*          *         * 

She stood small and still before him.

“You do realise, my dear, that you are not the one in charge here.”
Cold silence lay between them like an open coffin.
“Am I not making myself clear? You are my provided entertainment for tonight, and I would appreciate if you acted accordingly. As of right now, you’re boring me.”

No response.

“It might strike you as silly, me trying to talk to a cheap little piece of trash like yourself instead of physically getting my point across, but you have to pardon my curiosity. Exactly what is it about me that turns you off so abruptly? Tell me, darling.”
He stood up suddenly, walked over to her, and leaned heavily on the white table, running his fingers all around her form, probing and searching for those mysterious buttons that men so adore to push. Still not a sound escaped her. He stopped and wiped the sweat off his cooling forehead, brushing aside a few stray, long hairs from his face, and glared at her.

“I really dislike doing this now, but you leave me no choice.”

He raised his hand slowly and brought down a brutal slap on her plastic casing. Immediately, a cacophony of static and bits of incoherent conversations issued from the dynamics. Freddie turned the knob slightly to adjust the radio-station, and the appalling noise transformed into Dvorak’s “Romance in F Minor”. The old radio sounded better than ever.

“That’s much better, dear,” Freddie sighed blissfully, strolling back to his armchair and stretching lazily in it. For once in a long while now, the evening in Garden Lodge promised to be virtually perfect.

the end