1999

        Monday, April 19. It's morning in Manhattan. Its boombox heart beats on.

        Blonde gets up earlier than usual so she can accomplish all she needs to and make the 7 P.M. plane to Ireland. Ian has sent her a Director Card with a little note telling her to fly first class. The minute she had it in her possession she felt plastic power. The clothes, the plane tickets, and her parents' admiration over her new international job have renewed her self-esteem.

        She hails a taxi and gets in while the driver struggles to get all her luggage in the trunk. "Where to, Miss?"

        "Kennedy Airport."

        "That'll be a hundred bucks, up front."

        Normally she'd be horrified at the charge, but now she has plastic peace of mind. "Okay, and please hurry."

        They head over the Cross Bronx Expressway to the Whitestone Bridge. "Why do they have tollbooths, anyway?" asks the driver as they sit in a traffic jam. "There is no real need for them. The money could be raised with a few extra bucks in taxes. Same thing for the subways. Why wait on line for tokens?"

        She agrees. But she is leaving all that now.

        They stop-and-go for ten minutes or so. Finally the tollbooths appear in the distance. A boombox is heard. With each slide forward the booms get louder. After a while it becomes necessary to roll up the windows against the din. After a short eternity they complete the last carlength to the tollbooth.

        The toll-taking music-lover is a huge woman in sunglasses. Her gray hair is tied back and a cigarette dangles from her mouth. As the driver's window rolls down, the battery-powered audio assault peaks. The bass notes strike at the heart while the highs sting the eardrums.

        The driver sticks a $10 bill out the window, but it waves in the blast to no taker. Big Mother Music ignores him while she counts a pile of coins. Finally, after a long slow tug on her cigarette, she takes the ten. The driver quickly rolls up the window thus decrescendoing the boom and waits for the change.  He opens the window to receive a fistful of coins loosely wrapped in a receipt. Window rolls up again while driver sits and counts change.

        The taxi moves, but suddenly the sad truth emerges. It is a worm cut in half. The traffic jam continues after the toll booth. Christine leans her head back and closes her eyes. She wonders if she's in love with Ian or if it's addiction. She knows someone who goes to Love Addicts Anonymous meetings. Whatever it is, it has great power over her.

        The boombox now seems to be receding faster than it approached. The go's are longer now, the stops shorter. They're moving.

*

        Tuesday morning, April 20. AerRann Flight 105 arrives, on time, at 6:50 A.M. at Shonna Airport. Blonde is at the customs desk.

        "How long will you be staying, Miss?"

        "I don't know. I'll be working for an Irish company."

        "Do you have a work permit?"

        "What? No. I didn't know I needed one."

        "Please step over to the office," as he nods in its direction.

        "Is there a problem?" she asks meekly.

        "You'll have to fill out the forms."

        At the office she is handed a blurred photocopy of questions and blank spaces. She sits down in a plastic seat and tries to read its fuzzy instructions. Ten minutes later she hands it in. The officer reads the form.

        "Will you be working for a company or an individual?" he asks.

        "Well, I guess for an individual. I'm his executive assistant. I won't be at his company."

        "I see. I don't think you needed to fill out this form. I'll take care of it," as he picks up the phone. "Go to the exit desk."

        She obeys. She is cleared and enters Ireland. She makes her way to the baggage roundabout. It is easy to spot her luggage now. Most of the passengers have left the terminal.

        She sees a chauffer with a white card marked 'IAN'. He sees her and comes over.

        "For Ian?" he asks pleasantly.

        "Yes."

        "The car's out front. I'll get your bags. How many are there?"

        "Eight." She decides to stay until she's sure they are all accounted for. She's still in a New York state of mind.

        Eventually she goes outside into a drizzle, a soft rain as they say here. They're off to Tralee.

        "Ian said to tell you two parts whiskey, one part vermouth. The bar is to your left."

        She didn't take the complimentary drinks on the plane because she'd heard that alcohol makes jetlag worse. She decides to make a drink anyway.

        "What's your name?" she asks politely.

        "Ende (pr. end-eh). Pleased to meet you Miss. Failte romhat." He is warm and friendly.

        "How long to Tralee?" she asks.

        "About two hours, Miss."

        "Is it that far? I didn't know."

        "It's not that far but it takes that long."

        She ponders his answer as she mixes a drink. The blonde-colored Manhattan flows through her as they cross the Shannon River into the city of Limerick. She feels power. Power over her, that is. She is Blonde again.

        Soon they are in the countryside of County Limerick. It is a gray day. The gray-hatted chauffer guides the gray Mercedes past lovely little gray houses. Gray clouds and a gray Irish mist hover over the checkered hills. Much has been said about the 40 shades of green in Ireland, and that is certainly true. But there are as many shades of gray.

        She falls asleep.

        "We're here, Miss."

        She awakes to find herself at the Mount Strand Hotel in Tralee.

        "Oh! I guess I fell asleep."

        "Yes, Miss. I'll take your luggage in."

        Her room is chilly, the decor gray. Out the window stand the gray Slieve Mish mountains. She debates whether to call Ian or to sleep a while. She falls asleep on the bed mid debate.

        Hours later the phone rings.

        "How are you keeping?"

        "Hi, Baby," sleepily.

        "Better to stay awake until tonight. I'll be up round half-two, and I have a surprise for you."

        "Okay, Baby." Ian clicks off.

        The water in the shower is not nearly as hot as it would be in New York. It stimulates her but is hardly a cure for jetlag. She puts on new silk underwear, new silk slacks, and a new silk blouse. The quality of the clothes are a source of emotional comfort.

        A knock at the door. It's Ian.

        "I wanted to see you. Couldn't wait," as he grabs her and kisses her.

        "Hi, Baby," she whispers.

        Another knock at the door.

        "That's your surprise," as he opens the door.

        There stands Brunette. "Hi, Sweetness."

        Blonde is truly surprised. For a fleeting moment she is disappointed, but does not show it. She had assumed that she would have Ian to herself.

        "I didn't know you were coming," deliberately cheerful.

        "Ian wanted it to be a surprise," as she hugs Blonde. "We're together again."

        "Indeed," says Ian. "I'll ring down for some drinks." He picks up the phone and orders a bottle of Irish whiskey, a bottle of dry vermouth, martini glasses and ice.

        "You got your hair cut short," says Blonde of Brunette's new boyish look.

        "Yes. Ian suggested it. Do you like it?"

        "Sure."

        "Guess what," says Brunette. "We're going to Banba this weekend. Isn't that great?"

        "That's right," says Ian.

        Blonde is still in the jetlag twilight state. She is overwhelmed with everything. "Wonderful," she says.

        The alcohol arrives. "Make us drinks," says Brunette. She and Ian take the two armchairs in the room while Blonde sets up a makeshift bar on the dresser.

        "You haven't got your heels on," says Brunette.

        Blonde unconsciously stops the drink making, puts them on, and returns to the task.

        "You're looking good, Sweetness," says Brunette pleasantly.

        "Oh, I'm so tired," as she hands them their drinks. There is no chair for her so she sits on the bed. They sip and banter about Banba.

        "Make us another round," says Brunette. Blonde gets up, takes their glasses and returns to the bureau bar. She knows that they are admiring her from behind. The alcohol is loosening tension.

        "When did you get here?" she asks.

        "Last week," replies Brunette.

        "Oh," hiding a little jealousy.

        "You'll be working together," says Ian.

        "Isn't that great?" asks Brunette.

        "Sure," more cheerily. "What will I be doing?" asks Blonde.

       "You'll be working with Brunette," says Ian.

        "Make that three parts gin," says Brunette. Blonde obliges, distributes their drinks, and sits against the headboard of the bed.

        They finish the second round. The alcohol flows through them collectively, as if from one to the other and back again.

        "I'll be off now and leave you two to sort things out. I'll ring you as soon as I can."

        Ian leaves and Brunette sits with Blonde against the headboard.

        "You look tired, poor thing."

        "I am," says Blonde.

        "Here, let me give your shoulders a rub." She gently massages Blonde's shoulders and neck."

        "Mmmm, that feels good."

        Brunette continues. There is tenderness in her hands. Blonde feels it and is grateful. She is in a foreign land and knows only Ian and Brunette.

        "Just relax," says Brunette quietly.

        She does so, and eventually puts her sleepy head on Brunette's shoulder. Brunette continues as Blonde falls asleep.

        Brunette gently moves her to her pillow and straightens her out on the bed. She decides to take Blonde's clothes off and to tuck her in. Very gently she unbuttons her blouse and ever so slowly removes it. Blonde does not awaken.

       She looks at beautiful Blonde and feels aroused. She takes Blonde's heels off and begins to gently undo her slacks. She slowly pulls them off. This disturbs Blonde.

        "What?" sleepily.

        "I'm putting you to bed. Just go to sleep."

        "Mmmm." The alcohol and the jetlag conspire to send Blonde into a deep sleep.

        Brunette gets up and makes a drink. She looks at Blonde and sips. Lust follows the alcohol through her. Blonde is beautiful in her silk bra and panties. She puts the high heels on Blonde's feet and stands at the foot of the bed. Brunette slowly removes her clothes as if performing for the sleeping beauty. She fantasizes being a man to her, controlling her as Ian would. She didn't notice that I was the one giving the orders , she muses. This arouses her more.

        She slowly pulls the bedcovers down, lifting Blonde's body enough to accomplish this. Blonde is deep asleep, but in the process turns onto her left side. Brunette gets in and gently strokes Blonde's hair and kisses it. She runs her fingers delicately along her back and onto her beautiful bottom. She is ever more aroused now.

        Brunette is at a crossroads. Blonde is her department now. In their little ΔCorp, Ian is CEO and Chairman of the Headboard, Brunette second in command. She is a middle-level executive and knows that the first rule of middle management is to make sure that your bosses are not bothered by anything that is your department's responsibility. She must keep Blonde willing to serve Ian.

        Brunette gets up and gets dressed. She is driven to remain number two in Δelta Corp and must delay certain gratifications in order to maintain her position. Sexual-power is her main addiction, not just sex. She must gradually take power over Blonde in imperceptible increases. Just like inflation. She closes the door silently.