Chapter 9 Pushing Boundaries
Pushing Boundaries
It’s uncomfortable
That Monday, as soon as I have a break between piano lessons, I head over to the theater where Gwen is preparing for tonight’s performance.
When I walk into the building, I recognize the security guard.
It’s the same guy who helped me with the giant flower basket the night of Gwen’s opening. I smile and say hello.
He seems to be on edge, but nods in recognition as I walk past.
I open the theater door to find the actors crowded on the stage. I’ve come to know several of them from other plays Gwen has been in. They look at me apprehensively the moment I start down the center aisle. When I offer them a little wave, the entire cast turns their backs on me.
From the backstage, I hear a woman screech, “Get out of my way, you worthless piece of shit!”
My jaw drops when I hear Gwen’s outraged voice, “Are you crazy? Don’t ever throw your used gum at me again!”
“I’m not the crazy one here, bitch!” The woman howls like a demon. “But why am I bothering to talk to you? You are nothing. You are nobody!”
Boiling mad, I march onto the stage, yelling, “What is wrong with you? You have no right to treat people that way, no matter who the hell you are!”
The lead actress rushes out from backstage as if driven by the force of a hurricane. “Who the fuck are you?”
My mouth goes dry when everyone turns toward me with a look of dread on their faces, including Gwen, who is peeking out from the backstage curtain. She immediately puts her finger to her lips and shakes her head in gentle warning.
“Answer me!” Helen demands as she storms up, her eyes boring into me.
Honoring Gwen’s silent plea, I remain silent.
She spits out, “I asked you a question, you little shit!”
Helen then turns to the other actors, thrusting her finger at me. “Who the hell is this bitch?”
Fearing for Gwen, I swallow hard when I see an actor I know open his mouth to speak. “Never seen her before…”
All the others murmur in agreement.
“Security!” Helen shrieks at the top of her lungs. Turning back to face me, she snarls, “You’re trespassing, and I won’t allow it!
Before I can respond, she swings back around and yells, “Security!”
I hear the security guard enter the theater and watch as he walks down the aisle with a look of trepidation on his face.
“Throw this piece of trash out, and make sure it never returns!”
“I’ll take care of it, Ms. Fontaine,” he answers.
“I should have you fired for failing to do your job. This riffraff should never have been allowed in this theater,” she growls at him.
He grunts as he takes my arm and nods. “Yes, ma’am,” he mutters as he forcefully guides me to the exit doors.
I turn back looking for Gwen, and see her giving me a subtle thumbs up. But as soon as the raging tyrant turns to face the stage, Gwen disappears behind the curtain.
Once I’m outside the theater, the heavy pneumatic door closing behind us, I apologize. “I wasn’t trespassing. I just came to see my friend.”
He gently releases my arm. Instead of giving me the riot act, he tells me gravelly, “Helen may be a tool, but I advise you to never show your face here again.”
“How can she get away with being so horrid?”
Spitting on the ground, he tells me, “You’d be surprised what people can get away with in this industry when they have connections. No one is safe from that woman’s wrath, but I’ve been looking out for Miss Huntington.”
Although I’m relieved to hear that, I’m still concerned about the psychological damage that woman is doing to my friend.
A ping on my phone causes me to look down at it. I note that Gwen has left me a quick text, which simply reads:
TY
Although I’m glad she appreciates my failed attempt to defend her, I’m livid to see the way she is being verbally and physically disrespected by that odious woman and text:
Let’s talk as soon as I get home tonight
I look up at the security guard and ask, “Can I give you my number if shit really hits the fan?”
“That isn’t normal protocol.”
“Well, this isn’t a normal situation,” I insist.
He looks at me for a moment, before pulling out his phone. “Very well, Miss Lane.”
Startled, I ask, “You know my name?”
“Miss Huntington speaks highly of you.”
Hearing that Gwen has shared that with him lets me know that she must trust the man, and it eases my mind somewhat.
Still…I hesitate to leave.
The security guard turns to open the door, then hesitates for a moment before looking back over his shoulder, “Just to be clear. I’m willing to lose my job if that witch dares to touch her.”
I stand outside, frowning in disbelief. I knew things were bad, but I never imagined the situation could be this toxic. It seems Helen Fontaine has the entire theater firmly screwed under her thumb.
A couple of hours later, after my final piano lesson, I head off to the Luxe Escape. However, I’m still feeling unsettled by the events at the theater. I even flirt with the idea of blowing off class tonight and driving straight to Gwen’s to talk to her.
But I know Gwen would be mad at me for skipping class, so I fight the urge. Unfortunately, when I enter Mr. Onassis’s classroom, I quickly realize I’m the last to arrive. I silently groan as I sit down between Michelle and Amethyst just as the bell rings.
I blush, having no idea that I was cutting it that close, and give Mr. Onassis an apologetic smile.
“Glad you could join us,” Mr. Onassis states.
“I won’t let it happen again,” I promise him.
He nods curtly, then places his hand on the stack of journals sitting on his desk. “I have gotten back the feedback for your first auction, class.”
Michelle sits up a little straighter in her seat, and one of the other students clears his throat nervously. I think we are all anxious to find out what our Doms thought of our scenes with them.
Mr. Onassis holds up the evaluations that the Doms have written.
“It’s important to set your ego aside when you read through your evaluation.
If you keep an open mind, you will learn just as much from your mistakes as you will from your successes.
We expect you to utilize that knowledge in future situations.
If you can succeed in doing that, you will progress quickly through this program. ”
I watch in trepidation as Mr. Onassis begins handing out the evaluations.
“Miss Robinson, this is a very respectable score for your first week of instruction.” He then moves down the line and hands Nash his, telling him, “Do not be discouraged by the score. Your Domme has listed a number of items that will benefit you as you strive for excellence.”
Nash’s cocky smile disappears. He takes the paper and then lowers his head as he reads through it with a somber expression.
I’m surprised to find that I actually feel sorry for the guy. Then I feel a wave of fear rush over me when Mr. Onassis approaches my seat. I stare at the evaluation with growing trepidation.
When he frowns slightly, I wonder if I’m in for an unpleasant surprise too.
Before handing me my evaluation, he asks, “How do you feel you did, Miss Lane?”
Surprised by the question, I swallow hard while I formulate an appropriate response. Even though I thoroughly enjoyed myself, I realize I was so focused on living out the fantasy that has captured my heart for years, I didn’t concentrate on applying everything I learned in class.
I have no choice but to answer him truthfully. “I definitely have room for improvement.”
He nods and hands the evaluation to me without saying another word. Like Nash, I feel humbled. Putting my elbows down on the table, I lean over it so I can read what Matisse said without fear of anyone else seeing it.
The first page of the evaluation simply describes how the scene was played out. I’m reminded again of the great lengths Matisse went to in creating a realistic scene to fit my journal fantasy. It isn’t until I flip to the second page that I see his comments about me.
“Fully immersed in the scene, roleplay on point, passionate and uninhibited, open to exhibitionism.”
The word “exhibitionism” takes me by surprise, and I frown.
I’m not an exhibitionist!
Thinking back to the scene, my stomach flutters a little, and I experience a moment of doubt.
I vividly remember being turned on when Matisse told me that Valentin was watching us.
But I assumed my reaction had more to do with the fact that I’d been fantasizing about my driver right before the auction began.
What if it goes deeper than that?
I’m overwhelmed with embarrassment, because exhibitionism doesn’t fit my personality at all! That feels like something that wild girls are into, not a wallflower like me.
Another one of Matisse’s comments hit me even harder when I read, “Noticeable trust issues.”
I close my eyes, those words echoing in my head because they hit too close to home. On a fundamental level, I don’t trust anyone—not even my own family. Experience has taught me to expect to be abandoned when I need people the most.
Except for Gwen.
When I was utterly alone as a child, she was at my side and has been there ever since.
I find it slightly unnerving that Matisse was able to pick up on that during our scene.
After passing out all of the evaluations, Mr. Onassis walks past my table again. I must have a befuddled look on my face, because he stops and asks, “Is everything okay, Miss Lane?”
I glance up at him, biting my lip nervously, and nod.
“Surprised by your score?” he asks.
I furrow my brow, unsure what my score is, I flip to the final page and see: Excellent beginning. Rating reflects inexperience, not potential: 6/10.
I stare at the number, my heart thudding in my chest as I absorb it. Although I would have loved to see 10/10, I know that’s probably unrealistic. Although it hurts to know I didn’t score higher, I do appreciate Matisse’s evaluation because it gives me something solid to work toward.
“No, it’s appropriate,” I reply.
He nods and continues to the front of the class.
Nash looks back at me with a shit-eating grin. It appears he thinks my score is lower than his, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t. Unlike Nash, Onassis didn’t warn me not to be discouraged.
So, I look back at Nash and smile as if I received a ten.
It’s true. I can be petty at times.
Mr. Onassis addresses the class, “I expect all of you to go home tonight and go over your evaluation again. If you can learn from your critiques, I guarantee you will excel in this program. But, for now, I want you to put them away and get out your notebooks. We have a lot to cover this week.”
I look at Amethyst, who looks pleased by her evaluation. She leans in, whispering under her breath as she opens her binder, “Let’s chat during the break.”
Interested in what she has to share, I nod, looking forward to it. That’s something I really like about the Training Center. If we’re willing to be open with others, we can learn so much from each other.
I glance back at the lone wolf, Miss Diaz. She quietly opens her notebook and stares straight ahead, ignoring the rest of us. But I notice the tight grip she has on her pen, and I swear her hand is trembling.
Concerned, I look at Mr. Onassis. He notices her, too. Instead of a look of concern on his face, he gives her the slightest nod of encouragement, and I catch him smiling before he looks down at his interactive whiteboard.
I really admire Mr. Onassis as a teacher. He’s committed to helping each one of us succeed in his class. From the shy Miss Diaz, who could be easily overlooked in any group, to the obnoxious thorn in my side—Nash—who suffers from an inflated ego.
Encouraged by that, I’m completely unprepared when he begins our lesson by announcing, “This week we are exploring the complex art of bondage.”
My heart sinks, and I slump down in my chair.
“Do you have something to say, Miss Lane?”
Everyone turns in their seats to stare at me.
Unwilling to share my deep aversion to bondage with my classmates, I simply shake my head.
“Then, sit up and see that you take detailed notes.”
I groan inwardly as I straighten up in my chair and dutifully pick up my pen. “Yes, Mr. Onassis.”
Without missing a beat, he begins, “Bondage is a form of power play. This is a consensual activity which involves using physical restraints to restrict a partner’s freedom of movement.”
Chills shoot down my spine when I hear his definition, but I manage to keep a stoic expression and repeat to myself, I don’t have to like it to learn about it…