The Contract

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Acceptance & Chaperones

For the next three days I did as the interviewer had requested, waiting a little sullenly for his call, although still very impressed by him and the obvious wealth I’d seen displayed. I wondered constantly what the job’s duties entailed, for he hadn’t really said anything about them, other than that I would basically be a paid companion at the beck and call of his employer.

Late in the afternoon of the third day the phone rang and the cultured voice of the Interviewer asked if I would consider coming to a second interview the next afternoon. I accepted with a feeling of strange butterflies rocketing around inside my stomach and could hardly sleep that night, tossing and turning restlessly until nearly 3 am.

The next day I took an inordinate amount of time preparing myself, then once again the same, strangely-attired Chauffeuse showed up and took me back to the lush penthouse overlooking the harbour. The Butler silently showed me into the sitting room then disappeared. My Interviewer stood waiting for me, but this time in the company of another man, he being fully-attired in classic, desert regalia. Although he was seated, I could see that he too was tall, powerfully built, and fiercely good looking. He resolutely remained seated in his chair when I entered the room.

“Please be seated, Miss Henderson,” the Interviewer commanded, but politely, gesturing at a chair.

I walked over and sat where I had before, facing the two of them across the low table. Some conversation in their own language ensued and my eyes flicked back and forth between them while they held a rapid-fire discussion, punctuated by occasional gestures in my direction. At last it ended and the Interviewer apologised for the use of the foreign tongue in my presence, explaining that the other man did not speak English terribly well.

“Miss Henderson, we are pleased to inform you that you meet all the criteria for the position my employer has advertised and we hope you will accept it at your earliest convenience,” he announced in his deep voice.

“Fantastic,” I blurted out, momentarily losing my cool demeanour.

“The position,” he explained, smiling back at my own of triumph, “requires that you sign a Contract of Personal Service for five years. The base pay for the position being offered to you is $1,000.00 in United States dollars per day, paid seven days a week: totalling some $1,825,000.00 for the term. It is an isolated posting and return from the site will not be possible for the duration of your Contract. All of your medical expenses, meals, clothing, and day-to-day expenditures are paid for, of course, over and above the Contract amount, which, I might add, is tax free. If you decide to enter into a Full Contract, rather than the one that is currently under discussion here, you will receive a bonus, bringing the total to $2,500,000.00.”

I was staggered by the amount.

“Why so much? And what do you mean, the Full Contract?” I asked, mulling over all those zeroes and not really interested in what the answer might be. I should have been.

“The work required is not personally dangerous in any way, Miss Henderson;” he said easily, “but, in contrast to the ‘normal’ Contract currently being discussed here, it will entail substantially more boredom, quite a few periods of strictly supervised physical exertion, and it will involve some temporary changes to your appearance. These changes will be in the form of what we consider to be quite attractive ‘local’ ethnic jewellery as well as the wearing of some Special Uniforms required for certain functions of the position. The nature of the ‘Full’ Contract requires that this amount be paid.”

That sounded a little strange, but I could live with it, I thought, and nodded my acceptance of the explanation so far.

“However, Miss Henderson,” he continued, “there are other conditions to which you must also agree.” he said with emphasis, but quietly, looking at me with that penetrating gaze once more. “You must undergo complete medical and dental examinations. These will be at our expense, naturally, and you will be measured for your Uniforms at the same time. Also, you must not have s*x between now and the time you are fitted with your Basic Uniform. Other than that, it is entirely up to you.”

“Very well, sir. I agree to the conditions without a problem, but ... and I’m a little embarrassed to ask this; how can I be sure that this offer is, ah ... legitimate, if you will pardon my being so blunt?” I asked in what I thought were reasonable tones.

He looked a little disgusted at my crass question and, without a word, slid two cashier’s cheques across the dark, highly polished Mahogany surface of the coffee table, almost as though the paper were sullying his fingers. The other man sat back and watched the whole thing through narrowly-slitted eyes.

I looked down at the two fateful pieces of paper and knew that they were the genuine article, but I was afraid to touch them for fear that I would break the spell that seemed to have been cast and I’d wake up back in my boring apartment in the middle of the night. I’d never seen that much money all in one place before: two cheques, one for $1,825,000.00, the other for $2,500,000.00, and both made out to me_

“Miss Henderson, the choice is yours,” he said, casually ignoring the cheques as though this were an everyday occurrence for him. “When you sign The Contract, the appropriate cheque will be given to you. You may deposit it in the institution of your choice and verify the amount tomorrow.”

Without too much thought about the terms of employment, I picked up the pen he proffered and asked for the papers, despite a late, last minute voice far in the back of my mind telling me that I wasn’t seeing the whole picture.

I ignored it.

“I would like to complete the Full Contract, please,” I said with a none-too-steady voice. When I indicated my choice, the older, silent man handed over a large, two-page document written in a flowing Arabic script on, believe it or not, real parchment; together with a notarized English language version, ascertaining that it was an exact copy. I read through the English version speedily, noting the various points he’d mentioned, then looked up at them.

The Interviewer leaned across the table and silently indicated the bottom of the second page. With a flourish, I signed my name to all of the copies and the original, then both men witnessed my signature. The original parchment and one English version were then rolled into a tight tube and inserted into an elaborately engraved leather canister. This was sealed with a dollop of liquid red wax and stamped with the older man’s ring while still semi-solid, then placed in a briefcase which was immediately locked closed with quick snaps of its catches. The transaction was complete.

For a moment we all smiled happily at each other, then the Interviewer reached out and picked up the smaller of the cheques and calmly set it on fire with a pocket lighter.

“That one is yours, Miss Henderson,” he said, indicating the one for the $2,500,000.00 still sitting before me on the gleaming surface of the low table, just in front of my knees. I picked it up and the dream didn’t end. I couldn’t quite believe that I was actually holding that kind of money, and only vaguely heard him when he spoke again.

“Your medical examination has been arranged for tomorrow afternoon at a private hospital, Miss Henderson. Security arrangements for the safe transport of the money and your person are now being made, so that you will not become a robbery victim while the cheque is in your hands. I advise you to deposit it immediately, in a high return account, for a five year term and I’m sure that your bank manager will be able to assist you in this regard.” He went on to advise me of the kind of thing that I should look for in making my deposit and investment options.

“It is also a requirement,” he continued, “that from this time forward you will be accompanied by two of His Majesty’s chaperones until you are ready to travel to your new job.”

He clapped his hands and two strangely-attired women entered from a bedroom; fully concealed but for their eyes, by their floor-length, voluminous, flowing black robes, just like the Chauffeuse. Even their hands were covered by thin, shiny, black leather gloves that disappeared upwards into voluminous sleeves. They both bowed to the costumed Arab, then came over and stood silently behind me, waiting.

“Miss Henderson, you should go to your bank immediately and deposit the cheque, then return to your home to clear up your personal affairs. The limousine is at your disposal for these errands. We will take care of all details in the closing out of your apartment lease as well as any other matters you may wish us to finalise for you.” He stood up.

I felt a little like the cat that had swallowed the canary when I too stood and, with a quiet goodbye, left the penthouse. My silent escorts followed me into the elevator and I heard something under their enveloping black costumes clicking audibly while, like two black ghosts, they walked along behind me. All I could see of them though were their intent, dark eyes, watching me through the fine mesh covering, above the opaque, black, rigidly-formed veils over their lower faces. I wondered just what kind of jewellery they wore beneath the robes; stuff that made the strange, almost musical clinking sounds while we descended to the basement and the waiting limo. I soon began to ignore the noises for they were a constant accompaniment to their movements.

I knew that they were along as my escorts, but they made me feel just a little uneasy for some reason I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Once settled into the rear seat between them, I directed the Chauffeuse to my bank and once there, deposited the cheque, watching with pleasure, the shock and new respect it elicited from the manager when I handed it to him. The veiled women were my constant shadows, even to following me into his office and waiting silently by the door while we made our arrangements for the money and how it was to be handled, then back in the limo, they once more sat on either side of me. I found their close monitoring to be a little disconcerting, but they silently insisted and seemed to want to protect me from each bump of the pavement during the drive back to the apartment, much as though I was a priceless, Ming Dynasty vase.

At home, I quickly packed a few clothes, cleaned the place up a little, and had an early night of watching TV. All the while the two black wraiths remained silently unobtrusive, quietly watching with me, but, try as I might, I couldn’t get either to utter a single word or remove their veils. After a while I just gave up and ignored them. Both remained in the living room when I went to bed.

When I got up in the middle of the night, one was asleep on the couch, still clad in her fully-concealing costume, while the other sat in one of the chairs, flipping through some of my books and magazines. She came completely alert when I emerged from the bedroom and I waved at her sleepily, but was awake enough to notice that the gown of the one laying on the couch had ridden up her tightly leather-encased legs a little, revealing what appeared to be a thick, flexible, black wire running between shiny steel staples protruding from the boots just above each of her ankles.

The one reading continued to watch until I returned to my room and I caught a quick glimpse of her glove-tubed arm when she turned a page of the magazine. I saw another, similar, black wire running from a small sturdy staple sticking through the shiny glove on the underside of her wrist; this disappearing up her sleeve. Its material fell back when she lowered her arm and I couldn’t be sure that I’d really seen what I thought I had. The wire had seemed to snap tight when she tried to move her arm beyond a certain distance, but my brain said I was imagining things, or that the lighting had played tricks on my eyes, and so I forgot about the strangely disturbing sight of the thick wires and went back to my nice, warm, and comfortable bed.