Page 2 of Madame X

“No,Jonathan, you were not. You were not talkingtome, you were talkingatme. You were spewing excrement from your mouth, simply for the sake of hearing yourself speak. Perhaps among your...friends... such trash could be considered conversation.Iam alady. I am not your friend. I am not some empty-headed bar slut that can be dazzled by your white teeth and coiffured hair and expensive slacks. I don’t care how much your father is worth, Mr. Cartwright. Not even remotely. So if you wish to continue these sessions, you’re going to have to improve, and rather swiftly. I do not have time to waste, nor the patience to deal with nonsense.”

“I’m sorry, Madame X.”

I glare at you. “You’re sniveling, and groveling. You act like a child. When you speak you fill your sentences with profanity and yet say nothing of value. And when I call you out on your failings, you apologize like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.”

You just stare at me, sitting forward with your wrists on your knees, fingers twitching and scratching and plucking restlessly. You have no dignity, no posture, no elegance. You have all the charm of a tree stump.

My work with you will be a true test of my skills. I find myself angry as I lecture you. Angry at you, for being an apish dolt. Angry at...him... for making me waste my time on a fumbling, stuttering, cursing man-child like you, because you, Jonathan, are all that represents the worst of my clientele. I am bored with you, and I am angry, simmering with barely veiled contempt; and Jonathan? That does not bode well for you.

“Sit up straight. Keep your hands still. Lean back on the couch and relax. Your body language must exude confidence and control, Mr. Cartwright. You must appear at ease at all times.”

“Iamat ease,” you argue.

I do not bother responding, I just pace across the room toward you and stop so I am standing almost between yourknees. I keep my eyes on yours, let all the weight of my bearing and training bore down on you, let my total and complete disregard for you show. You are no one. You are nothing. You are a child. A beautiful, spoiled child. And I let all this show in my gaze as I stare down at you.

You shift uncomfortably yet again, transferring your weight from one buttock to the other. You look away first, and you trace the crease of your slacks with a finger.

And I merely stand in front of you, staring you down in silence.

You crack.

“What? What do you want, Madame X?”

“Andthatis why you’re here. You shouldn’t have to ask that. You should know. Better yet,youshould tellmewhat I want. That would be a start.”

“What would it take for you to be interested in me?” You ask this in a simpering tone, even though I can tell you meant it to sound seductive. Or something.

I laugh and turn away. “Oh,Jonathan. I couldneverbe. You couldn’t possibly interest me. Not in the slightest. You lack... well, there is simply too much to enumerate. Which is why you’re here.”

I hear you stand up, and I wait for you to make your move. You sidle up behind me, and yes, you are tall, and yes, you have spent enough time in the gym to have a well-sculpted physique. Without dominance and bearing, however... it is nothing. You put your hands on my waist, turn me in place, and I let you.

“Why am I here, Madame X?”

“You shouldn’t have to ask that,Jonathan.”

“Why do you keep saying my name that way?”

“It’s how you say it.”

“It sounds ridiculous.”

“And so do you.”

You lower your brows and the scrim of warmth I once saw is being skimmed away. Good. I want to pare the façade away; I want to get to your true nature.

“I do not,” you insist.

I smile, and it is an amused, cruel smile. “If you want to argue, seek out your sister. Or join a high school debate team. Arguing should be beneath you.”

“Why am I here, Madame X?” You ask it again, and still your hands are on my waist, but you do nothing with that.

My allowing you to touch me is currency, and yet you fail to spend it.

“You really don’t know?”

You shrug. “Not really.”

“Who am I?”