The Ambitious Assistant

Terra watched as the slender woman descended the stairs, her eyes on Franklin and a forlorn look on her face. The Master’s eyes tracked her movement as well, his jaw set in a hard line, looking every bit as rigid as he did under the effects of her paralysis spell. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the distance between the former lovers closed, at least in the literal sense.

“Welcome to Harem Hotel, Miss Li!” Terra proclaimed. Dara ignored her, her eyes sweeping over the lobby as if she were taking inventory of every painting and piece of furniture.

Undaunted, Terra continued. “It is still Miss, correct? ABD? Almost Barely Doctor?”

Dara didn’t rise to the provocation. She had reached the bottom of the staircase and moved at the same sedate pace until she stood in front of Franklin. Terra had to check her notes to make sure she wasn’t under any effects. She’d seen magically calmed contestants with sharper reactions than this.

Right. Start with the introverted ex. That’ll make for some amazing banter! Damn Imps.

Franklin wanted to do something, his instincts were screaming out for him to be bold here. He remembered the overwhelming feeling of pressure from the brief spell the Host had used, but the threat of that would likely have lost to worry for Dara if the petite scientist didn’t look strangely calm about everything.

Finally, he broke the silence, “Dara, I’m… really sorry that you’re getting dragged into this.”

Dara looked between Franklin and Terra, analyzing the minute details of their expressions. “Well, it doesn’t look like this was your idea, at least.”

Franklin raised an eyebrow, “Glad you still think logically. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was in the lab, doing busy work after getting notified that my thesis defense is being sent back for revision for the third time. Then I felt dizzy, and then I was suddenly watching a clip show of,” she paused, looking down, “that week.”

Franklin kept his expression neutral, giving her time to continue working through the here and now.

“Then I was up there,” she said, pointing towards the grand staircase. “In a dress I don’t own, in a place I’ve never been, with a man I haven’t seen in more than half a decade. Dreaming is the obvious conclusion, though this doesn’t feel like a dream. Though that wouldn’t be unheard of for a dream. I’m pretty sure it’s the most prevalent form of narrative dreaming.”

Franklin laughed despite himself, one quick snicker escaped as he watched Dara try to examine an unbelievable situation. Not from malice, but from the reminder of a little quirk he had loved and missed terribly. “I don’t think it’s a dream, either. I came to a little earlier in another room entirely, and I saw and did things that I’d imagine would have woken me up by now.”

Terra cleared her throat, drawing the exes’ attention back towards her. “I can assure you this is no dream, unless you mean in the figurative sense. This is Harem Hotel, a reality television show where our audience gets to watch multiple contestants compete for the highest spots in one lucky master’s harem, and you, Miss Li, are the first contestant chosen for Master Porter’s season. The audience chose you even after you so callously broke the Master’s heart, so I’m sure you feel lucky to have-”

“Stop,” Franklin cut the host off. “Freeze me again if you want, but back off.” He took a deep breath, then continued. “I was nineteen, we weren’t ready for that step, and I was overreaching instead of trusting that things would work out the way they needed to.” He turned back to Dara. “I should have reached out before and told you that a long time ago. I’m sorry for that.”

Dara was taken aback, remembering the very different reaction from the last time they spoke. Before she could respond, however, Terra kept things moving.

“Well, that sounded very… rehearsed. Obviously, something you’ve told yourself quite a few times in the last several years. Definitely not a mask for your intense fear of commitment born from such a public display of rejection, either, nope. But look at me getting ahead of myself.”

The Host turned back to Dara. “For our audience, please give an official introduction, including your name, age, occupation, how you know the master, and the last sexual act you participated in.” Her pen hovered over her clipboard in case she needed to interrupt any further complaints or compel the answer from the blushing researcher.

“My name is Dara Lee. 27. I’m a researcher at Weatherton-Bloom Laboratories and a Doctoral Candidate at the University of California. I dated Franklin for almost a year and half in college, and…”

As she hesitated, Franklin couldn’t help but wonder if her answer would involve him. It was probably stupid to think so, but it didn’t stop the sight flashing through his mind. Her, on his bed, trusting him with her body as he sought to bring her to the highest heights again and again.

“… was three months ago, at a conference, with an assistant professor from MIT. Nothing really came of it.”

“Well, that’s never what you want to hear said about sex,” Terra said with a somewhat forced giggle. “Thank you, Miss Li, please take a seat right over here,” she said, stretching out her arm towards a collection of furniture on one side of the lobby. A pair of couches flanked either side of a large coffee table, stacked with magazines and pamphlets around a nice floral arrangement. A loveseat and a large, plush armchair were on the other two sides. Dara didn’t want to sit with her back to the strange woman and her ex, so she sat down on the nearest side of one of the couches, where she could see them as well as the staircase on the opposite side of the lobby.

Terra drew Franklin’s attention back to the staircase. “I know that was a lot to take in, Master Porter, but there’s still a lot more to come. I will say that our second contestant may not have as much history with you as Dara there, but she’s still got some obvious charms that I’m sure you’ll love to… help her dig up. Let’s take a look!”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

August 2025

The list was written in the back of a notebook filled with notes on stratigraphy and the pottery of the Hellenistic period. The ink, a faded royal blue, bled slightly on the cheap paper, the loops of her twenty-year-old cursive confident and expansive. Lyra Katsaros: Before Thirty. It was less a list, more a declaration of war against mediocrity.

1. Lead an international dig site.

2. Publish a groundbreaking paper.

3. Get my doctorate.

4. Hike the Menalon Trail.

5. Fall desperately, magically in love.

Lyra traced the words with a fingertip, the paper cool and smooth against her skin. She had found the notebook the evening prior, while adding a few new books she had picked up to her shelf. She allowed herself to reminisce, then put it back on the shelf and tried to forget about it as quickly as possible.

It was still on her mind the next day at work. The fluorescent lights of the museum staff lounge hummed overhead, a soulless monotony. Outside, a late summer shower was falling from the gray Minnesota sky, keeping temperatures down even during one of the warmest times of the year. She would be twenty-nine in just under a month. Her only excavations were through shipments and climate-controlled storage rooms; the only groundbreaking discovery she’d made this month was that someone had been mislabeling 18th-century landscape engravings as 19th-century for the better part of a decade.

The Menalon Trail. She almost laughed, a sharp, humorless sound that caught in her throat. She couldn't remember the last time she'd hiked anywhere that wasn't the three blocks from the bus stop to the museum in a snowstorm. The Greek mountains felt as distant as the moon, a place of myth and legend, a place where the Lyra of the past lived and breathed. That Lyra, the one who had written this list, had been so certain of her own trajectory, so sure that passion and hard work were the only currency needed to buy a life of adventure and significance.

The coffee in her mug was bitter, the dregs a dark sludge at the bottom. She took another sip, letting the acrid taste fill her mouth. It was better than the taste of regret. The international dig site had turned into a weekend trip to Tulum with her college roommate, the closest she’d ever gotten to being an archaeologist abroad. The groundbreaking paper was now a meticulously researched but unpublishable footnote on provenance issues she’d filed away for Curator Lavigne. The doctorate had been derailed by student loans and the crushing reality that a master's in museum studies made her more employable than a Ph.D. in Aegean prehistory. Only for her graduation to be met with months of museums being closed to the public, and attendance still remaining down over 5 years later.

Lyra's father, a jovial restaurateur from Detroit, had raised her to be proud and optimistic. Claudius Katsaros loved his family, his culture, and his restaurant, and Lyra had made sure to return home and offer her support during the troubled times of the pandemic. The would-be archaeologist gave herself a crash course in online advertising, health and safety guidelines, and customer service. That is to say, she made deliveries and helped staff the souvlaki truck that made up the bulk of their business for a time. Hectic and yet simple, tumultuous but filled with the warmth of family, it was a strange time in Lyra's life, one that left her trying to start her career a little later than she had expected.

During that time back home, in the evenings after the day's work had been done, Lyra often found herself rewatching some of the same movies she had been shown as a child. Her father had a small but treasured collection of old films, mostly action-adventures from the 80s and 90s. He had always been a fan of the genre, and as a child, Lyra had been captivated by the stories of daring adventurers uncovering ancient treasures and lost civilizations. She would sit on the worn-out couch in the living room, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, and lose herself in the world of treasure hunters and explorers. Her dad would occasionally come in and watch with her, a nostalgic smile on his face as he quoted lines along with the actors. He’d always tell her that she could be just like them, a modern-day Indiana Jones, unearthing the secrets of the past. She'd even watched the campy Tomb Raider movie multiple times. When she first decided she wanted to pursue a career in archeology, she had lost count of the number of people who started calling her "Lyra Croft." A nickname she secretly loved but would never admit.

She let her mind drift, the list still spread open on the table like a map to a life unlived. Her phone, face down on the table, buzzed, a low, insistent hum that pulled her back to the present. She ignored it. It was probably her mother, calling to ask if she was eating enough, or her sister, sending another picture of her impossibly perfect children building a blanket fort. Or worse, one of the few friends she still kept in touch with from college, announcing an engagement or a promotion or a trip to some much sunnier place.

Her meandering was interrupted by a young man entering the staff room. Franklin, one of the schmoozers. The professional hype men who flirted with rich retirees and tried to convince enough of them to get their tax breaks through targeted gifts to the museum. The kind of guy who didn't know the difference between antique and antiquity yet made his living at a museum and had a title commensurate to her own. He was holding a stack of flyers, dropping them off in the outgoing mail so they could be sent out to schools, churches, and apartment complexes. He pulled one from the stack and tacked it up to the staff room's bulletin board.

Her gaze drifted to the flyer, a splash of garish color in the drab room. Volunteers Needed for Community Dig at Fort Snelling! Uncover Minnesota's Past! A bitter smile twisted her lips. Community dig. A few weekends spent sifting through topsoil for musket balls and broken bottles, staffed by children and guided by retirees with nothing better to do. It was a far cry from the sunbaked cliffs of Santorini or the tombs of the Valley of the Kings. It was a pale imitation, a theme park version of the life she wanted. She imagined herself showing up and lecturing about the Dakota Wars and the Dred Scott case, ruining everyone's fun with the real history that should be respected during a dig. It made her release a bitter laugh, enough to catch her coworker's attention.

"Fun, right?" He asked, with a tone of genuine curiosity. "I think it's pretty neat. Getting the community involved."

Lyra's stomach churned. She had to say something. "It's a nice thought," she said, the words tasting like ash in her mouth. "But a community dig at a National Historic Landmark is... complicated. There are strict protocols, sensitive archaeological contexts. It's not really something for amateurs."

Franklin nodded slowly, a thoughtful look on his face. "Well, it's ground that the historical society has marked off for this kind of engagement, so I honestly doubt they'd let them do it if there was any real risk. But I guess you'd know better, handling all the stuff you do. Does that come up a lot when you're negotiating with other museums about pieces?"

"Provenance, sure, but I also did my undergraduate degree in archaeology," she said, her pride making her unable to resist staking her claim in a situation like this.

Franklin's eyes widened, impressed. "No way! I knew you were smart about all this stuff. So you're like, a real-life Indiana Jones?"

Lyra felt a flush of shame heat her cheeks. "I wouldn't go that far," she said, in a sudden bout of self-deprecation. "The closest I get is cataloging artifacts that other people found. That’s barely a… Wyoming Jones.”

Franklin laughed, a loud, booming sound that echoed in the small room. "Well, whatever you call it, you're the expert between the two of us," he said, giving her a thumbs-up sign. "But hey, you should check it out. I’m sure if I were at one of these things, I’d think it was cool if it felt somewhat authentic.”

Lyra took a sip from her drink to avoid answering. The coffee was cold now. She downed the rest of it in one gulp and stood up, her movements stiff and robotic as she washed her mug in the sink. When she saw that Franklin was still there, she sighed and responded, “I’ll think about it, but I have to get back to work. We’re making arrangements for an upcoming traveling exhibition, and I have to contact Toledo and Louisville about the schedule.”

“Top vacation destinations,” he replied, trying to be funny.

“They can’t all be the Met,” she agreed. Then she wondered if the fundraiser even knew which museum that referred to.

He gave her a final, cheerful grin and left, leaving Lyra alone with the flyer. She stared at it, part of her wanting to rip it down, tear it into a thousand pieces, and throw the pieces in the air like confetti as she stormed out of the room. A smaller part knew she was overreacting. The smallest part wanted to jot down the number on the flyer. Maybe watching kids scrounge around in the dirt would make for a fun Saturday? Like being a camp counselor for history nerds. She could catch up with Petrice, her friend at the Historical Society, who she was sure would be there.

She thought, ruefully, I could just mark out ‘international’ from the to-do list and then I’d have one down. It’s not like I’ll be checking anything else off this year.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Franklin snapped out of the brief vision with a look of mild surprise on his face. He turned to Terra and said, “That’s quite a shift. From someone I proposed to all the way to someone I… showed a flyer?”

Terra waved a finger back and forth in a scolding motion. “Don’t pretend that you’d never noticed your pretty coworker in the past, Master Porter. It wouldn’t have taken too much of a change in circumstances for the two of you to be quite compatible. There are whole seasons of Harem Hotel built on those kinds of missed connections.”

He didn’t look entirely convinced, but before Franklin could respond, they were both interrupted by a shout from the top of the staircase. “Excuse me? What the hell is going on here?”

Franklin stared up at his fuming coworker. Admittedly, the emerald-colored dress she wore looked fantastic with her olive skin and red hair.

Terra placed a fist against her head in an exaggerated “woops” gesture for the camera, before announcing, “Please welcome, one and all, our audience’s second choice for this season’s cast, Lyra Katsaros!”

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Man, you’re bad at this,” Dee told his brother with the most insincere look of sympathy he could manage.

Vee let out a big sigh, “Oh c’mon, I thought they wanted a MILF?” He gathered up the unselected folders and dropped them into the desk drawer.

Dee smiled, “Well, at least I can finally say that the audience has officially voted for… a Ruthless season.”

…

…

“That was awful,” Vee replied.

Dee ignored his brother’s incorrect opinion. “If you want, I’ll let you present three options for the next one if I can do three for the one after that.”

“No deal, I know the kind of twisted stuff you’d present if you got to pick all three. At least this way, you have to keep it competitive,” Vee responded, showing he wasn’t quite as dumb as he looked. “I kinda like Lyra, even. I could see her getting an archaeology path, to help her achieve her dreams!”

“Don’t ruin it,” said the blue Imp. “Anyway, what’s next?”

Vee slapped both his cheeks, trying to psych himself up for the next vote. “Another Harem Hotel classic, the seemingly platonic friend. Be they childhood or recent, estranged or close, overlooked admirers or unexpected paradigm shifts, they should at least start out with a sympathetic disposition towards the Master.”

“Right, friends you haven’t fucked yet. Got it,” Dee looked less enthusiastic about this round. “You can go first.”

Vee summoned two folders with a flourish, their covers his signature crimson red. He opened the first and a vision of a tall woman with a bright smile appeared for the audience’s inspection.

“Bernadette ‘Bernie’ Hobbes. 24 years old, she’s a fit, five-foot-ten bundle of energy. She works at the convention center just down the street from Franklin’s museum. While her job mostly involves setting up rooms for upcoming events, hauling tables and chairs, and preparing audiovisual equipment, she’s also an aspiring DJ. Her ‘sound checks’ are often far more elaborate than necessary, but at least they’re fun for the other staff. She and Franklin met a little over a year ago, recognizing each other both from the coffee shop between their workplaces and the clubs they frequent, and struck up a friendship. They share similar… proclivities in potential partners and made for each other’s natural wingman and woman out on the town, but I’m sure they could expand that partnership in some interesting ways with the right motivation!”

Dee shook his head, “Oh, Vee of little think. Why cast a platonic friend if they have such a short history? Let me show you our next contestant.” With that, he opened his single blue folder, and a striking young woman appeared in the air, with sharp features and a confident air.

“Jacqueline Martin, though the Master might remember her better as Jackie. She may not look like it now, but she was once the gangly, choppy-haired, boisterous kid across the street when Franklin was growing up. For a while, they were two peas in a pod, exploring and conquering the grand adventures their little suburb had to offer. They were in the same classes in school, the same after-school programs, and their parents were happy to have an easy way to coordinate date nights. Alas, the realities of life can be cruel, and when Jackie’s mother got a major promotion and transfer at work, the girl across the street became the girl across the country, and just before puberty could have injected some fun new aspects to their friendship. As you can see, Jackie’s all grown up now, a confident jetsetter working as a corporate events planner for a management consulting firm. She’s a bit of a corporate raider in training, sure to surprise her old friend if they were to be reunited.”

Vee looked confused, “Bro, the Master is definitely into tomboys, it was in his top 5, but this is a former tomboy. I mean, look at that hair!”

“This is a transformation show, my dimwitted sibling,” Dee explained. “Let’s give the audience a chance to watch a contestant be… re-tomboyed. To see her reconnect with her roots, rediscover things she thought she left behind, and eventually decide to give up her life of glamorous parties and casual seductions for a life devoted to her Master.”

“Awfully regressive, aren’t you?” Vee complained before opening the final folder, revealing a lovely woman with strong-looking thighs and a plump behind, sitting on a barrel and brushing a horse's mane.

“Trudy Webber, the best friend of the Master’s older sister, was a fixture around the Porter home while the Master was growing up. Sporty, outdoorsy, and mischievous, she and Flo got into all kinds of trouble and did a lot of teasing of our Master when he was a boy. She was almost like an extra older sister in the Master’s sprawling family. As she matured, she certainly was cause for some interesting thoughts in young Franklin’s head, but as she was two years older, a non-starter for most high school girls even if they didn’t know you when you still slept with a stuffed animal, nothing came of it. Eventually, she left for college to study on a pre-veterinary track, but financial realities and other matters eventually made further studies an impossibility. She had a couple of rough years, but as fate would have it, a return to Minnesota and reconnecting with her old pal ‘Frankie’ ended up setting her on a better path. She’s currently working as a stable hand and caretaker at a horse ranch owned by one of the rich folk Franklin had made the acquaintance of at his fundraising job, after he put in a good word for her. How sweet!”

“Sickeningly so,” said the blue imp, “but it’s your pitch, doomed as it is.”

Vee kept his confidence up, hoping the friends-to-lovers crowd would be with him this time. This was practically his wheelhouse! “Vote at the link below for who you think should be our third contestant, and as always, comments, advice, and suggestions are always welcome!”

Vote Here for Contestant #3: The Platonic Friend

Voting is now closed.