The Analyst
Copyright© 2025 by R. E. Bounds
Chapter 23: Made for This
Although the day was still young, it had grown dark and colder. We planned to go straight home but decided to stop at a tiny hole-in-the-wall we liked, knowing it would be empty at this time. Conveniently, it was on the same side of town as Eleanor’s office, which made the decision easy.
Even though I knew Becca would be fine staying in handcuffs, I removed them before we went in. But, as we walked in, Becca casually placed them in her purse as if she were putting away her keys or lipstick. She didn’t seem to think twice about stowing handcuffs away in front of the host, who stared at us with a bewildered smile. The host walked us to a back table, eyeing Becca the entire time, and wished us a nice lunch before walking away.
Becca undid her coat, draping it over the chair beside her, and crossed her legs, deliberately positioning her heel right in front of me.
“Why do you do that?” I asked her.
“Because it drives you crazy,” she replied with a smile. “I realized it soon after we first met.”
I smiled and looked down at the table. “Anyway, it’s payback for the, well—you know,” she added.
I nodded, understanding that she was referring to the handcuffs, but I added, “You were fine with them, and I know Veronica was. How did Eleanor react?”
Becca smiled and then recounted everything that had happened. Veronica and Eleanor have known each other for years and have collaborated on various projects. Veronica, with her artistic flair, and Eleanor, leveraging her foundation to fund these creative endeavors, had a history of combining their talents. In their later years, both women were keen to work together on an exhibit that explored the complex themes of bondage, but not in the literal sense—instead, focused on how women’s voices are often quieted and hidden.
Becca described their vision for the exhibit, which aimed to highlight the dual nature of women’s experiences—both the struggle and the empowerment. The concept was to illustrate how women’s beauty, strength, and capability could be showcased alongside the ways in which they are repressed and constrained. It was about capturing the tension between the desire to be seen and the societal forces that attempt to silence or control them.
Becca shared her thoughts with Veronica and Eleanor about the women she encountered during her journey from New York to Philadelphia. These women had spoken about their need to be loved, desired, and valued, often leading them to adopt behaviors and dress that could be seen as forms of social restraint.
Becca proposed a gallery showcasing strong women—daughters, mothers, wives, career professionals, caregivers, and everything in between. The exhibit would portray their struggles, beauty, success, and worth, all while depicting them in some representation of bondage. This depiction would highlight not only their resilience and grace but also the ways in which societal constraints impact them.
Becca smiled as she recounted the conversation. “I explained to Eleanor and Veronica that my vision for the exhibition would highlight the dichotomy of empowerment and repression in women’s lives. The idea was to create a gallery experience that visually and emotionally represented how women are both confined and liberated by societal norms.”
She paused for a moment, looking at me for validation before continuing, “I told them I planned to use a combination of striking imagery and interactive elements. For instance, some pieces would feature powerful, elegant women in various forms of jewelry, symbolizing both the limits they face and the strength they find within them. Other sections would contrast these images with dynamic portrayals of women breaking free, highlighting their achievements and individuality.”
Becca’s eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she described it further. “I also proposed incorporating multimedia installations—such as video interviews with women sharing their personal stories of overcoming adversity and finding their voice. The goal was to create a dialogue between the artwork and visitors, making the experience immersive and thought-provoking.”
“And their reaction?” I prompted.
“Eleanor was impressed with how thoughtfully I addressed the theme. She loved the idea of using art to explore such a complex topic and appreciated the innovative approach. Veronica was equally enthusiastic and saw the potential for this to make a significant impact in the art world.”
Becca’s smile widened. “Eleanor offered me a job curating the exhibition. She was excited about my vision. Veronica’s extensive network would give us access to incredible resources and artists from around the globe. It’s a fantastic opportunity to bring this concept to life and make a meaningful statement through art.”
“So, what did you tell them?” I asked.
Becca looked at me with thoughtful and weary eyes. “I’d need to think about it and talk with you.”
“Why?” I asked, genuinely taken aback. “Veronica was right. This sounds like fate. Everything that’s happened—it’s like it’s all led up to this.”
Becca’s gaze fell on her wrists. Even though I had removed the handcuffs, she still carried the memory of them. “This isn’t the kind of exhibit—” She paused, “It’s a small community, and you don’t just go out and get a job at a museum afterward.”
I nodded, understanding. “You put on that Japanese rope exhibit—what was it called? ‘shibari.’ I remember how popular it was.”
Becca nodded. “Yeah, I remember that. And I also remember the backlash,” she said, starting to tear up.
“Becca,” I said gently, choosing my words carefully as I saw her tears. “I think trying to force yourself into a world controlled by ‘Margarets’ is the real bondage. This opportunity with Eleanor and Veronica—two women who have accepted you as you are—that’s freedom.”
“This exhibit. This opportunity. You were made for this,” I told her, struggling myself.
Becca laughed through her tears, that bittersweet sound that comes when she’s fighting back sobs. She then nodded and said softly, “I love you.”
“I know,” I replied, smiling, and trying to keep the conversation light, though my face revealed how deeply I felt. To steer the conversation, I added, “Veronica advised me that I need to keep you—but with a more traditional approach.”
Becca nodded. “Yeah, I heard her.”
I had hoped my comment would spark a discussion about marriage. Becca knew I was ready, but she had an unclouded vision of how she wanted things to unfold.
Over lunch, we whispered against the backdrop of the quiet restaurant. We discussed Becca’s ideas for the exhibition, our plans for a future home, and the life we envisioned together.
When we got home, Becca called Eleanor to confirm her decision to take on the curator role. She ended up on a three-way call with Veronica, and the women talked about the project in detail.
For the rest of the afternoon, Becca cozied up on the couch in pajamas and restraints, settling into her creative space. She was much more relaxed and began translating her vision onto paper. Her goal was to craft a detailed presentation that she would later share with Eleanor with Veronica’s help.
The rest of the week was a blur. I went to work each day, hoping for an update from Lisa about the company and what it meant for our future. Each evening, I came home to find Becca’s vision coming together increasingly. Her project, once a collection of scattered ideas, was becoming a cohesive and compelling whole.
As I was removing Becca’s restraints on Friday morning, she propped herself up the best she could.
“The appointment is at four,” she said, her voice clearly strained with unhappiness.
“I know,” I replied, “I heard the voicemail they left yesterday. I’ll be home around noon, and I’ll take you.”
Becca nodded, her response curt. “Okay.”
Recognizing this, I said, “We’ll see what happens with this session. We’re in this together.”
“I know,” she replied immediately, her tone softer but still carrying a hint of apprehension.
I reluctantly went to work, seriously considering taking the day off, but Lisa was expecting an update from me on a project. I walked past Lisa’s office at least a dozen times, hoping to catch her free. Her door remained closed, and she was seated every time I had walked by with her head propped up on her hands, clearly engaged in a one-sided discussion while on speaker phone.
During a few of my passes, Lisa caught sight of me, casting weary glances in my direction that spoke of her exhaustion.
I was finishing an email to her so I could get going when she walked into my tiny office, closed the door, and plopped down in one of the two chairs that sat against the wall. She was in a wool skirt suit and black tights matched with five-inch block-heel knee-length boots.
“You’ll have an email from me when you get back to your desk about that project,” I told her.
“That’s fine,” Lisa said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine—I don’t worry about your work. You’ve always performed. You’ve always made my life easy. I wish I had more of you.”
“Can you talk about it?” I asked, concerned.
“Yeah, as long as you don’t share it with anyone else,” she replied, indicating her desire for confidentiality.
“Like whom?” I said with a smile. “You’re the only person I talk to.”
Lisa paused and smiled back at me, realizing that I might indeed be one of the few people she confided in herself. “There’s going to be an All-Hands in the next week or so,” she revealed.
“About the company being acquired?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she replied.
“Do you know the details?” I asked, hoping she might have more information.
She nodded and explained that the company was being acquired by a more prominent, well-known firm that needed an analysis arm. Instead of building one, they decided it was easier to purchase one. Recognizing the name, I knew the acquiring company was based Upstate—at least, that’s where their headquarters are.
“What does that mean for us?” I asked, concerned.
“You’ll be fine. I will, too,” Lisa said, sensing my worry.
“And the rest of the company? What about everyone else?” I pressed.
“Like every other acquisition,” Lisa explained, her unhappiness evident, “they’ll keep the parts they want, and for the roles they already have, those individuals will be given an excellent severance package. That’s what I was fighting for on the phone when you walked by—all those times.”
“And why are you and I okay?” I asked, still not entirely understanding.
“They heard about the FBI incident and read your report. They liked what they saw, and it played a role in their decision to acquire us,” she explained. “They refer to you as ‘the—analyst.’”
“The analyst?” I echoed, puzzled.
“No,” she corrected with a small smile. “‘The—analyst.’”
“Uh, why?” I asked, still lost.
“They felt you were able to capture what other reports lacked,” she tried to explain. “Your work stood out. And because you report directly to me, well—I may have mentioned that I’m the only one who can handle you.”
I just stared at Lisa, unsure if I’d heard her correctly. “You’re my handler?!” I asked.
“Don’t judge me,” she said with a smile. “Anyway, I don’t exactly have a lot of people I confide in around here either. I’m not ready for our journey to end.”
I smiled and nodded. “Thanks,” I said.
“Details will follow at the meeting, and I’ll fill you in on what else I hear,” she said before standing up and shuffling out of my office. I hit send on the email, packed up, and headed home.
As anticipated, Becca’s anxiety was high. As I entered the bedroom, I saw that instead of donning one of her grandmother’s dresses, she had chosen the suit she received last Saturday. She stood in front of the mirror on her toes, her outfit paired with nude hosiery. “Too much?” she asked, holding her waist to emphasize the suit.
“No, the suit looks beautiful on you,” I said, smiling. “And the nude hosiery is a nice touch.”