It seems absurd, now, thinking again how different I was before that day. Sometimes I barely remember who I was, how I felt... Everything about my past life looks so colourless in my memories, so grey, without any nuance. Now, instead, every single colour, every single emotion feels so intense, so powerful, nearly painful sometimes.
But I’ve never felt so alive before.
The “Black N’ Red” opened at 7 in the evening for the happy hour but I knew within an hour it would have been crowded with customers waiting already for their booked tables.
That’s why I booked my appointment with the mysterious Mr Daemon in the morning when the place is closed to customers but the staff is working inside preparing everything for the night.
I still remember how nervous I was that day. I had chosen my best clothing for the interview, strategically set: a black high-neck jersey under a white open-neck shirt as a top, to look professional, and the black miniskirt and stockings on black heels to not look like someone with a stick up their ass.
The black jacket on top was my favourite final touch. My black long hair was up in a hair bun to put the large white collar of the shirt on top of the collar of the jacket and set my neck free. I had studied every single detail not to give the wrong impression and to be taken into serious consideration: my degree dissertation was at stake.
Nonetheless, I wasn’t prepared to be examined the way he did. No one told me he was used to not look at appearances. No one told me he was a soul reader.
Mr Daemon was slightly late for our appointment as he was busy finishing doing something, I was told by the waiter welcoming me, who wore a wine-coloured waistcoat with a badge on top of it, the word “fox” written on. He apologized, he said, and offered me a Martini while waiting for him and a tour of the place, if of any interest.
I didn’t mean to be so impolite as to refuse his offer but I wanted to be lucid for my interview so I just asked the waiter to make it not too strong. He looked like screening me for a moment, maybe amused by something, then bowed and left me to come back shortly with a red Martini with the unmissable olive at the centre of his silver tray.
Touring around, at first glance, it was evident that the kitchen and the cellar were ready to offer generously anything a first evening place can offer: appetizers, sliced cold meats, different kinds of cheese, and a good selection of wines and spirits. It was a bit strange to see so much food but no customers there, at that moment.
Mr Daemon arrived about twenty minutes later, kindly apologizing again. I was a bit surprised as I had been told he was usually quite elegant but now he was wearing simple jeans and a jumper with rolled sleeves which reminded me of Steve Jobs’ pictures I usually saw in my favourite magazines.
“Offence is the best defence”, I used to think at that time, so right after introducing myself in person, after my request on the telephone to interview him, I started explaining my project: a sort of observation on the field of the kind of customers usually coming to his place. I assured him no interviews with the customers, no questionnaires for them, and no hassles. Just a free “real-time” observation to make a sort of chart describing the kind of customers, and the time they were attending the place – earlier or later – as a sort of sampling of an urban habit. My observation was meant to last for about a month and for all this, of course, I needed his permission.
I had been so caught up in my explanation that I hadn’t noticed the change in his expression.
He was looking at me very seriously, nearly irritated, or so he looked.
“What is the subject of your graduation?”, he asked me, in a very dry manner.
“Sociology”, I was glad to explain, “it’s the branch of science studying...”
“I know what it is”, he froze me. I closed my mouth and curiously felt as if a press was suddenly compressing and shrinking me. For some reason saying sorry didn’t seem the best thing to do.
“Sociology...”, he said again, thinking of something, looking around, “I think this is possible to do, but... What if you collect data you cannot use?”
That didn’t make sense to me, “what do you mean exactly?”
“Exactly”, he repeated, “what I said. You want to observe my customers, their consumption and behavioural habits in here, am I wrong?”
“Well...”, damn, I thought, I hadn’t prepared yet my action plan so was not sure what specifically I would have observed, and why, “I... think you are not”
“So, I ask you again, what if you collect data you will not be able to use on your dissertation”
I felt the ground missing under my feet, my precious interview suddenly in danger, but I could not be insincere.
“Sorry, not sure I understand what you mean”, I said, feeling lost, “any observation data is supposed to be useful in research on the field”
“Are you sure?”, he nearly laughed, but for some reason, he refrained from doing it.
“Come back tonight”, he said, like placing a bet, “when we open. I will help you collect your first data and to start your work the right way”
On leaving, I was quite satisfied with that change of plan but for some reason, it felt uncomfortable.
At 7.30 pm there was already a queue at the entrance of the “Black N’ Red” and the counter was crowded with cheerful customers shouting from one side to the other to book their favourite appetizers.
The great inner hall opened at 8.00 and everybody was waiting to get their long-booked tables drinking wine and cocktails in the meantime.
At the counter, when I asked about Mr Daemon, the waiter with the word “teeth” on his badge invited me to meet him at his table, on the mezzanine facing the entrance, which was universally known as “his office” from where he supervised the trend of the evening, enjoying, in the meantime his bath of crowd and humanity. From there, he could see at a glance who entered the place.
“Mad humanity” he used to call it, as the smug soul-reader I didn’t know he was, yet.
Despite the mezzanine being open to the customers and crowded, as usual, not a table was placed within a range of three meters at least from his own and nobody, staff or customers used to break that rule, unless asked for it.
When I met him – now I could say it was true what rumour had: he was elegantly dressed in black satin - he was finishing savouring the olive from his cocktail, kindly invited me to sit with him keeping looking around and then “I’m sure you will make a good observation tonight”, he said, giving me shivers I was unable to explain to myself.
“Are you waiting for someone else, Mr Daimon?” I asked him, noticing he kept looking around.
I think that was the very first moment he looked at me, on that evening, and he did it in a way... I felt his gaze passing me from front to back.
“No”, he said, “but I’m quite sure something will happen. It always does”
Just to stop him from watching around like a fan in the summertime
“Has all of your staff funny names?”, I asked
“What do you mean, my dear”, he said, making himself comfortable, finally talking to me.
“The waiter at the counter has the word Teeth written on his badge, the one serving me in the morning had Fox instead. Is that normal, here?”
“Already working, I see...” he smiled like the Cheshire cat, “when I make my recruitment, and I do it personally, I give my future staff the chance to change the name they want to be addressed. My only rule is the truth”
“The truth?” I replied intrigued, “What do you mean?”
“Not to be honest, that’s understated, not sincere, I don’t care about their businesses, but to be true, to me and themselves. I don’t ask for anything else. It’s a sort of house rule”
“Not sure I understand”, and I was true, indeed.
“They decide what person they want to be, according to what they feel inside. A rose even with another name, would smell the same, don’t you know”
“That’s Shakespeare... But still, I don’t understand what you ask for”
“To be honest, I don’t know anything about who my staff is out of here or what they do during their time off. Why should I, after all? But as regards here...” and looked around again, “Fox, for example, my room charge, down there, is a smart guy who prefers not to confront with anyone, he’s got his way to turn around any obstacle and sort it out, at the end, which is fine for me. Teeth, on the other hand, likes biting when having sex, some of my clients told me, and my source is quite reliable. Stick...”
“Oh, I’ve heard about him and I guess the reason behind his... name”, I said, laughing, feeling smart for once, in front of him.
“And I am one hundred per cent sure you, as many before you, are wrong!” he froze me again, and again I felt shrinking.
“Stick’s father was a shepherd”, he said, “one of those bringing sheep and goats to the pasture, you understand? When I recruited him he told me as a child he was fascinated by the way his father used his stick to lead his flock. He never used it to beat his animals but it was enough for the flock to see that stick in his hand to follow him everywhere without ever losing. He was proud of never losing a single animal in his life, I think you understand the importance of such a fact for a shepherd”
I nodded, “so, did he decide to inspire to his father?”
“Not to him, just to his stick, his power, his character, and charisma. Apparently, to the children he wasn’t as good as with his animals”
Daimon’s talking was suddenly interrupted by something he saw downstairs. I looked down and saw a woman in an anonymous grey overcoat.
“Who is she?”, I asked
“I don’t know but I guess she’s your lesson for tonight”, he said, and before I could ask for further details
“Fox!”, he called out, from the balustrade, then to me “what do you see observing her?”
I didn’t know what to look for so just said “a woman in a grey overcoat? Why doesn’t she take it off? It’s quite warm in here”
He looked at me seemingly disappointed, “you have eyes but you don’t see”
“What do you see, then”, I asked, in turn
And Daimon, like thinking loud while reading the reality in front of him
“About forty, badly worn, looking tired but not from today, soberly dressed but without colour...”
“Maybe she is here for a coincidence or a mistake”, I tried guessing, “she doesn’t look like one of your usual customers, alone also”
“I do not believe in coincidence”, he said, “she’s not here for a mistake, even if she can’t admit it to herself either”
“What do you mean?”, I asked, looking back and forward between him and the woman in grey, as I could read the reality through his eyes
"Aren’t you here to observe?”, he sneered at me, “observe, then” and squeezing his eyes, “big breast, not hidden, she doesn’t seem to wear any bra, but definitely not given any importance under that coat and the jersey underneath. The skirt, slightly over her knees, though adherent it is worn to not outline her curves”
“My goodness, what a Hawkeye! Anything else?” as a woman I was sincerely surprised by the number of details he was able to guess.
“Keep on watching, maybe you will learn something new, tonight”
I don’t know how long Fox had been there, behind us at a respectful distance, saying not a single word, waiting for instructions.
“Master?”, he simply said, when we turned
“What did the table number five order?”
“The lady in grey?”, he said, and for some reason, I was not surprised he had the same observational skill as his Master, “a red Martini without olive”
Daemon thought of something for a moment, then, “make sure that Martini ends up on her clothes. Call Brutal, tell him to wait in the laundry”
“Master..?”, I noticed Fox’s astonished expression and Daemon hanging over him,
“Is it all clear?”, he said
“Of course, Master, but... Brutal?”
“Just follow my instructions. When it’s done, give the performer a good tip and the night off. Choose a newbie and tell them it’s fine and there is no problem, we are waiting for them tomorrow, as usual. All clear?”
“Yes, Master”, it was evident Fox had decided once more to be diplomatic.
Daemon sat down, “and now, let’s just observe”
I sat, though was upset, “I’ve heard about the Rosenthal effect but this is manipulation, indeed. This is not spontaneously happening here. This is for sure something I can’t use”
He slowly turned to me, still that disappointed expression on his face
“You have eyes, indeed, but you don’t see yet, anyway”, he said and I was tempted to leave him alone.
From the balustrade, I saw the room charge passing the order on to a young waitress and I saw on her face the same astonishment I had seen on Fox’s face, the same passing of orders and the same silent compliance.
When I turned, Daemon was watching me intensely as he was trying to read me through. I’m sure he could see his orders executed through my eyes.
“Who’s Brutal, by the way?”, I said, to break the silence between us, “you didn’t speak about him before”
“Not until now”, he pointed, “he worked in a slaughterhouse before coming here and has kept his way to make friends with ladies, you will shortly see with your own eyes”
“She won’t be harmed, right?”, I couldn’t help asking
“All the opposite”, he said, grinning
The Martini was on its way to table number 5, going across the crowd on a wabbling tray. I saw it flying and landing on the woman’s skirt who jumped on her feet as she had seen a rat under the table, her expression horrified and then... Contrite, instead of enraged, as I would have expected. For a moment I wondered what was going on...
I saw Fox coming towards the lady, nodding at the waitress who disappeared among the crowd, towards the kitchen, while the lady was told to follow another waiter – I couldn’t hear anything but their expressions spoke louder than words – towards the back of the place, the laundry, the privee...
Fox looked up towards us for a moment, I saw Daimon’s lips mouthing privee without making a sound and the room charge slightly nodding.
“Come, my dear, let’s go downstairs, it’s time for your lesson”, he was sneering, I was nearly raging.
We went through a hidden corridor, parallel to the toilets, whose access was invisible if not known, and we reached the administration office. Here Daemon pulled a thin rope and a heavy velvet curtain opened up revealing a huge mirror that reminded me of the curtain over the portrait of Dorian Gray.
“Are we meant to mirror us, now?”, I said, “I don’t need a mirror to know how I feel”
Daemon smiled, amused. Then he switched off the light and the mirror turned out to be full of light coming from the near room, like a window in the sunshine.
“A one-way mirror!”, I said, astonished and - I couldn’t help it - excited.
“Never judge a book by the cover, mais non, ma cher?” and by pressing something on the stereo system, he made the office full of the sounds coming from the privee.
The scenario looked nearly dramatic. The waiter had gone leaving the woman alone in the empty room while a sturdy and muscled warehouse worker, wearing a dirty and stained vest – Brutal, likely – was finishing stacking with his own huge hands some boxes containing bottles of beer. He reminded me of a sweaty bodybuilder, only much dirtier.
“Excuse me”, said the woman shyly, “I’m looking for the laundry...”
“Sure?”, said the man, watching her rudely, “ain’t ya lookin' for a good shag?”
“I beg your pardon?”, the woman answered surprised
“Oh yeah, I know ya like beggin’, ya got it written on ya face”, said the man coming towards her, wiping his hands with a cloth which had seen once cleaner days.
“How dare you...” she tried protesting
I started worrying for her and asked Daemon “are you sure she will be safe? What if you go wrong? She looks uncomfortable”
“Sometimes things are not what they look like, my dear”, was his laconic answer which just made me more upset.
Beyond the glass, Brutal was impudently inserting a hand underneath the woman’s jersey grabbing visibly a breast and gripping it tightly while the woman in vain beat her hands on top of his shoulders in a desperate and weak attempt to react.
I could not bear that scene anymore, freedom for me was a basic value and what was in front of my eyes was deeply denying it.
“Please”, I started begging, “stop everything, I don’t care about my dissertation. Just let her go”
“Watch”, he said
“I don’t want to watch anymore, this is not right”
“I. Said. Watch”, Daemon spelt any single word as if it was a ball and chain at my feet, “Try going beyond your limits. You are still watching with your own eyes instead of hers. That’s why you cannot see”
I just went far from the mirror, reaching the farthest corner of the room but couldn’t help seeing the scene beyond the glass.
Brutal, losing his grip with an animal smiling on his face under his bristly beard, had moved away from the woman who collapsed on the floor while he sniffed his fingers as he would inhale her smell up to his brain.
“What’s ya name”, the savage asked
“Glory...” she answered, in a toneless voice, as her mind was gone leaving there just her body. And Brutal, always grinning like a cat before a mouse, “take off ya jump, Glory!”
In my ears, her name on his lips sounded like something strange but my eyes were wide open when I saw her taking off her jersey from the head, seeing on her face the expression of someone who can do only what is being told.
Brutal came near her again and I saw his sex extremely exposed, off his trousers, flabby huge meat worm and I felt disgusted about him.
“Suck it... Glory!”
Before my astounded eyes, though insecure, she took it slowly with her fingers, as she was afraid of hurting it, and put her lips on it, licking and sucking it softly at first, visibly embarrassed to be unable to do it. I nearly felt sick for her.
Then Brutal, coarsely laughing, grabbed her hair from the top of her neck and started pushing it in her mouth, up to her throat thrusting it violently, as he would reach her stomach while his pubic hair filled Glory’s nose as she looked unable to breathe and close to throw up.
What stopped my reactions at some point was noticing Glory’s arms, abandoned on the floor at first, slowly coming up and softly holding Brutal’s legs. Slowly, as she didn’t mean to disturb him.
Brutal, with his other hand, was squeezing her breast, pulling her nipples visibly more excited to see tears on her face while she was trying her best to please him as he pushed his sex in her mouth as he wouldn’t have touched a woman in centuries but I understood it was just his way of doing it, savage, animal.
Glory’s throat gave a bubbling sound which had little anguish in it, you would have called it an excited moan.
“Ya like it, don’t ya? Ya like feelin' it down your throat”, Brutal grunted, smiling. I looked at Glory and suddenly started realizing... The room was empty, and the entry door was wide open, she could have tried escaping, but she hadn’t. She could react, biting that sex forced into her mouth, but she hadn’t.
Even now, I could undoubtedly see, it was not the man’s sex in her mouth to excite her but the fact of being dominated by him in such a beast way. Without any respect. Rather, it looked like the more Brutal used her to please himself the more excited she was.
As if Brutal had heard my thoughts with his animal way to perceive people, he put his hand between Glory’s thighs pulling it back with something dripping from his fingertips.
“Ya soakin' wet! Ya cumming like a slut and don’t ya even tell me?”
More excited from his discovery he started pumping in her mouth even harder than before so that I feared for her jaw, but I had no doubt she was enjoying as Glory’s hands were gripping Brutal’s legs to help him to push even harder through her throat.
With a dark rumble that seemed to come from his stomach, Brutal came out of Glory's mouth exploding with a savage scream all over her face, on her lips, spraying and dripping, thick and milky over her tongue and in her mouth, still wide open.
The curtain suddenly fell, covering the scene. For all the time I had been watching the scene, Daemon had been observing me. I could easily guess it from the expression on his face.
“Enough, for tonight”, smiled pleased.
“What did you mean to prove?”, I asked him, my mind still collecting images and thoughts I had never thought of before.
“You’ll see it in the next few days”, he said, while we went back to the main hall.
“What else”, I said, “Glory’s had her adventure and tomorrow she will return to her usual boring life until she will have the will to fuck again.
“Don’t always be that sure, my dear”, he said, unbearably self-confident, “this is just a new beginning for Glory”
“What do you mean?”, I asked again. But he answered no more.
One week later a huge smile enlightened his eyes when Glory came back to the “Black N’ Red” specifically asking to see Brutal.
I was speechless.
“You knew it would happen”, I said to him.
“I told you earlier, my dear. Her voyage has just begun”, he said, while biting the olive from his white dry Martini.
He was right. Her voyage had just begun. And mine as well. That night I left my old myself and my old name behind.
That night Panther was born.
