Ray The Enigma

It’s been two weeks since Amy appointed Ray as Head of Show and, surprisingly, today’s the first time he wants to call her a bitch. He’s toiling at his desk in the banquet hall, close enough to the stage that the noise keeps him from focusing. But when he looks up, a slight smile loosens the corners of his mouth. The lighting’s been mounted on the rigging and is currently being tested.

It’s looking good. If only he could admit that to anyone. He can’t even admit it to himself half the time.

It’s arduous work, building a set to cater to four supremely unique performances and creating an ambiance to match, from the décor to the very food they’ll be serving that night. And the artists, on God, the most assorted buffet of dicks he’s had to manage. Ray spots them in the crowd, reminding himself of each of their inane complaints: wrong brand of water; jacket tail too straight; purple tastes weird. He catches himself smiling again. They wouldn’t dare speak to him like that if they remembered who he once was.

It’s been a long time. A long time since he’s felt so giddy and pumped to conquer the next challenge. A long time since this atmosphere, passion drenched in anxiety, hasn’t made his stomach churn. A long time since he’s been good at something and loved it. The only time he’s been around a stage without having to perform on it. At least that was the case until this morning.

“No way in hell,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve done some messed up shit for you, Amy. I think this is a healthy line to draw.”

“It’s just a speech! Do you have stage fright or something?”

In retrospect, he shouldn’t have frowned so hard at that. It was an innocent question, but he’s heard that reasoning too many times for his peace of mind. Amy blanched and clutched her elbow. She avoided his gaze and he regretted its sharpness.

“Okay, it’s fine… it was only a suggestion. You don’t have to do it. I just – it’s scary being alone with everyone watching. But I guess it’s not your problem. Sorry for trying to dump it on you.”

Ray sighs, squeezing his pencil until he hears the wood cracking. An empty page rests before him, three words written down, Ladies and gentlemen. He takes a deep breath, anger slowly seeping out through his stretching fingers as he thinks about his friend.

Why did you have to be so cute… Asshole. He can’t tell if that’s for her or for him.

Another deep breath, this time to make the creative juices flow. He can do this. A speech is like song lyrics and he’s no stranger to those. But every time he tries jotting anything down, his hand stops after half a letter. There’s something weird. It’s like he’s stared at, but no one stares at him. Not when he has his do not disturb scowl on. It must be his imagination, the jitters of creation. He’s parched, he needs water. Turning in his chair, he makes to rise, but stops with a scream.

“Ouagadougou!”

The whole operation stops. This time they are staring. He grits his teeth.

“The show must go on! Get back to work!” he shouts. He turns to the new girl, whose eyes have yet to leave him. That gold ribbon and devious smirk tell him everything he must know. She’s rich, unhinged and his colleague.

“What do you want?” he says.

“I want you!” she replies, pointing like an uncle.

“For?”

“A secret meeting.”

“I’m too busy for secret meetings. Tell me what’s up or leave me alone.”

“Fine,” she says, bowing out of his corner. “I’ll tell Amy you didn’t want to come.”

He gets to his feet and lances his finger at the nearest passer-by , “You!”

The guy flinches, “Yes?”

“Sit here. If anyone asks for me, you tell them I’ll be right back.”

“What? But we’re just about to lift the last rigs, what –“

Ray shoots a death glare his way and he can see the words lumping in the guy’s throat. He gulps and nods, his meekness giving Ray the confidence to follow the girl out of the banquet hall. She giggles, he can swear it, but something about her is disturbing enough to make him doubt himself. There’s a strange confidence to the way she moves, way too libertine for her kind.

They walk down the stairs and turn towards the booths, her smug silence eating away at Ray’s patience.

“Where are we going?” he asks when he’s had enough.

“To the booths.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“I’d hoped you’d tell me why?”

“Then you should’ve said so. I don’t read minds.”

If he hadn’t gone to therapy, he’d have ripped her head off right then. But he employs his mantra, conducting a four-beat pattern with both hands until he’s calm enough to speak without cursing.

“Shouldn’t you be working?”

“I’m good.”

“Typical. What, you have your valet handling all your chores?”

She laughs, mocking him, “I’m sure they’ve got their hands full.”

Of course they do. The booths are, by far, the largest part of the festival and, though not as complex as the show, they’re a logistical nightmare. Even so, everything’s almost done. The huts and tents have been built, the machinery to run them has been unloaded and plugged in and every club has almost finished settling in. They go to the food section, the smell of freshly baked goods teasing Ray.

She approaches a couple stands, the poor students behind the counter all a blubbering mess. But she doesn’t berate anyone. Ray’s ears can’t believe the sincerity of her praises, from the tidiness of the surroundings to the presentation of their dishes. Even the complaints she sneaks in wear the disguise of soft, heartfelt suggestions. She’s inspecting. He scoffs. Naturally, she’s the quality control to someone else’s hard work.

A bag hits his chest, almost making his ire spill out. She’s chewing on a caramelised apple, but he can sense the mischievous tint of her lips.

“For your troubles,” she coos.

He almost tears the bag open retrieving what’s inside.

“Is this a bribe?”

“You must think pretty low of yourself if an éclair buys you.”

“I’ve gotten worse from Astellites. You’re no different.”

She pouts, “Aww, take a bite. Maybe it’ll butter up all that bitterness.”

Playfully, she reaches for the éclair and guides it towards his mouth. He’s had enough of her. Nothing about her is genuine.

“What the fuck do you want, where are you taking me?”

“Is that it?”

She’s even made his old tic crop up again, the odd way he intonates questions. All of that without losing her joy once.

“What the fuck do you want and where are you taking me, full goddamn stop!”

He’s never been averse to attention and that doesn’t change now. Everyone’s stopped to gape at him, tracing the curve of his lungs filling and emptying. Good, let them be surprised. They don’t care, they’ll forget tomorrow. But he’ll always remember every time he’s called out every snob in here.

She doesn’t bat an eye at his outburst. They’re taught to keep their cool in all circumstances. “Somewhere quiet. I just wanted to talk.”

Don’t get fooled. Her calm almost disarms him, her voice a contradiction of all he knows. She’s almost begging him to go where her face is pointing, the gap in the hedge wall, leading towards a weeping willow’s shade. It’s the last time he’ll listen to her. They cross into the shadows, finding an isolated bench to sit on. The sizzling from the booths is masked by the gentle whistling of songbirds and the smell is strong and earthen.

But one thing strikes him. Her first lie.

“Where’s Amy?” he asks.

“Last time I checked she was in Mia’s car, heading towards –“

“You said she’d be here.”

Her grin draws closer. The brown of her eyes burns a spot in his shoulder.

“You lied to me!” he explodes, only for his legs to be pressed against the hard wood. With a sigh, Hana lowers her head on his lap, thoroughly immobilising him.

“You just heard what you wanted to. Hardly my fault, is it?”

Ray blushes. He can’t tell if it’s the close contact of their bodies or the embarrassing weight of her words.

“You tricked me. There’s no secret meeting.”

“I’ve told no one we’d be here. Did you?”

“You didn’t want to talk.”

“We’re not kissing.”

Why can’t he keep a straight face? Why is everything she says in that dulcet tone so damaging?

“What do you want?”

“I told you.”

“I didn’t believe you, tell me again.”

She lifts her head. If they were any closer, their lips would touch.

“I want to talk.”

“Why are you so close?”

“So you’d know I’m telling the truth.”

She falls back down, Ray drawing a long, gasping breath. Her sweet smell sticks in his nostrils, a cornucopia of carnival treats and a touch of lavender. Another sigh and her hand reaches for his cheek, cupping the pink she finds there. That’s what they do. Beguile you. Control you. He’d throw her high in the air if only he could move.

“You’re fascinating.”

“Why?” he rasps. It’s not threatening, it just sounds like he’s choking.

“No one knows who you are, no one talks about you. You’re here, but you hate being here. You’re mediocre in everything, from social skills to academic performance. But even so, you sit at the same table with 4 Stellar Scholars.”

It clicks in his mind, the reason why he’s so uncomfortable, what she terrifies him with. It’s how she effortlessly peels back layer after layer from his carefully crafted persona and how it’s not a game to her. She cares about what she’ll find there.

“I’m Amy’s friend. I thought nepotism is common for you.”

“But acing a handout job isn’t. That’s why you’re an enigma.”

“Who the fuck are you?” he murmurs.

“Just a girl.”

“With a hundred valets and friends in high places. I’ve seen you with Murphy.”

“Your point?”

“You’re an aristocrat.”

She chuckles, the clink of glasses toasting a good joke, “You ever get tired of assuming?”

“I’ve seen the same thing happening a million times now. It never changes. I’m not insane.”

“No, just… painfully misguided. I’m his maid.”

The revelation draws his features in a painful grimace. He can’t handle looking at her, not when he’s sure he’s been so wrong and that he’s reached a point of no return. But he was never one to quit while he’s ahead.

“You have valets.”

“Head maid. They work under, not for me.”

“They built the booths!”

“Did they? I didn’t know Astella allowed adults on its premises bar teachers.”

“Who are you?”

“No, who are you?”

Ray’s eyes widen. She’s standing in front of him, her eyes not letting go of his. Why do you want to know? Why do you care? Who am I?

She taps his cheek, “Don’t ask questions you don’t want turned on yourself. But I’ll give you a freebie. I’m Hana Tasugami, head maid for the Murphy family, Astella Academy Stellar Scholar, Head of Show and just a girl.” She reaches out to him, hand empty in the gap between them. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Ray shakes her hand in earnest. She’s laid everything bare before him. While he can’t do the same, least he can do is trust her. “Raimundo Gaucho. An enigma.”

“A debonair one. Hands like a pianist.” He draws a short breath and she pokes her tongue out. “Just kidding.”

“Why did you do all this?”

“I’m a curious soul and like calls to like. Nothing’s curiouser than regular people at Astella.”

“Regular people…”

“Seemingly. We’ve all got our quirks. Save for them. They’re all the same, valets and nepotism. They believe they’re entitled to everything, even the purest of things they’ll sully with their mitts.”

He doesn’t need to ask. The same venom spills out when he talks about those people. His breath is soft and level. She’s not one of them, but that realisation only brings about a shame he thought Amy inoculated him against.

“Do you… mind?” he says, shuffling in his seat.

“I do. I’m tired and you’re comfy.”

“What if someone comes in?”

“I suppose she’ll point her finger and say, ‘J’accuse!’” An Amy imitation. He abstains from smiling.

“Don’t you care about rumours?”

“I thought boys wanted cute, smart girls fawning over them.”

“Jury’s still out on those.” He flushes a deeper shade of red, “Still… don’t you feel nervous?”

He doesn’t like her face. It anticipates something he’s not ready for. In a moment she leaps at him, her breath hot on his neck. Her giggling teases him, but all she does is tease. Nothing further.

“It used to. Not anymore.”

“Did you lose that in a coma or what?”

“Might as well have. Growing up, if anyone, boy or girl, would as much as join fingers with me, I’d be seeing wedding dresses and white picket fences.” She sighs, a painful cold stinging his skin, “But flustered maids are just a thing of fiction. My job taught me to be stolid.”

A mask. Yearning to be torn off. She laughs, tickling him with her hair as she gets up. It’s an ending he wishes not to have met, but all good things must have a finale. Otherwise you won’t be able to appreciate them.

“You should get back. Good as you are, you’ve got a long road ahead.”

“You should follow me, then. Make sure I get there safely.”

Their brows rise in unison. “Smooth,” she says. “Après toi, monsieur.”

“Why the French?”

“A test.”

“You’re deranged.”

“Thanks.”

“Wasn’t a compliment.”

“Then say it without a smile.”

But he can’t stop smiling, not when she’ll be with him for a thousand more steps. He’s not the only enigma to be discovered. They step out on the alley, slowly returning to the banquet hall where this all began.

Ray fires every question on his mind, caring little for the consequences.

“How did you end up working for the Murphys?”

“Would you believe me if I said I come from a long line of housekeepers?”

“You haven’t lied yet, why start now?”

“It’s more believable than the truth. I’m an orphan. We blank slates make for good servants.”

“And untapped potential. Can’t imagine a 17-year-old head maid outside of a fantasy story.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m living in one. Finding the only blue bloods who value skill regardless of provenance.”

“Fortune favours the bold.”

“Spoken from experience?”

No, but he can’t exactly tell her that. Being a kissless virgin contradicts the cool he’s earned from years of standing under a spotlight.

“What’s your deal with Amy?” she asks, turning the interrogation on her. Just as well, they’ve reached the banquet hall’s staircase.

“We’re just friends.”

“Do you like her?”

“As a friend.”

“You sound overcompensating.”

“And you oddly happy.”

“Because I like her too. She reminds me of that painter’s small black cat. A jumpy ball of fuzz. A pity she’s fallen prey to a devious lion.”

Her vitriol smells like Mia. He knows he shouldn’t, but he asks anyway, pushing open the door to the stage.

“What do you mean?”

“Amy’s a poor fit for Astella. She’s not dumb, nor unremarkable, but she lacks the experience required to deal with these people. If they think they won’t have their way, they’ll do anything to prevent that.”

Ray’s hairs stand on end. He looks at the stage, the steel frame trembling uncharacteristically. He shouts, his warning drowned by the loud squeal of metal. His first instinct is to wrap his arms around Hana, back turned at the disaster. There comes a puff of air, followed by the noises of two weeks of work being reduced to a mangled heap of debris.

He has no time to notice her blush face or the wide-eyed glances she can’t help throwing his way. He’s the first to inspect the aftermath. The girders have buckled under the weight of the new lighting rig, the mounting of which he wasn’t here to oversee. He grits his teeth, wanting to crush the steel in his grip, when something catches his eye. No, it can’t be. He digs through the pile of wood, circuitry and rebar to produce what remains of a support rod. There’s four of them in every column, meant to reinforce the structure. And this one has been split cleanly in half. As if it were cut.

He snarls. Even with all the evidence pointing to the contrary, he blames no one but himself.