Alpha Incorporated

II - iv A DEVILISH MERCY

Isabella sits in front of the doors to Angelo Lord's office. The waiting room is bright, simple, clean lines with slick, modern furnishings. It is nothing like that which she had envisioned, and nothing like the last time she sat before the doors of an office. That was then, in her student life. Isabella used to wait for appointments to see the principal of Our Lady of Grace Catholic High School. Not because she was a difficult student, of course, but because in those days she was editor of the school newspaper, writer and publisher of the school year book and social media director for the Student Social Justice Committee. She was familiar with begging for permission, or arguing for funding, or pleading an injustice on behalf of others, but preferred to do it in writing. For some reason though, Mr. Caliban, the school principal, would always insist on speaking with her in person.

Some things change very little, she thinks as she looks down at the plaid kilt she is wearing. The kilt was part of her high school uniform at Our Lady of Grace. That was before the school board banned the girls from wearing skirts. The traditional blue and white plaid kilt, white blouse and blue tie was the signature uniform ever since the Jesuit priests founded the school back in the early twentieth century. Somehow, recently, it was decided that the uniform which, for over a century represented tradition and modesty, now stood for sexual temptation. Allegedly, the girls would hike the kilts higher than the permitted length just above the knees, so it was decided that it was the girl's fault that the male teachers were uncomfortable with the skirts, and they were banned—the skirts, not the teachers. Isabella blames it on Britney Spears. She wrote about it in an op-ed piece for the Rochester paper. Still, she got a barely worn kilt out of it, which has come in handy as one of the few skirts she owns.

And now, in this skirt, white blouse and a navy button up sweater, she sits, waiting at the door of Angelo Lord's office, as instructed. And now, when she hears the receptionist's chair move, she begins to feel a burn in her chest. And now, as the tall, slim blonde in a black pencil skirt and heels approaches her, looking more like a hostess at a steakhouse than an office receptionist, Isabella begins to sweat. And now, when the supermodel addresses her, saying, "Mr. Lord will see you," she feels her breath quicken. She dreaded the way Mr. Caliban looked at her back then, and now, she feels as though little has changed, except maybe the furniture. And the supermodel secretary.

Her eyes adjust to the midday light that spills through the wall of glass that overlooks San Francisco Bay. Backlit and shadowed, stands Angelo Lord. His frame is square and strong, like a statue of a Roman God—no, an emperor—in an Armani suit. He poses, legs apart, back to her, towering over his dominion of land and sea. Isabella hears the supermodel close the door behind her.

Without turning, he speaks. "What have you come for, Miss Measures?"

His tone is softer than she expects, yet his words have a bite to them.

"I have come to to see what might—please you, my—I mean Mr. Lord." Her words seem to stumble out. She is trying to be formal, but they come out jumbled, stuttering like she is reading a mangled script. Her words are swallowed by the room. "I mean—"

"What would please me is if you didn't come here to demand that I don't fire your brother." He is speaking to the window.

Now he moves. Angelo, slowly turns, first his head, then his body, to face her. His eyes travel down, then up again. There is no expression on his face, only a stern stare, but she knows there is judgement. He begins to pace, to circle her, his eyes, all the time, roving over her. Isabella maintains her gaze straight ahead, focusing on the scene beyond the glass wall, but she feels his eyes burning into her as he moves past her from behind. To her right now, then, at last, he stands in front of her.

"Miss Measures, let me ask you a question: which is more important, those rules and laws that caused your brother to lose his job, or in order to redeem him, that you give up your body to the same vice as did his lover?"