Elgin’s Trial
By Mr. J.
Chapter XII: Ho Hoe Who?
Tracy grumbles as she searches through the array of perfumes on the shelf, growing steadily irritated at the annoying Muzak that passes for Christmas cheer over the intercom. She glances at the dozens of names on the sheet of paper in her hand. It is tough enough shopping for herself—how is she supposed to accomplish several days’ worth of errands in a single evening? She shakes her head ruefully at the effort.
“Jewelry for Mom, slacks for Dad. Earrings for Suzy; perfume for Cass...”
The last one is especially fickle. Despite having known Cass for several years, the down to earth graduate student could be fickle. Tracy chalks it down to being a blue blood. But if there is one thing her BFF of several years cares about more than anything, it is perfume. Only the higest of the high end. She could be weird that way. Which makes buying presents a bitch.
Tracy picks up the black package off the counter, flames leaping up off the side. ‘FIRE AND ICE’ red embossed letters streak across the front. ‘For the woman on the prowl’.
“For the prowling woman, huh?” She whispers to herself. “So it’s like Axe, for vaginas?”
It isn’t two second before an impeccably dressed rep walks, her blonde hair swishing over her shoulder. The bags under her eyes speak of long hours pulling retail, one eye on the competition and the other on her jealous teammates even as she struggles to make her monthly quota. Her legs must ache. The only difference between herself and a prostitute is her sparkling blue dress—but that is a thin line at best.
“May I help you?” She asks.
“I was just looking.” Tracy reassures her. “Thanks for asking.”
“Is it for yourself or someone else?”
“A friend.” Tracy smiles warily. “I haven’t decided on what to get at this point.”
“Are you sure you’re ok?” A glint of hope—or is it desperation—shimmers in the rep’s eyes.
“I’m fine, really.” Tracy enunciates each word carefully. “I appreciate the offer, though.”
“Well,” The rep points towards the makeup counter. “If you need any help, I’ll be over there. Ask for Ann.”
“Thank you, Ann.”
As the woman walks off, Tracy rolls her eyes at the aggressiveness of her approach. Even though she hardly finds her own gender attractive (at least to her), after several weeks on the job she’s gotten used to the attention, though she doesn’t let on about her own discomfort with it. Who knows? One of them could turn out to be a great source along the way. She could use the help.
She sizes up the package in her hand. Just the thought of a randy Cass, chasing down scores of virile men makes her chuckle. Heaven forbid the reserved psych major would stoop so low as to sample a pheromone laced perfume is amusing. Correction: allegedly pheromone laced. Dollars to pickles it’s mostly chem byproducts and stinks like hell.
If nothing else, it’d be a great joke gift.
Tracy glances at the other, more upscale items on the counter. No, better go with something more traditional. She could always go with a traditional brand name—Polo or something like it. Then again, wouldn’t she like to tell this story, years down the road? It’s so rich, so gifted with ironic poetry.
So full of material.
Her eyes dart between the package and the bottles on the counter. Decisions, decisions... So what’ll it be? The perfume of nymphomaniacs or the safe, respectable choice? C’mon, can’t stand here all day.
She shrugs and walks over to the counter. To her chagrin a queue has formed in front of Ann, women—and a few anxious men—of all sizes waiting anxiously in hopes of making their purchase and getting out in time for a little nosh and beer. At last she gets her chance to walk up to the counter, no less eager to call it a day and get home.
“Looks like I’ll need these after all.” She laughs.
“Excellent choice.”
“Do you have any idea who makes it? I’ve never heard of them before.”
“Something called the Eros Group. No one knows much about it—they don’t do a lot of press, but they’ve been getting a lot of buzz lately. It’s been selling like hotcakes ever since the first shipment came in.”
“Strange for a corporation not to seek publicity. Any idea why it’s so popular?”
Ann casts suspicious glance around the store.
“I hear they put an aphrodisiac in it.” She says sotto voce. “At least, that’s what the housewives tell me.”
“Aphrodisiac, huh? Guess we’ll be looking forward to a lot of babies next July.”
Ann bats her eyes bashfully.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“Nothing.” She blushes. “It’s just that I’ve never seen a woman so beautiful as you before.”
“You wouldn’t be the first one to tell me that.”
“I’m not used to these feelings, ma’am. I mostly date guys.”
“Mostly?”
“I mean, uh, date, guys.”
“You have a boyfriend?”
Ann nods.
“Sean. He goes a private university in Connecticut. It’s nothing serious though...” She looks away. “I keep telling myself he’s the one but I just don’t know.”
“You’ll live.” Tracy forks over her money. “Look, I’m not in the advice giving business, but if he really does it for you I’d say hold onto him. You can always explore other options later, but you never know when your next breath’s your last, you know what I mean? Make every second count, for you and for him.”
“Thanks.” Ann’s voice flutters. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Happy Holidays.”
“You too.”
Tracy pulls her jacket tight against her torso as she walks into the courtyard bag in hand, one less item to worry about. The tension in her shoulders eases a little as she walks toward the escalator. Maybe, just maybe she can hurry home in time to knock out a few chapters of her dissertation and if she’s lucky, squeeze in some fun reading as well. Oh, then there’s all the presents she’s supposed to wrap. Suddenly, her evening isn’t starting to look that great at all.
She spies a massive line of young men snake through the first floor. She figures it must be the premiere of a new game console. Maybe some C-grade actress signing autographs. Wouldn’t be the first time T and A has graced the normally bucolic environs of the mall—holidays or no. One thing’s for sure, the timing does strike her as being fairly unusual, considering that it’s the holidays.
As she strolls past the line, she senses a crackle of electricity in the air. The men all look like boys with the excited grins on their faces, barely containing their adolescent lust. She nearly gags at the sight of it. Like being in a boy’s locker room, but at least they’re clothed.
The source of their attentive loins becomes apparent as she spies a rather slender Santa, flanked by a pair of sexy elves on stage, smiling wanly. The women’s short, skin-tight dresses seem oddly out of place in a decidedly neutral, suburban mall. If Santa’s helpers have any qualms about the arrangement, they don’t appear to mind—but neither are they excited.
As she watches of them guide the “boys” to pose next to her, her brunette streaks visible for all to see, the woman’s face looks strangely familiar. It takes her awhile for the synapses to kick in, but once they do Tracy’s heart sinks in despair.
Cass.
The scene is so bizarre Tracy doesn’t know what to think. Cass? Worldly, mild-mannered Cass? The one person who would be most against this? It doesn’t compute. Tracy cuts in line, earning curses from not a few men. As the line moves upward, thoughts race through her head. What should she do?
Finally she comes face to face with the decidedly gaunt “Santa”. He appears startled by her appearance—more so than the girls, who at least pretend that it’s nothing out of the ordinary—just another excited customer. Santa tight smile does little to ease her discomfort.
“Ho ho ho, little girl.” His smoker’s voice catches Tracy by surprise. “What brings you to the North Pole?”
“Let her go.” She points toward Cass. “She’s innocent.”
“But what would I do without my little helpers?”
“First off, they’re not your ‘helpers’, and secondly, they’re not little. They’re women.”
“You seem like a nice young woman...”
“My name doesn’t matter.”
“Whatever.” The man known as “Santa” struggles to stay in character.“If you keep this up I’m going to have to put you on the naughty list.”
“Your voice sounds familiar. Do I know you?”
“What are you talking about?” He laughs nervously. “It’s me, jolly Saint Nick.”
“Just give her to me.”
“You didn’t say ‘I wish’.
Tracy sighs.
“I wish that Santa would let the pretty brunette come home with me.”
“Now sit on my lap.”
“Do I have to?”
“Just do it, bitch.”
Tracy squirms as she sits on his knee, feeling his roving hands move along her body. The humiliation is unbearable and yet...she can’t help but feel turned on by it. She fights the urge to give in and let him take her right here, in full view of the crowd. She forces herself to squirm away, getting well out of range of Santa’s grubby fingers.
“Now get the hell out of here.” He barks. “Before I call security.” Yanking a reluctant Cass off the stage, she strolls toward the parking lot, angry at herself for nearly surrendering to her desires.
“Let go of me!” Her BFF screams. “Help! Police!”
“Shut up.” Tracy covers her mouth. “And look into my eyes. Why’d you do it?”
“What are you talking about?” Cass averts her eyes.
“No games. Look into my eyes, Cass. I know it isn’t money. Did you break up with your boyfriend? You can tell me the truth.”
Cass shakes her head.
Tracy slaps her. Hard.
“Don’t lie to me! It’s Derek. He dumped you, didn’t he?”
“It’s not Derek.” Her friend whimpers. “I met this guy the other day at the bar—he was a little older than what I normally go for. Anyway one thing led to another and...”
“Go on.”
“He promised me an internship with Divinex if I’d do this one thing.”
“You have all the money in the world. Why sleep around?”
“It’s more than that.” Cass wipes the snot from her nose. “When I found out you got the job, I was so angry I could punch a wall. I made a bunch of calls, but everyone said the same thing more or less—they couldn’t help me. It felt so strange—I’m the pretty little rich girl, after all. So I decided if I had to slut it up to get ahead, I’d do so. But I never imagined it would be anything like this. Are we still friends?”
“Of course. But you have to promise me one thing. Can you do that for me?”
“Sure.”
“Look into my eyes and promise me you’ll stay as far from Divinex as humanly possible. Can you do that?”
“I think so.” Cass’s voice is ambivalent. “But I’m afraid I’ll miss out on a great opportunity.”
“Trust me you’re not missing out on anything. Not by a long shot. You look terrible. Why don’t you crash at my place and get yourself cleaned up and tomorrow you can go see Derek.”
“But what about my car?”
“Did you lock it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then don’t worry about it.”
As Cass snores soundly on her threadbare couch, Tracy looks up the Eros Group on the Internet. As the screen takes it time to load, she sips her chamomile tea and waits for it to pop up. She clicks on the link, which quickly directs her to the home page for...
Divinex.