Danny Boyle and James McAvoy in “Trance” Japan interview photo
HOW IS HE SO PRETTY. HOW. I CAN’T TAKE THESE PICTURES. LOOK AT HIS FACE! COLLARBONE! ARMS! THE RIGHT HAND PICTURE ON THE SECOND TO LAST ROW WITH THE SPREAD ARMS AND LEGS IN THE COUCH! GOD.
"This one," Erik says, tapping the catalogue. "I want him."
"Of course, Mr. Lehnsherr, but— that’s Mr. Doyle’s apprentice, he’s not even licensed to do full-time domination yet. Really, this was just a spread showing Mr. Doyle’s abilities as a trainer…"
"No," Erik said sternly, "I want the apprentice, then. And if he can’t do full-time, then perhaps we can come to terms on part-time."
"Part-time?" Alex repeated. "You want a part-time dominant?"
Erik looked at Alex in such a way as to insinuate the rolling of eyes, but did not actually need to roll them. The look was plenty.
"I want this man,” Erik said. “What’s his name?”
"Give him my phone number and let him know I’m interested," Erik said. "Today."
AAAHHHHHHH does Mr. Doyle agree to let his apprentice do part-time work? Or does he refuse to make Lehnsherr’s poor assistant’s life easier?
The blond young man handed him a business card. “My employer instructed me to give you his number and let you know that he’s interested.”
"Interested in what, exactly?" Charles asked.
"Your services as a dominant."
"But I’m still in training. My license exam is six months off, yet."
"My employer seems to think you and he might be able to work something out. Maybe some kind of part-time arrangement that would let you continue your apprenticeship in the meantime."
"Mr. Doyle said that I might qualify for a practicum," Charles said, "but I don’t think simply lacing up my boots for your employer is quite what he had in mind. Did you approach him about this?"
"No, I came straight to you."
"Not exactly cricket."
"That’s not really my concern," said the young man. At Charles’s outraged glare, he slumped out of his perfect posture a little and leaned in, dropping his voice. "Look, I know dominants have a lot of picky training protocols and rules and traditions and, I don’t know, secret rites or whatever, but my side of this is really simple. My employer said he wants you, so I have to try to make that happen, asap. Sorry if that offends the ancient rituals of the brotherhood of please-sir-may-I-have-another, but Mr. Doyle’s a pretty busy guy and I don’t see much point in trying to wedge into his schedule somewhere in order to beg his permission to get to talk to you when you’re the one answering his door for him in the first place."
"I suppose you have a point." Charles tucked the card away. "Tell your employer I’ll consider it."
"See if this tips the scales a little," said the young man, opening his case and taking out a magazine, already folded open.
It was a copy of Scientific American, with an image of a ruggedly handsome visionary type looking toward the horizon. Charles verged on asking what some stock photo of an improbably hot model feigning a look of intense concentration had to do with the matter at hand, til he noticed the caption. You may not know his name, but if you live in North America, Erik Lehnsherr’s discoveries supply as much as 7% of your electricity… and rising.
Erik Lehnsherr, the name on the card. The man in the picture looked stern and assertive, but there was a promising trace of vulnerability, openness, in the slight cant of his straight eyebrows, the attitude of the pale eyes. And even allowing for flattering photography and Photoshop, it was a striking portrait.
"I’ll consider it," Charles repeated, but his tone had changed enough to make the blond young man smirk a little as he walked away.