“Ladies and gentlemen of the board, Raj,” Mr Currington introduced the Slipper. “This is Jason Strathclough.”
Currington swept his hand outward as a way of opening up the floor to Jason, who stood up straight and stopped wiping off his legs. I wondered how Currington knew his name.
“A pleasure, ladies and gentlemen.”
He spoke with a crisp cut accent that was somewhere between the Oxfordian English that the director spoke and the softer southern lilt of the former Paul Evans.
“Martina!” The sound of my name snapped me out of my. shock.
“Yes Mister Currington, sorry,” I apologised.
“I was just saying to Jason here that you will take him to get cleaned up and arrange to find him something to wear.”
I swallowed the bile that surged into my throat. I hesitated. Bill tilted his head in a gesture that was imperceptible to everyone but me. But I knew what that small manoeuvre meant: do as I ask or find a new job.
Deep breath.
“Of course,” I replied, successfully managing to keep the waver out of my voice. I sat the tray of china cups on the table behind me tapped my digitary.
“How can I help?”
The chipper voice with a gentle sway on the other end was Akhila, a young girl we hired only recently to answer the phones and man the front desk while I took care of the more sensitive administrative aspects of the organisation. It took me two years of making copies to get through all the security checks to be allowed into the board meetings, to be allowed to handle all the sensitive documents and be the silent witness in meetings like this one.
I hung up. A minute later the small and cheery Akhila came in balancing precariously on clawed heels that were the height of fashion. She smiled to the board members and made a bee-line for me. She put a small stack of teaspoons on the tray and I thought perhaps she hadn’t seen the Slipper, but the slight tremor in her hand as she reached for the napkins betrayed her. I put my hand on her shoulder and said that I would be back in a minute, more to calm her than anything else. Being in the room with the entire board of a multi-national cooperation watching your every move can be intimidating at the best of times, but this was unusual to say the least.
I went to the door. “Mr Strathclough, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you where the locker rooms are and we can get you suited up.”
He held the cloth over his crotch to preserve whatever modesty he had picked up over his first few minutes after Slipping through. As we walked down the hall I couldn’t see him behind me, but I could feel him. I chanced a glance back over my shoulder to see that he was, in fact, there. He was walking tall and straight as if he were exactly where he belonged and had not just come out of another human’s body.
I led him to the elevators at the end of the hall and pushed my fingertip against the call button, which was finger-print protected for use by only a few select employees, myself included. The first time I went up to the executive suite for my final interview I had never been so high up before. Watching the city sink below in a silvery disk was mesmerising and surreal. It was something that never quite left me, although I had been here for years now.
As we ascended, my vision was obscured by the low cloud cover. I held my breath. I chanced a glance at Mr Strathclough and saw that he was staring straight ahead, shoulders back, one hand still holding the cloth across his crotch. Now that I was next to him in a closed space, he smelled slightly of sweet pickling vinegar. I felt weirdly compelled to lick him.
“You’re wondering what that smell is.” It wasn’t a question. My face went red and I looked straight ahead again. The elevator slowed to a stop. “It’s the fluid created when we slip. Makes it easier. A bit like sweating on the inside.”
“It’s not at all unpleasant,” I offered, wondering how he knew what I was thinking.
The door beeped open.
“This way, Mister Strathclough.” I led him to the right, using my fingerprints to gain access to a white wall, where there seemed to be no door at all. This was the entrance to the private gym of the Bonds Ltd. executives. I had been up here a few times with Bill, on tours for the new heads of departments. Also recently, I had started using it myself after I was given clearance and encouraged by Emma. How could I not? With its sleek lines, top of the range fitness machines and a full time staff of the world’s best personal trainers and masseurs, it was a far cry from the smaller company gym located in the thirty-seventh floor of Tower 3.
As we entered the wide, white-glass backed hallway, we were met by Gillian, who handed Jason a long white robe and welcomed us both.
“Gillian, this is Jason Strathclough, he will be working closely with the director and board members. He’d like to take a shower.”
Gillian nodded, not even fazed by the situation. Years of being the front of house for a gym that regularly saw the most important members of the international business and political community had trained her to keep a straight face and not bat an eye at any eccentricities she might encounter.
I said to Mister Strathclough, “I believe you’ll find everything you need here. I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.
I was trying not to stare at him, looking for hints of his former self, but it couldn’t be helped. He was tall; I noticed in the elevator that he was at least 6’ 2”, and his dark hair was now beginning to dry in a shaggy fashion around his face and neck. His minimal chest hair was plastered to his body. He was fit, with good muscle definition; a better body than Paul.
Paul had a handsome face, once. I wondered how he was infected? Or was he set free? Who was the Slipper growing inside him—this Jason Strathclough? Was he in there that time when we fucked on Paul’s desk? Is it contagious? My mind swirled. I wanted to know more and pretend I didn’t know anything at all, but I didn’t have time for that.
His pupils were a shade of dark purple and when I looked back at his face, I knew I’d been caught staring. I turned and nearly bumped into Gillian and ushered her out of the room. I spoke to Jason over my shoulder as I left. “I almost forgot, the shower is voice activated, so simply tell it what you want or ask it to alternate.”
I smiled and closed the door behind me.
Gillian waited till we got to the front door to the gym before she pulled me closer and asked, “So who is Jason Strathclough? Usually when men end up here with me naked, it’s before or after a few drinks; they rarely arrive like that. And, what was that smell?”
“He’s a Slipper,” I told her.
Her face went pale under her perfect makeup. “Who?”
“Paul Evans,” I could feel the tears beginning to come and bit the inside of my lip.
“Did you see it? What happened?”
I put my hand on the door panel to open it; it zoomed back and I stepped through, wondering why it felt like he was still alive since there was no real body left behind. It was no use. “It was like nothing I’ve ever seen or want to see again,” I told her and made my way back to the elevator bank, riding the elevator down to the fashion suite on the 200th floor.
I typed in a few keys on my digitary and pulled up an image of the changing room where I had left Mr Strathclough. He had a towel around his waist and was shaving. I showed the image to Tony, the manager of the fashion suite, who raised an eyebrow and said, “The perks of the job, right?” He spun on his heel and called for his assistant.
A few minutes later I was on my way back into the executive gym with a luxury suit, shirt, tie, appropriate under clothing, and musky cologne. I knocked on the door and waited a moment before pushing it open. Mr Strathclough was standing in the doorway to the bathroom, with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. I wondered again how much he knew before he Slipped and what, if any, of the traits were left over from Paul.
“I have clothes for you. We guessed at your size, but Tony is pretty accurate.”
Twenty minutes later I was standing in the elevators again with Mr Strathclough. His reflection in the window showed a man in his early-thirties, with a good build and a strong jaw line and eyes that expressed very little.
“You’re wondering how it feels,” he said.
