Ah, bonjour, Mademoiselle Emily. Du thé ?

Oh, thanks---

Arrêt! Ici, nous ne parlons que français.

Ah, um. Je comprends. Désolé. Um. Mon français, il n'est pas très bon...

C'est bon. Vous apprendrez avec le temps, j'en suis sûr. Alors, s'il te plaît, parlez-nous de toi. Qu’est-ce qui vous attire dans ce poste ?

Emily is mopping the lobby under Marianne’s watchful eye when the porter admits the man with the nice suit. He appraises her as he brushes past. Emily feels strange under his gaze, but she is always feeling strange these days and it vanishes into the flow of rote, routinely.

He is at the concierge's desk. I’m sorry, my flight landed early. It is no trouble, Mister White. There is a room? There is. With a balcony? Of course, of course. What about her? Our newest hire, the concierge explains. Still, mm, in training. Well, in due time. In due time, Mister White.

In due time Emily is aware she is looking up, that the man is looking at her and she is looking at him. Her cheeks are flush already and her work is slow and absent-mind. She fixes her gaze firmly down on the mop swirling shimmering snail trails across the tile but this only makes her dizzy and her hand is jerky and forced. Marianne is not scolding her, is not forcibly pulling her back into flow and her confusion is deepening and deepening and deepening.

Your deposit? Oh, here. Cards and paperwork swap hands. The man uncaps a pen and signs. The card is charged. The concierge gives the signature a perfunctory glance, then his monitor. Everything is in order, he pronounces. He leans in as he puts the keys in Mister White’s hands, to whisper very loudly. I should hope you hold no designs on our staff, Mister White. Well, only if they consent, of course, the man snickers. Quite, the concierge nods along, consent is very important to us.

Comment trouvez-vous le thé ?

C'est très bon. Vais-je apprendre à préparer le thé comme ça ?

En temps voulu. Vous étiez donc femme de ménage ?

Depuis quelques années, oui, à temps partiel. Pour payer les études. Jamais assez d'argent, jamais assez de temps. Just...À vrai dire, j’espérais que ce serait aussi à temps partiel, mais c’est ça ou la rue. Ma propriétaire me tombe dessus, mon coloc est un bon à rien... pardon, je ne voulais pas...

Eh bien, peut-être qu'en quelques années, vous pourrez vous constituer un pécule suffisant pour poursuivre vos études à temps plein. On peut toujours espérer.

On peut….el...l'espérer...uh...Excusez-moi, monsieur, je ne me sens pas bien...

Buvez votre thé.

Uh, bien, bien sûr….

Tout ira bien, Émilie. Tout ira bien.

Emily is wiping down the windows when the reflection of the guest stops and admires her. There is a familiar confusion, deja vu emotionnel. She is for a moment off-balance, front loaded, and she is leaning against the window and cannot miss the hiss of in-breath as her dress hikes and hugs the curve of her buttocks. She is glancing over her shoulder and her mouth is smiling sheepishly and the guest is very understanding and at last leaves Emily in her wordless disquiet, thought and action disconnected. But her eyes glance to Marianne observing who is nodding minutely and slots something in the void and Emily is glad for it.

Tomorrow, she wears the shorter skirt.

Vous consentez.

Je consens ? À quoi ?

Vous consentez à être formé par l'hôtel. Oui ?

Uh, oui, je consens.

Dites-le entièrement, s'il vous plaît.

Je consens à être formé par l'hôtel.

Oui. Vous consentez toujours.

To...Toujours ?

Oui. Vous consentez toujours. Oui, vous consentez à tout ce pour quoi nous vous formons. Dites-le, s'il vous plaît.

...Oui, je consens à tout ce pour quoi nous vous formons.

Bein. Dites-le, s'il vous plaît. Vous consentez toujours.

Oui...je consens toujours….I feel...strange…

En français, s'il vous plaît.

Ah...oui, désolé, désolé...

Marianne shakes her by the shoulder. Réveillez-vous! she complains, je vous paie pour nettoyer les tables, pas pour admirer les horloges! Désolé, désolé, she apologizes reflexively. Ne vous excusez pas, mais ne vous rendorez pas, Marianne admonishes with a maternal sense of worry. Vous nous inquietez, Émilie. Je ferai mieux, she promises, and means it. She always does.

They bustle on. Every time is busy, but lunch is busiest of all. It is only as the last of the guests trickle out that Emily can let her feet wander to the spot, holding rag and vaporisateur, and the pendule d'horloge smooth her into silence and acceptance.

Vous consentez.

Oui, je consens.

Vous consentez à être formé par l'hôtel.

Oui, je consens à être formé par l'hôtel.

Vous consentez à être hypnotisé par l'hôtel.

...oui, je consens à être hypnotisé par l'hôtel.

Vous consentez à être hypnotisé par l'hôtel.

Oui, je consens à être hypnotisé par l'hôtel.

Vous consentez à rêver de l'hôtel.

Oui, je consens à rêver de l'hôtel.

Vous consentez toujours.

Oui, je consens toujours.

Emily has this peculiar notion that she is dreaming.

The dream goes like this. She wakes. She stretches. She makes herself presentable. She eats a modest breakfast. She works around the hotel. She eats a modest lunch. She works around the hotel. She exercises. She eats a modest dinner. She works around the hotel. She retires to the servant quarters. She stretches. She sleeps. She wakes. She knows she has weekends off, but never what she does on them. She does not know when the weekends are though she can give the date and time instantly on request.

She is dreaming. She dreams of working around the hotel and she dreams, too, as she works around the hotel. She is paged to bring drinks and room service to a guest. She brings drinks to the guest. The guest invites her into their room. She goes into their room. She returns to work though her stride is wobbly and her clothes are dishevelled and her face is wet with stains her coworkers cannot miss, but ignore, as she ignores the stains on theirs.

She is dreaming. She is carrying the books on her head. She is carrying the trays with the tools. She is jogging on the treadmill. She is hanging up on the number she does not remember. She is signing the paperwork she does not read. She is swallowing the medication. She is staring into the lights, the mask hissing, counting back from twenty. She is throwing a bag of bras in the rubbish. She is wrapping the sewing tape around her waist. She is layering on lipstick and mascara and nail polish. She is slipping on lace and lingerie, hose and heels, skirt and sapphire, and an appetite she does not voice, save in her dreams.

It does not occur to Emily to wonder if she is asleep or awake at any given time. There is no difference. She dreams of work, and, working, dreams.

Vous consentez.

Oui, je consens.

Vous consentez à rêver de nos invités.

Je consens à rêver de nos invités.

Vous consentez à rêver d'être accueillant envers nos invités.

Je consens à rêver d'être accueillant envers nos invités.

Vous consentez à rêver d'être séduisant pour nos invités.

Oui, je consens à rêver d'être séduisant pour nos invités.

Vous consentez à rêver d'être invité par nos invités.

Je consens à rêver d'être invité par nos invités.

Vous consentez à rêver d'être utilisé par nos invités.

Oui, je consens à rêver d'être utilisé par nos invités.

Vous consentez à rêver d'être baisée par nos invités.

Oui, Je consens à rêver d'être baisée par nos invités.

Vous consentez toujours.

Oui, je consens toujours.

She is on the third floor vacuuming the elaborately arabesque carpet when her pager rings. Chère Émilie, Marianne is saying, Monsieur Blanc demande verres, et le service d'étage. Oui, je m'en occupe, and she is dragging the aspirateur to the side and walking to the dumbwaiter, her heart light and at the double quick. She is dreaming. She dreams this every night for months.

She is pressing the intercom button, bending at the waist, and enunciates, boissons pour un Monsieur Blanc. The dumbwaiter descends, returns with a round tray, a bottle and two champagne glasses. This she picks up, and then—she never does this—she is balancing the tray on one hand as she marches for Room 304. She is back straight and chest out and a slight sashay that brings out her hips and a hand held out rigidly to keep from sneaking under her skirt.

She is knocking, daintily and precisely. Monsieur Blanc is opening the door. Monsieur Blanc, she is announcing, your drinks. My thanks, he is saying, and would you care to share it with me? It would be a shame to drink alone. Oui, she agrees, I have a little time. He kindly holds the door open. She stops just long enough to hang the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the knob.

Vous consentez.

Oui, je consens.

Vous consentez à être rendu hypnotisée par l'hôtel.

Oui, je consens à être rendu hypnotisée par l'hôtel.

Vous consentez à être rendu malléable par l'hôtel.

Oui, je consentez à être rendu malléable par l'hôtel.

Vous consentez à être rendu amnésique par l'hôtel.

Oui, je consens à être rendu amnésique par l'hôtel.

Vous consentez à être rendu lubrique par l'hôtel.

Oui, je consens à être rendu lubrique par l'hôtel.

Vous consentez à être rendu séduisant par l'hôtel.

Oui, je consens à être rendu séduisant par l'hôtel.

Vous consentez à être rendue plantureuse par l'hôtel.

Oui, je consens à être rendue plantureuse par l'hôtel.

Vous consentez toujours.

Oui, je consens toujours.

Monsieur Blanc is pouring drinks. He offers her a glass, sips, talks. She takes it, sips, talks. The exact words she does not bother to remember. She says what is appropriate when it is and the conversation turns by degrees to the inevitable. You are quite the beautiful woman, madame. Desole, monsieur. Surely such a beautiful woman as you has many lovers. Non, I am too busy. Truly? Oui, always. Such a shame. He is stalking closer. She is backing away, but slowly, and she is blushing and politely deferential. Do you wish to have a lover? Parfois, oui, sometimes. May I be your first, then? If it would please, monsieur.

He is pressing her up against the wall. His hand is pinning hers. He is kissing her. Their tongues dance in waltz. She moves with him, reciprocates his advances, affirms his désir. Her free hand is cupping his balls. He is pressing her to her knees by her hair. Her own hands are brushing aside his pants and briefs as if by magic. She is masturbating him. She is taking his bitte in her mouth. She is swallowing his stink and his flesh and his sperme.

He is lifting her up and shoving her against the wall. He is heaving with breath and animalistic in his triumph. Shall I take you in the ass? You consent, yes? She is hoist helplessly by her cul, her legs wrapping about his waist, her clothes half pulled away, his sperme staining her face, radiant in her submission. Oui, Émilie gasps, I consent always.

Vous consentez.

Oui, je consens.

Vous consentez à être hypnotisé par l'hôtel.

Oui, je consens à être hypnotisé par l'hôtel.

Vous consentez à être utilise par l'hôtel.

Oui, je consens à être utilise par l'hôtel.

Vous consentez à être asservi par l'hôtel.

Oui, je consens à être asservi par l'hôtel.

Vous consentez toujours.

Oui, je consens toujours.