Slate’s appearance was striking. I felt pleased by this response to seeing him at my door. It meant that my decision last night meant something to me, and would therefore mean something to them as well.
“Do you have my ring?” I asked. It was unfair. He knew nothing about my decision, or how I intended to act from this point forward, but the look of confusion on his normally confident countenance had a cute appeal.
“Ring?” he asked.
I held up my nude left hand. “I’m to be your bride or to act as such in order to make an informed decision, correct?” I asked, and wiggled my ringless finger.
“I… well, that is, yes…? But…” he tried, looking cuter by the second. Any moment he would reach puppy level.
“No, then? Well, come back when you have one,” I said, adding playful carelessness to my voice, and shut the door.
I thought I heard a curse from the other side. It could have been the wind.
I laughed. No it couldn’t.
Slate must have taken the request to heart. It was close to noon before he knocked on my door again. I was beginning to think I misread him. He changed clothes as well. Gone was the white suit and he now wore a beige, well-tailored, but casual cut outfit, made of light cotton canvas, and silk. No tie either, which was a first as well. He stood on the threshold, proffering the ring in an open box made of onyx on his open palm. The ring was brilliant gold with a stone that bent light to its will.
I purred a pleasing note in my throat, and took the ring, placing it on my finger, then stepped forward, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissed him deeply — which he was also unprepared for, but managed an agreeable recovery.
“Thank you lover,” I whispered in his ear. Then stepping back while taking his hand, I asked, “Would you like to come in? Or have I made us late for something? I see you’ve taken the time to change clothes.”
“We are due somewhere, but there is time to change if you wish to, though what you are wearing is more than acceptable,” he answered.
“Aren’t you the sweet talker,” I smiled. “Where are we expected?”
“The President’s home, or rather, the one he has in Mexico City.”
“Hmm,” I murmured, looking down at my outfit. “And who am I to be? Your assistant? Your girlfriend? Wife to be? Whore?”
“Assistant, personal assistant,” he said, without a hint of pause.
“Then I believe this will do, let me grab my laptop case, and we’ll be off.” I left the door open as I went to gather a few things like a passport and bank cards. Always good to have such things. Once ready, I returned and took his arm. “Let’s not keep El Presidente waiting.”
In the limo he handed my an ebook reader, a better one than I had left with Kane when I stormed out, and flew here with nothing but my passport, IDs and bank cards. On the screen was a book on Aztec mythology. I didn’t bother to ask, but dove into the book, speed reading through the volume, skipping superfluous passages, and committing several areas to memory. My reporter training and experience served me well at times like these. I finished the volume and was into the next, which was more of an anthropology thesis on Aztec society, before the limo slowed and pulled up to a large black iron gate. The wall here was red brick, and the guards openly armed, wearing military uniforms.
The gate opened and our driver pulled into a long driveway which hooked back around to another gate for exiting. The house was enormous. I’d never done the sightseeing thing here in Mexico City, so this was my first look at the President’s home.
The area of Los Pinos, in Mexico City, was the most affluent in the country, that I had seen anyway. People with less than twenty million a year income, didn’t live here. In US dollars that was a bit over one million. This home, I read, had a price of $86 million.
Current news for the country at this level, included some rough times with the US, a new project launched for a bullet train, and a large deal with China. The influx of business from China promised some real changes in Mexico. What shape those changes might take remained inside a cloud of obscurity. With the level of corruption in the government, and the influential power of the Drug Cartels, it took a lot of squinting to see anything clearly in the political arena. A strong relationship with China could push this country on its heels or turn it on its head — throwing everything up in the air. Times were changing, however and I was genuinely interested in seeing how Slate would handle things.
“What context should I put all of this in?” I asked Slate.
“Space program,” he said, as the driver opened his door, and he stepped out of the car with a grace rare to my eyes.
Space program? What the hell? I thought, and then remembered the word, dragons. OK, then, space program for the Aztecs it is, I corrected myself, then slid over and tried to be graceful too.
The President waited on the steps of the house, but stepped down to greet Slate, instead of waiting for Slate to step up to him. My borrowed knowledge from Kane told me this was done with purpose, to demonstrate equality between them. The only reason the President would make this gesture was if Slate was perceived as the greater between them. For the visiting president of Brazil or Germany or the US, he would have remained on the stairs. For someone obviously below him in power, he would have stood up on the porch or likely not outside to greet them at all, awaiting them in his office.
Looking at my new ring, I felt another intuition, stronger than Kane’s, agree with this assessment. Did I somehow take on the aspect of Slate’s bond mage as well?
How? A question I felt was important at this point, and needed an answer, soon; before I did something by accident, or with the wrong perspective in mind.
Slate turned, introducing me, and keeping el Presidente on the ground level to meet me as well. This was not expected, but the President didn’t miss a beat, and took my hand as a gentleman takes the offered hand of a woman. It was Mexico, and such slights were too common to comment on or take seriously. I bent my knee slightly, and then followed them inside. This was Slate’s show, and like the Cartel, I had a news story here, if I kept my ears open, and my feelings to myself.
It crossed my mind that Inanna would have no trouble with these perceived slights on her status as woman. She would see them as advantages, and weapons, just as she would see sex. She might even have insisted on them, pointing them out with disdain if they were not proffered or etiquette not followed. With that thought, I made the decision to follow in like mind.
From head to toe and front to back, I would insist on being treated as a woman, as well as the most important person in the room. With a grin I followed the men inside, picturing them in my head as leading the way for me, as servants should.
In his office, the President led Slate to a small grouping of short couches, around a coffee table and sat across from him. There was a stuffed chair between them at the head of the table, but this would have been for someone of lower rank. I chose instead to scan the titles on the bookshelf for the moment. Men had a habit of filling these shelve with titles, rather than books as a woman would. The titles were able to be read from a distance, and hence offering the personality the owner wished to portray.
The men didn’t wait for me to be seated, and that was hoped for, as I wished to listen without having to give comment, either through question or facial expression. I noted this advantage came only through my status as a woman, and felt interested in what other advantages I would find in this new persona I chose to wear.
As a professional woman, in the market I worked in, I had to be on guard at all times against slight, or insinuation. It felt like that, anyway. My equality only existed as long as I defended it against all challenges. Inanna would laugh at my efforts — at first at least.
Perhaps she would alter her stance if placed in my position, with my limitations. True or not, what I had was a rare opportunity to test assumptions I have made over the course of my professional life, and to experience the world from a different view. Make no mistake, I am a professional woman, and would never allow my equality or ability to be challenged based on my sex. However, this was a rare, and perhaps singular opportunity, which I chose to explore.
***
Slate Silver, held court in the President’s office. Clearly the one in charge, he sat relaxed in the short sofa, listening to the President’s idle chit chat for several minutes. Most of this consisted of the President’s view of the latest gossip and scandal reports. All of them he reported as false with only the most flattering reports being true, and written by enlightened citizens.
“And to my question?” Slate asked, when a moment opened in their conversation.
“What is Mexico going to begin, to bring us up on the world stage as a first world country?” El Presidente asked. “Of course, this admits that we are not already there.”
“Only to me,” Slate suggested. “We’re just playing with ideas here. I don’t mean it as an insult, only as the prevalent world view, and only in the context of changing the minds of those who hold it.”
“Yes, of course,” he responded. “As to that, I have attempted to come up with some ideas, but failed to achieve anything noteworthy.”
“Oh? Well, that makes this trip a bit short then. I guess we’ll touch base later,” Slate said, and stood up, “Ms. Stone? Seems I’ve brought you for nothing. Sorry to waste your time.”
“Quite alright,” I said, turning from the bookshelf, having found nothing of much interest. Just the usual ‘I’m a man, I’m powerful, I have a big dick,” assortment.
“You are leaving?” el Presidente asked.
“I’ve nothing to offer with no ideas to discuss. I don’t wish to waste your time,” Slate said. “Perhaps Ms. Stone will think of something for us later today. I’ll call, and let you know.”
Not happy at all, and a bit flustered, el Presidente escorted us out, apologizing without apologizing, and letting me know that he would welcome any input I might have. He also had time tomorrow if I did happen to come up with any ideas.
The play was so harsh I wondered at Slate’s use of his obvious influence, and the position he held with the President of Mexico. Had he disappointed Slate? Did he do something worth punishment? There was no audience to witness this power play, no public scandal apparent.
Back inside the limo, I waited until we were off the property and back on the streets to ask the question. “So, was that just how you roll or did he do something you are punishing him for?”
Slate smiled. “Too much?”
“Harsh, definitely harsh,” I told him.
“What did you discover at the bookshelf?”
“Typical macho stuff,” I allowed. “Nothing surprising. Nothing close to your show.”
“Yes, well, to answer your question – neither. I wanted him surprised, off balance and open to suggestion later this afternoon.”
“When you call him with my Space Program idea,” I offered.
“Exactly. Although, my call will not mention that, as much as invite him out for a field trip.”
“Where are we going?”
“Ever been to an Aztec temple?”
“Hmm,” I offered. “Bet my answer will be different tomorrow.”