This post is in the CRUELTIES category. Don’t read it.
You will want to have read the previous part of Yolanda to make sense of this.
The venue for the event is reassuringly in Mayfair, a small but very smart hotel, the whole first floor exclusively for the group.
She doesn’t recognise any of the other attendees, fifteen or so, and they don’t seem to know each other either. Mostly women, everyone under thirty and reasonably attractive, fit and healthy, carefully dressed.
Generally, everyone seemed rather shy, as was Yolanda, and there wasn’t much conversation, but it seemed that not all of them had even been on Roberto’s course— there were participants from other courses, too; some months beforehand. It was confusing, but the free coffee and excellent pastries, juices and even Buck’s Fizz was welcome and encouraging that this was at least a properly funded event.
Marcia arrived— it was quickly clear that this was her show. She explained that she acted as a consultant and facilitator in many contexts, and that she had drawn the group together from across these. It made a sort of sense, enough to be going on with, at least, and then it was time to go in to the event proper. They were ushered in to a hall large enough for all of them to sit in a large circle.
Marcia took them through some ice-breakers, then explained the structure of the day. There were to be workshops of various kinds before lunch, then a long lunch break— we plan to feed you very well indeed. At lunch, they would meet the Mentors for the first time— these were the people you need to meet advertised in the invitation. Apparently, Marcia had selected these too, from various courses and groups she was associated with.
“You’ll have noticed that you are a relatively young group— all talented, capable and interesting people, only recently started out in life. The mentors are generally a little older, well resourced, established. The purpose of these carefully selected gatherings is to introduce you to people who are willing and able to help you progress— assuming you find a match, which of course is ultimately your business, not mine. However, I can tell you that, on the basis of the various assessments you have participated in, and the engagements with the courses you have been on, that I anticipate a good rate of success today.”
“You see, the same assessments and experience of these relatively well-heeled people allows me to understand what they need to progress themselves, and those of them who are looking for some help with their progress are willing to pay for these introductions— making it possible for me to offer you these opportunities without charge.”
“In case any of this makes you uncomfortable, please be assured that there is absolutely no pressure on any of you to make any arrangements at all— or even speak to any of our prospective mentors. Please, just take advantage of the day. At any point, any of you is welcome to opt out of the event, and spend the rest of the day in the hotel’s luxury spa, all paid for, and take advantage of the hotel room which has been reserved for you tonight. However, for reasons I am sure you will appreciate, the later events of the day will not be available to anyone who has opted out, and there will be no further contact with me.”
After lunch, there would be more workshops and trust building exercises, before the whole party would be treated to a spa makeover and have the opportunity to choose from a selection of evening wear which would be provided, before the main event— the ‘speed-dating’ sessions with mentors, after which there would be a dinner at the hotel for any participants who chose not to spend more time with mentors.
Marcia was right; there were various alarm bells in Yolanda’s head. It all felt a bit like a rather smooth cattle market. These rich people wanted young assistants, and Marcia was providing them with candidates on the basis of what she had learned from them when they had bared their souls on self-help courses.
On the other hand, it was all so well presented, and so generous; the honesty and the opt-out was reassuring, and … and Yolanda needed something, something to make a change in her life, so much, it seemed crazy not to give this a chance.
It seemed that others were making the same choice, for, despite a few frowning faces and lowered heads, deep thinking going on, no-one immediately opted out, even when Marcia prompted;
“The last thing I want is for anyone to be here who is in the slightest uncomfortable, so please, if you are not happy to take part, know that you have my full understanding and confidence in your ability to choose. We’ll be starting in five minutes, so, if you choose to, feel free to ask my assistant Alison and she will show you the way to the spa and get you set up for the day.”
Marcia was finally, such an impressive human being - so calm, so assured, so relaxed, that it was very hard not to put a great deal of weight on her words, her sincerity, her honesty.
Picture: Marcia
Alison helped, too; cute, smily and giggly, she was a very pretty young woman, only a year or two older than Yolanda, in a smart and businesslike skirt suit that somehow managed to be devastatingly sexy. Somehow her sweet smile and little laughs made it seem impossible that there was anything sinister, and it was no surprise when there was a general nodding of heads and straightening of shoulders. Marcia had them, and they were keen, Yolanda as much as any of them.
Picture: Alison
The morning’s workshops were very different from Roberto’s course— no introspection at all. The emphasis was very much on confidence boosting, each exercise bringing forth compliments and encouragements for members of the group toward each other; almost too much. Yolanda blushed more than once, and nearly cried after one of the exercises; too, she found herself getting a bit of a high from complimenting others.
All-in-all, Yolanda had to admit that she was feeling better than she had for a long time as they made their way to the dining room— and the mood in the group was quite ‘up’ as well. She was warming to Marcia, even though she was still quite intimidated— why had Roberto’s course not been more like this?
Lunch was more difficult. There were only seven mentors, five men and two women, who had apparently already eaten, for they moved about, from table to table— there were five in all, three or four of the younger group at each one. As with the morning, Yolanda and her group were rather shy, and it was the mentors who did all the talking, mostly asking questions.
Yolanda found herself rapidly getting nervous, very glad that she had come in on a bit of a high from the morning. Although she had been distracted, she was painfully aware, confronted with confident older people, asking questions, of her shameful lack of meaning. The other two at her table, shy and diffident though they might be, had ready smiles, answers to questions about what they hoped for in life, what they enjoyed, while she, painfully aware that Marcia was in the room, paying attention from her own solo table, felt bound by the radical honesty which Marcia so insisted upon, and found herself tongue tied several times, deprived of her habitual small white lies and little cliché phrases which seemed like answers without committing her to much.
This did not seem to go down well with the mentors, and Yolanda found herself in danger of spiralling down, was having to work hard to manage herself, when an older man, Gerald— in his mid-forties, Yolanda guessed— came to their table for the second time. He ignored the others, and very directly, asked her, would she come and sit with him— he indicated a smaller table at the side, not far from where Marcia was sitting, Alison dancing attendance on her (the girl had not appeared to sit, or to eat, either).
Confused, but reassured by his calm face and polite manner, Yolanda blushed and allowed him to take her hand and lead her off, feeling almost completely passive, absolved of all responsibility. She had never been treated like this; at once high-handed, and gentle, thoughtful— he was smiling, polite, looking at her, checking that she was OK, and her heart did a little flip; why had she never met anyone who would do this with her before? It was so simple, what he was doing, and yet completely new to her. She was blushing like a teenager, and she was suddenly frightened. It was risky, surely, to allow herself to be so overwhelmed by a complete stranger— an older man who had paid for access to her?
All the worries of the morning resurfaced in her mind, and she faltered, slowing just a little.
He stopped immediately, turned to face her, serious, calm, accepting. He didn’t speak, just looked at her, almost expressionless, but compassionate, somehow, waiting on her, entirely without pressure, and she melted, softened. Still, though, he did not move, until at last she heard herself say;
“Please … please, I’d … I’d like to …”
Like to what…? she agonised, blushing again, but if he noticed, he ignored it, his slight smile open and pleasant, and simply guided her to her seat.
He seated himself facing her, but didn’t speak, waiting for her, and she was terribly, deeply grateful to him, because she needed to orient herself, calm herself. All this was so … unexpected. to be paid attention to by … well, a man, an older man, in … well such an unprecedented way … She had no idea, no idea at all, how she should be; she was nothing; she had nothing; not the slightest idea what to say, where this was going. She was empty, clueless.
But not, she found, desire-less; not that she felt sexual need, just that she wanted, wanted so very much for this man to see something in her, to be something for him, whatever that might be. She might be nothing, but if this man saw something in her, than she could, just perhaps, be that. Be what he saw in her, be it for him at least. She had no idea.
And still, still, he was waiting; watching her, calm, making no demands, relaxed, but attentive. He saw something, when he looked at her— he must, or why would he be looking, why would he have chosen her, taken her away…?
She knew this was crazy; saw, without any actual thoughts passing across her disordered mind, just how this was; how Marcia had understood her somehow, had seen how vulnerable she would be to this … this — what was it? He wasn’t exactly doing much.
And the insight fizzled away into confusion, and she was glad to see it go, because she wanted it. Whatever this was, she needed it. Needed to have someone look at her like that— pay attention, be interested. Even … well even if …
She desperately didn’t want to run away, or frighten him off, because of some paranoid idea. Even … even if the idea wasn’t completely paranoid.
Eventually, she became certain that she must speak; that he couldn’t simply watch her forever, that she must control herself, and she makes a real, urgent effort to speak, to say something— anything, as long as it isn’t terminally stupid.
“You … you are kind. Thank you. I … I … I’m sorry to be so … so … “
“You have nothing to be sorry for, pretty girl. I did that to you. On purpose. I would like to do other things to you.”
Yolanda sagged; had he really said that? Did he really mean …
She had dropped her gaze, in shock, but she needed, urgently, to see what was in his eyes, and slowly, ever so slowly, in the silence, looked up, to find his eyes full on her, no longer soft, though still compassionate, but now serious, certain, immovable.
He did mean it. There would be no negotiation, and he meant her to understand that. If she let him, he woud do things to her, and she would have no recourse.
Oh God …
Hardly breathing; shallow sips; how could he have said that? How could she be still sitting there, once she knew what he meant, what was so present, between them now, undeniable?
He’s going to fuck me, and he will be demanding.
She was trapped in his gaze; she could feel herself unsteady, feel her nipples tightening; feel her belly, right down deep inside readying itself, feel her heart pattering so fast, felt dizzy.
No, no , no, it can’t be like this! How can I react? I’m … I’m nothing, I … I can’t…
Too much, too much; too fast!
And then his hands had taken hers, across the table, gently, but very firmly;
“Don’t worry, Yolanda. I have you. I have you now.”
And it was so.
