Part 1

Jelena swept over the conference room table one last time, straightening samples and arranging paint swatches. The various tiles, flooring planks, and door knobs had little opportunity to get out of place since her last check thirty seconds ago, but everything had to be perfect. Satisfied with the display, Jelena returned to her other preoccupation, pacing the room, while staring at her smart watch. The display read “2:35 pm” superimposed over an idyllic image of the Kosmaj Mountains. He should have been here five minutes ago. A little tardiness wasn’t unusual, even for her more typical clients, but it still made Jelena especially uneasy today. Maybe it was because she still couldn’t believe that someone so famous would actually want to hire her. Maybe it was because the money from a contract like this alone could get her fledgling business off the ground. In any case, the nervousness persisted. 

After the longest two minutes of her life, Jelena saw the car approach through the plastic blinds. The white Cadillac rolled to a leisurely stop, somehow still managing to glisten in the overcast, Pacific sun. She scurried outside to meet it. The back door swung open. A woman’s leg emerged from the darkness within, elegantly toned, immaculately shaved and ending a white, vaguely futuristic high-heel. Jelena had never felt drawn to women, but still found herself staring at the leg, as its equal joined in on the asphalt. The supple towers of sinuous muscle supported a white mini-skirt, perfectly pristine save for a diagonal seam and row of buttons cutting across its length. Above the skirt, the tan skin continued where it left off with a set of perfectly flat, though not overly defined abs. Another stretch of immaculate, alabaster fabric covered the woman’s breasts. Much like the skirt, it closed in a crisp diagonal line that exposed just a shadow of the stranger’s cleavage.  From there, the fabric flowed down her slender arms, leaving only her hands exposed. The jet black of her straight hair and seemingly bottomless eyes made a striking contrast against the ensemble. 

Jelena couldn’t help but glance down towards her own faded suit. It was her best one, the one she set aside for client meetings, but the once inky fabric had started to fray, especially around the knees and elbows. She looked professional, though she couldn’t help but feel inadequate next to the apparent runway model standing across from her. Still she did her best to inject cheer and confidence into her voice as she spoke. “Um, hello. I’m Jelena. It’s nice to meet you. I assume you’re with Jean Paul.” 

The woman did not smile. Her eyes passed quickly over Jelena, but otherwise she remained imobile. “Master Renoux is occupied. You’ll deal with me. I’m Marta,” she said with a faint Eastern European accent. 

The familiar inflection gave Jelena a little more comfort. Whoever Marta was, she had at least one thing in common with her. Hopefully she could use that to close the deal. “Of course, please come inside.” 

Marta gave a curt nod and entered the nondescript, brick of a building. Marta paused in the open office area, looking at the various forms huddled over laptops and keyboards. “These people. They work for you, yes?” 

Jelena winced. “Um no. They’re mostly entrepreneurs. I just rent space here, same as them.” 

Marta only nodded, making a note on the tablet she carried. Jelena was tempted to crane her neck to see what the other woman was writing, but refrained. She led Marta to the conference room that she had reserved for today’s presentation. Seeing the samples laid out across the table bolstered Jelena’s spirits. The palette she’d created for this proposal had to be one of her best. The warm, wood tones accented cream colored paint swatches, and warm beige tiles. The materials demonstrated a balance of comfort and sophistication, if Jelena didn’t say so herself. It had better have been, after the number of late nights she had spent on it. 

Marta took a seat at the head of the table and then looked expectantly at Jelena without saying a word. 

“Oh, yes, of course. My name is Jelena Stanković and my company is Refind Design. First I’d like to say, I’m flattered for the opportunity to work on this project. I’ve always been a huge fan of Jean Paul, I mean Mr. Renoux.” In truth, Jelena never cared much for Renoux’s music. The experimental blend of choral arrangements, synthetic keyboards, digital beep-boops, and aggressively rapped lyrics was just too much for her. “And to redesign the interior of an architectural masterpiece like The Kendo House would be a distinguished moment in any interior designer’s career.” 

“Get on with it,” Marta said coldly. 

“Yes, yes of course. I aim to play off the existing architectural character of the home. Mr. Kendo is famous for his use of natural, unfinished concrete. It gives a rough, raw quality that speaks of authenticity and weight. It reminds me of the old housing blocks where I come from,” she paused, hoping Marta would join in and share some similar experience. The brunette just kept staring, hardly sparing a look for the presentation. 

“Well, I plan to build on this respect for unfinished materials and incorporate natural wood tones and soft, warm colors. This way it respects the original design, while infusing some more livability into the space.” Jelena lifted a sample of rich, brown vinyl flooring, molded to match wood but far more durable, and offered it to Marta. Marta made no move to accept the plank. “Layering these elements together would create a rich palimpsest just like Mr Renoux’s own work.”

Marta raised an eyebrow at that. Jelena could see this wasn’t working. She had to try something else. 

“Look, I’ll cut the routine. Maybe you don’t care about the palettes and the art of it. But you won’t find anybody harder working than me.” She abandoned her level, presentation voice and let more emotion show through. “Unlike most Interior Designers, I do the installation myself. I was an architect and contractor before coming to the states. So you’d just have to work with me. No juggling contractors and designers. I’m well worth the fee.”

Marta laughed. It was the first sign of emotion the woman had displayed. “Fee is no object for Master Renoux. The right people are what’s hard to find.”

“So, do I seem like the right kind of person?” 

“What are your measurements?” 

“Excuse me?” I don’t see what that has to do with the project,” Jelena balked.

“Then I guess you’re not the right kind of person.” The enigmatic woman rose from the chair and started towards the door.

Time froze for Jelena. Whatever Marta wanted that information for, it was clearly too personal. At a minimum it suggested that Jean Paul Renoux only hired women with a certain proportion. But then again, he was a famous fashion designer in addition to a musician. Maybe it was just to give her some of his designs or something. That unlikely hope was enough to prod Jelena on. “Wait, I’ll tell you. My bust is ninety one point four cm, my waist is sixty one cm, my hips are ninety four cm.” 

Marta stopped with her back turned towards the designer. “Very well. You can start tomorrow.” It was a statement and not a question. 

“Thank you so much! You won’t regret it.” 

“I know,” she said, curtly. “I’ll send the signed contract and a digital copy of The Master’s newest album. You’re to listen to it, before reporting to the house. It’s the inspiration for this project”

“Um, ok.” Jelena wasn’t sure what the album had to do with anything, but that didn’t mean much in the face of the largest contract she’d ever won. She showed Marta back to her car. As the white dot shrunk into the horizon, Jelena’s phone pinged twice. The first message was titled ‘Accepted Proposal’, the second was simply called ‘Nadja’

–

Jelena’s pick up truck wound its way slowly and cautiously up the narrow mountain road. A line of soldier pines stood like sentries, guarding one edge of the road, looking out over a precipitous drop on the other side. The swirling fog below concealed the dizzying heights that sprawled out below the road. 

But Jelena’s focus was elsewhere, namely on the disorienting disharmony disemanating from her car’s speakers. She shook her head, wondering how people listened to this sort of thing. Legions of fans would kill to listen to an unreleased Jean Paul album, but that legion notably did not include Jelena. The buzzing synthetic tones made it hard to concentrate. One electronic hum overlapped the next and the next with no clear beginning or ending. The effect left Jelena’s attention drifting. The only thing to anchor her awareness was the relentless patter of Jean Paul’s incessant rapping. The words came in a torrent, spat with the intensity of bullets from a machine gun.

You left me so alone 

Cold, naked and so stark

But soon you will atone 

I’ll be the one you cling to in the dark. 

Or it was something like that, anyway. Jelena really couldn’t keep up, though she did appreciate the deep tone that his accent gave the vocals. As a Frenchman who’d learned British English, his pronunciation was just a little unusual. Jelena had hoped to be able to talk about the album with Jean Paul, but decided it was too unorthodox for her to say much about it. Jelena had already tried listening several times, but every time it just kept washing over her. Her hand drifted up to turn off the music. She didn’t understand it. There was no point in listening to it. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she should keep listening, that she would understand if she just kept listening. So she let it play and returned her focus to the beautiful landscape around her, just in time to see the Kendo House cresting the hillside. 

The gray concrete rose stoically from between the trees, like the leathery hide of an elephant. The gray fin climbed in a straight vertical before turning ninety degrees and running to the side in a streak. It created the effect of an enormous, upside down “L” somehow defying gravity and remaining upright. Underneath the heavy projection, a soaring curtain wall reached all the way down to the ground. Jelena thought it would provide no privacy for the home’s occupants. Although all the way out in the woods like this, privacy was less of an issue. Jelena hadn’t passed another house for miles. 

As she pulled up the driveway, Jelena could see the home’s entrance. A row of seemingly floating stairs led up to a second story door in the glass wall. Jelena caught sight of a familiar, white-clad figure waiting for her by the door. Marta perched on the steps like a dove on an ancient sculpture. She navigated the stairs with effortless grace, despite her impractical heels. Marta led her inside with only a short greeting. 

The inside of the Kendo home proved even more striking than the exterior. They entered on a thin mezzanine at the middle level of a three story atrium. Another set of floating stairs ran along one side of the space, connecting the three levels. At the bottom, a kitchen hugged the solid wall, while a living room occupied most of the level. The furniture had been pushed aside to make room for a massive pile of white, foam blocks. 

The whole atrium commanded a sweeping vista of the mountains below. Jelena couldn’t help but feel small in the cavernous space. She was used to homes feeling cozy, intimate, warm. The Kendo House, however, was majestic, stately and imposing. She cleared her throat. “The house is even more impressive in person, but it does feel a bit cold. How about we add a chandelier to break up the scale a little and,”

“Stop.” Marta said. 

Jelena’s temper flared. “You can’t just tell me to stop. You hired me for a reason. Respect my advice!” 

Marta’s face remained unmoving. “Are you done?” She asked coldly. 

Jelena had half a mind to launch into a diatribe about scale just to teach her a lesson. But remembering the size of the paycheck, she thought better of it. “Fine,” she answered. 

“Master doesn’t like the stairs. He would like you to take the foam down there and turn the stairs into a slide.” 

“Excuse me?” 

The imposing woman raised an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of slides, I presume?” 

Another flare of temper that Jelena could barely suppress. “Yes, obviously. But you can’t just turn a staircase into a slide with a bunch of foam.” 

“No, I can’t, but hopefully you can. Otherwise, we may have hired the wrong person after all.” 

Jelena winced. This idea was pure idiocy. But she had heard stories about eccentric celebrities. So maybe she should have expected outlandish demands like this. “Ok, I’ll do it. I’ll take some measurements and then go back and start working out drawings. I can probably have something for you to review in a week.”

“You’ll do it today,” Marta said simply. 

Jelena looked down to the white blocks. “Look, that's just impossible. I have my tools in my truck. But I thought we were talking design today. You never mentioned wanting this before. I can’t just reach into my bag and pull out a three story slide.”

Marta opened her tablet and began pecking at it. “Alright then. I’ll tell Master, he was wrong about you.”

“Hey, hey, no need to tell anyone anything. I didn’t realize how important it was to him. I’ll get started on it. Like I said, I have my tools.” Jelena headed back out to the truck and removed a circular saw, a breathing mask and some goggles. She set up shop in the lower living room level. Her efforts began with a few painstaking hours on her knees, bent over the staircase, carefully measuring the space between each step. Jelena could have sworn she saw Marta checking out her ass a few times, but did her best to ignore it. 

She said a silent prayer of thanks for the home’s high level of craftsmanship. The first few steps were all identical. She could just make one jig and then cut all the blocks the same. With that, she set up her saw horses and clamped a stray two by four at the appropriate angle. 

The whirling saw blade flared to life, digging hungrily into the giving, alabaster flesh of the foam blocks. As it did, motes of dust filled the air in the atrium. Jelena’s mask protected her breath, but the plastic goggles couldn’t fully shield her eyes from the polluted air. She could feel her eyelids swelling from the irritation. As she turned off the saw blade, Jelena noticed a strangely familiar sound. It was Nadja. Marta had set the album playing again. Jelean did her best to ignore the relentless lyrics and haunting chords. Soon enough the sound faded into the background. Strangely the work seemed to pass more quickly after that. 

As the sun set, Jelena removed her goggles and studied the fruits of her labor. Wisely, she had started the slide at the top. A small parade of white triangles filled in almost all the steps connecting the second and third floors. It looked ridiculous. The white blocks formed a shape like a saw blade or the teeth of a cartoon alligator. Jelena shook her head. Maybe it looked absurd, but if the client was pleased, that was good enough. 

“Leaving already? The slide’s not done,” Marta asked with characteristic bluntness.

“Yes, I am. I’ve been here all day. If I keep going, I’ll just make a mistake. I’ll pick it back up tomorrow.” Jelena would not be intimidated this time, even if a part of her told her that she should obey, a little whisper in her mind that she should stay. But Jelena shook that off. She had already indulged this nonsense for too long and she wanted to get home before dark. 

Marta only answered with more tapping on her tablet. 

—

Jelena woke from her sleep with a start. 

Who do you think you are?

Do you even know?

I bet you can’t remember 

Cause your mind goes blank 

when it's under my finger. 

Her head swam. Instinctively, her hand crawled across the bed side table, until it found her phone. Only when the buzzing vibrated against her palm, did she realize the phone was the source of the sound. She lifted it up and checked the screen. As the blue light washed her face in the darkness, she saw Marta’s name emblazoned on the screen along with an ‘accept call’ slider. The pieces began to fall into place. A ringtone. It was a ringtone. Marta must have taken her phone at some point and set that stupid song to be her ringtone. That bitch. Only then did it fully click that Marta was calling her in the middle of the night. 

“Alô?” She answered in her native tongue before her sleep-addled brain could find its Serbian to English dictionary. 

“Come to the house. It’s important,” said the icy voice through the phone. 

“It’s 3:21 at night. I’ll come in the morning.”

“You’ll come now. Master is here. He wants you to take the foam off the stairs. Now.” Then the call hung up. 

“Take it off? Off? Really? After all that work?” The anger chased the remnants of drowsiness from Jelena’s mind. She flung her phone into the folds of her sheets. Jelena slammed her head back to the pillow, squeezing her eyes shut and praying for her thoughts to slow down. That little voice in her head wouldn’ stop whispering to her.

If she didn’t go, they wouldn’t pay the contract. She knew they wouldn’t, and it was life changing money. With a payday like that, she could lease a real office, run real advertisements, maybe even hire an intern. Jebiga! She hadn’t sacrificed so much to give up now. It was just one obnoxious client, and then things would be better. She should just obey. Everything would be better if she obeyed. 

With a weary sigh, she got dressed and headed to the pick up truck, feeling embarrassed and frustrated. She never put up with this kind of behavior from her clients, so why was she doing it now? Because it was important to obey? No matter how hard she pondered, her thoughts kept circling back to that answer. It seemed odd at first, but eventually Jelena just stopped wondering. 

Her headlights cut through the darkness, but not the fog. The relentless white wouldn’t be beaten back so easily. It seemed even denser than it did in the day, so Jelena had to drive slowly. Was she just doing it for the money or was it to make Jean Paul happy? She needed to make Jean Paul happy, that much was beyond questioning. She didn’t notice the music until she was half way up the mountain. Nadja was playing again. When had she put that on? Oh well it didn’t matter. She just let the sounds wash over her as she drove. It really wasn’t so bad once she had gotten used to it. In seemingly no time at all, she was back at the house. 

Inside, Marta waited for her, along with someone else. He stood motionless before the far windows, staring out into the night. His dark skin stood out against the crisp ivory fabric of his suit. The figure didn’t turn around or acknowledge her at all. 

“You’re late,” Marta said. 

“It’s late,” Jelena shot back. 

“Well get to work. The foam was a terrible idea. I don’t know why you did it.” 

“I did it because of YOU,” she started to hiss, but caught herself just in time. Getting angry wouldn’t make Jean Paul happy. “Of course. I’ll get right to it,” Jelena answered instead. She climbed the stairs to the top and started digging at the base of one of the triangles with her screwdriver. Putting the blocks on had proved easier than getting them off. The adhesive had completely bonded to the concrete. Jelena ultimately resorted to a hammer and chisel to try and loosen them. Finally, she was able to wedge the chisel into the seam and lever her whole weight against it. 

The block came free with a pop and flew into the air. It bounced its way down the stairs. Jelena released a breath, she didn’t even know she was holding. This would take all night. Why was she putting up with this? When did she become so meek and submissive? She wasn’t that kind of person. Jelena made up her mind right then and there to give Marta a piece of her mind and then march out of this stupid house. But then she heard the music, and her anger vanished. She needed to get back to work for Jean Paul. It was important.

With glassy eyes, Jelena moved up the stairs and kept going. Sweat had collected on her brow as she repeated the effort again and again. At long last, she had reached the top step. The fatigue of a hard day’s work and a short night’s rest was catching up to her. But she was so close, just one last triangle between her and sleep. She tapped the chisel with the hammer and found purchase under the block. As she leaned down on the handle, she could feel herself swaying from exhaustion, but she forged onwards. 

Of course, the last one would be the most stubborn. All the muscles of her arms tensed as she pushed downwards. At the outer limit of her effort, she could feel it starting to give. Just a little more. Just a little harder. As the block tumbled free, so too did Jelena. Her momentum carried her backwards, floating in the air for a moment. The last thing she saw was the white shadow of Jean Paul Renoux silhouetted against the darkness as she fell.

Then everything was darkness. 

One slow blink returned a blurred and muddled image of the world. Then another gave a little more clarity. Finally her eyes found the strength to open. Someone was leaning over her, a man. 

“There she is. Welcome back to the world of the living. You gave us quite the scare, you did,” a soothing voice said through the dizziness in her head. 

It took a moment to register that someone besides Marta was talking to her. “What? What happened?” She managed to ask. 

She felt a warmth on her hand. “You took a right proper fall, you did. Thought you might be a goner for a second there. That’d be a real shame. I’d have to start all over,” the soothing voice said. 

“Start over?” She asked, vision beginning to clear. 

“Nah, we wouldn’t want that. No people like you are special, Jelena. You’re special. You have so much potential. You’ve got gusto, gumption, grit, everything I want,” the voice cooed. 

The praise filled her with a soft warmth. Finally the world came into focus. She was in a bed, swaddled in pearly, white sheets. Jean Paul was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at her with concern painted across his face, gently rubbing her hand in his.

“I’m alive?” She asked as the memories of her fall returned to her. “The last thing I remember was falling.” 

Jean Paul leaned over her, eyes alight with a passion Yelena couldn’t explain. “Oh you’re very alive. You’re more alive than hardly anybody I’ve met. I’m gonna take real good care of you from now on.” 

“Thank you?” 

“You’re more than welcome, my prize,” he purred with that accent of his. He raised her hand to his lips, delivering a gentle kiss.

“Oh um, that’s very sweet.” After Marta’s aloofness, Jelena couldn’t help but feel off balance around Jean Paul’s affection. 

“You’ve never seen sweet,” he answered, brimming with confidence. “Just you wait. Here, lay back and relax. Let me sing you to sleep.” 

“I’m not sure that’s, um, such a good idea. Aren’t you not supposed to sleep with a concussion? I should probably go to the hospital.”

“No,” he said with surprising firmness. “You’re right where you belong.” Then he started singing, or maybe humming. No, it was definitely singing. But there weren’t any words, just long, soothing notes, flowing from one to the next effortlessly. 

After the relentless rapping of his album, the dulcet tones took Jelena by surprise. Still, it did feel like exactly what she needed. She had gotten so used to his voice by now, it relaxed her almost instantly. A faint corner of her mind realized that many of the seemingly electronic sounds on his album had actually been Jean Paul’s vocals. But that awareness drowned in bliss. The pain ringing in her skull slowly disappeared as the sounds took all her aches away. But it didn’t stop at the pain. The voice took everything away. No feeling, no stress, no worries, no thoughts. Only Jean Paul’s gentle humming filled her consciousness. She wanted to tell him to stop, tell him that she shouldn’t sleep right now. But now that voice felt like a whisper. The much louder voice in her mind was Jean Paul’s telling her to sleep, and she knew she need to please and obey Jean Paul. 

She’d only listened to his album for a day or two, but already he felt familiar, comforting even. She ignored the whisper of resistance and only listened to Jean Paul. Her eyes rolled back in her head, showing only the whites, before they finally closed. She fell asleep and she dreamed. 

The dream included hands caressing her, first over the sheets and then below them, and below her clothes after that. Although none of that mattered to Jelena. It felt too good to float and listen, to listen and obey, to obey and sleep. Her eyes drifted open again, but the world had a hazy and distant quality now. She knew she was still dreaming with her eyes open. That made sense because the voice told her it did. 

She dreamed of the sheets being pulled away from her, the clothing being ripped from her body. She hadn’t even realized that she was wearing all white until the tee shirt and pants went flying out of her field of view. A figure loomed over her. It must have been Jean Paul, but even that knowledge felt dim and unimportant. Always, the voice was there, soothing, comforting, reassuring. All she had to do was listen to that voice. When it told her to kiss, she obeyed. When it commanded her to pull it closer, it seemed obvious. When it told her to spread her legs, she complied instantly. The voice couldn’t be wrong. 

Then the sound was inside her. That was where she wanted it. It told her she wanted it there, so she did. It pumped in and out of her, oscillating between loud, commanding force and gentle caressing whispers. But all of it just drew the vibrations deeper within her. She could feel a heat building within her tender flesh, but it felt almost otherworldly, like she was floating above her own body watching it happen to someone else. 

At last, she heard a scream, but this wasn’t the voice that had consumed her. It was a woman’s voice, short of breath, and growling with desire. She only vaguely recognized it as her own when she came. Then everything faded to white.