*Tick-Tick-Tick-Tick*
The grandfather clock in the corner of this reception clashed terribly with the modernist furniture of sharp angles and glass, but it was a gorgeous piece of work. Polished mahogany shelled a shiny brass pendulum methodically gliding to and fro, allowing all who desired to listen to the seconds pass to enjoy it like the tides on the sea shore.
Tulia Wang knew she must have some of her ancestors’ spirits inside since she was still staring at with a crackling intensity. After all, until very recently in China’s long history, having a clock made someone rather well-off, the accurate perception of time keeping a person grounded and punctual. Of course, China also didn’t treat young women like her as people until a hundred years ago, so perhaps some appreciation was best left in the past. Tulia was quite happy to be a graduated student rather than a concubine, frankly.
A sneeze from the secretary interrupted her calm meditation, and it was like the wave of discomforting modernity had washed up upon her. Her pin-legs shook out like drying towels as her head jerked around, re-awoken to her surroundings.
She was currently waiting for her appointment with some kind of ‘super’ therapist, one which could help her with her problem. She looked at her thumb and scowled.
Left thumb’s nail slightly uneven.
Moving her hand to her mouth, she stopped herself at the last second from chewing that nail off and sat on her hand, the sore finger now under her long yellow pleated skirt. This was why she was here. She had long try to lift herself of this curse, but now it was time to put this childish and disgusting habit to rest. To help relax herself, she went back in her mind, releasing the tension in her shoulders.
Chewing, nipping, biting, grinding and gnawing at nails had always been a part of her life, she supposed, but it really became a bad habit after graduating college. School life had always made so much sense to her, a clear objective where hard work would pay off into easily understood results. Now though, she was into the wider world, and she hadn’t a clue what to do with her degree in business administration. She had lots of pressuring ideas from her relatives once she moved back to Montréal, but she couldn’t find the confidence to commit to one direction and continued to drift for the last few months.
This changed quickly thanks to an old friend from high school. She hadn’t even thought she would hear from Clarice again, considering that they didn’t do much more than eat lunch together back in the day. However, she was looking so much more confident and beautiful than the nerdy girl she remembered, So Tulia latched onto every word as they had coffee. She tipped her off to a job opening which fit her needs well, and had her an interview lined up the next day.
Tulia had dressed up real professional for that interview, a black blouse with a knee-high skirt, even risking to walk in short black heels she wasn’t used to. It made her feel confident until she actually made it to the waiting room. She actually stepped in twice, stepping out for a moment to see if she had visited an audition for models by mistake. Fishnet stockings on long and thick thighs crossed over, sleeveless tops which showed smooth but fit arms, pencil skirts tights on absolute buns of steel, and blouses slightly undone to show cleavage and black lace that was almost certainly lingerie. Tulia had felt herself a girl looking up at women.
Right middle finger, slightly dry skin under cuticle.
Somehow it got even worse after she was called into the office. The man, the boss of this major exporting firm, was unreasonably handsome for someone not on tv. A flury of vibrant chestnut locks combed back, shimmering emerald eyes like engagement rings, a firm jaw with a strong chin lightly dusted by a firm shadow of stubble, and this was just describing his head. There was no hiding the tight body he was hiding beneath that smart suit, his broad shoulders far too obvious. Mr. Lane was a handsome guy, and she was already fantasizing.
Left ring finger, little dirt beneath.
She blushed instantly, and it didn’t get better after she started answering questions. Between each stumble there was an awkward giggle or silence, and although Mr. Lane may have missed the first nail bite, he didn’t miss the second, third, or fourth one.
Stupid thumb, can’t get this cuticle right.
Needless to say, the company didn’t call back and Tulia was devastated, ashamed by her failure. But Clarice, that sweet girl, that angel, she met for lunch yet again, and gave her a guaranteed solution. She explained in her thick French accent that her confident pose, permanent bright smile, and her ability to commit to a consistent work out schedule was all thanks to a little hypnotism. Tulia was impressed, but even more so after Clarice stated that she had already scheduled and paid for a session for her old friend. She asked who this hypno-therapist was, and got quite the spiel.
Aina Núñez was apparently the greatest person who ever lived, at least from Clarice’s rendition of her. Her friend went off stating that surely this therapist must have recently been a model, a damn well-paid one by the way she was so effortlessly breathtaking, before she grew bored of the underutilization of her immense brain power. Miss Núñez travels the world now, using her immense skills of hypnotism to solve people problems while making a pretty penny at the same time. Tulia was drawn in to every excited word exploding out of Clarice’s mouth, the petite Asian certain that everyone in the restaurant was involved in this conversation now. However, when she made a offhand little tease about Clarice being in love, her friend merely blushed and denied nothing.
So this was why Tulia was currently shyly curled up on a reception couch in her long white sweater, long black hair over her face, finger finding its way back into her mouth as she stared entranced at the clock. If her friend’s rant was even half true, it was worth the time, but she was still as uneasy as a sinking ship in this office, as the thought of purposely losing consciousness in front of a stranger was only heightening her anxiety.
It didn’t help as it felt as if this Núñez woman was staring right at her from the multiple photos around the room. Tulia could tell why Clarice was so smitten by her merely from these pictures. Her long midnight mane framed a stunning face with such sharp but feminine features, and even in a photo, her purple-tinged eyes were had an ocean of depth to them. There were quite the variety of frames to show her confidence as well, in a body-tight blue racesuit outside a Formula-1 racer, in a flashy shining silver dress as she twirled in the arms of three muscular Latinos, in a purposely cut-up party gear as she worked the spintables of a dj, in a blue sports bra and overly short-shorts as she squatted some impressively heavy weights, all impressed Tulia enough to blush. But perhaps it wasn’t the experience as much as it was this woman’s seeming obsession to be spilling out of her top as much as possible with full breasts much more befitting a coming-mother of triplets than a fit woman like this Núñez .
Tulia couldn’t imagine shopping when your waist was a 20 but your breasts made your bust a 40. But then again, it was hard to shop for herself sometimes when her bra size was probably officially a quadruple A-cup.
Left pinkie nail, a little hangnail to nip off.
Tulia furrowed her brow, eyes now going around the room to count how much tanned cleavage was on display in this supposedly ‘professional’ office. Flashbacks from waiting for the interview flooded her brain. Second thoughts were now rolling around, the stale air of this windowless reception filling her nose, her heart puttering faster. Maybe this was a bad idea, she hadn’t seen accreditation from this woman before agreeing and how much of an expert could have breasts like that?
Right index-finger, just to suck on for comfort.
Just before hyperventilation set in however, the sound-proof brown door to the office, the one which appeared secure enough to keep a mountain of gold behind it, swung open, bright sunlight filling the room. Tulia actually put a hand over her brow as if this was the second coming, and was admittedly a little shocked to see who was exiting.
Anybody who knew anything knew something about Montréal’s number one Anglo-Newscaster, Marisa Mills. A trusted cocktail of bubbly and professional, the tanned blonde was the star of the local right-wing evening news. Every weekday evening, a demographic of mostly males would tune in to watch her echo barely subtle dog-whistle racist talking points with a sultry smile that never simmered.
Despite wearing classy and smart outfits picked out by her elderly male bosses, somehow they always missed a couple of buttons before going on air, and conveniently, usually her black DD push-up bra was exposed just a bit by the end of the broadcast.
That being said, despite Tulia being intimately familiar with this minor celebrity’s bra, she hadn’t expected her to be dishevelled like this. Her unbuttoned and wrinkled white blouse was only half tucked into her crooked black miniskirt. Her white lace bra was as exposed as her fit tanned midsection, and that pink lipstick couldn’t be more smeared unless it was applied by a four-year-old’s first attempt at mommy’s make-up kit. She stumbled over in heels, her legs buckling worse than a baby foul drunk on mommy’s milk. Her meticulously done up nails gripped the desk of the unperturbed secretary still typing away slowly on her Apple computer.
Marisa gave a gasp which most drunks give after their first beer, nose filling with oxygen renewed, “oh fuck that shit was the best.” Tulia rubbed her ears as the vulgarity continued to spill from her lips, “that woman is a straight-up, motherfuckin’, miracle worker! I’m getting ten- no twenty more appointments for any time she’s available!”
The pony-tailed brunette at the desk didn’t look up from the monitor as she responded, “I’m afraid that Miss Núñez is booked up all this month.” Her voice was almost as robotic as the answering machine she was replacing, “but we could look into next month to see if-”
”Look, little lady,” if condescension could kill, Marisa would be an assassin for a living, “I’m not a regular client. I’m motherfuckin’ famous.” She rolled her eyes, wildly full but unbrushed mane shaking as she reached for her wallet. “Just tell me how many hundreds I have to put on this table until one of those other appointments inconveniently disappear…” Tulia had never seen such a stack pile up, brown Canadian bucks pooling on the desk.
“Miss Núñez is busy for the next few weeks.” Her steely stare never left the screen.
“Fine.” Her huff was almost like a roar, as Marisa’s eyes scanned the room in frustration, almost as if she was looking for something to break. Unfortunately, her eyes met poor Tulia and her smile curled. “Ooo a new catch for Aina?”
Tulia looked behind her a couple of times, cranking her neck as if there was any possibility that there was someone behind her. “我?” She pointed at herself with a nibbled finger, and then blushed immensely at the realization she hadn’t even responded in English.
“Yes, you, Asian girl.” Marisa adjusted herself a bit before swinging her hips over, fluffing her hair up and pushing up her significant breasts. Her walk was an ungraceful drag across the tiles, her long shiny legs stopping wide in front of the woman unable to shrink herself from social interaction. Her grin was hungry and Tulia was a tiny enough morsel to catch her interest, “what’s your name?”
Gulping, Tulia couldn’t even keep her eyes straight, focusing on the blonde’s red knees which appeared to have rug burn on them, “T-Tulia.” It was a name of her own creation, one which was easy but still unique to speakers of English and French. No more people reading her Chinese name wrong.
“Tulia, huh?” Her collagen lips swished back and forth, as if she was sample the name on her tastebuds, “it’s strange but at least easy, unlike all the other Asian names like ‘Wang’ and “Chang’ and ‘Pingpong’.” She chuckled to herself as if that casual racism was somehow a comedy bit. Her eyes returned to their sharpness and glanced down on the meek woman. “Anyways, Tulia, what are you here for?”
“Um…” Tulia darted her eyes again upon realizing she had been glancing at those screen-famous breasts, and found her finger in her mouth again. She supposed this was a safe place to share, and despite her fears, she actually found the courage to speak, “I-I bite my nails and it-”
“Really?” Her face soured immediately, “you’re paying that much for actual therapy!?” She scoffed and flipped her wrists with an annoying laugh. “Miss Núñez can bring pleasures your mind has never known and you’re coming to solve some fuckin’ lame ass basic problem?”
“Uh…” Wasn’t biting nails exactly what one went to a hypno-therapist for?
“Pffft.” Marisa’s laugh ended, all potential entertainment she could find milked before she took a step closer, leaning in inches from her cheek. “Well, little girl. Let me give you the best advice your little rice-ears will ever here. Free, at no charge.” Her breathe was unusually hot, and smelt of an overly familiar taste that took a couple of seconds for Tulia to feel out. “When you go in there, submit completely to her demands. You’ll reach nirvana faster that way. But in the end, it doesn’t matter, Mistress Núñez always gets what she wants…” Her breath smelt like sex. The female sex.
Tulia’s blood and bones were frozen, skinny butt stuck to the cushion beneath her as she watched Marisa say tootle and leave as quickly as she entered, hardly adjusting herself to look even somewhat proper. Suddenly Tulia was filled with fearful thoughts, finding herself feeling fight or flight while outwardly appearing shut off. How could anything positive come of this? Could she leave this free session before even seeing the therapist? Was this all really worth having the confidence of Clarice?
If I can just pick away that skin on my thumb, I can use my teeth to snip it.
“Miss Wang?” The secretary spoke over her clattering keyboard. “Before you see Miss Núñez, could you please choose which option you’d like from the menu?”
“Oh.” Tulia’s eyes opened wide, her fears suddenly melting as her ears once again heard the grandfather clock ticking away. She looked to the side, finally gazing at the menu of features handed to her when she first came in. She had immediately procrastinated making a decision before because she didn’t understand the menu handed to her. Now though, she scanned through the choices again and became re-confused. There weren’t any prices and she didn’t understand why she couldn’t just explain to Miss Núñez her problems directly, but she decided to choose nevertheless, assuming the choices in the middle were hopefully cheaper for her friend Clarice paying for this.
Sat Apr 21 05:40:29 2018
Linking Enabled