Me.

Ronnie

Ronnie stared deeply into the brown eyes in the mirror mounted over the bed in the Master’s suite. My eyes. She slowly traced her nose with her index finger, watching her reflection do the same. My nose. Her hand followed the swell of her plump lips, and she embraced the feeling of her nail on her skin. My mouth. She continued in this fashion, running her fingertips down her neck, her chest, her belly.

My body.

Mine.

Me.

Ronnie had been at this for some time. Watching herself. Touching herself. Proving something to herself. Inevitably, the encroaching rays of sunlight from the window reached Ronnie’s eyes. She rolled away from it and swung her feet off the side. The alarm clock on the nightstand read 8:02.

Late for my own funeral again. Ronnie smiled at her stupid joke. Then her smile broadened as she realized that she was doing it. Doing it because she legitimately felt a moment of happiness, and not because some sadist had jammed their fingers in her brain to work the controls.

The Master’s suite was just as she’d remembered it from her time as a contestant. While the Producers had allowed some parts of the set to decay, the Master’s suite was where the action happened. That’s where they got the money shots, literally and figuratively. So they spent the extra effort to keep it clean and well-maintained, albeit in taste just as poor as the rest of the hotel. The ceiling mirror being just one example.

The room lighting was adjustable, but Michael hadn’t spent any time tinkering with it after bringing her upstairs so it remained in the default red / pink setting. Only in the light of morning did Ronnie notice a pair of gift baskets that had been delivered to the small table underneath the window. Each unopened and addressed to Michael. Curiosity led her over and Ronnie started to open the one from Ruby. She froze for a second as she touched the ribbon, wondering if this was a transgression. And if so, one that was worthy of punishment.

He’s still my husband, not my Master. Not yet.

Ronnie opened it up and poked through the contents. She found three bottles of scented and edible massage oil. Cherry, Rose, Raspberry. She’s hammering the red theme a little hard. Ruby had also left him oil- and water-based lubricants, a matching set of furry cuffs, a blindfold, a copy of The Joy of Sex, and an assortment of chocolates. It’s almost adorable.

Ronnie opened up one of the chocolates with a German name she couldn’t pronounce and popped it in her mouth.

“Oooooooooooohhhh yessss.” The Harem Hotel staff had no need to eat, so she had only tasted food in situations where her ‘character’ called for it. She’d lost count of the times she had debated herself about what she would try first if she ever got the chance.

Absolutely. Perfect. Choice.

She tried a different chocolate bar as she opened Al’s basket, but his offering nearly ruined her appetite. Al had gifted Michael some of the grubbier items from the back pages of the Harem Hotel catalog: A riding crop, a set of scary-looking nipple clamps, steel manacles, and three dildos - marked with the names “Mallory,” “Vivian,” and “Rhonda” on them. He gave Vivian the biggest one. Ronnie grimaced at the girthy menace. This thing looks like **** weapon. Then she noticed the final gift at the bottom - of all things, a Gideon Bible.

The hell? Ronnie opened it. “I’ve underlined a few key passages about taking concubines. Please disregard the rest. -Alphonse” was inscribed on the inside cover. The sicko signed it?!

Ronnie wanted to chuck the whole thing in the trash. But while she thought she could get away with snooping, tossing the Master’s property in the trash might actually be a punishable offense. She simply dumped it all back in and left it alone. Ronnie was still dressed only in the showgirl thong they had sent her in, so she helped herself to one of Michael’s button-downs hanging in the closet. It hung down past her bottom and she loved the soft feel on her skin.

He’s improved his fashion sense. Ronnie felt the small stab in her chest as she realized that Danica had likely picked it for him.

The door to the rest of the suite was cracked open, and Ronnie followed the sound of music through it. Michael sat forward on the couch in the main room of the suite, completely transfixed by a woman singing on the television screen. Other than kicking off his shoes, he was still in his clothes from the night before, clearly having not slept a minute since he lay Ronnie down in the bedroom. On the coffee table in front of him were various opened DVD cases depicting past seasons of Harem Hotel. One of them was empty: Harem Hotel - French Quarter 2013.

Ronnie softly stepped into the room and sat on the couch, joining Michael in the thoroughly surreal experience of watching - herself. The French Quarter set was a twisted version of New Orleans, looking just enough like her old home to torment her. That set included a darkened jazz lounge, a personal favorite of that season’s Master, so she and the other staff had played it several times that year. Her dress was so black it nearly swallowed the spotlights with baby blue trim along her plunging neckline. On-screen, Ronnie popped the mic off its stand and left the stage, her hips peeking out through the scandalously high side slits as she walked among the crowd. She paused in front of that season’s Master and sang directly to him while gently petting the hair of the contestant that was currently servicing him with her mouth. Ronnie peeked over at Michael but he was only aware of her old self at the moment. Ronnie couldn’t read his expression. Is that lust? Longing? Does he prefer that ‘me’? Michael only seemed to lift from his trance when Rhonda completed her song, finally noticing that the real one was sitting next to him.

“I never knew you could sing like that.” He said softly. He looked down at the pile of DVDs and saw how that must have looked, so he continued. “I called the concierge while you were asleep and asked for the seasons you were in… I had to know. I’m sorry.” Ronnie gently took his hand and squeezed, a silent acceptance.

“I couldn’t sing like that. Not before. Whenever I was ‘working,’ I could just…do it.”

On-screen Ronnie took a short break, so the camera lingered on the young, fit Master and the submissive woman fellating him. I remember him. The auto mechanic from Atlanta, I think. And that was his older sister’s friend. The tease. They really toyed with those two. That’s what they do.

“It’s sick.” Michael finally said. Though notably, he made no attempt to fast-forward the scene or turn off the television. “How can they act like this?”

“Michael, this place changes people. Into whatever they need.”

“Whatever who needs? The hotel or the person?”

She squeezed his hand again. “Sometimes both.” Ronnie rose from the couch and tugged his hand. “Come on, you need some air and I need some coffee.” Giving him a task seemed to do the trick, Michael was finally able to tear himself from the screen and headed into the kitchenette to brew a pot. Ronnie shut off the TV and climbed up on the adjacent chair to reach on top of the entertainment center. Her fingertips brushed a small package and she snatched it down. Marlboros. Just where he left them. They were pretty dried out, having been left there undisturbed since she was here last, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Ronnie stepped past the chairs on the balcony. Instead, she climbed up onto the wide handrail and swung her legs over the side, letting the cool morning air swirl around her bare feet. Ronnie cracked the pack and drew out a cigarette and lighter. She smiled as she thought of the Master of her season. He wasn’t so bad, another unlucky bastard. Just like Michael. She took long drags on her cigarette. Enjoying yet another forbidden sensation. But they all start that way, don’t they? Right from the beginning each of them thinks they’re above it. Each of them thought they couldn’t be tempted. Their vows, their morals, those would be strong enough. And each one cracked eventually. Now it’s Michael’s turn. His expression at the sight of the other Rhonda was unsettling.

“Since when do you smoke?” Michael joined her on the balcony.

“Since I learned it pisses them off.” She laughed at his incredulous face. “Really! Whoever runs this show, whoever watches it - it’s a thing with them. They have the power to mold the world like a kid with Play-Doh, so what do they do? They bring innocent women here to watch them fuck for entertainment, but hell no if they relax with a cigarette after.”

“What about Al? I can still smell his smoke in my clothes.”

Ronnie playfully stroked his cheek and baby-talked him. “Aww, is widdle Michael just learning about double standards?” Ronnie accepted a mug of coffee and offered him a drag in turn, but Michael shook his head. She flicked the cigarette off the ledge, aiming for the pool ten stories below.

Michael leaned over the rail next to her. He glanced down at the drop, then at Ronnie with a worried look. “It’s an instant forfeit.” She said, answering a question he didn’t ask. Michael looked as though he was gonna ask how she knew, but thought better of it. Neither of them wanted to break the silence after that. How do you even start that conversation? Tell me about the life you had when you couldn’t even remember I existed. Then I could tell you about my years as a puppet in a magical freakshow. Instead, they quietly enjoyed the long-denied peace of each other’s company, watching the sunrise over the alien desert landscape.

Ronnie had been weighing a decision since the moment she saw Michael on that stage. She’d been **** to run to him and melt into his chest. But of course every bit of that would be filmed from multiple angles and broadcast for someone’s pleasure. They wouldn’t have chosen him if they weren’t hoping for this exact scenario. It sickens me to give them what they want. But how else can I get what I need? Just talking wouldn’t do to bridge this chasm, so Ronnie chose a different path. She set down the empty mug and swung her legs back onto the balcony. Seize this. She slipped under his arms and pulled Michael into a tight embrace, and he returned it. Now back in her real, shorter frame, Ronnie looked up at him from a familiar angle and felt all the old feelings of comfort and safety. Time and stress had left some marks on him - but this close? She could still see everything she had loved for all those years. The line of his jaw, the swell of his arms… Ronnie closed her eyes and rested her head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat. Mine.

“Michael,” She met his eyes. “We might not have another chance at this.”

“What do you mean?”

Ronnie bit her lip. “I spent so many years playing roles. Words and thoughts put there as part of my act. I’ve been waiting and begging for the chance to talk to you again. To hold you again. As me. Once I walk out the door… there’s no telling who or what I’ll be next time.” Or what he’ll be.

“But aren’t you late for filming?”

“I don’t care.” They’ll forgive me. Michael’s face was tormented and indecisive, and who could blame him for it after the night he had? But Ronnie refused to let this opportunity pass. “Kiss me.”

So he did. He cupped her face in his hands as he kissed her, the way he always used to. She brought her arms up his back and held his shoulders, as she always used to. And it was as if not a single day had passed since their last kiss.

The two of them lay down on the wide lounger that the hotel had placed there for this exact purpose. Wider and built stronger. They do know what they’re doing. Ronnie knew they’d be watching, whomever it was doing whatever they do with this footage. But she didn’t care, not at the moment. Not with Michael’s fingers in her hair and his hot breath on her neck as he kissed his way down her chest. He unbuttoned the shirt as he went, splaying the shirt open and exposing her chest. Does he want this me? Ronnie hated that those thoughts kept intruding, but she couldn’t keep them at bay. The tent in Michael’s suit trousers brushed against her bare thigh, proving he wanted at least one of her.

He kissed his way past her navel to the absurd sequined thong from her showgirl outfit. He paused, stalled by this reminder of their situation.

“Lose it.” Ronnie ordered. He tore the shoddy fabric from her body and pitched it off the balcony in one smooth motion.

Ronnie wished she had more time to enjoy this, more time to savor. But while she was sure this would buy her some goodwill - even that had its limits. She unzipped his fly and pulled his pants down. Ronnie had yearned for this for years, she needed to feel his weight on her again as he climbed back onto the lounger. Whatever desires the hotel had suppressed in Michael came roaring back to join hers. Their craving manifested in nearly frantic kisses as he entered her, as if they needed to recoup a decade of lost lovemaking in only a few minutes.

She gripped a fistful of his hair and pulled his forehead to hers - they stared deeply and possessively into each others’ eyes as he thrust. Mine. Mine. And finally, in those blissful moments, all the trauma fell away as the two reconnected. She couldn’t see the man he’d become and he couldn’t see the woman that had been taken. They just saw each other.

He clenched her arms and the back of her neck as he climaxed, as if worried that she’d disappear all over again. His relief was evident when she did not.

She smiled and stroked his jawline. “I missed you.” That was a stupid thing for me to say. She thought. So many practiced speeches, all forgotten. But he returned the smile anyway.

“Deep down, I missed you too.” Ronnie believed him. They could hide it in his mind, but they couldn’t kill it.

The ringing phone from the suite shattered the mood. “I’d like to tell that guy where to cram his cigar.” Michael groaned as he climbed off.

“Feel free, he’s not gonna touch you.” Ronnie laughed. “But yeah, he’d probably take it out on us.”

They took their time cleaning up before they bothered to answer the call. Ronnie buttoned up the same shirt and stole a pair of Michael’s boxer briefs, since her panties were probably at the bottom of the deep end ten stories down.

“It’s for you,” Michael held out the receiver. When she took it, he started stepping out of the remainder of his clothes. “I need a shower, you should join me after.”

She held the phone to her ear. “I’m sorry, did you enjoy working for the hotel? Your little tantrum last night suggested otherwise,” Ronnie savored the anger in Al’s gravel. “The rules are posted on the table in the center of the gaming floor, along with the wand you’ll need, baby. Get the hell out of there and come play the game now, or you’re done. Again.” He slammed the phone down, and Ronnie narrowly resisted the temptation to do the same.

Ronnie poked her head into the bathroom, taking a long look at Michael washing himself. He didn’t notice her through the steamed glass and she chose not to get his attention. If she started that conversation, she might end up having to say goodbye … and that would make it feel too inevitable. She softly closed the door and headed for the elevator to join the melee.