It's only been days since I arrived here from Asia. When I got into the customs area at Vancouver International, there were huge totem poles and I couldn't resist planting a kiss on one. Unfortunately, a customs inspector noticed and made a point of looking closely at my passport, assuming that I was another immigrant escaping from Hong Kong. I had a hard time explaining my accent and the circumstances of my visit to Canada. Since writing "David's Visit", I've been working with Chef Li, the imperious instructor from hell. Over five weeks so far, of being repeatedly hit with cooking implements and lashed with a cane.
Back home in Florida, the night before I was to leave for my apprenticeship, I left my lover's bed and ran the nearly six miles to see if I could catch my boss before he left work. There was so much energy around me, the air was crackling and I was amazed that I wasn't electrocuted in the night's steady drizzle.
Thankfully, he was still there, going over paperwork in his glass walled office, sipping on a brandy and chewing a cigar. When he was finished work, he would smoke it on his way home. I knew because he had given me a ride several times when my old bike had failed me. The cleaning crew was busily scouring the cavernous kitchen's nooks and crannies. My boss didn't see me come in so I tapped lightly on the door. He took one look at my face and waved me inside.
"What!? Your father? Did he...?" He looked as stricken as I felt. I assured him that my father appeared to be doing well after his surgery.
"Christ in Heaven, what's wrong then? I know that look. How have you screwed up? You leave in the morning!" As usual, there was no privacy in his office, so when I told him it was important to have some, we went to the staff locker room.
I trailed after him, dejected, dripping and disheveled from my run. My shorts were sticking to me and I was shirtless. I was also trembling like a leaf: a combination of dampness, fatigue, stress and not having slept or eaten in days. He opened the door to the room and I followed him in.
All he had to do was look at me and silent tears started to slowly roll down my cheeks. No one could have been more surprised than me, that I had gone to the man who took such pleasure in hitting me for help and advice. Some instinct told me I could trust him to take care of me.
He took me into his arms in a tight bear hug. That made me sob quietly. Aside from hitting me when I fouled up, he had never really touched me with any intimacy until a few nights before when the staff threw a going away party for me. It was a total blast and he let his guard waaaayy down. Frequently, he pulled me onto his ample lap, tousling my hair and teasing me. At first I was afraid that the others would think that there was something between us. That was paranoid. Everyone knew he was a divorced father of three with a very healthy appetite for ladies, as well as food. Chef always smellled vaguely of roasted garlic and mellow onions. I really enjoyed being cuddled on his lap that night, even though it was only two days after my Dad's heart surgery. It felt so good, so caring, so safe.
Nothing had felt safe over the previous days. I had no choice but to open up completely to my boss. He ran the gamut of my emotions with me. My Dad's illness paralyzed me with fear. I thought he was indestructible and I was consumed with thoughts of losing him. He was my step-father: however, he was the only real father I had ever known. My memory had been going over how often I had messed up; disappointed him; embarrassed him; let him down; infuriated, frustrated, appalled, dismayed, puzzled, enraged and terrified him.
A random series of events had brought me back to being a suicidal seventeen year old, chock full of not so irrational worries. My step-brother, David, was successful in pushing my buttons. I was petrified that I was somehow responsible for Dad's health problems. It was true that I had made him every artery clogging goody he had ever asked for. If I had said no, I would have to have had my jaw wired, but I should have taken the chance. How could I possibly concentrate on a job so far away while feeling so much guilt?
The boss had never seen me like that, totally unraveled. Even at my worst moments, although usually quiet, I could always be counted on for some irreverent remark said just loud enough to escape his hearing. I was the resident smart mouth joker. When it was tense in the trenches, I broke into song. When things were slow and the troops were bored, I danced. When I told Chef my very real fears that I was getting in over my head in my private and professional life, I was huddled on his knees, crying like a little kid and stuck to his chest like a sand burr.
To further complicate matters, a fellow archive writer learned that I was going to be working where he lived and was interested in contact. I was intrigued but intimidated by him and by his writing, I knew that he was a very strong individual with much more experience than me. If I met him, chances were that I would make a total ass of myself and as a top, he was too much for my bottom.
When my boss had listened to all my fears and read the crumpled pages of "Dear James II" I had tucked in my waistband, I could feel his reaction through my wet shorts. The only way Chef knew that I was 'chinadoll' was by another fluke. One of his friends in another location, had read my stories and faxed them to my boss. Obviously, the writer was in his general area and in the same line of work. Any ideas who? So the boss, strongly suspecting me, looked up my personnel files and did some comparing. Bingo, easy as yet, yi, sam. My world had started to get uncomfortably smaller and because I had been careless with information, the shrinking had escalated over the past few days.
Whenever I was in a high place, like a cliff or balcony, I always had a compelling urge to jump. I was feeling the same way about going to Asia. There were experiences there that I was feeling compelled to explore and yet totally fearful of trying.
Oh man, the boss was mad at me. I was so thankful that I wasn't in that glass office for prying eyes to see.
"How can you be so naive? So you screw up even before you leave, dammit! It's too late to change anything now. All I can do is call in some favors. I won't let you quit and I certainly will not fire you for being scared. My old friend, Chef Li, will discourage any mischief you might try! He is very strict and if you cross him, you'll be a very sorry young man. I hear you laughing all day while you're working. Now you get serious. Dammit, you can't behave for two minutes! What was I thinking??" He was lathering himself into a state and I sure as hell didn't want to be the cause of some angina attack or worse.
"You'd better not come back from this trip with anything worse than a bad haircut. You're more aggravation than you're worth!" He grabbed me by the back of the neck and just shook me like a dog with a rag. "Until your father recovers, I will make _d_a_m_n_ sure that you get all the discipline you obviously need and the punishment you think you deserve!" he growled as he easily flipped me over his huge thighs.
He tried to pull my shorts down but they were too wet and uncooperative, so he just walloped me as I was. I didn't have to be bare-assed to feel the full effect of his anger. The man's immense and probably twice my weight. Often I had teased him that he should have his own area code and that night I was well and truly aware of his bulk. I yelped with every blow and made tearful promises to behave, to be more careful, more discreet, to work hard and not shame him or my family. That wasn't enough because he just hit me harder, while angrily muttering in his native tongue.
So, I just howled in pain and futilely pleaded, "I'm sorry! Please don't be mad at me! I'm sorry, I won't ever think about experimenting again! I promise!" Stupid move. That only reminded him of why he was so angry. So I tried a different tack. "I'm sorry, Owwww, I won't do anything bad, I won't, I mean it! Please stop, no more! PLEASE, it's a long flight, no more!" He was like a wind-up toy that needed to run down. I just had to take it until a coughing spell let me roll off his knees.
Oh, OWWWWW! I could hardly drag my butt off the seat of Chef's car as he let me out at my jealous boyfriend's condo. How was I going to explain returning from a midnight run with cherry red buns? _s_h_i_t_, I'd probably be up all night making amends for darting off in a panic. I did feel mentally better though after being thoroughly spanked and scolded for being everything from careless to curious. Now, I know I was right in trusting him.
The boss growled his final warning, "You're going to be on that flight in the morning and I'm going to be there to see it. If you disappoint me, I WILL find you and I'll use a _d_a_m_n_ candy thermometer on you! That's a promise!"
That really put the fear of angry gods in me.