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Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill Ch. 01

By: FrancisMacomber



Part 1 of 2

"Miss Ochs, I realize that there are extenuating circumstances about your situation. Nevertheless, I think you'll agree that your continued employment at Consolidated Oil and Gas would be awkward for you and for your co-workers. Given that, we feel that the best course of action for all concerned would be for you to resign for personal reasons. If you choose to do so, we will, of course, be glad to serve as a reference for you and give you a strong recommendation for your next employer."

As the Human Resources representative spoke to me, I stiffened involuntarily. "I just got fired," I realized, and even though I'd expected it, I felt my eyes begin to tear up. "Don't cry!" I told myself fiercely. "Whatever you do, don't cry!"

After I'd signed the paperwork they'd given me, I slowly made my way back to my cubicle. It took very little time to clean out the few personal items I'd tucked into the drawers and shelves; then I was carrying my pitiful little box down the hall.

I didn't know whether to be sad or relieved that none of my teammates were around to see me off. Truthfully, I was just as glad Jerry wasn't around, but I wish I could have seen Buffalo Bill at least one more time. But I knew where he was and besides, given what he probably thought of me now, maybe it was for the best.

Suddenly a horrible thought crossed my mind: what if I were to encounter Kurt Jorgenson? That terrifying idea caused the tears to begin to flow in earnest, so I bowed my head and hurried as quickly as I could out to my old Toyota to drive to my little apartment.

After I got there, I hurriedly began to pack my things. It didn't take very long; in the few months I'd been in the apartment, I bet I hadn't spent more than a few weeks actually living in the place. You don't accumulate a lot of stuff when you're a field auditor. I'll bet some truck drivers spend more time at home than I had.

Anyway, that was all behind me now.

There was one more task to be done, the one I'd been postponing. "Mom, it's Annie. Mom, is it all right if I come home?" And with that, to my utter embarrassment and dismay, I began to sob.

When I had pulled myself together, I dropped my keys and the current month's rent in the mail to the apartment manager and then set out for Tyler. It's only about 200 miles from Houston to Tyler, but they might as well be a continent apart. Heading north on I-45, I couldn't stop myself from thinking back on all that had happened.

I remembered sitting outside Kurt Jorgenson's office on the first day of my new job. I was simultaneously nervous and excited. Finally, I would get to meet my first boss in my first real job: not a summer job or internship but the real thing, and not with just any company, but with Consolidated Oil and Gas, one of the largest energy companies in the world!

Sure, I'd made top grades at the University of Texas at Tyler, and I'd done even better on the CPA exam. But I still had never thought that I could land a job with a major corporation. I'd been more or less resigned to doing the books for my parent's rose farming business in Tyler. Tyler is the rose capital of the world because of all the rose bushes it produces, and my folks had been rose farmers all their lives. 

Even though I was doubtful about my prospects, when I heard that Consolidated was going to be recruiting on campus, I jumped at the chance. Somehow they picked me to come to Houston for a second interview. When they actually offered me a position, I knew that if I didn't accept I'd regret it for the rest of my life. So there I was, ready to start my new job.

Actually, I'd officially already been at work for several days, but they were spent in an orientation program, benefits enrollment and other introductory activities. Now I was ready for my actual work assignment.

I'd assumed that I'd be working somewhere in Consolidated's vast accounting function, so I was a little disappointed to learn that I'd been assigned to the Field Audit team. Accounting is dry enough as it is, but auditing is even further removed from the actual business. Basically, it's just double-checking the work other accountants have already done. But I was in no position to argue, so I dutifully waited outside his office to meet Kurt Jorgenson, one of the directors of Field Auditing and my new boss.

When his secretary ushered me into his office, he arose from behind his desk and directed me to sit in one of the chairs facing him. He was a distinguished-looking man, taller than me, probably in his early forties, with dark hair combed back on his head. While many of the directors I'd seen in the company wore more casual attire, he was dressed in a suit, white shirt and tie. His dress and manner all gave an appearance of authority, even command.

"Miss Ochs," he began when I was seated, "the commodities that we extract, refine and distribute are vital to the economies of many nations around the globe. A shortage in oil or gas can cripple a national economy and topple heads of state. Our financial results are eagerly awaited on major stock exchanges not only for their direct impact but also because they are seen as harbingers of the economic future. As a result, our corporation is closely scrutinized and regulated, and our financial results are carefully reviewed.

"For these reasons, it is essential that every transaction of the company be accurately recorded and consistently reported. Moreover, all transactions must strictly adhere to generally accepted accounting principles and standards of Consolidated Oil and Gas. It is the mission of the Corporate Auditing function to ensure that those standards and procedures are applied consistently and uniformly throughout the corporation. 

"You are now part of the team charged with this critical mission. Are you ready to take on this responsibility?"

I gulped. "Oh, yes sir," I told him, "very ready."

"Very good," he said. "I will expect nothing less than excellence from you."

With that, he summoned his secretary and asked her to take me to meet the rest of his audit team. As I followed her, I tried to gather my thoughts. "What an impressive man," I mused. "He made our job sound like the most important role in the company!"

I was still trying to assimilate my interview with Mr. Jorgenson when the secretary led me into a moderate-sized room divided into three cubicles, with a conference table and chairs in the center. She led me over to one of them and introduced me to Jerry Higgins. "Jerry is our accounting systems specialist," she told me.

Jerry looked very familiar to me, not because I'd met him before but because he resembled so many of the mathematics and accounting students I'd met at UT Tyler. He was of average height, but the buttons on his shirt had to strained to hold in his belly. He needed a haircut. "Another math nerd," I thought to myself. Then I smiled inwardly, "Just like me."

I introduced myself to him and asked him about his role on the team. Those were the last words I spoke for the next half hour as Jerry launched into a long, technical description of Consolidated's corporate accounting software. As he droned on, I couldn't help remembering the students like him I'd met back in college, especially Tom. I'd dated Tom for half a semester in my junior year, and had actually given him my virginity because I didn't want to be the only virgin in college. It had been a pretty messy and uncomfortable business, and I was really disappointed to learn that sex wasn't the great thing everybody said it was. After Tom, I didn't really date much.

"So what do you think -- pretty amazing, huh?" Jerry asked. I snapped back to the present and tried to look enthusiastic as I nodded. I had no idea what he'd been talking about.

"Well, I guess I ought to introduce you to Buffalo Bill," Jerry continued. 

"Buffalo Bill?" I asked. "Who's that?"

"Oh, that's Bill Hitchcock, the other member of our team. Everybody calls him 'Buffalo Bill,'" he explained.

"Oh, brother," I thought to myself. "What have I gotten myself into?"

When we walked over to the other cubicle, Bill must have heard us coming because he stood up and immediately extended his hand. "Hi, I'm Bill Hitchcock, but everybody calls me Buffalo Bill. What's your name?"

"Hi, I'm Ann Ochs," I told him.

"Where are you from, Ann?" he asked, and when I told him Tyler, Texas, he got a grin on his face. "Hmm," he said, 'Ann Ochs from Texas won't do at all. I'm going to call you 'Annie Oakley.'"

I peered at him carefully to see if he was making fun of me, but his smile was so open and his laughter so infectious that I couldn't help smiling back. The truth was I was secretly pleased. Growing up, the other kids had always called me Orphan Annie, so the new nickname Bill proposed was fine with me.

"Okay, I'll be Annie Oakley if you'll tell me why you're called 'Buffalo Bill,'" I replied with a smile.

"Sure as shootin'," he replied, and I was to learn that was his normal way of agreeing with people.

"Actually," Bill said, "there's not that much of a story behind my name. I went to the University of Colorado, and I got enlisted as one of the handlers for the school mascot, Ralphie the Buffalo. We used to lead him around the stadium for all the football games. Well, one day Ralphie got excited and took off. All the other handlers fell down and lost their grip on their lassos. I was the only one who managed to stay with him, and I've been called Buffalo Bill ever since."

I couldn't help but grin at the image of Bill being dragged around the football field by a real buffalo. But I was feeling anxious about my new job, so I asked him to tell me about his work as an auditor at Consolidated.

As Bill began to talk, I listened carefully, but I also tried to figure him out. If Jerry was the prototypical nerd, my guess was that Bill must have been his college's class president. He was tall – even taller than me -- and good-looking, with a shock of blonde hair and blue eyes. "I'll bet he's broken a lot of hearts," I thought snidely. But I couldn't help feeling a twinge of disappointment when I glanced down and noted the wedding band on his left hand. "Stop that," I told myself sternly, "he wouldn't have been interested in you anyway."

When he finished describing his responsibilities, Bill asked me about myself. "There's really not that much to tell," I answered. "I was born in Tyler, lost my parents and lived in an orphanage for a while. My foster parents took me in when I was thirteen and raised me. They wanted me to stay close when I went to college, so I went to UT Tyler. I started out as a math major, but my Dad convinced me that there weren't many job opportunities, so I switched to accounting. After four years I had my degree and my CPA, and I wound up here."

"You got your degree and passed the CPA exam in four years?" Bill asked. "You must be pretty smart; it usually takes at least four and a half years to do that."

"Well, since I was living at home, it was easy for me to take summer sessions and finish up early," I explained.

"Well, It's lucky for us you did," Bill said. "The Audit Department usually recruits a whole new team at the same time. There was another woman named Betty Murphy who was part of our original team six months ago, but she quit after only a few months. So we've been short-handed until you showed up."

"Why did she leave?" I asked curiously.

"I don't really know," Bill said. "One day she was here and the next day she was gone. I guess she just wasn't happy here."

"Hmmm. So what's it like working at Consolidated?" I asked him.

His eyes twinkled. "Well, the first thing you need to learn is that only the execs call it 'Consolidated.' Everyone else just calls it COG. I guess that makes us just another little cog in the big COG," he said, grinning lopsidedly at his own joke.

I rolled my eyes.

"OK, well what's Mr. Jorgenson like?"

"He's very demanding, something of a perfectionist, really," Bill replied. "But as long as your work is done right and submitted on time, you won't have any problems with him."

"Sort of like my Dad," I thought to myself, "or Professor Hunter back at UT Tyler." The latter thought made me blush a little -- I'd had a crush on Professor Hunter. Nothing had ever happened, but I guess I was attracted to strong, forceful men.

"So what do you think of Houston?" Bill asked, snapping me out of my reverie.

"It's so big," I answered. "It's kind of overwhelming."

Bill looked at me quizzically. "Is this your first time here?"

Now I really did blush. "Yeah, I've really never been much of anywhere besides Tyler. My folks always wanted me to stay close to home."

Bill's face momentarlly reflected his surprise, but he quickly covered it with his infectious smile. "Once you get used to it, I think you'll really like it. It took Denise a little while, but she's coming around now."

"Denise?" I asked.

"Denise is my wife," Bill told me. He swiveled around in his chair and grabbed a picture from his desk. The photo he handed to me showed a lovely young woman at a party. "I bet she was the head cheerleader," I thought to myself. To Bill I said, "She's lovely."

"Thanks," he said. "I sure think so."

"So let me show you your cubicle," Bill went on. "Hey, Jerry, how about helping Annie Oakley get set up on the company intranet?"

And that was my introduction to the audit team. For the first few days I was a little guarded in my conversation with Buffalo Bill because I'd never been very comfortable around the popular kids. But he seemed really open and genuine, and he had a great sense of humor. Jerry was still a nerd, but he seemed to be a pretty nice guy once you got to know him. Only Mr. Jorgenson remained remote and unapproachable.

In addition to working in close quarters, Buffalo Bill, Jerry and I regularly ate lunch together. We were one of a dozen field audit teams, and the company encouraged each team to spend as much work time together as possible to promote a close working relationship. At the same time, we were discouraged from becoming too close to others in the company outside Field Auditing since we would likely have to audit their work sooner or later.

Bill was out running an errand over lunch a few days later, so Jerry and I were eating together at the conference table when he asked me, "So, do you have a date to the company picnic?"

"What company picnic?" I asked in surprise. "I don't know anything about it."

"Well, it's coming up next weekend," Jerry told me. "It's a big deal: the company bigwigs will be there, and we're all expected to go. The company rents a big theme park for the day – it's a lot of fun."

He looked at me slyly. "So, are you coming with your boyfriend?"

I blushed. "I don't have a boyfriend," I told him. 

"Good," he said triumphantly. "Why don't you come with me then?"

Alarm bells started going off in my head. I'd sure walked straight into that one.

"Um, Jerry, I don't think that would be a good idea."

Jerry's face darkened. "Sure, I get it," he said nastily, "I'm not good enough for the hot girl."

"Not good enough? Hot girl? What's he talking about?" I asked myself in confusion. But I had to say something, so I babbled, "No, no, that's not it at all. I'm just not dating right now, and besides, it might interfere with our work relationship."

Luckily, at that moment Buffalo Bill came back and sat down with us. Even though Jerry was clearly still unhappy, to my relief there was no further conversation about the picnic or a date.

After lunch, I went back to my desk, but I kept thinking about the awkward situation with Jerry. The truth is that I hadn't had much practice at dealing with advances from guys, and I really didn't know how to handle them. I'd sure made a mess of that!

For that matter, why would he even ask me in the first place? If there was one thing I wasn't, it was a "hot girl." Finally, I decided that Jerry probably didn't date much either, so any female probably looked good to him, even me.

I glanced over at Buffalo Bill's cubicle and saw the picture of his wife. Now there was a hot girl!

When the weekend of the company picnic came, I seriously debated whether or not to go. I wasn't that good in social situations and I wouldn't know anyone except my team mates so I wouldn't have any people with whom to talk. Still, I didn't want to get off on the wrong foot by not showing up for a major company event, so I reluctantly decided to attend.

I'd double-checked with Mr. Jorgenson's secretary, and she assured me that dress for the occasion was very casual. Accordingly, I put on a pair of my old jeans that hid my gawky legs well and my big white Houston Astros jersey. I hoped I'd fit in.

When I drove up to the theme park in my old Toyota, the picnic had already started. The invitation had touted free passes for all the rides, plus plenty of beer and barbecue, and there was already a large crowd on hand. My guess was that on such a hot day the beer would be the primary attraction.

After I showed my company ID badge, the girl at the gate had me fill out a name tag. "Hi, my name is: Ann Ochs" it read, and I dutifully pressed it onto my shirt. 

No sooner had I entered the gates than I was accosted by one of the HR executives who'd recruited me to come to COG. It was a good thing he was wearing a name tag because otherwise I wouldn't have remembered his name. Apparently, he couldn't remember my name either, because he kept staring at my name tag.

"Hello, Ms. Ox," he said, mispronouncing my name. A lot of people do that.

"Hello, sir," I responded, "and it's pronounced 'Oaks,' like the trees."

"Right," he said. "So how are you enjoying working for Consolidated, Miss Ox?"

I decided just to ignore the mispronunciation, and he proceeded to engage me in chit-chat about the company. In addition to his questions, which seemed pretty meaningless to me, I also found the conversation awkward because I was several inches taller than him, so he had to keep looking up at me.

That really wasn't all that unusual for me. I got my growth spurt early, and by the time I was a sophomore in high school I was just a few inches short of six feet tall. That made me not only the tallest girl in my class but also taller than most of the boys as well. It's no surprise that I didn't have much of a social life; what boy wants to date a girl who towers over him?

So I got used to having guys look up when they talked to me. Only this guy wasn't looking up – he kept staring at my name tag. At least I think he must have been staring at my name tag; he couldn't have been staring at my boobs, since I hardly have any.

Well, that's not quite true -- they have filled out some since I quit running cross country. I was on the track team in high school and my first two years of college. Between my rapid growth and all that cross-country practice, my chest was hardly distinguishable from those of the boys on the team. Of course, after I sprained my knee and had to drop out of track in my sophomore year at UT Tyler, my chest did begin to fill out a little. But no one is ever going to mistake me for Kim Kardashian, so I could only assume Mr. HR was still trying to figure out how to pronounce my name.

Fortunately, I spotted Mr. Jorgenson walking nearby and used him as an excuse to break off my conversation. "Oh, there's my boss," I said and began to wave. "Mr. Jorgenson," I shouted, "Hi, it's Ann Ochs."

As I neared him, I realized that he was accompanied by a rather formally dressed woman who appeared to be several years older than Mr. Jorgenson. When I came up to him, he said, "Hello, Miss Ochs, I'm glad you were able to come today. I'd like you to meet my wife, Edith."

Turning to the woman, he said, "Edith, I'd like you to meet Ann Ochs, the newest member of my audit team."


Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill Ch. 01



Mrs. Jorgenson stood there a moment slowly looking me up and down. I felt almost like a specimen under a magnifying glass. "It must be my height," I thought. Then I heard her mutter, "About what I would have expected."

After a moment, she raised her eyes to mine and asked, "Where are you from, Miss Ochs?"

"Um, I'm from Tyler, Texas, Ma'am."

"Tyler? Well," she said, "no doubt you're glad to get out of that dusty little town."

Before I could think of anything to say, she turned to her husband. "Come, Kurt, I want to be sure to speak with your vice-president before he opens too many cans of Lone Star. Good day, Miss Ochs."

As she began to walk away, Mr. Jorgenson gave me a little smile and said, "Have a good time." Then he turned and followed Mrs. Jorgenson down the paved path.

As I walked stood there, I asked myself, "What was all that about?" To belittle someone's home town seemed rude to me, but perhaps people had a different way of expressing themselves in Houston. "And what did her mean that I was about what she would have expected? Did I do something to offend her?"

As I was pondering what had just happened, I was almost knocked over by the onrushing figure of Jerry Higgins. As I stumbled, he grabbed me and jerked me upright. I could smell the beer on his breath.

"Hey, Annie," he said too loudly, "I was hoping to find you. Listen, let me show you around this place. It's got lots of great rides, and wait'll you see the game arcade! Oh, yeah, and we've got to get you a beer, too."

Before I could catch my breath and begin to protest, he was dragging me along the walkway in the direction of the beer tent. Fortunately, when I looked in that direction, I saw Bill Hitchcock walking in our direction with two cans of beer in his hands.

"Buffalo Bill," I yelled almost desperately, "over here."

"Jerry, Annie Oakley!" he called back. "Hey, I was hoping to see you guys."

As he came up to us, Jerry sullenly let go of my arm. "Listen, you two go on. I'm going to get another beer." With that, he left, glaring at me over his shoulder.

"What was all that about," Bill asked me. Then, seeing the expression on my face, he asked concernedly, "Are you OK?"

"I think I am now," I replied, "but it was a little out of control for a moment there." 

At Bill's prodding, I wound up telling him all about my conversation with Jerry over lunch in addition to my encounter today. "I don't want to offend Jerry, but I don't really know how to handle him," I admitted.

Bill looked at me with that little grin of his. "I wouldn't be too concerned if I were you, Annie Oakley. Jerry is a good guy, but he doesn't know how to approach the opposite sex. Add in a little too much beer and his lack of social graces really reveals itself. But don't worry: come Monday he'll show up with a hangover and a sheepish apology, you wait and see."

I was dubious, but Bill took my arm and began leading me in another direction. "Come on," he said, "I want you to meet Denise."

As we walked down the path, I guess he could see that I was still bothered by my run-in with Jerry. "Come on," he said, "don't worry about it. Besides, I'll bet you have guys hitting on you all the time."

"What? No!" I said in surprise. "Why would guys want to hit on me?"

He looked at me with an odd expression, but before he could say anything, he spotted his wife. "There she is," he said.

I looked where he was pointing and saw a woman who resembled the photo on Buffalo Bill's desk. She was wearing designer blue jeans that hugged her legs like a second skin and a white sleeveless blouse that she filled out nicely. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail which she wore through the opening of a baseball cap. To complete her look she was wearing big aviator sunglasses. Her outfit reminded me of a movie star trying to remain incognito. I could never pull off a look like that; I'm all elbows and knees.

As we got nearer, I saw that she was deep in conversation with a familiar figure. "Isn't that Mr. Jorgenson?" I asked.

Bill shook his head with a wry expression. "That's Denise, alright, always trying to help me move up the ladder. She's very ambitious." 

As we drew nearer, Mr. Jorgenson must have seen us, because he stepped away from Denise and turned to leave. "Sorry," he said, "but I've got to catch up with Edith." With that he strode off.

"What was all that about?" Bill asked Denise.

"It never hurts to get in a good word with the boss," she said blandly. Then, before Bill could reply, she turned to me and looked me up and down the same way Edith Jorgenson had. "So, who's your friend?" she asked.

"This is Ann Ochs," Bill said. "She's the new member of our team I was telling you about."

"Oh, yes," Denise said, "now I remember." She removed her sunglasses and looked at me again. "Your jersey would look much better on you if it didn't have barbecue sauce all over it."

I looked down and gasped in horror. There on my shirt were several large red blotches where Jerry's hands had grabbed me. As I ineffectually swiped at the stains with a tissue, Denise turned to leave. "I need to see a friend, Bill. I'll catch up with you at the beer tent." Then she looked back to me and said perfunctorily, "Nice to meet you, Miss Ochs," and then walked away.

Bill was chagrinned. "I'm sorry," he said, "I don't know what's got into Denise. She's usually not that way." Then he looked at my face and saw the tears trickling down my cheeks. "Don't cry," he said uncomfortably. "Let me help you with your blouse." 

He grabbed the napkin he was holding and started to dab at my shirt, but then thought better of it and handed the napkin to me. I wiped at my blouse ineffectually, then gave up. Instead, I turned and headed back toward the exit. "Don't go, Annie," Bill said helplessly.

"It's okay," I said with a sniffle, "I need to get home and get this in the laundry before it stains permanently. Anyway, I think I've had enough fun at the picnic for one day." With that I shambled off toward the entrance, my shoulders stooped over to try to hide the stains on my jersey, not to mention the tears in my eyes.

"What a terrible day!" I thought miserably as I started up my car. "My Astros jersey is probably ruined, everybody I met was rude or weird or unpleasant, and I don't know what I did wrong." Not for the first time I wondered if I'd made a mistake taking this job.

The Monday after the picnic, Buffalo Bill made a point of asking me to go out to lunch with him. After we'd placed our orders, it became clear why: he wanted to apologize again for what had happened at the picnic. I told him that I'd forgotten about it, but it soon became clear to me that he wanted to talk about his marriage.

"I think Denise may have been rude because she's having a hard time. First, she didn't want to leave Dallas, and now it's hard for her to deal with my traveling so often for work. We talked about it before I took the job, and I warned her that I'd have to be gone a lot in this job," he explained. "But at the time she was excited about my working for a big corporation and earning a bigger salary than what I could have found somewhere else. I guess she didn't think about the trade-offs back then."

He paused to take a big bite of his sandwich.

"But now she's lonely and unhappy about me being gone so often. It's been a little tense at times, and I think that must be why she was so rude to you at the picnic," he said.

"I'm sorry, Bill," I commiserated. "I can see how that would be difficult for both of you."

"If we can just make it through the next couple of years," he said, "I'll be able to save up enough to do what I really want: start up my own accounting firm back in Boulder."

"I've never been to Colorado," I told him, "but then I've never been anywhere outside Texas. What's it like?"

Bill got a faraway look in his eyes. "It's beautiful," he said in an almost reverent tone. "It's right at the foothills of the Rockies where the mountains meet the prairie. There are all sorts of outdoor activities, and even though the city is not that large, the university brings in a lot of special attractions. I'd love to move back there some day."

"It sounds wonderful," I told him sincerely. "How does Denise feel about it?"

His face lost a little of its enthusiasm. "She's more of a big city girl," he conceded. "But if I could get her to give it a try, I think she'd fall in love with it too."

Then he seemed to snap out of his reverie, and he looked at me again. "I didn't mean to get off track like that, but I did want to apologize for her and to let you know she's usually not like that."

I brushed it off, but having Buffalo Bill open up that way did make me feel a little better about my terrible weekend. I felt like he was becoming a friend, and I really needed one.

What they don't tell you about auditing in school is how lonely the job can be, at least for a field auditor. Over the next two months I probably spent at least four days out of every week away from home. That made it really hard to make friends or put down roots. If we were on the road the whole week, we were allowed to go home on weekends, but that really only gave us time to catch up on mail, pay bills and do the laundry. I probably had to throw out half a refrigerator's worth of food before I realized that it was better to buy very little and eat most meals out when I was home.

Then there's the business of not socializing with the people on site because you're supposed to be auditing their work. We usually got allotted a room off to ourselves to do our work, and only met with the locals in formal sessions. As a result, they generally regarded us with suspicion and even animosity.

All in all, it was a pretty lonely existence and it wasn't surprising to me that the turnover rate was so high, even though they paid us well. 

The only saving grace was my fellow teammates. Buffalo Bill turned out to be a real pleasure to be around, and he and I became pals. He'd always crack me up with a joke or a funny expression when the work began to get too heavy, but I also found I could open up to him about my life and my feelings and he'd listen patiently and offer encouragement. I'd probably have run home to Tyler if it hadn't been for him.

Even Jerry turned out to be okay. The Monday after the picnic he'd been very apologetic for his behavior, even though I told him I'd already forgotten it ever happened. I think he was still interested in me because every now and then I'd catch him staring. But I just ignored it and nothing further happened.

Besides, he turned out to be very good with COG's automated accounting system. When a problem with the system arose, he seemed to know almost instinctively where to look. It only took a few situations like that to make Bill and me extremely glad Jerry was part of the team.

That left only Mr. Jorgenson; he continued to be an enigma to us. As the Senior Director it was his job to interface with local management. He'd meet with them to discuss the scope of our work, interact with them any time an issue or question arose, and convey the final results once the audit was complete. 

His management style seemed strange and distant to me. After the initial meeting with local management, he'd gather us together and give us our assignments along with any special concerns or considerations. After that, we'd almost never see him during the day. But several times during each audit assignment, he'd summon one of us to his room in the evening to review our work. Sometimes he'd use those sessions to educate us on special situations we might encounter with the division we were auditing. Other times he'd review our work, pointing out any deficiencies. It felt as though we were taking a college course being taught by a particularly demanding professor. 

Buffalo Bill, Jerry and I often talked about him, trying to figure him out. Although we saw him so rarely, he always seemed to know what we were doing. He never praised us for good work; he simply expected that we would meet his high standards. The truth is he that although he rarely ever raised his voice, he intimidated us. We respected him, but we also feared him.

The first time he called me to his room for one of his after-dinner reviews I was terrified. When I knocked on the door at the appointed time, he bade me enter. I walked over to the sofa where he was seated and stood before him, waiting while he reviewed whatever was on the laptop open on the coffee table. After several long minutes while I stood there trying not to quake in my shoes, he looked up at me without expression. "The quality of your work is acceptable, Miss Ochs. Your work rate is a bit low, but I attribute that to your newness on the job. However, I will expect improvement over time. Your interactions with the local accounting team have been positive, and you make a nice appearance."

"That's all for tonight, Miss Ochs. I'll contact you for our next review session in a few days."

With that, he went back to his laptop and I realized that I had been dismissed.

As I walked down the hall, I felt elated. I'd been expecting a dressing down; instead my work had actually pleased him. Then another thought struck me: "He even paid me a compliment on my appearance!" As I passed a mirror in the hall, I noticed that my face was beaming.

Of course, that didn't stop him the next time from reprimanding me for not strictly adhering to the COG graphic standards for my last presentation. After that session I returned to my room, smarting from his criticism yet determined to win his approval. I desperately wanted to prove that I could live up to his standards.

It was interesting to me to see how the other two reacted to Mr. Jorgenson. Jerry hated him because he was openly afraid of our boss. Jerry might be smart as a whip about our systems, but time and again Mr. Jorgenson would catch him in an error because the system wasn't able to accommodate the exceptions we invariably encountered. When that would happen, Mr. Jorgenson would take Jerry to task for the system's shortcomings, and Jerry bitterly resented that. He felt it wasn't his fault and he lived in dread of the next time it would happen.

Buffalo Bill treated the whole thing like some game. He kept score for each of us and awarded mock prizes for the fewest number of "gotchas" during an audit assignment. I think Mr. Jorgenson must have been aware of Bill's attitude, but Bill was never insolent and, quite frankly, made very few mistakes, so there was little that Mr. Jorgenson could do. I also think Bill's sense of humor and refusal to get caught up in Mr. Jorgenson's routine helped keep us all grounded. Even Jerry couldn't stay angry when Buffalo Bill would begin his imitation of Mr. Jorgenson, complete with Hitler salute and goose step.

But everything changed on our trip to West Virginia. Charleston was the headquarters for COG's shale oil operations, and even though the office wasn't that large, shale oil production was growing dramatically. Consequently, headquarters wanted to keep close tabs on the operation.

I'd never been to West Virginia before, but of course I'd never been anywhere outside Texas. Because West Virginia is so mountainous, I'd assumed that it would be cool, but Buffalo Bill warned me that summers there could be hot and humid. As a result, I checked the weather forecast and then left my normal pants suits at home and packed some summer dresses to wear. They were light-weight but still long enough to hide my legs. I really appreciated Bill's warning because the day we flew in to Yeager Airport, the temperature was ninety-three degrees.

Mr. Jorgenson had arrived the day before, and when we got to the COG office he called us together to give us our assignments. Up to then I'd been working exclusively with payables and receivables, so I was shocked when he assigned me to work on asset valuations. He must have noted the hesitation on my face because he singled me out. 

"Miss Ochs, it's time to move you out of your comfort zone. You can't expect to focus solely on accounts payable and receivable all the time. You should be prepared. Didn't you review asset evaluation standards during your orientation? Is this going to be a problem?"

"Yes, sir – I mean, no sir," I stuttered. "I mean, yes sir, I did review asset evaluations, and no sir, it won't be a problem."

"Very well," he said brusquely. "Plan to bring your results to me tomorrow evening for review."

With that, he went on to cover the assignments for Jerry and Buffalo Bill. Then he dismissed us.

As we were riding back to the hotel, Buffalo Bill turned to me. "I don't know why Jorgenson is picking on you," he said, "I don't recall him changing up assignments like that before."

"Maybe he wasn't pleased with the way I handled my last assignment," I said pessimistically. 

"Nah, that can't be it," Bill said. "I checked your work and it was perfect."

"You've been checking on my work?" I asked in surprise.

"Sure as shootin', Annie Oakley. I was just looking out for you," he said with a wink. Then his voice took on a more serious tone. "Just follow procedures carefully and double-check your work. You'll be fine."

I nodded. I was determined to win Mr. Jorgenson's respect, regardless of what he threw at me. As for Buffalo Bill's reviewing my work, I couldn't decide whether to be angry at his snooping or appreciative of his concern.

By the end of the next day I'd decided that my apprehension had been unwarranted. Everything seemed to be in order, and I'd had no trouble remembering the leasehold valuation procedure from our orientation. So I felt pretty confident when I knocked on Mr. Jorgenson's door that evening after dinner.

He said nothing when I entered; instead he continued to review whatever was on the screen of his laptop. Finally, he raised his eyes and stared at me as if I was a bug under a microscope. "Miss Ochs, are you completely incompetent?"

I staggered back as though he'd slapped me in the face.

He didn't pause. "Your work on the valuation of shale oil leases was completely wrong. You failed to follow our corporate accounting standard and your work output for the day has been a complete waste of my time. What do you have to say for yourself?"

I found it difficult to breathe. "This can't be happening," I thought. 

"Sir, there must be some mistake -- I'm sure I did the calculations properly," I gasped, grasping at straws.

"Oh, really?" he said sarcastically. "Well, see for yourself."

With that he handed his laptop to me, and I saw that it was open to the online accounting standards for COG. There as clear as day were the procedures for handling oil and gas lease valuations, and they were significantly different from the way I had done them.

At that moment, all the old fears and insecurities I'd fought so hard to repress over the years came rushing back. "How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let Mr. Jorgenson down?"

I felt my throat constrict and tears trickled down my cheeks. I could do nothing but stare at the floor dumbfounded, unable to comprehend what had happened.

"You realize that I am obligated to report your shortcomings in your evaluation," he said coldly. "This will certainly affect your rating and your future with the company."

"Oh, no," I thought, "I'm going to be fired! How will I ever explain to my parents that I wasn't good enough, that I failed?"

"Isn't there anything I can do, Mr. Jorgenson?" I begged. "I can recalculate the values. I'll have it right by morning."

"That would hardly be sufficient," he said coldly. "Even if you correct your errors, I would need some reason to be confident you would not be so careless in the future. You would have to accept some punishment to show your commitment."




Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill Ch. 01



"I'll do anything, Mr. Jorgenson," I sniffled. "Please give me another chance. I'll show you I'm worth it."

He looked me up and down, and his breath seemed to come a little quicker. He set the laptop to one side and motioned to me. "Very well, Miss Ochs, if you're willing to accept your punishment, perhaps I can overlook your transgression." He beckoned me toward him.

"What is he saying?" I asked myself. "What does he mean?" 

But I found myself shuffling hesitantly toward him until finally I was standing directly in front of him. I looked at him fearfully.

"Kneel down," he said. I must have hesitated because he roared "Kneel down" in a commanding voice that brooked no delay.

I sank to my knees before him, terrified at what might come next.

"Girls who won't follow instructions must be punished for their transgressions, punished so that they won't forget the next time. Now, bend over my lap."

My mind darted about wildly like a fly caught in a jar. I felt outraged and helpless, intimidated and humiliated. "This can't be real," I cried inwardly, "it must be a nightmare!" But I found myself complying with his order, even as another part of me screamed out to run.

Then my humiliation jumped to a new level as I felt him raise the hem of my skirt and drape it over my back, exposing my panties. Long suppressed memories of punishments when I was a young girl flashed through my mind. Then all rational thought disintegrated in pain as his hand slapped me hard on my right buttock. I tried to rise, to use my hands to protect myself, but his left arm pressed down on my back and held me in place.

When the next blow fell, I whimpered, and hot tears were forced out of my eyes. Two more slaps followed in quick succession, and my bottom began to burn. Then my pain and humiliation transformed into fear as I felt my panties being yanked down, baring my bottom to his eyes and removing the last scant layer of protection to my buttocks and my modesty.

Three more blows fell, hitting both cheeks simultaneously. Then his hand stopped and caressed my bottom, and I thought he had finished. But he was only toying with me: two more blows quickly rained down, this time catching the exposed lips of my vagina, bringing a gasp and a squeal from me. 

Then he was caressing me again, the palm of his hand soothing the pain. His fingers ran over my vagina, which made me quiver. He laughed. "You're getting wet," he said with delight.

"No!" I thought, "That can't be." But when he slapped me twice more, I felt my whole body jerk as though an electric current had passed through me. When he paused to continue his caresses, I realized just how aroused I was. 

Now he began to alternate his blows with strokes and caresses, probing inside me, then pulling his fingers out to rub my clitoris. I began to pant.

His next blow was not as hard, but it fell directly on my vagina, and this time the pain mingled with a sensation of surrender and desire.

Now his hand was roaming all over me in the most intimate of caresses, and I could do nothing but lay there helplessly on his lap. Suddenly he slipped his strong hands under my armpits and shifted me until I was bent over the sofa. I sensed rather than saw that he had moved and was kneeling between my legs. His motions seemed urgent, and then I felt his penis probing my backside and finding my vagina. I was so lubricated that he slid into me in a single thrust.

As he began to pump into me, I lay there with my eyes closed, holding on to the cushion of the sofa as though it were a life preserver. I remembered the fumbling efforts of my college boyfriend, but this felt nothing like that. I was helpless before his desire, and somehow it had become my desire as well. The burning of my bottom and his forceful thrusts combined to push me higher and higher up a mountain of sensation I had never before climbed. In amazement I heard myself moaning, and I wondered what was happening to me. Suddenly he slapped me once, twice on my bottom and the pain lifted me to the edge of the precipice and pushed me over. If I hadn't been draped over the sofa, I would have collapsed on the floor.

Mr. Jorgenson continued to thrust into me a few more times before giving a loud grunt followed by a few more thrusts. Then he collapsed on my back, pinning me to the sofa.

After a few long minutes, he pulled out and lifted himself off of me. I felt him pull my panties up from where they had fallen at my knees, and then he pulled my skirt down, covering my inflamed buttocks. He stood and, taking my arm, pulled me to my feet.

I stood there with my chin on my chest. I couldn't bear to look at him. 

"Very well, Miss Ochs, you may go now. I'll expect the corrected asset valuations first thing in the morning."

Somehow I managed to stumble my way back to my room. As soon as I got the door closed and locked, I shed my clothes as quickly as I could and climbed into the shower, desperate to try to scrub away any trace of what had just happened.

As the water poured over me, I tried to make some sense of what had happened. "He raped you," a voice in my head shouted. "He used his position and his authority to force you to have unwanted sex with him." 

"It's your own fault for being so careless and making such a botch of your assignment," another voice retorted. "You got what you deserved."

"He not only raped you, he beat you!" the first voice argued.

"Yes, and you loved every minute of it, you little slut!" came the response, "just like back at the orphanage."

With that I began to remember my experience in that unhappy place. The director of the orphanage was a stern man who strongly believed in the value of corporal punishment. I got my share of whippings while I lived there. There were never any shows of affection; in fact sometimes it seemed like a paddling was the only way you knew anyone cared about you, one way or the other.

I distinctly remember the last spanking I got. I must have been about thirteen at the time because I'd already had my first period. I'd been caught raiding the refrigerator for a snack one night, and the director ordered me across his lap and began to spank me. In the past, the spankings had been painful, but this time there was something more. I began to feel a tingling in my bottom and between my legs. Even though I was crying I began to twitch and jerk in a way I couldn't understand. 

The director must have realized what was happening because he abruptly pushed me off his lap and shouted, "You dirty little slut!" Then he sent me off to bed. As I lay there in the dark, I felt between my legs and discovered I was wet. I thought at first I'd peed on myself, but when I smelled my fingers, the musky odor told me it must be something different. I didn't really understand what happened at the time, but I realized that I really must be a dirty girl.

After that incident, the director never spanked me again, and it wasn't much later that Mr. and Mrs. Sykes offered to take me into their home, so I never saw him again. I had tried to forget about that incident, but now it came back to me stronger than ever.

I ran my head under the shower to try to clear my thoughts, but it didn't help. Finally I turned off the water. I still didn't understand why I had let Mr. Jorgenson treat me like that; the fact that I didn't resist only added to my shame. The whole episode seemed like a nightmare, but when I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and saw my red, inflamed buttocks, I knew it was all too real. 

Finally, in desperation I seated myself gingerly in front of my laptop, opened up the online standards and began to rework the report I had messed up so badly. Losing myself in the numbers and formulae was the only way I could take my mind off my turmoil.

I don't know what I looked like the next morning, but when Buffalo Bill saw me, a look of concern came over his face. "Are you alright, Annie?" he asked anxiously. 

"I'm fine," I lied. "I just had trouble getting to sleep last night."

Bill let it go, but I noticed that he kept glancing at me throughout the morning. 

When Mr. Jorgenson came in the room, I thought I would pass out, but he hardly even looked at me and made no mention of anything that had transpired the night before. By the time he was done, I had recovered somewhat. But as he was leaving, he looked at me and said, "Miss Ochs, I'll see you in my room after dinner."

I know I must have turned pale because Bill looked at me again with a troubled expression. But before he could say anything, Jerry began to tease me. "Annie Oakley's in trouble," he said in a child's singsong voice, "she's gonna get a spanking."

I slumped over in my chair and Bill angrily turned to Jerry. "Shut up, Jerry, you don't know a thing about it." Jerry sullenly turned back to his computer, and Bill came over to me.

"Are you sick, Annie Oakley? You're as pale as a ghost."

"No, I'm fine," I said desperately, groping for an explanation. "It's just . . . I think I may be starting my period."

Bill flushed in embarrassment. "Oh, I'm sorry, Annie. I didn't mean to pry. I just . . ."

"It's okay, Bill, I just need to go to the ladies' room," I said, and hurried out of the room.

Once I got to the restroom, I splashed cold water on my face, and that seemed to help a little. Somehow I managed to make it through the rest of the morning, but I only picked at my food over lunch. Later, the boys invited me to go out to dinner at a restaurant they'd found in Huntington, but I declined, telling them I was going to order room service. But I didn't; there was no way I could eat, knowing I would have to return to Mr. Jorgenson's room soon.

Somehow I managed to pull myself together by the time I was supposed to go. I made it a point to wear the only pants suit I'd brought with me in hopes that they would offer me some protection from whatever he had in mind. Then I was heading down the hall toward his room, feeling like a condemned prisoner walking the last mile.

When I entered Mr. Jorgenson's room, he was seated on the couch holding his computer in his lap. "I've reviewed the asset figures you amended last night. I'm pleased that everything seems to be in order, done according to COG standards."

A wave of relief came over me. Perhaps this wasn't going to be so bad after all.

His next words dashed my hopes. "Nevertheless, yesterday's error was very serious, and it must never happen again. It is incumbent upon me to insure you don't forget. Come here, Miss Ochs."

Tears began running down my cheeks as I reluctantly shuffled over to him. "Please don't do it, Mr. Jorgenson. Please don't spank me again."

"Kneel," was all he said.

I began to cry in earnest as I fell to my knees in front of him. Then he lifted the computer off his lap and I gasped when I saw that his fly was unzipped and his semi-erect penis was hanging out.

"Suck it," he commanded.

"I can't, Mr. Jorgenson," I protested, "I've never done that."

"Then this will be a good learning experience for you," he said, and put his hand in my hair and pulled my head toward his crotch.

As my face neared him, the situation must have aroused him because his penis began to harden and lift towards me. He pulled me onto it, and I reluctantly opened my mouth to take him in.

"No teeth," he warned menacingly, "or last night's spanking will seem mild in comparison."

I made sure my lips covered my teeth as he forced his penis into my mouth.

"Use your tongue," he ordered, and I hastened to comply.

I'd read about blowjobs, but this was not what I imagined. "If it was someone I cared about," I thought, "maybe this could be an act of love and sensuality. But I hate this, hate being used this way."

Nevertheless, I must have been doing something he liked because Mr. Jorgenson began using his hands to force my head up and down, and I heard him began to moan. Several times he thrust so deep into my mouth that I gagged, but he relented and found a limit I could accommodate.

Soon he had me bobbing up and down so rapidly that I was almost dizzy, when suddenly he pulled my mouth off of him and grabbed his penis with his hand. Before I realized what was happening he stroked it a few more times and then ejaculated into my face! I tried in vain to recoil, but he held me firmly in place until his spurts had ceased, and then he released me.

I sat there on my heels in shock: I'd never felt so demeaned and humiliated in my life.

He stared at me unsympathetically, and then abruptly said, "Go and wash your face. We don't want anyone seeing you like that."

When I'd stumbled to his bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was covered with his fluids, and they were running down my chin. "I guess this is what a whore looks like," I thought bitterly.

When I'd washed myself and returned, he'd zipped up his pants and was again working on his computer. "Good night, Miss Ochs," was all he said, and I knew I was dismissed. 

Somehow I made it back to my room. But when I went to brush my teeth, I looked in the mirror and saw a blob of his stuff in my hair. Immediately I threw up in the sink. After I got the sink and myself cleaned up, I undressed and crawled into bed. I had never felt so low in my life. A part of me wanted to retreat to my parents' home and forget about everything, yet the thought of having to tell them what had happened filled me with dread. They had warned me and I had ignored them; if I went home I would not only have to feel their disappointment in me but also admit that they were right. I finally cried myself to sleep.

When the wake-up call came, I somehow managed to get out of bed and make myself presentable. The only thing that got me moving was the knowledge that we had a flight to catch to our next assignment that afternoon. I sure didn't want to be left behind in Charleston.

The normal routine was for Mr. Jorgenson to debrief us on the audit we were finishing and give us any instructions for our next assignment. The thought of having to face him filled me with panic, but as the morning went on, he never showed up. Instead, Bill got a phone call, and after he hung up he told us that Mr. Jorgenson had returned to Houston early. Even more unusual, Bill said that Mr. Jorgenson wouldn't be accompanying us on our next audit assignment. The three of us were supposed to fly to Oklahoma City and do a quickie audit of the COG office there.

"Why the hell are we going back to Oke City anyway?" Jerry griped. "We were there not that long ago."

"I have no idea," Bill replied, "but that's what the boss said, so that's where we're headed."

The fact was that Bill and Jerry had already been to our office in Oklahoma once this year. Moreover, the COG operation there was small and the last audit had uncovered no discrepancies. None of us could understand why another visit was required, but I was so relieved I wouldn't have to face Mr. Jorgenson that I didn't care.

On the long flight that afternoon, I was seated next to Buffalo Bill, and he kept watching me out of the corner of his eye. Several times I almost broke down and told him what had happened, but I was so embarrassed and ashamed that I couldn't bring myself to do so, even though keeping my secret felt like it was killing me. Besides, I thought, he has Denise to think about; the last thing he needs is for me to dump my problems on him. I felt terribly alone.

We arrived in Oke City late that afternoon. Jerry and I checked into the hotel while Bill, as our acting leader, went over to the COG offices to meet with the local controller.

Over dinner that night, he told us about the initial session. "Those guys think we're nuts," he told us bluntly. "The controller told me that nothing had changed in the last few months and that this was a waste of his time and ours. Frankly, the more I hear about the situation, the more I think he's right."

We continued to talk about it for the rest of the meal. It was too late to do anything that night, but we agreed that Bill would contact Jorgenson the next morning to advise him of the situation and find out if there was some issue we didn't know about.

When we got to the COG offices in the morning, Bill got on the phone and tried to call Mr. Jorgenson. When he hung up, he turned to us in frustration. "His secretary told me he's taking the day off," he said. "Now what do we do?"

Jerry and I were equally befuddled by the situation. The only thing we could think was to go to the site and proceed with the audit following our standard protocols. But even that plan didn't work when later that morning the onsite accounting system suddenly crashed. There was nothing we could do but sit around until Information Services could figure out what had happened and get the system back up and running.

After waiting an hour, we finally got an update. The mother board in the server that hosted the accounting system had gone out. They told us it would take two days to get a replacement board shipped in and the system restarted.

"That's it," Buffalo Bill said. "Let's head for the airport and see if we can catch a flight home. If they still want us to do this stupid audit, we can come back on Monday."

We made it to the airport just in time to catch a direct Southwest flight to Houston. As a result, we touched down in the early afternoon. Jerry immediately dashed off to retrieve his car and head home, but before I could go, Bill grabbed my arm. "Listen, I need to talk to you."

I tried to demur, but Bill insisted, and I just didn't have the energy to resist. Bill found a departure gate that wasn't being used and steered me to it.

"Okay, Annie, what's going on?" he demanded. "The last two days you've looked like death warmed over. What happened?"

"Nothing," I told him, "it's nothing."

He took both my hands and looked me straight in the eye. "I think I know you well enough by now to know something bad has happened to you. I'm your friend, Annie Oakley. Please let me help you."

I looked at him for a second and then all my resolve crumbled and I began to sob. He put his arm around me to comfort me and held me until I regained a measure of self-control. Then he held me at arms' length again and said "What is it? You can tell me."

And I did. It all came gushing out of me like some pocket of infection that had been lanced, complete with all the ugly, demeaning details. Once I started, I couldn't stop. As I spewed out the story, Bill's expression went from disbelief to shock to anger. "That sonuvabitch!" he erupted, when I finished my sordid little tale. "He raped you!"

"No," I cried, "I mean, it can't be rape if my body responded, can it?"

"That's irrelevant," he said angrily. "He forced you to have sex against your will. He used his authority to intimidate you into doing something you didn't want. He beat you, for God's sake!"

I couldn't look at him as I remembered the spanking Mr. Jorgenson had administered. "But it was my fault, Bill. If I hadn't screwed up those asset valuations, none of this would ever have happened," I told him.

"In the first place, even if you made a mistake, that's not such a big deal. We've all made mistakes at one time or another. Besides, you corrected them overnight, didn't you?" he insisted.

"Yes, but he was the one who caught my error. I let him down, I let the team down. I screwed up and I deserved to be punished."

"That's crazy," Bill snapped. "You might have deserved a reprimand at worst, but not to be sexually assaulted!"

Then his eyes narrowed. "You didn't come on to him, did you? You didn't say or do anything to indicate you were interested in him sexually, did you?"

"Of course not!" I said indignantly. Then I hesitated. "I was wearing a skirt that day instead of pants. Could he have read something into that? And besides, I would have thought that my skinny legs would have been a turn-off, not a come-on."




Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill Ch. 01



Bill looked at me searchingly. "Why do you have to run yourself down all the time, Annie? You have no idea what you really look like." But then his expression changed and grew fierce again. "But what you were wearing was irrelevant. You could have been wearing a bikini and it wouldn't give him the right to touch you, much less rape you."

We sat there in silence for a few minutes, but then a new thought hit me and my tears started to flow again. Buffalo Bill was being so sweet trying to encourage me, but now I wished I had never told him. He was the only person whose opinion mattered to me, and now he knew how stupid I was; even worse, he knew that I was a slut. Why had I ever told him, why couldn't I have kept my shame to myself?

Suddenly I couldn't bear to be around Bill any more, knowing what he must think of me. I leapt to my feet and darted down the terminal. Bill was caught by surprise, and that gave me enough of a head start that I got away before he could catch me. I guess I hadn't lost all my cross-country ability.

I knew now what I had to do. I called Mr. Jorgenson's office, and when his secretary answered, I asked for directions to his house. "I have some very important papers that he's expecting today," I told her, and she gave me his home address without hesitation.

As I drove, I went over in my mind what I was going to do. My idea was simple: I was going to confront him face to face and demand to be transferred to another audit team. It wasn't a very good plan – I had no idea what I would do if he refused – but it was the only way I felt I could regain some kind of control over my life. "And," the little voice in my head whispered, "it's the only way you're going to get away from all the people who know what kind of girl you really are."

When I got to his house I was so frightened I was trembling, but I forced myself to get out of the car, go up on his porch and ring the doorbell. I waited, but no one came to the door. A wave of relief washed over me -- he must not be home. But I told myself sternly that I had to make sure, so I walked around the side of the house. Sure enough, I heard noises coming from inside the wall that encircled the backyard.

There was a gate in the fence, and I went over and opened it enough to peek inside, only to recoil in embarrassment. Omigosh! The sounds I'd heard were a couple making love on the recliner by the pool not ten feet from the gate. I'd recognized Mr. Jorgenson's dark hair immediately, and jerked my head back so as not to be seen.

No wonder he hadn't heard the doorbell, I thought. The two of them were making so much racket that an army could have marched in and they wouldn't have noticed!

Then the mental snapshot I had taken of the scene replayed in my mind, and I stopped dead. The woman wasn't Mrs. Jorgenson, of that I was sure because she was much too young. But she had looked familiar. I went back to the gate and looked in again. The couple had switched positions and the woman was now bouncing up and down on him like a bucking bronco, grunting and swearing. There could be no doubt now: it was Denise, Buffalo Bill's wife!

I was standing there dumbfounded when I heard a car pull up in the turnaround out front. Quickly I hurried back around the house, hoping to get to my car and drive away before someone caught me trespassing. To my horror, I saw Bill himself get out of his car and head in my direction.

Indecision paralyzed me, and that gave Bill time to come up and grab me. "Jorgenson's secretary told me you were headed over here," he said. "You haven't done anything foolish, have you?"

"Come on, Bill, we've got to get out of here!" I said frantically, tugging at his arm and trying to get him back to his car. But he wouldn't leave. 

"What's going on?" he demanded. "What have you done?"

Suddenly a wail came from the other side of the fence, and Bill's head shot up. "That was Denise!" he yelled. He ran to the gate where I'd been playing Peeping Tom and yanked it open, only to stop in amazement at the sight before him. There was his wife riding astride his boss, her back arched, her eyes closed and her hips pumping rapidly toward her climax. 

With a growl, Bill burst rushed through the gate and ran to the recliner. He grabbed Denise's hair and yanked her off just as Kurt Jorgenson's penis exploded in orgasm, sending his semen flying through the air. The force of Bill's jerk caused Denise to tumble backwards, and she fell into the pool with a scream. 

Jorgenson's eyes flew open at the sound, and seeing Bill standing at the end of the recliner, he scrambled to his feet. "That's my wife, you bastard," Bill roared and punched Jorgenson square in the face. The blow knocked him backwards and he fell over the recliner and onto the carpet grass. Blood began to pour from his nose as he scrambled to his feet. I thought he was going to launch himself at Bill, but he must have thought better of it because he cupped his hand over his battered nose, turned, and dashed into the house.

His face a deep red, Bill turned to Denise, who had clambered out of the pool. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he yelled.

To my amazement, Denise's answer was calm and deliberate. "I'm sorry you found out this way, Bill, but it doesn't really change anything. I'm leaving you for Kurt. He and I are going to be married as soon as his divorce and mine are final."

Bill gasped as though he'd been punched in the stomach. "You're leaving me for Kurt Jorgenson?" he said stupidly.

"Yes, Bill, I'm leaving you for Kurt," she said as though she were talking to a child. "He loves me, and I've fallen in love with him. Besides, he has more ambition than you'll ever have, and he can provide for me far better than you ever will. "

"Oh is that right?" Bill asked loudly. "Well if he loves you so much, why did he fuck Annie Ochs earlier this week?"

"Ohhh!" I squealed as though I'd been stabbed. How could he have said that?

"Annie, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that like it sounded," Bill tried to apologize. He turned to comfort me, but Denise moved first. 

"You bitch," she screamed as she came at me with her claws outstretched, "you stay away from Kurt! He's mine!"

Quickly Bill grabbed her before she could reach me, while I stood there in shock. Then my eye was caught by motion in the house, and Kurt came out wearing a robe and followed by the Houston police. "I want him arrested for trespassing and assault," he yelled, pointing at Bill. Two policemen moved quickly to take Bill into custody.

After the police talked with everyone, they let me go but took Bill away in handcuffs. Denise and Mr. Jorgenson came to the door to watch me drive away. I thought I saw him laugh as I pulled out of his driveway.

I was numb that night. My brain felt so overloaded that it could no longer function to do anything except the most routine of tasks. Finally I fell into bed and slept like I was dead. The next morning I guess it was that same autonomic system that enabled me to get dressed and drive to the office.

Bill wasn't there but Jerry was, and he turned to me with a sneer when he saw me. "Well, well, if it isn't Miss Goody Two-Shoes. So I wasn't good enough to date you, but you were fine with screwing Kurt Jorgenson."

I cringed. If Jerry knew what happened, then the whole company must know. Sure enough, within fifteen minutes I got a call from Human Resources asking me to come and see them immediately. I was pretty sure I knew what that meant, and I was right. That afternoon found me on the Interstate driving home to Tyler, unemployed, ashamed, and humiliated. The only thing I lacked was a scarlet letter A to wear on my blouse to show my parents.



Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill Ch. 02



I'd been so grateful when my foster parents took me in all those years ago. I was thirteen years old and had lived in the orphanage since I was six. My father ran away when I was very young; I have only faint memories of him. When my mother was killed in the auto accident, she had no other living relatives. The authorities tried to track my father down but never found him, so there was nothing to do but put me in the children's orphanage. 

I had pretty much given up hope of ever finding a family to live with when the Sykes came along. They'd foster-parented a number of kids over the years, and agreed to take me when they heard my story. I don't know that I ever came to love them the way you do your real parents, but they were good to me and did their best to bring me up right. What they lacked in closeness and affection they more than compensated for with their care and concern. If they were strict and demanding, I knew it was out of concern for my safety and development. If you've ever lived in an orphanage, you know that a sense of security is worth a lot, and I'd always been grateful for all they'd done for me.

So you can imagine how painful it was for me to have to confess to them what had happened. I felt I had to be honest so I confessed everything: my big mistake, my failure to resist Mr. Jorgenson, my dismissal from Consolidated. When I was done, my parents didn't have a lot to say, but I could tell how disappointed they were in me. What made it worse was that they'd been opposed to my going to Houston in the first place. My Dad wanted me to stay and do the bookkeeping for their rose farm, but I'd been eager to take on the big city and the big corporation. Now I was forced to admit that they had been right all along.

So I went back to working at the nursery. The first thing you should know about a commercial rose nursery is that it's pretty much like any other kind of farming: you're at the mercy of the weather, insects, diseases, changes in supply and demand, and all the other factors that make farming so tough. 

You might think that bookkeeping for a rose farm would be simple, but you'd be wrong. Mom and Dad grew roses in half a dozen different categories, and each category might have as many as fifty different varieties. Lots of SKUs! On top of that, their nursery didn't sell only to garden stores and mass market retailers, they also sold direct to the rose-growing public. Keeping track of orders ranging in size from a single plant to thousands for a big retailer can get pretty complicated.

So for the next few months I buried myself in the minutiae of the rose growing business. It didn't take long for me to see some ways to automate their bookkeeping, and I was glad I could help them that way. But I also soon saw that the business wasn't very profitable. Interest on crop loans cut their margins to the bone, and a spell of bad weather or a drop in prices would almost certainly mean a loss for the season. It was clear to me that Mom and Dad would have to keep working for a long time before they could even think about retirement.

I'd had it in the back of my mind that if I became a big success at Consolidated maybe I could help them out a little financially. But, of course, that dream had died along with many others.

Working on the farm kept me busy. If it wasn't terribly exciting, at least it helped keep my mind off of what had happened at Consolidated. But there were times, especially in the evening, when I couldn't stop myself from going over everything that had happened.

I remembered how excited I'd been when I'd started my new job. For one thing, it was the first time I'd truly been on my own. Even college hadn't given me that much freedom, since I'd lived at home all but one semester. 

I also had to admit that I'd been prideful about snagging such a desirable job with a big corporation like COG. But "pride goeth before a fall," and my pride had taken a big hit when I'd bungled those lease valuations. My punishment was to be abused by my boss, Kurt Jorgenson, and what he'd done had dredged up all those bad memories of my days back in the orphanage, rendering me helpless to resist. The whole episode was so painful and humiliating that even now it would bring tears to my eyes when I would remember it.

And then when I'd finally tried to confront Mr. Jorgenson about what had happened, there'd been that awful confrontation at his house. It was little wonder that they fired me the next day. I'd been stupid to go there and stupid to make the mistake that got me in trouble in the first place. In fact, the more I thought about it the more convinced I became that I'd been stupid to ever think I could go out on my own and take on a world that didn't really want me in the first place. 

At least back in Tyler I was safe in a world that was small but familiar. "This is the best place for me," I decided, even though it made me sad to put away my dreams.

But I guess the big world decided it wasn't done using me for its amusement. 

It was late in the afternoon that fall, and I was going over our receipts when there was a knock on the door to my little office. Before I could look up, a voice spoke up that I never expected to hear again: "You're a hard woman to find, Annie Oakley."

Omigosh! My head jerked up and my eyes confirmed what my ears had already told me. There stood Buffalo Bill with a big grin on his face. I jumped to my feet, ran to his side and threw my arms around him.

"Buffalo Bill, what are you doing here?" I asked in delighted amazement.

"Looking for you," he answered with a laugh, "and that was no easy task. The only phone number and email address I had for you were the ones at COG, so they were no help. Then I remembered that you lived in Tyler and that your folks owned a rose farm. But I was stumped when I found out there weren't any rose growers in Tyler named Ochs. But I remembered your telling me you were a foster kid, and I figured you must not have the same name as your parents. So I drove up here. I think I've been to every rose nursery in town trying to track you down!"

At that moment my Dad walked in to see what had caused the commotion.

"Dad," I said excitedly, "this is Bill Hitchcock, one of the people I worked with at Consolidated."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sykes," Bill said, extending his hand.

My Dad scowled and kept his hands to his side. "You're not the one who . . ."

"No, no, Dad. He's not the one. Bill was my best friend back in Houston. He tried to help me," I interjected quickly.

"All right," my Dad said, reaching out to shake Bill's hand. "Sorry for being rude, but Houston was a bad place for our Annie, and we're not real kindly disposed toward a lot of folks from down there."

Then he turned to leave. "I'll let you two catch up now. But don't be too long – Annie's got to finish up that batch of invoices."

"I will, Dad," I promised. Then I turned back to Bill, and led him to the small reception area outside my little office. When we were seated, I resumed our conversation.

"Tell me what's happening with you, Buffalo Bill," I asked. "The last time I saw you, you were being carted off to jail."

He got a wry look on his face. "I wound up spending that night in the clink, but the next afternoon they released me. They told me Jorgenson had dropped the charges."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there, Bill," I told him. "They called me in the next morning and fired me. After that, all I could think about was getting out of Houston and coming home."

Bill's face darkened. "That's alright, Annie. Besides, as soon as I got in to the office, they fired me too. So you're talking to an unemployed accountant who's fast running through his life savings."

I hadn't even thought about that. "Gosh, Bill, what are you going to do?" I asked him.

"In the long term, I'm going to do what I've always wanted: move back to Boulder and open up my own accounting firm," Bill said without hesitation. "But first I've got some unfinished business to look after in Houston."

I thought I knew what he was talking about. "Of course -- Denise. What's happening with her?"

Bill rolled his eyes. "Ah, Annie Oakley, that's quite a tale. I went to see a lawyer about a divorce the day after I got out of jail. A divorce was fine with Denise; she was eager to be free of me so she could marry Kurt Jorgenson. She signed the papers as soon as they were served, the decree was issued and we're now in the sixty-day waiting period."

I reached over to squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry, Bill. Despite the way everything happened, I know that that still must have been painful."

"Thanks, Annie," he said, looking into my eyes. "I'm pretty much over it, but it did hurt. I really thought Denise was the one. I guess it just shows that sometimes you don't know someone as well as you thought."

Then he straightened up. "But that's not the end of the story. It turns out Kurt was stringing Denise along the whole time: he never had any intention of divorcing his wife and taking up with Denise."

Bill smiled thinly. "And there's more. It appears that Jorgenson has had similar escapades in the past. Remember my telling you about Betty Murphy, the woman who was part of our team before you joined us? I found out Jorgenson pulled a similar stunt with her like he did with you. That's why she quit so suddenly."

"So it wasn't just me," I thought and somehow I found that comforting, even though I was sorry for Betty's sake.

"But what about Mr. Jorgenson's wife?" I asked. "I don't understand why she would put up with his behavior. She had to know about it, didn't she?"

"That's where it gets interesting, Annie Oakley. Edith Jorgenson apparently loves the guy and is willing to ignore his little affairs. Not only that, but it seems she even cleans up the mess afterwards. When Betty left, I think it was because Kurt's wife bought her off. I know for sure that Mrs. Jorgenson paid Denise to stop making waves. One day Denise was threatening to sue Jorgenson, the next day she left town without a peep."

"That's so weird," I told him. "I just can't understand why Mrs. Jorgenson would want to hang onto him after all that. For that matter, if he's so eager to find other women, why doesn't he just leave his wife?"

Bill shook his head. "Why she puts up with that bastard I have no idea, but I'm pretty sure I know why he doesn't leave her. It turns out she's the daughter of the former president of COG. Not only does she have all the money in the family but she also has a lot of pull in the company through her father. She's not just Kurt's gravy train, she's the reason the company hasn't fired him. What a fool Denise was to think he'd ever leave her!"

I shook my head in wonder. I knew I'd never understand people and why they acted the way they did. It was better to stick to roses; they were a lot more predictable.

But then I remembered something Bill had said a minute ago. "Well, if you've settled things with Denise and are no longer working at COG, why are you still in Houston?"

This time his smile had a nasty edge to it. "That's my unfinished business, Annie Oakley. I'm suing Jorgenson for splitting up my marriage, and I'm suing COG for helping him do it. Don't you see, many of the times when we were away conducting our audits, when he wasn't assaulting women like you and Betty, Jorgenson was flying home to meet up with Denise. COG knew about his behavior and looked the other way. In my book, they're as guilty as he is."

"But I thought you and Denise were finished," I said in surprise. "I thought you were happy to be rid of her."

"I am," he said with conviction, "but that doesn't mean I'm going to let Kurt Jorgenson mess with my life and go unpunished. And I'm certainly not going to let Consolidated Oil protect him and get away with it."

I shook my head. "I can understand why you'd feel that way, Buffalo Bill, but how can you ever hope to take on such a big corporation and win?"

"I know you're right, Annie, the odds aren't very good. But I just can't stand to one side and let all this happen to me without doing something. Anyway, I've found a sharp attorney in Houston who's made a career of being a thorn in the side of COG. She's beaten them before and she's agreed to take my case on a contingency basis, so I think I've got a fighting chance."

He paused and looked at me. "And there's another thing, Annie. I may have a secret weapon."

"What are you talking about?"

He looked at me eagerly. "It's you, Annie. If you'll come back to Houston and testify about what Jorgenson did to you, we can prove that he's a predator, that he's done this sort of stuff more than once and that COG has been covering up his actions to protect him."

I couldn't repress a shudder at the idea of having to confront Mr. Jorgenson again. "Oh, Bill, please don't ask me to do that. I want to help, but I don't think I could bear to face that man again. I've spent the last few months trying to forget all of that. To make me dredge it all up again is asking too much!"

I could tell he was disappointed, but I also saw the concern on his face. He leaned over and took both my hands. "It's alright, Annie Oakley, I understand. I remember how traumatized you were when all that happened. I guess I just hoped that time and distance would have helped you heal. The last thing I want to do is make you suffer any more."

"What about Betty Murphy?" I asked. "Wouldn't she help prove your case?"

Bill sighed. "She won't testify either. She feels the same way about Jorgenson that you do. I tracked her down, and she told me she's been in counseling ever since she left COG. She just can't bear to deal with all that again." 

He looked at me carefully and then seemed to make a decision, "Forget about testifying, Annie. I should have realized it's not fair to ask you to put yourself through that."

He took my chin and raised my face so I was looking at him. "But no matter what, I do hate to see you hiding away from life up here on your folks' farm. You have so much going for you, but you don't realize it. You're an intelligent, talented, beautiful woman, but you can't see that because you got off to such a rough start in life. It doesn't have to stay that way, believe me."

He let go of my chin and dropped his hands to his side. Now he looked awkward, even uncomfortable. "Before I go, there's one more thing I wanted to say to you, Annie." He paused, almost like he was gathering his nerve. "I didn't drive up here just to ask you to testify. I also wanted to tell you that I miss you, and I'd really like to see you some more."

He blushed, dropped his eyes and started toward the door. There he stopped and turned back. "If you change your mind, call me. Or if you'd just like to talk. Or maybe come down for a visit. Or . . ." He paused uncertainly, then suddenly darted back to my side and, before I realized what he was doing, he bent down and quickly kissed me. Then he spun around and headed out the door. Once again he stopped and turned, but this time he had his usual big grin on his face. "Hope to see you again soon, Annie Oakley, sure as shootin.'" With that he was gone.

I finished my invoices in a daze. "Buffalo Bill likes me!" I thought in wonder. "He said I was beautiful!" I'd always felt that Bill was a hunk, but he was married when I was in Houston, so he'd become my good friend, and that's all I thought I was to him. But now . . .

I took the report on the day's invoices into my Dad. He took them and looked up at me. "That boy gone?" he asked. I nodded. "Good," he said. "It's better to put all that nonsense behind you."

"I think I'll take a walk, Dad," I told him. 

I headed out the door toward the fields. The light was starting to fade, but I could still see well enough. I liked to walk through the rose fields when I wanted to think.

"Maybe Dad is right," I thought to myself. The idea of going back to Houston was daunting: I'd felt so uncomfortable, so out of place there. The prospect of having to face Mr. Jorgenson again was almost unbearable. 

The truth was I'd always felt out of place, never felt comfortable anywhere I'd been. Moving from my mother's home to the orphanage to the rose farm had done that to me. For that matter, I'd never felt comfortable with myself. Growing up without parents had been hard. Growing up tall with my long, skinny legs and arms had made me the butt of constant jokes from the other kids. Even discovering my talent in math had made me feel different. By the time the Sykes became my foster parents, I'd already learned to be as inconspicuous as possible. Not calling attention to myself was the best way I knew to get along in the world.

But, I remembered, Bill didn't seem to think I was so gawky and awkward. He'd called me beautiful -- could that be true? Had I changed over the years and just hadn't seen it? Or was he just trying to be nice to the poor little country girl, especially since he wanted me to do something for him? How do you ever really know?

As I walked along, I noticed a pile of old rose bushes tossed to one side. They were returns, roses that buyers hadn't liked for one reason or another. We couldn't do anything with them once they'd been returned so they got tossed aside. Later they'd be burned.

I looked at the unwanted bushes lying on the ground with their bare canes sticking up at odd angles, and they made me think of myself. The unwanted roses had come back here; nobody wanted them and they had no place else to go, just like me, I thought. Tears came and I wiped them away fiercely.

Then something caught my eye, a little bit of color among the brownish-green dying plants. I walked closer and saw to my amazement a yellow rose. Despite being unwanted, cast aside and left to die, one of the discarded roses had somehow managed to bloom. I stood there for the longest time, looking at it and thinking.

Finally I straightened up and returned to the house. My mother was in the kitchen cooking. "Mom," I said, "I'm going back to Houston."

I thought that she'd be shocked, but she simply looked at me with her head cocked slightly to one side and said quietly, "Are you sure, dear?"

"Yes, Mom, I have to try again. Can you explain to Dad?"

She nodded and I grabbed her and hugged her. "Thanks, Mom. Thanks for everything." Then I went to my room and began to pack.

Buffalo Bill had left me his cellphone number, and I called him the next morning while I was on the interstate heading south. He was surprised when I told him I was coming, but I got the impression it was a pleasant surprise. 

"What made you change your mind?" he asked.

"It's kind of a long story," I told him, "but let's just say I'm not going to be tossed away without a fight."

We met in the parking lot of a Hartz Chicken, and I surprised him by greeting him with a big kiss. He didn't say anything as we went inside, but he had a silly grin on his face, so I guess he didn't mind.

Over a plate of tejas wings, he brought me up to speed on the lawsuit. "There'll be a hearing in the next couple of days, so we don't have a lot of time," he told me. "I've set up an appointment for you with my attorney, Randi Rubenstein, after lunch. She's a bit of a character, but she's the best, trust me."

When we walked into Ms. Rubenstein's office, she seemed to be as curious about me as I was about her. She was tiny and round, probably no more than five feet tall, and wore a suit jacket over a flowered skirt that stretched to the floor. She had salt-and-pepper hair which she wore parted in the middle, and appeared to be in her fifties. When she spoke, she had a trace of a middle-European accent, but there was no mistaking what she had to say.

"I want you to tell me everything about what happened on the audit trip when you were assaulted," she said. "Leave nothing out."




Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill Ch. 02



I liked her no-nonsense tone so I bravely set out to recount the experience. But when I reached the part about what happened in his room, all my emotions came back to me in a rush and I found myself weeping so much that I couldn't go on.

"It's alright, my dear," she said soothingly, handing me a box of tissues and waiting for me to compose myself. "There's a trick to getting through this. You need to stop thinking about yourself; instead, I want you to imagine that you're watching a drama on television. Tell me what the actors are doing onscreen."

Strangely, that seemed to help. When I stopped saying "I" and "me" and began saying "she" and "he," it made it a little less personal, and I managed to get through the description of what happened.

When I had finished, she made me go through it again, but this time she had me recount the last events of the trip first and work my way backwards. By the time I had finished, the experience didn't seem quite as overwhelming as when I started.

Ms. Rubenstein made some notes on her pad and then turned to Bill. "Bill, would you please excuse us for a few minutes? I would like to talk to Ms. Ochs in private."

I was startled, and Buffalo Bill looked nonplussed, but he arose and left, closing the door behind him. I wondered what to expect.

"Why do we need to talk without Bill, Ms. Rubenstein?" I asked her timidly.

"Before I get to that, I want you to call me Randi and I'll call you Annie," she said. "We're on the same side, and I want you to feel at ease with me, able to say whatever you wish. 

"As to why I asked Bill to leave, I did so because I want to say some things to you that you may not feel so comfortable hearing. I want you to feel free to say 'Go to hell, Randi' if you wish!"

I laughed but she didn't, and I wondered if she might just be serious.

"Annie, when we get in the courtroom, the attorney for Consolidated is not going to be nice to you. He's going to try to show that what happened was all your fault. He's going to try to make it appear that you're a slutty young girl who wanted to sleep with her boss to get ahead at the company."

As she was speaking, I could feel myself turning pale. "No!" I protested, "That's not true."

"You know that and I know that, but our job will be to convince the judge," she replied evenly. "Right now, I think our odds are less than fifty-fifty."

My heart fell.

She cocked her head and looked at me appraisingly. "Bill has told me a little about you, and I've now had a chance to observe you briefly. Would you like to know what I have learned and why I made the observation I just shared with you?"

"I guess so," I said hesitantly.

"Annie, I know a little about your background and some of the challenges you've faced. Under the circumstances, I'm amazed that you've done so well. Nevertheless, the truth is that you are not a very self-confident woman. You don't like to be the center of attention. Even as we're speaking, I see you twisting and turning, trying to hide in that chair."

I blushed when I realized how I had slumped in my seat.

"I believe the account you gave of what happened in Kurt Jorgenson's room was truthful and accurate," she went on. "Your account was clear, but you delivered that account in a hesitant and unconvincing manner. If you do that in court, your demeanor will belie your words, and perhaps the judge will have doubts about your credibility."

My heart sank again. I knew she was right -- we were doomed.

If she noted my despair, Randi gave no sign of it. Instead, she changed her tone slightly.

"But I also know some other things about you, some things you may not have considered," she went on.

I looked up curiously.

"I know, for example, that despite all the obstacles you faced, you managed to graduate number one in your class in Accounting."

I started to protest, but she waved me off.

"I know that you managed to win a highly coveted job with Consolidated in the face of significant competition not only from other graduates of UT Tyler but also from more prominent universities as well," she went on.

"Most important," she said, "I know that you turned Bill down when he sought your help in Tyler, yet you somehow found the strength within you to take the on challenge anyway. I'd like to know where you found that strength, Annie."

"I found it in a yellow rose," I answered quietly. 

A puzzled look flitted across her face, but she went on. "Wherever you found it, you have shown me that you have the necessary resources within you to face the challenges before you. You can meet this one as well if you'll just remember all the things you've accomplished so far and believe in yourself."

I hoped she was right. I wanted to believe, but it was so hard.

Randi wasn't through with me. "Now I have some homework for you to do tonight and tomorrow. In the folder on my desk is a copy of every document, file and affidavit we've been able to lay our hands on regarding this case. I want you to go through them tonight to refresh your memory on every detail. I want you to be as knowledgeable and current on all this as though it had happened just yesterday. I don't want any surprises when we go in that courtroom. And if you see anything that prompts your memory, or any new information or insight that we can use, I want you to let me know right away."

I nodded, took the package from her and stood to leave.

"Wait," she commanded, "there's more."

I sat down hastily.

"There's something else about you I've observed," Randi said. "You use your clothing to try to hide from people. You try to be inconspicuous even though you're an attractive young woman. Your appearance says you are unsure of yourself; I want it to express your self-confidence. I want you to look different so you'll feel different on the witness stand."

"But all my clothes pretty much look like these," I protested.

She reached into her desk, pulled out a business card, scribbled on it and then handed it to me. "My daughter is a personal shopper for Nordstrom's in the Galleria. Take this to her tomorrow morning and tell her I want you to look self-confident and attractive. She'll know what to do."

When I went out to the reception area, Bill was waiting impatiently. As we drove away, he wanted to know what Randi had said, and I told him because I wanted to get his reaction. He tried to be diplomatic, but I could tell he agreed with Randi's assessment of me. The truth was, I did too; I just hadn't realized it was so obvious to everyone else.

But I was a little surprised by Randi's instructions to get some new clothes. "I never heard of anything like that, Bill, have you?" He admitted that he'd never heard of such a thing either. "But I think you should trust her, Annie Oakley. She's crossed swords with big corporations her whole career and her record is pretty amazing. I think she knows what she's doing."

I just shook my head in wonder – it was all too much too fast.

Buffalo Bill offered to take me out to dinner – someplace nicer than Hartz Chicken, he promised – but I turned him down. "Randi gave me a bunch of homework to do tonight. I'm just going to go back to my motel room and dig into it. If I get hungry, I'll order a pizza," I told him. He nodded, but I could tell he was disappointed.

When I opened the folder back in my room, the contents immediately brought back a flood of memories. There was a whole smorgasbord of material, from corporate brochures to accounting manuals, from emails to policy updates. Yet every single piece looked and felt like COG, a place I would have been happy never to think about again in my lifetime. Still, if there was one thing I know how to do, it's study, so I plowed into the material without hesitation.

It was almost ten o'clock when something caught my eye. I checked it again, and then grabbed my calendar to double-check the date. When I realized the implications, I couldn't help myself. "That son of a bitch!" I yelled. 

Hastily I pulled out the contact information Randi had included in the packet. I hated to call her at home at that hour, but I was angry enough that I decided to go for it.

"Randi," I said when she'd finally answered the phone, "I think I've found something important." When I explained what I'd seen and the significance, I could almost hear her grinning through the phone.

"Now don't you say anything about this, Annie," she admonished me. "We'll just tuck it away in our quiver and pull it out when the right time comes." 

I promised, and after I got off the phone I got ready for bed. I'd completed the first half of my assignment okay, but I wasn't so confident about the second part.

The next morning at ten o'clock I drove over to the Galleria and walked into Nordstrom's. At the customer service desk I showed them the card Randi had given me, and very shortly a bouncy woman came striding up to me. There was no doubt in my mind she was Randi's daughter: she looked exactly like her mother must have twenty-five years earlier.

"Hi," she said to me brightly, "you must be Annie Ochs. I'm Mindy Cohen. My mother told me to be expecting you today."

As she led me away, I asked, "So, are you the Wizard of Oz here to give me some courage?"

She laughed merrily. "No, but I am here to make you look gorgeous, and that's almost as good."

I noticed we were passing the women's clothing departments. "Where are we going?" I asked Mindy in confusion. "Aren't we supposed to be getting some clothes for me to wear tomorrow?"

"We will, but first we have a little preparatory work to do," she said with a laugh, pointing me in the direction of the beauty salon. 

"You're not going to cut my hair?" I asked in alarm.

Mindy just smiled and held up the card Randi had given me. On the back were two words underlined with the stroke of a pen: "The works." She ignored my protests and led me reluctantly into the salon.

Two hours later, I could scarcely recognize the woman who stared back at me in the mirror. Not only had my hair been cut and shaped into a contemporary style, but a talented young woman had patiently taught me how to apply make-up, something I'd never worn before. I was in a mild state of shock.

Next Mindy led me back to the clothing departments. In the past, shopping had always been easy for me: I'd go to Walmart, find what I needed, buy it in a large size and leave. With Mindy, shopping became an ordeal of trying on an endless number of outfits, trying different sizes and having alterations done. By the time we were finished, I was exhausted.

Finally, late that afternoon, Mindy packed me into my car to drive back to my motel. "Don't let anyone see you before the hearing," she reminded me. "You're going to knock their socks off, and you want it to be a surprise."

When I got back to my room, I couldn't resist trying on my new clothes again. I couldn't believe it: the woman who stared back at me in the mirror on the wall looked as though she'd just stepped out of some modeling assignment. The clothes hugged my body and showed curves I never knew I had. My legs and arms no longer looked skinny and awkward; instead, the stranger I saw looked poised and confident. "Doggone," I thought, "maybe I can pull this off after all."

I had to take a cab to the courtroom the next morning because I was still putting on my make-up. It had taken me longer to put all that stuff on than I was used to. Everyone else was already seated awaiting the judge. I took a deep breath and walked into the room.

Randi was the first to spot me, and she gave me a big grin and a thumbs up when she saw me. Then Buffalo Bill turned around. At first he gave me only a brief glance, but suddenly his head jerked back and he stared in amazement. I saw his eyes widen, and then he mouthed, "Annie, is that you?"

I only smiled and walked carefully in my new four-inch stiletto heels to the row where the witnesses were seated. When I got there, I sat down and tugged on my pencil skirt so that it came to just above my knees, then carefully smoothed the short tailored jacket that hugged my curves. Remembering Mindy's admonition, I sat with my shoulders back and my spine straight. "I may be scared to death inside," I thought, "but I am not going to show it on the outside."

Out of the corner of my eye I looked over at the defendant's table. There he was: my nemesis, Kurt Jorgenson. He was staring at me uncertainly, as though he didn't quite recognize me. "Good," I thought, "let him worry about me for a change."

The morning began with Bill's testimony, and after Randi had finished with him there was a lot of cross-examination, frequently hostile. I grew increasingly nervous. After a break for lunch, I was finally called to the stand. "You can do this, Annie," I kept reminding myself. "You're not the same girl who ran away from COG so many months ago."

Randi quickly led me through a recital of the details of that terrible week that started in Charleston and ended in Houston. I kept reminding myself to sit up straight and describe what had happened as though I were watching it on television. Finally it was time for my cross-examination.

The attorney for COG wore a western-style suit and cowboy boots that clumped menacingly on the marble floor as he approached the witness stand. He looked at his notes for a minute, and then suddenly asked, "On the night in question, Miss Ochs, isn't it true that Mr. Jorgenson found a serious error in the work you had completed that day?"

"I didn't make an error," I said calmly, "but the process I used was not in compliance with Consolidated's current accounting procedure for oil lease rights."

"As I said," he went on smoothly, "the work was wrong."

I said nothing.

"And Mr. Jorgenson reprimanded you for your error, didn't he, Miss Ochs?"

"Yes, sir."

"How did that make you feel, Miss Ochs?"

"I was dismayed. I couldn't understand how I could have made such an error," I admitted.

"Would something like that have had a negative impact on your job evaluation?"

"Yes, sir" I conceded.

"And didn't you offer to try to find some way to make amends for your error?"

"Well, yes, but . . ." 

He cut me off. "And didn't you offer to have sex with Mr. Jorgenson if he would overlook your error?"

"No, that's not true!" I shouted, but he cut me off before I could elaborate.

"So whatever happened between the two of you was at your initiative and entirely voluntary on your part, wasn't it, Miss Ochs?"

"No," I shouted again. "He forced me to . . ."

With a wave of his hand, the attorney turned to the bench. "That will be all, your Honor. We have no further questions at this time."

Randi stood up quickly. "Your Honor, I'd like to ask my client a few more questions on redirect examination."

The judge motioned her forward.

"Keep your courage, Annie, you're doing fine," Randi whispered as she approached.

Then, in a normal voice, she said, "It would appear that what precipitated the incident in question was the application of Consolidated Oil's accounting procedures with regard to oil lease valuations." She held up a sheaf of papers with the COG logo on top. "Are these the procedures in question, Miss Ochs?"

I recognized them immediately; they were the same documents I'd reviewed in my motel room. "Yes, ma'am," I replied.

Randi then handed them to defense counsel for review. After a quick glance by Jorgenson and the defense attorney, the procedures were admitted into evidence.

Randi came back to the witness stand. "Miss Ochs, I notice on the bottom of every page a notation in small print. Could you tell us what that is and its significance?"

I took the sheets from her again. "That's the revision date. Every time there's a change in the procedure, the revision date is noted so there's no chance of confusion."

"And what is the date that these particular procedures were revised?" she asked innocently.

I read the date out loud to the court.

"And is that date significant to you, Miss Ochs?" she inquired.

"Yes," I said forcefully, "that is the same day Mr. Jorgenson assaulted me!"

Counsel for the defense objected immediately to my use of the word "assault," but the judge waived him off. "I want to hear where this is going, counselor."

Randi was unfazed by the interruption. "If the procedure changes, how do field auditors at Consolidated know to apply the new standards?" she asked me.

I turned to look directly at Kurt Jorgenson. He refused to meet my eyes. "Our supervisor is supposed to notify us of any revisions," I said.

"And did Mr. Jorgenson advise you of this change in procedure?" Randi asked.

I stared at Jorgenson with loathing. "No, he did not. He gave me that assignment because he knew I would be unaware of the last minute change. He set me up to fail and then he took advantage of me!"

While I was giving my last response, counsel for the defense was on his feet and objecting so vociferously that the judge had to use his gavel to restore order. When everyone finally quieted down, he glared at all of us. "I don't want to hear another commotion like that in my courtroom, understand?" 

Then he sat back in his seat. "We've had a long day of testimony, and it's getting late. We will recess for the day and reconvene in the morning. Court is adjourned."

Our little group retreated to Randi's office in a jovial mood. "We scored some big points today," Randi asserted happily. 

Bill was still surprised at the way things had gone. "How in the world did you find out COG had made a change in their policy?" he asked her.

Randi smiled. "I always thought it was strange that Jorgenson would suddenly switch assignments on Annie, especially when she was so new in her job. I also wondered how Annie could have made such an obvious mistake like that in the first place. I felt it had to be a set-up. But it was Annie who found the smoking gun when she caught the revision date on the procedures. Jorgenson knew the change was coming, but the online procedures weren't updated till the day Annie was working on her assignment. The printed versions probably weren't distributed for another week."

Just then, Randi's secretary appeared. "There's a phone call for you, Ms. Rubenstein. I think you'll want to take it – it's the counsel for the defense."

Randi ducked into another office to take the call, and Bill changed the subject.

"Omigosh, Annie Oakley, I couldn't believe it when you walked into the courtroom. I almost dropped my eyeballs."

"So you like my new look?" I asked hopefully.

"Like it? I love it! I always thought you looked good, but today you look like a model. What went on yesterday?"

I began to tell him about my experience with Randi's daughter at Nordstrom's, but before I could finish, Randi came bouncing back into the office. 

"I told you we had them. They want to deal. They're offering each of you a million dollars to settle the suit!"

Bill let out a war whoop and began to dance around the room. But when Randi looked at me, I just said "No."

Bill jerked around to stare at me. "No? Why not?"

I folded my arms and set my jaw. "Two million each for Bill and me, two million for Betty Murphy, who had to go through the same thing I did, and five million to the Houston Area Women's Center for rape and sexual abuse." I looked at Randi. "Plus they cover your attorney's fees. And one more thing: Kurt Jorgenson gets fired. It's all that or we go back to court."

Randi looked at me appraisingly, and then she grinned. "Well, well, it looks like our yellow rose has grown a few thorns. I'll be right back."

Bill looked at me quizzically. "Are you sure, Annie Oakley? We won a battle today, but that doesn't guarantee we'll win the war. It's still possible we could walk away with nothing."

I looked at him solemnly. "I didn't come back here to settle for half a loaf, Buffalo Bill. If they want to fight, I'm here to fight."




Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill Ch. 02



Randi walked back in just then, and she wasn't smiling. "I didn't get the numbers you wanted." Then the grin broke out on her face. "I got five million for the three of you and ten million for theWomen's Center!"

We broke into cheers and began hugging each other.

"Oh, yeah," Randi interrupted us, "Kurt Jorgenson was fired for cause this afternoon, and Consolidated is turning information on him over to the District Attorney's office. Their attorney also told me that Jorgenson's wife has finally had enough of his shenanigans and she's filing for divorce."

After that, we really celebrated. Randi ordered some dinner brought in, and she even opened a bottle of champagne she'd been saving for a special occasion. 

When the first glasses had been poured, I raised mine in a toast. "Here's to Randi Rubenstein, who crossed swords with a giant and won!"

We all downed our glasses, and then Bill refilled them and offered his own toast. "And here's to the new Annie Oakley: strong, brave and beautiful."

I blushed mightily, but the other two wouldn't let me defer, so we all drank again.

When we'd finished the food and drink, Randi shooed us both out. "It's time you two get out of here. You may be off the hook, but I've still got to go to court tomorrow and handle the details of filing the settlement."

We both went over to hug the diminutive attorney and then headed out into the night. 

"I'll be glad to give you a ride back to your motel," Bill offered chivalrously when we'd gotten into his car.

"No," I said quickly, and he turned to look at me in surprise. I looked at him hopefully. "I told you I didn't come down here to settle for half a loaf, Buffalo Bill. I want you to take me back to your place tonight."

He turned in his seat to look directly in my eyes, and then he asked me, "Are you sure, Annie?" When I nodded, he reached over and kissed me. Without another word he sped off into the night.

I'd felt pretty strong in the courtroom, and even stronger when I'd asked Buffalo Bill to take me home with him. Standing there in the living room of his apartment, however, my insecurities seemed to come flooding back and I couldn't look him in the eye.

But if I was nervous, Bill showed no hesitation at all. He simply swept me up off my feet and carried me back to his bedroom, where he began to take off my clothes. I tried to help, but he blocked my hands. "No, let me," he said.

As he unbuttoned my blouse and unzipped my pencil skirt, I was grateful that Randi's daughter had started my shopping spree in the lingerie department. I'd never owned expensive underwear before, and the black bra and matching French-cut panties I wore made me feel very feminine and sophisticated. The garter belt and dark thigh-high hose she'd selected made me feel downright hot.

As he removed my bra, Bill covered my breasts with kisses that set my body quivering. When he pulled down my panties, his lips and fingers soon made it difficult for me to stand. I was so ready that I actually felt myself panting.

I was surprised when Bill left my garter belt, hose and heels on, but I caught a glimpse of myself in his bedroom mirror and was amazed at how sexy I looked. Before I could think about that any further, he laid me back on his bed and resumed his kisses and caresses. When he slid down my torso and began to apply his tongue to my special place between my legs, I thought I would go mad. No one had ever done that to me before and I loved it.

"Please, please," I begged him, clutching at his head and shoulders and pulling him up because I could wait no longer. Then he was sliding into me, and I felt a wonderful sensation of fullness. He began to stroke in and out of me, and the feeling was different from anything I'd ever felt. I strained to pull him even deeper as something began to build within me, something so powerful that I couldn't stand it yet couldn't do without it. Then his wonderful penis began to pump faster and faster, and I heard myself crying out unintelligibly. My back arched and I strained upwards, hoping it would never end. Suddenly, everything exploded and I collapsed, every muscle enervated. 

I thought I heard him whispering my name, and then I fell asleep.

When I awoke, Bill was lying on his back in bed. I was snuggled up under his right arm, which was draped protectively around me, and my right leg was lying across his legs. The sun coming through the curtains let me study his body, and I idly traced my fingers across his chest, playing with the patch of hair growing there.

Suddenly I realized he was awake too. I raised my head to look at him and saw his familiar grin. "Good morning, Annie Oakley," he said mischievously. "Did you know you snore when you sleep?"

"I do not," I said indignantly, before I realized that he was teasing me. I shook my head in mock disgust and settled my head back down on his chest.

"No," he admitted, "you don't, but you are really beautiful."

I was doubtful: I could only imagine the state of my hair and make-up after last night. "But," I asked myself, "if he thinks so, who am I to argue?"

We lay there together for a few more minutes, then he scooted himself up so his back was against the headboard, and pulled me up with him.

"So," he asked me, "now that you're rich, do you know what you're going to do with all that money?"

"Actually, I do, at least in part. I'm going to give half of it to my foster parents back in Tyler. They've been really good to me, and this is my chance to repay them for all they've done."

Then I looked at him. "What about you? What'll you do with yours, Bill?"

"Oh, I know exactly what I'm going to do," he said confidently. "I'm going to use it to take me back to Colorado and set up my own accounting firm."

I wanted desperately to say something then, but I held back. It had been fine to express my desire last night because Buffalo Bill was too much of a gentleman to make a move on me without some encouragement on my part. But what I wanted now had to be his initiative. I bit my lower lip.

"Listen, Annie," he started, "do you . . ., that is, would you like . . . I mean, what I'm trying to say is, would you come with me, Annie, I mean, if you want to?"

"Oh, yes, Bill," I said fervently, "I want to more than anything in the world." Then I kissed him as hard as I could.

After a few sweet minutes, he relaxed his grip a little, and I noticed that his penis was starting to get hard again. I looked up at him.

"There's just one more thing," I said.

"What's that?" he asked with just a trace of uncertainty.

I looked at him solemnly. "Buffalo Bill, do you think that every now and then you could give me a spanking?"

He relaxed and smiled. "Sure as shootin', Annie Oakley."