RIP Lasso

“Hi. Er. Thanks.” You step inside as she dumps the clothes in a basket and sifts through, shaking out each piece and checking the tags. “Am I early?”

“You’re right on time.” She says. “So sorry. I’m not trying to ignore you. Peter is just in the shower. Early morning workout.”

“Oh, no, no. I’m used to it.” You assure. “I usually work on sets and you’re always waiting for someone.”

You rest your hand on your purse and hover by the door. She stops and peeks over at you. She takes a breath and puts down a sweat shirt.

“Do you need some water?” She asks.

“Really, I’m fine.” You assure her. “So he has a presser?”

“Yeah. Nothing big. The whole cast will be there.” She explains. “He’s having issues with his hair. Apparently. I think it looks fine but I’m just the assistant.”

You nod. She looks vaguely familiar. “Have you worked for him very long?” You ask.

“Couple of days.” She answers. “I was with someone else for a few years but things happen.”

“Yeah. I get that.” You nod and cautiously make your way further in. You’ve been in the city long enough, worked a million different jobs.

“You can sit.” She gestures to the round table. “Promise, he’ll be out soon.” She shoves the last piece of clothing into the basket. “I’m sorry. He’s a bit… absent-minded.”

“Really, it’s okay.” You assure her and sit, crossing your arms loosely.

“I gotta get these sorted and out to the cleaners,” she explains as she examines a satin shirt. “He has some stuff in the closet if you’d like to have a look through.”

“Oh, sure, that makes sense.” You stand up. “Mind if I put this down?”

She looks at your purse as you tap it. She points to the table and you set your bag by a script with bent pages. She keeps her armful of laundry and leads you into the next room.

“He has quite the closet. He could probably donate some. You know better than anyone how quickly things go out of style.” She uses her foot to slide open the closet door all the way.

“Oh sure,” you smile at the hangers that line the walls, alongside an assortment of shoes, some neatly in their cubbies, others strewn on the floor. “He had a bit of a… panic attack earlier.” You look at her. “Not really,” she assures. “It’s just… this is all new for him.”

“Well, hopefully with our experience, we can figure it out.”

“Counting on that.” She says as she hikes up her load. “You sure you’ve been working that long? You’re very optimistic.”

You chuckle. “I’ll let crow’s feet speak for me.”

She gives a sardonic, closed-mouth grin and steps around you. “I gotta make some calls. Sorry. But text me if you need anything.”

“Sure.” You let her go then turn to the hangers.

She’s right, you have quite a bit to work with despite the mess. You thumb at a soft teal polo. The weave is excellent and it’ll breathe. You forgot to ask her about the venue…

A light whistle tweaks your ears as footsteps approach. You look over as a young man in just a towel walks in and stops short, barely catches his only cover before it falls loose. His cheeks go pink and his shoulder hits the edge of the closet door.

“Oh! Ah!” He exclaims. “She didn’t tell me you were here!” He fixes the towel, his chest and arms bulging.

You modestly avert your gaze back to the clothes. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.” You clear your throat. It’s not the first time you’ve been around a stranger in such a state. It’s part of the job. You introduce yourself. “I can go wait in the next room–”

“No, no!” He interrupts. “No, please. You have to help me.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say.

He stomps over, clutching the towel at his hip. He shakes his head as a curl falls forward and he growls. His brown eyes flare.

“My hair is driving me bonkers.” He growls as he pushes some hangers back and forth.

“I could trim it a bit.” You offer.

“Really? I thought you did clothes?”

“I’ve picked up a few other skills in my time.” You shrug.

He glances at you and you look back. “Please.”

“No problem.” You turn your attention back to the clothes. “Is this outside or inside?”

“Um.”

“The presser? Will there be climate control?” You ask.

“I don’t… know.” He groans. “I don’t know anything!”

He smacks his forehead dramatically. “Look, why don’t you go… relax and I’ll pick something out?”

“Yeah?”

“Sure. I have a few ideas.” You take out the teal shirt.

“Right. Right. You’d probably appreciate if I had underwear on.” He laughs. You tilt your head and he coughs. “Sorry.”

He lingers awkwardly for a moment, shifting his weight, then turns and hurries away. You focus on your task, matching the shirt with a pair of grey slacks with a subtle plaid pattern. The dark blue loafers should go well and a gold watch…

You carefully emerge as Peter pulls on a tank top. He has a loose pair of gym shorts on as well. He shakes out his hair again and tugs at the curls.

“Let’s deal with your hair first.” You lay out the clothes on the bench at the foot of the bed.

“Okay.” He nears and looks at your choice. “I like that. I think. I’m a bit colour blind.”

“Come on.” You back up and spin on your heel.

He follows you and you slow as you look around the front room. “Sit and I’ll find your scissors, if you don’t mind.”

“They should be… behind the air fryer.” He says. You don’t react to the strange hiding place.

He sits in the armchair and you go to the kitchen to find the scissors. They’re not the best for the task but you didn’t think to bring some. You go to him as he taps his fingers above his knees.

“What’s most annoying?” You ask.

“Right here.” He flicks a strand that keeps dropping forward.

“Alright,” you take it between your fingers and trim off about half an inch. You turn the scissors to point cut it so it’s not so blunt. You feel him watching you.

“Are you… gonna be here forever?” He asks.

You laugh. “What?”

“Or just today?”

“Oh. Well. Your assistant asked me to come in for today but if you need stylist, I can go over my resume.” You offer.

“I want you.” He says. “To stay. The thought of interviewing people makes my neck itch.”

“That might be the hair,” you swipe away a few stray ends into your hand.

He smiles up at you as you set the hair aside on the small table. “I thought you’d be younger.”

You look him in the eyes as you open the scissors again and hook another shank of curls. “Oh?”

“Not in a bad way!” His eyes widen. “I mean. I just…I’ll shut up.”

Far enough. Deep enough.

You shiver and grip the metal beneath you. Just one push and it all goes away. You sniff, head so full it hurts, and breathe out through your lips. You can taste the river water.

One push.

One.

You can do it.

For once in your life, do something. A simple fall, a short end. That's all that's ahead of you. There's nothing else left for you. There never was anything for you. You never did anything.

So do this and be done with it. You close your eyes. You feel the rivets in the metal. You roll your shoulders.

"Well then." You say and push off.

Before you can plunge through nothingness and into the depths, a snag jars you. You dangle from some unseen obstacle, whimpering at the wrench that has your spine and neck ringing. You flail like a cat and look up at the unexpected safe fall.

The man is hunched and shadowed like a gargoyle on a stone building. You kick your legs and grab his hand, prying at in bendable fingers with a sob. "What are you doing?"

He says nothing. With no effort at all, he hauls you back onto the metal. You kick and smack at his grip. He ignores you.

"Let me go!" You plead. "I just want to go."

Not a word. Not a look. You couldn't see it in the shadow of the bridge if there was.

"Let me go." You beg weakly as you grasp wrists.

He flicks away your struggles and grabs your throat. You gasp. He squeezes until you can't breathe. Maybe he can still give you that escape.

You let your hands fall away. He tightens his hold until your throat burns and your head pounds. He lets you go and you fall back limp on your back, one leg dangling over the edge. He clucks.

Your vision pulses and your ears ring. He moves around you. He brings your hands together then your feet. You shiver and try to pull them apart. You can't.

"Why?" You croak.

The silence stirs with the noise of the water and the groan of the metal under his weight. He moves over you, feeling your pockets and clothing. He stops, his hand on your shoulder. His voice grates through the night as something dry and coarse fills your mouth.

“You can’t even take care of yourself, so why not let me.”

💓

You sink into a haze. Shock, dread, resignation. You wonder if maybe you did make it to the water and this is some twisted after life…

What else could it be? No one knew. No one cared. You didn’t tell anyone what you meant to do. Didn’t even write it in your diary. You just made up your mind. You just wanted it over.

Your lashes flutter as your eyes zero in. It’s all too real to be the last flashes of your synapses clinging to consciousness. The room is dim but vivid. Shadows gather in the mortar between thick cinder bricks; the air is still and frigid, and the chair beneath you is hard and unforgiving.

Your finger twitches and the tendon in your wrist strains. Your arms are trapped, your ankles too. Metal binds you to the wooden frame of the chair, another around your neck and forehead.

You shift futilely. What sick fate is this? Is it irony? You were so ready to give it all up that someone else stole your life away?

A sudden crackle makes you flinch. A light radiates in your vision and static fills a square screen. You blink, unable to move your head against the metal binding. You gulp as the black and grey speckles ache in your vision.

The monochrome dots blip away and white lines run up a black screen, a low click each time they reach the top of the screen. They ripple, the waves growing more intense until a vision fills the frame.

The silhouette of a bride in her veil kissing her groom appears beneath the classical wedding overture. A sterile voice says a single word as the image lingers. “Longing.” The couple begin to dance, feed each other cake, and the husband carries his wife over the threshold.

“Tidy.” The voice says.

The scene changes. A jacket being hung. Bristles dragging on tile. A tub full of bubbles surrounded by candles. The camera pans in on the spinning laundry through the window of a machine, making your dizzy.

“One.”

A man’s face flashes; blue eyes, sharp jawline, dark hair.

“Dawn.”

The morning beams warmly through windows, illuminating another pair of silhouettes before the scene switches to a garden and a trickling birdbath. The stir of water tickles in your ears and sends a cool flow down your spine.

“Apron.”

Thick hands tie the strings of an apron against a checkered dress, slowly looping and winding the bow, laying out the tails perfectly.

“His.”

The man’s eyes blink and disappear.

“Obey.”

A belt is pulled from the loops of a pair of trousers and bent in the same large hand, slapping the palm with an echoing noise.

“Bed.”

Pillows drop onto a bed, blankets are dragged down to the end, petals flutter onto the floor at the base of the frame.

“Only.”

The man again, arms outstretched.

“Home.”

The vision of a house, unmoving, standing on the screen, bold, so still it must be a picture. It stays there as the audio cuts out. The silence scrapes in your ear until you squirm then all at once it evaporates.

A whisper slowly rises from the speakers; “home, home, home, home.” The voice gets louder and louder and louder; until your eyes water and your ear drums thrum. Then, silence again. And darkness.

You sit in the void, shaking. You close your eyes and shudder. Then hear the television flick on again.

“Longing.”

💓

She’s soft, pliant as he leads her into the light. She shies away and he coaxes her further. She leans on him. She doesn’t notice that his arm doesn’t belong to him.

He takes her into the large bathroom and sits her on the small bench with the drawers in the bottom. Her clothes are dingy with the stale remnants of the river’s mist. That day on the bridge only remains in the soiled fabric.

As he tries to pull away, she grabs onto him. Her lashes flick wide. Bucky knows that look. He used to see it in the mirror. That glassy distance. On her, it’s not so bad.

“Doll, I’m just gonna get you washed up.”

She stares at him and nods, her hands slipping down his forearm. The sensation is like cool rain on a hot day, or sunshine after a grey winter. He smiles. Her lips tremble then she does the same.

“Yes, honey.” She lowers her hands to her lap and stares ahead.

He begins. He cuts off her clothes. She does react. Not even as he pauses to admire those parts of her that make him salivate.

When he is done with that, he fills the large basin of the tub. He goes to her but thinks twice of getting her up just yet. He undresses then goes to her.

He brings her in the tub with him. He can take his time. He doesn’t have to hurry. He leans her against him and sighs. She’s stiff and squirmy. He runs his hands up her sides.

“Doll, relax. I got you.”

He feels her obey. She slackens against his chest and lets her head rest on his shoulder. He strokes her stomach.

“Good.” He praises as he draws little swirls on her skin.

This is all he wanted. To feel someone close. To have someone who can never go away. To not have to be afraid.

You tuck your cell into the little holder on your belt. You put together your most professional outfit. Black slacks, black blazer, and a plain black blouse. It’s bland but the face you got when you tied on the paisley scarf at your collar only made your nerves worse. So you put it back in your drawer and resigned yourself to practicality.

You stop at the front desk and greet the woman behind it. She has a lovely mint green dress on and her hair has those loose waves that look so effortlessly glamorous. You feel along the fake pocket sewn into your pants. Hum.

“Hi. I start today.” You say after a cheery good morning.

“Oh, yes, do you have your security clearance?” She asks.

You nod and shift the boxy leather bag on your shoulder. You dig inside and take out the forms. You hand them over and she looks them over. She adds yet another stamp to them before she lets you know she needs to scan them. She struts away as you bounce in your loafers.

You look down at the black leather toes. You haven’t bought a new outfit in years. You still haven’t. Andy footed the cost so he got a say on it all. He warned you to keep it professional.

The woman returns. “I’m Sandy, by the way.” She hands over a laminated badge with the photo you submitted with your forms. “You’ll use this to get through those doors.” She points to the clear doors to her left. “You’ll see a few places you’ll need to swipe. Breakroom, even the bathroom.” She chuckles. “And some places you won’t need to access, like the labs.”

“Right,” you clip the badge to your blazer. “Thank you.”

“Did you get your assignment email? Were you able to access the portal and verify your credentials?”

“Mm. Yes. I figured it out.” It wasn’t easy. The whole process was so intimidating. You didn’t just need a password, you had to verify through the finger scan on your phone, then facial recognition in the app.

“Then you’re all set. Good luck!” She preens.

“Thanks… again.”

You shuffle by the desk and follow a man in a suit to the doors. He scans and you dip in behind him. He doesn’t notice you on his heels. That’s not very secure but you suppose the badge on your chest helps.

He marches on confidently and you look up and down the corridor. You have no idea where you’re going. Why didn’t you ask at the desk? Maybe Andy is right, you’re out of your depth.

You step to the side and hide by the wall as you open the app. You go through the triple-authentication and finally get into your profile. Agent A. Walker; Office 41-B6.

You peer around. All the rooms are labeled with letters only. That doesn’t help.

You flick through the app for any more information. You can’t find anything. You guess you’ll wander and if that doesn’t work, you’ll go back and ask Sandy.

You go around the corner and find a set of elevators. Oh! There’s a directory. ‘Offices 41 - 50; Floor 5’. Great!

You tap the button but it doesn’t beep or light up. You frown. You notice the square right beside it. Right.

You lean down to scan the badge. The buttons light up and you tap the up arrow. You wait and the doors part. You step on and turn around. Two men follow in suits and stand in front of you. You’re not sure if they don’t notice you or just don’t care.

Your floor comes first. The men talk on about some vehicle, you think? They keep bringing up torque and handling. You clear your throat and squeeze around the one on the right.

The doors close behind you and you check the office number again. You follow the door plates down to 41-B6. The blinds within are closed inside the transparent walls. You can’t even tell if the lights are on.

Well, only one way to find out.

You knock and wait for an answer. Nothing. You try again.

Patiently, you stand outside, stranded. Andy is right. This isn’t for you. You’re already lost.

The door opens swiftly and startles you. You look up at the man on the other side as he’s already walking away. You frown and poke your head in as he stomps back to his desk and drops into the chair. Slowly, you inch up to the threshold.

“Um, hi. Are you… Mr. Walker? I’ve been hired to work as a coordinating assistant.” You explain.

“I’m aware.” He growls.

He glares at the large monitor in front of him, moving it closer on the floating arm. He sneers and a tendon in his neck tenses, just visible above the knot of his tie. His nose furrows and he reaches to clamp his shoulder, tilting his head, then drops his arm.

“I’m happy to get started on anything I can support with.” You offer.

“Get in here. Close the door.” He demands.

You wet your lips as you purse them around your tongue. You do as he says and step inside. You stand awkwardly with your bag as you look around.

He rubs the lines in his forehead and sits back. He shakes his head at the monitor. He glances up at you.

His blue eyes blaze with agitation and his jaw ticks. A dark line of hair trims his upper lip and a shadow of stubble darkens his face. His nose flairs.

“You can put your bag in your employee locker.” He snarls.

You nod. “Yes, sir. Um… where…”

“Out. Right, end of the hall. Check your directives.”

You pull out your phone and check the app. “Thank you, sir.”

You retreat out of the office. You can take a hint when it’s given, but this is a job. You’re there to support his work which means you can’t just run away like you do at home.

You find your employee locker number. It opens at the swipe of your badge. You put your bag inside and keep your phone in your pocket.

You peer around. Your eyes land on a sign that reads ‘Break Room/Kitchen’. Sandy mentioned as much.

You follow the sign and scan the badge. You enter and look around. There’s a luxury pre-programmed coffee machine on the counter. When Andy bought his Lexus, they had one at the dealership.

As tempted as you are to indulge in a mocha, you forego that for your priority. Mr. Walker. You tap ‘Americano’ and wait for the cup to fill. You take it and a handful of creamer and sugar packets, along with a stir stick.

You make your way back to the Mr. Walker’s office. Your hands are full and your badge doesn’t work on the scanner. You knock carefully with your elbow.

Once again, he stomps over to open it, nearly dropping the door on you as quickly as he swung it back. You enter and he goes back to his desk. He pauses before he sits down and his shoulders lift higher.

“I see you found a distraction,” he sits and taps on his screen.

“I wasn’t sure what you took. I made a guess. Americano.” You near and set the cup on the empty coaster. “Sugar and cream in case.”

He hums dully. “Black.”

“Yes, sir. Noted.”

He scoffs and stares at the screen. “So what? They put you on me to bring my coffee?”

You hide the effect of his tone. You hold your head up high. “Well, sir, I’m not entirely sure. I’m here to assist you. However you might require.”

He takes a deep breath and grabs the cup. He sniffs the espresso. “It’s a start. For now, you can stay out of my way and be quiet.”