somehow she must be taught to read and write.”
That was finally too much for Paula. She burst out, “I’m not! Not illiterate! I can read and write perfectly well, I’ve got three ‘A’-levels and a secretarial diploma.” She looked from one to the other for a moment then went on more evenly, “It’s my eyes. I have what they call ‘conical cornea’. It can’t be corrected with glasses, I have to have special contact lenses and, well, I forgot them when I left home.”
“That changes a lot! Wickford, get her to a really good ophthalmologist and sort it out as quickly as you can!”
Before the door closed behind them, Janet had got the number of a firm just outside Glasgow who specialised in what they called ‘work wear’ (anything from overalls to airline uniforms), and asked for their literature. She called Mike in, bringing his sketch pad, and she described the clothes to be made for Paula. Now that she had an educated girl on her hands, the prospects were wide open.
* * * * *
“Well, you’ve done it now I suppose.” ‘Master’ shook his head in exasperation. “As if we didn’t have enough to do without taking that thing on board.”
Janet felt anger rising in her. “She deserves this last chance, whatever you think! I thought we were equal partners. How I run my side of the thing is my affair entirely, I would remind you!”
He spun on his heal and stalked away. Over his shoulder he almost shouted, “Oh, it is. Just don’t come crying to me when it all comes crashing down around your ears!” His office door closed behind him.
No woman likes to be denied the last word. Even worse, he was probably right. On the other hand, it was their first open disagreement, she had a flickering fear that he was already regretting their partnership. ’Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.’
* * * * *
So much to do, a venue to be booked, a guest list to be compiled, invitations to be printed and posted off, caterers to be arranged and a ‘bill of fare’ agreed. The list was endless. She almost forgot the great day when the first ad was to be screened.
So far as ‘Janet and Master’ was concerned, it was a very low key affair. A few of their growing staff joined them for beer and sandwiches in the presentation suit while they watched the evening’s TV schedules, switching between channels to see it repeated time and again. “Well, it certainly was short and to the point.” ‘Master’ was obviously disappointed. He had seen it so often that it was ‘just another TV ad’.
The next day they waited for the Marketing Manager to ‘phone with his opinion but he never did. She was new to all this – things were taking time to lift off.
By the third day, the gathering in the Presentation Suit had disappeared. Janet sat alone and watched, sipping a cup of instant coffee that went cold long before she finished it. ‘Master’ had left early, she had no idea where he had got to.
He didn’t come and put her into bondage any more, he left that to Wickford. It wasn’t the same somehow, her ‘Dreamland’ was now so very slow in coming to her. Her immobility began to drive her frantic, she almost called the whole thing off.
She got on with her part of the arrangements for the ‘Great Day’ but the excitement had gone out of it. She began to think about the bleak future; who on earth would employ ‘The Girl Who Thought of the Biggest Flop in Advertising History’?
The ‘phone rang. It was a reporter from one of the daily newspapers. His editor hads told him to find out just what these strange, attributable little snippets were doing, cluttering up the evening schedules. He had contacts in one of the TV sales departments who had looked them up on the computer and told him that they had been booked by ‘Janet and Master’ but there was nothing more, even the TV people were in the dark.
Janet pressed the ‘record’ key on her telephone. “They are just what they say, young man. We are preparing the public for the advent of something astoundingly new that we will reveal in due course.”
“Marvellous, and just what is it?”
“That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”
The reported tried all the tricks, but Janet was so bored with the whole thing, so utterly fed up, that she was not going to be bullied – and boredom is the biggest and most insurmountable barrier. Eventually she said, “Look, as I like you – though God alone knows why, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Give me your name and address and I’ll send you an invitation to the big unveiling.”
“Great! When and where is it?”
“It will be on the invitation. See you there.”
That was the beginning. Their press cuttings service began to send envelopes stuffed with clippings, mainly from the gossip columns, they were even mentioned by the ‘talking heads’ of the TV discussion programs. Janet had Paula equipped with a big bottle of office glue, past them all into an elegant scrap book. It was going to take time for a demoralised Janet to accept that their scheme was taking off, she just thought the scrap book would be useful in her next set of job applications.
She watched Paula like a hawk. She moaned horribly at being obliged to wear a girdle but, as Janet expected, it began to smarten her up no end. She began to take care with her hair and makeup. Relentlessly, Janet insisted that her second pair of shoes bought ‘on the firm’ had three inch heels. One or two of the camera crew took a little time to chat her up which made it dawn upon her that she was worth something after all. Janet caught that moment when one of the men excused himself and went back to his job. As she watched him go, Paula made an unconscious preening gesture with her hair. Janet smiled to herself – it was working.
Investigative journalists were getting to be a pest, they were everywhere. The film crew began to take a delight in filming them in embarrassing situations as they crept about, trying to pry and then showing the films on an endless loop on a new screen over the reception desk. It made visitors laugh. One of the more enterprising press photographers even pressed his lens against the font window of the office and caught a picture of Janet which unbelievably made the front pages and identified her as ‘The Girl Who wanted to Tell All’, and people she had known from way back were interviewed endlessly. To avoid their endless camera flashes, Pendle took to backing the Volvo into the workshop through the shutter doors for Janet to be driven out quickly with her face in a book or magazine. It was dawning on her that they hadn’t failed after all. She went about her business with a new confidence.
The new ‘Janet and Master’ livery made a superb uniform for Paula. Wickford took her into Janet’s flat and put her into it. She had not been expecting it. It came as a horrible surprise to find that stairs on four inch heeled, lace up, mid-calf boots and a hobble skirt were next to impossible. Wickford hadn’t spared her, the laces for her first ‘serious’ corset had to be nearly closed before the dress could be zipped up. She was allowed a minute or two to turn to and fro before the mirror, before Wickford took her down for Janet’s inspection.
“Sit down, Paula.”
“I would rather stand if you don’t mind.”
“But I do mind. You mustn’t let your clothes rule you absolutely. I told you it would be hell on earth. Now sit down and listen.”
Paula sat slowly and carefully, bolt upright. With her strapped back shoulders, twenty two inch waist and chin held high by her military style collar, she was suddenly startlingly elegant. Janet told her to swivel round till she could see herself in Janet’s office mirror. “OK, you’ve hit bottom, you’ve been through the hell of drugs and the degradation of gutter life. For the last few weeks you’ve done very well, I’m most impressed. Now you have this one last hill to climb.
Your corsets are causing you agony, you can hardly breathe and that rigid collar is choking you. I know, I’ve been there.” Janet stood up and walked round her desk to stand behind Paula, looking at their reflections in the mirror. “For some reason that I will never understand, looking like this seems to provoke strong reactions in people, Men love it, women hate us for being liked. Anyway, we are really a most saleable commodity.” Janet returned to her chair and, for a long time, explained to Paula all the wonders of their world, the reefs and rocks to be avoided and the rewards to be found at the foot of their particular rainbow. “Come on, we can’t spend all day here.” She led the way down to the foyer.
It took only a little time to explain the working of the reception desk, the control button which made the glass doors to the street slide open or shut, the intercom to the door, the two telephones, internal and external, and the ‘panic button’. As she stood there, there was yet another flash from the front window. A woman reporter pressed the intercom button beside the door. “You take it, Paula.”
Paula pressed on the ‘intercom reply’ key, calmly and without hesitation. “Good morning.”
“Is this ‘Janet and Master’ or whatever you call yourselves?”
“It most certainly isn’t ‘Whatever you call yourselves’. We are ‘Janet and Master’ as you will see if you read the name over the door. What can we do for you?”
“Well done!” Janet murmured.
“Can we come in?”
“You have business here?”
“I want an interview for my paper.”
Paula look up at Janet who nodded. “This will be very good practice for you.” She whispered as the reporter and her photographer approached.
“Are you the people who are producing these funny ads that are cluttering up our TVs?”
“Not personally, no. I just work here.” Janet noticed that, under pressure, Paula’s voice became lower pitched and the faint ‘sing-song’ Welsh lilt gave it an attractive, friendly air. There was no trace of the shrillness that betokens rising panic in a woman.
“Don’t try to be smartarse with me, young woman. I want a quote for my paper and I haven’t got all day.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Only vulgar people are ‘smartarses,’ as you so delicately put it.” Paula’s smile hadn’t faltered for a moment. “Now, please state your business so that I may be of assistance to you.”
The reporter blew her top. “For God’s sake put me onto someone who knows what all this is about! And I want to talk to your boss and tell them what a bloody awful receptionist they are employing!”
Janet thought it was time to take a hand. “I am this lady’s boss. I am also ‘The Girl Who Wants to Tell All’ in the TV ads and I’m the ‘Janet’ in ‘Janet and Master’. Will I do?”
If the reporter thought she was going to do any better at bullying Janet she was soon disabused. She got the usual line about a world-beating new product and the bit about ‘leave your name and address and we’ll send you an invitation to the Big Day’. The one thing they did get, however was a carefully posed picture of Paula at her reception desk with Janet standing behind her. Beautiful women sell newspapers and the two of them, Paula’s twenty two inch waist eclipsed by Janet’s wasp waisted eighteen, drew comments on the paper’s web site when it was printed on page two of the daily press. As the old Americanism has it, ‘There is no such thing as bad publicity.’
Anybody can buy or steal a newspaper. The picture had two unexpected effects, both good in their way.
While Janet and Paula were coping with the reporter, Janet noticed that Jack Pendle had emerged from the little office in the corner which he had appropriated as the control room for the new CCTV. He stood behind them and slightly to one side, watchful but quite relaxed. When Janet had finished with them, he escorted the press people to the door, courteously but firmly.
Chapter Twenty-two
It was getting almost out of hand. Someone ‘phoned the TV news people to say that they recognised the street where the ads had been shot and a TV crew turned up, post haste, comparing eight by ten glossy ‘screen grabs’ of the ‘scenes’. There was no doubt about it. This was the place. The shop was empty. In the window was the ‘To Let’ notice and empty shops are not very newsworthy. Frustrated, they interviewed everybody they could find, including the old lady who had seen it all from her window opposite.
The old dear was in her element, describing all sorts of scenes which might has been a disaster, as it would have given the game away had she not excitedly told of the night when Janet, dressed as a witch had flown down on her broom stick!
News hounds can be right bastards. They showed the interview edited to make it a tongue in cheek implication that she was just a was ga-ga old lady, over-excited by her sudden notoriety – and they would have got away with it if the copper hadn’t seen it all over his morning boiled egg and toast. He ‘phoned ‘Janet and Master’ with a ‘now look what you’ve done’ message.
It was Mike’s suggestion for a response but Janet, furious at such behaviour, turned the whole team loose into furious activity. They edited one of the discarded ads and had it spliced into that evening’s peek time TV in place of that originally chosen.
The ad in question had been shot, as usual, in the faint light of dawn. A stout metal spike had been driven between two kerb stones and a thin black high tensile wire attached, which was picked up by the cherry picker and raised high overhead to be pulled taught level with the tops of the lampposts. It was from this wire, invisible in the dark, that the runner carrying Janet, dressed as a very ugly witch in pointed, wide brimmed hat and with her black cloak flying, had ridden her broom-stick to the pavement, accompanied by a peel of manic laughter, controlled by the ‘drag wire’ operator on the cherry picker platform to set down precisely to her mark. Janet stepped, stooping, off her broom-stick and turned to the camera, her face hideous with huge warts and a long, pointed and crooked nose. The green faced, ugly old crone had straightened up. Janet had peeled of the rubber mask and, smiling, started her usual spiel while ‘Master’, dressed as a wizard with pointed hat and long cloak decorated with brilliant cabalistic symbols, had glided into shot and pointed his wand at her. Janet had dodged out of the way and one of the crew had placed a flash bomb with sputtering fuze where she had stood.
As edited, Janet had flown into shot, revealed herself as ‘The Girl’, said her piece till she vanished in a flash and a puff of smoke in response to ‘Master’s’ magic wand.
The film crew had traced the old lady, she was crying her eyes out in the supermarket car park, taunted by some small boys while passers-by were grinning mockingly at her. They went to work on her with all the guile that could muster.
* * * * *
The news-castor was finishing the peek viewing news cast when he introduced the bit about the ga-ga old lady, a bit of humour to finish the program.
Bad mistake. The network, unaware of the newscast, cut to the first ad. There was the same old lady, crying to an immaculate Janet that she really had seen a witch fly down. Janet smiled, “You mean like this dear?” She pointed to the monitor which was pushed into shot.
Cut to the ad of the flying witch.
Spliced on the end was the old lady, laughing delightedly as Janet took her off to lunch. They sat in the window of the restaurant where the world could see them. The old lady actually chatting to ‘The Girl’. After that, the old dear had a solicitor at her elbow, more than a match for any news hound. If they wanted an interview then ‘get your cheque book out’. The old lady’s post office account swelled to unbelievable proportions. The solicitor’s fees were money well spent as ‘Janet and Master’ now had a subtle control of a superb piece of free promotion.
The Marketing Manager ‘phoned. “Did they realise that the news item had gone global?” TV stations throughout the English speaking world were grabbing it and showing it for laughs.
‘Master’ took the call, he just happened to have come into the office and the ‘phone was ringing. Jet lagged from many hours sitting in aeroplanes he was slow on the uptake till the Marketing Manager filled him in on the story. That would explain the heap of e-mails cluttering up his in-box. “That would be why I have requests from all over the world to have the tapes of the ads. Till this moment I just couldn’t understand it. If I send them out, your will get world coverage for free, if that is what you want?”
‘Don’t be daft! Of course that was what he wanted.’ He couldn’t wait to tell the board that they were getting world coverage for what was becoming obvious was a dirt cheap price.
‘Master’ sent Janet an e-mail, all the way to the next office. It was quicker than writing a note or going next door.
Subject:- Your prank with the old lady.
Text:- Do you realise that your little prank has made my job fifty times more difficult? Thank you very much!
On the other hand, well done! WELL DONE!
Regards, ‘Master’.
Janet was on the ‘phone at the time and hastened next door to find out what it was all about but he had gone. He never seemed to have time to speak to her these days. (That was indeed true, he was rushed off his feet, but Janet felt neglected and drew entirely the wrong conclusions.)
* * * * *
The bunch of louts hid between the parked cars till the armoured glass doors slid open the let someone leave – when they rushed them before Paula could hit the ‘close’ button. They swaggered up to the reception desk. “’Ello chick. You’re looking even smarter than your picture in the papers.”
You can’t cringe in such a long, controlling corset. Paula sat, straight as a pencil but white as a sheet. Under the desk she had already punched the panic button but, apart from herself and the louts, the big reception area was empty. “What do you think you’re doing here? Better clear off before the management find you.”
The leader of the posse, with nose in the air, wagged his head from side to side mockingly. “Oh, all hoity – toity are we now, no time for your old mates, wot wiv yer all dressed up like the dog’s dinner!” He leant his hands on the edge of the desk and leant forward, the stench of stale booze and tooth decay breathed in her face. “Yer mus be getting a small fortune, workin’ in this place, all the smack you can smoke in a munf ‘o Sundays – so come on then, hand over our share!”
“I don’t ‘use’ any more, I’ve been in re-hab. Those days are over. Please go away.” She gasped. She was close to fainting but wasn’t going to give in, whatever he did, not any more, not ever, whatever the consequences.”
“Dun give me that! You’re one of us, even wiv yer new airs ‘an graces.”
“No I’m not! Those days are over.”
The lout lost his temper. “Shut up ‘an hand over or I’ll give yer a nover bashing, like last time I did but, this time I’ll cut that lovely face of yours to ribbons!” To illustrate his point, he produced a bowie knife with at least an eight inch blade which he brandished inches from her face.
“No you won’t.” Jack Pendle’s voice had a quiet authority. He had come quietly from his little office and now stood close to the lout, easy, relaxed not looking in the least menacing. “Put that knife down please – and go and sit over there with your friends till the police get here.”
“Keep yer fat face art of it or you’ll get this!” He brandished the knife wildly in Jack Pendle’s face.
“Put that knife down there on the desk – while you still can.” His voice retained the same level tone.
“Right you dozey bastard, you asked for it!” The lout drew back and made a long, hard lung with his blade straight at Pendle’s ribs. Ex Colour Sargent Jack Pendle, 22nd SAS hardly seemed to move but the knife flew straight up to stick, way out of reach, in the acoustic tiles of the ceiling while there was an audible ‘crack’ as the arm broke.
“Ouch! Bloody ouch! You’ve broke me bloody arm! I’ll see you in jail fer that!”
“I don’t think so. Just go and sit over there with your friends.”
His friends seemed to think that it was game over, they headed for the door – but the armoured glass doors were closed. ‘Open the doors chick, fer chist’s sake!”
Pendle looked at Paula and shook his head slightly. “Go and sit over there where I told you, unless you’d like to go a few rounds that is.”
They didn’t fancy the odds, they sat quietly, waiting for the fuzz. “I’ll bleedin’ get you fer this!” The head lout was not quite ready to give up yet.
“Maybe, but not till you get out of jail. You’ll have to explain to the courts why you gave Paula that beating let alone threating her with actual bodily harm and trying to assault me ‘with deadly force’ as they so quaintly say.”
“Yar, there’s no evidence, it’s your word against ours there’s no one else here and Paula would never dare to inform on us!” The lout pronounced triumphantly.”
“No need to call her as witness.” He pointed to the several cameras with their attached microphones dotted around the walls. “It’s all on CCTV, locked away in my office. Bad luck, little man, it’s just not your day.”
Paula pressed the button to open the doors for the police.
* * * * *
News hounds are always bad losers. They went through all the halls, restaurants, film studious, theatres, anywhere where Janet and ‘Master’ could possibly hold the big exposé and drew a blank. They did discovered that a firm who made stage and film sets had been commissioned to make an almost fairy tale set to Mike’s designs and to ‘Janet and Master’s order but even they didn’t know where it was to be erected and the press didn’t manage to get even a glimpse of what was being made.
‘Master’ had been a pilot officer in the RAF and it was his idea to rent a hanger on one for the many abandoned wartime airfields that clutter up East Anglia. It was waterproof and there was more than adequate parking but nothing else – no power, no water, nothing. It was miles from anywhere so that privacy was not a problem. ‘Problems are there to be solved’ was Janet’s cheerful motto and the team just ‘mucked in’. Between then they worked out solutions to every little snag. It was all coming together.
Day by day, ‘The Girl Who Wanted to Tell All’ said her piece across the whole TV network. The whole world seemed to be intrigued by the problem of just what this wondrous thing could be. Bookmakers quoted odds for the various suggestions and Janet received offers of huge bribes to tell and threats of violence when she turned them down. She told Jack Pendle, who made suitable precautions. He even enlisted a few of his old mates from Hereford Lines to keep an eye open for her. They were used to keeping shtum, it was more or less their way of life.
Laying, strapped helpless on the posture board in the dark silence of the deprivation hood was about the only time that Janet had for quiet reflection. It had all grown to such huge proportions that the quiet working girl who Janet had so recently been was a distant memory. The ads were running smoothly to their conclusion, the date for the big revelation was drawing near, the few seconds when, it seemed, the whole world would watch her do her thing for the last time. A few seconds when she could, by a single error, destroy everything. It terrified her.
Then there was the world after that. ‘The Girl Who Wanted to Tell All’ would have told all. She would be finished. She would be Janet the working girl once more – what then? What then, indeed? ‘Master’ seemed to be drifting away. He could so if he wished of course, their’s was just a business arrangement – wasn’t it? Her Dreamland drifted into her head, she needed it, needed to regenerate her power for that, after all was all she had.
* * * * *
Paula recognised the travel-stained VW Golf as it drew up into the ‘visitor’s’ parking space. Impulsively, she punched the ‘open’ button and the glass doors slid back. She would have been delighted to run to meet them, but her high heels and hobble only let her totter round the desk to stand and watch the middle aged man and woman come uncertainly forward till they recognised her and the woman, with a cry of ‘Paula!”, ran to embrace her. She had been afraid to make the first move. Repeatedly, Janet had told her to ‘phone or write, send smoke signals, anything. Her parents must be in despair at the loss of their only daughter they had loved, still did, but well, so much had happened of which she was heartily ashamed that she just couldn’t.
Someone had sent them a clipping from the paper. ’Was this her daughter sitting with that ‘Girl from the TV’s’ arm round her shoulders? It might be, it looked like her except that, well, she had never dressed like that. Impulsively they piled into the car and drove to this distant part of the country.
Jack Pendle watched the scene on his CCTV monitor. He ‘Phoned Janet then walked over to the reception desk. “OK, Paula, I’ll take over. Take you parents over to those settees by the window and I’ll get coffee sent over.”
It was Janet herself who arrived with the cafétier, the cups and saucers and the biscuits. She had no intention of saying anything about Paula’s days on the streets, her drugs, her beating from the lout but her very presence gave Paula the strength. Quietly, modestly she let it all out. They looked in wonder at this apparition that was their daughter. In her tight laced, rigid corset and restricting costume she was none the less very much her own woman, totally confident of her worth, of her place in the order of things. Strength through adversity indeed. “We’re all very proud of her, she’s done extraordinarily well.”
“I couldn’t have done it without Miss Janet’s help. She’s been quite wonderful.”
Janet took them to lunch. The taxi arrived promptly for once. It took only a few carefully chosen words here and there to guide the conversation and get what she wanted, it was pushing on an open door.
Yes, Paula would come home and visit from time to time, certainly for Christmas. They would ‘phone each other often, her parents wanted to know how she was getting on almost day by day, but, of course, they realised that she couldn’t abandon this wonderful new job.
Janet arranged for them to receive an invitation to the great unveiling. The party was likely to go on till very late, so she arranged a booking for them, at the firm’s expense, at a local hotel. Side by side they watched two very proud and excited parents drive off. ‘Nice people, Paula’s parents. It would have been good to have had parents like that – but then, if she had, she might have ended up as Paula and maybe she wouldn’t have found a ‘Janet’ to dig her out.’
Chapter Twenty-three
The hanger looked just as long abandoned, old and forlorn among the encroaching weeds as ever from the outside, except that a glittering doorway, complete with canopy, had been erected to welcome people into a theatre set, a room that could have been the ballroom of the swankiest hotel in fin de siècle Paris complete with cloak rooms adequately staffed and even with a small Dias for the orchestra by the side of the proscenium curtain. Across the floor were carefully arranged groupings of tables with brilliant white cloths, set out for a full meal, each with a number tag and a remote controlled electric, make believe, candelabra.
Facing everybody was an open area, complete with proscenium arch and elaborate theatrical curtains, closed till the show was to begin.
Around the outside of this ephemeral stage set, but inside the old hanger walls, there was more than adequate room for all the comings and goings of the various staff and for the snaking cables of the TV cameras. Up high, facing the stage, was the control cabin for the TV producer.
Outside, Jack Pendle’s crew, dressed in the uniforms designed under Mike’s pencil for the occasion, were marshalling the stream of incoming cars and a series of specially commissioned luxury motor coaches that had gathered the growing multitude. They were all ex-Special Forces men, SAS and SBS, quiet, polite, watchful , courteously seeing that they were all parked correctly on the hanger apron, the taxi ways or even directing the overflow to park on the old runways. A few scruffs turned up improperly dressed and one or two uninvited people attempted to gate crash.
You just don’t try that on with what amounted to a squadron of SAS men. They were politely escorted to Pendle’s control cabin where he asked their business. Those with a reason to be there were allocated places, those improperly dressed were escorted to the huge caravan where a team from a dress hire company sorted them out. Those who were just trying their luck were equally politely seen off the premises.
The Marketing Manager greeted the guests at the door, handing them over to the team of waiters, who showed them to their allocated tables and brought their drinks. One especially large table at the very front was allocated to what appeared to be the whole of his Company’s Board of Directors and their ladies.
This was his big night.
On the little band rostrum, the orchestra played light music to fill the background and cover the otherwise echoing emptiness of an old aircraft hanger.
In the control cabin, the quiet buzz of professional preparation was broken by the voice over the loudspeaker of the Network Controller, “Coming to you in sixty minutes – five – four – three – two – one – Mark! The Director watched the sweep second hand of his master clock tick past the mark exactly on sync. They were ready to go.
Waiters and waitresses began to serve the meal.
* * * * *
Were it not that it would have ruined her makeup, which had taken ages to apply, Janet would have given way to tears. This was the end. Shortly she would unveil the ‘wonderful thing’, the world would gasp in astonishment and, ‘The girl Who Wanted to Tell All’ would be no more.
Earlier she had, sitting alone in her dressing room, wept openly and Wickford had caught her at it. She couldn’t keep it to herself any longer, she had to tell someone. She explained how ‘Master’ had just drifted away, she didn’t know why. How ‘Janet and Master’ was a ‘one trick pony’ and, tomorrow would be just a paper partnership that she was certain that ‘Master’ would simply tear up. That tomorrow she would be richer, much richer, yes, but she would have to start the soul destroying slog of looking for a new job.
As a bespoke dressmaker, Wickford had, over the years, listened to many sob stories told by clients with troubles with which they could unburden themselves to no one else. Quietly, she left the room and, by chance, found ‘Master’ trying to hold two conversations at once while chatting on his mobile. She stood resolutely in his way till he gave her an exasperated ‘Yes, what is it?”
She would dearly have liked to tell him just what a lousy bastard he was but she hadn’t the time – in a few words she told him what was worrying Janet as an introduction to really giving him a piece of her mind. She never got that far. ‘Master’s’ eyes widened. “Oh my God, the silly cow!” He looked around himself wildly then, “Here, hold this.” He stuffed the sheath of papers he was holding in her hand and literally sprinted down the corridor and out of the building.
Janet saw him through the window. He ran to the Range Rover and took off with smoking tyres. The last she saw of him he was driving at ‘take off’ speed up the runway towards the little used back entrance to the airfield. ‘Couldn’t the miserable devil even say ‘goodbye’?’ Janet’s tears turned into a full flooded howl.
The show must go on, she just had to play her part till the bitter end; Janet didn’t let people down whatever the others did. Sadly, limply, she let Wickford and the hair and the makeup girl start the long, excruciating process of getting her into the last, most extreme costume as ‘The Girl’.
* * * * *
The house lights dimmed, leaving each table lit only by the electric candelabra. In his ‘follow spotlight’, the marketing manager walked out in front of the main curtain. “Ladies and gentlemen, you have all been very patient but, yes, tonight is the night.” He held up his hand and waved the curtains open to reveal … … an empty space. He walked across to a spot marked by a cross of broad white tape on the floor. Pointing to it, he said, “On this spot in fifteen minutes you will see the first of many millions of our wonderful new devices. But first perhaps, in case there is anybody on the face of the planet who has not seen ‘The Girl Who Wants to Tell the Word’ doing her best to pre-empt me, perhaps we should remind ourselves of the road to tonight.” He waived towards the back curtains that half opened to reveal a large screen. As the stage lights dimmed and the first ad appeared on the screen, he exited stage left.
Stage right, behind the back curtains, Wickford held the swaying Janet by the arm. It had taken two of them to get her lacing closed, and it had to be closed, it would be clearly visible and must look perfect, even the long tails of the laces were cut off to preserve ’the look’. She was afraid that this time they had really over done it. Janet thought so too, but, well, a faint would at least be an acceptable excuse. The last thing she wanted to do was to go out there and let the world see what an abject fool she was. With one hand she gripped the edge of the side flat of the stage set and hung on grimly. “Leave me, Wickford, there’s nothing you can do to help me now.”
“I’ll stay and keep you company, Miss, if I may.”
“No, Wickford, I must face this on my own. You would only add to my terror.”
The ads were running one after the other. Mike had drawn little link cartoons which the crew had animated. It made the whole thing into a coherent whole. From the sound track she recognised the individual ads and she was, in spite of her agony, flattered at the audience response, Gasps, gales of laughter, sympathetic moans at a particularly extravagant failure. Nearer to a faint than she dared admit, even to herself, she was saved by her ‘Dreamland’ which drifted into her and took away much of the pain.
“Coming to you in three minutes.” In the control cabin, the network controller’s voice sounded through the overhead speaker.
“Stand by everybody.” The director brought his team to the ready, his eyes never leaving the ads as they were screened. Then he pressed the intercom key as he flicked a switch, “Your mike is live, Miss Janet.”
Janet heard the words in her micro earpiece. She was gagged now, anything she said would go into the little plastic tube round her cheek and straight up the aerial for the world to hear. Miserably, she closed her eyes to shut out this crumbling world. In the darkness, she was saying goodbye to her ‘Dreamland’ for, tomorrow it would be gone.
‘Oh hell! Something was wrong! That wasn’t the tune the orchestra should play to end the ‘set’. It was supposed to be a Viennese waltz and they were playing a tune from an old Hollywood musical called ‘You Were Never Lovelier’, they had even found a crooner who was doing a passable imitation of Bing Crosby. Couldn’t they get anything right?’
In the control cabin, the network controller’s voice announced “Coming to you in ten” … nine …. – The whole world can change in ten seconds.
Janet was following the edge of the curtain as they slowly closed on the end of the ads. She became aware that a figure on a dinner jacket was following the other closing curtain, coming straight towards her. She realised in the gloom that is was ‘Master’!
They stood, face to face, either side of her mark where the curtains met. She would have demanded just what the hell he thought he was doing, mucking about at this last moment, but she couldn’t speak because of that damned radio mike.
The crooner reached the last line: “You were never lovelier than you are tonight.”
‘Master’ held up an A4 card with the words ‘I love you’ in large letters.
As she stared at it in startled confusion, he flipped it over. One the other side was, ‘Janet, will you marry me?’
Franticly she mouthed ‘Do you really mean it?’
As he nodded, he held up the ring, its diamonds flashing in the dim light behind the curtains. Impulsively she held out her left arm, ring finger extended. The ring slid on and he, taking her wrist, drew her to him.
In the control cabin the ‘on air’ light flashed on and, a second later, the curtains drew back a few feet and the spotlight found them, standing face to face, staring into each other’s eyes. It was much better than finding a solitary ‘Girl’. ‘Master’, who had stopped her saying her piece through so many ads, held her hand as he led her to her mark, bowed to her and stepped out of the spotlight.
The audience sat in stunned silence for a moment as they took in the sight of the last ‘Girl Who Wanted to Tell All’. From her toes of her gleaming ballet boots to her knees where they gave over to her black, gleaming leather corset extending up to her neck, she was sheathed in black leather, the corset fastened by a massive twenty clipped, full length busk, its chromed clips and studs clearly visible. It met her neck corset in brilliant white with some sparkling silver threads. From the collar to the floor, she wore a loose sleeveless over shift of some shimmering white, glittering cords forming a wide meshed, honeycomb net, which both concealed the lithe, black figure and tantalisingly revealed it.
Janet waited till the storm of applause subsided, finally holding her hands, palm down to wave it to silence.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, you have waited long enough! The time has finally come! … … Here it is!” She held out her arms as of some high priest in supplication and, from between the ‘fly’ curtains above, a form floated down in its spotlights to settle gently on its mark. It was covered with a black cloth covered in turn with more of the white netting. She waited a moment to let the tension build before waving her arms in an upward swing and, obediently, the covers shot off, back up into the rafters accompanied by a loud major chord from the orchestra – and there it stood in the light of spots from all sides.
Janet’s spotlight flicked off, leaving her in the darkness to clear the stage and retreat to the dressing room. ‘The Girl Who Wanted to Tell All’ was finished.
In the darkness, salesmen had pushed a dozen or more other devices into the carefully planned spaces among the tables, as the cover flew up into the rafters they whipped off their black sheets and the house lights came up for everyone to have a close view of this new sensation. As the significance of what they saw dawned on the audience, waiters appeared bearing trays of brimming champagne glasses, and coloured streamers began to be thrown among the excited crowd.
In the control cabin, the Director watched the master clock sweep round to the final mark. “Coming to you in Five – four – three – two – one – take it Network”. The ‘On Air’ light flicked out. All over the world, untold millions of people got up from their armchairs and put the kettle on. The Director pressed his mike key as he flicked the switch off. “Your mike is dead, Miss Janet”.
At the table where the Board of Director sat, the CEO beckoned to the Marketing Manager to join him, “After a sales drive like that, even that lot,” he indicated with his cigar the salesman, busy with hoards of new customers, “we should be able to sell gold bricks to bankers.” It wasn’t praise. By tomorrow morning, orders would extend far over the horizon, the thing would sell itself after this. Already he was planning the economies he would make by cutting down his sales department and getting rid of that expensive Marketing Manager. It’s a ‘dog eat dog’ world, business.
* * * * *
Janet was standing in her dressing room, facing ‘Master’ as the mike went dead and she could safely speak once more. “You Beast! Don’t you dare ever do that to me again.”
“What, propose marriage? I’ve always thought that once was enough – just so long as she says ‘yes’.”
“You know what I mean. I was near to jumping off the roof in despair!”
He was suddenly serious. “Janet, I’m so sorry. I never thought, it’s been one big rush, day and night. If we hadn’t planned ahead, take every advantage of the reputation that this job, especially tonight, has earned us we would, in a few days, we’d be just a flash in the pan and have had to start all over again. I daren’t take that chance.”
There was a pleading in his voice, he was desperate for her to understand. None the less, she wasn’t going to give in that easily. “So, just what have you been up to while I’ve been working my fingers to the bone?”
“Wearing out the seat of my pants in cars, trains, planes and sitting in front of potential clients, singing our praises. You see, once the ads started to take off, well there has never been an ad campaign like this. There are so very few new products and so we show the same old ad for the same old breakfast cereal, toothpaste, pet food or whatever, time and time again, beating the customer round the ears with it till he gets quicker on the draw with the ‘mute’ button than a Western gunfighter.
Your idea is just about the only really new thing in advertising for years – and everybody will copy it, they are no doubt busy doing just that as we talk. I just had to get the name of ‘Janet and Master’ out before them.”
He was suddenly serious. “I’m most awfully sorry, it was very wrong of me, I didn’t think, neglecting you like while you shouldered the responsibility, day by day, that must have dropped you deep in the dumps. Had Wickford not stuffed the obvious right under my nose then, well, we could have lost it all at the very last minute.
Bye the way, I hope you like the ring, it was the best that the jewellers in the local town had to offer. If you don’t go for it, we can chose another one. I must have broken every speed limit between here and there by a hansome margin and, even then, I only just made it. If it hadn’t been for Wickford, well … … . We must pay that lady a fat bonus.”
“The ring is just perfect. We must pay the whole team a fat bonus, they’ve earned it, every one of them.” Janet suddenly lit up like a small lighthouse, it had all come right! “If you’re right then we’re going to be rushed off our feet, no time for an engagement party so let’s make it tonight.”
“Marvellous! I’ll go and find Wickford to help you to change.”
With ‘Master’ at her side, the whole world was different. “What? Waste time messing about? I’ll go like this.”
She smiled at ‘Master’s’ sudden look of confusion. “Oh yes, the customer’s should get a good look at what they have paid all that money for after all – and, anyway, suddenly I find it’s rather nice in here, it’s my Dreamland.” She gave him a wicked look from under her long, long lashes. “You men! You don’t know what you’re missing. Come on, let’s party!”
The End
Dave Potter's Fiction Site 