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[K][T] and Family Ch. 01

By: pocketrocket



Author's Note: This is the third book of a trilogy. Do not expect much sex. It only covers parts of four days and the principles are waiting til after the ceremony.

Chapter 1—Smoldering Ember

Interlude: 25thAnniversary

Cindy:

Everyone knows about the news spot. A free lancer was covering the wedding on his own dime. NBC picked up his story as a human interest piece for a slow news day. They intended to do interviews with the bride on their morning show. When the bride did not pick up the phone, so to speak, they started looking harder.

Sheila:

I had a 9:00 AM interview meeting with Richard Foster. Part of that interview would be dealing with both Christine's needs and her condition. I also asked Jason to assist. That would be a test for both of them. I arrived a few minutes early to get the old cameras out of storage. In a lot of ways it was like digging in the attic. There had been a time that these cameras had meant a lot to me. They had become nostalgia.

On the way over, Christine and I had stopped by my old apartment for some clothes. Sean had had Gerald collect most of mine, but Christine had nothing at the Residence. I picked out the black slacks and camisole that I had used to display Christine at the mall. I added a shirt to wear over it. Christine was already wearing a bra under her workouts. It was not perfect, but it would do.

I was setting up a tripod for the camera when Christine showed Richard in. He looked younger than I remembered and rather nervous. I reflected that he was out of his element—and in mine. I smiled as I remembered Sean's reaction to this room. Rather than stop what I was doing, I simply greeted Richard and let him look around. The focus of a new client can be very telling. In Richard's case, the focus turned out to be me. Interesting.

I finished my task, picked up a rag to wipe my hands, then shook hands with Richard. After the usual pleasantries, I asked him what he thought of my playground. Clearly, Richard had been thinking along the same lines. He said that he could always tell a lot about an owner by the things he purchased for his pet. There was just a slight emphasis on "pet", indicating that he meant Christine. That was both good and bad, but I would wait til Christine was available to get details.

Instead, I walked around the room, picking up items, or indicating devices. For the most part, Richard was knowledgeable and forthcoming. I went to the pain locker and pulled out several different floggers and lashes. On a whim, I pulled out my cat o' nine tails. I asked what each was for and how each was unique. When I reached the cat, I asked him how he would use it. Richard said it would work best mounted on a board and hung over the door. At that point I decided I could work with him.

It goes without saying that Christine had said nothing. That did not mean that she had no comment. Her eyes had widened when I pulled out the cat. When Richard said it was best used as a decoration, Christine had smiled quickly, which turned a bit wry. One had to pay attention, but Christine was moving stiffly. No kidding sweetheart. Did you think that whip was a toy?

Richard must have seen the play of emotions on my face. He said that Christine and I were very well matched. There was nothing to say to that, so instead I started to talk of the job I envisioned. Richard should give notice at Petsmart, but not quit immediately, since I would not be available to train him. During the next week and a half, he would watch recordings of my sessions and observe some live sessions by Siobhan. I thought Francine would find him distracting. He would receive half his hourly rate during this period. Once I returned from my honeymoon (Sean would not tell me where we were going, the beast) I would start his apprenticeship.

At that point, I led him to the offices. When I logged on my computer, I saw that I had three messages from Jason. In a moment, I heard Christine leave the room. Jason had been outside for fifteen minutes. While Christine was fetching him, I showed Richard how the video material was filed. Naturally, I needed waivers from my clients before I showed him any of the session material. This was just his interview, which I needed to conclude.

I waited until Christine had returned with Jason, so that I could ask for five minutes of privacy with Richard. I turned to him and asked if he had any questions. There were a large number. I could see it in his face. However, the only one he asked was about medical and liability coverage. One of my clients was a senior underwriter at Aetna. I told Richard that there was coverage, but that a full answer would have to wait. Then I asked the big question, "Do you want to start now?"

Richard nodded. We went out to find Jason and Christine. I asked Christine to fetch her collar and leash. She scurried off. I told Jason and Richard that I had not formally given Christine her collar. They were to be her witnesses. Jason looked unsurprised. Richard showed suitable control. He might work out. Christine returned with the collar, with the name tag attached, and her leash.

I indicated the floor at my feet. Christine assumed Second Position. Again, Jason was unsurprised, but Richard's eye's widened. I smiled slightly. Richard had not seen anything yet. I turned my full attention to Christine. I held out the collar. Christine looked at it, at me, then nodded. I glanced at Jason. He walked behind Christine and lifted her hair. I put the collar around her neck and fastened the buckle, then attached the lead. At my glance, Jason lowered her hair. I stepped forward and pulled Christine's head to me.

Then, with a small bow, I handed the leash to Jason, who showed surprise for the first time. However, he accepted the leash, with an answering bow. I nodded. We were done. As explanation I said, "Christine has a task here shortly. After that, you hold the leash until morning." On impulse, I added, "You may stay and help if you want to get sweaty." Jason smiled at that, but he stayed. To Richard I said, "If all that is acceptable, you start Monday, but not here. I will contact you with details."

I showed Richard out, then returned to Jason and Christine. I had promised them a joint session, which was going to be interesting. However, one thing clearly came first. I looked at Christine and said, "Show him." Without hesitation, Christine dropped her workout pants and panties. Jason said nothing, because Christine was facing him, which continued while she kicked off her shoes and stepped out of the pants. Christine was smiling, but I knew her well enough to sense the unease.

Slowly she turned. I knew what to expect and it was all I could do not to cry out. Jason was not prepared. He gasped, then oohed and aahed in sympathy. It was worth some comments. The first four strikes had reduced to three dozen bruises, spread out along both legs. I could easily tell those stripes from the ones near the knee. These were much more distinct and reddish. I was glad Siobhan had thought to use disinfectant, because blood had seeped from the ones directly behind the knee, resulting in scabbing. I did not want to think about the condition of the center stroke. The welts on Christine's ass were bad enough.

Jason was not going to ask, but I had no trouble telling him. "Christine wanted to give me a wedding gift. I did my best to ensure it was a good one. You may be assured that the bondage subculture of New York is buzzing about it. Mistress Cynthia is getting entirely too much attention, which is why I am closing this studio today, rather than after my honeymoon."

I turned to my misbehaving submissive. "You, Christine Renée Collinsworth, had best never try anything like that again. If you do, you will sleep tied up on a tile floor for a month. And, you will not be allowed to see the baby." Christine was on the verge of tears. "That said, it was incredibly sweet. Thank you. I will not be telling Francine that you did it to show her up." This time Christine looked sheepish. She is incorrigible that way. I gave her a wink and told her to get dressed.

I text Gerald, to let him know that Jason would be joining the crew, when I realized that Jason also needed to take my car. He and Christine were going to be doing more of the call girl tour. I suspected tonight would be different from Monday, because Jason's picture was already making waves. I requested a car to pick me up in front of the gym.

Going back to Jason, I handed him my keys along with a few instructions. Do not let Christine attempt deep throat with the collar on. While she was wearing the collar, Christine had no hands, only paws. Having her go on all fours should only be done indoors or on grass. Above all, when wearing the collar Christine was not allowed to touch herself. This was all common sense stuff, but sense is rarely common, so I spelled it out for Jason. He was clearly anticipating the trip.

I smiled to myself as I went through the rabbit hole.

Siobhan:

I have always enjoyed shocking people. Oddly, when I was not going for effect, I achieved my biggest impact. Most of my remaining students were having breakfast at the Waffle House. No one recognized me when I came in. I walked up to one of their tables. One of the guys mumbled, "Can I help you?" I said, "You can finish this and get your ass over to the house." I had barely begun to speak when a chorus of gasps filled the air.

I had not expected to be unrecognized. I was wearing my usual blue jeans and T-shirt, though I had a flannel shirt over the T-shirt. I had also toned down the jewelry and put on lip gloss. Still, the only wardrobe difference was the underwear (corset and bra) and high heeled sandals. I decided that bearing really did make a big difference. At that point I heard a thump. I turned and saw Elspeth staring with her mouth ajar—and her purse dumped on the floor. Life is good.

Elspeth is from a family no older as mine. However, since they settled in New England, they naturally had more class. Ask them. Seeing Elspeth openly discomfited made up for a hundred small cuts and snide remarks. That only left a couple of thousand to go. I smiled. Elspeth's eyes widened in recognition of the smile. In response, I smiled wider. That was the end of my patience. I told everyone to wrap it up. I was going to Foot Locker for some walking shoes. There would be hell to pay if they were not at work when I arrived.

Foot Locker was not open, so I made do with Target. Changing shoes in a corset was an interesting experience, which I was not eager to repeat. I also know next to nothing about shoes. In the end, I figured name brand and money would generally indicate at least some quality. While I was there I bought a simple pull over top, to replace the torn T-shirt. It was going to be warm and I did not want to wear the flannel shirt all day.

On the way out I saw Matt Jacobsen, who I knew from high school. He did not recognize me, but he recognized my voice. His only comment was "Looking good," but his eyes said a lot more. When I knew Matt, I had just been one of the guys. We liked the same bands, but he had never invited me to a concert. Watching him check my tits was as big an eye opener as Sheila's laptop, because this time I was not dressed up, just jeans and a pullover shirt.

When I reached the house, I was amazed at the level of activity. Coming out of the garage, the whole back side of the property is visible. There were things going on from the house to the tree line, especially around the boat house. I wanted to see it all, but first I needed to see the house. Evidently I was needed, because the Brothers Gilbert were coming toward me, rather than hiding. Getting into the swing of things was like falling into the lake. There were a million questions, but the answer to 99% was, "Keep going—it's fine."

It was all very impressive. Of course, the house itself was designed to impress. It was only in my grandparents generation that the emphasis turned more to comfort. That had led to a mid-century addition with all the bell and whistles. For fifty years the old house had been neglected. This wedding was changing that. The workers were doing nothing unusual, but there were a lot of them. They waxed and polished the old wood and the solid brass, showing the quality of the work beneath the dust.

I was reminded that my many times great grandfather, Thomas Aquinas O'Brien, had claimed this property when Benjamin Franklin was still a boy. Thomas had personally felled the trees where the house now stood. His son, the first of the Richards, had dug the foundation for the original structure and the current boathouse. I often wondered how Thomas would feel if he knew his descendants were Protestant.

I walked through it all, giving approval for the positioning of furniture, allowing rugs to be respread on freshly waxed floors. Where rugs were sliding, I suggested getting sponge shelf liner to keep things in place. The Smoking Lounge needed a table near the french doors. I asked Mitchell if we had any old pipes stashed in the attic. There was a humidor. I made some calls about getting it stocked.

The bar must have been a chore. I recognized it from the attic. It was close to ten feet long and looked like solid hardwood. One of my students was rubbing in some lemon oil, which made the whole entrance smell fantastic. I noted that there was a cradle set up for a cask. Sean had purchased a cask of Irish-style whiskey from a boutique distillery. Perfect.

The debate was beer or no beer. That was easy. Beer was for the lawn. The bar was for liquor and additives. Water, both flat and sparkling was already planned. I suggested coffee instead of beer. Also a version Irish Cream, along the lines of Carolans liqueur, would be well received. That would make for authentic Irish coffee.

I went into the Kitchen, though we were not planning on serving food from it. None-the-less, it had been thoroughly swept and dusted. When I saw kindling in the box, I realized that the Amish might be using it. Two of my grad students were going through the plates and glassware. I told one of them to focus on stocking the bar with small glasses and coffee cups, not beer glasses or mugs. As I went into the Ballroom, I noticed the much fresher air. Mitchell told me entirely too much about the ventilation shafts between the upstairs rooms. The part I needed to know was 82°, which is how hot it reached the day before. That was warm, but manageable.

Outside was like circuses I had seen in movies. Tents and booths were everywhere. Food and drink took up a large sector. Fun and games was another. I immediately noticed what was absent—a toddler area, with changing facilities. There was a massive hickory tree off to one side. It was perfect for shaded seating.

I talked to Michael about fencing off the whole area and making a sand pile. He said there was a swing set that had not been placed, and more could be hung from branches, but there was a lack of period suitable seating. I made a judgment call. I told him to get bench kits from the home improvement store. They were nothing more than cast frames and wood slats. Such things were possible 100 years before.

Returning to the midway, the most obvious item was a fenced off Merry-go-round. I was reminded of the one in The Sting, which was perfect. There was a crew working on the machinery. When I asked, they said the equipment operated, but had not been serviced in a decade at least. It would be ready in plenty of time. Close by were the skill and fun booths. These were not nearly as far along, but there were people cleaning them up. I looked for shooter booths. In deference to the Amish, these would need to be closed, at least while they were using the area. Someone must have been thinking along the same lines, because I found none.

From there it was on to the lines for bocci and horseshoes, three badminton courts, the flat croquet course and the hilly croquet course, and an open area for quoits. At the back of the boathouse there were a variety of skill games, not to mention booths with the same function. Yes, stuffed animals could be won.

Off to one side was a long tent, facing away from the activities. This turned out to cover a dozen or more porta-potties. Correction, it covered a large number of women's toilets. A smaller number of men's portables were in a separate tent, plus a long building marked #1. Someone had a sense of humor. At the ends of the tents were hand washing stations.

I was about to go down to the water, when I noticed everyone was heading toward the garage. It was already lunch time. Sean had told me that catering was supplying lunches, but it still caught me by surprise. After waiting in line, I was the proud possessor of a ham sandwich, potato salad and a pickle. From another line, I obtained a cup of iced tea, napkins and a plastic fork.

I followed the line over to the eating space off the Ballroom. I had noticed tables were set up, but had not realized they were already in use. Someone had thought ahead. I resolved to find out who. As Sean says, it is good to work with competent people, but it is more important to know who they are. There was a a great deal of solid thinking in the way things were laid out.

Since I was seated anyway, I pulled out my PDA and checked messages. Sean was going to pick up Evaine shortly, so I waved her over. She had been copied, so it would not be necessary to inform her. I just wanted to get her temperature, so to speak.

Evaine Schaeffelker is not a gregarious person to begin with, but she was positively subdued. I told her to talk to me. I was one of the women, appearances not withstanding. Evaine smiled at that. When she looked at me, I was reassured. On one hand, she understood how big a job we were asking of her. While she was not undercover, exactly, she would be largely cut off from the rest of us for the duration. Evaine clearly understood this. However, she was careful and nervous, rather than timid and overwhelmed. I had done enough inner city field work to know the difference.

I did not have time for anything more, because her phone beeped. Sean was here to pick her up. I held out my hand. Evaine stared at it for a moment, then slowly extended her phone. I took it and nodded my approval. Then I walked her to Sean's car. I felt like a mother sending her only child to summer camp, or at least how I imagined such a mother to feel. I saw Evaine off and wished her good fortune. If this worked, she would have a landmark dissertation. I intended to see that it received the attention it was due.

When I returned to the picnic area, I found my six remaining grad students waiting. Damn. I looked them each in the eye, then flicked my head to send them off. It may not have been my normal mode, but it worked. Maybe Christine was rubbing off on me. I could think of worse influences.

Sheila:

The gym had more than its usual surreal quality. I always felt it said something that I found a BDSM studio more real than a mundane gym, but there it was. I swung by the yoga pad. There was a class in session, but Sharon did a little wave in acknowledgment. I waved back and moved on. The person that I really wanted to speak to was Claudia Johnson, but her door was closed. I went by the water stand, in preparation for leaving, when Claudia saw me.

She was showing someone around the building. Since she was the senior manager, that meant someone important, so I was surprised I did not already know about it. Claudia waved me forward. I had a bad feeling, but I went. When Claudia introduced her guest as Howard Jones, my bad feeling turned sick. "How" Jones was what passes for a financial reporter in the backwoods of central New Jersey. At least there was no film crew.


[K][T] and Family Ch. 01



With as much grace as I could I pulled Claudia aside. "Claudia, I will make this quick. A lot has happened. Sean Richards and I are engaged. I came to invite you to the wedding. Also, I suspect the reason How Jones is here is that Sean Richards and I have formed an LLC, which then committed to a neighborhood restructuring coalition. This all happened Monday. I was in the City yesterday, so this is the first chance to tell you, face to face."

Claudia was not pleased, but we were being watched, so she controlled her reaction. With a deep breath, she turned to Mr. Jones. "How, I would like to introduce you to Sheila Schwartz, one of our senior trainers, and something more, as I suspect you already know. I will let her take it from here." Gee. Thanks. Howard Jones was giving me the once over in a very unprofessional fashion.

To get his attention, I said, "Mr. Jones, what would you like to know?" I was not about to give him a straight line. He appeared not to have noticed the question. I tried harder. "Mr. Jones, you came to us. What would you like to know?" I envisioned having him tied to my whipping horse, with a candle under his privates. Then, I let some of my anticipation into my smile. It has been an effective tactic on occasion. Howard Jones was immune to subtlety.

Finally, Claudia sharply said, "Mr. Jones." He looked slightly startled. Claudia ordered, "Either ask your questions or get out. Either way, I am reporting this behavior." Howard Jones managed to pull his eyes off my breasts long enough to look at Claudia. She was very annoyed, but he gave no indication that he noticed. Instead he plopped his butt on Claudia's desk. He opined, "Now I know what bait to use when I hunt Bear. Heh, heh."

That was the end of that interview. Claudia went to the door and called for two of the trainers. They each had one of Howard Jones' arms before he realized he was being thrown out. On the way to the door he made the usual noises about freedom of the press. Claudia retorted that he would not find any news in my bra. There were several cheers when he was shoved through the door. It was a short respite.

Claudia turned to me. This was a situation. I both owed Claudia a favor and needed to get a story to the Beacon quickly. First things first. "Claudia, this is going to be rushed. I promise a full explanation later, but I have to beat Howard Jones to his editor. I am getting married Saturday, to Sean Richards, and you will receive an invitation. There will be a ball. Do you want to attend the formal dance?" Claudia's eyes went wide, then she shook her head. I continued, "Alright. The wedding will take place on the Richard's family grounds, by the lake. There will be a lot of outdoor activities. Bring your significant other and have a good time.

"Concerning the business, Sean has formed a real estate group to renovate this area. Much of it will be conversions, not unlike this building. An impressive list of people attended. If you want detailed information, call Harlan Lipton. Tell him I gave permission and will sign any necessary documents. The reason I was at the meeting is that I own this building. It was a bequest. I started working here because I needed to pay off the bank loan for the renovations. Start working up a presentation to both the property group and XTreme Fitness. A lot of floor space will be available next week, but you will need to fight for it.

"I have to run. Jones can cause trouble unless I get to the paper first. Even then, he does an unsanctioned blog. Wish me luck."

Claudia is is one of the least ethnically oriented black women I have met. She set that aside for a moment and said, "Girl, you don't need luck. Where'd ya learn a chiller like that? I wasn't even the target and my blood went cold." What could I say? "Claudia, you do not want to know. Trust me that much."

I went back through the rabbit hole and logged into one of my GM accounts. I sent a letter to the Beacon's senior editor, explaining that Claudia Johnson, Senior Manager, had been forced to evict Howard Jones for inappropriate behavior. I referred him to Harlan Lipton for official news and promised a statement from Sheila Schwartz. It ought to keep the paper in line, but Howard Jones had other outlets. I forwarded the message to Gerald, Sean and Helen. Sitting unread in my email stack were notes from Sean and Helen about my new position.

When I emerged, my work crew had arrived. I gave Christine and Jason a hug, then headed for my apartment. It turned out to be a good thing I was dressed down. Outside my apartment were three different reporters. One, who also had a photographer, was from a bridal magazine. As I was dressed, I could realistically beg off pictures. I thought it was funny that a bridal magazine was interested in me and said so. Evidently, that was quotable.

Another reporter was from the Beacon, also wanting a story about the wedding, but in a broader theme. He wanted to know about the Sean and Sheila story. That was not something to be told simply. I said that the relationship had progressed quickly. Sean was trustworthy and I was not one to trust easily. We hit it off from the start, but that working together had been critical.

The third was a free lancer, who jumped on that. He wanted to know about what we worked on together. I stopped, turned and gave him my full attention. He did not flinch, but one of the other reporters swallowed audibly. Speaking very distinctly, I said, "What, exactly, do you think I am at liberty to tell you?"

When that brought no response, I took the three of them into my gaze. "I think that will be all for now. We have a photographer, Justin Immons of Immons' Images. Richard's Enterprises can put you in contact with him. Good day." As I went up the steps to the apartment building, one of them said, "That cat has claws."

Once in the apartment, I took a deep breath, then went to my curio chest. I needed gifts for my bridal party and buying something seemed so cheap. I wanted something of personal value. Siobhan was easy. I had a set of lacquered brass hair pins, from the early Qing Dynasty, circa 1650.

Looking through my things, I realized many of them were oriental. I had a silk fan from the Shogunate period of Japan. Most of my hair pins were from the Far East. As was my kabuki makeup kit. That would do for Francine. Kabuki is all male, which she would know. For Francine, the gender bending would be part of the fun in the gift.

For Christine, I went a different direction. She would receive the sunglasses I had her wear at the mall and a tube of Cynthia's trademark lipstick. Christine would understand both parts of the gift. The sunglasses indicated that I would accompany her at need. The lipstick said that I would mark her when desired. I suspected I would be using that lipstick years after my other clients were gone.

While I was in the apartment, I went to get my other corset. All my clothing had been removed and taken to the Residence. However, they had missed the laundry and the dry cleaning hampers. I took out an overnight bag and stuffed everything in, except the corset. That I could carry under my clothing. There was a comforting sensation when I hooked up the busks.

It had only been a few minutes, so the reporters were still in front when I came out. In spite of my wishes, they took pictures of me carrying my luggage. I told them exactly what was in the suitcase—dirty lingerie and things for dry cleaning. One of the perks of the Residence is dry cleaning on site. I even opened the overnight bag to prove it. This earned me a laugh and some goodwill, which I needed after slapping one of them down earlier. It also beat explaining a tube of red lipstick.

My phone rang. It was Sean.

Chapter 2 -- Fanning the Flame

Interlude: 25thAnniversary

Cindy:

Mom says it never pays to alienate anyone, but sometimes it happens in spite of your best efforts. You deal with it. Dad says that Mom is being too lenient. Sometimes it is best to throw a nosy reporter to the wolves. Whenever Dad says something like that, which is often, Mom will ask if he means the wolves, or a bear. Dad never replies, but he also never apologizes.

Wednesday, 4:35 PM ET—Press Release, Richards Enterprises

Richard's Enterprises is pleased to announce the new Division of Digital Arts. The new division will draw on Richard's Enterprises long history of events promotion and auction support. The new Vice President and Director of Digital Arts is Sheila Schwartz, who will assume her position beginning June 12th. Full operations are expected to begin by the end of June.

Wednesday 5:12 PM ET—nevskii@columbiapictures.net

Aaron,

I finally ran down the Sheila Schwartz mentioned in the catalog. Attached is a press release naming her the new Director of Digital Arts, whatever that means. This feels put together on the run, but Richard's Enterprises is a long time firm with a good reputation. If they are willing to build a division around one person, they must know something.

I tried to contact Justin Immons, but he is out on location. I talked to his assistant Peter Grayson, who is also listed on the catalog. His part was the matting of the pictures. He specifically mentioned the credits page, because he had to keep two security from showing. With that context, it's nice work, which I told him. You know what that would mean to an ordinary photo geek. He said thanks, but he had seen true artistry and he was not on her level.

Something is weird, but I think it is worth pursuing. I was invited to send three high resolution stills. What have we got to lose? She will not be cheap, not if they bill her as a Vice President, but we would be a hell of a feather in their hat.

BTW, I talked with Zimmer again. He said the inquiry came from Francine Martel, the Broadway dancer. She owns a chunk of JB Productions and is looking to get more involved in that side of the business. Dave said she is flying out to look over some real estate. Give her a call. She might do a face to face.

Wednesday 5:19 PM ET—wilsonrandall@uniquebride.com

Bob,

I met the bride. Attached are some pics, but nothing we can use. From the look of things, she was getting the last of her clothes, the dirty ones, from her apartment. She is attractive enough in workouts. I am dying to see her in a gown.

The wedding site is impossible to reach. Security is movie star tight. The location is an old country estate, dating back to colonial times. Some old newspaper photos of the house are also attached. Evidently, there was an addition in the 60s, so this part has been in disuse. Not this weekend. All that old woodwork is getting cleaned and polished. The grounds will be laid out for a party. There is a rumor of a bunch of horse drawn carriages coming out of town about an hour ago. I am looking into that.

I contacted Richard's Enterprises about getting admission to the event. They said pictures would be available through Immons' Images of Philadelphia, but nothing about press access. This wedding is unique in more ways than usual.

Wednesday, 7:17 PM ET--broadway.com/divawatch/martel

Yesterday I asked the question, where is Francine Martel? According to my sources, she is in LA looking at residential real estate. Is the diminutive diva moving to Tinseltown?

Wednesday 7:31 PM ET—janice.springer@coxandhart.com

David,

Richard's Enterprises put out a press release, naming Sheila Schwartz as VP of the newly created Digital Arts division. It looks like they think she walks on water. Given the results of the catalog, I am not about to disagree.

It gets strange. I talked to the local paper's financial reporter, How Jones (yes, he is that cheesy). He said she is nothing but a personal trainer, who is built like a Vegas pole dancer. She is marrying Sean Richards on Saturday. They brought in a bunch of Amish horse carts for the event, which made a short spot on the NBC news. The whole town is talking about it.

Let me know if you want me to dig further.

Wednesday 7:11 PM ET—costellof.centraljerseybeacon@clearwire.net

Rick,

I am holding a catalog that Richard's Enterprises put out on Monday. It is from their auction division and smoking hot. The auction is strictly high dollar erotica. I am not into tied up guys, but the cover shot of this thing pulled me up short. I do know photography. This pic is already making waves and it will be making a lot more.

A couple hours ago, Richard's Enterprises named Schwartz the head of a new Digital Arts division. Seeing this catalog, that makes perfect sense, but not everyone is taking it that way. I am at Harry the Bear Sports Bar. There are at least two stringers and three or four free lancers. Some are here about this catalog. Some are here about the wedding. How Jones is holding court, telling everyone that Schwartz is a gold digger that latched on to Richards.

Here's another thing. Every reporter in town has heard of Mistress Cynthia. She's the bogey man. No one has seen her, but it has been worth a couple of careers to go looking for her. There is a picture of her in the catalog and she is listed in the credits—along with Sheila Schwartz. How does that top your wedding cake?

There's more. Francine Martel has been seen around town lately. She evidently took Schwartz into the City, to have a girls bachelor bash at one of her restaurants. It turns out Martel and Schwartz have known each other for years. Remember Oskar Gruber? That place. Schwartz was quite the star for Gruber ten years ago, even more than Martel. There is years difference in their ages, but the two seem to be tight.

There is some weird shit going on.

Wednesday 7:21 PM ET—nevskii@columbiapictures.net

Aaron,

Color me convinced. I sent Sheila Schwartz three still shots from our problem child. Half an hour later I get an email back, with a dozen clips, crops and enhancements. She took one wide shot and overlaid it with her crops, highlighting where each came from. There was nothing any of our techs could not do, but the eye is uncanny. It lays the scene out better than the dialogue, for damn sure. We could use it as the poster art. It's that good and this was a quick reply.

Get serious with these people. Now. I mean it. It will not take much of this to save that whole picture.

Chapter 3—Security Concerns

Interlude: 25thAnniversary

Cindy:

The horse and buggy caravan had one helpful aspect. It focused attention on the preparations. Once again, owning the caterer proved useful. Dad went to work on Thursday prepared to do damage control. Instead, most of the reporters wanted to talk to the Events people. Jeff Winston appeared on the morning shows, since Mom would not even consider it. Rick Williams made the media contacts that started his career in politics.

Sean:

If I were to choose a really unusual day out of my life, much of that two weeks would qualify, but Wednesday before the wedding stands out. Getting calls from Hollywood heavyweights is unusual enough, but launching new divisions—with no people in them—is downright strange. That does not even count the Amish or the fact that I had a circus growing on the lawn. By the time Sheila came home, I was ready to leave for some fresh air.

Naturally I could not do it quite that quickly. I met Sheila at her car and gave her a big hug. I told her that I was going crazy and felt like a drive. Sheila said that she felt like dressing up for dinner, but not in New York. There were three or four places in Trenton, or just across the state line, that fit that description, plus there are some five star places in downtown Philadelphia. I asked for a cuisine and she said surprise me. The Lotus Blossom would do just fine.

I led Sheila out to meet the Amish. Without my asking, she faded back a step. I introduced her to the two Elders Neufeld. Sheila nodded politely. Evaine came up. Sheila spoke quietly with her for a moment, then indicated she was done for the moment. I thanked the Elders for their time and said that I would be more available the next day. Elder Josiah told me that Sheila seemed plain. Among the Amish this is praise. I said that she was many things—at need.

We went into the house through the front entrance. Sheila nodded at several things, but made no comments. In the Foyer, where the bar was set up, Sheila inquired about the small keg rack. I told her that this was for a keg of Irish style whiskey. She just nodded. Something was on her mind.

We went up to the bedroom. Sheila immediately threw off her workout clothes. While I had seen her in them several times, this was the first where I sensed distaste. Add that to a request for a dressy restaurant and you get a sense of lingering dirt. Who or what had made Sheila feel sleazy? It was at that point that I noticed that Sheila was wearing her corset. The strings were loose, but I could fix that for now.

I told Sheila to grab a door frame. I carefully drew her already tiny waist even smaller. Then I put my hands to her waist and lifted her. I finally had her attention. It was only a few steps to my desk, which had a chair pulled out. I carried her there and stuck my foot on the chair. Not giving her time to anticipate me, I lowered Sheila to my knee and put my hand on on her upper back to keep her there. My other hand roughly shoved her panties down, then gave her three good swats on each cheek. Sheila never made a sound. When I set her on her feet, she winked at me. I will never understand this woman.

I told Sheila that I had chosen oriental dining and inquired how familiar she was. She was very unfamiliar. When I thought about it, that made sense. There is not a decent oriental restaurant within 30 miles. We have to make do with buffet joints that will cook to order. Sheila would prefer properly done simple food to that sort of thing. I said that we would be kneeling on cushions, so dress appropriately. It was at that point that we were told that the Amish had made the six o'clock news nationwide. It was probably a good thing that we were going out.

The drive to Philadelphia is not long in miles, but substantial in aggravation. This was one of the reasons I was letting George do the work. It also gave me a chance to chance to talk to Sheila. I just hoped she was ready to talk to me. If nothing else, I could be a warm body to lean against. Maybe teddy bear was not the worst job in the world.

Besides, I had not had good sushi in weeks.

Siobhan:

No one ever told me that life would be fair. I never stopped hoping for an occasional small justice, but generally my hope has been disappointed. That was why it was so fulfilling to see Sean wrap his whole being around Sheila. Spying on Sean is an old habit of mine, dating to early childhood. When he noticed me watching, he usually winked, so avoiding the wink became a game. The habits have stood me well in academia, where observation is critical.

Sheila was melancholy. She tried hard not to show it, but the evidence was clear. Lord knows she had good reason. The changes in her life were daunting. Whole phases were being forcibly shut down. To be sure, other, better phases were opening up, but that was the future. Sheila was mourning her past, indeed her whole life. I heard her tell Sean that she wanted to dress for dinner. That fit perfectly.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 01



I was a bit at a loss. On one hand, the house was familiar ground, but the familiarity was years out of date. It was time to gather information, which meant doing the dance with Gerald. The thought made me smile. Dancing with Gerald was not nearly as scary as it once had been. In fact, rather than dance around security, I was willing to partner with him. I pulled out my phone.

To give him his due, Gerald did not ask the obvious question, which was why I wanted to know about Sheila's recent movements. He simply gave me a status report. I then informed him that I intended to invade her space a little, starting with the bags she had left in the car. Gerald's only reply was, "Yes, ma'am."

Next, I found Mitchell. I asked for the best he could provide as a lady's maid. Like Gerald, this came as no surprise. I told him to round up all of Sheila's clothing, except her costumes, and get them cleaned and pressed. What is the point of having on-site services, if you never use them? Then, I went in Sean's sanctum sanctorum. As I expected, Sean had turned Mother's boudoir into a guy pad, with no thought for the new female in his life.

I may not be a debutant, but I can hum the tune. Mother had acres of closet space somewhere. I just needed to find it. Sure enough, the walk in closet-and-powder was being used for storage. There were racks for 200 pairs of shoes—and no shoes in them. Once again I contacted Mitchell and Gerald. Mitchell would get the space cleared. Gerald's people knew where Sheila's shoe collection had been dropped.

Once that project was underway, I went to find Evaine. Since she was going to be with the Amish, I gave my clothing a minute of thought. Weird, huh? I was not going to wear a dress or skirt, so work clothes were probably my best option. Other than the fancy things from Elizabeth, my clothes were intentionally damaged. The top I was wearing was the plainest piece I had. My hair I could put up easily enough. Funny. For once, I think about how I look, but I find nothing to fix. Almost nothing.

I needed a man for this negotiation, so I had Mitchell accompany me. The Amish were located in the front corner of the property, opposite the lake. There were several tents put out, the largest was being used as a stable. All of the horses had been unhooked from the buggies. Several boys were removing tack and currying the horses. The young men were unloading luggage and other personal items. Things looked as propitious as they were likely to get.

I nodded to Mitchell. He sought out a ranking man to make introductions. I was introduced as the land owners younger sister, which produced several nods. Mitchell then said that I was overseeing the preparations for the wedding. More nods. Then he requested that I be introduced to the senior wives. Naturally, they were standing right in front of me, but forms must be served. Mother Lapp was introduced. I said that I wished to conduct them around the house and grounds. More nods. I suggested bringing a couple of boys to serve as runners. This met with not only nods, but a shred of approval.

I suggested that Mitchell show the men the manly things, particularly Grandfather's boat. The group parted like oil from vinegar. Mitchell soon walked off with three of the men. I followed with a group of ladies and Evaine Schaeffelker. I knew she had not brought Amish attire, but Evaine was wearing it now. I wanted her to go native. So far she seemed to be doing quite well.

The easiest way into the house was through the new wing, but I wanted to avoid that. We walked around to the main entrance. There was nothing to see yet, but the layout would be familiar. With my finger, I traced the line of the drive, from the gate to the entrance, then to the turnaround and back out the gate. Easy peasy. Then we went inside.

The Foyer was going to serve as the bar, so I told the women, "Alcohol. Kinder verboten." I pointed to the cloak room and said, "Hats." miming a top hat. This caused a bit of confusion, but Evaine supplied the correct term. From there we went quickly through the smoking parlor, the small parlor/bride's ready room and the Library. The collection of books caused much comment. I told them that some books had been in the family over 250 years. This impressed them, since their own community was not that old.

We went to the Ballroom, which was a hive of activity. The main floor waxing had been done the night before, so everything had been removed. Now ladders were everywhere, to hang decorations, clean fixtures and who knows what else. At one end, an orchestra pit was being constructed. I led the group to the door to the kitchen, but it was locked. Fine. We trooped back into the hall and went in the other entrance.

The kitchen was dim and musty, but recently cleaned. Plates and glassware covered the counters. Some of the ladies started talk about that, but Mother Lapp went straight to the wood stove. Shortly, several of the ladies were poking and peering. Presently, Mother Lapp stood upright. I asked, "Ist gut?" Her head was already nodding before her natural defense kicked into gear. I allowed a slight smile. I said, "It may be that it will find it's way into your Kirke. Who can say?" This brought several startled looks. Once again I said, "Who can say?"

I turned to the door. "Comen Sie mit mir, bitte." Now that I had their full attention, I was going to show them the rooms that were not available. I led them up the stairs to the residential floor. This floor had received a quick sweeping, but not the scrubbing the main floor had undergone. The hall was full of mutters as I stopped in front of my childhood room. This was getting to the limit of my German. "Mien Zimmer, as child, kind." I waved my hand in front of the door. The ladies all nodded.

Down the hallway, I said, "Mein Grossvater und Grossmutter." Again with the hands. Again the nods. I went to a door we had passed. "Diese Zimmer, mine Bruder, George, California. This you may use." I had not seen the room in well over a decade. When I was small, George was very protective of it. When he went away to Cal Tech, I snooped, but it was not the same. It was not George's room anymore. He had picked it bare of anything personal, meaning Star Wars and Babylon 5 posters and his electronic equipment. It suddenly occurred to me that Sheila was geeky enough to appeal to George. I must have smiled, because the ladies looked at me oddly.

Rather than explain, I walked back into the hallway. I indicated the other three rooms were available. I checked the maid's closet. There was still an ancient bucket and mop and various brushes and such. I was doubtful, but I waved a hand at them. The linen closet still held linens. These I offered with better confidence. Then I took them to the servant's level. I waved my hand at the entire hall. There were a dozen rooms up there, which had been mostly empty for almost a century. Henry Ford had killed the servant's floor.

The Amish women were thinking along the same lines. Finally, Mother Lapp waved a younger woman forward. "Why are these rooms empty? Why have they been empty so long?" I felt Doctor Richards descend on me, but that was just as well. There was a paper in this, so I might as well write it. Evaine could give the Amish reaction for co-credit. With that in mind, "Fraulein Schaeffelker, any thoughts?"

Evaine had been the picture of modesty. However, being called on in class was nothing new. She said, "Ja, Frau Doktor. I..." She had no chance to complete the sentence. The reaction to my title cut her off. I simply stood straight and waited for silence. When it came close, I said, "Ja. Ich bin Doktor Richards. Mein Bruder, George, ist Herr Doktor. Mein Bruder, Sean, ist Mister Richards, but is considered much more important. Fraulein, you were saying..."

Evaine was trying hard not to smile. That had been her idea of a joke. It was one I was willing to let her have, but I was not going to warn her about Sheila. Serve her right. It must have shown in my face because the ladies all looked interested and Evaine looked less confident. Good enough. "Fraulein?"

Evaine abandoned any pretense at German. "There are three reasons that occur quickly. The most obvious is that your family no longer has servants. You hire employees, but they return home at night. Second is the modern wing. I imagine that is where you are staying, rather than the room downstairs." Evaine looked a query and I nodded. "The third is that the nature of your affairs is no longer centered here at the manor, but in town."

When Evaine finished speaking, the ladies looked to me. I said, "Good. I would say rather that there was a period, during the middle part of the 20th century, where such things fell out of favor. You may have noticed that my bother's fiancée wishes to claim the space for its craftsmanship. She is a lover of things well made and enduring."

I did not think anything of it at the time, but the phrase "well made and enduring" would resonate in the coming days.

Chapter 3—Indian Country

Interlude: 25thAnniversary

Cindy:

The stories of the week before the wedding get strange at mid-week. Aunt JO continues to talk about the preparations. That was when the Amish moved in. Aunt Francine flew across the country—twice. Mom and Dad spent the time getting Mom set up in her new position. It had to be done in a hurry, because Mom's first movie job was already waiting.

I always wondered how much Aunt Francine had to do with that. She says nothing. Dad says a great deal. Mom shrugs, as if everyone gets calls to save a major motion picture. I've seen it. Mom says she just pointed out how to use the highlighter. Hello. The highlighter makes it possible to follow the action. It must have been confusing as, um, confusing without it.

Francine:

Damn Siobhan and her too perceptive mind. It was bad enough having Sheila talking about having a baby right away. Since Jo Jo had pointed out that I wanted a child, I could not get the thought out of my head. I had owned a dual breast pump for ten years, but I had to face the fact that I was thirty four and not getting younger. So, there I was at four in the morning, somewhere over middle America, thinking about specifics. The problem was that Sheila had taken the most obvious sperm donor off the market.

California is both more than everyone imagines and far less. The prices and inconvenience are far worse than any sane person would believe. The opportunities, both business and artistic, are greatly exaggerated. Yet, I was going to buy a home out here, so I could pursue the business and artistic opportunities. At least I could afford to pay cash.

One of the nice things about owning a movie company is that there are always accommodations available, in case of need. Artists stay in too many hotels, so a house is much preferred. At the moment, it took the form of a bungalow in Palm Springs. It would do for a couple of days, but it was both too small and too large. It was more space than I wanted to maintain, but it was not large enough to entertain. On the other hand, the location was excellent for my purposes. I made a note to look nearby.

Since I was flying west, I would gain three hours. When I arrived at LAX, local time was earlier than when I left Philly. I told my driver to take me where dealers made deals over breakfast. He found this confusing. I told him to find me a restaurant, that served breakfast, close to one of the studios. That he could do. We wound up at a place called Ramon's. Despite the name, it served traditional Midwestern American food. I ordered an omelet and a truckers breakfast, plus a carafe of coffee, and hoped for the best. I did not expect much, so I was not disappointed when all I got was autograph seekers.

It was 9:30 local time when I made it into the office. I could have come straight from LAX, because the office has a 24 hour live phone set up. However, before normal hours, the receptionist was the only person on site, not counting security, which covered the whole building. Yes, I owned a chunk of the building, but ordering Security around is heavy handed. It works better if you allow your people to at least try to present a good face.

That said, I was not impressed. My car and driver were an open book. At least one of my senior people should have contacted me before I arrived and all of them should have met me at the door. Instead I was greeted by a perky bottle blond named Roxanna. If she was having carnal relations with anyone in the office, both of, all of, the parties would be unemployed.

I walked up to Roxanna's desk. I spoke very clearly, because my phone was set to record. "Roxanna, I need to talk to Richard and John. They should both be here. Where are we set up?" Roxanna licked her lips, which was a dead give away. She was an aspiring actor who was not up to her part. Oh well. She might be able to deal with her next audition better than the one she just flunked. That still left the question of who else would be fired.

While this was running through my head, Roxie remembered her lines. "Excuse me, but Mr. Williams and Mr. Thomas are not in. Mr. Williams is not expected today. Mr. Thomas should be in after lunch, but his afternoon is booked. I can take a message, but I am afraid I cannot allow you to wait." It was worse than I thought.

On the off chance that one of them was just incompetent, I continued in the role. "My name is Francine Martel. Did they leave any messages? I sent them word I was coming." That brought a reaction. My name was familiar. The next words out of her mouth would tell me a great deal. For one thing, Roxie clearly understood that the sewage was deep. If she decided to come clean I might let her keep a job. I found myself wishing I had a Deirdre Walters to act as hatchet man, so to speak. I reached a decision.

Sliding up close, I lowered my voice and said, "Roxie, here is the deal. Both your bosses have fucked up big time. I don't know the details yet, but they both know better than to freeze out the person that signs the checks, which would be me. Right now, you are no longer the receptionist for this office. If you want to have some job by Monday, tell what is going on." While I looked into Roxanna's eyes, I remembered the set of Sheila's jaw, as she coiled the Cat for that last strike. That would forever be my definition of grim.

It must have worked. Roxanna caved like a set building in a windstorm. "Richard said that no one would come in, much less the chairman. He's been over at Sony trying to steal a script, or so he says. I think he is trying to steal the VP of Casting position. Mr. Thomas is just in Bakersfield with his mistress. Officially he's on set, but she only has a small part, and it shot last week. I doubt if it's worth it. She's a skinny little bitch." Interesting stuff to have recorded.

I paused to order the attack. "OK. You are now auditioning for a part in this company. The next thirty minutes will determine if you remain employed or, if not, the nature of your severance package. If you do a good job, this might work out for you. First, call the building Super and tell him that the Board has ordered the locks changed. I will confirm through other channels. Second, call Whitmore, Thompson and Watkins and ask for Jack Thompson. Tell them that it is me calling and the shit has hit the fan. Put that through as soon as it comes in. Where is my office?"

Once she decided to throw her lover under the bus, Roxanna performed much better. Not surprisingly, the office I was supposed to have existed only on electronic paper. However, there were old laptops and broadband hookups. In short order, I was able to order the lawyers and accountants to freeze everything solid. I have had a lot of experience writing employment contracts and a very canny instructor. There were a lot of useful clauses in both contracts. If Richard and John went softly into the night, they might salvage something. If they fought, there was little chance either would ever work in pictures again.

Having started the ball rolling, I returned to Roxanna's desk. She was no longer the receptionist—that was being farmed to a service for the short term. That meant that her board was available for other use. I told her a little of the last couple of days. The short version was that my best friend was getting married, which caused me to reconsider my career. It turned out that Roxie had some real estate classes through the community college. It did not make her a pro, but she would do for an escort.

I left her to make some preliminary calls while I went down to security and confirmed the earlier call. After a few minutes of proving I was me, things started moving. The first thing they showed me was the surveillance feed of Richard Williams attempting to access the building. Even better, he was being belligerent, which allowed me to have the police take over. As an employee on premises, he and his vehicle were subject to search at management's discretion. I sent the head of security down with a full team. Not long thereafter, handcuffs came out and Richard Williams was taken away for several drug offenses. As he left, he was treated to the sight of building security video searching his personal vehicle, with police standing by. Things were not going well.

Roxanna's reaction was interesting. I had concluded that she and Richard Williams were lovers. Everything since had confirmed my initial assessment. I was beginning to think that Roxie had not been a completely willing participant. I have broken a lot of bullies in my time, but the worst have always been the sexual predators. A lot of people, such as myself, sleep around. The industry lends itself to the practice. That does not invalidate the right to consent. I decided to take Roxanna to lunch.

In any part of LA, there are three Mexican restaurants within a couple blocks. We found a middling respectable one and settled into some chips, salsa and margaritas. Roxanna poured out her story, which I had heard many times before. Her small town in the Midwest was actually Jacksonville Florida, but the rest was right out of a Lifetime movie. She had come to LA hoping for the best and surviving something less than the worst. I just wished that my company had not been one of the problems.

Roxanna could not stay where she was. If nothing else, I had already fired her. However, she did have a bit of education and seemed willing to do a job, so I could use her. More importantly, she had been sexually harassed on my watch, so I owed her. That being the case, I resolved to do a Sean and collect her. She had no ties to LA, so I could take her back east with me. When I made my offer, the relief was obvious. Like much of the population of most cities, she was not officially in residence. She would have to buy her way out of her room, but there was no lease to break. I gave her $500 and the address of the bungalow. If she was there when I left, she could come with me—one way.

That done, I stopped to check my mail. Aaron Aldermann at Columbia Pictures wanted to talk. What the hell was this about?

Sheila:

I was in a funk. This happens. Normally I either throw myself into work or Ebay. Neither was an option. Instead I had to deal with a succession of sleazy media types. How Jones is a joke in poor taste, but there are people that will listen to even him. The three at my apartment were not nearly as bad, but Jones had set me on edge. Hopefully I had salvaged something. There are few things I fear more than an investigative journalist on my scent.

When I arrived at the Residence, Sean was there to meet me. It was early for him to be home, but there was good reason. Heaven knows there was a lot of activity going on, including a bunch of Amish buggies coming out from town. This was my idea, but I could not get interested. Siobhan would have me covered. Instead, I told Sean I wanted to dress up for dinner.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 01



This was not trivial. Gerald had brought most of my clothing from the apartment, but I had not yet unpacked. Instead, I chose the ensemble Francine had chosen for me in Elizabeth. The silk skirt and organdy top would be suitable anywhere short of a formal occasion. I needed only accessorize. However, there was one thing I could not do—pull the laces of the corset. As Sean pulled the strings, everything seemed to come into focus.

Sean would not tell me where he was taking me, but it quickly became apparent that it was either in Trenton or beyond in Philadelphia. That gave me time to learn that the car had internet reception built in. Sean showed me the access port and then hooked up his PDA. I had a tablet, which would do well enough. For a while I was happy as a clam in sewage. Then I started getting news.

The nationwide report on the Amish buggies was only a 20 second spot, but it was also the last item on the program, so people noticed. I could live with it and I did not have to like it. There were several news items arising from Sean's impromptu new division. I still had mixed feelings about that. Then there was the email giving me my new corporate email account and asking me to come in for an orientation. I opened that account and saw three other welcome aboard/we need to talk messages. Then there was one from columbiapictures.net. I felt a gulf open below me as I clicked on the line.

It was as bad as it could be. Whoever Ivan Nevsky was, he obviously thought I was someone important. Of course, a signature reading "Sheila R. Schwartz-Richards, Vice President" might have something to do with that. I asked Sean. He said that Mr. Nevsky is why they rushed my division's formation. He was Columbia Studio's senior film editor, whatever his title. He wanted to run some images by me. Thanks for the heads up.

There were three images, all in high resolution. I wished I was at my cutting desk, but I could do enough to get more information. They appeared to be from an action sequence in a mall or depot. There was a lot of space and a lot of people. I chose the least cluttered of the three images and isolated the interesting parts. I saved those and tacked them to the reply. Then I overlay the three best cuts on the original, highlighting where each cut had been taken. It was student grade work, but it gave me a platform to ask what exactly Columbia Pictures wanted done.

I closed my browser and gave Sean my best evil eye. Unfortunately, the cad was immune. Finally, he took pity on me. Shutting down his PDA, Sean slid over and gave me a badly needed hug. Then he gave me a recap of his day, at least the parts bearing on me. It was all both impossible and thoroughly documented.

The week before, Justin and Peter had intimated that I was going to be receiving some high level attention in the photographic community. Harold Johnstead had given independent confirmation when he printed off proofs for signature. According to Sean, Curtis had been working up a contract for almost a week, which put it before the pictures had gone to the printer. I could understand that. Curtis and Sean get along because Curtis is enough of a maverick to keep up with Sean's crazy ideas. When Sean said that Emily Lucann had my staffing roughed out, I was floored. Emily is as straight an arrow as they come. Evidently the only one that did not see me moving into an executive position was me.

As I let all that soak into my consciousness, I could understand Sean's decision process. He had expected to be able to break the idea to me gently. Given our history, that would involve convincing me that he was serious. It made me wonder how many glass slippers he kept in his closet. In any event, the call from Mr. Nevsky had forced him to step up the schedule. Rather than an entry level executive position, like Tess McGill in Working Girl, I was getting the corner office. I was never getting back to my clients.

That thought was like ice water. I had commitments that I would not be able to service. I had just purchased a building, that I would not be using. I had personal friends that I would... Oh boy. Those personal friends would soon be seeing me socially. I needed a large rock, so that I could crawl under it. Sean was the soul of concern. He asked, "Are you over your funk yet?" I was. How about that?

It was just as well, because we were getting into the New Jersey side of Greater Philadelphia. I could see exits to Trenton, but we were not taking them. Instead we were boring toward the center of the city. I had requested a place where I could dress up, thinking Albert's or the place in Easton where Sean had proposed, sort of. Sean had decided I meant a five star restaurant. Typical. I tried to relax as George pulled us onto I-95. If we were going to downtown Philadelphia, we were only halfway there. The traffic was already heavy as Tuesday night on Staten Island. Was that only yesterday?

I went back to my email. Francine sent a message from Los Angeles, saying there was a mess to clean up and that she had a stray she needed to take care of. Francine was raised on a different planet, where that would still make no sense. Siobhan wrote to say she found storage space for my shoes. That was such good news, I teared up for a moment. Christine wrote to tell me that she and Jason had made latte (?) and that everything worked. Also, Jason was now famous, which was not proving easy to handle.

I did not notice when we pulled off the Interstate. However, I could not fail to notice when we pulled into a parking lot. Surprisingly, it was not a restaurant, but a strip mall. The anchor store had once been a Target, but was now a health food grocery. George parked the car a bit down the strip, near a Body Shop store. Sean unbuckled and opened his door. George got out and opened mine.

I may be a bit slow, but eventually things make sense. Sean wanted to apologize for the dandruff shampoo that first night. So we were at a place that sold upscale hair and bath products. He is such a Teddy Bear. Fine, he could get me some hair fragrances to sniff and I could get him a decent cologne.

We spent an hour at the Body Shop and the linen store next to it. I asked about the reservations. Sean told me not to worry. Either he had expected me to take time or the restaurant really liked his business. Regardless, I purchased an appalling amount of face and hair products, plus three sets of towels and some odds and ends. Sean's bathroom had a built in vanity. This would cover one small corner of it. Other than stopping, the most difficult part was letting Sean pay for it. He wanted to make the gift, so I forced myself to ignore the prices and get what I needed. The items for Sean's use, I paid for myself. I have some dignity.

It turned out that the restaurant was not far. George pulled us to the front and assisted me from the car. The restaurant was not five star, but I would not look out of place. Sean's power suit fit right in. Clearly it was a place that catered to business people. Once inside, I was charmed by the design. I only knew authentic Japanese from pictures, but this was not it. This was Japanese for American use. For example, there was a tile floor, but each private room had a small seat to remove shoes. Our hostess led us to one of these.

I removed my pumps, but declined to leave them in the case. If this was unusual, the hostess gave no sign. She showed us to a low table, with cushions on either side. I was shown the one opposite the door. It was later explained that this was the place of honor. Sean, as host, took the lower place, nearer the door.

Kneeling on the cushion seemed the natural thing to do. I noticed Sean was having more difficulty settling down, but it would be rude to say so. Once we were in place, Sean introduced our tutor, Kazuko. She brought chopsticks and showed me how to use them. After a few moments, she asked if I had used chopsticks before. When I looked confused, Sean told me that I had grasped them quickly and with good grace. Most Americans find chopsticks difficult, but they seemed simple enough.

Kazuko then brought a small bowl, a bowl of wasabi and a pot of soy sauce. She asked me to pour some soy and put some wasabi on the side. Simple enough. Sean did also. Sushi and ginger was laid on the table. I was instructed to pick up a morsel of sushi, dip it in the soy, add wasabi if desired and eat the piece. For something that seemed very trivial, if felt like a test. Kazuko seemed convinced that I was not a beginner, but was too polite to make an issue of it.

The meal consisted of grilled fish, fresh and pickled vegetables and rice (of course). Kazuko instructed me at each course. Sean was paying close attention, which seemed to mean that he was picking up pointers. Kazuko was very patient, helping with my blunders, but seemed convinced that I was faking something.

After the meal, where Americans would have dessert, Kazuko brought a pot of tea. It was wonderful watching her hands as she poured. All through the meal, there had been a thread of grace and elegance, which I sought to mimic. It was very soothing.

As we sipped our tea, a man knocked, entered and inquired how we found the meal. Almost immediately he and Kazuko engaged in a discussion in Japanese. After a moment he indicated silence, with a small hand gesture. Immediately, Kazuko became passive. He turned to Sean and explained that Kazuko was upset because we had brought a ringer—me. She felt that I was knowledgeable of difficult things, but made too many obvious errors.

You had to know my Teddy Bear well to understand how funny he found the situation. After listening to the explanation, he turned to Kazuko and requested a clean tea cup, which he had her place on the table. Then he asked me to pour the Manager a cup of tea. Not understanding what was going on, I mimicked the little ritual that Kazuko had recently performed. Since the manager was not close enough to reach, I had to rise. For some reason, this brought a small gasp from Kazuko. Still not understanding, I presented the tea, as Kazuko had done, then returned to my place.

The manager did not react for a moment, then dismissed Kazuko. He made apologies to Sean for the confusion, offering to provide the entire meal at no cost. Sean said that we were not disappointed and insisted on paying. The pleasantries went on for a while, til the Manager glanced at me. Immediately Sean took on his other aspect. He is not called the Bear in jest. This time the Manager's apologies seemed sincere.

When we were back in the car, I demanded to know what was going on. It took Sean a moment to calm down. The Manager had seriously angered him. The why of that came later. First, Sean explained that Kazuko felt she was being unfairly tested. I started by picking up the use of chopsticks too quickly and with too much grace. Everything Kazuko did was supposed to be graceful. She was trained to do so. I was being more graceful, but making mistakes Kazuko considered trivial. In short, she felt I was a ringer, making mistakes on purpose.

When I served the tea, the Manager understood why Kazuko was embarrassed. Sean explained that shame is a powerful factor in Japanese culture. When the Manager had seen what Kazuko had been seeing, he dismissed her. That would have been good enough, but he gave an indication of interest in me. Sean went from being amused to being furious.

As we worked our way out of big city traffic, I took comfort in the certainty of Sean's feelings.

Francine:

Meeting with a studio executive is something full of hazards. Hollywood is not like most business communities. Most deals are done informally, long before anything is given to the lawyers. When someone like AAA, Aaron A. Aldermann, asks to meet, the first thing to consider is the place. In my case, the location was left open, so it was an invitation of some sort. That being the case, I should go to him.

I almost called to set up the time. That would not have been a blunder, but I had people for that. Roxanna had just been uprooted, so a chance to feel useful would be helpful. I asked her to make the call and chat up the secretary. She was to say that the local office was closed pending restaffing. The story was that John Thomas had been forced to quit for personal reasons. When I came out, the shit had hit the wall. Richard Williams had been arrested and I was cleaning up the mess. Giving a story like that to a secretary would get the word out faster than anything I could think of off hand.

With all that in the wind, I made a fifteen minute appointment close to my departure time. Roxanna could babysit the baggage. If things went well, we would ride to LAX in the studio limo. A cab dropped us at the gate. I was expected, but security was willing to allow us both in. This was going to be a friendly meeting. A golf cart drove us across the lot, which gave Roxie a chance to see a production lot. I told Roxanna to stay with the bags, but otherwise look around and speak freely. When I set my phone on its dictation op, Roxanna nodded her understanding.

Like a good receptionist, Roxie had given my schedule. Perhaps that had been important. In any event, I was shown right in. Aaron Aldermann was not a studio executive his own company would have cast. He was remarkably bland, except for having a trained voice. Like me, he had done voice overs for commercials and animation. It gave me an ice breaker. I was immediately corrected. Aaron was still doing the occasional bit of recording. Clearly he was proud to still be working.

The rest of the meeting could be summed in two words—Sheila Schwartz. I love her dearly, but sometimes that girl is a pain in the ass. When the thought hit, my mind flashed on Christine's final stroke. It must have shown in my face, because AAA stopped talking and looked at me oddly. I motioned for him to continue, giving him the short truth that I had flashed on a memory. AAA clearly curious, but he needed information. He continued and I payed closer attention. It was good that I did.

I learned that Sheila had been named the new VP of Digital Arts for Richard's Enterprises. Since there had been no division of Digital Arts when I boarded the plane, this had to be something Sean had thrown together. It was just like Sean to make something up and work the details later. AAA stopped again, but this time he insisted on an explanation. I looked at him for a moment, then relented.

"OK. I guess you need some inside information. Sean Richards and I went to high school together. I had a serious crush on him, and we dated, but dancing..." I spread my hands. AAA nodded, understanding the demands of an obsession. "We have not exactly kept in touch, but each of us has had an interest in the other one's career. Sheila Schwartz and I danced together. She did the Nutcracker at Lincoln Center at age 14. Puberty killed her career." I stopped for a moment, lost in the memories.

"Anyway, Sheila called me a few weeks ago, to ask about Sean. We struck up the old friendship like we were never apart. I will be one of her bridesmaids on Saturday." That caused AAA's head to jerk. "Oh. You didn't know. That would be confusing. To make the rest of the story short, it is very hard to put into words what Sheila brought to dance. She had an unfailing knowledge of place, position, relative motion. Pedro de la Garza calls her the diosa. From what I have seen, she has the same gift for photography. You have the catalog. That cover shot was edited from high def video. I am told she can pull images out as fast as she can work the mouse. Does that cover some of your questions?"

AAA was silent for a long time. I did not interrupt, because I could see the wheels turning. He proved me right. "Sheila Schwartz is why you always claimed to lack talent." It was not a question. After that we had some pleasantries. He offered to buy me dinner. When I told him I had a flight, he called for the limo. I was on the plane, dealing with the inadequate food, before I regretted missing dinner.

Sean:

Dinner with Sheila started well. She had a wonderful time at The Body Shop. However, dinner itself proved difficult. The Lotus Blossom offers a training service in Japanese etiquette. Since Sheila had once told me that her only exposure to oriental cooking involved carryout boxes, I thought the experience would be unique. It was all of that.

Our hostess/tutor was named Kazuko. Considering her lack of English, she was most likely raised in Japan. How she came to be in Philadelphia, teaching beginning etiquette to executives and their spouses, I did not know or desire to know. She was clearly competent. Unfortunately, she was trying to teach Sheila.

The Japanese prize poise and grace. Sheila had enough of both for ten normal people. Repeatedly, Kazuko would show Sheila something, expecting to need repetition. Sheila would have it perfect on the first attempt. Then Kazuko would expect that level of performance in another area, where Sheila would make a beginner mistake. Sheila was not ruffled, but Kazuko was rapidly becoming flustered.

It came to a head when the Manger stopped to inquire about our service. Kazuko bemoaned the unfairness of trying to teach someone as quick as Sheila. I could not follow the conversation, but the broad strokes were clear enough. Kazuko thought she was being tested—with a rigged test. The depth of her misunderstanding was amusing.

To settle things, I requested a clean tea cup. Kazuko placed it on the table. Then I asked Sheila to pour the manager a cup of tea. Having seen it once, Sheila smoothly poured the cup. Rather than force the Manager to step forward, Sheila rose to her feet in a single smooth motion. Kazuko gasped. Not only did Sheila rise directly from kneeling, she did it without using either hand for support or balance, without coming close to spilling the tea. It was a demonstration the Manager could not ignore.

He dismissed Kazuko, to whatever fate awaited her. Then he offered his apologies for the inconvenience. I was having none of that. Oriental negotiations often start with a gift, but the payback is heavy later. I insisted that we were fully satisfied and would pay the entire bill. Tipping is impolite, so that never entered the discussion. Things were about to settle, when the Manager's eyes went to Sheila. I instantly saw red.

Much later, in the car, I explained my version of the situation to Sheila. She had not understood why Kazuko was upset. It is a typical modesty that Sheila does not consider herself particularly graceful. From my vantage, I could tell that Kazuko would never have attempted to rise with the cup in her hands. Sheila also made an impression on the Manager. He was considering an offer—til I snarled at him.

As upset as the memory still made me, Sheila saw it as comforting support. She called me Teddy Bear and snuggled close. It was nice, though I might wish she had not fallen asleep. I wondered what Kazuko's reaction would be if Kitten bared her claws.

Chapter 4—Crown Fire

Interlude: 25thAnniversary

Cindy:

Things appeared fairly normal at first. There was some polite press interest. There were promises of pictures from Justin. People from Dad's companies did interviews for magazines. Behind it all, the serious interest was growing. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Jason's picture was worth a lot more than that.

The fire was laid. The flash point was probably the report on the Today show, though it was hard to tell. Then, Aunt Francine did the interview for the Beacon—that's the local paper. It was picked up nationwide. Google searches for both Mom and Aunt Fran's names exploded. Who is Sheila Schwartz became the question of the day.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 01



Wednesday, 8:22 PM—costellof.centraljerseybeacon@clearwire.net

I have been doing more digging on the Francine Martel angle. She owns a fair amount of property locally. She stays in a 4-plex when she's in town, which has been a lot lately. This morning she booked a cab to the airport. I put in a request for an interview with her publicist. She did not come out and say it, but the publicist thinks it will be a quick turnaround. I have a spotter on the 4-plex.

The word on Sheila Schwartz is that she is not just a personal trainer, but the personal trainer. Her client list would do a Who's Who proud. Harlan Lipton freely admits that she used to "wring him out." Lipton is a member of the property group making waves down by the old rail yard. Schwartz and Richards formed an LLC to join, which is a big deal. True to form, Richards made the ante $50K. Here is where it gets juicy. Schwartz not only works at the gym, she owns the building. Reading between the lines, Richards is fronting cash and Schwartz holds the key real estate title.

The Mistress Cynthia angle is like smoke. Lipton's comment was a wink and a smile. I get some vague references which make me think that Cynthia works in another part of the same building, but nothing solid. Cynthia is rumored to use streetwalker-red lipstick to kiss places that do not usually show—generally after warming the skin well. The phrases "lipstick shots" and "lipstick pics" will get interesting reactions.

Going out on a limb here. I think Schwartz rented to Cynthia under the table. More than that, she was the camera expert. Schwartz was getting money from somewhere. She would not make enough from her fitness clients and the rent from the gym. If Cynthia paid rent and let Schwartz sell pics, like the one on the catalog, it would make a nice little side income.

Storywise, I am saying that Sheila Schwartz is smart and capable. Sean Richards is known, famous even, for pulling gifted people out of obscurity. He has claimed that he and Schwartz met only a couple weeks ago. In that time, he put her in charge of a project facing ruin—which she salvaged—proposed marriage, co-started a new company and invented a whole division to give her a place to work. Given that no one in this town gets away with calling Richards crazy, I am betting he knows something.

How Jones has a lot of rope. My guess is that he is tying a noose.

Wednesday, 8:23 PM ET—aldermanna@columbiapictures.net

Ivan,

I met with Francine Martel. I'll tell you about it over coffee. Martel and Schwartz go back fifteen years. Dance trained together as teenagers, but Schwartz was much better. Martel went onto a big career and Schwartz became a fitness trainer. There must have been an injury.

Whatever made Schwartz a brilliant dancer must translate to images. Martel says that both of the catalog shots are from fixed camera video. Put the cover shot over the credits page. It looks like the same viewpoint to me.

As to time, there is another twist. Schwartz is getting married on Saturday. Try googling Sheila Schwartz and wedding. We will likely have to wait til after the honeymoon. As long as we get her committed beforehand, I can sell that to the investment group—solid reason and definite time frame.

You have authorization to go balls to the wall. Just get a contract.

Wednesday, 10:32 PM ET—wilsonrandall@uniquebride.com

We hit the jackpot on this one. I have been hitting the bars, trying to find people that have been on site at the Richards Estate. The picture is chaotic, because so much is going on.

First, the big news. The wedding will be by the lake, with the vows done on a covered flat boat. That alone was worth our trip. They are setting the photographer, Justin Immons, in the lakeside gazebo. Three guesses whose idea that was.

Odds and ends:

There is a raft of Amish, with their horses and buggies. They will be driving people from a reserved parking area to the estate.

The manor house is getting a major face lift, but mostly it's just clean and polish.

The grounds will be like a circus midway. A merry-go-round is involved, also a New York production company—JB Productions, owned by Francine Martel.

Francine Martel is a bridesmaid, but no one at the house has seen her. If she shows up, an interview is a given.

Richards Enterprises runs an events and catering division. Their head man, Goeffry Winston, VP and Board member, is doing the morning shows tomorrow. Attached is an interview with Rick Williams, Manager of Special Events.

The Maid of Honor is 19 years old and had been working as a greasy spoon hostess before Sean Richards offered her a job. We've heard this story from Richards before.

The person doing the hands on preparations is Richards' sister, Siobhan (Jo) Richards, PhD (Yale).

Richards has a brother George Richards, PhD (Cal Tech). His attendance is up in the air. Jo, who is almost 6' tall, will wear a tux and stand with the groom.

Parents Emilia Richards and Gregory Sparks are not expected to attend. I know the names seem backwards. I have it right.

Schwartz has no family attending. Father deceased. Mother's whereabouts not known. No siblings.

Richards bought a wedding band that is quite old and too small to wear. Rumor has it that the original owner was nobility. A properly sized replica will be used during the ceremony.

There are rumors of corsets.

I have a formal request pending to be shown the grounds. Richards takes his security seriously. I pity the fool that tries climbing the fence. Also attached is a newspaper clipping of Schwartz dancing at Carnegie Hall. It was big local news at the time. Call the Times. The guy that wrote the review is still on staff. They may also want coverage of this for the magazine.

Thursday, 8:12 AM ET—Smithwin@Bloomberg.net

Mike, Henry,

I am looking into a new division of a central Jersey family company, Richards Enterprises. It may not be Cargill or Koch, but this is a serious firm. Out of the blue they announced a new division—Digital Arts. The VP in charge is one Sheila Schwartz, high school education, recent fitness trainer and engaged to Sean Richards, CEO, Chairman of the Board. If you think you've heard this before, trust me, not.

Schwartz was a serious dancer as a teen. For unknown reasons, that cratered. She had no money and no family of substance. She started work as a fitness trainer, soon gathering an elite client book of local business people. One of them bequeathed her a shuttered warehouse. Schwartz borrowed every dime she could for renovations, then landed XTreme Fitness as a tenant. Apparently she had to continue working as a trainer to service the debt.

Fast forward about eight years. The gym is thriving, to the point of wanting the rest of the building. Schwartz meets Richards. She evidently has some photography chops, because he hires her to rescue a project that Cox & Hart baled on. Stunning success—hence the new job in Digital Arts.

Here is where you guys come in. In addition to the marriage and the new position, Schwartz and Richards formed an LLC to develop her property. Richards pulled together some serious investors—buy in was $50K—to develop the surrounding neighborhood, with Schwartz' building as the centerpiece.

My piece is one and done. The Post and the Journal have a longer interest in urban reclamation. Have at it guys.

Thursday, 8:51 AM ET—paparotzi@gmail.com

I have the scoop. The Richards/Schwartz wedding is tighter than a bug's ass. The workers all go home and keep quiet, but one group has been going to a motel. It turns out they are grad students that were brought by Sean Richards' sister Jo. I have 20 minutes of recorded conversation at the Waffle House. Pics are attached. Am I good or what?

BTW, the tall one is DOCTOR Jo Richards, now working on her second PhD.

Thursday, 12:03 PM ET—Michael.Gordon@wsj.com

Winifred you bad girl. You might have mentioned this was the Amish wedding. It's all the clerical staff is talking about today. Hang in town and I will be your escort, assuming you can get credentials. ;-) Fred is springing for the whole package. I get to do stories on both the Digital Arts division and the real estate group—with lots of human interest background on the Horatio Alger story.

As you suspected, Mike is salivating. Last I heard he was going over to HUD to see if he can be the one that breaks them the news. We are going to share a byline and do a one year follow up.

I hope you still drink brandy. I have a 20 year old bottle I want to try.

MG

Chapter 5—Music and Dancing

Interlude: 25thAnniversary

Cindy:

The preparations peaked on Wednesday. By Thursday the major projects were done and the detail work started. It was also the day the press started to break through. Aunt Francine was back. She never met an interview she didn't like. There were Jeff Winston's appearances on Today and Good Morning America. A select handful were allowed inside the gate. Dad said he thought they had a handle on the amount of interest. Wrong.

But that was later. Wednesday night Dad took Mom out to eat. When they came home, Mom showed Aunt Jo how to dance. Dad still has the picture on his desk.

Siobhan:

To some degree, the highlight of the whole week was when I showed the Amish woodworkers Grandfather's yacht. There was a man named CR who was taking measurements. Sean had hired him to oversee the refit. At first the Amish were stiff and formal, but soon their hands were caressing the wood, while CR explained what needed to be done. As usual, Sean had a good man on the job.

Elsewhere things were beginning to assume their final positions. All the carts, stalls, stands and tents were in place, though not all finished. Ropes and fences were up. The dozen benches I had requested had swelled to three times that number, set in any shred of shade. A great deal of work still remained in the yard, but it was finishing work. Other than the seating, the heavy work was done.

It was past nine o'clock when I called it a day. As I had expected, my grad students had thrown themselves into the preparations. In later years they would all be able to point with pride to their corner of the project. Justin's pictures assured it. Everyone had a folder of pictures of themselves in front of their work. Often, I was asked to be there as well.

Justin Immons was exactly what I expected from Sheila's description. He was everywhere, into everything, always with the Nikon clicking. Sheila had given him one of the guest rooms for his stay. It was a measure of her place in the house that no one had checked with Sean or me. We were informed, not consulted.

As I have been unabashedly lesbian, so Justin was openly gay. He was like some of the straight girls I knew—very comfortable for chatting. We were chatting outside the Ballroom when Sean and Sheila returned, rather earlier than expected. I waved, then told Justin where the liquor was kept and asked him to pour a set.

It is odd how very familiar things can suddenly become like new, when you pay them attention. Sean has been my big brother all my life. He protected me from the bullies in school, til he bowed to my request to back off. Sean took over the company when his diploma was still damp. In the decade since, Richards and Sons had become Richards Enterprises. The size had tripled and profits had gone up even more. Whatever George and I needed, Sean provided. He was not to blame for my unhappy childhood.

Seeing him walk up the steps from the garage, I was struck by the man he had become. God knew Sheila had impressed me. She treated Sean as her Lord and Master. That was only half the equation. With Sheila, Sean became complete. He needed to protect and care; it was his nature. Sheila gave him someone who needed that, but could also challenge him, talk to him—and talk for him.

As soon as I thought it was a match made in heaven, my thoughts turned to things with religious connotations. The traditional vow of love, honor and serve would be no joke to Sheila. The man's vow was, "as Christ loved the Church." Christ went willingly to death for the Church. No joke there either. It went without saying, "til death us do part." Of such examples, traditions are made.

Marriage is found in every culture. Every religion prizes it. Human nature being what it is, most people cannot do marriage well. Sean and Sheila were not most people. Even excepting her chosen profession, Sheila was exceptional on many levels. Francine's word was bandwidth. Bill Gates would love Sheila. Just yesterday, I had seen a great man refer to her as a goddess. At the time, I had been awed by Angela Molinari. Increasingly my thoughts turned to her clear deference to her husband—who called himself a poor worker from the sugar cane fields.

Pedro de la Garza turned my thoughts to my brother. The parallels were there to see. Sean had taken a staid, hidebound, antiquated old family company and turned it into a multinational group of businesses that no one took lightly. It was already clear that Sheila would be famous, but no fame she attained would faze Sean. Like Pedro de la Garza, Sean had an uncanny eye for talent.

Which brought me back to me. Pedro de la Garza considered me to have potential. Since he clearly did not mean my academic accomplishments, that left the physical. Just thinking about it made me stand straighter. A pop between my shoulder blades told me I had gotten lazy. Frau Doktor Richards would not do such a thing. Which led me to Lars Gunter. My phone was in my hand before I thought about it.

I punched in Lars Gunters' number.

Phone: Hallo.

"Lars Gunter?"

Phone: Ja.

"Hier ist Doktor Richards. Hold for Mein Bruder."

I handed the phone to Sean, who had just reached me. "Lars Gunter. Invite him to the wedding." Sean's German is much better than mine. Sean took the phone. There was a bit of twinkle in his eye.

"Herr Gunter. Ich bin Sean Richards. Wir haben beide zwei Vornamen." That was something about two names.

It seemed to be a joke, because Sean laughed. After a moment, he spoke again and the tone had relaxed quite a bit. The conversation soon lost me, but eventually Sean agreed to a couple of things, said thank you, good night and ended the call. The glint was still in his eye, but Sean played it straight. "He's coming. He thinks you are very German in your attitudes. He also loves Wagner." Out with it. There is another shoe coming. "You get to tell Gerald." Blast you Sean. Even Sheila laughed.

Playing chicken with Sean is an old tradition. The practice has stood me well in academic politics. I have security on my phone as 511. Gerald is 666. I let Sheila see that as I made the call. He would not be in the office and I wanted him to get this unfiltered. "Gerald, look up a Lars Gunter, Siemens Financial. I invited him to dance with me at the wedding. I hope I did not ruin your evening."

Sheila looked amused. Sean looked at her and said, "You've been giving her pointers." Sheila was even more amused. "She's a quick study. It only took her two days to learn to stand upright." Damn Sheila was good at banter. The logic on that gibe went around the tree four or five times. I doubt I had ever received a nicer compliment. Unfortunately, it did not end there. Sheila looked at me and her eyes narrowed.

Rather than speak to me, she looked at Sean. He said, "Music." Sheila cocked her head. Sean knew better than to claim he was not a lackey. "I'll be right back." Love, honor and serve cut both ways. Then Sheila addressed me. "We will keep this simple. You had several months of Oskar Gruber's instruction. He may have been a cold hearted bastard, but he could teach ballroom dance. You already know the basics. We are just going to walk through them again. Rather than recall the steps, pay attention to your balance." She looked down at my walking shoes. "Tomorrow night in heels. For you, it will be easier that way." Huh?

Not waiting for Sean, Sheila positioned me in a vaguely familiar stance, then pulled me with one hand while pushing me with the other. This slid me to another familiar position. Again she adjusted, then a third time. This brought me back to the starting position. The second time through was much quicker. Then Sheila positioned herself as my partner. Twice more through the sequence made it seem almost ordinary. I was beginning to feel some accomplishment when Sheila released my hand. Before I could fall, she grabbed my shirt and pulled me close. Almost chin to chin, she said "Balance, Siobhan. Slower this time."

I knew that Francine was a good teacher. Sheila was no slouch herself. Sean soon returned with a boom box, but it turned out it was not for me. Sheila moved me through the three box steps several times, then had me turning both directions. Sean began to clap the the meter. 1 2 3, 1 2 3. This went on for many minutes. When she stopped, Sheila waved Sean forward.

I felt acutely embarrassed, but Sheila gave me no time. She called the time, then started clapping as Sean had. It was immediately apparent that Sean was not the dancer Sheila was. Very few would be. However, Sean was competent at this level. He also had a much firmer lead. Perhaps that was Sheila's point. Remembering to focus on my balance, I tried to respond to Sean's lead, rather than fight it. Unpleasant memories rose, of Herr Gruber forcing me through these same forms. I fought them for a moment—which was too long.

Sheila stopped clapping and Sean dropped his hands. We stood a moment, looking at each other, then Sean stepped back. Sheila said, "That is enough for the first night. I suspect you will dream of it. Tomorrow night, meet me in the Ballroom wearing skirts and heels." Sheila paused, then continued. "Bring your grad students if they wish to come."

Sean swept Sheila into an embrace, then the two said good night and went into the house. I was at a loss. Frau Doktor Richards came to my aid. She imagined Lars Gunter walking me through the steps. From him, the corrections were acceptable. I ghost danced through a few measures, then turned to go. As I did, my eyes fell on the boom box. Damn she was good.

Laughing, I picked up the CD player and headed for my car. Thursday would be interesting.

Sean:

The evening with Sheila had not been the success of our first date, but it had not been a major disaster. If nothing else, Sheila was out of her funk. She slept with her head in my lap til we pulled into the drive. I would have woken her soon, but it was unnecessary. Sheila woke, looked around and glared at me, as if I had let her miss something important.

As we drove to our stall, I spotted Jo standing on the porch near the Ballroom. Rather than go through the back of the garage, into the new wing, I led Sheila out the front and up the staircase. From this side it is very clear that the garage is a converted stable. It had been years since I noticed. It occurred to me to wonder exactly where the lower entrance led. For a moment I was a child again, wanting to go exploring.

When we reached the top of the stairs, Jo was talking on her cell phone—in bad German. She thrust the phone at me and told me to invite the man to the wedding. The ID said Lars Gunter, which gave us something we had in common—two first names—so I brought it up. It broke the ice nicely. Herr Gunter quickly gave me his CV (resume to Americans).




[K][T] and Family Ch. 01



He was born in Westphalia, near Dortmund. His family was what some would call gentry—related to the noble houses, but not officially acknowledged. He was an honor student, with a degree in Mathematics from the storied University at Jena. He was quite taken with Jo, considering her to be quite Teutonic, in spite of her mixed British-Irish heritage. The interesting reference was to Wagner, almost certainly meaning Brünnhilde. Heady stuff.

As both head of household and groom, I extended the invitation. This was entirely proper and rather formal. Herr Gunter was being treated to all the forms. For his part, he was comfortable with that. When he commented that he had met Sheila, several things came into focus. I looked forward to his meeting Gerald. Which raised an interesting point.

After I signed off, I told Jo that she would the one to tell Gerald. This earned me a laugh from Sheila and a dirty look from Jo, not that she would pass on the dare. Instead, she did a Sheila and pulled on a role—so much so that I accused Sheila of coaching. Sheila responded that Jo had learned to stand upright. In typical Sheila fashion, that took some thinking to unravel. Jo beat me to it, smiling broadly. I looked at Siobhan, standing tall and straight, and realized I had been bested again. If she was not so humble, Sheila would be a real pain in the ass.

Working through the arcana of Sheila's compliment put me behind in the conversation. It was time for some dance instruction. I asked if they needed music. Sheila looked at me as if I were a bit slow. It was not my night. I headed into the house to find a portable stereo and suitable music. This took a while, but I never wondered what Sheila and Jo were doing while I was gone.

I was quite correct. When I returned with the old pipe bomb (my nickname for a cylindrical jam box), Sheila was walking Jo through the basic box steps. Jo would not think she was doing well, but I could see that her adolescent classes had not been wholly wasted. I began to clap a beat. Things went that way for a few minutes, then Sheila pushed me forward.

I had none of Sheila's attributes—patience, experience nor the ability make adjustments in real time. At first things did not go badly. However, Jo was not comfortable. She began to fight my lead. Eventually she froze completely. I think Jo said scheiss, which would mean that it was Herr Gruber she was fighting, not me. Whatever the reason, Sheila called a halt. We had still not used the music, but Jo picked up the player when she left.

Finally, for the first time in what seemed like days, I had a chance for some quality with my fiancée. As usual, Sheila wanted to do something odd. Bowing to the inevitable, we went up to Security.

It was well into the second shift, so no one Sheila had formally met was on duty. That did not stop them from rolling out the carpet. Sheila had done two very important things—she had the boss' ear, meaning Gerald, and she had brought recognition and toys. All this was very familiar to me, but I had underestimated the impact. I could not say about the rest of the staff, but Security loved Sheila.

Once again, it was my turn to stand and wait. Sheila unerringly picked out Damion, the shift supervisor, who showed her the feeds to the new hookups. Since these were the cameras from Sheila's studio, she needed no introduction to their capacities, just the interface. In short order, Damion was joined by every tech in the room, watching Sheila parse the day's feeds. I had to get Damion's attention so that he could move people back to monitoring the facility.

It only took about fifteen minutes. In that time, Sheila added another group of converts to her growing flock. When the photo printer whirred, I could tell it was almost time to move on. It was a picture of Sheila guiding Jo through the box step. Somehow it captured both Jo's growing confidence and her vulnerability. Sheila came across as kind, patient and full of positive expectations. It was a profound portrait of both of them. How did Sheila do that?

Our next stop was the old house. This puzzled me for a moment, til I figured out that Sheila was going to the second floor, where the Amish were moving in. When we reached the top of the stairs, a boy of about ten or eleven stopped running and stared at us. I gestured for him to come forward. He was looking very sheepish as he came to stand before us. I smiled to myself, but tried not to let it show. Instead I ticked some names off on my fingers, "Elder Neufeld, Frau Neufeld, Herr Yoder, Frauline Schaeffelker. Bitte." The boy dashed off.

It turned out that Elder Josiah and his wife were just up the hall, but Evaine was in the servant quarters on the third floor and all the Yoders were down at the boathouse. I should have expected that part. I greeted Elder Neufeld, ignoring Sheila and his wife. I asked how things were going, as if the two women were not there.

The conversation was not without difficulty. My German is largely business oriented and quite modern. Amish German is both a dialect and frozen when they emigrated in the 1700s. The same was true of his English. We were still dealing with generalities when the boy came up with Evaine. I asked the boy's name—Eli Lapp. I thanked him and said that I would visit Herr Yoder in the morning. Elder Neufeld shooed the boy away.

The three women drew aside and began talking. That was the important discussion, so I engaged the Elder in more general conversation. He was very impressed with the amount of work that had been done. Naturally, the Amish boys could have done it better. I told him that much still needed to be done and it was more small work than for large teams. If the boys and girls wished to earn pocket money, such work would be available for the older ones. However, I would be obligated to pay them directly. Elder Neufeld was familiar with child labor laws.

Presently, Sheila indicated that she had heard enough. I thanked the Elder for his time and wished him good sleep. Sheila embraced Evaine Schaeffelker, then moved to my side. You could write a manual on demure from her posture. Interestingly, Frau Neufeld picked up on it, but Elder Neufeld did not. I resolved to do something nice for the ladies. It looked like they were going to earn it.

We took our leave and went back through my version of the rabbit hole. At the door, Sheila turned back and looked over the now presentable main hallway. She seemed to come to a decision, then turned back toward our room. I did not need to be a mind reader to know what that entailed. We were going to make the old house modern. It would give her a hobby.

That said, I was not looking forward to moving out of my bedroom.



[K][T] and Family Ch. 02



Author's note: Preparations for the wedding are moving into high gear. There will be very little sex from here out. Them's the breaks. If these two were only interested in sex, they would not be getting married.

All characters are fictitious as are all the

Chapter 7—Adjustments

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

Dad tells me that the secret to anything is to put good people on it, then to stay out of their way. In the case of the wedding it was a synergy of the staff, Special Events, Aunt Francine's set crew and the Amish. Supervising all this was Aunt Jo and her team of students. Some of them are here tonight—give us a wave. Aunt Jo says that all she ever said was, "That's fine. Keep going."

I ask this, who got them out of the motel before the media descended? Elspeth? Don't make me laugh.

Sheila:

I dozed on the way home from the Japanese restaurant. Sean woke me when we turned into the drive. It was nice for a few moments, lying in his lap, feeling the cocoon of Sean's protection. I loved my Teddy Bear. But all good things end.

We emerged from the car. Rather than exit through the rear, to the new wing, Sean led me out the front. When we emerged into the drive, I saw Siobhan at the top terrace. Good enough for me. Siobhan would have news.

There is a run of wide steps from the carriage house to the rear of the main house. As we ascended I could see Siobhan pull out her cell phone and dial a number. Internally I made a wager on the recipient. When we were close enough to speak, Siobhan stepped forward, presenting the cell phone to Sean. I won my wager, because it was Herr Gunter. Siobhan wanted Sean to invite him to the wedding.

Sean has a working knowledge of several languages, which made me a bit jealous. His conversation with Herr Gunter was light and ended well. As I assumed, Sean had obtained a promise to attend. He was also getting ready to tease his sister. This would not end well for him.

Sean's play was to have Siobhan tell Gerald. Too easy Sean. Siobhan quick dialed 666, which was amusing. She asked Gerald to check out her date to the wedding, knowing that Gerald would do so in any event. Then she mentioned that Herr Gunter was invited to dance with her and signed off without waiting for a response. It would not win any style points, but it was brutally effective.

Sean took out a shovel and dug a deeper hole. He accused me of coaching Siobhan, which was silly. It was not that I would not, but my style is quite different. I told Sean that Siobhan was a quick study, as she was currently demonstrating. Duh. Fortunately Sean was willing to take his lumps and bow out.

From there Sean went to check on the Amish. Since they were staying in the family rooms upstairs, I was certain that they were content, but a well done visit is never out of place. We met with the Elder, his wife and Evaine. I hugged Evaine, but otherwise played the dutiful fiancée. Frau Neufeld smiled slightly at my act, but Elder Neufeld seemed oblivious. That was fine. I had received all the assurances necessary.

By the time we finally reached the bedroom, Sean was too wrung out to do much. I had him lie on the bed while I did my best to put him to sleep. I may not have developed Sean's massage touch, but I had been studying the theory. In any event, it worked. Sean went out like a light. I pulled the covers over him before I went in search of my shoes.

Siobhan was no clothes horse—yet—but she grew up with one. There was a built in vanity in the bathroom that swallowed a couple hundred dollars worth of skin care products. On my laptop was a note from Siobhan, map really. It pointed out vast additional places in the room for feminine storage, including a large closet, which I had taken as a storage room. Piles of Sean's things had been removed revealing two walls of shoe racks, already holding my shoes, with the back wall made up of pigeon holes for accessories and pegs for belts.

Wrapped all the way around this room was the walk in closet. Into a portion of this were the clothes from my house. Everything had been cleaned and pressed. The remaining space was not enough for my costumes, but there was enough room to make a sizable dent. Inside was another note. This one was rather pithy, "You have a staff now. Use it." I smiled. I had never had a sister, but I found I liked having this one.

It was neither early nor late, so I changed into workout clothes. Sean's gym is convenient, but I had heard of a big gym. I did a quick call to security, to find out who was on duty. A tech named Michael Smith was delegated to serve as tour guide. It turned out the large gym was a converted storeroom, near the kitchen in the old house. I felt right at home. I could only wish my body felt better after what should have been a light warm up.

There was a shower, but I decided to test my skills on Sean's high tech wonder. If I had to make do with ice water, it would serve me right. As it happened, I remembered the basic commands accurately, so I received water from top and three sides. It gave me a chance to try the shampoo and conditioners that Sean had purchased for me. I considered shaving, but decided I could wait til Thursday night. Instead I used the desert dry setting, which made the towel a formality.

Feeling a bit wicked, I climbed into bed wearing only the pins in my hair. Sean was sound asleep, so I snuggled in close and put his hand on my breast. I fell asleep thinking of what that hand might do. I awoke to the hand doing it.

Sean's alarm plays financial news in the mornings, at least til he can drag himself out of bed to turn it off. Instead he was amusing himself by flicking my nipple. By the time I was conscious, my nipple was as hard and pink as a pencil eraser. We had a short tussle, then Sean kissed me. I melted into his arms. We had become engaged on Friday and come home to some wild sex. Since then, we had made love only a couple of times. Our evenings had been full of exhaustion and our mornings were rushed. It was like we were already married.

We were not going to get any right then either, though Sean did take some time to give my sore nipple a bath. Nor did Sean tell me to spend the day in a short skirt with no panties—though he was plainly thinking along those lines. Instead, Sean told me to think about him during the day. I would be rewarded based on my temperature when we met, which would be at 1:30 PM to meet the minister.

With the meeting in mind, I pulled out my small set of ben wa balls. I have used ben wa for years as a muscle control exercise that happens to have a sexual side effect. Normally I use a large pair for long term use. They are made of hollow high impact plastic and have ball bearings inside. For Christine's training I have a middle sized pair made of solid chromed steel. This set of five was made of jade and was rather small. Using them all morning would give my pussy a real workout. The nice part was that they could be left in for intercourse.

This left me a dilemma. I was off birth control.

Siobhan:

Returning to my room alone held no appeal, so I checked a car out and went to the hotel. I was not consciously carrying the jam box, but I never set it down. I arrived at the motel, with no particular plan. On the way, I had passed the Walgreen's where I had met Maria. It occurred to me that Christine was in the car. I could have introduced the two. That led to some interesting fantasy scenarios, but I had declined Maria's invitation.

It was not til I pulled into the lot of the motel that it occurred to me that I was horny. The list of nine remaining students was not promising. Evaine was not even there. Six of the others were already paired off. That left only Elspeth and Vivian. Still, I was there, so I might as well show myself. The question was how.

It was a midweek night, but the motel was packed. I wondered what was going on. As I looked for a parking spot, I saw Conrad and Kerin. I beeped the horn to get their attention. Finding a parking space was still difficult, but soon after that we met in Evaine's abandoned room. Evaine was still technically here, but her roommate had bolted. Rather than move someone else in, my students were using it as a meeting room. I should have expected it, given three obvious couples.

Couples or not, the room quickly filled. I counted six, so there were two out. That would be one of the couples: Conrad and Kerin. It was a small pity, since that left us with only two guys, but we would make do. It was interesting that Jasper and Joleen were both here, because they had partied hard on Monday night. It was one reason I had put them on clean up duty at Sheila's studio. That seemed to be a good place to start.

"Hello everyone. I was not planning a formal meeting, but since we have one, has it been interesting?" I said this looking straight at Joleen. She caught my gaze but Jasper was the one who blushed. Interesting. Everyone else was eager to tell me their news, so I let them try to talk for a while. When they started talking to each other, I cut it off.

"Please, a little decorum. I take it that you all have your hands full." There were nods all around. "Does anyone have a problem that cannot be handled with the people you have or that the Gilberts can get you?" This brought a pause, followed by a few issues, but these were quickly attacked by the others. I took it to mean that things were well in hand. Good.

"You have me all day tomorrow, but Friday I have to go back to the City. Wardrobe. In case anyone has not heard, I will be wearing a tux and standing with Sean. I have seen the gown. No one in this room could wear it. It is very Irish, as in green, with ivory lace. Think tree-leaf filtered sunlight on forest undergrowth. Unless I miss my guess, everything will be trimmed out in green, so bear that in mind.

"After the ceremony, will be a formal dance. That is why I came down this evening. How many of you know at least some ballroom dancing?" All the girls except Harshini raised their hand. I was a bit surprised that Jasper also raised his. That was more than I would have hoped. "Is anyone well versed?"

That was the big money question, because I was out of my depth. Elspeth's hand went up. That gave me two.

We took a few minutes to clear as much space as the room would offer. I set the CD player on the table and punched play. Sean had loaded Strauss. The first piece was Blue Danube. Jasper and Elspeth seemed unclear where to start, so I told them to do the simple box step. That at least had them moving. After a few measures, they started to settle in. I tried to channel Sheila and asked them to start turning the box.

When the music ended, Jasper and Elspeth looked slightly flushed. Everyone gave them a little applause, which made them a little more flushed. I found them each another partner. After everyone had had a chance, even Harshini who knew nothing about European dance, I was ready to call it a night. Naturally it was Elspeth that brought me up short. Everyone then insisted that I take the floor.

Thanking Sheila for the refresher I had received, I called Elspeth for my partner. She turned white, while everyone was pushing her toward me. All over the room, phones came out. I cued the waltz again. At first I was thinking strongly of Lars Gunter, but it was not working. For one thing, Lars is about 6' 4", while Elspeth was about 5' 7". Also, I doubted that Lars would have any trouble leading. Elspeth was dancing the girl's part. Instead, I thought of Christine.

That was the trick. Elspeth wanted a firm hand. I led her through the school figures I had done earlier with Sean and Sheila. Then I started expanding. Our dance floor was tiny, but I took us around it. By the time the piece ended, I was breathing heavily. It was fun. OMG it was fun. I pulled Elspeth close and kissed her. She kissed me back. I pulled up short, while I gazed into Elspeth's grey/blue eyes. It took an act of will to back away. It was much too late to stop the comments, but I could ignore them.

I was halfway home before it hit me. Elspeth wanted a firm hand.

Sean:

I was getting to be attuned to Sheila's moods. Something was bothering her. I waited til we reached the bedroom before I said anything. My next words would shape the rest of my life. Fortunately, I was lucky enough to get it right. Rather than bluntly ask what was bothering her, I left it to her to shape the conversation. I said, "Now would be a good time to ask."

Have you ever noticed how just about anything can be phrased as a question? Through the years, Sheila would find all of them. Eventually I would only need to say the word "Now." and she would ask her question or make her request, phrased as a question. If I wished to be dubious, I would say "Ask." The only requirement was that I express some interest in her thoughts. If you have ever read Asimov's Foundation trilogy, I was First Speaker. I learned to use that privilege to yield to questions.

All of this philosophy would work itself out in the days, weeks and years to come. At the moment, I only noticed that Sheila had been wanting to say something, but had not. It was a formality that was important to her. When you consider that she had literally put the whip in my hand, such formalities are very understandable. For my peace of mind, Sheila did in fact have something important to ask.

"Sean, would you be willing to wait until the wedding? For intercourse that is. I am off birth control and I want there to be no doubt that our child is legal in every sense. I would be more than happy to give you release in other ways." I am a businessman. Pay as you go is standard practice.

"My Dear, nothing would make me happier. I will take a seat over there and wait for you to entertain me." One of the small changes in my bedroom is that there was now a sitting area. An ancient stuffed leather chair, from the old house, had found its way in. I saw other changes, which made me suspect my brat sister. It was another thing I would have to thank her for.

I made myself comfortable in the big chair. As I expected, Sheila dropped to her knees and opened my pants. When things were fully open, I raised my weight so that she could pull them down. In typical Sheila fashion, she did the unexpected. Rather than apply lips to my half hard cock, Sheila removed my shoes and socks, followed by the pants. Then she began kissing my foot, starting at my big toe and working over the instep and heel, then up the leg. By the time she reached my ankle, my prick was fully alert.

As part of our engagement, Sheila procured releases from all her clients. As with everything else, she was laying herself bare to me. The simple list of names was quite impressive, but it did not stop there. Sheila informed me that they had heard of my session with Mario. They were quite willing to have me in the loop. This is relevant because I had studied some of Sheila's video.

To say she is a consummate tease belittles the level of her artistry. Since I knew she was capable of drawing this out almost indefinitely, I held up a spread hand, meaning five minutes. Sheila did not respond in any visible way, but I would take bets she would hit the mark within seconds, regardless of my efforts to choose another time.

Initially, Sheila continued as she had already. As she reached my calf, the kisses became wet. In its turn, she applied the full length of her tongue to the back of the knee. It was like an electrical shock running through me. As the progress reached my inner thigh, I was reminded of my game with Francine. It would not surprise me to learn that Sheila was thinking along the same lines. However, she never reached my private parts.

Instead, Sheila began a strip tease. There was no music, but the beat was definitely there. Undulating at the hips and abdomen, Sheila's hands reached for her hair. Yet another set of hair pins were laid on the table. Down came her lovely hair. Just as I thought that I would like to smell it, Sheila flowed around behind me. With a flip, her hair came around front while she nibbled at my nape. Another electrical jolt ran through me.

Sheila moved around front and the clothes began to come off. Unlike a club strip, Sheila did not wave the clothes or posture seductively. She simply removed her clothing in full view, beginning with her top. It took a while. Sheila has an affinity for elaborate closures. This top was one I had seen before—at the Mario session. There were lots of tiny pearl buttons at the throat. Sheila undid them one by one, til she reached the more normal buttons at the cleavage. Rather than continue down, she undid the buttons at the wrist, then pulled the tail out of her skirt. All through this, her eyes never left mine.

There were many reasons I loved Sheila. One was that she was both smarter and quicker than I was. She had an almost unheard of ability to process masses of information. I think that was why her physical actions were so smooth. She had more processing power than the ordinary people like me. At times like this I feel she can read my mind, which is very comforting. I have had occasional difficulty expressing myself, but never to her. At that moment Sheila was both accepting me, exactly as I was, and offering herself, all of herself, to me. It took all my willpower to not reach out to her.

Sheila's hands moved back to the front of the blouse, once again moving down the breast to the abdomen. She did not lay it open, but there was a tantalizing glimpse of a lacy white bra. Next came a thin black belt, which Sheila pulled out and lay on the the arm of another chair. Then she unbuttoned her skirt and stepped from it. Like the belt, it was laid carefully on the arm of the chair.

Oddly, with her top fully unbuttoned and her skirt off, I could see almost nothing more of Sheila than I had before she started, because of the long tails and the silk stockings. However, Sheila's vulnerability had risen dramatically. It showed in her eyes and the line of her jaw. I thought back on the other times I

had seen Sheila naked. Each time, it had been me opening the bulk of the clothing. Sheila was consciously stepping into new territory.

None of this mattered a bit to my penis. It was pointing straight up and throbbing. I let my gaze move down from Sheila's eyes, for a moment. When it returned, Sheila had relaxed slightly and a tiny smile was there, if you knew what to look for. Any form of applause counts. In any event, the pace quickened.

Sheila removed the top and laid it with the other things. When she reached behind her back, my breath stopped involuntarily. Sheila's body modesty centered on her massive breasts. Perhaps it was some of that modesty lingering, or perhaps it was performance, but Sheila held the bra up while she slipped her arms from the straps. When she finally lowered them, her own arousal was clear in the rigor of her nipples. In comparison, stepping from her panties took no time at all.

Sheila paused, letting me see her intimate self, though she was far from naked. She still wore four inch heels, silk stockings and garters and a firmly tied corset. Ann Coulter once said that what a bikini reveals is interesting. What it conceals is vital. Sheila was wearing the reverse of a bikini. She did a slow turn in place, showing me her spectacular ass. I felt my tongue wet my lips in anticipation.

I had no way of telling the time, but my guess was that we had gone through at least three minutes during the strip. From Sheila's actions, I would guess that time was short. She dropped to her knees between my legs. Her hands started at my knees and slid toward my crotch. The whole ride, Sheila's rather substantial thumbnails cut a strip up my inner thigh. I jerked in place, just in time for her lips to greet my cock. Shit. Sheila was not being gentle. Her teeth macerated my little head while her finger nails scratched my balls. I fountained into her mouth.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 02



Two could play at that. I reached out and grabbed each rigid nipple between thumb and middle finger, using lots of nail. I pulled Sheila into my lap by her tits. She gasped, but my intent was her command. We had just spent five minutes establishing the rules. I decided to be cruel. "You will breast feed your infants until two teeth are fully grown in." There was no reaction that I could detect, but Sheila would follow my instruction to the letter, or explain to me why she could not. "Now lay over my lap so I can reward your impertinence."

Sheila never hurries, but she can be swift when the situation calls for it. In only a second or two she was laid out over legs. Rather than administer corporal punishment immediately, I chose to loosen the ties on her corset. Sheila clearly intended to wear the corset til Friday, when she picked up the one for the wedding. That meant she would need me to loosen and tighten it for her. As the tension yielded, Sheila did not exactly sigh, but something flowed out, so I swatted her in rebuke. Sheila wiggled like a puppy being scratched.

I took the right, my spanking hand, and grasped the globe of her ass. This also brought a comfortable reaction. My left, the off hand, came over to grasp her far cheek. However, I only tweaked the cheek, then dry thrust two knuckles into Sheila's ass. I told her she could come as often as she liked til I reached ten. Sheila came immediately. She called the swats, coming again on five and almost missing eight.

By the time I reached twenty, my hand was numb. Starting at eleven, I told her she could come if she was using me for my position. At fifteen I said she could come if she was using me for my money. At twenty I said she could come if she loved my sister, Jo. I was going to add "more than me", but Sheila's orgasm beat me to the punch, so I relented.

Instead, I told her to take off her disreputable clothes and give me a proper bath. I had fistfuls of hair in each hand as I face fucked in a stinging shower. Once I found release, I told Sheila not to come and tested all her erogenous zones, excepting her genitals. Sheila should never have told me how sensitive CC's wrists were. Sheila has the same issues.

When we reached the bed, I climbed in. Rather than let Sheila follow, I told her to assume Second Position and settle in for a long stay. If Sheila was disappointed, there was no visible sign. I settled in for sleep. I was drousing, but I remembered to give her permission to come and to sleep. That as my last recollection for the night.

In the morning, Sheila was still kneeling.

Sheila:

Sean was not well pleased when I pushed him to dance with Siobhan. I understood that dancing with a sibling is inherently unattractive, but I did not anticipate animosity. The late Herr Gruber reared his ugly head. So, we left the music with Siobhan and retired to retire. Sean showed his ability to read me by saying, "Now would be a good time to ask."

I did not have a question. I wanted to tell him no intercourse. But that was not the nature of our relationship. Instead I told him that I was not protected and asked to serve him another way. Sean went to a newly arrived leather arm chair and waved for me to proceed. With his assistance, I removed all of Sean's clothing below the waist. That chore completed, I began working Sean's feet, then up the leg.

Before I was well started, Sean indicated five minutes. Shit. I would be pressed for time. I finished what I was doing by licking the back of his knee, then slid around and nuzzled his neck. The hair on Sean's neck stood up, so I knew that this approach would bear fruit. I chose to change tactics in spite of it.

Something I had been wanting to do for some time was strip for Sean. I am not the exhibitionist that Christine is, but I can see the rush she gets from it. As with anything, such things have a proper pace, so I refused to rush. If it came to that, there were faster methods of bringing climax than of disrobing. On top of that, I had chosen something intricate so Sean could have fun undoing everything. Sobeit.

I started with the lace collar. The top is a vintage replica. Originally collarless, someone had added an Audrey Hepburn inspired collar of hand crocheted lace. It came almost to my chin and had a lot of tiny seed pearl buttons. I looked straight into Sean's eyes as I undid them. Sean looked straight back, though I knew he could see all of me through his side vision. The connection was intense, so I switched to the wrists to prolong it. Next came the belt and the skirt. I laid both on the arm of a nearby chair. Only then did I unbutton the front.

I paused a moment when I reached the bottom. In spite of all the fussing with buttons and belts, I was still almost covered. I did not feel covered. I felt exposed. Taking the next step required significant force of will, but I made it. I opened the blouse and shrugged it off and laid it aside. Then I reached behind and opened my bra. Rather than drop it off. I held it in place while I slid it off my shoulders. Then I lowered it with both hands. It occurred to me that this was the first time I had voluntarily shown my breasts to anyone but Julian and his dykes. In comparison, the panties were nothing.

Standing with the important parts revealed, I checked the time. Damn. I had less than twenty seconds. Drastic measures were called for. When other things are not available, nails have many uses. I ran my thumbs up the inside of Sean's thighs. My mouth took the tip of his cock. I applied teeth while my fingernails scratched his testicles. Right on schedule, Sean's cum filled my mouth. As you requested, Sir.

Sean did not let me rest on my accomplishment. He grabbed a nipple with each hand, using a lot of thumbnail. I loved the irony. Then Sean pronounced my fate. "You will breast feed your infants until two teeth are fully grown in. Now lay over my lap so I can reward your impertinence." I did not know how I felt about breast feeding teething infants, but I could obey a command with alacrity.

Once I was laid over Sean's knees, he rested his hand on my ass, gently squeezing my glut as if it were a melon. His other hand came across, but I did not expect it would be gentle. I was right. After a quick fake, Sean plunged his middle finger two knuckles into my anus. Yikes. I did well to restrain my reaction and I had been prepared. Sean told me that I could come for the first ten strokes, which was rather devious. I would have admired his form, but I had a count to announce.

"One. Sir, may I have another.

"Two. Sir, may I have another. ...

Eight. Sir, may I have another." Something massive poured out of me. I do not know what I had been carrying, but I felt its release acutely. Was this what Francine received from her Priest?

"Nine. Sir, may I have another.

"Ten. Sir, may I have another?" For the first time I was unsure if Sean would continue. If he did, we would have a ways to go.

"Eleven. Sir, may I have another.

"Twelve. Sir, may I have another. ...

"Nineteen. Sir may I have another." From personal experience I knew that my ass could take this longer than Sean's hand, hard as that may be to believe. I suspected the next blow would be the last.

"Twenty. Sir, may I have another?" Sean told me that I could come if I loved Siobhan. That was unexpected, but I was more than prepared. Relief washed through me like a flood. I think Sean had begun to say something else, but reconsidered. Instead, he rubbed my burning butt. Then his finger withdrew from my anus. He told me to finish stripping and give him a proper washing.

In the shower, Sean set the force to stinging. Rather than allow me to fellate him, he grabbed my hair and forced himself down my throat. With no concern for me, he pleasured himself. After he had released his load, he told me not to cum, then began teasing me all over my body. I quickly came to appreciate just how sensitive Christine's wrists were.

That type of foreplay will raise a temperature, but not to boiling. Sean did not come close to getting me off. Instead, he dried us with hot air and led me to the bed. He climbed in for sleep but ordered me into Second Position. I was already frustrated. I watched him settle down for sleep. Just before he drifted off, Sean gave me permission to cum and to sleep—but not to move. I knelt in the deep pile of our carpeting and watched him sleep.

Time sense is strange when posed. Short periods of time can seem eternal, but long periods can fly by. Christine could spend hours in this pose, blissfully unaware of the passage of time. Since nothing else made sense to me, at least not then, I considered Christine.

What was she to me. We were lovers, Dom and sub, employer and employee, friends, confidants. Christine had asked to be my slave, so that she could get as close to me as possible. Rather than accept or refuse, I had offered her a choice. Tess could have become my slave, but only that. I would not trust a slave. Christine could be my friend and confidant, but she would have to retain her will and her discretion. The price I had forced on Christine was one of responsibility.

Christine had chosen well. One had to know her well, but she had matured enormously in a short time. Christine's self confidence was vastly improved. You could see it in the way she upstaged Francine—three times in one day. Just thinking about Christine's joke at the diner made me smile. I doubt anyone had gotten Francine that well in years, if ever. The scene at the club was even more telling. Yes it upstaged Francine again, but that was a sidelight. That scene was about me.

Even as I thought it, I was struck by the arrogance of the concept. That scene was not about me. That scene was about what our relationship meant to Christine. Oh. I had been feeling guilty about the pain I inflicted. It had blinded me to why Christine chose to accept it in the first place. Guilt sucks life out of you. I had already known that much. I had not realized how it could suck the life out of things that matter to you. Damn.

As soon as I decided I needed to make amends, it occurred to me that Sean had left me in a penitential position. I was helpless and exposed—and it would not change any time soon, unless I chose to change my relationship with Sean. That gave me something else to think about. I never noticed when I slipped away. Christine calls it her special place. Maybe I found it.

The next thing I knew, it was morning and Sean was rising for the day. He did not tell me to rise, but I understood that such things were in my purview. Like Christine, I had to accept a measure of responsibility. In the morning light, that was a lot less problematic than it had been before. Perhaps my vigil had not been wasted.

I was still horny.

Siobhan:

I woke up both horny and at ease. It was the strangest dichotomy. The night before I had realized that I could have Elspeth in my bed and at my beck and call—but I wanted something better. Just days before, both concepts would have been unthinkable. Had I matured? With certainty I had learned, but had I matured. LM Bujold said that maturity is not a reward that someone gives you. It is something you must take for yourself. I decided that I had come close enough.

With that in mind, I reviewed my life and habits to see what would change. Oh dear. People often refer to misspent youth. I was 24 years old. I was still a youth, but whole sections of my life now felt old, worn or childish. Looking through my wardrobe confirmed it. 80% of what I had brought was designed to make a statement that I no longer felt was appropriate. I needed to go shopping.

At that thought I burst out laughing. The person, other than Sheila, who would be best suited to advise me was Elspeth. Irony, thy name is woman. I donned one of the power suits that Sheila had bought me, complete with the towering pumps. Christine was not available to tie the corset, but I put it on for form's sake. Even untightened it served as a reminder of both my posture and new commitment.

My first stop was Security. In addition to everything else, I wanted to get their reaction. Stopping at the door, to make sure Doctor Richards was firmly in place. When I stepped through the door, I was expected. If I had not been, heads would have rolled. Even so, the shock was profound. Every eye turned. Every conversation stopped, including those on a phone. I allowed a small smile. Gerald came to meet me personally.

"Good morning Gerald. What can you tell me?"

"Miss Jo, I can see you have been spending time with Miss Sheila. That is a hell of a look on you. Savor the first time your thesis adviser sees it.

"The news of the morning centers around morning TV. One of the Richard's VPs is going to talk about the wedding preparations. Everyone, meaning myself, Sean and Miss Sheila, have a bad feeling. Mr. Winston has access to too many things, in addition to the catering division.

"Other than that, we are now getting a serious number of requests for press access. The ones we will give for the actual ceremony have been dedicated. However, interest is starting to come from places like the Wall Street Journal and Forbes magazine. Something will have to give. Miss Sheila has many talents, but soft handling idiots is not among them. Sean, as both groom and CEO, will get a lot of interest, but be prepared to deal with attention as soon as you leave the grounds.

"Other than that, nothing on your level. Food deliveries, arrivals of performers, photographers and such. What can you tell me of your plans, Ma'am?" It was not a thirty minute brief in fifteen seconds, but I knew that this was the grown up version. Hmmm.

"I am first going to the motel. What you have said makes me think that they will soon be swamped with press. We need to do something about that. Arrange rooms somewhere else. Pick up their luggage. I will tell them when I meet them. If any of them wish to stay here, see what room can be made. Evaine is already staying with the Amish. There are only eight others. A couple can have my current room. I will rough it in my old bedroom. Other than that, we will play it by ear.

"Give me a roomy car. If the Mercedes is available, that would be perfect. I need to get some outfits between the jeans and this Boardroom suit. At least some attention to hair and makeup will not hurt. I had intended Dillards, but it may be better to go out of town. Other than that, the Amish should be allowed a great deal of access. I told them that Sheila prizes "well made and enduring." There is plenty of that around, if they wish to see it.

"Speaking of the Amish, make plans to move the main wood stove out of the big kitchen. I intend to donate it to their church. I will let Legal know. Other than that, everything through Helen, as usual. Good?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Gerald had more to say, but he did not deem it suitable. I could fix that.

"And...?" Gerald did not blush, but he did look a bit sheepish.

"I have told Miss Sheila that it is a pleasure working with a professional." Meaning that this was the first time that applied to me. I can twist a compliment, but I chose a different route.

"Gerald, did you really refer to Sheila as 'precise'?" I could see that Gerald also heard what I did not say. His reply also had two edges.

"Ma'am, Miss Sheila is truly gifted." Was that not the Gospel truth? If he only knew. Then again, perhaps he did.

"Preaching to the choir, Gerald. I already know."

"That you do, Ma'am." That was another left hand compliment. I considered them for a moment, before I realized that Gerald had not once expressed displeasure or impatience. In my experience with him, that made this morning unique. It had to be the clothes.

Sean had reserved the Mercedes, but I made a call and cleared that up. Then I had my first experience driving in heels, stick shift no less. Doctor Richards can deal with these little annoyances. I may not have been wearing that posture trainer, but my persona kept me straight as a board. Such was my mood when I pulled in to the Waffle House.

If I had thought they stared the day before, their open mouthed shock gave me a new standard. Unfortunately, I also spotted an obvious news hound eavesdropping. Rather than give him anything thing but a cell phone grade photo, I tossed my head toward the door and headed back out. When we met up outside, I held a very short meeting.

"Guys, the press interest in this wedding is getting serious—as in national media. Every stringer and wannabe in New Jersey will be here shortly. There was one in the restaurant just now. Do not expect to return here tonight. Elspeth, you come with me. I need advice. Move it people." Damn if they didn't. Wow.

Elspeth started toward the motel, but changed her mind. Instead she looked at me expectantly. Rather than answer I held the door on the Mercedes. We were on the road toward Union before either of us spoke. Elspeth said, "What do you want from me." She might as well have offered me the family silver.

I thought about how I should say what I had to say. So much of what had been important now seemed trivial. Elspeth and her many slights was part of that pile. That said, she was almost begging to be used in some way. I could see a future of Elspeth as my personal servant/sex slave/whipping boy. That said, she was not Christine.

It may be odd to say that a 22 year old Ivy League degree graduate, from an old money family, was lacking when compared to a 19 year old ex-waitress, but there it was. Christine had shown true loyalty and personal sacrifice. I did not expect that from Elspeth. That said, Elspeth could be of genuine service to me. If I read her correctly, that would have great value to her. To care and provide is what mothers should be all about.

"I considered taking you back to my room last night and fucking your brains out. I considered it long and hard. In the end, I chose not to for three reasons. First, there are two men who have expressed interest. I intend to see where that goes. Second, I have had an expert makeover, which put me in a forgiving mood. The real reason is that I do not think it would be good for you. I think you will make an excellent wife and an exceptional mother. I do not want to keep you from that.

"I know it is not currently considered appropriate to talk of finding a man to make your life complete, but I think that is the route you are suited for. Just choose wisely. Your best match may need your sharp expressiveness. He may be too quiet for his own good. Or not. I am not the Oracle at Delphi. I am saying, look past the surface and try to hear what the quiet ones have trouble saying.

"For myself, I need your sartorial skills. Sheila and Francine—yes the bride and her Broadway diva best friend—are not available today. Friday we will be going for the final fittings. I expect part of that to be hair and makeup. I also need something between the jeans and what I am wearing now. This is good practice, but I need everyday clothes that are presentable. Where should I start?"

There was a long pause. Considering Elspeth's penchant for cutting remarks, this was a good thing. Of course, I now had Sheila to use as a standard. Elspeth was well short of that. In any event, her first response was laughter. After a moment, I joined her. If someone had told either of us we would be having this conversation, we would have thought them insane. Finally, we wound down.

Elspeth said, "If you only knew how many times I have made fun of your appearance, half wishing I could take you for a makeover. On second thought, maybe you know. Damn you look good in that suit. Who picked out the Blahnick pumps? I would kill for those in my size. What did you pay? $750?"

"I'm not sure. It was either Sheila or Francine. They were really excited about finding them. The shoes came in a plain brown box. No name. This suit is supposed to be Dior, but the label says Carriage Club. All I know is that we filled up this car and the bill was just under $3000."




[K][T] and Family Ch. 02



"What the fuck!" I had never heard Elspeth raise her voice or use coarse language. Her cuts are more subtle. "You have to be wearing over $1500. Are you saying there was a lot more?" I nodded. She started muttering under her breath. I caught a reference to luck. She went on a while.

After a bit I said, "Today I am paying retail. I just need two outfits, some more sensible shoes and a start on hair and makeup. Francine's professional will be upset if I do too much." This time, when Elspeth laughed, it had a different sound, more like resignation. She promised me two outfits from the mall, with shoes to match, and a hair styling, with nails. Then she pulled out her phone and accessed her network of hair care people.

It was not nearly as much fun as with Sheila and Francine, but the one I really missed was Christine. Go figure. On the way home, a much more relaxed and likable Elspeth asked if I was serious about fucking her brains out. I waited for a light, then grabbed her shirt and pulled her into a kiss. I let some of my sexual frustration out and almost all of my inner bitch. Elspeth did not say another word.

Our trip to Union had taken all morning. Rather than put up with catering sandwiches, I stopped at a deli. Elspeth ate like Sheila, which made me laugh. At the mall, I had asked Elspeth to tighten my corset, so that cat was out of the bag. I merely explained that Sheila had lived in a corset for years. To Elspeth's disbelief, I recounted the story of Sheila's Hong Kong tailored suit, which still fit after five years. I am not sure Elspeth believed me, but Sheila could take care of herself.

On return, I discovered that Elspeth had designated herself my aide. Wherever I went, she followed, with a notepad in hand. Occasionally I would ask her to run errands. It proved useful. I found myself thinking of Pedro de la Garza and his aide, Deirdre. For some reason, that relationship made much more sense. Christine is uneducated, but Deirdre was very scholastic. I could see Elspeth in her role.

Speaking of roles, I needed to talk to Evaine, so I went up to the Amish area. As expected, some of the older wives were holding court, with Evaine in attendance. When I came up, Evaine rose and approached me. Her deference alerted me to the politics involved. I acknowledged Evaine with a nod, then turned to speak to Mother Lapp, who seemed to be the one in charge. I was suddenly glad to have two young women attending me.

Mother Lapp prolonged the moment almost to the point of insult. It was purely a power play, and I allowed a small smile to acknowledge it. When Mother Lapp spoke first, I earned another point. She asked what I wanted, because everything was going well. It was almost to good. I was able to say that I had come to offer assistance, but it appeared to be unneeded. On impulse, I asked if some gloves would be helpful, for handling frozen food. Frau Lapp allowed that they would be welcome. I asked to borrow Evaine to fetch the gloves.

That all goes into a paragraph, but the actual negotiations took almost twenty minutes. As I turned to go, Evaine and Elspeth trailed side by side, as equals. I wondered what the Amish made of that, but I would never know. I do know that when we passed through the rabbit hole, into the more modern environment, Evaine let out a big sigh of relief. I turned and offered a hug, which she returned in full.

Evaine's story was much what I was expected. She got along well with other girls her age, provided there were no boys present. However, she had to kowtow to the older women, of whom Mother Lapp was the most influential. Mother Neufeld, the wife of Elder Neufeld, had the most status, but she was a quiet woman, who usually deferred to Mother Lapp. Evaine found the politics both interesting and stifling. She would have a great dissertation when the time came.

More to my interest, things really were going well. The grounds were now fully laid out and all the booths were erected. The carousel was being tested as we spoke. Another thing which caused a great deal of discussion was the ice cream churn. The churn itself was familiar. The boys had often needed to crank one for ice cream at church socials. However, Sean had dug up a WW I vintage, single piston diesel motor. The sound was very distinctive and could be heard all over the grounds. One of the projects of the day was rigging the motor to churn the ice cream.

The Amish were distressed that the motor was not plain. After all, they declined to use motorcars. Evaine had explained that the motor was very old, because it was well made and durable. It would save the boys from needing to crank hours on end, to make ice cream for the English. The Elders allowed that this was suitable for the English. After much debate, it was decided that they could also eat the ice cream, since it was already going to be made. Elder Isaiah pronounced the decision most wise, which brought a scowl from Elder Josiah. At that point the discussion turned to ice cream recipes.

In other news, Evaine told me that there was a photographer getting into everything. The Amish were very familiar with cameras—from tourists. I told Evaine to pass on that I was aware and would take what steps I was able to take. I told her that most people considered Justin a pest, including Sheila. There was more news and gossip, but it was small stuff.

I took Evaine to the new main kitchen. A little poking in the pantry produced a bundle of cheap cotton gloves. I also took one Kevlar glove. I explained that it would resist a knife, which could save a nasty cut. Hence, it was for the left hand, which would hold the meat. While I was at it, I included a frozen food knife and two ice cream scoops. This was getting a bit unwieldy, so I wrapped them all in a waterproofed apron. Evaine thought that the women would be very thankful. I told Evaine that everyone forgets things when they travel. I would leave word that the kitchen was to loan anything but personal knives.

After asking her to warn the Amish that I would be staying on the floor, I had released Evaine. Next, I checked with Security. They let me know that Sean and Sheila were meeting with the minister. I wondered how that would go. I had met the current pastor, but that was the extent of my knowledge. Sheila might be hard to take if he was the wrong sort. If he was the right sort, he might gain a valuable convert. I wondered if either Sean or Sheila would give him a clue before he committed himself. I resolved to see him myself, since I was revisiting other things.

On that subject, "Elspeth, would you like to see my childhood room? I will warn you that it led to the old me." Elspeth's face lit up with the first sentence, then clouded at the second. I did not wait to see more. Off we went into the past.

Chapter 8—Appointments

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

The big event that everyone points to is Geoffry Winston on the Today show. The NBC spot was first, but it was a quick hitter, last on the program. By Thursday morning, the media had had several hours to open things up. Mr. Winston is no longer with us, but he was the Vice President of Events, Catering and Convention Services. I doubt he expected anything but questions about the circus Mom had started. We do know that he did not prepare to speak about the new division or his new co-VP.

Thursday, 6:55 AM—The Today Show

Host: We now go to Sandy O'Neal at the so called "Amish Wedding" in New Jersey. With Sandy is Geoffry Winston, Vice President of Richards Enterprises. Sandy.

Sandra O'Neal: Mister Winston, there has been a lot of attention paid to this wedding. Tell me about what you are doing.

Geoffry Winston: Well, it is not every day that the CEO gets married. Sean Richards has headed Richards Enterprises since he graduated business school, thirteen years ago. We at R.E. have a variety of businesses that can support the preparations. I head the Special Events Division, which is providing much of the outdoor staging and catering services. TempWorks, our temporary employment division is providing manpower. It is going to be quite a party.

Sandra O'Neal: Speaking of divisions, I understand Richards Enterprises has a new one: Digital Arts, headed by the bride, Sheila Schwartz. What can you tell me about that.

Geoffry Winston: Well, uh, I, uh... I was aware that the Board had formed a new division, and that Miss Schwartz would head it. It was all put together rather quickly. I understand there is a high profile client. I look forward to working with Mrs. Schwartz-Richards.

Sandra O'Neal: I take it this situation is a bit unusual.

Geoffry Winston: That would characterize the entire business under Sean Richards. He has become well known for dropping surprises in our lap. Frankly, I was taken aback when he wanted us to set up a carousel in his back yard. It will be part of the wedding festivities.

Sandra O'Neal: There will be a carousel at the wedding?

Geoffry Winston: Yes Ma'am. A whole carnival side show, with skill booths, face painting, clowns and jugglers. JB Productions of New York is providing the performers.

Sandra O'Neal: Well. Matt, I don't think this will be your typical wedding.

Host: Indeed not. We will try to get more on this story. Next...

Sean:

I do not know why I do some of the things I do, especially when it comes to Sheila. I once told her that I only follow the map she gives me. What I did not say is that my more extreme actions are ones I could not explain. They were simply what I needed to do for her at that point in time. Seeing Sheila as she was that morning made me question my instincts. She had been kneeling, naked, for over six hours. I doubted that a camera would have shown any movement in that time. By rights, she should need medical attention.

Considering the depth of her trance—call it what it was—Sheila was surprisingly easy to rouse. Given the level to which she had already bound herself to me, I suspect my voice is the only thing that would have called her. Perhaps CC's voice. That was another area where I wrought what I knew not. Their depth of mutual loyalty was amazing.

But time moves on. I had warned the office that I was going to be out most of the day, but I did want to touch base. First, I wanted to see how Jeff Winston had done. DVRs are a wonderful thing—except the spot had not run yet. So, I set my PDA to the channel and went to shower.

I found Sheila waiting for me. She seemed to be floating and a little detached. Well, duh. She just did an all night vigil. I turned off the PDA and took care of my girl. She was already naked, so I led her into the shower. I love Sheila's hair and she loves me washing it. I took my time and gave her a scalp massage in the process.

After I had rinsed out the shampoo, I worked in the conditioner. While that did its job, I poured some body wash directly into my hand and soaped Sheila all over, spending extra time on her breasts and belly. By the time I was ready to rinse, Sheila was squirming. I had not told her to not touch herself, but it had been understood. Sheila earned a point for that. I had her shave her snatch, but told her not to come yet. I wish I had video. Sheila could fix me up some.

I pulled Sheila under the water flow. I was behind, with my arms wrapped around her. I nuzzled her neck in a way that sets her off. I told her that I forgave anything that she had done against me, but I was not her higher authority. Then I put my hand over her labia and said, "Come." Sheila filled my hand, then sagged into my arms.

I was prepared to catch her, so Sheila did not fall. The next few minutes was like walking a zombie through the house. I air dried us to save time, then walked her to the bed. I was tempted to attached things to her nipples and soft places, but she needed restful sleep. Instead, I left a note that she was not to wear the corset. Sheila could face the minister with only me for support. Then I added a PS. Cum all you want, any way you want. It will be the last til the honeymoon.

After that, Jeff Winston's little bobble was child's play.

Francine:

I was in a hell of a mood. I had just flown across the country, twice, and had more issues than I started with. On top of that, I had acquired a shadow. Roxanna could not be left in California, so I brought her back with me. We were standing in the baggage check in Atlanta. It was almost seven in the morning and I had not been to bed. Instead I was watching one of Sean's VPs stub his toe on national TV.

The fact that Sean and Sheila's wedding was on a national morning show was surprising, but not my concern. What was my concern was that I would be linked to the wedding. Every reporter would have my name in their notes. My plan of going to my fourplex and grabbing some sleep was out the window. There was now a good chance that I would not make it out of the airport before the questions started.

What a pickle. If I had a direct number, I would contact Sean. Instead, I would have to be using the same phone book as all the reporters. There was no guarantee I would get through. I did not have Sheila's number either. I only had.... Doh. I pulled out my phone and called Siobhan. Wonder of wonders, she was already up.

Phone: Francine?

"Yeah. What's left of me at least. I haven't been to bed and I never could sleep on a plane. Anyway, I am standing in Atlanta International and one of Sean's VPs drops the ball. He made a nice recovery, but the headhunters will be out looking for Sheila. God help us if they see her studio."

Phone: Calm down. Security is still tight here. What is your itinerary?

"I was going to fly to Philadelphia and take the commuter back to town."

Phone: Fine. Go on to Philly. I will have you picked up. What's a good name to use?

"Easy. Maggie Brogan."

Phone: That's bad. I will get you a place to crash. For an empty house, it seems to be getting full fast.

That made me feel a bit better. I would have to do some interviews, but I needed to clean up first. Even I cannot live on caffeine alone. I told Roxie that she would be going to a wedding. With any luck she might meet a guy. Maybe Sean could find her a... Didn't Today say something about new Digital Arts Division? I called Siobhan back and asked her to get my number to Sheila. If nothing else, Roxie had experience as a Hollywood receptionist. From what AAA indicated, Sheila would need one soon.

That made me feel much better. I found Roxanna. "Let's go get something to eat."

Sheila:

I do not believe I ever felt like I did that morning. After intentionally channeling Christine's ability to use an extreme posture for meditation, I realized there were drawbacks to sitting on heels for several hours straight. I was just glad I did not live through them. I would have asked Sean how he knew I could do that, but he would not have an answer. Rather, his answer was that he read it in my tea leaves, or whatever.

That brought back the night before. In all the time I had known Sean, he was easily at his most demanding. Our formal sessions did not come close. In the morning, he was still distant, as if intentionally isolating me. Perhaps he was. He used the word vigil, which was an accurate description of what I had done. All that said, Sean saw to my needs. He washed my hair, took me to the bed and left instructions to follow. Just how loopy was I?

When I woke (again?) I felt more connected. I was shocked to see that it was late morning. Sean's instructions said that I had permission to cum, but that was the furthest thing from my mind. I wanted to see Christine. Then Sean's instructions made more sense. Christine would want to get me off. I picked up the phone.

Phone: Security.

"Gerald, Sheila. I have been up all night on vigil, followed by three hours of real sleep. I am not at my best. Give me an update, let Siobhan know that I am vertical and order me some food. I have to see the priest in an hour and a half."

Phone: Ma'am, I wish I was so coherent when "not my best." Geoffry Winston was on the Today Show. It was not bad, but it could have been better. There was a question about the new division, which he did not answer. Instead he mentioned the carousel. The whole Circus is now public knowledge. Helen reports that interview requests are going through the roof, with you as the guest of honor.

In other news, we have elected to admit a few of the earliest requests. One of them is from Unique Bride magazine. He might be the one to talk to. Bloomberg and Wall Street Journal have sent credentials. Those two seem to be together. Their interest is genuinely in the business side of things. Miss Jo has been in contact with Miss Martel. I am sending a car to pick her up at the airport in Philadelphia. Is there any significance in the name Maggie Brogan?"

I snorted at that. "She is just a lady the three of us met. You could cut the brogue with a knife. Continue."

"Yes, Ma'am. Sean said to let you sleep, but remind you of the appointment with the minister. Miss Jo went shopping for "housewife" clothes. They are returning from Union now. Jason Peters is at your apartment with Miss CC. There is a crowd camped at the gym." Oi vey.

"Thank you. I need food. Sean tells me you have a way with cold cuts. I'll meet you there in five. I have some calls to make."

"A pleasure Ma'am."

Helen's morning update was more of the same. Her big news was that Columbia Pictures was moving forward with contract negotiations. I told her to get with Sean and arrange a sit down with the Bloomberg/WSJ couple. On impulse I said to include the local paper, provided it was not How Jones. I asked if I had an office yet. Helen said yes, but it was being renovated. My official first day was not for two weeks. Perfect. I told her to set me up an obviously temporary office in the same part of the building.

I called Siobhan. She was driving back from Union with one of her grad students. She gave me more details on Francine's long day. I text Christine. She was with Jason, outside my apartment. Jason was talking to reporters. I told Christine to pull Jason out, but not to use Cynthia's name. Sometimes being non-verbal has advantages.

When I reached the little kitchen, I could smell bread toasting. Laid out on the counter were an onion, already sliced, braunschweiger, cream cheese, olives, horseradish, worcestershire sauce and soy sauce. Gerald was getting ready to add horseradish and the sauces to the cream cheese. That was nicely balanced. The sweetness of the onion, umami of the fish sauce and the saltiness of the olives and soy would go well with the smokiness of the liver sausage. I was smelling rye bread in the toaster. No wonder Sean said Gerald could earn a living making sandwiches.

Once I had eaten all I could manage of my sandwich and beer (alcohol at lunch!), Gerald gave me a few pointers and a detailed schedule. I would meet Sean at the church. The senior minister was on vacation, so we would be meeting a Pastor Mueller. Gerald said he was the youth minister and fairly young himself.

After that, we would go to the main office and do the financial interview. Sean had seconded my suggestion. The Beacon was sending Francis Costello, who was their political reporter. In addition Bloomberg, the Wall Street Journal, Forbes, and PBS would be represented. That was a group of heavy hitters. Gerald said that Sean had culled the list by using a small room.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 02



Back at the Residence, I would be touring a group including Unique Bride, Newsweek, People, Martha Stewart Living and Francis Costello again. This was a strictly non-photo tour. They could deal with Justin. The Amish had been warned, so they could look after themselves. I had hoped for a nice quiet wedding.

One nice thing was that Gerald had installed GPS in my Volvo. He was able to tell me that I would not need to go out in the Bugatti, that being the next car available. Instead I could wait on Jason and Christine. It gave me a chance to warn Sean that I might be a few minutes late. I felt like such a spoilsport, since Sean enjoys trying to arrive exactly on time. He makes a little game of it.

However, I did get to see Christine again. She bounced out of the car and ran to me. I was pleased, and relieved, to see her moving well. Siobhan had told me stories of bruising that would take weeks to fade. At least it was not something more serious. I would have a better chance to look later, since Christine would be sleeping here for several days. Exactly where needed to be worked out. I thanked Jason for watching out for Christine and offered him a roof. He said he would consider it.

After that whirlwind, the drive to Saint Micheal's was a balm. I did not have any idea what to expect, since I could still count the times I had been in a church—wedding or funeral every time. Sean had said that Pastor Meyerson (?) would do the ceremony, but he was out of town. Judging from the press interest, I wondered how he would feel about that. Pastor Mueller was not much older than Sean.

Sean and Pastor Mueller met me at the door. Russell had escorted me to the door, but no reporters jumped out of the bushes. Pastor Mueller was trying very hard not to ogle me, which caused me to blush. How annoying. Sean needed to take his arm to get him out of the doorway. Once he was no longer looking at me, Pastor Mueller literally shook his head. I am used to getting interest from men, but this was another level.

From that point, things went smoother. Pastor Mueller tried not to look at me, which meant that his attention was on Sean. For his part, Sean was all business. Indeed, there was probably some financial aspect of this, though I doubted it would be part of our conversation. I was half right. There was a list of fees, but it was very generic. I was pleased to see that money was not the only consideration and I am a good judge of such things.

After the usual pleasantries, and the list of fees, Pastor Mueller pulled out a pamphlet called The Marital Contract. It was a fairly simple explanation of how this church viewed marriage, i.e. an equal partnership. That as politically correct, and Pastor Mueller acknowledged that it was more an ideal than a reality. What he expected was genuine effort from both parties, starting with communication.

For the first time since the front door, Pastor Mueller turned his attention on me. He processed his question a moment, then decided on blunt. "Miss Schwartz, I have known and dealt with Sean since I first came to this congregation. He has a well deserved reputation as someone who can get things done. He also has a reputation of leaving bruised feelings in his wake. Usually it comes from him pushing his ideas through any obstacle, without explaining his thinking." I smiled fondly, which was not the reaction Pastor Mueller expected.

I paused to arrange my thoughts. "We met through my business. I'm a trainer. Practically the first thing he did was turn the session into one for me. I have found that he can be at a loss for words much more often than at a loss for the correct course of action. He may be gruff, but he is loyal almost to a fault. Martha, that's Dr. Martha Douglas the children's therapist, says he is one of the few people that might be able to do me justice, whatever that means. Also, he promised me children." That perked Pastor Mueller's interest. "Not yet. I wish, but we will have to wait for the weekend at least." That comment turned him thoughtful.

Abruptly, Pastor Mueller changed course. "You clearly are not unaware of the simple problems that can crop up. I find it of interest that you mention his loyalty. How did you learn that?" That was a good question. I was beginning to like this minister. Again I paused to organize my thoughts.

"My job deals with photography. Sean had a project that needed my skills, both photographic and communicative. He hired me to do the job. One part of that involved stretching a model well past his perceived limits. It was harsh. Sean practically carried me to my apartment. He once literally gave me the shirt off his back. It was so like him that I did not realize, at the time, that that was what he was doing. Francine pointed it out over coffee a couple days later." Sean interjected, "Francine Martel." Pastor Mueller's eyes widened. Then he laughed.

"Well. I have had many couples in those chairs. Few have worked together as smoothly." Both Sean and I commented together. I said, "Sean has great timing." Sean said, "You have no idea." We both smiled. Pastor Mueller spread his hands in acknowledgment. Sean said, "Let me put it this way. Sheila is the person I chose to open a business with. The business itself followed her plan." From Sean, praise did not come much higher.

The rest of the meeting was details. I promised to join a new convert study, which the senior pastor would be teaching. Sean explained the nature of the wedding stage. I explained that most of the rumors were true. The whole event had turned into a monster. Pastor Mueller congratulated us and escorted us to the door.

Naturally a photographer was waiting outside. I put on my public face and waved.

Sean:

Some days follow scripts. Some do not. This was one of the first. The script was "Pile it On." I had the same thing come at me over and over, with minor variations. For a day that I was not supposed to be in the office, I was in hip deep and sinking.

The media interest in the wedding was fueling the interest in my mystery bride, which was fueling interest in our business relations, and back to the wedding. It was no longer Joe Stringer from West Laughatya. We were getting formal requests from major news organizations and senior reporters in person. Jeff's little bobble on Today had stirred the shark tank. I was glad that Sheila was home sleeping off her ritual, or whatever that was.

Odd as it seemed, I began to look forward to seeing the minister. I had always liked Pastor Norm. I expected that he would like Sheila. That still left a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. So I told Helen to set up a press conference in the executive conference room. That would keep the number small. Everyone else would have to wait off property. That would create some useful confusion.

Maybe it was the ruckus, or maybe I was lucky, but George managed to get us away without an incident. I told him to use some evasive techniques, but not to be obvious. He grunted the way that said, "I know my job, boss." I sat up and hoped for the best.

The interview with Pastor Mueller was exactly what I expected. He and Sheila circled like unfamiliar dogs. Before long they were licking each other's ears. We took care of the formalities, then headed back to the office. I had Russell take Sheila's car home. That let us pose for the photo op when we arrived. As always, Sheila was impeccably turned out, this time in a mid length Donna Reed dress with slippers and her hair in a pony tail.

The press conference was just one piece of virtuoso performance. Each of the reporters had a press release from both Richard's Enterprises and the newly titled Neighborhood Watch real estate group. I wondered whose idea that was. Obviously no one had contacted Sheila.

I said my piece then introduced them to Sheila. Something about her expression made my stomach lurch.

Francine:

The drive back from Philadelphia was tedious. Siobhan had sent a vintage muscle car—a 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS. I asked the driver if it was the 454 big block. He replied "LS6." O M G This was a seriously rare car. There were less than 20 of the beasts around. Sean must be running out of his usual rides. My face must have shown something.

"Don't even dream about it. Gerald would kill me, then turn me over to Mister Richards. He would chew me up and spit me out. Worse, he would give me to his wife as a toy. Since you and Mrs. Richards are tight, that is not my idea of a fun summer. Get in the back. I have to drive the speed limit, but I don't have to pretend you're my girlfriend. She can sit up front." I was ready to tear him a new orifice, until he winked. Sure enough, Roxanna was looking a bit brighter. I replied, "Fine. But stop at a drive through for a snack. I'm starving."

It was sort of fun, riding in a high school boys dream machine with the windows down. Unfortunately, it was noisy. Big block V-8s rumble, even at highway speeds. I gave up trying to talk and pulled out my PDA. Oddly, the only one online was Christine. She seemed to be plugged into the whole situation. Jo had been right. CC was the perfect spy. I asked her how her bruises were healing. She replied that she would never part with that ass plug. What?

Sheila and Siobhan had left messages. I had expected some press coverage, but the Wall Street Journal—at a wedding. What the fuck? Still, I knew how to deal with the press—or avoid them. I finally asked the drivers name, David, then told him I needed to buy a heap before we got to town. He shook his head and smiled. Damn. I hate being obvious.

We stopped in a little town a ways past Princeton. David took us to a repair shop just off the highway. The rumble of the big V-8 drew a lot of attention, but all the garage did was open the door, then close it behind us. Inside were three grease monkeys and a 1980s Taurus. At least it was clean. David talked to the head mechanic, then handed some keys to Roxanna. I gave him a look, but he shook his head, "I've been warned."

There was more cloak and dagger stuff, but an hour later we were in my old haunts. We went to the 7th Street Diner, where I ordered my third breakfast and a steak sandwich. Roxie had a shake. As I had planned, a reporter showed up half way through my hash browns. I introduced Roxanna as an aide who was familiar with the workings of Hollywood. It is usually best to lie with facts. We had a nice crowd going before I told them that I had not been to bed, while I nodded to Roxie and mimed driving. Reporters have few scruples, but they all understand needing a shower.

As the crowd moved outside, someone commented on the car. I told them that the Judge got lousy gas mileage. Everyone laughed. If they only knew. The Judge had the torque record, but that Chevelle had the highest HP ever in a stock engine. If I ever went all Leno, I would make Sean an offer. As it was, I would arrive at the wedding of the year in mass produced Ford. What the hell. It was Sheila's gig.

I had a bit of a problem. Roxanna had her whole wardrobe in the car, including a party dress. You cannot live in LA without one, at least not at Roxie's age. I had a dirty change and wanted clean underwear badly. I directed Roxie to my neighborhood, but had her drop me at the Walgreen's. I wrote out the directions and what I wanted from the fourplex. Roxanna could have remembered, but she needed something to show the press. I impatiently killed the time watching people check out.

The Cashier was named Maria. I could not put my finger on it, but she reminded me of CC. Hmmm.

Siobhan:

I was warned that Francine was inbound. David had said she was dragging, but he understated the matter. Francine looked like a struggling law student just before finals. She had a young woman with her, who was almost in as bad shape. I gave them bottled water and took them to a guest room. They had to share a bed, but Francine was out before the door closed. She would be up, looking for food in three hours, so I alerted staff.

It was one of those afternoons. Projects were starting to clash at the edges. There were at least fifteen small bosses—between my kids, Francine's people, Sean's catering people and the brothers Gilbert. I was the final arbiter. I started grading work in hopes of finding a couple of trouble shooters. Since I would be gone on Friday, I had to have a deputy. I had not said anything, but I was beginning to think of Elspeth in that role. On top of everything, we had to get ready for the press tour.

Why did I not stay in New Hampshire?

Chapter 9—Flame meet Foam

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

Dad will never talk about the press conference. No one will talk about it. Mom just smiles. Whatever was said, it was done strictly off the record. As bad as their reputations are, journalists pay attention to that kind of thing. All we know is that everyone came out looking like a cat with canary feathers in its mouth.

Mom and Dad had only known each other a couple of weeks. That had to have raised some eyebrows. Dad says that he only introduced Mom, then let her do the presentation. He always says 'presentation', not speech or talk. There were probably some numbers and graphs and things. Mom can make anything interesting.

Sheila:

I did not know what had happened in the night, but my vigil had born fruit. I simply hoped it was not poisonous. I guessed it was like Sean's "I know what to do, but not how to explain it" moments. Whatever. I had gained a serenity that I had envied in Christine. She has no decisions to make. Mine were already made. I tried not to think about the consequences, because it would scare the spit out of me.

My audience was one woman, four men and Sean, who already knew. I examined the five. Three of the men I might have approached as potential clients. The fourth was Francis Costello from the local paper. The woman was clearly paired with the star of the bunch, Michael Gordon of the Wall Street Journal. I had the hook. I just needed the bait.

"Gentlemen, Miss Smith, I am Sheila Schwartz, soon to be Schwartz-Richards. The reason you are in this room is that Sean and I have had dealings of a business nature, which are of interest to your readers, right? Right?" All the heads nodded. "Bullshit. While I agree that this is reportable news, we would not have a fairly senior Journal columnist here just for the neighborhood project. It's the wedding—and something else.

"Before we get to the official reason for your visit, I am going to go into the "something else" in some detail. There will be images, some of which we will provide as hard copy, with a no reproduction proviso. Some will be eyes only. Does anyone need to bow out under those restrictions?" No one did. They were now on the record as having agreed to some heavy restrictions. "Let me be clear. What I will show and explain is sensitive. It is not, strictly speaking off the record, but it is background material. We are asking for, and expecting, a great deal of discretion."

Good Journalists treat their profession as a calling. There is an honor code. Everyone knows that confidential sources cannot be compelled in court. That understanding was bought by a line of reporters going to jail rather than give up a name. This group, even Francis Costello, was of an honorable bent. The plan was use that fact to hide in plain sight. I had prepared a PowerPoint slide show, which I was about to put up on Sean's 60" screen.

"Some of you will be more familiar with photography than others. I will leave it to you to discuss the picture quality. I worked closely with Justin Immons on a recent catalog. Justin, who is a professional, says that they are excellent. This is Jason Porter." There were gasps. I was showing the digital version of the catalog cover. It was the first time I had seen it that large. I had to admit, the image had real power.

"That image was cropped from this one." I showed them the raw version. You could see much of the studio, such as the whipping horse, the pommel horse and my stretching bar. I would return to the bar shortly. For the moment, my focus was on Mistress Cynthia, who was holding the riding crop at Jason's eye level. "That, for those of you who have never heard the name, is Mistress Cynthia. The wall with the rings is structural, hence thick. On the other side is a portion of the XTreme Fitness weight room. The fact that she and I favor each other has been useful as camouflage.

"This is me." The gasps for the Jason picture paled beside this one. The picture was the same one I had given Sean. "As is this." Close up of my flogger striped ass. "And this." This was of me stretching on the bar, wearing my workout suit. "This is First position. I am to practice it daily."

"You are all intelligent people, so I do not need to draw you a map of my relationship with Mistress Cynthia. There was a financial side to it, which brings us back to the pictures. Neither Mistress Cynthia or I are photographers, but she could afford good automatic equipment. If you went there now, you would find the fixtures, such as the rings on the wall, and probably the camera in its locker.

"Cynthia has a signature—a kiss of hooker red lipstick. Some of her clients like to have photos done, centered with her signature. I do not have permission to show you any of those, but I think you can understand how the red lipstick accents the striping of a flogging. Providing suitable prints, from long shots by automatic cameras, is my job. Justin says I am very good at it.

"More to the point, so does Sean. We had met and dated. I had given him that first picture." I blushed heavily about here. "Sean made a leap of intuition. Using that photo, among others, he was able to persuade Justin to accept me as the project head. I arranged for Mistress Cynthia to shoot Jason and did the final editing, working part time, since I still had my usual obligations to meet.

Everyone thinks that small contribution was the difference between success and failure. In any event, the work has drawn high profile interest. Sean has created a new division to service it." Suddenly, I was out of things to say. As usual, Sean's timing was impeccable.

"I think that calls for a break. Why don't we get something cold to drink, then we will drive over to the neighborhood. You can see the gym—and the rest of the building—as well as get some idea of our projects for the rest of the area. Our group, centered on Sheila owning the building EXtreme Fitness is using, has raised half a million of escrowed funds. On that front, I encourage you to talk to the other members. A list will be provided.

"Now, if you will excuse us for a couple of minutes, Sheila and I have some necking to catch up on."

Chapter 10—Interference Patterns

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

Whatever was said at the Press Conference, it had an immediate effect. There was a very high profile tour of the gym and neighborhood. Is there anything funnier than reporters reporting on other reporters? That was what happened. The gym only took up half the building then, so there was a lot of speculation to the back side. It was a discrete photo studio, run by someone named Cynthia.

Mom claims I am not named after her. If that is the case, why does my birth certificate say Cindy, not Cynthia? God, she's blushing. My mother is gifted at a lot of things, but she is a terrible liar.

Thursday, 2:17 PM ET--broadway.com/divawatch/martel

Rumor has it that Francine Martel has flown to LA. If so, she has returned. She has been spotted, being driven around her hometown by an attractive mid 20s brunette. Miz Martel hosted a bachelorette bash, at her restaurant The Crow's Nest, for Sheila Schwartz. She may be in town for the wedding, which is turning into quite an event.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 02



Thursday, 4:11 PM ET—costellof.centraljerseybeacon@clearwire.nut

Rick,

Holy flailing penitent, Batman. I have seen the light and I am blind.

Richards Enterprises had a press conference for a very select group. The others included Mike Gordon from WSJ. I was easily the junior person in the room. They did not hide Sheila Schwartz; she did the presentation. They did not tap dance around Mistress Cynthia; they led with it. I can clear up a lot of long time mysteries, but almost all of this is closely held.

A lot of my supposition was confirmed. Schwartz did rent to Mistress Cynthia under the table. She was also a client—may still be. No one saw Cynthia coming and going because they look a lot alike from a distance. They played on the resemblance as a security measure. The hair is almost dead on the same. Check every pic we have on Schwartz as an adult. Her hair is up.

The whole thing of red lipstick on red flesh is confirmed. Schwartz pulled the necessary image from an auto-digital camera. I have two shots. You have seen one—the cover of that catalog. The other is the long shot it was taken from, with some muscle types blurred out. Finding the cover shot in this wide field takes skill. Evidently it has already made the rounds at the nose bleed level. Richards set up a division because a potential client expects to deal with a VP.

Having seen her give the presentation, I have to say that How Jones is an idiot. This woman has Boardroom written all over her. She was dressed for the street—she did not change for the tour of XTreme Fitness—but the attitude was purely professional. I have talked to other members of the property group. They are 100% in agreement. She may have kept a low profile, for now obvious reasons, but she radiates class and authority. She and Richards also make a fantastic tag team.

Attached are photos of the gym and the studio behind. I have a pic of the studio in use. Only the equipment is gone. The camera mounts are still in the ceiling and the restraint rings are still on the wall. That said, now that it's empty, it looks pretty harmless.

Get one of the women to do a profile on Claudia Johnson, the gym's manager. She's black, but does not lean on the ethnicity. Her gym is successful and about to expand. It should be good for a think piece.

One personal note. Mike Gordon told Howard that, "How Jones was not good enough for Dow Jones." At least ten recorders and half a dozen cameras caught it. Howard looked like a bass ready to be gutted.

Thursday 4:37 PM ET—janice.springer@coxandhart.c0m

David,

I just toured the studio where Sheila Schwartz did her work. It may be hard to believe, but she was working for a dominatrix, doing business as Mistress Cynthia. Schwartz owns the whole building. The gym only rented half of it, initially at least, so she needed a tenant for the back half. If you know how to look, it is obvious that the place was set up for bondage, but nothing that you could take to court.

There were four camera mounts in the ceiling, but there is no way it was a blackmail set up. The cameras would be obvious. Cynthia was selling pictures to the clients. Schwartz did the editing for a cut. Just asking around, Schwartz is very tech savvy. She is also classy as hell and moves like a dancer. I hate to say it, but she may just be that good.

One other thing. She and Richards were both at the tour. Richards let her do all the talking.

Thursday 8:39 PM ET—wilsonrandall@uniquebride.c0m

Bob,

I have met the bride and groom, seen the scene and talked to the photographer. We could dedicate this whole issue. Everything about this wedding is Unique. Start with the altar. There is a covered flat boat, like a party barge, which will be anchored just offshore. This will allow seating on the slope down to the lake. I talked to the photographer, Justin Immons, who is setting up reflectors, so that they can use natural light and still be seen.

There is a huge outdoor party set up. Evidently Richards Enterprises owned a carousel that no one had a use for. They have it set up on the grounds. Surrounding it are booths, like for a county fair midway. There is a gaming area, a small children area, paddle boats and canoes and, of course, food. All of this is styled for the early 1900s.

Inside there is a men's area. I have no other way to describe it. There is a bar, which will serve coffee and Irish style whiskey. There is a smoking patio, with a humidor and pipe tobacco just inside. In keeping with the period motif, it is oriented not just to men, but the older ones. There is a parlor for the ladies.

The highlight, after the couple themselves, will be the Ball. You can check on the Wilton Academy music program. Evidently, one of their professors does a memorable John Philip Sousa. His band will play outdoors during the day. With some instrument changes, they will provide dance music for the ball. The Ballroom is impressive. It has just been cleaned and polished, but you can see the craftsmanship in the woodwork.

About the bride and groom, attached are photos. Miss Schwartz is the personification of poise and grace. She conducted the tour, with almost no commentary from her fiancé. Most of the preparations have been overseen by the groom's imposing sister, Dr. Siobhan (Jo) Richards (photo attached), and a crew of grad students.

I have met with the local political reporter, Frank Costello, who has been filling me in on some of Miss Schwartz' background. She was evidently bequeathed a boarded up warehouse and turned it into a business and a couple of side enterprises. She is low profile by choice, not necessity. She also has considerable skill with digital images.

All that is left is the dress.



[K][T] and Family Ch. 03



Author's note: As things move toward the wedding, there will be less emphasis on sex. There is enough other drama to go around.

Chapter 11—Concentration of Forces

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

Much has been made of the interviews that day. Given the number of reporters hanging out in various places, there was bound to be some variety, even disagreement. Some of them ended in embarrassment for the writer. Frank Costello, a long time local columnist, became nationally famous. Rutgers had him address the journalism school. He is not the only one.

Mom is quietly eloquent. It embarrasses her to talk about it, but even verbal professionals like Aunt Jo and Aunt Francine will not cross words with her. It was Winfred Smith who first presented Mom's famous homily. I had it hanging above my bed when I learned to read. It was ten years before I realized that my own mother first said it. 

Francine: 

We pulled into Sean's estate like celebrities to the Oscars. The line of of cars, bearing wannabe press was, excuse the expression, impressive. True to form, Sean's people kept the access open, though three cars had to be turned away before we reached the gate. Once inside, an attractive Bostonian blue-blood named Elspeth escorted us to see Siobhan. She took us to a guest room and said she would call in three hours. I got naked and into bed. I have no idea what Roxanna did. 

The wake up call came with a steaming mug, which partly made up for the insult. Elspeth tried hard not to fawn, so I pretended she succeeded. It's always funny how the snooty upper crust tosses that air aside when around a celebrity. I tossed off the covers to rub her nose in my nakeditity. Elspeth colored and directed me to a shower.

Roxanna was already up, though still in her undies. She grabbed her own dirty top and tossed it to me. Together we went in search of soap and water. Roxie was enough of a beach babe to deal with a little skin, but the whole act reminded me that I was seriously horny. That was a problem. Roxanna already had reason to claim sexual harassment and I was running around nude.

It must have shown in my face, because Roxanna cracked up. I was embarrassed, but not about to get on her for laughing at my own peccadillo. When she settled down, Roxanna said, "You have no idea how funny it was to watch you wrestle with hitting on me and doing the right thing. I'm kind of flattered, even if you aren't my type. I like big girls—when I swing that way." As soon as she said "big girls" my mind jumped to Siobhan. That meeting could be interesting.

"There is a rehearsal at six and a dinner after. You are going to be my escort, unless you have a problem with that. I guarantee the food will be good." Roxanna thought that through. "Rehearsal as in a play or a wedding?" Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Francine, where is your head? "Wedding. The guy that owns this house is getting married. I am one of the bridesmaids. I also dated the groom, back when...I first met the bride. Different schools."

Roxanna nodded as if that made sense. "Is that big woman we met, after the car...?" 

"The groom's sister. Right." Roxie licked her lips. She really did like big women. "Her name is Siobhan. She answers to Jo, or at least she has been. If you want to use her given name, pronounce it correctly. She is Doctor Richards, PhD, from Yale no less. She swings that way, but she also has caught the attention of a seriously tall German, named Lars. The two of us are going to be working together." I considered a moment.

"There's more. The bride is going to be dealing with Hollywood. No one here knows the ropes. I can't keep you in LA, but you have skills that are hard to find here. I will introduce the two of you and see how you get along. Just so you know, Sheila was the only thing Triple A and I talked about." Roxanna had looked skeptical, until I mentioned Aaron Aldermann. It had been her job to know who did what in the studios. AAA had called us. That sort of thing told stories Roxanna could understand.

It was just as well I slept all day, because there was nothing to do til dinner. I went down to the garage and looked over the metal. Sean had a vintage car hobby on the side. The Chevy was just one of seven cars in the garage. The Bentley was almost passé, but some form of Rolls is almost required. Absent was the Mercedes diesel Sean used as his personal car. Working down the row was a Bugatti, a Datsun 240Z with its engine pulled, the Chevelle, a big black limo out of Sunset Blvd, the Bentley, an early 1970s hearse with custom modifications, a really old car and something from a science fiction movie. All of them were at least as old as Sean. Whatever the story behind his choices, I wanted to hear it. 

Roxie was shadowing me, which made sense. She was just a plus one. I was reminded of Christine, or rather CC, when I first met her. I waved Roxie closer and we went to see the carnival. Ye Gods it was big. At least an acre had been marked out for games, stalls and such, with more on the fringes. It would have been cool to snoop, but I was recognized. In less than a minute, I had three of my New York crew, Sean's Lord of the Grounds and Siobhan converging on me. Only Siobhan was smiling. Grinning might be closer.

She said, "I knew you would come. They are about to start making ice cream. Naturally, you smelled it." I grinned back. Short jokes are fighting dirty, but food is fair game. "That would be the stink I smelled over the diesel. Did you leave the cream out too long?" Rather than reply, Siobhan took us back to the garage. 

There was a huge crank-type ice cream churn. It's flywheel had a belt running to a funny looking motor. Siobhan gestured to a mechanic, who pulled on a rope. The third time it coughed a couple of times before dying. The fourth time it caught. The sound was unique. It was unmistakeably a motor, but unlike any other I have ever heard.

Siobhan said, "It isn't from 1910, but the type was available then. This particular one was built in 1919. We will be using it to churn the ice cream during the, umm, festivities. Sean figured it would draw a crowd." She made a chopping gesture at her throat. Blessed silence followed. "We have a tour of reporters coming. In fact, several are outside now. Feel free to divert some attention." Finally, a plan.

I looked over at Roxie, who was all but hissing at the preppy little grad student following Siobhan around. I would have told Roxanna that she was out of her league, except the prepster also had her back up. Kids. I headed toward the gate, not looking back. Shortly, I heard Roxie running to catch up. 

Outside the gate was a menagerie of legitimate press, stringers, bloggers, wannabes and gawkers. There was a stir when the gate opened, but nothing like when they recognized me. I jumped on the hood the closest SUV. Welcome to Martel Answers, your guide to life in the fantasy worlds. Bullshit and misdirection included at no extra charge. It was easy to thin the shouts. I asked them to hold up their invitation when they raised their hand. Two idiots tried to cheat, which lightened the mood. 

I never lie in interviews. Fact checking is a hobby for some people. That said, I have been known to lead reporters astray, even into ambush. That would not do here. I told them the story of how I met Sheila and we danced The Nutcracker. I could have gone on to how Oskar Gruber ripped Sheila's heart out, but that would be for a serious interview. Instead, I switched to Sean and his awkward sister. A familiar voice said, "She isn't awkward now, is she." It was Frank Costello and he earned a bonus. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Frank Costello. He was there when Sheila and I went to New York. He will also be there when I give the exclusive interview in about five minutes." It was one of my better buckets of ice water. "Sheila was my friend then. She is my friend now. Two days ago, when we went to the City for bridesmaids dresses, Pedro de la Garza wanted to meet Sheila. He called her the diosa. Pedro does not say such things lightly, or in jest. Good evening and good luck."

I let Frank in, much to everyone's dismay. He made a show of starting his recorder, as if it were not running already. I asked him what had already been covered. He mentioned a naked photo. A few questions identified exactly which photo. I was surprised and Frank was too good a reporter to miss it. I told him that I needed approval to go further. Anything touching on Mistress Cynthia was dangerous. 

I said, for the record, "Sheila Schwartz is no one's submissive. If you don't believe me, try verbal fencing with her. Sure, Sheila has a submissive side. So do I. We play roles for fun. It's not who we are. I think one of the reasons she and Sean mesh so well, is that he is a role player as well. In their world, Sean is the Lord of this Manor and Sheila is his Lady. Ask the staff. She has been here less than a week, but she has already merged into the flow. 

"Sheila was dealt a steaming crock of, uh, manure. She made fertilizer from it and grew a business. Sean, who is no slouch at spotting talent, noticed her photographic work. He asked Sheila to bail him out of a really nasty situation. She far exceeded anyone's expectations. In the course of working together, Sean looked into her background. That led to his forming a real estate group. Ask anyone in the group. Sheila owned the key piece. Now, there is a new division. I cannot talk about what I was doing in LA, other than closing an office, but think about the timing.

"Sheila Schwartz is an extraordinary woman. She is so well spoken that it is easy to miss how quiet she is and how she values her privacy. That's why she will be very happy here. She can have a family, which she wants badly, and do all her work without leaving the grounds. In a couple of months, when she is world famous, all these questions will be forgotten. Bottom line: Sean is marrying up." Frank quoted me word for word. It was a good interview, but Frank was a local reporter. I was surprised when the story went world wide.

About then, Sean and Sheila arrived. Sheila took the lead for the formal tour. I went to collect Roxie and found her talking to Jason. I was not sure who was hitting on whom, but they were deep into a discussion of the California surf and sun lifestyle. Christine kicked Jason in the ankle. Jason got angry, saw me, recognized me, went all hero worship, noticed Roxie again and tried for surfer cool—all in 3 seconds. 

Roxanna burst out laughing. Not bad for off the cuff. Christine was good at practical jokes. Hours later that I realized that it was in Jason's best interests to look foolish. Ergo, Christine was trying to set them up. It was subtlety worthy of Sheila. I had a glimpse into why Christine meant what she did to Sheila. Damn Skippy. 

At the time, I used my Miss Martel voice. "Christine, that was uncalled for. I should spank your fanny. Instead, I want you to turn around and show Roxanna what you do for fun." Christine complied with a definite twinkle in her eye. I had to stifle a laugh. Since Roxie had forgotten to cover her open mouth, a laugh would sound critical. "Christine, what is the best way to get Jason off?" Christine mimed drinking coffee. Jason laughed. 

Christine put her fist in her palm and twisted her arm back and forth. "Grinding coffee? Coffee grounds?" Christine had already started moving her hands up and down, like milking a cow. "Milking. Grinding milk? Milking coffee? Milk and coffee? Latte." Christine smiled. "Wait a minute. That makes no sense." Christine mimed a screwdriver. Was there a pun there? Take it apart. Oh. Duh. Grind and milk together. Another coin drops. "You call it latte." Christine did American sign language for yes. What was that girl not studying?

I turned to Jason. "What have you been doing with this girl. She was practically a virgin when I had her last week." 

Jason grinned. "No 'practically' about it. She was the real thing, sans hymen. Hair brush at eight. She thinks a real cock is much better than plastic." Jason turned to Roxie. "She also thinks sex is a competition sport. First to cum loses. She's good at it." Roxanna was steeped in LA sexspeak, but this was deep even for that pool. I took pity on her. 

First things first. "Christine, say hello to Roxanna." Christine said, to me, "Hello to Roxanna." Now Roxie was really confused.

"Roxie, it works like this. Jason has had more, and more varied sex, than any five people you can find, even ones like me. He can tell that story himself. Christine, also known by her initials, CC, is a submissive and a bit of a pain slut. What you saw is over the top, done for a special occasion. All of New York is still talking about it. She is also a major league exhibitionist, which is why Jason can say things like that. She gets off on the humiliation." Christine was red as a beet, but I would lay tall money she was also wet.

I turned to her. "Don't think I don't know you upstaged me on purpose. Three times in one day is a record, in case you wondered. They are still trying the pepper sauce challenge. No winners yet." 

Back to Roxie. "I'll show it to you on YouTube. Now, pay attention to these two. Watch their faces. Ready. Mistress Cynthia." Roxie watched Jason and Christine. I watched Roxie, so I do not know what their faces said, just what went across hers. I had made my point. 

"As a matter of disclosure, Mistress Cynthia will be a name people ask about, should you take the position I am prepping you for. She is a dominatrix, perhaps the dominatrix. Yes, she and I have had a session. No, I will not tell you about it now, except to say that I have not cum that hard in years. Sheila is the one that really got off. No, I will not tell you about that either. What I will do is introduce you to Sheila. If this works out, she will be your new boss. She's also the bride, so it's complicated. 

"Did I miss anything?" 

Christine slapped her forehead, which cracked me up. 

Sean: 

I love watching Sheila work an audience. I can deliver a speech, but for salesmanship no one touches my Kitten. She took a room full of seasoned reporters and spoon fed them misdirection, without ever straying from the facts. Oddly, the biggest worry was the reporter from the Beacon. Frank Costello had been reporting local political news since before I started school. He knew everyone who was anyone in town and quite a few people in the Capital. I do not think Sheila ever convinced him of the story. She convinced him to report the story she gave.

As for the rest, Sheila was quite correct. They would not have been there if the wedding was not generating so much interest, which tied in with the catalog and Mistress Cynthia. So, Sheila gave them some juicy gossip, which kept them from poking holes in her story. Showing pictures of herself was brilliant. I almost choked on my water. After that, it was all downhill. She brought them up to date, then I called a break before we went to the gym.

The others were interested in what XTreme Fitness had done with the building. I could tell that Claudia Johnson was itching to go to the back. In time, she did. Everyone and his mother's dog eventually saw Cynthia's studio, what was left of it. They saw the mounts for the cameras and the rings on the wall. Add that to a rumor of a bondage studio and everyone thought they had figured it out. There was no more talk about whether Sheila Schwartz was a gold digger. Instead they were working on how to titillate without using the words "bondage" or "dominatrix." On top of that, there was the blog which placed Mistress Cynthia in Brooklyn on Tuesday. It was sweet.

After that, we went back to the house to show the wedding magazines around. People and Us are wedding magazines, in case you never noticed. Wrapping up the tour took time, but we had a rehearsal scheduled, which is a good excuse. By 6:00 PM, our extended family was able to think about the wedding. We allowed a couple of reporters to cover even that. Lord grant that the weather Saturday evening was like that one. It was perfect.

Siobhan: 

Thursday was the big finish. This was the first time I had been in charge of a big project, and we would bring it off. In later years, people would talk of throwing the wedding together in a week. For Sheila and Sean, that is true. Sean proposed on Friday night and they were married Saturday the next week. 

For the people doing the work, we had three days, and I was gone for one of them. On that point I had to thank Sheila—and Gerald. I brought twelve pampered graduate students, several from wealthy backgrounds. They all liked to play dress up, or they would not have come. However, they thought a hard day's work was spending ten hours preparing for finals. Nothing prepared most of them for getting their hands dirty with paid by the hour temps. 

It could have been a lot worse. Gerald's people had military experience. Yes, that meant they knew how to take orders and not complain. It also meant that they had practice pushing the limits. It can be a real pain to have someone pointing out the details you missed, but it is comforting to know they will not ask the impossible. It turned out that was my job.

I was the one who said no. Do it my way became a mindset. I was the one that told this person that the other person had priority. I was in charge of all the scarce resources, like extension cords and battery packs. I said no so many times, to so many people that I thought they would all hate me. Instead, they wanted Justin to take our pictures together. They were proud of their work, and I was the one who approved it. One of Francine's people, also ex-military, told me I had a command mentality, whatever that means. 

Here is one example. On Thursday, one of the few new things was Justin Immons, the wedding photographer. He took over the gazebo for his equipment. Some of Francine's people drifted over. Soon there was a big discussion going on. I went over to move things along. The problem turned out to be simple—the boat had no lighting and the natural light would be behind it. 

I asked Justin how he would shoot it in natural light. He said that he would have reflectors set up. Also, he needed the boat's position to be quite stable. I told him to find a position he could use, then Michael Gilbert would get it anchored in place. That covered, I told him that he could set up a low strip of reflecting material near the water's edge. I left them to argue the details.

By lunchtime Thursday, we all knew it would work. That afternoon was our final push. The wedding was Saturday, but the yard belonged to the Amish on Friday, followed by a dance on Friday night. We all worked like dogs. As time ran down, we were forced to cut corners to make the deadline. Some things were left for Friday or even Saturday morning. There would be rough edges, but it would work. The only headache was the crowd of reporters assembling at the gate.

When the time came, I went out to the gate to meet the crowd. Security kept them outside until Sean and Sheila came home. Our plan, for me to wear a tux and stand with the groom, gave me something to discuss with the press. It probably explains all the pictures of me that were published. When I saw them, I was glad for the corset. When Sean and Sheila pulled through the gate, an enormous weight lifted. Sean was smiling and Sheila was wearing the zen-like expression that Christine gets. Whatever their done with their day, it seemed to have worked. I hugged them both, then moved everyone along. We had a schedule to meet.

The tour was an eye opening experience. As cameras flashed and I pointed out details, I took a fresh look at the house. The transformation was amazing. The house looked a high priced vintage hotel. Our theme was to show the old house well. It would not have worked if the house had not been worth showing—well made and enduring. 




[K][T] and Family Ch. 03



As fine as the house was, the highlight of the tour was the back grounds. Who does not love a circus? With the carousel proudly in the center, our little fair needed no explanation. I was about to start pointing things out, when the sound of our one lung motor filled the air. I explained that it was a hundred year old diesel, which we were using to churn ice cream. That received as much attention as anything on the tour. 

Sheila: 

My vigil and three hours of sleep had me charged up and lively. Showing pictures of my nude self would normally have been problematic at best, traumatic at worst. In the past, I would assume a role to do something difficult. Mistress Cynthia has a multitude of uses. For that press conference, I needed no special role. I told myself to reveal this information—so I did. It could not have worked better. 

The sticking point could have been Francis Costello. I had avoided him for years, simply because he was too perceptive. He saw and understood the story I was telling, as opposed to the story everyone else was seeing. He was like Richard Dysart in Being There—the only one who accepted the facts at face value. We exchanged a nod of recognition as everyone moved out to the cars. 

Seeing my studio was bittersweet. Gerald says he enjoys working with professionals, because he is one himself. I did not know in advance what the conditions would be. It was a good thing, because Claudia Johnson watched me like a hawk circling a rabbit hutch. She could tell that I was also seeing things for the first time. Oddly, my stretching bar had been left, which touched me in odd ways.

There was a long line of people, but I did not linger. Instead, I went back to the front. Somehow the gym also felt different, though nothing physical had changed. It took some time to work through, but I realized that this chapter of my life was also closing. Richard, or someone else, would take over the reins on this side of the wall. The irony was rich. For Richard, the studio and the gym would be miles apart.

Presently, Sean brought the tour back to me. Winifred Smith asked why I was wistful. I told her, "When you learn something important it hurts, because part of your innocence has died. I learned that XTreme Fitness was no longer my second home." The whole tour was being video recorded, but that was the sound bite. You would not believe the number of times I have seen it. One of Sean's companies bought the copyright, so they could put it on plaques and things. My favorite was the YouTube spot that ran the recording opposite How Jones calling me an airhead bimbo. I am not saying it forced him to leave town, but he did go.

When Sean was finished fussing with the tour, we headed to the Residence, where another tour awaited us. At least I would have more backup. I should have expected that the house tour was more about the bride, that would be me, than about the house. As much as I tried to focus on the house, attention kept returning to me. Frank Costello earned a (another) gold star by asking one wannabe reporter, "She danced Lincoln Center at 14. What do you want?" Fortunately the house and grounds were able to attract some attention, as were the people doing the work. Siobhan later went into politics. This was her first time to shine in front of the press.

For me, the afternoon as a death march. Sean was conspicuously absent. I learned to hate reporters and their insipid, repetitive questions. Their personal foibles would have earned strict remonstration from Mistress Cynthia. I kept her silent, but with difficulty. If Siobhan had not been there to absorb some of the heat, I might have gone off. Instead, I survived to fight another day. 

When the ordeal wound down, I was able to leave the balance in Siobhan's hands and slip away. She made me proud. Siobhan had perfected a Dr. Richards mode, tall, straight and straight. If Lars Gunter did not bear fruit, I suspected that some other physically imposing male would attract her interest. However, I had hopes for Lars. He had seen her as a neophyte and in a pressured situation. His interest came pre-vetted. Siobhan had been interesting before the makeover, but she would not have had the confidence to deal with the attention.

Such are the thoughts just before a curtain rises.

Chapter 12—Rehearsal

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

Dad has been running a business since he was my age. It was much smaller then, but that tells you how good he was. For the rehearsal dinner, he requested the catering division's best chef come out to the house and do a dinner. That caused a bit of a stir, rather like the golden apple in Troy. The result was sort of Top Chef, a dozen years before the show debuted. They still do it every fourth year. Last year the prize was a trip to Fiji.

That first year, no one warned the chefs about Aunt Francine.

Siobhan:

The whole press tour was a prelude to the rehearsal. When Sean ended it, there was good natured grumbling, but I could tell that most of the reporters were itching for a keyboard. As the press was leaving, our people started showing up. Francine had her escort had joined Jason and Christine. Sean returned from wherever he had been. Last to arrive was a minister I did not recognize—Pastor Mueller. Everyone assembled on the drive, then we trouped down to the lake.

My last wedding rehearsal had been just after High school, so I forgot picky they could be. We spent more time letting Justin arrange the photography than everything else combined. His makeshift reflectors were quite efficient, effectively putting whole front of the houseboat was in sunlight, but none for the bride. There was a lot of discussion about how to put a spot reflector on Sheila. In contrast, Francine's people had covered the sound so well it never came up. 

A lot of details needed to be adjusted, but the pattern for the service was set. The service itself was straight out of the hymnal, or rather an period hymnal. The required minor disaster came from the music. At the wedding, the orchestra would be playing from the portico, near the Ballroom. Since there were no musicians, we had a boombox to play recordings. No one thought to load the thing with batteries. Everyone had a laugh.

After we finished walking through the process, Sean kissed Sheila possessively. That signaled the end of the rehearsal. I went to talk to our cheering section. There was a nice collection of people watching the show. Several Amish, divided by both age and sex were on the boathouse side. My grad students, less Evaine, were next to the gazebo. The brothers Gilbert and their staffs strung along the back. In all, it was a nice crowd.

All things end. Sean and Sheila escorted the minister and remaining reporters back to their transportation. The staff went home. Justin and Michael got involved in details of positioning the boat and reflectors. Mitchell took my grad students into the house to get them settled. I collected Francine and her date, Jason and Christine. We all went to the Dining Room. 

The old house had the Ballroom, which served as the dining hall, but there was also a pantry kitchen and family dining room. The addition had a modern kitchen and a Dining Room, which could seat as many as twenty. No one had used the kitchen for anything but storage for years. To the best of my knowledge, this was the first time anyone used the rooms for anything like a formal dinner. I never understood why it was there, but I was soon glad it was part of the design.

I knew something was up the minute I turned down the hall. The aromas were incredible—cooking meat and mushrooms, garlic and elusive sweeter scents. Rick Williams greeted us at the door and directed us to seats. Shortly we were joined by Curtis Albrecht and his wife, Donna. I had met Curtis a couple of times, but never his wife. We took turns introducing the others. With some effort, I managed to remember that Francine's escort was named Roxanna. I suspect Francine brought her because she lacked other options. Last to arrive were the bride and groom. We all stood. Sheila blushed.

Dinner was amazing. Someone had suggested a competition among the cooks in Events. I was wearing the corset, though not laced tight. Tuesday night had shown me how fast I would fill up. So I sampled and picked, which was a new experience. Because I was careful early, I was able to get a good taste of everything I was served. 

For dessert we each received a small bowl of freshly churned ice cream, with finger food on the table. Once everyone had tasted the ice cream, coffee and brandy followed. Good coffee and VSOP brandy. It was a great setting to cheer the chefs. Sean bumped the prize up by a night on the Town. More applause. I stood and toasted the bride and groom. Sean kissed Sheila as a camera flashed. Justin Immons was standing in the kitchen door. 

I could see why Sheila usually wanted to strangle Justin, but the article in Gourmet was worth it. After the wedding I talked to Justin about shooting the chef's competition. He had simply shown up and started making shots. No one had even suggested a photographer, but Justin could not resist the drama. The candid shots of the chefs were excellent, but the closeups of plated food were truly outstanding. For the catalog, Justin spent almost two days lighting and shooting a 17th century letter. His core interest was in tableaus. I told him that he should consider food photography. He could travel less and the demand was booming. 

There was a fuss while Sheila ran Justin off, which was an interesting scene. Justin knew that Sheila was Cynthia, though not everyone in the room did. He was baited Sheila, hoping for a heavier whipping. This would not end well for him. Sheila knew what Justin wanted—and what he avoided. She leaned close and whispered in his ear. Justin went pale and rushed off without his kit.

Once the door shut, Sean rang his water glass.

Sean: 

A wedding ceremony on a boat required some thinking. We had no way to walk the bride down an aisle. A suggestion that she ride standing on a paddle boat was quickly shot down. Justin suggested a spot light, which was more or less what we settled on. From the beginning, one of our big questions had to do with lighting. Between Justin and Francine's theater people, we had a lot of lighting expertise on tap. They arranged a bank of reflectors which illuminated the front of the boat. 

Justin suggested making an large aimable reflector. He had a small one, which he used for illustration. Properly adjusted, it shown to the back of the boat. Sheila said that it was bright, but she could handle the glare. Justin promised to work on something larger, but more diffuse. Details would be exacting, but it was doable.

Once that was covered, Pastor Mueller walked us through the traditional service. Sheila was trembling when I took her hand—stage fright I think. After we walked through the vows, I was able to kiss my fiancée. It was a mistake. It had been a stressful afternoon and neither of us wanted to stop. Duty called, so we returned to our guests and finished the details. The rest of the wedding party adjourned to the Dining Room. As man of the house, I needed to escort the last two reporters to their rides. Sheila waited at the steps.

Since both of these men competent, I wondered how much wool was over their eyes. I said, "Randall, Frank, I am pleased to have you covering this affair. Sheila would prefer a quiet wedding, but events dictated otherwise. The best we can hope for is friendly coverage. Lord knows we have seen the other kind. Thanks for coming today. I hope you enjoy the party on Saturday." Pay your money and take your chance.

Randall Wilson spoke first. "Sean, it has been and will be a privilege. Unique Bride was created to cover weddings like this. That is quite a woman you have there. I commend you for snapping her up." Frank Costello agreed, "A couple of this town's most persistent mysteries were set to rest today. I am pleased to be the one covering them. I hope Cynthia enjoys her retirement." Blood drained from my face until he winked. I coughed a laugh. It never hurts to have a friend in the local media.

They drove off and I escorted Sheila to the formal dining room. I never understood why my grandfather had built the new wing with a large kitchen and formal dining room. To the best of my knowledge, this was the first time it was ever used. When my mother entertained, she would rent someplace in town. So, I was stepping into unfamiliar territory when I sat down. That was just the first new experience.

The table sat twelve and could be extended. That made it too large. Normally these dinners have a lot of family, but the only family in attendance was Jo, who did not bring a date. Francine brought a girl named Roxanna, who was clearly not a romantic interest. Curtis brought his wife and CC brought Jason. Nine people in all. For that small group, we had three chefs, Rick Williams as MC and judge, and three servers. I learned there was a contest when Rick announced it to the room. 

The first course was an appetizer. We each received a plate of three, except Francine. She received two of each. I later discovered that George was expected, so the chefs prepared ten of each, plus one for the judge. The second course was cold soups, served in champagne flutes. The colors were interesting: red, green and white. The next plates was three renditions of cheese ravioli and sauce, also red, green and white. Rick later told me that the chefs had drawn their theme colors from a hat. 

For the main course, we were asked a preference of beef, chicken and pork. Jo chose pork, Sheila chose chicken, of course and I chose the beef, which was fixed Wellington. Choice of meat had also been drawn. My Wellington was outstanding, with a flaky crust and earthy mushroom stuffing. Rick said the chef was British. Go figure.

Dessert was the first batch of ice cream from the my freezer. I was pleased. On a warm spring day, people will eat any sort of ice cream, but this was not out of place with the meal just finished. I stood toasted our chefs, Rick Williams and the person who suggested a competition—I never did discover who it had been. 

In appreciation, I awarded them each a trip to the New York restaurant of their choice. The winner would get a night at the Plaza and tickets to a Broadway show, in addition to whatever else they were promised. This was well received. Sheila topped me by walking up to each of them and kissing their cheek. That's my Kitten. Not to be left out, Jo raised her glass and toasted the bride and groom. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to kiss my fiancée, so I did. Everyone cheered.

Some nights it is good to be alive.

Sheila: 

Eventually, all the escorting and of that ended, but it was only a prelude to the rehearsal. There, for the first time that day, I was pleasantly surprised. For one thing, I could stand and watch other people work. Secondly, I was surrounded by my people. Having been away from them, I realized how much Christine, Siobhan, Francine, even Jason and Justin were each a part of my life. Three weeks ago, none of them were even on the horizon, much less Sean. Not all change is bad, even if it can be stressful.

When the rehearsal was over and the minster seen off, Sean took me to a part of the new house I had not yet seen. It was a modern formal dining room, with a kitchen to match. There I was introduced to Francine's guest, Roxanna, and Curtis' wife Donna. We were seated at a table set for ten. Siobhan did not have a date, which might account for the extra place. 

There was little ceremony. Rick Williams informed us that dinner was the product of a cooking contest. We would be eating the entries. He cautioned us to go slowly, since there would be several courses. Francine promptly popped out of her seat and grabbed the extra plate, which loosened things nicely. 

I was impressed. My diet is simple. When I eat restaurant food, it is for my clients. None of the local restaurants had food like this. In succession we received a trio of appetizers, then cold soups, then hand made ravioli in sauce. It was all delicious and beautiful. For the main course, I chose chicken. Typically, Sean had beef. Siobhan and Christine both ordered pork, but Christine gave hers to Francine, who then had all three. 

My chicken was excellent, as were the roasted sweet potatoes, but the star was the frozen pea salad. I made a mental note to get the recipe. Better yet, I should get the cook. We needed a staff and a cook would be part of that. As I ate, I also fed Christine, who was seated on my right. Francine ate all three plates and called for seconds.

After the meal, they brought samples of Sean's experiment. He had decided that an ice cream churn was the perfect match for a warm spring day. With due ceremony, he tasted of the first batch. It was over the top, but everyone had fun. We cheered the cooks. Sean added a nice bonus for playing and a big prize for winning. We kissed, which drew Justin and his camera out of the woodwork. He tried to laugh it off by offering to take a whipping. I told him that I thought ice water and candle wax was more appropriate. Justin scurried away.

Justin's departure left only the six of us and our guests. Sean stood and rang his glass. I thought I knew what was coming and steeled myself for it. It was such a relief to be wrong. He toasted everyone else. Curtis stood and told some stories about Sean. All were new to me, but none were surprising. Then Christine stood, followed by Jason, who acted as interpreter. She wanted to thank Francine, Siobhan and I for the trip to the City. She thanked Sean for his business card, which received a nice laugh. She did not thank me. Instead, she waved for Jason to sit. She looked at me and spoke my married name.

After that, we talked of the final preparations. We four were going back into the City, though not Brooklyn. Francine was taking us to the bowels of the city, near the garment district. Naturally, we needed to go through Elizabeth, to pick up my corset. Siobhan asked Francine to take her back to the warehouse and show her what to look for. Whatever else Francine is in this life, she is a teacher first, so she assigned Siobhan some homework. 

At home, Sean had to nail down what he could prior to a week's absence. That likely meant signing a contract with the Columbia pictures. Francine took this opportunity to present her plus one. Roxanna DeWinter had experience as a receptionist in Hollywood, which would be handy for such things. Francine glanced at Christine, so I did as well. Christine shrugged. I looked at Sean. He nodded. Roxanna was hired, provisionally, as my receptionist. I would let her use my apartment for a while. Throwing her to the media would be good practice and also provide Cynthia more cover.

Siobhan ran through a list of things which needed to be finished. Sean was holding his phone out, presumably in dictation mode. I asked how the Amish were doing and Evaine with them. That brought me a smile. Siobhan was well satisfied on both counts. All the temp help would be off Friday, since the Amish were having a social day. This meant that most of the booths were already finished, or that the Amish were committed to clean them before the wedding. 

As for Evaine, Sean had said he wanted to deal with marriage proposals. That may have been partly in jest, but at least three unattached young men were competing for her attention. I suggested that Evaine and Sean could serve as contacts for Amish when they went on their Rumspringa, the time away from the community. This was well received. Siobhan felt that something long term could be set up, possibly through the University. It would serve the Amish community and provide a communications conduit with the world outside. 




[K][T] and Family Ch. 03



With that settled, dinner was officially complete. Sean and I stood by the door, so everyone could offer their personal congratulations. In succession I was hugged be Francine, Siobhan, Christine and Jason. I noticed that my new receptionist watched, trying to seem nonchalant. 

I went to her, took one hand in both of mine and said, "Welcome to the team. Believe whatever you hear from the people here, but very little else. 

"I expect you have no place tonight." Roxanna nodded. "I will have you driven to my apartment. I will be staying here. Your first test, off the clock as it were, will be handling the media camped at my doorstep. You and Christine can share the apartment for the next couple of weeks, at no cost to you. Then we will see. When a room is prepared, Christine will be moving in here, so this is strictly temporary.

"You may call me Sheila, or Miss Sheila if you insist. At work I will be Mrs. Schwartz-Richards for now. Go ahead and start tonight. Eventually I will drop the maiden name, but for now we need some continuity. Everything goes through Helen, but not verbally. She and Christine are from the same mold. I will alert to Human Resources that you are coming in the morning. Don't worry about that. They are used to people just showing up with a job in hand. 

"One word about Jason. Feel free to do whatever. He has skills. Do not expect him to be your long term anything, except friend. Christine will not get jealous, but she will also not disappear from Jason's radar. He is going to be famous. In fact, he may be already. His agent is JD Mann, of Mann and Hartman. Please contact JD and say I requested it. You can be useful to each other.

"Welcome to the asylum. Now, go face the music." 

Francine: 

The rehearsal was boring, as such things often are. I had three set people on site. They all had lighting experience. Justin Immons was a photographer, so lighting was in his job description. Whenever professionals work on a problem, there will be variations. They dickered a while, but they found a way to make it work. 

The nice thing about wedding rehearsals is that there is a dinner attached. I was about a thousand calories short on my daily quota, so the timing was excellent, provided they ate before talking. At least there was promise of reasonable portions. Roxie and I were placed facing each other. I was next to Christine, which put Roxie next to Jason. That could prove interesting. On the far end was Siobhan, which meant the seat next to Sean would be the best man. His name turned out to be Curtis. By the time I learned that, my stomach was audibly growling.

With all due modesty, I am an experienced gourmand. The chefs in New York love to try things out on me, because I will eat almost anything that stays on a plate. We would be getting a competition of main line New Jersey cooking, meaning American with a heavy Italian influence. It showed from the start. The amuse bouche was a seafood trio, one from each contestant. The shrimp was called a croquette, but crocchetta would be closer, based on the seasoning. The scallop almondine could have come from any seaside cafe from Sicily to Spain. Only the deconstructed crab salad was strongly American. It was also the best prepared and most imaginative.

The soup course was in green, white and red, the colors of the Italian flag. That was probably not coincidence, because the pasta course mirrored it. I made a mental note to talk to the chef that did the lemon basil pesto. His ravioli was pedestrian, but the sauce was killer. In contrast, the alfredo sauce was ordinary, but the ravioli had a deadly roasted pepper and ricotta filling. 

For the main course (only idiots call it an entrée, which means first course) I told them to give me the leftovers. That turned out to be chicken and beef. Christine passed me her pork, to make the trio. She and Sheila shared one portion. For this course, there was a clear third place. The smoked pork was merely good and the pilaf only slightly better. The beef Wellington was on par with the Savoy, which is high praise. The three mushroom stuffing was perfect: pungent, earthy, and moist. Unfortunately, the sides were boring. 

The star of the evening was the chicken plate. This chef put real effort into the sides. Wine braised chicken is slightly sweet, which was a theme for the plate. Most braised chicken uses red wine, but the chef had chosen a white. It allowed the rosemary and thyme to show through. Herb roasted sweet potatoes are rather simple, but easily over or undercooked. These were perfect. The frozen pea salad had a healthy dose of mint and basil, with just a touch of oregano. There was the Italian influence again. Those played well against the rosemary and thyme in the chicken and the cilantro and fennel in the sweet potatoes. Improve the plating a bit and this could be served at a five star restaurant.

By the time I finished the last main course plate, I was ready for dessert. This turned out to be ice cream, churned on site. I recognized the recipe. It was the Farm Journal tutti fruiti, which is almost impossible to screw up. That made it a good choice for the first trial. I would have added nuts, but there were some at the table, so the omission may have been intentional. It was almost a sherbert, which made it a good transition to coffee and brandy. 

I started toward the kitchen, to congratulate the chefs, only to have them come out toward me. Everyone gave them a hand. While Sean announced some extra prizes, I talked to Rick Williams the MC. I found that the chicken plate had been made by the same chef that did the ravioli with lemon pesto and the crab salad stack. He earned my unofficial vote. Rick was the judge, though I did not know it at the time. He agreed and I have been on the judges panel every time since. It was the easiest audition of my life.

While I was discussing food, the rest of the group discussed our trip to the city. We had a stop in Elizabeth. Siobhan approached me about going back to the warehouse store. She wanted to learn how to shop for clothes. That was a lot to cover in one short session, but what the hell. Christine would keep Sheila company.

Roxanna's job interview went without a hitch. I wonder if she knew one was occurring. Sheila covered a few points, then sent her into the cold. I wished her luck and promised to check on her while Sheila was on her honeymoon. Once that formality was done, the meeting was over. I told Roxie that she was driving me home. She would do that a lot, while I played Miss Martel for Cynthia's clients. I wondered how long it would take for Roxie to figure out Sheila was Cynthia. 

Before we left, Sheila asked my help in a class in basic ballroom dance. Siobhan had shown up with not only her entire contingent, but several of the Amish. That was OK by me. Most of our music would be Austrian. It was exactly the corrupt culture the Amish ancestors had run from in the 18th century. I neglected to mention it. Wise mothers warn their own daughters about the waltz, but I was not a mother. 

I was disappointed when Roxie stayed on the sidelines. It was fun, but just basics. A few minutes in, Sheila deputized her experienced dancers—including Siobhan, to her shock. Oskar Gruber was a greedy SOB, but he could teach dance. It was obvious to me that some had soaked in. Siobhan wore dance heels. Someone had advised her on on that point, probably Elspeth, who was quite good for an amateur. Siobhan had fun, which is the point.

After an hour, I begged off for some sleep, which was no joke. Even with my nap, I was dragging. I collected Roxie and handed her the keys. On impulse, I gave her the car, since she would be playing chauffeur all week. It never hurts to make someone's job personal.

There was still a crowd of reporters outside my fourplex, but the quality had improved. I think Sheila's ruse had satisfied the bottom feeders. The ones that were left were either covering the wedding or me directly. Either way, I was ready. After the usual dance, I let myself into my apartment. Once again I was horny. Once again I went to sleep with suction on both my tits, thinking of Christine and Jason. Make a latte. That was a good one.

In the morning, I realized I intended to have Jason give me a child. 

Siobhan: 

After dinner turned into something of a meeting. We had old business, new business, everything but the reading of minutes. Francine spent time talking food with Rick Williams. The rest of us discussed the coming trip the the City. After that, I was called to report on the Amish. For new business, Sheila interviewed Roxanna DeWinter as her new receptionist. I wonder if Roxanna even noticed, since no one said a word. 

I asked Francine to give me a lesson in clothes buying, since we would be in Elizabeth again. Francine was a complex woman, but she could not resist the urge to teach. I just needed to present an opportunity. With that done, I had a dance lesson scheduled. I went to see my girls, including Evaine. In addition to all my grad students, I went to the Ballroom with half a dozen teenage girls and a couple of young mothers as escort. Unofficially, there were also a few of the Amish boys.

Sheila was running things, with some help from Francine. That would not last. Francine had a nap, but she needed real sleep. Add that to a full meal, even by Francine's standard, and you get a walking zombie. I quietly made sure she was not driving home. Roxanna had the keys. I called security and had them bring her a GPS with the home addresses preset. 

After dinner, I had a dance class scheduled. On our jaunt that morning, I had asked Elspeth to pick me some heels for dancing. That had led to an hysterical laptop session. We found a British supplier that did nine inch heels, with a four inch platform, all in clear acrylic with sparkles. Woof. A little more checking showed that the site was targeting strippers and pole dancers. 

After that, Elspeth targeted Latin dance. Bizrate had shoes running up to $3000, but Nieman-Marcus always was top dollar. In any event, finding shoes online was not the problem. Finding them in driving distance was. We finally found some Badgley Mischka marked down to $199. I had paid $10 for my army boots. When I told Elspeth, she laughed so hard she had to grab a fixture. I resolved to keep the boots as a memento.

Sheila picked up on Elspeth even before she cued the music. Soon Elspeth was her first assistant. Before long she picked out Jasper, Conrad, Vivian and, to my surprise, me. We were set to coaching the others in small groups. At some point Francine and Roxanna left. The rest of us went until well after ten o'clock. 

As we broke up, I caught Sheila's eye. A few gestures later, Christine followed my to my old room. Her bruising was doing as well as could be expected. I rubbed in more lotion, then we crashed. It had been a long day.

I woke to lips on my pussy. 

Sean: 

After our impromptu meeting, Sheila and I had a brief time to ourselves. I hugged her and told her how proud she had made me. Sheila held me close, like she wanted to make sure I was real. I put my hand on her ass, but she dropped out of it. In the hallway, in full view of the cameras, Sheila unzipped my pants, pulled out my cock and sucked me to climax. When I was a teen, a riddle had asked the difference between like and love. One was spit and the other was swallow. Sheila loved me.

She had tucked me away, she went to the Ballroom to teach Jo some more dance. I went to security to spy. To my surprise, Jo brought all of her grad students and several of the Amish. Things went predictably, except that Francine was half asleep. Jo called up for a preprogrammed GPS. I was happy to see one was ready. Jo made sure that Roxanna DeWinter had the keys, then sent the two of them off.

I had mixed feelings about Roxanna. Francine had brought her along, mostly because she had nowhere else to go. I resisted calling Roxanna a girl, even in my own mind, but the innocence was there. You could see it in the way she flirted with Jason. If ever there was a nineteen year old surfer dude that had seen the elephant, Jason was that man. Roxanna was at least twenty five, but she came across as a girl. Oh well. She would mature or she would not survive around my Kitten.

Left to myself, I wanted to read, but there was no chance. Instead I went to the big gym and started lifting free weights. In less than a minute, security showed up to spot me. I would hear from Gerald, but I would commend his people's response time. It was an old dance. I stopped abruptly, with the weight at full extension. It occurred to me what would happen if Sheila found out. Yikes. Roxanna was not the only one that had areas to mature. 

I did a good set, then showered. About halfway through the second half hour, Sheila startled (woke?) me with a kiss on the neck. I pulled her over my shoulder and into my lap. That let me kiss her properly. It was a pity I could not pursue it, but my own voice forbade Sheila from cumming til after the wedding. Under those circumstances, I would not demand service. Instead, we undressed each other for bed. In a twist, Sheila put on a camisole. It was cute, naughty and bottomless, but it was more than she had worn before. I wondered what it foretold.

We climbed into bed. I went to sleep with my hand on Sheila's nipple. Some things never change.

Sheila: 

I had misgivings about Roxanna. I hesitated to call her a girl, since she was almost my age, but that was my impression. I do not care where you are from, or how you are raised, it is bad manners to hit on someone else' date. Roxanna was definitely hitting on Jason. Still, she had some skills I needed and Francine indicated she needed a place, so I agreed to take her on a trial basis. Rooming her with Christine would be informative.

I had promised Siobhan more dance instruction. I said to bring anyone interested and to wear heels. I was pleased to see that Siobhan wore a two and half inch heeled salsa shoe. The color could have worked better with her outfit, but that was an issue for another night. 

Behind Siobhan was her new shadow, wearing the same brand of shoe in a taller heel. I gave Siobhan points for getting advice from a good source. I asked Siobhan introduce us. As she did, I noticed that Elspeth was staring. G_d. This had not happened in years. I asked her if she wanted Francine's autograph. She said that would be nice, but she really wanted mine. Oh my. 

I took Elspeth's hand and walked her through a couple of school figures. As I expected, she was smooth and practiced. She would do for an assistant. Francine was there, but she was falling down. She had been OK before we ate, but with a big meal to digest, Francine had trouble keeping her eyes open.

I was going to need assistance, because Siobhan brought a crowd. There were eight grad students arrayed behind her, plus a sampling of the single Amish and a some of the staff. In all there were about fifteen, running two-thirds female. Some looked like they had seen a dance floor before, but others were completely raw. 

I had Elspeth and Francine each take four or five and line them up. A few stretches and exercises were enough to pull out some lead partners. Fortunately, a couple of Siobhan's male students and one of the security guys had skills—as did Siobhan. I made up five couples, using Elspeth and Siobhan in the male role. Francine and I walked them through the basic box, with another girl watching. Then we switched off, keeping the lead partner in place. 

This went on for about an hour. Everyone had at least three rotations, two to music, so I called a break. Francine needed to get to bed. The rank newbies had absorbed all they could handle. I wanted to do some more advanced steps, with the more experienced dancers, before calling it a night. 

I called everyone together. First, I thanked Francine for coming. Everyone applauded. Then I told them that the lesson was complete. If they wished, I would like to take a few of the more experienced people and do some real dancing. There were several volunteers. I chose two of Siobhan's guys and John, the security tech, for the male. For the other partner I placed Elspeth, Siobhan and myself. John was the best of the men, so I paired him with Siobhan. I took the weakest, named Jasper. That left Elspeth with Conrad.

We danced three pieces: a Strauss waltz, a foxtrot and a quick step. The next piece up was Joplin's The Entertainer, made famous by The Sting. I can dance to almost anything, but that was not for a beginner's class. Just before I said something, the music changed to The Hustle. Everyone, except the Amish cheered, so I waved everyone onto the floor and we did a couple of disco line dances. It was a wonderful finish. The next piece was a tango, but I would only do those with Sean. Besides, my so-called submissive had had her fun.

I called Siobhan and Christine over. Siobhan had already told me that she would be sleeping in the same hall as the Amish. I warned Christine that she would have to be discrete, because she would stay with Siobhan for the next two nights. I then told both of them about Roxanna and her temporary living arrangements. Siobhan looked unconcerned, but Christine looked thoughtful. This led to one of our odd conversations. Siobhan watched in fascination. 

I asked, "Jason?" Christine nodded. I held up two fingers in a V, then moved them together. Christine nodded again. I held up three fingers and moved them together. Christine looked intrigued. I asked, "Tonight?" Christine declined. Then she changed the subject. I asked, "Jason?" Christine nodded. I thought for a moment. "You're not serious." Christine nodded emphatically. 

I looked at Siobhan. "Were you following that?" She replied, "Not that last." I drew a deep breath, "Francine is thinking about asking Jason to father a child." To give Siobhan her due, she was ready to handle the issue. She asked Christine, "How do you feel about that?" Christine smiled. One of the reasons I loved Christine was her forgiving nature. Jealousy did not enter into her decisions. I could not have shrugged it off so easily. 

I gave Christine a hug, lifted her skirt to view the damage, then sent them off. Jason and Francine. Who would have thought? Sheila and Sean. Who would have thought that either? Certainly not me. Three weeks ago, my life had been self contained. I had my businesses and my clients. That and 80 hour work weeks kept me something like contented, but no longer. Sean was waiting, but I was not ready to go to him. 

I walked through the Ballroom, for what must have been the tenth time. For at least the hundredth time I resisted the urge to dance. Something was pulling at me, but I could not figure out what. I felt I was in a doorway, but unable to enter or exit. The two sides of the door we clear enough—my old life and my new one—but what was the door itself? How could I pass the portal? How could I close the door?

My ruminations ground to a halt as footsteps approached. I did not recognized the stride, so it was not Sean. Big, firm striding, authoritative, it had to be Gerald. He was not on duty, but he did live on site. He could be here on his own time—but not. He was here to see me. Someone had seen me pacing and alerted him. I did not know anyone on this security shift particularly well, so it was doubtful they interrupted his evening. Since I was simply pacing, that left Sean.

"Hello Gerald. What did Sean do to get you back in the fold?"

"Ma'am, it says in the Good Book that as iron sharpens iron, so does man sharpen man. You are a fine grain whetstone. He was lifting free weights without a spotter. This is a long running issue with the Boss, but tonight was different. The Boss froze in mid lift and started swearing under his breath. Everyone is on edge, what with the crowd at the gate, so every little gets run up the ladder." That was funny. 




[K][T] and Family Ch. 03



"Don't worry about it, Gerald. It simply occurred to Sean to wonder how I might react to intentional stupidity, even something as small as that. We will let him think he got away with it, this time. Sooner or later, find reason to remind him."

"Yes, Ma'am. Uhh..."

"Transitions, Gerald, transitions. You were military. How did you deal with abrupt relocation?"

"That is a tough one, Ma'am. Logan Santy once told a group of us that there were two things being a CEO had taught him. First, the longer you live, the older you get." I had to snort at that. "The other is possibly relevant. He said that no matter where you go, there you are. Good night, Ma'am and God Bless." 

That made a twisted sort of sense. Gerald was saying that I needed to accept what was and stop worrying about what was not. Easier said than done, but he said it was a difficult issue. He had also given me a place to get my bearings. Christine had an even more abrupt change than I had, but she was embracing it more smoothly.

I went to Siobhan's room and knocked on the door. Siobhan called, "Come in." At least they were decent. I opened the door. Siobhan was sitting at a desk, keying on a computer. Christine was sitting cross legged on the bed, with her own computer on a pillow. They were talking, without speaking. Of everything I did since my engagement, buying Christine her computer was the wisest. I felt better just thinking about it.

Both Christine and Siobhan started to rise. I waved them back, for all the good it did. We hugged. I hugged them each, then I hugged them both. I later realized it was a defining moment. This was my bed rock. What I built here would last a lifetime, possibly longer. 

When we separated, Christine held up her hand. Siobhan and I exchanged glances. Christine dug through her things and pulled out the chemise I bought her at the mall. She offered it to me. No. She offered to loan it to me. Something borrowed. How sweet. 

I must have muttered it to myself, because Siobhan picked up on it. Growing up with Sean, she might have trained herself to to read lips. I would ask Sean if he ever thought Siobhan was a mind reader, but I knew what his answer would be. I must have muttered that as well, because Siobhan said, "Damn, another secret lost. Hold still, I have old and blue. Francine can get the new."

It was a sapphire brooch. The gemstone was not large, but it was set in fine silver. The design was an intricate whorl patterned filigree. Siobhan confirmed my guess that this was a family heirloom. 

"I don't know how much you have explored that big man cave Sean lives in, but there are a number of things that Mother left behind. Most of what I found, I moved, so that you could have the space. Old shoes, purses and such. Mother also left behind some vintage jewelry. It was my grandmother's—Mother's mother—and they did not get along or have similar tastes. 

"If Sean, George and I divided it three ways, this would be from Sean's third. So take this as yours, not as a loan. When we have time, I will show you to their room in the old house. There is nothing there but personal items and furniture. As Lady of the house, they are now yours—yours to use and your responsibility. More interesting is the storage from previous generations. Small valuables, like the jewelry, have been removed, but there are antiques dating to colonial times. My God, the papers are worth a couple of dissertations, not to mention a small fortune as collectables.

"Don't you dare cry. If you do, we'll all start and there are people down the hall. This was my mother's responsibility once, but she turned her back on it. As soon as Sean was ready to take over, she packed up and moved to La La Land. I love my mother, but in this area, I have no respect. I could not imagine a more fitting person to take over the management of our family heritage. 

"Now, give us another hug, then go see my brother. He probably fell asleep in front of the TV. He did it when I was eight. I doubt he's changed." What could I say? This family could make me proud and humble at the same time. I hugged both of them, then went to find Sean.



[K][T] and Family Ch. 04









[K][T] and Family Ch. 04



Having seen where Julian worked, this room was merely unkempt. The racked fabric attempted order. The changing closets had curtains. The three sewing machines had room sufficient for work. Brushing the cuttings off and sweeping the floor would make the room—untidy. Bad, but we had seen worse.

There was a knock at the door, but it was not Jonathan. A teen aged girl pushed in a rack of clothes, put a note on one sewing machine and left. My hands itched to raise the plastic covering the garments, so I could get a look at them, but no one else moved. Francine clasped her hands behind her back and tapped her foot. Watching the foot gave me something to do. It soon started doing a complicated toe/heel cadence, occasionally wandering forward or back, even sideways. In the still of the room, the scuffing was audible, but Francine made no sound. I was about to ask what piece, when the door opened.

Jonathan was so blatantly gay I suspected an act. Glancing at Sheila, I was struck by her almost absolute calm. She could model clothes in a department store window. The only comment would be how lifelike the manikin appeared. I felt my posture adjusting. Sheila was the textbook example. Christine noticed my attention. She smiled and winked. Then she glanced at Jonathan and rolled her eyes. OK. Maybe I was the slow one.

Francine, as usual, was more vocal. "Cut the crap, Jonathan. Save it for someone who has the time. You're no more gay than she is lesbian or she is innocent." Those were references to Christine and myself, in that order. "One things is certain; she's the bride. So quit playing to expectations we don't have and do your fucking job. You two, strip down to the body armor."

That was clear enough. Christine kicked off her shoes and started taking off clothes where she stood. There were booths, of a sort, but I did the same. It was a new sensation. I was used to pulling a shirt over my head and tossing it aside. This time I opened all the buttons and hung it carefully. Glancing over, I noticed Sheila watching me. It was hard to tell, but there might have been a trace of approval in her smile.

Jonathan's gasp told me that he had seen Christine's bruising. Now in the third day, her legs had devolved into a stripy mass of purple. When Francine did not tell him to pay attention, I glanced over. Her look was calculating. Sure enough, "OK, Jonathan, you've seen it. This is the Maid of Honor. Get her into her dress." He brought out Christine's cream and green dress, but an unnamed assistant handed me my suit, which occupied my attention for the next several minutes.

It was not a tux, in the sense I knew them. It more closely resembled a British morning suit. The black coat was frock length in back, but cut away to normal American suit length in the front. It had satin lapels. Instead of a vest, there was a waistcoat in green and black paisley. The shirt was white cotton and ridged rather than ruffled, with an unbuttoned high collar. The trousers were charcoal, rather than black, with suspenders instead of a belt. They were snug enough to stay up without one. I thought them overlong, until I saw the two inch heels on the boots. I was already the tallest person on Sean's side of the altar. Francine's people were underscoring that fact.

It took a couple of attempts to get the fit right. More exactly, I had to tighten the corset another inch or so. The trousers were looser but the waistcoat closed smoothly. Above the waistcoat, there was room for my breasts. My assistant suggested an Episcopalian (high and mighty) bra, rather than the Catholic (raise the masses) one I was wearing. After I stopped laughing, he told me that the other two types were Baptist (mountains out of molehills) and Salvation Army (uplifting the fallen).

After that, I had more fun. My assistant helped me into the point toed demi-boots. They looked very much like period shoes, but had a hidden zipper. He pulled my hair sharply back and secured with a silk ribbon. This allowed the silk top hat a snug fit. He had links for the french cuffs, but I had my own—gold and monogrammed. Sheila's pin was not the only thing I had found in Grandmother's room. Next was wide bow tie, of the same silk as the hair ribbon. I was told not to worry about tying it myself. Someone would be around on Saturday.

The assistant pulled out a camera and took some pictures. Then he helped me pull on the jacket. He marked the length on the sleeves and trousers, then pinned them in place. Rounding out the look were white gloves and an ebony walking stick. More pictures. I thought it looked dashing.

By the time I looked around, everyone else was gone.

Francine:

I awoke before dawn, because Mother Nature wanted a deposit. The night before I had trouble sleeping, which sometimes happens when I fly. Rather than lie in bed, I went into my living room and copped a squat on the rug. I found myself staring at the cast signed poster of Crowes of Murder, my first Best Drama Tony. It was the one Christine had stared at the first night.

Hours later, as I rose to go to the bathroom, I thought of Christine. She seemed so innocent 10 days ago. Had she changed so much, or had I misjudged? Perhaps it was both. Christine's confidence had grown in proportion to Sheila's conference in her. Sheila had also grown, so the interaction was important. Francine Vivian Martel, where is your place? Who are your special people?

I popped a couple of Hungry Man meals in the oven and did the necessary washing. An hour later Siobhan and I were on the road to Elizabeth. The Warehouse store was not open yet, so we had time for a snack. I needed one, since lunch would be light. Our time in the store was both fun and satisfying. It was a pity to rush off after only a couple of hours.

Finding Sheila took some looking. When we found her, we also found Christine. I don't know if my mouth fell open when I saw her, but Siobhan's did. Christine's naughty schoolgirl outfit was a traffic stopper. They were coming out of the resale store, so Sheila had probably spent less than $100 on it. It is murder trying to out shop that girl.

We packed and headed across the bridge to Staten Island. DeCourte Brothers Deli is just a couple blocks from the ferry. A couple kosher subs and a bag of chips took the edge off, so I arrived at the parking garage in a good mood. Parking is not a glamorous way to make money, but it's steady and reliable. It also helps on occasions like this. Most of Manhattan was built without thought for parking.

Fortunately, we were close enough to walk. When Pedro started buying things in the 1960s, much of Chelsea was a slum. He never bought residential properties, but businesses nearby tended to close. He provided work for a lot of socially disadvantaged people, who wanted to live close by. At least one of the tenement co-ops were founded by Pedro's people. Over the last fifty years, there was a renaissance in the area, which was largely driven by the arts, theater and otherwise.

All of that was personified by Jonathan. His was the third generation from Puerto Rico. Pedro had hired his grandmother, whose baby and thick Puerto Rican accent had killed most employment opportunities. She sewed costumes for some of his early off-Broadway work, while nursing her daughter. In the 1960s, that counted as broadminded and progressive. The daughter, Jonathan's mother, had graduated high school visibly pregnant with Jonathan. Pedro had hired her as a fitter and dresser, eventually making her the head of wardrobe for one of his companies.

Jonathan graduated from the famous Fashion Institute, only six blocks away. I hired him to do design work on my line of prepackaged plays for high schools. He had worked up to doing costume design for second tier and second run plays, including two that played Broadway. He was one of my young guns, which is why I let him work on Sheila's party. That said, I wished his impression of Garment District Gay would crawl under a rock and die. Even Christine was rolling her eyes.

Sheila was first on the agenda. Jonathan had not designed her dress, but the accessories were all his. The dress was one hell of place to start. The plain dress was closely tailored linen in dark green. Jonathan had disbelieved the measurements I gave him. It was a pleasure to see his eyes widen as he took in Sheila's not-at-all-standard figure. Her corset was tightly laced, so her massive breasts were even more pronounced than usual.

Sheila quickly undressed, then raised her arms. Jonathan dropped the dress over her and stepped back. I think he expected it to need major tailoring. Fat chance on a thin girl. The twenty-two inch waist would close with room to spare. The bust would cause more issues. I am grateful that Sheila never went into stripping, but Sweet Mary did she have the figure for it. With her dance skills, she passed up $Millions.

We all had to catch our breath once Sheila was wearing the dress. Even unadorned, she was beautiful. I stepped up and closed the rear buttons. Even the strain at the top was within working parameters. I signaled Jonathan to add the lace. This was non-trivial, since it was nearly two yards long, reaching all the way to the bottom of the dress. This was authentic Irish crochet lace, made to rush order in Dublin.

I did not tell Sheila, but the dress covering was worth more than the custom dress, accessories and bridesmaid's dresses piled together. One look at her face said my silence was unnecessary. Sheila knew exactly what Sean had obtained for her. Her face had that scrunched look that says I-won't-cry-because-I-couldn't-stop. I found my camera and took a lot of pictures. Sheila could make something out of even my photography.

The shoes were white open-toed sandals. Slippers are one of the interesting effects of World War shortages, but Sheila's theme predated the Great War. White opera gloves completed Jonathan's ensemble, but I had a couple of things to add. Siobhan had given her a filigree broach. I placed it above her left breast. My contribution was a pair of emerald earrings—three karats total weight, set in white gold. They caught the hint of green in Sheila's brown eyes, as well as the Irish sod green of the dress. I was pleased with the result.

More pictures. Then it was time for Christine and I to gown up.

Sean:

Friday started like many other days. Sheila and I spent some time caressing and kissing, then more time in the shower shaving hard to reach places. It was over too quickly. I grabbed my breakfast and headed to the cars. Even Francine was there, which surprised me. The girls piled into their cars and took off. I had to drive myself to work.

Normally, this would be cause for enthusiasm. I love driving the Chevelle, even though it attracts cops. That morning, nothing was going to lift my spirits. It seemed like the end of an era, but I would not be there to see it. When I realized I was jealous of CC, I snorted a laugh, but it did not change things.

Work was already stacked up when I arrived. Since I had never taken a vacation, we had no procedures for my absence. I made a note to address this at the next staff meeting. In nine months I expected to have different priorities. Our companies needed a procedure in place by then. While on the subject, I called a couple members of our real estate group: Fred Fitzpatrick and Michael Weston.

I talked to Fred about designing a new nursery in the old house, with the nanny bedroom beside it. Fred was very excited, until I mentioned Sheila. When he became guarded, I mentioned that it was a small job. Perhaps he could recommend a young designer. Fred liked that idea. He gave me a list of four young architects in the area.

The call to Michael Weston was a better experience. The old house was exactly the kind of raw material he liked to work with. Since it was suddenly famous, he could get some mileage out of that as well. We talked about some possibilities, then agreed do do a sit down after my honeymoon.

Before we signed off, I got him to recommend a CAD program for Sheila. He warned me that his recommendation was not the most user-friendly, but it was a true professional grade architecture suite. I decided to give it to Sheila on the plane. It would be a long flight.

The rest of the morning was routine stacked on more routine, crammed into routine routine. Everyone wanted every i dotted and every t crossed, in triplicate, with initialed copies filed. It was so frustrating that I text Helen, hoping to get an answer. As usual for Helen, her answer was two edged. She said that everyone wanted to touch base before my week away, but no one wanted to start anything. Argh. I was about to play hooky, when the call I hoped for came through. It was Columbia Pictures. They wanted to commit Sheila to a specific project.

I was well prepared for the call. After Helen had slapped together a virtual office, she had taken the initiative to get real a web page designed. It was still a bit rough, but that was understandable. The important part were functional links to real people in the organization. Except for Sheila and myself, everyone on the page would be available and could help, within their job description. I had sent out a memo that everyone was expected to do their job, and only their job, regardless who was on the other end of the conversation.

I also had files on Aaron Aldermann, Ivan Nevsky, Columbia Pictures, their current projects and, especially, the ones that were running late. It did not take a genius to figure out which picture they needed help with. It was just a matter of what and how much. Francine's people had proven invaluable on this point. There were flat fee rates and participation conditions on tap. I picked up.

"This is Sean Richards."

Phone: Good Morning, Mr. Richards, this is Aaron Aldermann. How's the weather in New Jersey?

"They are promising sunny and 80° for my wedding tomorrow. I wish you could come. I'll have someone send pics."

Phone: If that is an invitation, I have someone in New York that could make the drive. Face to face is always important, especially at the start. He was seriously interested. I was betting a lawyer with documents. We could do that.

"Absolutely it was. Give the details to Helen. Security is a bit jumpy, what with all the press. You are probably comfortable with it, but it's new to us. To business. What can I do for you?"

Phone: We were all very intrigued by the editing Sheila Schwartz did on some pictures Ivan Nevsky sent her. Given that it was done in only thirty minutes, it was most impressive. We would like to see what her undivided attention can produce. How does her schedule look, after she begins officially working of course. We have a standard contract, which I can message over.

"Which standard contract is that? I am sure you have several to choose from."

Phone: It's the standard consulting contract, such as we give to a sound company, for example.

"What are conditions on the residuals?"

Phone: A percentage would be premature at this point. This is fee for service.

"I see. What multiple of standard rates?"

At that point, the trading got serious. AAA wanted to give Sheila a basic contract, with no incentives. It was understandable, but a poor move on his part. He was in a bind and we knew it. Starting with a minimum contract, he had left himself without fallback position. On the other hand, we were the new kid. Once we saved his ass, we could dictate the next contract. Both sides had some leverage, but I had been at this crossroads before.

When I took over the family business, I inherited some consulting firms. I quickly changed their SOP. We developed a two tiered system—either a high flat fee, or a lower fee plus am equity participation. I cribbed the idea from a Robert Heinlein book, The Cat Who Walks Through Walls. The beauty of the idea was to let the client make the choice. Wide eyed speculators wanted all the profits. They would pony the flat fee. Smart, well prepared operations would often choose the second option, because it kept their startup costs down. It had worked well for close to ten years, but this project could dwarf the rest. It was time to close the deal.

"At the risk of overdoing a movie cliché, let's cut to the chase. You have a turkey and we are the long shot that might turn it into Thanksgiving dinner. Long shots are cheap to play and big on the pay, so let's go with that. Send over that standard contract. Attach to it some open ended incentives. Draw a line. If the gross goes above that line, we get a percentage. Likewise re-release and international. If you make some nice change, we will get recognition. If this turns into the Terminator, we do a whole lot better.

"Do you think you can sell that to your investors?"

Phone: [pause] You are actually asking a lot. You know that, right?

"You know Francine Martel and you probably know that she is tight with my fiancée. What you may not know is that she and I dated in high school. Sheila is not the only one in her loop. She recommended an attorney to check your contract. But, I'll give you an option. You can send a flat fee contract, suitable for the Vice President of a firm with billings of $120 Million. That is what our Events and Promotions Division did last year. Your choice. If it passes the sniff test, we'll sign it."

Phone: You read science fiction, don't you. Heinlein was a smart guy and a real SOB to do business with. OK. I will take your proposal to the investors. I think you can guess which way they'll fall. But, as you say, they get their choice of poison. It will make them think they matter.

Is she any easier to deal with?

"You know Francine. My sister Jo has a Yale PhD. Neither of them will even try verbal fencing with Sheila."

Phone: YHWH protect us. Are you sure you want to marry her?

"My situation is somewhat different. I can make her Chatelaine of her own castle. Sheila is trained for the theater. It shows. By the way, call me Sean. I doubt this is the last time we talk."

Phone: I'm Aaron. It has been an education.

After that, going back to routine office work was really difficult.



[K][T] and Family Ch. 05



Chapter 14—Little Italy

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

After the fittings, they went to have Italian food in Little Italy. Aunt Francine forgot to mention some other people might drop by. I am told there were 47 major film and theater awards represented. That is, 47 on that night. The count has gone up since. On the other side of the room was Susan Farwell and all the ballet people. As a little girl I loved that Mom danced the Sugar Plum Fairy. Now, consider who she danced it with.

Sheila:

Everyone talks about how much I influenced Christine. That worked both ways. I found myself imitating my so-called submissive, sometimes consciously. I mused that Sean and I had spoken very little that morning. One rarely speaks much to Christine. At Wardrobe the pattern continued. I acquiesced without a word. I found it unusual, but no one had commented

The trip between the islands—Staten to Manhattan—was relaxing. I had a bit of food, but otherwise I was content to watch the byplay between Siobhan and Francine. Siobhan struggling to find ways to manage the flow of Francine's verbiage, with was finding some success by counterpunching. Francine has the soul of a teacher. She loves to lecture, but her favorite style is Socratic. If a well posed question is a jewel to teacher, Siobhan was a diamond mine. They squabbled like siblings or an old married couple.

It was a welcome distraction. I had not been to Manhattan since The Nutcracker and never for pleasure. Nothing I saw that day motivated me to return. Francine arranged parking. Russell escorted us through the streets. Francine let us in a building's side door, then the rear door of a workshop. We met Jonathan, who took us to a quiet work area where I finally saw the finished dress. It was so beautiful I fought tears.

It was like a dress for Galadriel—sleeveless deep forest green with an overlaid carpet of white florets. The white sandals had that sturdy Dance look. The skirts were full and subtly weighted. I could spin-flare them enough to show my garters. The thought of exposing myself like that made me moist. In some ways I really was like Christine. Not all. Sean would never buy this dress like this for Christine.

Over the corset, the dress went on without a problem. If anything, I could let out half an inch. While the bust was quite snug, Francine insisted there was room to work. I bowed to her expertise. Jonathan helped me into the sandals. When he looked up, it was not at my face. Just playing at gay there, Jon? I shook off the thought and donned the white opera gloves. Francine pinned on the old and blue broach. Then she pulled out a pair of emerald earrings. My first instinct was to decline, but it was her moment and I refused to ruin it.

They took many pictures. Francine and Christine bridesmaid's dresses were adorable. Just before I asked someone to fetch Siobhan, she came through the door, angry at being abandoned. She cut a fine figure. The semi-formal suit was an inspired choice. It was an outdoor wedding and the style flattered Siobhan's generous figure. Her breasts tented the jacket. Men's style or not, there was no mistaking Siobhan's sex. I particularly liked the wide silk bow tie.

We all collected for more pictures. My favorite was of Siobhan and Francine, the long and short of it. Sean's favorite was of me with Siobhan. That shot resurfaced ten years later, during an election campaign. I never figured out if Siobhan's opponent had leaked it, or if she had. Whichever, Siobhan won the election.

It was one of the happiest days of my life, but I needed to steel myself for one of Francine's fetes.

Siobhan:

Once I was fully dressed, I went in search of everyone else. My unnamed assistant wanted me to wait for Jonathan. Right. Sometimes being bigger than the guys has advantages. The work area gave me mixed reactions. Many did not react all, costumed characters likely being common. Of those that did react, it was mostly, "You go, girl." The flustered flunky probably contributed to that. Several fingers pointed, so it was easy to find the way, to a point.

The pointing directed me to a hallway. There was only one suitable door, but I hesitated and almost did not open the door. It was a defining moment. When I persevered, the scene appeared scripted—servants attending a fine lady. Francine and Christine were quite fetching in their off-white dresses, with green trim. Jonathan and an assistant were reassuring Sheila. I remember my moment of hesitation at the door, because of what I would have missed. The sight Sheila in her dress has never faded.

How to describe a vision? Sheila compared the dress to something for an elf queen. She has the magic part right. My mind goes more to Titania in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Whether Tolkien's queen or Shakespeare's, Sheila was ethereal. In that dress her uncanny grace seemed inevitable, necessary. The vision lasted only a moment before Sheila embraced me. I always said I would have married her myself.

We spent several minutes posing for pictures, as if Justin would take none at the wedding. That done, all the clothes were rechecked for fit, with the occasional pin or chalk mark added. The measurements we endured on Tuesday proved out. As we left, Francine commented on the accuracy of the tailoring and how well everything went.

We changed back to our street clothes, then left. As we marched back, I wondered if this was all I would see of Manhattan. Silly me. Trust Francine to think of food. Cabs were called. Russell held the door for me. I would not have appreciated the gesture a week before. He must have noticed, because he mumbled something like, "Look real nice." I punched him in the arm, which made him smile. Then he rubbed his arm, which made me smile—until he winked.

We headed south to Little Italy. New Jersey thrives on Italian food and this was the mecca everyone talkrd about. Francine had a room reserved at Civitano Brothers Trattoria, on Cleveland near Canal. It did not seem like we had done much, but the time added up. Nine to Five employees filled the sidewalks. I was glad we were not taking the subway somewhere.

Civitano's is an old name in a new location. Francine's usual running commentary told me that the original brothers had died in the 1930s. The proprietors insisted on serving wine, which required the restaurant front for a speakeasy. Making wine was not safe during prohibition. For generations the restaurant had held a memorial plaque. Francine had seen it, years before. Not much later, a fire gutted the building. Rather than wait for the hulk to be demolished and rebuilt, the Civitano family decided to move a few blocks. They leased the ground floor of an art deco office building.

The restaurant was nearly full when we walked through it. As we passed the bar, Francine threw over her shoulder that there was booze upstairs. We continued past the restrooms and kitchen, climbed a stair at the rear. This opened to a very plush hallway. The open door next to the stairwell read Conference Room. Francine explained that the lawyers who owned the building had an arrangement with the restaurant—preferred rates on catering and private parties in exchange for use of this room after business hours. It may have been after five o'clock on Friday, but there were a lot of lights showing under doors up the hallway.

Inside was a buffet table spread with antipasto, a large table set for eight, several small tables, and a bar with barista. I say barista because of the massive brass espresso machine behind the bar. Francine went straight toward it. I followed to see if they could do a decent Irish coffee in this type of place.

I found Christine at my elbow. I asked what she wanted. She said aguardiente. Where had she picked up that? I asked if she wanted it sweet or straight. She looked confused, but shook off the sweet. It was time for some education. I asked Francine how Sheila liked her coffee. She told me it was covered. I asked for galliano, sambuca, water and ice.

Sheila was seated at the big table, where a waitress was taking her order. I carried my tray over and sat down. Christine slid in beside me. Sheila looked curious, but said nothing. Upon closer inspection, she wore an unusual expression. The closest I could describe it was interested tranquility. After her tension on Wednesday, it was a welcome change. I glanced at Christine, who followed my gaze and showed a trace of a smile. That was something to chew on.

At the moment, I asked what Sheila had ordered. She told me figs were in season. She had ordered a plate of fig based appetizers. Sean had mentioned figs concerning their first date. I told her she was in luck, because I had something that would go well with figs. I poured water into a glass. Into that I drizzled some sambuca. The liquor clouded on contact, which I always thought was cool. So did Christine.

Sheila just smiled. She had been like that all day—a serene smile regardless of what was going on around her. Nothing seemed to phase her. Nothing moved her to speak. Even for Sheila, she was very quiet. I might have considered further, except the hors d'oeuvres arrived. There was a whole platter of figs, prepared a variety of ways. Sheila pointed to one with a soft white cheese, wrapped in prosciutto. It was excellent—sweet, salt and creamy at once.

As I was about to try a different one, a voice behind me asked, "Those look tasty. May I try one?" I turned to find Edith Dryden, flanked by Angela Molinari. While I struggled to close my mouth, Sheila held out the plate so they could each have access. Both ladies took a sample, then sat down at the table. Edith Dryden asked how the fitting had gone. Sheila produced her tablet and pulled up the pictures. As ethereal as I thought Sheila looked, my suit caused as much discussion.

Before I realized it, I was on a first name basis with one of New York's leading socialites and one of Broadway's greatest legends. Both were famous beauties, which would once have had me tongue tied. They had sufficient grace to make me feel accepted and respected. This was fortunate, since I needed to serve as Christine's stand in, introducing the bride and telling the awkward stories. Sheila pinked a couple of times, but there was never a warning flash in her eyes.

After Edith and Angela, the cream of theater society passed by to pay respects to the bride. There were too many for the table, so we stood. A line formed immediately and went on for quite some time. To some degree, the turnout was out of respect for Francine. Most of the younger generation attended at her request.

However, the old guard was also well represented. Pedro de la Garza had called Sheila a goddess. Such words, from such a man, had real weight. Everyone who was anyone wanted to meet her. Sheila looked like a queen in her wedding dress, but the clothes only accented the reality.

Somewhere in there, we ate dinner.

Francine:

I checked the damage to Christine's legs while donning my bridesmaid's costume. Next week I would go to the club and make changes. For a moment, I considered sneaking a quick picture. Then I realized that neither Christine nor Sheila would mind. Later, when we were changing for the party, I had Christine strip bare and spread on the floor.

She did a full 180° split, which impressed me. I took shots of her entire length, toe to toe. Then I took close ups of the ass and genitals. That was when I noticed the gaps. I had her turn over, so I could examine the labia closer. The places where the clips sat were obvious. One spot had a red line up to it, but not past. Another had a stripe slightly to one side. This stripe faded to a stop after about an inch. The double stripe which led to the anus skipped a space, then ended at the clitoris.

I rarely talk to Christine—no verbal feedback. Regardless, what I saw would have stricken me dumb. In full view of a discerning crowd, Sheila had armored Christine's most sensitive areas against the whip, using weighted clips and an ass plug. Holy shit. I would bet money that no one else had caught it.

Strike that. No one but Christine, who said nothing. The expression on her face and the tear on her cheek told her story. Christine watched me work through it all. When I reached the part about wondering what I had done to deserve a friend like Sheila, Christine said, "Emeralds." I had to laugh. Obviously my gift had not gone as unnoticed as I hoped. There was a question on Christine's face, so I told her, "About $375,000." Then it was time to eat.

I had reserved a room for Sheila at my favorite restaurant and put the word out that she would be there. I expected Pedro and Angela to drop by, but Edith Dryden was a bonus. I was not surprised when Susan Farwell (yes the Susan Farwell) came by. She had danced Clara to Sheila's Sugar Plum Fairy. Both were well received and Susan often referred to the performance. What I did not expect was the staff of Susan's school and all the major players in the City Ballet Company—Giesla Kirtland, Lisl Rhinehardt, Rudolph Nerovski, George Blanchard. The list was endless. Lincoln Center was only blocks away. It must have emptied for an hour.

Anyone else would be shell shocked, but not Sheila. In a room full of great ballerinas and choreographers, she was grace personified. She reminded me of Christine's serene acceptance of the remarkable. It was as if a higher being deigned to meet with mortals for a few hours.

Naturally it was not all ballet and theater. Where stars go, press will follow. The wedding in New Jersey was already news. Having a tie to Manhattan fine arts pushed it over the top. The New York Times did an article in their Sunday magazine. Later that month, a major bridal magazine made Sheila their cover bride. Both articles featured shots of Sheila meeting someone at Civitano's.

An unexpected sidelight was the emergence of Siobhan—she shone. Normally it is the Maid of Honor's duty to run interference for the bride. Christine would never be up to that task, so Siobhan filled the role. She greeted people, answered questions, made space for pictures and generally was the perfect aide.

While acting as Sheila's second, Siobhan made no attempt to hide her natures. Neither did she exaggerate anything for effect. Normally smooth and gracious people come across as stiff and stilted next to Sheila. Siobhan came across as refreshingly genuine. I understand this served her well when she went into politics.

For me, the highlight of the evening was when Jordan Edwards greeted Sheila. Jordan wrote the glowing Times review of the Nutcracker. They met backstage that night and Sheila remembered him. It was one of two times Sheila blushed. The other was when Susan Farwell claimed that no one ever pushed her as hard as Sheila. I would have blushed at that.

In all, it was the best party I ever threw. I almost forgot to eat.

Sheila:

After the pictures were taken and downloaded to my tablet, I undressed. The others had gone to other rooms, so I had a moment alone. I removed the earrings and looked at them against the light. Anyone that has seen Gigi knows that the finest emeralds have a blue light in their depths. I was not Aunt Alicia, but I could see that these emeralds had a blue shimmer. I did not understand why Francine wanted to bury me in expensive gifts, but there it was.

These earrings were probably north of a quarter million dollars. Who was I to refuse? Siobhan had given me her family's heritage. Christine had given me her body and her memories. In context it was not that extravagant a gift. Money was what Francine had and she was keeping the scale small, though another Bentley might have cost less.

I was laughing at the idea of Francine giving me a Rolls Royce when Siobhan returned. She saw the earrings in my hand and asked, "Tiffany?" I replied, "Or someone like them. There is blue fire inside." Siobhan's eyebrows rose. "The really good stuff. I would put the solitaires at a karat or more each, with another karat in the other four stones. On the Gold Coast, that would run three to four hundred. I hope you are willing to accept them."

That was the rub. There is a difference between accepting and not refusing. As problematic as they were, I had accepted Siobhan and Christine's gifts. I could do no less for Francine. Before I could thank Siobhan for her input, she nodded her head in satisfaction. Christine seemed to be rubbing off on everyone. Siobhan said, "Yes, she does." and winked. I was shocked for a moment, then realized Siobhan had read my lips. It gave us both a good laugh.

That was when Francine and Christine returned. Francine looked troubled, but Christine shook her head and gave me a wink. Oh. I mimed a camera and Christine nodded. I would need to get those pictures later. For the moment, we paraded back to the street and took a cab to Little Italy.

Francine had set up an open house party. First to arrive were Edith Dryden and Angela Molnari, but soon I had a line of well wishers. I had not seen Susan Farwell since the night of The Nutcracker, but she greeted me as a close friend and introduced me to her staff and friends. It seemed like half the famous performers in New York were there, and of course press followed on their heels. It was thrilling, daunting and I have an album of pictures to remember it.

I was very blessed.

Chapter 15—Applewood Smoke

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

Meanwhile Dad was watching the Amish do what Amish do. There is this impression that the Amish are humorless and grumpy. Dad says they are just people with a different background. Doing without electricity does not make them stupid. It also does not prevent them from enjoying a party after a lot of hard work. Whatever else, you have to love their food.

Sean:

By one o'clock I decided to call an end, because I could dot only so many i's. I told Helen I was going to visit Sheila's new receptionist and then go home. I could be wrong, but I thought I caught a trace of relief. Helen's job would be easier when she could tell everyone I was gone for a week.

Sheila did not have an office yet. The room that would be hers needed conversion. However, she did have a receptionist's desk in front of the door. I made a small bet with myself that Roxanna would be doing something which would give me reason to scold her. Either I misjudged, she was lucky, or she had an early warning system. When I came into the room, Roxanna was taking a tutorial on our phone system. At a guess, someone in HR had gotten her started.

She earned another brownie point by not ignoring me. I may be the boss, but that has never stopped rudeness. Roxanna heard me coming and quickly gave me her full attention. I asked how things were going. There had been a great deal of press attention early in the day, but it died. Most likely someone tipped them that Sheila and Francine were out of town. Roxanna was using the time to learn the phone's recording functions.

I like initiative, so I called Emilia Lucann to get Roxanna set up with a battery of classes. It would give her something to do while we were gone. If the position did not work out, the knowledge would be useful to her. Then we talked about Roxanna's experiences at her last job. Ouch. I began to understand why Francine had paid to fly her across the country. I text Helen to get her enrolled in some counseling.

When I looked for them, I could see the signs of someone preparing to deal with abuse. It had been some time since I had needed to handle a serious sexual harassment issue in my own company, but it was a road I remembered well. My first two years as CEO had been full of angry meetings and fulsome departures. There was still a sampling of harassment victims I could call upon.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 05



I called Emilia and asked her to send Barbara Johnson to the small conference room, with the sexual harassment package. I walked Roxanna to the door and told her to wait for Barbara. The initial portion would take about fifteen minutes, which gave me a chance to touch bases with Emilia and Helen. I did not think I would spend the day before my wedding doing a sexual harassment case, but these things have their own schedule.

I was tempted to get Sheila and CC involved, but they were in the City. Instead we did things by the numbers. Barbara Johnson had reason to know I was serious about protecting women. If Roxanna was worried about working with Sheila, we could deal with it, even if it meant moving her somewhere else. It was best to do it now, rather than give it a week to fester.

Helen was her usual efficient self. When I returned to my desk, there was a stack of related material waiting. Next to the stack was an unrelated issue, which I used to occupy my mind for the next hour. Then I returned to Roxanna's desk. Under the circumstances, this was a no-no, so I needed to use care.

I said, "Let's talk." Roxanna was nervous, but started to rise. I waved her back to her seat. Having the desk between us was important, so I pulled up a chair and did my best to reassure her. The problem was that Roxanna was in a unique position. She was the first person that would be working directly under Sheila—except CC Collingsworth. That was a potential issue. Several potential issues.

So I asked Roxanna straight out where things stood. She didn't know, which was scary. The relationship between Sheila and CC was bad enough, but Roxanna would be sharing a room with CC. Sheila would be both her boss and my wife. Behind everything was the Francine factor. I would not blame anyone for being intimidated.

I spelled out my thinking. Setting things out in the open often makes them less threatening. The first issue was Roxanna's new roommate. CC was odd by almost any standard, yet it had been her acquiescence that got Roxanna the job. I would not confide that detail, but it raised a point. I asked Roxanna why she thought she had been offered a position.

Her answer was no surprise. She thought it was a favor to Francine. That was true to a point, so I went with it. I talked about high school and the girl I had dated. Then I talked about the dance school and the relationship between Francine and Sheila. I did not need to tell Roxanna about Francine's business empire, so I pointed out that was one, built from the ground up. This built up to a point—it made good business sense for me to put her behind that desk.

That said, Roxanna had a job to do. The arrangement was like any other job—perform or face consequences. She had special experience that I could not get in the local market, but the skills were available. What I was looking for was a compatible member of a team.

I took a moment to do a quick read of Roxanna. She was Sheila's age. It went without saying that she did not have Sheila's maturity. Few did. The issue was whether she had any maturity at all. CC was almost ten years younger, but came across as more reliable. A tough standard, but one she needed to work with.

So I asked Roxanna if she wanted the job, or if she wanted something to carry her through while she looked for her own position. Then I waited for her to answer. To give her due credit, she did not blow me off. Instead she started to cry. I handed her a tissue and waited. When she finished, I told her that she had made a wise decision. I called Helen and asked for a disclosure package on the auction.

Several minutes later Roxanna and I were in the small conference room. Helen served as chaperone, standing by the open door. I told Roxanna that what she was about to see was confidential, though not for much longer. I then showed her some of the raw pictures of the auction merchandise, starting with ancient dildos and working up to the Hollywood bondage gear. When I reached that point, Roxanna gasped and reached for the page. She was a Hollywood insider. Of course she knew about it.

After a pause, I put down the image from the cover. Roxanna had seen it, which meant that she had seen the catalog. Interesting. I wondered when she had seen it, but deferred that question. Next I pulled out the image used for the credits. This she had not seen. I stopped and let things sink in. Questions were stirring behind her eyes, but none were voiced. That was not good enough.

I said, "What I have just shown you is in a published document. As such, confidentiality is loosened. What I will show you next is not published. It is closely held information, which is relevant to your position. I will not show it to you, unless you state, before this witness," I indicated Helen, "that you agree to be bound to a higher standard. Do you have any questions? Please answer aloud."

I might not have needed to go this heavy. In fact, I had not intended this conversation to occur til after the honeymoon. However, something needed to be done. LM Bujold wrote that nothing invites childish behavior as much as treating someone like a child. From what little Francine had told me, Roxanna's previous boss had treated her like a bimbo and received bimbo behavior. I chose to treat her as an adult and hope for mature behavior.

Roxanna said she had no questions. I told her to ask as soon as she had one, because each new element would involve greater responsibility. Roxanna looked torn. I waited. Helen smiled, then covered her mouth. I could not afford to smile, because Roxanna would misinterpret it. I waited.

Roxanna asked, "Why? Why me?" Those were two very good questions.

I answered, "The why is simple. The job requires it, so someone needs to know. If you choose not to see more, you will have a job here, but not the job I wish to put you in. The 'why you' is more complex. The simple answer is that Francine asked, but that would be misleading. Francine's request brought you only as far as we have already come. I would not take the next step on her say so. The same is true of Sheila. If her opinion controlled, she would be here and not me.

"The real answer is that I think you value your word. If you say that you will keep confidences, I believe that you will. I believe you are intelligent enough and focused enough that confidences will not slip from you accidentally. I also judge you are not mercenary enough to sell it. If you will not lose the confidence accidentally, or give it away or sell it, then you are trustworthy.

"I ask only that you commit your word."

Helen had smiled earlier, because she had heard this speech many times before. When I finished, she was not smiling. She was watching intently. Helen was the witness for good reason. Of all my people, only Sheila was more perceptive. I thought of Sheila, kneeling to offer me her favorite lash, and realized I was asking an oath of fealty.

Roxanna said, "OK." Not good enough.

I said, "State what you agree to do."

As sometimes happens, Roxanna laughed. She said, "Alright. I agree to keep your freaking secrets. What the hell is this all about?" I tapped the image of Mistress Cynthia, then added another that showed Sheila's face. At first, Roxanna didn't get it. Once she connected the dots, her eyes grew very wide. She looked at me, seeking confirmation. In response I laid out another image, showing Sheila's face after the others had gone.

I said, "Mistress Cynthia is a role. Sheila plays it very well, because she does everything very well. I, or my sister Jo, have more natural inclination that way. But, back to work." I pulled out the wide shot image, which was the source of the cover shot. I laid the finished shot next to it. We spent the next half hour discussing what Sheila was inclined to do. By the time I left, I had a good feeling about Roxanna's future with the firm.

In my business, Friday is often the day before Saturday, rather than the day before the weekend. Curtis has commented, frequently, on the subject. That Friday was different. It was half past three. I decided I had done my duty and notified my department heads that I was leaving the office. I did not wait for replies. If they could not handle a week of my absence, I needed new people.

Once outside, I realized I had free time, so I had George swing by the gym. Things seemed overly quiet, though I could do without the media circus. Sheila's former lair was locked up. In a fit of nostalgia, I stared at the door to Mistress Cynthia's reception area. I was startled to hear my name.

It was the Fitzpatrick brothers, from the real estate group. They were checking out some of the adjacent buildings. One was another warehouse, which could be converted to loft apartments. Sheila had her eye on that one. The Fitzpatricks were not competition for the building, since they liked new construction. Renovation was Michael Weston's forté. What they wanted was a sense of the area and its eventual use.

I asked them what they thought of a fire gutted and partly demolished block on the other side of the gym. In a better neighborhood, the buildings would have been razed long ago. The block needed to be leveled as a basic part of any plan. Putting small retail in the location, with parking behind, made good sense. Simple fenced parking would be sufficient until the residential units were complete. I asked about building a row of small stores, with the possibility of later adding a level or two of parking. Fred went glassy eyed as he thought of the design requirements that figured in the potential addition.

We spent half an hour discussing possibilities for that block and other buildings and lots in the area. Then I took them to the gym. Claudia Johnson was out, but she had left orders to assist us. I left the brothers with an assistant manager, since I had already had the tour. On the way home I considered possibilities. We had a Group meeting in two weeks. I thought the burned out block was the perfect place for the Group to start.

It was about five o'clock when we pulled into my drive. I detected the smell of baking bread, so I rolled down the window. Overlaying the smell of baking was the scent of applewood smoke and cooking meat. My mouth watered. Once the car was parked, I told George I would try to get him dinner. George's grunt seemed to say that I damn well better.

It proved no chore at all. Elder Josiah Neufeld met me at the top of the steps and offered his hospitality. On behalf of my house and staff, I accepted the invitation with thanks. Mitchell Gilbert caught my eye. I mimed washing hands. Mitchell nodded and the word went out. Shortly thereafter, Elder Isaiah joined us.

A whole pig had been roasting all day and was about ready to eat. Already set up was a long table full of covered dishes, baskets of bread and rolls and dozens of desserts. There were still children playing, but most of the Amish were gathered near the food. Elder Isaiah raised his hand and gestured for everyone to gather.

Immediately young boys went to collect the ones still playing. My staff came out of the house, the garage and the boathouse. In a few minutes everyone was assembled. After an abrupt gesture for silence, Elder Neufeld gave a lengthy prayer, which thanked the Almighty—and me. I definitely received second billing, but there was no mistaking the gratitude he expressed for bringing them to my home. It was a pity that Sheila was not there to hear it, but Gerald would give her the details.

Once the prayer was complete, I was ushered to the front of the line. As host, that made sense, but I demurred. Instead, I asked that the children be allowed to go first. This allowed me to thank all their parents for the hard work. Everyone accepted my thanks, often with pleasure, so they probably did work hard. In turn they all thanked me for opening my home. When the line thinned down, I told Elder Isaiah that I could not ask for better guests and wished them all a fine dance. He looked distinctly amused.

As I spoke, I noticed Evaine Schaefelker listening. I asked Elder Neufeld how well she had worked out with them. He started to reply, then stopped. He gave me a knowing half grin, positioning himself so she could not see it. Then he gave me a lecture on proper behavior of young people. Young people did not know how fortunate they were or how easy they had it, yatta, yatta. I was worried that the food would grow cold, when I realized that I had heard enough of his germanic dialect to follow such preaching. Cool.

After several minutes of his rambling, I stepped into a short pause, saying that I understood. Elder Neufeld clearly liked Evaine a great deal. I pointed out the she and Jo could be useful to the community. He promised to read their correspondence carefully. Evaine's eyes widened at the clear invitation to stay in touch. I shooed her away, lest something spoil the moment.

After that, the three of us visited the table. In retrospect, I could not have planned it better. We each had perquisites and constituencies. It was fitting that we dined as equals. There is a saying in North Carolina, "A properly smoked pig halloweth any cause." I cannot speak to holiness, but the the Tar Heels I knew could take some pointers from these Amish.

The meat was arrayed on platters. The aroma was of cooked pork, applewood smoke and nothing else. The cuts had a lovely smoke ring and there were platters of pulled shoulder. Next to the meat were ewers of drippings and a tangy sauce, slightly sweet and mildly spicy. I was about to tell Elder Neufeld that sometimes plain food was the best, when I realized that was exactly his point. Instead I smiled and said, "It is plain. The Lord is Good." He said, "For an English, you are not so stupid."

The rest of the meal was an expanse of Germanic home cooking. The potato salad and slaw had a vinegar dressing. Potatoes were everywhere—green beans and new potatoes, scalloped potatoes, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted redskin potatoes, just about anything but fried. There were several fresh vegetables, but pickling was a theme. Every imaginable vegetable was presented. Some were obvious, such as cucumbers and beets, but also corn, cauliflower, even things like watermelon rind and ham. One small dish looked suspiciously like lumpy cherry peppers. I treated it like a live grenade. One sniff told stories of the flames of perdition. I asked if I could get a jar for my wife. They thought that was funny, but imagine if they knew about my Thai night with Sheila.

After negotiating a heavy plate of food, I went to the desert table. Again, preserves were on display. Apple, peach and cherry pie were out in multiples. Gooseberry, blackberry and other berry pies as well. My favorite from childhood has been mince pie, of which there were four. I took a half slice from each pan and a mug of coffee. As I made made my way back to my seat, I noticed that all eyes were on me.

Realizing that I had formed an impromptu competition, I sampled each pie followed by black coffee. One was clearly better than the others, flaky crust with a tart but mellow filling. I ate it first, then the others in descending order. I finished with more coffee and a heart felt belch. Looking up, I smiled and said, "It was plain." Many heads nodded, but I thought there was one smile, immediately quashed. The Elders Neufeld watched the whole production before chuckling. Josiah said, "For an English, you are not so stupid."

That seemed to end the dinner phase. The entire group of women and children began clearing the table. Elder Josiah and I, hands behind back, walked down the hill to the midway. Signs of activity were everywhere. Before the Elder could make apology, I told him that children should play. Work would last a lifetime, but childhood ends. He accepted this, but I had no illusions that the children would not be working come morning.

Chapter 16—Three Ring Circus

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

There was a lot of press in New Jersey, but nothing compares to the Big Apple for turning up the spotlights. Articles appeared in an array of publications, several of them having nothing to do with weddings.

Friday 9:22 PM—broadway.com/divawatch/martel

The wandering diva has returned to Manhattan. The occasion was the much talked about "Amish" wedding in New Jersey. Miss Martel hosted a party to introduce the bride, Sheila Schwartz, to the cream of Big Apple theater and dance. Some needed no introduction. No less a light than Susan Farwell knew Miss Schwartz from years ago.

Senior Times critic Jordan Edwards explained. Miss Martel and Miss Schwartz were recruited to do parts for a Lincoln Center production of The Nutcracker. Miss Martel was one of the elves, but Miss Schwartz, at age 14, danced the famous Sugar Plum Fairy opposite Susan Farwell. This was the first time Manhattan was able to meet the other half of the duet. This is not to say that Manhattan had not heard of Miss Schwartz. Miss Farwell frequently refers to the event.

One of the most common phrases of the evening, "She's the one..." There were at least three versions. The odd one came from the press coverage, notably the cameramen. Miss Schwartz had something to do with a famous catalog. The theater version was that she was Francine Martel's role model. That one is confusing, since Martel is several years older. I already mentioned that Susan Farwell had spoken of her often. Clearly that story has wide penetration in ballet circles.

It begs the question, where has Miss Schwartz been for more than a decade? In some ways it is a good question. Even in a room full of stellar ballet talent, Miss Schwartz epitomized grace and poise. Indeed, Miss Martel freely admits that Miss Schwartz was her role model, in spite of the age difference. So, why did Miss Martel go on to a great career, while her teenage friend languished in obscurity? In a word, physics. Miss Schwartz has an impressive bust. In the world of top level ballet, the extra top weight matters. When Susan Farwell spoke of Miss Schwartz, it was with regret for what might have been.

This is divawatch, Francine Martel's page. But for tonight, we wish Sheila Schwartz, non-diva, the best of luck.

Friday 10:03—tonkovichemilia@uniquebride.com

I have to tip my hat to Randy. Sheila Schwartz is not only going to be the cover bride (photo attached), she may well be our signature bride. Word went out that Francine Martel was bringing her to town and that they would be having dinner at Civitano's. Martel has her own crowd, but heavyweights like Pedro and Angela de la Garza and Susan Farwell cleared schedules to attend. What was set up as a modest meet and greet turned into an event.

The bride did not disappoint. The woman has impeccable taste and exudes class. Add that to a deadly subtle wit and you get Bride from Central Casting. Seriously, she's perfect. You would think she was used to meeting the luminati. It did not hurt that Martel and Susan Farwell were camped in corners, extolling her virtues, but Miss Schwartz owned the room.

Also of note was her prospective Sister, Jo Richards, who played hostess. That is Dr. Siobhan Richards, PhD—from Yale no less (picture attached). She is easily six feet tall in heels and quite imposing. While neither attractive nor graceful, especially in this company, she was the soul of courtesy and clearly understands etiquette.

We should do a sub-article on her. It will be a nice contrast to the perfection bride. When they chose the bridesmaid's dresses, Dr. Richards objected. The dress (photo attached) would look ridiculous on her. At her own suggestion, she will wear a suit and stand with the groom (picture attached, not for publication). It is a nice solution to a common problem.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 05



Also attending was the Maid-of-Honor Christine Collingsworth (picture attached). She is very young and quite pretty, but shy to the point of speechless.

Friday 11:53 PM—tabbycat15@hotmail.com

I think I've seen her. It has to be her, the submissive from Tuesday in Brooklyn. She was with Francine Martel and the tall woman. I was working a party at Civitanos. Francine Martel reserved the special room for a house party. I never gave her a thought, until I saw the bruising.

There was this girl. She looked about 25, wearing an adorable faux convent-school outfit—long blue skirt and school blouse with three inch red soled heels and candyapple red lipstick. She had her hair in pig tails. The only thing missing were glasses. Anyway, the skirt was almost full length and she wore hose, but I could see her calves every once in a while. There was this pattern of bruising, like piano keys, that showed through the hose. The only thing that makes a stripe like that is a whip, and a cat would make a bunch at once.

I think she was with the tall one. It was hard to tell, because both she and Martel spent the evening introducing someone named Schwartz. There were a lot of actors and dancers and they had all heard of her. It's too bad the Mistress was not with them. This girl was way too saucy to be at heel, plus she spent most of the evening by herself, though that sounds wrong. She enjoyed watching everything—a lot. She watched and took lots of pictures. She even caught me watching her and winked. I would have followed when she went to the restroom, but my boss was watching.

Saturday 1:36 AM—davidspet@gmail.com

Was the tall one named Jo Roberts or something like that? I suppose it's possible. The sub was much younger than 25 though. She had to be at least 18 or they would not have let her into the club, but she came looked younger. She would be medium tall, with great tits. I would love to have her tits. Brown hair past shoulder long. When I saw her, she was wearing a corset, a real one, so she looked thinner than she was. Most of the other things I noticed you can't see dressed.

What was Schwartz like?

Saturday 9:15 AM—tabbycat15@hotmail.com

Oh My God. We get our share of celebrities, but this one was over the top—and I've never heard of her. Schwartz was tall, unless you put her next to the tall one. You're right. It was Jovann Richards and she had to be six feet tall. Schwartz is marrying her brother. Anyway, Schwartz is tall and Barbie thin. Barbie tits too. It's funny you should mention corsets, because like she had to be wearing one. But, no way. I said lots of dancers. I didn't mean Broadway. I meant Julliard and City Ballet. They don't move, they flow and Schwartz flowed better than any of them.

You should have seen the pics of her in the wedding dress. It's dark green and sleeveless, with a separate lace covering. Both were custom made—had to be. The waist wasn't more than 22, but the bust had to be 42 and it still strained. She was too perfect. Seriously, and not just the looks. I mean she was beautiful, but not top model gorgeous. It was everything. She was graceful, soft spoken, funny. Everyone laughed at her jokes. You should have seen her beside Richards, who was like her guard dog. Richards can be my Mistress any time. Woof.

It wasn't just me. Susan Freaking Farwell was there. You know, Farwell Ballet School, City Ballet, on the board at Julliard, that Susan Farwell. She was telling everyone about the time she and Schwartz danced together. Schwartz was fourteen freaking years old. A lot of the people remembered it and everyone had heard about it. Funny, I would think those porn star tits would make it hard to dance.

I don't know who Schwartz was back in the day, but she was big. There were reporters and photographers out the ass and everyone was getting their picture with Schwartz or Martel or Farwell or Lisl Rhinehardt or Edith Dryden and Angela Molinari, but mostly Schwartz. It was like her party. The funny thing is that some of the other camera jocks had no idea she was famous back whenever. They were there to see her about something she did last week. Some kind of catalog.

Saturday 9:38 AM—davidspet@gmail.com

OMG OMG OMG

Of course. That's the tie in. The art director for the catalog is named Sheila Schwartz. The night of the Scene there was a bachelorette party at the Crow's Nest—that's right across the parking lot from the club. Martel and the tall one, Richards I guess, were both there. I think the submissive was too. That place is buzzing about the hot sauce challenge. There isn't a picture of her on any of the sites—God knows I looked—but the description is about right, dark hair, medium tall, nice chest, really quiet. She ate an oyster with a dab of Mad Dog 44. That stuff comes with warning labels you would not believe. It can cause blisters.

OMG It is her. What was her name?

Saturday 9:50 AM-- tabbycat15@hotmail.com

Christine something. She never talked to anyone. That's not right. She would say a word or two, once in a while. Mostly she would stare and nod or shrug—or smile. She smiled a lot. Like I said, she enjoyed being there, even though she was not doing anything but taking pictures with a pocket Nikon.

Saturday 10:17 AM—johnsontayl@columbiapictures.net

Aaron,

The New Jersey wedding you want me to crash just came to town. Francine Martel hosted a meet and greet for the bride. Martel's attorney gave me a heads up. It was worth the cab fare. You may not have heard of Sheila Schwartz, but you will. Trust me.

There were some heavy hitters. Start with ballet. Susan Farwell danced with her years ago. Schwartz was fourteen, when Farwell was a rising star, but Schwartz got better reviews. I talked to Jordan Edwards, who wrote the NY Times review. He says that Schwartz was the best young talent he had ever seen. Her understanding of space and motion was extraordinary, especially for a raw teenager.

The other side of the room was theater-related. Martel is no lightweight, but Pedro de la Garza showed up with Angela Molinari on one arm and Edith Dryden on the other. Following them was a crowd of producers and directors, stage and television. After them came the hosts of the press corps.

If it sounds like a zoo, it wasn't. In large part, you can thank the groom's sister, Jo Richards. She played MC, political handler and bouncer rolled into one. I understand you deal with her brother. If he's anything like she is, good luck with that. That is an impressive woman, both physically—she has to top six feet—and otherwise. PhD from Yale and real presence. She could go into acting or politics with no problem. Her devotion to Schwartz radiated.

I am not sure where things sit. I can say that Schwartz is no lightweight. Making her a vice president is not just a ruse or negotiating ploy. The guest list at this party was like Award Night, but she handled it with style and class. On the plus side, this woman will not embarrass you.

Chapter 17—Singing

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

At this point there is some conflict. Most people talk of an Amish barn dance in the Ballroom. Dad just shakes his head. Dad only talks about the food, typical guy, and the whiskey. Dad was very proud of his keg of "American-Irish". He had it driven down from upstate New York somewhere. I never understood why. Whiskey's whiskey, right?

Sean:

While the women and children cleared the dishes, the men moved to one side and pipes came out. I never started smoking, so I never learned the niceties. This was a perfect chance. I waved at some of the men, to stop them from filling their pipes. It took a few tries, but I was able to get across that I had some tobacco I wanted them to try. The few who had loaded a bowl knocked it back into their bag and we went inside.

At the time, I did not notice that the dance floor was full of chairs. Since I had given permission for them to use the Ballroom for a dance, this should have raised a flag, but I was too focused on my plan. The men followed me through the Ballroom, up the hall, to the smoking lounge. From there on, the plan was self evident.

I unlocked the humidor and removed a tray of pipe tobacco in jars, plus a tree of pipes. There was a table next to the French doors. Someone opened them and two others carried the table outside. Outside is a small banistered porch, surrounded by shrubbery. Some tall, weather-proof tables were already outside, each holding a large ash tray and some odd ceramic things, which turned out to be pipe rests. The men greeted these with appreciative exclamations. Then I opened the jars of tobacco.

Having never smoked, I delegated the choice of tobacco to Goeffry Winston. One of my ongoing challenges was to get him to stop smoking in his office. He claims he always steps outside, but the scent lingers too heavily for me to believe him. Annoying as that was, it made him the perfect person to pick loose leaf for my guests. The labels were no help: Solani 656; McClellan Wilderness; Gawith Virginia; Galashiel's Macedonian. To me, they all smelled like tobacco. The Amish men thought otherwise.

Soon, the only ones not smoking were myself and the two Elders Neufeld. I invited them to the bar. There was no coffee brewed, which was a pity, but the keg of whiskey was in it's sling. I had not yet tested the batch, so I was unsure if the bung was even set, but luck was with me. I poured three drinks and passed them out. It may be locally made, but American-Irish knew something about distilling spirits.

This was excellent. The batch was single malt and aged in this keg for eight years. It was a medium amber, slightly dry, with good complexity. I hear and read whiskey described as having honey or pastry notes. I never cared for that. The notes were a little of chocolate and a hint of fruit. The beauty was the finish, which went on and on. I savored it. So did Elder Isaiah, but Elder Josiah stiff wristed his.

I added a splash to each glass, then we returned to the smoking room. It was the most relaxed I had ever seen any of the men. Evidently this was their idea of a good finish to a fine meal. They chatted among themselves. I had trouble following their dialect, but the subject seemed to be wood for the boat and which finishes to apply. Presently I heard singing. I must have looked surprised. Elder Isaiah said, "The jungen a singing are having." Singing? I thought there was going to be a dance.

I went to the Ballroom and located Evaine Schaefelker. She came over and explained what was going on. The Amish do not dance as a rule. Though there are exceptions, even instrumental music is not common. Dancing is not becoming and instruments are not plain. To socialize, the young people were singing. Afterward there would be more food and soft drinks, with the opportunity for some semi-private conversation. Evaine dimpled, saying that three of the boys had promised to bring her food.

When I decided that I had an adequate understanding, I told her that there was a ladies parlor up the hall, if any of the matrons wished to use it. Evaine bobbed her head in understanding and went to tell the dragons. Not long after, a clutch of the older women started moving in my direction, so I went back to the smoking lounge. When that did not hold my interest, I poured some more whiskey and went to the Library.

I was looking through the titles when a voice startled me. It was Elder Isaiah. He said, "You have a wonderful collection of gardening and husbandry books. The collection is collecting dust." His accent was still there, but his syntax was much improved. "Do you not make use of the land?"

What could I say? "We did. For over a century, almost two, this land was tended and farmed. Now, as you have seen, much farmland is covered with houses. Still, some use might be made. My father was not a Richards—I take my name from my grandfather—and my mother had no such interests. I think Sheila will change some of that. She believes in things that last, like the land and the house above."

Elder Isaiah nodded. "Gut. Ganz Gut. I have seen little of your intended, but Mistress Jo speak highly of her. Jo, I think, is not easily impressed." That got me. I laughed so hard I was glad to be sitting. Isaiah merely looked at me with the twinkle of a practical joker.

When I finally managed control, I wiped my eyes and nodded the point. "Jo made a challenge out of defying everyone. It takes a great deal to impress her. Jo will not even attempt a battle of words with Sheila. How much reluctance has she shown with everyone else?" Elder Isaiah acknowledged my point. There was a pause. I have been in enough business negotiations to recognize the situation. "You have a proposal."

Elder Isaiah still hesitated. Finally, "You have heard of Rumspringa, yes?" I nodded. "Young men must go out and find work. Cousin Josiah is reluctant to acknowledge it, but the world is much changed since the Amish move to Pennsylvania. Wearing a handmade suit is no longer plain. Today, plain is blue jeans and blue shirt. But, that is our argument. As one who knows the Amish ways from birth, my advice is sought concerning Rumspringa. I would like your permission to guide young people here."

It was one of the most flattering things anyone had ever said to me. It would also be useful. Sheila was going to need a supply of domestic help. Having live-in Amish maids made perfect sense. At one time, this area was famous for its orchards. Apple trees were a common christening gift. That was the kind of thing Sheila would love. So would fresh fruit and vegetables for the table. Elder Isaiah saw agreement in my eyes and let out a breath he had been holding.

I said, "The young women also. Miss Schaefelker has indicated an interest in such placements. The University may be willing to set up an outreach program, but finding jobs will still be necessary. Sheila and I desire children. The rooms upstairs were constructed for cooks, cleaning women and such. The position of child care is already filled."

To my surprise, Elder Isaiah nodded. "Yes. The one who watches but does not speak. She is an interesting one—wise beyond her days and a joker. You are blessed to have such loyalty." Elder Isaiah was no slouch at watching, or joking.

I nodded. "I am doubly blessed, because Sheila is worthy of such loyalty. You understand that I will defend my family fiercely? In this community, I am sometimes referred to as the Bear. It is not a reference to my size and strength." This did not have the usual result. Elder Isaiah laughed.

He said, "I have heard of you many years. I always wondered what sort of man you were, to such stirrings cause. It is good that you will have family. Generations give focus for such things. Come, let us inform my cousin." So we went. Of all my dealings through the years, that one always stuck in my mind.

There is a grandfather clock next to the door of the library. I was shocked to see that it was almost nine o'clock. Where had the time gone? We found Elder Josiah at the Ballroom door, keeping an eye on the jungen. It turned out that there was music and dancing after all. One man played an harmonica and two others were doing a jig. I'm Irish enough to know one when I see one. When I smothered a laugh, the Elders wanted to know what I found funny.

I turned to the hall so that our conversation would not bother those in the Ballroom. "That dance is appropriate for this house. Many of my ancestors were Irish, some of them Catholic. I always wondered what old Thomas—that is Thomas Aquinas O'Brian, the first settler—would have thought if he knew we are all Lutheran. He dug the foundation for the boathouse." This led to a discussion of the work on the boat, which led to a discussion of living arrangements.

When I said there would be work renovating the house for baby, Elder Isaiah had his cue. "Ja, und who will the work be doing?" I said, "We have not yet drawn the plans, though I talked to an associate that specializes in such work. Plans are easy. Getting a good crew is harder. If you are interested, I can put you in touch." This led to a general discussion about when and what sort of work. It was a bit of a shock when I mentioned cooking and cleaning. That was women's work.

It did not take long to penetrate. Before long they were reminding each other of sisters and cousins who would need employment. Elder Isaiah caught Elder Josiah's eye. There was a curt nod and we had an agreement in principle. That was good enough for me. I thanked the Elders for the meal and their company and excused myself. I forced myself to walk to the stairs, though I went up three at a time. I arrived in Security to learn that George was just entering the Holland Tunnel.

I had over two agonizing hours to wait. I wanted to get Sheila up on my massage table. Perhaps I would relent my earlier stricture and allow her to come from my massage—if she could. It seemed like a worthwhile goal.

Sheila:

The drive home was fun, frightening, enlightening and daunting all rolled into one. The pictures from Christine turned out to be her own and some shared with her by other people at the party. Naturally the composition and quality varied widely. However, Christine had organized them into rough folders, with names attached. I was deeply involved in the images when some of the names registered.

I must have turned white, because Christine took my hand. I stared at her for a moment, but she only shrugged. Of course she knew. So had Francine, of course, but such sink or swim tactics are very much her style. I had no excuse. Susan Farwell introduced me to her Board. Exactly which Board was never specified, but I assumed her school, not of the Lincoln Center and Juliard. Face it Sheila, you did not want to know, because it would have spoiled the moment.

After my initial shock, I started looking at the pictures. In all modesty, I did not look out of place. I remembered meeting Edith Dryden. Angela Molinari introduced her as an old friend from her school days. Both ladies were in their seventies and still beautiful. Edith had hit it off with Siobhan, one egghead to another. Christine had captured some precious candid moments. I formed some of them into a small album, in case I had a chance to send it to her.

While they talked, Angela Molinari smiled indulgently at her lifelong friend. Though the fatigue of ill health showed, Christine had also captured Angela's fundamental kindness and concern. My album grew. There were so many good shots—Otto Preston laughing, Paul West looking devilish, Julie and Marcus Walton sharing a tender moment, Nicolas Prestidge looking outraged at a comment by Peter Miller. Another album grew.

I reached people I remembered. Lisl Rhinehardt was Queen of Ballet when I danced with Susan. I was honored she remembered my name. There were several good images of her regal bearing. I made another album. Rudolph Nerovsky had been in Ukraine when I played New York. At the party he and Giesla Kirtland, paired in life as they had famously been on stage, listened in fascination as Susan told her story, our story. Having Susan Farwell tell it made things much more grand than I remembered.

Before I realized it, we were pulling into the Residence. I glanced up a Christine, but she was smiling happily. She must like watching me fiddle with images. I put the notebook to sleep and climbed from the car. When Siobhan and Francine joined us, I reconsidered. I pulled out the computer and opened it on the hood of the car. For the next several minutes we scrolled through the pictures and recalled the evening.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 05



When I reached the album of Edith and Angela, Francine said, "Holy fuck, Schwartz. You should do this for a living." Realizing what she had said, she clapped her hand over her mouth and turned bright red. In case you did not understand, Francine never blushes. I had to keep my mouth from falling open. Siobhan stepped over and patted her on the head. Even Christine laughed aloud.

When Francine regained her voice, she said, "Damn. Who knew I wore a size 15 EEE? Seriously, send those to me. Edith and Angela would appreciate getting them. In fact, send me everything you have. I have the emails of just about everyone and can get the rest." It was my turn to blush. I sent Francine the folders, hoping I would not be embarrassed down the road.

I wanted to see my Teddybear, so that could wait. As I turned to go, Siobhan pulled me into a fierce hug. "You did so well tonight. I'm not entirely sure you know how well. In case you did not notice, you have a legend, which is a hell of thing, because legends have no weaknesses. Pedro said it best on Tuesday, you did not disappoint." Behind her, Christine, teary eyed, nodded agreement. Francine's agreement was more sardonic, "Get the hell out, before what's-his-name forgets what you look like."

Rather than go through the the back to the new wing, I exited the garage onto the drive and went up the steps to the Ballroom. The remains of a gathering were being cleared. Several places I saw couples doing what couples do in semi-public. It was one of the dances I had expected to see. I did not see evidence of a band or of dancing. It seemed my assumptions were amiss.

Passing through, I noted the scent of pipe tobacco. The Lounge had been in use. A quick check revealed that the Parlor had been used as well. As I returned to the hall, Evaine Schaefelker was running toward me. Out of breath, she panted, "Is it true?" That could mean many things, but this had to relate to the Amish. Her mood was upbeat, so it would be good news. She was on the ladies side of the great divide, so here was one thing that would stand above the others.

I said, "If you mean the house staff, yes. We will be hiring. Christine will be the nanny, but we will need a cook, additional cleaning help, possibly laundry. It is late for a garden, but fresh produce would be good for the table. I would have to check with Sean and Mitchell, but housing upstairs could be included. Does that answer your question?" You would have thought she won the lottery. She literally skipped off. I found my mood had lightened.

I went to Security, but not because I expected to find Sean there. I asked for and received the recordings of the dinner. As good as my chicken marsala was, the BarBQ looked like more fun. After the dinner, when I expected a dance, there was a sing-in. No wonder there were chairs on the dance floor. I did not ask for coverage of Sean, but he came and went several times, usually with one of the Elders. No wonder Evaine thought something was up. It did not take a genius to figure out what.

Before I left, I uploaded images of Francine, Christine and Siobhan. Once again I admired Siobhan in frock coat, top hat and cane. The pronounced breasts, feminine bow and makeup did not clash with the supposedly masculine suit. She owned it. It was a long way from the ratty jeans, torn T-shirt and army boots of four days earlier. I could credit the corset, which made the fit of the suit possible, but the real secret was Siobhan being comfortable with her body. As much as they had praised me for the party tonight, I was more proud of my part in guiding Siobhan.

For some reason, that thought completed the evening. Siobhan had praised my poise at Francine's party, but she was the one directing traffic. She met every celebrity before I did, obtained names, made announcements, policed the line, quelled the hangers on. It could have been a mob, but Siobhan brought order and decorum. It was ironic that she said I might not understand how well I had done. Siobhan clearly had no clue of her own impact.

Thinking back to Christine's image files, there was another folder to make. I snorted a laugh. Christine was ahead of me. There were nearly as many images of Siobhan greeting people as there were of me. I would have to thank Sean for finding her.

That brought up Sean. I half expected him to meet me at the garage or here. That he as at neither meant he had something planned. A shiver of anticipation ran through my body. Whatever it was, it would not feature me as a performing seal. I had had enough of that for one night. Why did I ever consider going into theater?

As I went through the house, I tried to glean clues. The sound system was playing Debussy piano selections. As I listened, Reverie passed into the first Arabesque. Odd choice. The quiet tones of Debussy belie the dissonance that is inevitably buried inside. Twin lines, parallel rather than traditionally harmonic, with counterplay and echoes between them.

Had it been Ravel, Debussy's contemporary, I would have known what Sean was thinking. Ravel, if you will excuse the phrase, was a literal impressionist. Debussy disliked the term "impressionist" as applied to his music. His style used more blurring of the musical image. Yet, in spite of the dissonance, Debussy captures a tranquility that escapes Ravel. Two parallel lines, interacting at a distance, producing—what? Not harmony, at least not in the traditional sense. Mood?

It was certainly that. Sean was feeling the complexities of life. I could relate. He was looking for tranquility, which left out some of the more energetic possibilities. When I realized that, I realized that I was prepared for him to be quite vigorous. Restraints, gags and some tenderizing with the lash would suit my mood admirably. I could let go and accept whatever Sean dished out. The key words being "let go." I wanted to forget cares and immerse myself in a world without choice or responsibility. I denied Christine that option, now Sean denied me.

That was the other side of the message. Sean chose a tranquil mood. Debussy is sensual as hell, but in a broad sense. Ravel did Bolero, which is almost literal sex. Debussy did Clair de Lune and Nocturne. Even if Sean and I had parallel roles, there would still be interaction. I knew what Sean wanted to do. If I could not abandon responsibility, a massage was a good second choice.

I smiled as I went to the small gym. Sean was already warming the scented oil.

Siobhan:

There were contingents from Hollywood and the local photographic community. The second group was easy to overlook because of all the press coverage and the associated cameras. From what Francine was willing to say, Hollywood had already picked up on Sheila through the catalog. I was betting the still camera guys—they were almost all male—had pegged the same thing. I managed to talk to the one female photographer. She was on assignment, covering Francine.

I gave her the fish eye and she blushed. The girl had been shooting me. I leaned closer and whispered, "Mistress Cynthia." The girl literally squeaked, so I pressed on, "I was there." Thinking of the young girl, Maria, at Walgreen's, I smiled and said, "You have good taste. It's a pity I do not have time to deal with you myself. You have my permission to think of me when you masturbate—but no climax til daylight." Her mouth was open and the smell of arousal filled the air. It was too good to pass, "Good. Now everyone will know what you are. You do not have permission to wash in the restroom. Wear your scent home with you."

I left her like that. She was a popular girl for a while, but her eyes were never far from me. Later, I noticed her talking to Christine, who was also using a camera. There may have been some sort of exchange, but I did not witness it. When Christine caught me looking, she winked. Cheeky thing.

Odd as it may seem, that was a theme through the whole evening. On one side you had Sheila dealing with the glitterati, with me playing girl Friday. On the other you had the lookers on, with their agenda and interests, many of which were spawned by the catalog. Somehow the two never seemed to connect. There was considerable interest in Mistress Cynthia. With Sheila right in front of them, no one made the connection.

As a sociologist, I found it fascinating but unsurprising. People expect to see kings in palaces and beggars in alleys. More to the point, people expected to see a dancer so they did. Since I can easily play the heavy, I was the heavy in the scene. From what I gleaned from the day before, Sheila had played up having a physical similarity to Cynthia. That was not likely to tip the scale. No wonder Christine was amused. Her Mistress successfully hid in plain sight.

It seemed that I was getting used to Francine's constant talking. It lasted through the tunnel, the length of the Skyway and through the switch to the Interstate. No such luck. As we approached the edge of the metro area, I realized that I had been preoccupied. When I started to listen to what Francine was saying, I need not have bothered. It was all about business contacts and potential clients for Sheila and Sean. By that time we were almost home.

We pulled into the garage as Christine and Sheila emerged from the other car. Sheila started up her notebook and opened some image files. At first it looked like a typical slide show of faces from the party. When I looked closer I realized how insightful the pictures were. There was a whole folder of Edith Dryden and Angela Molinari. The images managed to convey both their regal bearing and their warm humanity.

I never had a chance to comment, because Francine misspoke badly enough to apologize. You need to know Francine to understand how rare that is. She made up for it by offering to distribute the pictures. I was thinking that I would like a few myself, when I realized how many there were of me. They were even captioned with the names and date.

Sheila was talking to Francine, so I glanced at Christine, who winked. I was not letting it go at that, but she spread her hands and shrugged. That stopped me. Christine may have taken the pictures, but Sheila was the one that had done the processing. Then something else hit me. This had been done on the drive back. Not only was Sheila good at this, she was fast. We were looking at her idea of "just fooling around." Damn.

My brain was running behind, because Sheila was almost gone before I had a chance to say anything. Double damn. I grabbed her and gave her my best hug. One thing I love about Sheila is that she hugs like family. I told her how proud she made me, with Christine's vigorous agreement. Francine contributed her usual tactless wit and Sheila went off. That left the three of us standing flatfooted.

Christine was the first to comment. She shrugged. Francine echoed, "What she said." I thought a moment, then asked, "Do you need anything from Walgreen's?" Francine's smile was evil.

Sean:

Sheila keeps me on my toes like no one else. I left instructions to be called when Sheila arrived home. Security had done that. I left further instructions to beep me when she hit the bedroom. That beep never came, which meant that Sheila had come straight to the gym. I could pretend coincidence, except Sheila was already removing clothes when she came through the door. How had she known what I had in mind?

One look at her face drove such thoughts from my mind. I don't know how she conveyed both zen-like acceptance and eager anticipation, bur she managed. I hurried to help her with the corset, which was insanely tight. That Sheila shed the bra before I loosened one set of strings told me how badly she wanted release. Perhaps "wanted" was not strong enough. Foundations symbolize control for Sheila. She seemed to think she had been controlled enough for one day.

The corset was what I expected from Julian—meticulously made, exactly tailored and quite unforgiving. There were three strings. I released the bottommost, which brought a sigh from Sheila. I told her that she could cum, but not touch herself. Most women would not have understood me, but Sheila's response was a contented "hmmm." While I worked on the the remaining strings, Sheila did the impossible—removed her ankle strap heels without moving her back.

Once I had undone the strings, I told Sheila to stand naturally and turn around. As usual, she complied exactly, dropping from her toes before turning. I was tempted to give her what she was requesting, but I had already made my decision. I asked Sheila if she would flog Christine under such circumstances. Rather than answer, she dropped to her knees and kissed me. I kissed her back, then told her to stand down. She rose to allow easier access to the busks. Once the corset was off, she glided to the massage table. Sheila has a fine ass. I made sure to play with it. My fingers had her on the brink of orgasm three times before I whispered in her ear.

"Cum" can be such a powerful word.



[K][T] and Family Ch. 06



Author's note: As the wedding approaches, many threads draw together. Pardon if I miss a couple. The next installment will conclude the story.

Chapter 18—Releasing Steam

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

Aunt Francine's famous party ended fairly early. I think it was because of the drive home. In any event, Mom went up to Dad, while Aunt Francine, Aunt Jo and Nanny CC decided to go out. I was never clear how they wound up at Walgreen's, but they picked up Maria. It was fate. Richard and Maria Foster met the next day at the yard party.

Francine:

The return trip from Manhattan was odd. Talking to Siobhan was almost like talking to Christine. Since Siobhan is very verbal, I became curious what was going on in her over educated head. It had something to do with Sheila and the party, but I couldn't tell what. By the time she shook it off, we were almost out of Town. By distance that is only half way, but at least three fourths of the time.

When we reached the garage, Sheila was setting up a slide show on her laptop. I have been around paparazzi enough to know good publicity shots when I see them. These were good, but much too personal to be publicity shots. One shot of Angela smiling at Edith captured both of them. Naturally, I stuck my foot in my mouth. Even Christine laughed aloud. In penance I offered to distribute the images to their subjects.

Sheila went to find Sean, which left the three of us standing there looking stupid. Siobhan asked if I needed anything from Walgreen's. How the hell did she know about Maria? It made no difference. I was willing to investigate.

Siobhan led us to a midnight blue BMW 507 roadster. Where the hell had this been hiding yesterday? When Siobhan took the keys from her purse, I realized that this was her personal ride. For the first time in a while I was jealous of another girl. Damn Skippy. I took one look at Siobhan and she said, "Not in a million years. Find your own. I like this one in one piece." Sometimes arguing with Siobhan is as bad as with Sheila.

In the City, Walgreen's are 24 hours. This one was 6 to 11. We pulled in about fifteen minutes before closing. As we went inside, Christine was asking nonverbal questions, while Siobhan and I declined to answer. In one of those eureka moments, I realized Christine could be a great instructor in acting classes. So much of what a performer does is nonverbal.

Maria was tending the checkout. Once inside, neither Siobhan nor I had an idea what to do next. Christine looked at both of us, then rolled her eyes. Some submissive. She went over to Maria and looked at her closely. She said something. Maria nodded. Christine said something else. Maria nodded again. Christine mimed a phone. Maria pulled out a cell phone and quick dialed a number. She talked to someone, listened, then talked some more.

Maria asked Christine something. Christine looked at us. What? Siobhan said, "Sleepover. Just girls. We can see you to the wedding and home again." Maria waved her over. Siobhan took the phone. Her, I could hear. She said, "Don't worry. It's just us girls. No men, I promise." Siobhan listened a minute. She went on, "I can do better than that. I can get pictures of Maria with the bridesmaids and the groom's sister. You know the sister will be wearing a men's suit, right?" That seemed to do the trick.

We waited for Maria to finish her shift. I was not a happy camper. Siobhan explained that Maria had called her mother to cancel a ride home. The mother was concerned. I could figure out that much. The irony was Maria's mother was reassured because there would be no men. If she had any idea...

My thoughts were cut off by Maria emerging from the store. That left us with four women in a two seat car. Actually, three in the right hand seat. Oh joy. At least it was close. By the time we arrived I was feeling surly and uncooperative. Who the hell left Siobhan in charge?

Sheila:

Hours before, I was thinking that it was one of the best days of my life. Then I found myself in a receiving line, with the cream of Manhattan's performing arts community filing past. While not fun, that was interesting. The ride home helped restore my mood. Finding the perfect image in a larger shot has always been quietly fulfilling. When I showed the work to Siobhan and Francine, their response was gratifying. I was feeling mellow and contented when I found Sean.

That lasted half a second. One look at him and I wanted to rip his clothes off. Worse, I wanted to rip mine off, but I was trussed like a 19th century Chinese woman's foot. For the first time, my restrictive undergarments really bothered me. Thank heaven for my Teddybear.

Sean wasted no time dropping to one knee. By the time I had removed my bra, Sean was pulling at the lowest strings. I pulled off my shoes, but did not want to interrupt his work, so I stayed on tiptoe. The concentration needed for balance kept me from other thoughts. Sean told me to stand flatfooted and face him, so I did. He asked me if I would whip Christine under similar circumstances.

It was a good question, with an obvious answer. I would not, so Sean would not. The reason I would not was that the relationship was not Dom to sub, but something more complex. Sean would not take my cares away, not because he could not, but because he valued my independence. I dropped to my knees and kissed him soundly. My unintentional irony—dropping to my knees when he told me I needed to stand for myself—came across as humor. Sean chuckled, then returned the kiss then had me stand to get the corset off.

He made it up to me on the massage table. For a few minutes I could pretend there were no cares in the world. Sean worked the kinks out of my back, but seemed focused on glutes. People refer to the ass as if it were one thing. Principally it is the two largest muscles in the body, but it is also the anus and other smaller objects. Sean kneaded my glutes like bread dough, but he made sure to brush the rim of my anus occasionally. At other times his thumbs ventured down onto my thighs, so that the taught skin tugged at my vulva.

I am sure there are better masseurs in the world, but not in my personal experience. Besides, there was no one I trusted like Sean. He could take liberties I would not grant others and he knew my body well by this point. He did not torment me with arousal, though he could have. He did not deny me release, though he had said exactly that. He wanted me to use my judgment. Instead of commanding, he assisted my build up, then released it all with a word.

"Cum" is so powerful.

Siobhan:

We used Evaine Schaeffelker's room. Oddly, it was exactly as I had last seen it, when Elspeth and I held an impromptu dance class. Someone must have left a do-not-clean order. Was that the day before yesterday? It seemed like weeks. Monday at the airport seemed a month ago. I was about to remark on the fact, when I realized none of them had been a part of it. That was almost as jarring.

While I was floundering in nostalgia, Christine took over. She was the senior submissive, so she showed the new girl the ropes, though in this case we had none. Christine stayed inside Maria's personal radius, constantly touching her and pulling her forward, reassuring her. Needless to say, Maria was nervous. Christine kept her from bolting which would not have been good, regardless of the outcome. Now that we were here, one of the Doms needed to take charge.

I said, "Maria, nothing is going to happen that you do not wish to happen. There are six empty rooms. You may sleep in any of them. More than that, we will tell you what to expect. This is about anticipation, so it is important that you understand what is coming. That said, your choices will be very limited. Either you do exactly what is expected, or you withdraw completely. There is no half. Do you understand. Answer aloud."

Sometimes it's handy to have a brother who is a captain of industry. Most of what I just said is cribbed from his methods. The words were different, but he had said many times that it was important to get everyone committed from the very beginning. It seemed to be the right tack, because Francine was watching and not talking. Christine was stroking Maria's hand, but her attention was focused on me.

My attention was on Maria. For a long breath, nothing happened. Then, something changed in Maria's face. I knew I had her, but I needed the confirmation. Christine saw it as well, but she did as I had indicated. Maria needed to speak. To emphasize the point, I opened my hand toward her and cocked my head.

Maria bobbed her head once and said, "Si." followed by a fit of coughing which broke the tension. I turned to Francine and asked her to check for scarves and belts. She indicated that she had handcuffs in her bag, to which I shook my head. Only soft restraints tonight. I looked at Christine. She merely nodded and began removing her clothes.

She started by removing her "fuck me" heels. The tops were a demure navy. It even had a bow. The sole and inside of the heel was vivid red, which matched the bow and Cynthia's lipstick. That twist, to those of us in the know, perfectly suited to Christine's exhibitionist streak. She caught me looking and flashed that impudent grin. The girl did not miss much.

Next came the hair bow, then the high collar top. Maria's eyes widened when she saw the corset, but wisely did not speak. Being around Christine tends to do that, but in this case it was the correct choice. We were well past the point where permission was required for any action. Since Maria was new, I complimented her on her silence. She almost messed up by thanking me. I gave her a stern look and let it go.

By this time, Christine had removed her bra and belt. All that was left was the skirt, the corset and the white pantyhose. She paused and looked at me. So did Francine. Only then did I realize that I was in charge. Up to that point I had assumed that Francine would take one submissive and I would take the other. I halted Christine with a gesture and cast an inquiring glance at Francine. The query caught her off guard, but only for a moment. She started to disrobe. Damn Skippy.

I gestured Christine to the floor. She dropped into what Francine calls Second Position. While Francine was shedding her clothes, I motioned Maria forward.

I said, "Maria, since you are new, I will have you assist and observe. So far you have done well. Continue in silence, unless I indicate you are to speak. I am addressed as 'Doctor'. If you understand, say so."

Maria nodded, then said, "Yes. Doctor."

I tsked, "Maria, I noticed a distinct pause. I will allow that once, but do better next time. Now assist me with my suit." With her assistance, I removed my jacket, skirt and blouse. Unasked, Maria carefully laid each piece on the bed. I said, "Very good. You took proper care of my possessions. In the future recall this beginning and treat your Mistress' or Master's possessions with as much care as your own. You have earned a reward, which I will give you later. For now get on your knees, hands clasped behind your back." Maria dropped to her knees, but did not sit back on her heels. That was what I had asked, but Maria had Christine as an example.

I continued, "That is not as good. You have Christine and Francine as examples. Always attempt to anticipate my desires. If you are incorrect the reminder will not be as sharp as if you fail to try. Examine Christine's posture. After we are done with this session, I will have Francine instruct you in detail. You will find her expert in all facets of posture and bearing. For now, spread your knees and sit back on your heels." As Maria complied, I stepped forward to put my panties in her face. Maria did not flinch, but neither did she inhale. I waited for nature to take its course. My panties were already fragrant.

When Maria did inhale, I said, "Good. Now lean forward and get a good smell. Then unclasp your hands and pull the panties down. Then get a good smell of my snatch, since that is all you will do with it tonight." Maria trembled as she complied. I deduced it was her first lesbian sexual experience. Unasked, she pulled the panties down, so I could step out of them.

I said, "Good. That was proper initiative. Now inhale deeply from the damp part. I want you to learn my scent. Then, rise and remove you own pants and panties. Compare my scent to yours; there will be a quiz later. Finish disrobing and assume the same position as Christine and Francine, as best you are able. Get comfortable. Christine can literally sleep in this position."

As Maria complied, I examined Christine and Francine. Francine was completely naked, but Christine was still wearing the corset and her clothes below the waist. Since Christine's legs were an object lesson, I waited til Maria was naked and settled into her posture. I gestured to Francine, who made a couple of corrections before nodding. I gestured for Christine to rise and for Francine to assist her. As they complied I focused on Maria.

I said, "You notice that I did not need to give verbal instruction to either Francine or Christine. Strive to equal their example. It is a high standard, since Francine is experienced in following directions and Christine is gifted at the non-verbal. Still, make the attempt. Right now, you are correctly focusing on my face. When I tell you to turn, remember not to react in word or motion. Turn your head and look at Christine." I had to hand it to Maria, she did not make a sound or move anything but her head, though she swallowed hard.

I had seen Christine's legs everyday since the event. Three nights later, I still had to keep myself from flinching. Giving the provocation, Maria had done very well, which was secondary. As I expected, Maria's scent poured out into the room. I inhaled conspicuously, but even Christine's nostrils flared. Maria blushed over her entire body.

I said, "If there were any doubt, you just removed it. This course of sexuality is one you are suited for. We will assist you in finding a suitable top. In the mean time, Christine will be available to answer any questions you may have about the life as a submissive. For now, I will say that scenes leading to that type of bruising are rare. Her Mistress is very adept and took great care not to cause scarring injury. Do not ever try something like that without first contacting Christine, who will lead you to counseling. As it is, you are very blessed. This hopeless showoff is the talk of all New York.

"Now, sit and watch. I promised you a reward, but not until I am finished with these two. As discipline for your errors, you will be practicing this position for a full hour, with Francine's expert help. Your punishment for your earlier mistake is that the hour will be blindfolded. Now, watch and learn."

I went and picked up my phone. Once I had set up the stopwatch app, I addressed Christine and Francine. "Do paper, rock, scissors. One, two three. Tie. Again. One, two, three. If you tie again, I will tie you wrist to ankle and tickle you." Francine smirked, but Christine flushed. I needed something stronger for Miss Martel. I did not need it yet, because Francine won the next round. She chose to go second.

I intended a contest, but the exact nature was still undecided. I prevaricated by taking a scarf and blindfolding Francine. She was so limber that restraints seemed pointless. Instead, I decided to have her make things easy for Christine. I directed Francine to lie on her back, with legs fully split, and grasp her elbows above her head. Francine looked quite comfortable that way. I held up two fingers and gestured at the floor in front of Francine's open sex.

Showing that she understood some of Cynthia's pacing, Christine took as much time settling in as I was willing to grant her, plus a few seconds. I said, "Penalty, excessive time. Five seconds. This is a timed event. Fastest to cum loses. Three, two, one, begin." I had never done anything remotely like this before, but it would not be the last time. The possibilities were obvious, tag team for example.

Since I indicated 2nd position, Christine was already handicapped by having no hands. It did not seem to bother her. Rather than go directly to the cleft, she licked all of Francine's thigh that she could reach, followed by the other side. Francine's moisture increased. Christine blew on it. Francine twitched, which I called for a five second penalty.

That must have irritated Francine, because she flushed. Christine gave a low theatrical chuckle, which caused the flush to deepen and spread. In the process, Francine's labia opened like a flower. Christine leaned forward and did two long laps with the tongue, then captured Francine's clit between her tongue and upper teeth. That lasted just a moment before Christine applied her lips in full suction mode. Francine was again red, but this time it was not anger. A smile showed briefly on Christine's lips, before she pulled her head back and punched Francine's clit with her nose.

Francine's reaction was so graphic I almost forgot to stop the clock. Wow. Given the offsetting penalties, I announced the actual time of one minute seventeen seconds. I called a two minute recess, so I could check on Maria. She was covered in sweat and red as a baby, but still correctly in position. Once Christine was blindfolded and in position, I told Francine that turnabout was fair play, but she could use only the techniques Christine had tried.

I learned something that night. Francine is very gifted in many ways, but she lacks imagination. I could see each of Christine's methods, but without the sense of judgment. Francine's timing was just enough off to make it no contest. After a minute and a half I called forfeit. Christine was primed, but would not have gone off soon. I stepped over and flicked her left nipple with my fingernail. Christine came on cue.

Since Christine had won the challenge, I waved Francine to a spot next to Maria. Francine was just short of insolent as she complied. I would settle that score later. In the mean time I wanted to get my jollies. I told Christine more than two minutes, but not more than three. I had a clock and Christine did not. Still, she brought me at two minutes and seven seconds, using almost exactly the same routine she had used on Francine. Damn she was good. Next was the fun part.

I told Maria it was time for her reward. I blindfolded her with a scarf. Then I had Francine spin her a few times while I sat on the floor. At my signal, Francine sent her stumbling toward me. I caught her, spun her around and pulled her to the floor directly in front of me. Before she had time to react, my legs reached around so that my heels could force her thighs apart. At the same time I captured one wrist, then the other.

In less than two seconds, Maria went from spinning on her feet to restrained by my hands and feet. Christine was already taking long, slow licks of her sodden cunt. Maria's first orgasm came within seconds, but it was a baby compared to what I intended. When it subsided, Maria tried to get up, only to find me holding her back. She struggled for a few moments, which allowed me to show her my strength. Christine never stopped her slow ministrations.

It could not take long and it did not. I could feel Maria tensing in my grip. I looked down. Christine's eyes were locked on mine. I gave a quick nod. Christine leaned forward and nipped Maria's clit. This orgasm dwarfed the first one. Maria managed to pull one of her hands free in her exertions. That was all right. The scene was over. Maria slumped back. I hugged her and told her she was special.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 06



When I told Francine that she owed Christine a shower, she was surly. Because she was a bad sport, I told Christine not to return the favor. Francine gave me a look that promised trouble, but that could wait another day. For the present, I held Maria close and stroked her hair.

After a couple of minutes, Maria murmured, "Thank you, Mistress. Thank you so much." I stroked her for another minute, then positioned her for her disciplinary hour. As I fastened the blindfold, I told her that she could win back her underwear, if she could identify it blindfolded, by scent alone. Otherwise she would attend the wedding without underwear.

Given the way Maria kept scenting the air, I could pass my own test with no problem.

Francine:

Getting to the room was no problem. I had a twinge of humor at the circumstances. In all my years avoiding unwanted press, this was the first time I had gone to an hotel room with multiple potential lovers. The humor didn't last. Instead I watched Christine fawn over Maria. Siobhan asked me to find restraints while Christine took her turn. I found a couple of belts and some scarves. Meanwhile Siobhan was promising all kinds of sweet things. Maria was a submissive. Tie her to the bed and whip her to orgasm.

Sheila says she gets nervous when I get quiet. She means when I am thinking hard. I also get quiet when I'm angry. Christine was taking off her clothes. Maria was startled by the corset. Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Wait til she sees the legs. Christine stopped and looked to us for directions. Siobhan probably wanted Maria for herself, while I had Christine again. Damned if I felt like helping. Instead I started peeling down.

Looking back, that was my big mistake. There were only two kinds of people present: Dominants and submissives. Without thinking it through, I cast myself as a submissive. Damn, Francine, did you get dropped on your head? I may have expected Siobhan to cave under the responsibility. Directing is a lot harder than it looks. I should have remembered Ricky in my living room. Indecisiveness is not a family problem. Siobhan took it in stride, never letting her attention leave Maria. Meanwhile, I had trapped myself in a role that required silence. Shit a broomstick.

I was in no mood to be fair, but Siobhan had a real flare for this. Christine had gotten Maria calmed down, but Siobhan kept her there. She acknowledged good work, but corrected firmly where appropriate. She even had me do some corrections. Once Maria settled in a maintainable slave posture, Siobhan made her sniff wet snatch. I could see Maria's pulse throbbing at her temple and no one had touched her yet. My pulse was throbbing for another reason.

In spite of myself, I wondered where this was going next. I would have long since gotten physical, either soft or rough. Siobhan treated it as foreplay for Christine's big moment. I had recently seen all the bruising laid out, so this was one unveiling I wished to avoid. That did not stop it. Siobhan directed Christine to stand and me to assist with two waves of her hand. I hated to admit it, but Siobhan was good. It did not help my mood.

Maria had been coddled and coaxed. Still, she impressed me by taking the sight of Christine's legs in silence. To another sense, she was quite obvious. Maria's scent poured into the room. Instead of pursuing the obvious arousal, Siobhan told Maria to sit and watch. What the fuck?

Damn my over eager impulses. I was playing a submissive. Since Christine is the real thing, Siobhan had two sides of a competition. I won right of choice. I figured licking me off would get Christine hot, so I deferred. Perhaps I neglected to consider how hot I was myself. Whatever. I held out as long as I could, but it was barely a minute. When Christine had sucked me out, just over a week before, her technique was amateurish. How the hell had she learned that much in one week?

As soon as I started, I knew it was a lost cause. Christine could hold out all night. She was in her element and I was only playing at it. My blood had been boiling earlier, but this was worse. Siobhan used a mercy rule, so I was not completely humiliated. Instead I stewed in silence while Christine ate Siobhan. It was a timed challenge, which Christine did to perfection. My jaw ached from grinding my teeth.

What came next was almost good enough to take my mind off my piss. Rather than use the belts to restrain Maria, Siobhan borrowed a page from Sheila's methods. She blindfolded Maria with a scarf and had me spin her dizzy. When the time was right, I sent her sprawling toward Siobhan, who was seated spread legged on the floor. She caught Maria, pulled her down, then wrapped legs around her, heels between the knees. Before Maria had time to react, Siobhan's feet were spreading her thighs. A moment later, Siobhan's hands captured Maria's wrists.

Of course Maria struggled, but to no avail. It only added to her arousal. Christine won our competition, so she had the honors. Watching her do tease-and-prolong cunnilingus was an education. My own contributions were minor. Where the hell did she learn this stuff? When Maria finally was allowed to cum, her orgasm was violent.

Siobhan went back to coddling mode, which reminded me that I was pissed. To make matters worse, I had to give Christine a shower, but she was not allowed to do me. Fuck you, Siobhan Richards. I was still fuming when I climbed in bed.

Christine climbed in behind me. In spite of my mood, I could not take it out on her. She was too fucking nice to me. Instead, I let her roll me onto my back, so she could finger me and suck my nipple at the same time. How could she know how much I loved nipple suction? She built me up slowly. When I was on the brink, she patted my belly and said, "Mama." Oh my fucking God!

I melted inside. In twenty years of carnal pursuit, that orgasm was unique. I spent hours of the night thinking about it, and about myself. Christine is too perceptive by half. I later heard that she told Sheila I wanted a baby the day before I realized it myself. To hear Siobhan tell it, she never told Sheila, except perhaps telepathically. Sheila just stared at Christine for a couple of seconds, then exclaimed, "You're not serious!" Whether that was true or not, everything we had done would get back to Sheila.

When I realized Christine would be telling her, I was finally able to sleep. It's a hell of a thing when a teenage misfit is more mature than a thirty four year old self-made millionaire. That did not stop me from taking the inside of the spoon. Among Christine's other virtues, she makes a great comforter.

Sean:

There is something about the day before that often keeps me up. My Kitten purred when I stroked her. When I took her to bed, she curled up and went to sleep. Thinking back, I realized that Sheila's week had been just as full as mine, but I had not spent half of one night preparing to bare myself to the press. I was glad one of us could sleep.

About midnight, I slipped out of bed to pump some iron. Security sent someone down to spot, as usual. As I worked out, I considered my relationship with my staff. It was time to grow up a little. After a couple of sets, I called Gerald's voicemail. I told him to develop a menu of alerts for my bedroom computer. Spotter for the gym was one possible request, but others were obvious—get a car ready, wake the nanny, call a doctor.

Thoughts of personal safety quickly led to thoughts of protecting Sheila. It gave me something worthwhile to do. An hour of searching the internet gave me food for thought and a number of new resources. I slipped back into bed around two o'clock. Sheila said, "It took you long enough. Now, hold me and get some sleep." Yes, Ma'am.

Chapter 19—Game Day

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

When you plan a major event, there are usually a thousand last minute details. Mom says that they are why you hire staff. Dad, who actually hires staff, says that is when the staff earns their bonuses—or not. Whatever their thoughts about staff, the day of the wedding Mom and Dad slept late. I gather this was not the plan. Aunt Jo left instructions.

Aunt Jo did not sleep late. She and Aunt Francine had a fight. Both are seriously embarrassed about it and both blame themselves. You have to know the both to understand how odd that is. The only one that might know is Nanny CC. Good luck getting it out of her.

Siobhan:

Dawn came way too early, but I was in the yard to see it. That meant that I was up before five. I was not going to get anyone else up, but Christine has her own mind and Francine lives on caffeine. I wrote a note for Maria, saying someone (Elspeth) would be over about ten o'clock to get her fitted for the wedding. Christine and I donned our corsets and the three of us went to the Waffle House.

Francine made me nervous. The evening before she was unusually quiet, but surly when she spoke. During playtime with Maria, she had played submissive, which did not really suit her. When she lost the challenge, she was ungracious. At breakfast, Francine inhaled a couple platters of food and a full carafe of coffee, all in a pregnant silence. I checked with Christine, but she had nothing to share.

Without Maria, the car was much less crowded. We had driven that way the night before. This time, Francine chose to complain the entire way. When we reached the driveway at home, Francine had her door open while the car was still moving. I watched her charge off with mixed feelings. On one hand I was glad to be out of range. On the other hand, many of the wedding day staff came from Francine's companies. I was willing to give Francine room to work, but I had final say on all the details.

It was a say I needed to exercise immediately. The Amish are farmers. Predawn is already work time. Evaine Schaeffelker came to me with a steaming mug in her hands. The aroma of ham and sausage made me wish I could eat again, though the younger girls were already clearing the table. In minutes I was deep into an inspection tour and Francine was far from my mind.

The morning was well along before I caught sight of her again. By then I had put teams to work doing a final cleaning to the Ladies Parlor and the Smoking Lounge, directed the placement of the outdoor tables and begun setting the Fair into final order. The Amish women were kneading bread, the young girls and boys were cleaning the Ballroom, while the men were positioning the heavier pieces. My grad students were not up by dawn, but all of them were hard at work by eight o'clock.

About nine thirty, I saw Francine talking to several of her performers. I went over to find out what was up. As I approached, Francine waved her people away. I did not take that well. Soon Francine and I were in a heated discussion of who should be where, doing what and when. In retrospect, we were not disagreeing about anything, just demanding that certain things be a certain way. We assumed that the red faced woman in front of us was arguing, rather than talking about something unrelated.

The confrontation broke off abruptly. I spotted Justin Immons, whom I had been seeking. Francine left for her own reasons. Within minutes Justin and his reflectors pushed the spat out of my mind. What happened later was just me being stubborn.

Francine:

I woke as contented as I had been in years. There was good reason. Christine had given me two excellent orgasms and held me all night. Like my high from the party, the feeling did not last. The first thing under my skin was Siobhan being up. I always rise before everyone else. Seeing her reminded me of the night before. While Christine had done much to smooth things, I was still pissed at Siobhan. At some level I was aware that I was being unfair, but that didn't stop me.

We dressed, ate and headed back to Sean's house. The night before I had not minded sharing the seat with Christine, but I felt differently at O dark thirty. When we reached the house I threw open the door of a still moving car. Rational people don't do that and the rational part of me knew it. I had to get away before I did something no one could overlook.

One thing about manors and mansions, there is a lot of room for pacing. I pace a lot. It helps me think. It lets me burn off excess energy. Often, it keeps me from screaming. I paced in circles, then back and forth, eventually along a path. When I almost paced into a horse's ass, I decided I'd gone far enough. An Amish boy, about twelve, stopped pitching hay to the horse so he could stare at me. It was ridiculous. I was being ridiculous. At the wrong end of a cart horse, I finally got a grip. Thank heaven I never started laughing, because Mother Mary only knows when I would have stopped.

Some people have therapy. I have work. When I came out of the stable tent, the sun was lighting the tree tops. That meant it was time to get the troops going. I pulled out my phone and started making calls. I think I only woke one person, though two other lines went to voicemail. None of them were people I worked with regularly, which gave me a cold satisfaction.

When I arrived, the Amish were cleaning up breakfast and no one else was in sight. Now they were busy on the final clean up. Before long, that horse would be hitched to a cart. Sean's people—I shied from thinking of them as Siobhan's people—were showing up in numbers. Only my crew was absent. At least I had a destination. I went into the house and found the storeroom that would serve as my wardrobe department. There was no lock, but a security man was standing nearby. I made a note to thank the head of security.

The next hour had a soothing familiarity. The best shipping always leaves things jumbled. I made a good start at getting things sorted. When one of my costume people showed, we worked together til another dragged in. I made a note which had been first and by how long. It rarely hurts when the boss is caught doing grunt work. It never hurts to know who else is willing to do it.

I went outside, planning on getting bearings for the performers. Unlike the set people, most of the performers would see the site for the first time that day. They needed to know their marks, entrance and exit points, routes to the prop room, permissible facilities and other mundane information. I was formulating a walk through when I ran into Siobhan.

The meeting did not go well. I started telling her that my performers would need to know the ins and outs. She started telling me something about the lighting for the ceremony. We talked over each other. Then we repeated ourselves, louder. It was a fundamental mistake. I was in charge of the acting crew, but Siobhan was the site manager. That made me her assistant. Shit.

Fortunately, Siobhan saw Justin, so I could escape while she dealt with tech stuff. I was irritated, again, at myself, again, concerning Siobhan, again. It was getting monotonous. So, I paced some more, then went to meet my first arriving talent. Somewhere in there, I caught a glimpse of Sheila, looking disheveled. I wish I could have laughed, but that was not the way things were unfolding. Instead I walked my performers through their entrances, marks and exits. Then I took them to wardrobe and repeated the process with the next group.

I was so far gone I never thought of food, til I saw a foil wrapped sandwich in someone's hand.

Sean:

Sleeping with Sheila was an adjustment. Like everyone else, she moved in her sleep. I found I did not like having her leg draped over mine, though I'd heard others speak lovingly of the sensation. However, waking up to Sheila was a joy. Seeing her, face unencumbered by the cares of life, had become my favorite thing. Angels are cliché, but Sheila would be the perfect subject for art in an angelic theme. The morning of her wedding was no exception.

Another cliché that worked was that grooms only have to show up on time, while brides need to be radiant. I hated to wake her, but it was past sunrise. Even in late May that meant oversleeping. I kissed her on the neck, putting some tongue into it. Sheila did her half of the cliché with style. She rolled over, gave me an enormous smile and pulled me into a possessive kiss. For my part, I had a drill instructor, disguised as a sister, to act as host. So I played with my fiancée for a while.

Sheila's shrieking was interrupted when my phone played Dixie, which was Gerald's ring tone. FedEx had delivered a package marked, "Attention: Sheila Schwartz. Wedding supplies." Sheila was already headed for the bathroom, so I told Gerald we would be down in half an hour. The package might be important, but so was shaving Sheila's easy to reach place. I wanted it baby smooth for later.

In the shower we discussed the timetable. After frantic weeks, I had unscheduled time for a few hours. Sheila was in a similar situation, though she had an early call for hair and makeup. The actual event was at six o'clock, with everyone in place at five thirty. Giving three hours for wardrobe, that still left us three whole hours. The party officially began at two o'clock, but we could squeeze in a few minutes to look around. After the ceremony was the Ball. I informed Sheila that our reservations allowed two hours before we left for the airport.

For someone as detail oriented as Sheila, I was surprised how accepting she was of all the things I told her. It was a weighty question to ask in the shower, but out it popped.

"Why are you so relaxed about all this?" I asked. Sheila put her hand on my face and led me to the shower seat. I sat and she sat in my lap. Her kiss was gentle and full of feeling.

She said, "I tried to think of everything. Then I realized I could never do it all, but I did not have to. I had you and Siobhan to take care of the details. That left me a manageable situation. As you recall, it went rather well."

Gerald said that Sheila could deliver a thirty minute brief in fifteen seconds. This was one of those times. The bottom line was she trusted me enough to relax. Everyone says they trust others, but how many act like it? It touched me. Had we not been almost to the altar, I would have proposed on the spot. What the hell. I said, "Marry me." Sheila did not take it lightly. She said, "I will."

Then she got a twinkle in her eye, "But, I do not promise to be faithful." The hell of it was, I understood perfectly and I was fine with that. "Fine, but only the girls. We can do menage a trois some time." Sheila laughed. We kissed to seal the deal. I was about to stand Sheila up, when she had a thought. For once, I was ahead of her. "No. If they want children, they can get someone else to do it. Jason maybe." I pinched Sheila's ass, so she jumped off my lap.

Have you ever made life shaping decisions in a shower? I recommend it.

Sheila:

When I first met Sean, I woke the next morning thinking of Scarlett O'Hara. She woke smiling from a night of presumably vigorous sex. I woke smiling from my first submissive scene, including some novel foot torture and a sound flogging. The morning of my wedding, I reflected how much had changed, yet I still felt wonderful. Sean took one look at my expression and decided to tickle me, the cad.

We played like children for several minutes before the world intruded. Not to be rushed, even by Saturday delivery, we lingered in the shower. Sean made a point of closely inspecting my pubic region for stray hairs. He never found any, though the search was systematic and careful. While he searched, Sean also gave me our agenda. I found it reasonable, so I said nothing. Sean found my silence odd, though he said nothing aloud.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 06



I found it a bit odd myself. Open acceptance is much more Christine's virtue than mine. Since it was a serious question, reaching to my center, I sat Sean down, kissed him, then explained as clearly as I could. I trusted him and I trusted our decision. Putting it in plain words sounded lame, even to my ears, but Sean seemed to get the gist. In any event, he proposed again, which was sweet. I accepted, but told him that my sexual activities would not all be marital.

Sean must have already considered the matter, because he agreed immediately, provided it was just other women. That small joke lightened the mood. Sean plunged on to suggest three in a bed, which I had not considered. It was something to consider, though Sean was at least partly in jest. His next comment was not. He told me that I would bear all of his children. I was about to cry when Sean pinched my butt, causing me to jump up. He tends to joke about important things, but that was a bit much.

After the shower, we ritually dried each other, then Sean helped me with the corset. I understand many men consider corsets very exciting, but Sean was not one of them. I think he looked forward to when a bay made bustiers and corsets impossible. I did a as well, but with more ambivalence. Whatever his thinking, Sean refused to do more than tie off the strings. I would need them tightened later.

Once the corset was in place, Sean left me to finish. I chose a sensible bra and a yellow sun dress. There was no reason not to wear my stockings and garters, but I did, and wore athletic shoes over them. I gathered my hair into a scrunchie and decided I would do. Sean had pulled on khaki slacks, a blue golf shirt and loafers. Before he decided that we were ready for the country club, I lifted the dress to show my lack of undies. Sean winked, which made me warm all over. Sometimes predictable is good.

Our first stop was Security, for the mysterious package. I suspected Francine, since she thinks of herself as a practical joker. As with other things, Francine sometimes succeeds through hard work rather than talent. Compared to Christine, Francine was strictly Little League. The thought amused me and Sean noticed. The story of the Tuesday morning waitress gave us something to talk about.

Normal procedure would have the package delivered through the mailroom at Richards Enterprises, which has mail inspection scanners. Given that the package was to my attention, with reference to the wedding, Gerald decided to kick the decision to Sean. We both looked at an image of the box and said, "Francine." Sean nodded to Gerald, who signaled a tech. Inside the box were three pairs of pregnancy pants and a 36 E nursing bra—about what I expected.

I would have sworn to kill Francine for ruining my good mood, but Sean intervened. He said, "My house. My privilege. You may rely on me and mine for this." Remembering Mario, I was happy to let it go at that. It reminded me of something.

I told Sean, "There was a point in the scene with Jason where I touched the end of his cock with the end of a crop. Jason's knees buckled. He would have fallen, had not Paul and Richard caught him. The moment was too good to pass. I said, 'Dear boy, you must learn to trust me to take care of these little details. If I were to want you to fall, you would fall. As you will have noticed, Richard and Paul have had training in handling hobbled men.'"

Sean's face was worth Francine's dud of a joke. He was appalled, pleased and fiercely proud all at once. I love my Teddybear, partly because there is a real bear inside. His only comment, "You're right. I'll let Jo do it. She's been itching for days." His smile was so wicked the security tech flinched. Even more interesting was Gerald's quickly concealed smile. Parsing video of Gerald meeting Herr Gunter would be worth some lingering, which raised a point. I asked, "Gerald, where will we have sound coverage versus video only." Sean rolled his eyes, but understanding your own security is basic.

Sean had an idea. I was going to ask, but he waved me back while pulling out his phone. After a few calls, he came back. He said, "Gerald, Sheila will need a place to work. I just ordered her a platform and software suite. Where should we put it?" Sean was baiting me by asking Gerald. I would also have asked, after discussing it with Sean, but it was a decoy. Sean is usually more subtle, so the workstation was pricey. Marry a millionaire and he will spend money on you.

This was something I could use for my new job, which made it not just business, but my business. I was about to ask exactly what Sean had ordered when I realized there was no good place to put it. Point for Sean. The three of us settled into a discussion, which eventually cost Siobhan her usual room. I did not think she would mind. She still had her room in the old house. Within a month or two, Christine would be across the hall, next to the eventual nursery. Unless things with Herr Gunter progressed rapidly, I foresaw a lot of tip-toeing between bedrooms.

Sean had a different tack, which I understandably missed. He was worried about bandwidth and security. Richards Enterprises used a T1 cable, but were considering an upgrade to optical. There were questions about how easily a dedicated line could be installed. In my previous experience, simple wireless had been sufficient. Secure material had been handled by hard copy. We were well into that discussion when I realized that Sean had been more subtle than I had given him credit. He was not just ordering a workstation. He was ordering me a full home office. I would not have to face-to-face unless I wished it. I love my Teddybear.

It was about that point when the tech came carrying a box of brown bag lunches. I slept through breakfast and the dinner in Manhattan had been early. My stomach growled. Sean looked over and Gerald looked embarrassed. Before Gerald tried to play host, I nodded toward the door. Both men agreed with good grace. Somehow I had lost a whole morning, but there was still time to see the fair.

Once I began studying dance, my weekends were taken. Until then, my father took me to the county fair most years. Riding the twirling cups is one of my earliest memories. My initial comment, less than a week before, had been a wish. Sean, Siobhan and the staff had made it reality. I not only wanted to see it, I wanted a corndog.

Siobhan:

I will never know where that morning went. After I had the spat with Francine, details claimed me. Most of my answers were "Yes, go ahead." or "No, wait a while." Someone had to say when, and I had been delegated. Much as I resented having the whole Event dumped in my lap, I loved it. It was like driving Shadow, my BMW. I steered and controlled the pace, but the power came from the machine, my machine. It was a good metaphor. Everything responded to my direction like my car to the wheel.

I could have gone on for hours, except Elspeth returned with Maria. The scene, when Elspeth met Maria, was one for the books. Maria is a shy undereducated Hispanic girl, from a middle class Catholic family. Elspeth is Boston aristocracy, with roots back to the first wave puritans. Maria was very conservative in many ways, while Elspeth was stereotypically liberal. There were sparks on contact, not because they were different. Now that I knew what to look for, both girls reacted the same way to authority.

I let them have their initial reactions, then told them to quiet down on pain of my displeasure. Both licked their lips and considered asking for punishment. I stared them into submission, which both girls recognized in the other. Their second look was one of recognition and commiseration. When I pulled out my credit card, Elspeth's antennae perked up. I told her to get a driver and outfit Maria for the wedding. I told Elspeth she had two hours, three hundred dollars and not to spend her own money.

They had just left when my phone played the Hollies He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother, Sean's ring tone. In a couple of sentences, he flipped my whole day over. Then he made it up to me by saying retribution was mine to deliver. Sweet.

My face must have said something, because Christine reacted. When I told her that Francine had sent Sheila maternity clothes and a nursing bra, she was appreciative. When I said the package had been timed to arrive today, she slapped her forehead. When I said that it had been handled as a bomb, she winced and covered her face, then started shaking with laughter. At no point did she utter a sound. It was eerie.

Again, my face must have shown something. Christine held her fist out and said, "Window." I pieced that together and told her to get things ready. She grinned at me, then left at a run. I stared after her, shaking my head. Some submissive. As badly as I would fear Sheila's displeasure, Christine was worse. I would never see the pie before it hit my face, but there would be an audience and cameras recording.

Chapter 20—Media Circus

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

What to say about the party, or should I call it the Fair? That's Mom's word for it. She made a point of taking me, later us, to the county fair every year. Living in the county seat makes that easy, but it was a big deal for her. When I was eight, she and Dad took us to the Meadowlands for the State Fair. I think it was Mom's first time, because she wanted to try everything. I was a third grader going, "This ain't nuttin'.", but it didn't dampen her enthusiasm. Mom has this incredible ability to live in the moment.

Anyway, you see the pictures, maybe some video from YouTube, but everyone says you had to be at the wedding fair to believe it. God knows enough people were there—and enough reporters covering them.

Saturday edition—Central New Jersey Beacon

Today is the day of the much anticipated wedding of local businessman Sean Richards and photo-image consultant Sheila Schwartz. The wedding will feature horse drawn carriages, handled by Amish drivers. Traffic along the route (see map inset) will be restricted from 2:00 PM to 11:00 PM. For additional coverage, look for a special insert section in tomorrow's edition.

Saturday, 8:32 AM—Michael.Gordon@wsj.com

Winsome one,

I enjoyed last night immensely. The food was passé, but the company was superb.

Do you wish a ride to the parking area? I have a car and the taxi service will be flooded. In any event, I look forward to seeing you in a long dress. I think my tux looks quite dashing, so I can be your arm candy.

MG

Saturday, 8:51 AM—Smithwin@Bloomberg.net

Michael,

Sweet talker. Are you trying to sweep me off my feet? Comments like that will make me blush, behind my fan of course. That would be perfect for this never-to-be-sufficiently-damned dress. The costumer suggested a girdle, but I think an outright corset was more what is needed.

Considering my head this morning, you were a gentleman beyond the call. Thank you. You may pick me up at 2:00.

Win

Saturday, 12:47 PM—wilsonrandall@uniquebride.com

The level of preparation is staggering, especially considering the four day time frame. This should give you the lay of the land.

At least an acre of the grounds is converted into a carnival sideshow. In the center is a genuine merry-go-round. Surrounding it are game booths, food booths, performer booths and makeup booths. Food will be cold, except for fresh baked bread and pastries, supplied by the Amish. One attraction is a large ice cream churn employing a vintage diesel motor. Drinks will be tea, lemonade and vintage soda.

On one flank is a toddler and infant care area, with changing and nursing areas and a petting zoo. On another side is an array of outdoor games suitable to the early 20th century: volleyball, badminton, horseshoes, croquet, quoits. I'm dying to see the quoits. I had to look it up. On the third side is the lake. Anchored a dozen feet offshore is a covered flatboat, where the ceremony will take place. Tied to the pier is a small fleet of paddle boats and canoes. Life preservers and safety measures are up to modern standards. Two former Coast Guard sailors are standing by for rescue, if necessary.

The final side is the house. An area has been leveled and covered with gravel. Many tables are set up. Each has fresh flowers and a sunshade. Between the house and this dining veranda is the outdoor dance area, which is the original patio for the Ballroom. As I write, the band is playing warm up songs. Their uniforms are in step with Music Director, Dr. Michael Foxworth. He is doing an impression of John Philip Sousa—in full costume, including facial hair and directorial style. It is an act he and various bands have performed for several years. Wedding photographer Justin Immons, of Immons Images, has four video cameras recording the performance, in addition to an antique glass plate camera and a Brownie box.

The ceremony will photographed from a preexisting gazebo. Mr. Immons has both digital and tape video cameras, a Nikon 853 and a Hasselblad film camera, which appears to be Mr. Immons personal favorite. A row of reflectors is set up near the water. These are angled so that at 6:00 PM they will illuminate the interior of the flatboat. In addition to the stationary reflectors, Mr. Immons has a targetable reflector available to use as a spotlight. No flash will be employed.

In the house, there are three principle breakdowns—entrance/gift deposit/bar, social lounges, ballroom. The foyer of the house will serve multiple functions. There is a cloak and hat room, which will be attended. In addition to the obvious, women may bring extra shoes for the ball. On the left, as guests enter, are tables for their gifts. To the right, closed during the arrivals, is the bar. When the ceremony begins, the gifts will be collected. During the reception and Ball, the staff will open them and prepare a card for signature. The gifts will be back on display as guests exit. The bar will serve whiskey and mixers, coffee and a homemade cream liqueur. The whiskey is American, distilled in an Irish style. Mr. Richards purchased a whole cask, which is in a cradle behind the bar.

There are three social rooms—the smoking lounge, the parlor and the library. The smoking room is intended for men, the parlor for women and the library for either. No smoking will be permitted in the house. The smoking lounge has a patio area, with standing height tables for ash trays and pipe rests. The parlor has several stuffed chairs and sofas. Tea and shortbread will be served. The library is exactly as the name indicates, though talking is permitted as no one will be studying.

The ballroom needs little explanation. The dance floor is about the size of a roller rink, with a raised area for the orchestra. These will be the same musicians as the afternoon band, but with instrument changes. Dr. Foxworth will continue to perform as Sousa. Evidently, this is accurate to the period. While known as a march writer, Sousa also conducted dance and orchestra music extensively.

The entire production will be done without house current electricity. While it is available, the wiring of the house dates to the 1920s. Instead, battery powered LED lights will be used in place of candles. As the guests leave, several hundred paper bag luminaries will line the drive. Other period details include a bride and groom centerpiece made of bread, a groom's cake and an untiered brides cake using only pure white icing. Confections will be sugared nuts and candied fruit. After much discussion, champagne will not be served. Instead, the beverages will be iced and hot tea, coffee and lemonade.

Much has been made of the Amish connection. In addition to driving the carriages, they are doing the baking, running some of the booths and providing child care. Inside the boathouse is a vintage lake yacht The Other Shoe, which is undergoing a complete refit. Several Amish men are working on the project. Many of the prizes are Amish handcrafts. One side note—the Amish men are impressed with Mr. Richards' pipe tobacco.

Saturday, 1:17 PM—costellof.centraljerseybeacon@clearwire.net

We have been impressed with Sean Richards for years. It is time to take his outgrown little sister seriously. Make no mistake, this is her party. Sean Richards is paying the bills and Sheila Schwartz had the original motif, but Dr. Siobhan Richards is making it happen.

Everyone knows about the Amish and their buggies. They are also providing the baked goods, manning food booths, providing childcare services and supplying prizes for the games. Also deeply involved is a collection of companies owned by Francine Martel, providing signage, costuming, performers and some sort of consulting services. Some college volunteers and members of Richards' house and grounds staff have supplied most of the practical expertise, though the Amish were also invaluable in this area. Richards Enterprises supplied the carousal, manpower through its temp service, catering and equipment through its events division and logistical support. Dr. Richards managed to get the motley collection to work effectively together.

Given the interest and impact of this wedding, the outlay will be extremely modest. Expenditures will reach well into six figures, but not approach seven. Compare, for example, the cost of a more normal wedding using a Manhattan cathedral and the Four Seasons or Tavern on the Green. The Amish are almost a metaphor for the handcrafted nature of this event.

I have seen a picture of the bride in her dress. To quote my granddaughter, Oh My God.

Saturday, 2:44 PM—johnsontayl@columbiapictures.net

I am glad you managed an invitation. Security here is carnivorous, with good reason. There are supposedly only 200 invitations. They are good for a date or spouse and children. Period. The line for carriages was half a block long when mine pulled out.

I have never been to one of our shoots, but I would expect it to look like this. Lord only knows where they found the clothes, but a remarkable percentage of the attendees are in costume, for better or worse, sometimes much worse. Some of the attempts are comical.

I mentioned Siobhan Richards in my previous note. That is an impressive woman. She was supervising everything, but seems to have disappeared, perhaps to get dressed. The bride and groom are still in hiding, not that I blame them. Rumor has it that they came out early to see their circus, but left when the crowd started arriving. I have word from the staff that Curtis Albrecht, Richards' Enterprises head counsel, will be meeting me shortly. He is also the Best Man, so this may be brief.

Chapter 21—Circus Circus

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

Mom managed to get a brief look at the Fair, but she needed to get her hair and makeup done. She refers to it as wardrobe, which it was. Aunt Francine supplied Broadway level talent for the event. Dad says she billed it at ten bucks an hour, so we will never know what it cost. The actual dressing room was Aunt Jo's childhood bedroom, on the second floor. That's where the window scene occurred.

Siobhan:

Sean discovered Christine and Sheila gave her a place. I always wished I had been there first, because Christine fit me like a glove. I told her to get things prepared for a giving Francine a little comeuppance. She went to my room, rearranged the furniture and returned. I managed to forget the whole affair until Elspeth returned with Maria. Elspeth and payback are linked in my mind.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 06



Elspeth had done a good job with Maria. Her choice of outfit was a long plaid skirt, a high collar blouse, Mary Jane shoes and a cameo choker. Heaven only knows where she found it. I could not help but notice their earlier antipathy was gone, as if they had found common ground. This was good. Maria gave Elspeth a willing assistant, which was important, since Christine and I needed to suit up.

I was dreading this part. Makeup and I had a long, adversarial relationship. To make matters worse, my artist was Jerome, the one who had "helped" me on Tuesday. When he told me he requested the job, I felt worse. Jerome was unsympathetic. His exact words, "You are an impressive woman. Now shut up and play your part." Christine covered her mouth.

Taking off the work clothes was easy enough. Jerome put them on hangers and hung them on a rack. Once half naked, I had to sit and let Jerome work conditioner into my hair, brush it out and tie it with the silk bow. So far, so good, said the jumper passing the 20th floor. The face makeup was minimal—eye liner and lip gloss. The underwear was not. It took both of them to pull my corset tight.

My first reaction was panic, but Dr. Richards took over. Christine had a surprise. Instead of socks, she had rolled stockings, with garters. Jerome said nothing, but he was clearly in on the joke. When I bit off my reaction, I saw a trace of approval in their expression. As I put on the trousers, the boots, the pleated shirt, the waistcoat, the jacket, I felt increasingly that I had passed a test of some sort.

There was more—cufflinks, handkerchief, gloves, top hat, walking stick. Once Jerome tied the neck bow, I thought I was finished, but Christine pulled out a jewelry box. I recognized it immediately. It contained a pair of ruby ear studs that once belonged to great grandmother Sparks. They had to have been in a safety deposit box, so Sean had sent them. As I teared up, Christine kissed my cheek. Then I cried.

Christine's dress was simple in comparison. She casually shed her skirt and shirt, followed by the plain cotton (disposable?) bra and panties. Jerome pinked as she checked her pubis for stubble. Sheila told me Christine was an exhibitionist, but I had no idea it was this bad. Jerome's wood became apparent as Christine went around the room looking for something. While I enjoyed the show, it moved me less than I would have expected. Odd.

What the hell. I might as well do something with the scene, since I was in it. I snapped my fingers. Christine's head came up with a jerk. I beckoned and she scurried over. I had her bend over and gave her two swats on her badly bruised fanny. Not a word was spoken, but Christine went straight to a bag and pulled out a silk bra and panties. While she did so, I picked up her disposable panties and sniffed—damp and fresh. Christine had put them on just to take them off.

That meant, "Jerome, Christine wants you to have these. Display them in good health." Jerome face, and other parts, were a portrait of conflict. He was wide eyed and red faced, but his nostrils were flaring and his equipment had taken notice. Of course, that was the point of the whole exercise. Christine was quite good at layered subtlety. Though she is never mean or cruel, Christine was capable of poking holes in an inflated ego or shining a light on an internal conflict. Jerome took the damp panties like a dangerous snake, but he took them.

Once that was done, Christine was still displaying her very classy bra and matching panties. When I asked if she had a hot date, she winked, then turned so I could pull on her corset strings. With anyone else, I would have more questions, but in this case everything was crystal. It was not as if Jason needed help getting lucky. The way I was hearing things, Jason needed to guard his bedroom with attack dogs. Yet, Christine had bridesmaid's sex scheduled in advance.

On that odd note we went upstairs to the bride's parlor, i.e. my bedroom. How had this large a house gotten so crowded? Naturally, you could hear Francine from down the hall. I did not really need another excuse to get physical with Francine, but this tirade made the timing easy. I entered the room to, "It's about fucking time you two got here. We need to...What... Stop...Put me the fuck down!"

If Francine's people had choreographed it, Christine and I could not have worked more smoothly together. I strode into the room, noted the open windows, picked Francine up and carried her to the closest. Christine walked to my desk, picked up a camera and walked to the other window. I shoved Francine's head out the window and dangled her from bent knees. Christine took half a minute of video before Sheila called a halt. As I set Francine back on her feet, Sheila asked Christine if Gerald had been recording. Check.

It takes a lot to get Francine Martel speechless, but we managed. Once she stopped sputtering, she looked at the three of us, waiting expectantly. Three times she opened her mouth, but each time she closed it. Finally, she looked down and kicked the floor. Christine and Sheila were hugging her before I could move, so I explained.

"Francine, you will recall an order you sent, requesting Saturday delivery. It arrived on schedule. The staff treated it as a possible bomb. It was opened by security, in full digital color. Sean was a bit torqued. He asked me to represent the family. The camera was Christine's idea."

To Sheila I asked, "Does that cover things for you? We could do it with her skirt dangling. I must admit to wondering if she is wearing anything under it." Francine broke off whatever retort she was planning to stare at me open mouthed. It was a lesson that served me well in politics—always show them how things could be worse. Christine smiled broadly, but Sheila merely dimpled.

Instead of answering me, Sheila dropped to a knee and pulled Francine into a real hug. Christine picked up the camera and taped that. Sheila said, "I have been trying for fifteen minutes to thank you for the earrings." Christine may be good at layered subtlety, but Sheila is the standard.

Sheila:

For the first time I could remember, I regretted not owning blue jeans. The fair was everything I always loved in a party, but rarely saw. This is not to say I had wide experience at parties. I had been to a few birthdays as a child and recitals almost always have one, though they are geared to the parents. The fair was geared to children. Heaven knows how many kids would be grass stained before the wedding, but it was worth it. Sean led me to the merry-go-round and we took our inaugural ride on horses. We switched to a swan seat and did another turn. Have I mentioned Sean is a good kisser?

After the carousal, Sean led me to the badminton court. I had never played the game, but it seemed simple enough. We played five points before Sean cried uncle. I was disappointed, but it was not a good idea to have him sweaty. At croquet he only lasted one wicket. I suggested we try some booths. In my experience, it is best to call truce before a male ego was too bruised.

Wisely, Sean did not try to show off his prowess at tossing washers or bean bags. Back in the day, I used to throw lipstick into drinking glasses. Instead he went for darts and balloons. He had experience and I needed to learn where on the balloon to make my target. Two days later, on our honeymoon cruise, he took me to the bar. He won some money having me play some Irish sailors at darts. I never quite figured it out, but it seemed to make Sean feel better.

I looked longingly at the make up booths, but I could not afford to mess up my face. I expected enough grief already. However, the funny photo booth was a gas. I still have the picture of me bagging a lion with Sean's face. He has the same scene, positions reversed, on his desk at work. However, my favorite was the two of us in a cannibal's kettle. I could see doing the scene with real rope. Some day, I may tell him.

After the booths, Sean wanted me to see his grandfather's boat. Sean's grandfather was in the Navy and won acclaim as a yachtsman. The boat had been his pride, but now dry for decades. Sean was having it refitted for use. I suppose it was interesting, but I was less than thrilled until we reached the stern. Sean pulled off the cover, showing the boat's new name. Stars and Heavens. Sean always said that is the picture he wished he had.

After that, we had to go inside, to the gentle ministries of Francine's makeup artists. An hour of having my hair fussed over and nails done almost prepared me for the ordeal of face paint. Almost. Before I was finally released to wardrobe, I was ready to take Catholic religious vows to get away. Fortunately, the dress was a known commodity. Less fortunately, so was Francine, who had cruised through makeup and wardrobe in time to meet me at Siobhan's bedroom. I was not in the mood, not that that slowed Francine noticeably.

My rescue arrived in the form of Siobhan and Christine. Siobhan walked into the room and picked Francine off her feet. While she adjusted her grip, Christine grabbed a waiting camera and positioned herself at the other window. Siobhan dangled Francine by the knees for a long time, though the video says only thirty seven seconds. When I protested, Siobhan hauled Francine inside so we could collectively glare at her. It is the only time I ever heard that glaring at Francine had any effect, but that time was the charm.

After trying to find words three times, Francine looked abashed. Without thought, I rushed to her side. Making a point is one thing; humiliating someone is something else. I held her while Siobhan explained her actions. Hearing her tell it was bad enough, but I had to add my part. I told Francine that I had been trying to thank her since she had arrived, but never managed to squeeze a word in. That, finally, seemed to get Francine's attention. I might have felt better if she had not threatened to kill Siobhan.

All that became moot, because there was a knock at the door, telling us we had ten minutes. Francine was all professional, checking everyone's make up and fit. Minions were summoned. Repairs were made. When all was done, I was fashionably late for my own wedding.

Then I saw Sean.

Sean:

I knew Sheila was not a blue jean sort of girl, but I had not understood that to mean she did not own a single pair. One more thought process adjustment. Fortunately, she worked at a gym so she at least had athletic shoes. Less fortunately, we needed to stop at security before going to the fair.

Security takes packages seriously. Ted Kozinski killed family members of two people I did business with. I was not willing to add my name to the list. The package was weighted, sniffed and X-rayed before Gerald's people deigned to open the case. Inside they found maternity clothes. The joke fell so flat it was funny on a different level. Before Sheila could say anything, I claimed right of revenge. Sheila's response was an appalling story about Jason, which made no sense in the context, but managed to convey using security in the payback. I figured Jo was the perfect one to do it.

Then we settled down for a discussion of what I wanted done during our trip. Sheila needed a home office with serious muscle and privacy. It may have taken her a minute to realize this was not just a case of a fiancé wanting to buy her something. As CEO I need to make sure my people have the right tools, which meant upgrading the web access and security. We started by kicking Jo out of her favorite room in the new house and ended with me considering a fully in-house intranet scenario.

On that pleasant thought, we set out to see the fair and my lesson in humility. I was never particularly good at sports or skill games. Sheila was a natural. She had never held a badminton racquet, but she could run me all over the court. She put her first croquet shot through the wicket, which was bad enough. Worse, she use a carom off the wicket to set up the next shot. At least she admitted playing the game—when she was in grade school.

Booths were more fun. There is a trick to popping balloons with blunted darts, It took her three tries to figure it out. After that I kept us in the non-competitive area. On another day, Sheila would have done face paint, but we made do with distorting mirrors and the stick-your-face-here photos. I still keep one of those on my desk.

As much fun as that was, the highlight of the excursion was showing Grandfather's yacht. Sheila is often quiet, but rarely speechless. She also blushes prettily. I told her I would make love to her in the middle of the lake, but that was not what scored highest. I wish my desk had a picture of her face when I uncovered The Other Shoe on the stern.

All good things end. Sheila needed to go do hair and makeup. I went back and attempted to watch a Mets game. I had more luck watching reruns of home improvement shows. Given my home, I could sympathize with some of the issues. No one can sympathize with the Mets infield. After a while, I went to the gym and worked on the rowing machine. I showered again.

When I checked time again, it was barely two thirty. Still, I needed to get dressed, because I was host as well as groom. That managed to kill another hour, though I could have lived without some of the manicurist's comments. I did not plan on a manicure in the first place. In the second place, he was too sober to be my mother. Thinking of her made me long for my cask of whiskey.

Instead, I received a call from a different part of California. My brother George called to make his formal apology. Knowing him as I did, I was surprised his call was timely. He was not quite as bad as Howard Bannister in What's Up Doc?, but close. All three of my generation are all a little OC, though I hid mine better than Jo or George. Moguls are supposed to be workaholics.

I was thinking such thoughts when Curtis caught up with me. He was wearing the same semi-formal suit as Jo, except for the bow tie, but Curtis managed to exhibit disdain while wearing it. Jo's disdain would have been shown by the choice of clothes. It was time to put on our game face.

I said, "Let's get all trimmed out. By now, Jo is getting done up, so no one is minding the store. Besides, I want to meet this Lars Gunter. We may even be able to talk business. Siemens is big in Europe." Nothing gets Curtis' attention like potential business risk. I was laughing at him all the way to the entrance.

At the old house, the laugh was on me. The ceremony would not be for three hours, but there was a crowd milling in the Foyer, which had to be blocking the entrance. In addition to the blockage, there were a number of children underfoot. It was the kind of situation Jo had not allowed at Francine's party in the City.

I asked Curtis to play doorman at the Ballroom. Then, I started shaking hands, thanking people for coming and pointing them toward Curtis. In a minute or two the movement took on independent life. People are like rope—easier to pull than to push. I asked Gerald to send down someone with good public face. While waiting for his arrival, I snagged one of Jo's grad students, a young woman named Vivian, who was wearing suitable period dress. When the tech showed up, he was wearing Army dress greens, which would work.

His name was Michael. I told them they were a team for the rest of the event. Michael had to be various places. Michael would need to be both highly visible and unremarkable. Vivian could provide useful cover, since a date is expected at a wedding. His current assignment was to watch the wedding gifts, while staying available for information and directions. Micheal's wince told me his opinion of such duty.

Vivian I directed to the cloak room. Many men were wearing top hats, but they were holding on to them. However, several ladies were carrying extra shoes. Once I pointed this out, Vivian ran ahead of me. Before I finished the sentence, she had her cell out and was talking to Elspeth. She was an Ivy League grad student. They are usually intelligent.

Shortly Elspeth showed up in person, shadowed by an Hispanic girl that looked familiar. A couple of calls and a few minutes produced three more teams. One much photographed pair was a stunning Sri Lankan beauty, Harshini, and my only Brit, Niles. They discovered they were related through two distinct lines. It proved a breath of, if not home, at least familiarity for both of them. Sheila and I attended their wedding.

I took Curtis outside. We started with The Other Shoe, where another crowd had grown. I did another round of glad handing with sail enthusiasts, who loved the yacht. I had several offers off the cuff and two formal proposals before I returned from the honeymoon.

Outside, the lawn party was a huge success. The paddle boats were filled with couples, who were spending their time fending off annoying siblings in the faster canoes. It reminded me of a story by an Iowa born Master Sergeant. Where he grew up, on Friday nights you had three choices. You could stay home and watch TV, get a girl and park in the cornfields or get a flashlight and sneak around in the cornfields. Sergeant Schueler lettered in track, three times.

The fair was everything Sheila could have hoped for—and more. The merry-go-round had a line and even more onlookers. Several businessmen inquired why I had it. I told them that the carousal was available for team building events, which got a lot of thoughtful looks. I started mulling over a permanent site for corporate family events, with the 'round in the middle of it.

The other big attraction was the throbbing of the ice cream churn. The ice cream was a hit. Many of the children had never had home churned ice cream in their lives. Even at five gallons a batch, they were hard put to keep up. However, the real star was the one lung diesel motor. You could hear it all over the yard. I made sure everyone knew it was also available for rental. As a party, the day was a big hit. As corporate advertising it was nearly as effective.

The ice cream booth was where I met my future brother. It would be easy to say I did not know it at the time, but I did. As soon as I saw Lars Gunter, I knew who he was and why he had drawn Jo's attention so strongly. The feeling was mutual. Rather than offer hands, I came erect and gave him a sharp nod. He responded in kind, then offered his hand, which I shook.

It was an odd conversation. We both had secrets to protect, but they clearly overlapped. He was quite impressed that I was marrying "die starke Frau mit dem stillen Mädchen" (the strong woman with the silent girl). He was more than casually familiar with both Sheila and Christine, though he had met them only once. I held up my closed fist and said, "Ja. Kraft, Disziplin, Kontrolle, aber... (Strength, discipline, control, but...)"

When I opened my hand, Herr Gunter stared for several second, then he understood. "Ah. Ich glaube. Sie haben Vertrauen. Das ist beeindruckend. Und...? (I understand. You [both] have trust. That is impressive. And...?)" I laughed, "Ja. Kinder kommen." If I had doubts that Herr Gunter had designs on my sister, his face would have removed them. I had just described his ideal marriage—strength, trust and children. That left only one thing to do. I introduced him to the Elders Neufeld.

Curtis was mystified by the entire conversation, even though his German is better than mine. I shrugged and told him Herr Gunter had met Sheila and been impressed. Curtis allowed that was understandable. I said, "Sheila trusts me enough to relax, really relax." It took a while, but that finally sunk in. I said, "She bears are famous for defending their young. Herr Gunter considers that a good thing."




[K][T] and Family Ch. 06



It isn't often I can leave Curtis open mouthed, so it was turning into a good day.



[K][T] and Family Ch. 07



Chapter 22 - Portents 

Interlude: 25th Anniversary 

Cindy: 

Friday night was quiet. The media was camped out, but many of the lightweights had been run off. 

Friday 11:39 PM ET-Davidspet: Oh my God. Remember that scene from Tuesday? They posted pictures at the club, along with some new rules. The rules are what you expect: more safety precautions and liability waivers. If it were not for the pictures, no one would have noticed. With them - you understand. 

It was the girl. She had her legs spread all the way apart. I might be able to do that with my weight holding me down, like a cheerleader. She was doing it casually. Anyway, there was a long shot, getting all the bruises. Then there were detail shots from ankle to ankle. That scene was three nights ago and you can still count every stripe. 

I said Tuesday that she did not draw blood. That was not quite true. I should have said the skin never parted. Some of the welts had oozed blood through the skin, particularly behind the knee. You couldn't see much around the pussy. It was the lighting I think. Pity. All you could see was the stripe up to the butt plug and another just on the side. 

Everyone was effected. David challenged one of the other masters to a duel - lashes on pussy. They tied me and Sarah side by side, chose identical floggers and took one full minute warming us up. Shit. Then it was a race. My biggest problem was holding on til the stroke fell. David is really good at this - unless you have someone like Cynthia. 

Saturday 9:31 AM ET 

David, 

I know this is probably nothing, but Jason Porter showed up early for the wedding. They let him right in. Security here is very strict, so they knew him on sight. It may be nothing, since Justin Immons arrived an hour later. Porter was working for Immons before the catalog shoot and Immons is doing the wedding. 

On the good side, I persuaded one of the local invitees to take me as his date. We will see what Immons has set up. Normally, after a success like the catalog, a country wedding would be a major come down. I could see him taking the job as a return of a favor, but still... This wedding may be the exception and Immons has exclusive rights. 

Security report, Lars Gunter 

Lars Gunter, age 26, was born and reared in western Germany, near both Belgium and The Netherlands. He claims to be from Wesphalia, which is the old style term for an area near the Rhur valley. It is now heavily industrial. Siemens is based in Berlin, but had important facilities just outside his home town. He grew up with the company. 

The odd last name is a gift from a WW I soldier, who left a pregnancy but no last name. It must have been quite the scandal, since his great grandmother was one of the lesser von Kessels. She was not allowed to give her illegitimate son the family name, so he was christened with his father's given name. The family professes Lutheran, but he is not known to be observant. 

His grandfather served well in WW II, reaching the rank of Oberstleutnant (Lt. Colonel) and dying in the Italian Alps. His Father served the minimum time, also as an officer, but not advancing. The father is a music teacher and still living. Her Gunter's own rank was Oberleutnant (1st Lieutenant). He had served the minimum plus two years. 

He attended the University of Jena before going into service. On completion, he returned for graduate school, excelling in Mathematics and Economics. Siemens considers him one of their elite young men. A group of them are doing a tour, beginning in Berne before moving on to New York. Speculation suggests that they will move on to the Far East. His entry visa is dated six weeks ago. 

There was nothing in the file to indicate a connection to Hanover or Dartmouth. 

Chapter 23 - Dearly Beloved... 

Interlude: 25th Anniversary 

Cindy: 

Mom was fashionably late - something to to with Aunt Francine's hair. Everyone mentions the bobbing bridge, between the end of the dock and the houseboat, but no one fell in. The ceremony itself went off without a hitch. 

Mom was radiant. The published images manages to capture some of it - Justin won awards for his photography - but you need to watch the video to really catch it. Mom never missed a step, even thought her eyes never left Dad. 

Sean: 

When the time came, I went to get dressed. I had had fittings while Sheila was on her trips to the city. I knew my traditional frock suit fit like a dream. All I had to do was put it on. There were still people to do my hair and nails, but you have to give Francine something. I was done in plenty of time. Naturally, the women were late. It gave me time to think about the morning. 

Though she may not have recognized it at the time, Sheila had made a name for herself in the power structure. This is not to say that she was not well situated in the house. She had fit in more smoothly than I would have dared hope, had I stopped to think about her issues. 

They make movies about the new person trying to fit in. Rebecca comes to mind. Parallels between myself and Max deWinter are non-trivial. Yet, in a bare week, Sheila was a functioning part of the household. She started well by impressing Gerald, then the Gilbert brothers. Nothing she had done was like that morning, after the package arrived. 

Because of 9/11, people tend to forget Ted Kaczynski, the Unabomber. Two of the guys I knew at business school had lost family to Kaczynski. Suspicious packages were taken very seriously at work. Our home security is just as paranoid, but lacked the equipment. We took what precautions were possible, then held our breath while we watched a live feed. 

When it turned out to be a gag gift from Francine, everyone else heaved a sigh of relief. I started toward the door, only to be stopped by Sheila. I doubt she ever appreciated the impact of her hand on my arm. Not even Gerald gets in my way when my head is down. It didn't hurt that she had already found the ideal solution - let Jo handle it. 

The staff respected me. Sheila was fast becoming the Lady of the House. Jo was the brat with a mean streak. Where the joke was practical or verbal, everyone in the room had reason to tread lightly. They had since she was twelve. If you ever saw Private Benjamin, think of the RIT dye scene. Better yet, the dye bomb in Raising Arizona. Jo was ingenious, persistent and could not be bought. No one fucked with little sister. 

It was that same little sister I saw coming down the hill, wearing a suit very much like Curtis'. There was a cadré of attendants, which concealed the bride, but Jo was out front. She looked in our direction and waved, then gave a thumbs up. They ran that picture as the cover shot of the Beacon's special section. Whatever had happened, Jo was satisfied with that result. Under most circumstances, I would be dying to know, but I could not see Sheila. It was maddening. 

Our plan had been to form up in the boathouse, but that was sunk. We men proceeded to the houseboat, which proved wise. The water was a bit choppy. This caused the walkway connecting the dock to the houseboat to bounce. I was glad to be across, but I knew it would slow the bridal party down. I drew on my Army training and waited attentively. 

As the parade of ladies came down the hillside, the band had switched from ragtime to Bach. Everyone sensed the change in mood, but had to wait through two whole preludes. Eventually a face appeared in the gloom at the back of the houseboat. Jo and Francine led the way, then CC came to stand opposite Curtis. I held my breath as the music changed to Handel. A spotlight appeared, which illuminated Sheila in all her glory. 

I hired Justin Immons to do a kinky catalog. My fiancée made friends and hired him to do my wedding. Normally, that sort of presumption would have heads rolling. Given that shot - which was on the cover of a bridal magazine, in the New York Times Magazine, distributed globally by United Press International and is in the lobby of our headquarters - I was willing to forgive a lot. 

Sheila was breathtaking and all the world knew it. 

Siobhan: 

When the time came, Sheila helped me reel Francine in. My arms were tired and Francine was red as a beet. Sheila hugged Francine and thanked her for the earrings. I glanced at Christine, who gave me a wink. Some submissive. Still, she had a point. This was not about the two of us. 

Minions were summoned to repair the damage. All things considered, we did well to arrive at the boathouse only fifteen minutes late. It could have been much worse. I almost lost my balance on the gangplank and Christine shuffled along sideways. Francine regained her good humor watching us. How can ten feet get so long? 

We made it across and formed up with Sean and Curtis. Francine and I went out first, taking our places on the outside. Then Curtis and Christine formed up between us, followed by Sean, next to Curtis. All this time the band had been playing Bach's Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring. 

Then the band switched to A Trumpet Shall Sound, from Handel's Messiah, as the spotlight found Sheila. I could not help but smile. The text for that aria talks of the dead rising and judgment, but also of transformation. The band had a fantastic trumpet player doing the solo part, so it was very effective as Sheila paced forward. As she turned toward Sean, the trumpet segued into Handel's much shorter Fanfare. I have never been one of those girls that dotes on weddings. Watching Sheila and Sean made me wonder if there was something to it after all. Their commitment to each other radiated. 

There was a short homily and then vows. When pastor Mueller presented them as man and wife, a cheer went up. I joined in. The recessional was from Mozart's Marriage of Figaro. The whole event was perfect, until I had to go back across that bobbing board. I almost lost a lunch I never ate. 

Francine: 

I had to hand it to Siobhan and Christine. No one had ever ambushed me that thoroughly, though many tried. The simple physicality of picking me up was very good. Taking video of the whole event, while streaming it God knows where, was brilliant. What lifted it to genius was giving me the recording. They knew I would pore over it for years to come. Leave it to Sheila to top even that. 

She was the perfect combination of warmth, comfort, steel resolve, remonstration and forgiveness. I had been so worried she would turn down my gift, I never let her thank me. The sharpest cuts are self-inflicted. Naturally, Sheila was the one that got everyone moving again. She had me summon minions, then orchestrated the procession to backstage. 

I never considered the problem. Dressing rooms are already backstage, so actors never need to go in front of the public. Here, things were otherwise. Sheila had Christine grab some sort of afghan, which she used as a shawl. All my makeup people formed a circle around us, except for Siobhan, who led the way. If you ever wonder why there are so many pictures of her, that is one reason. Another was that she was quite striking in her suit. She supplied the diversion as we descended from the house to the boathouse. 

Once there, it was all touch up. The afghan had damaged Sheila's hair. Siobhan needed to be tucked in at the edges. There were several things, but it was all superficial. One final check of costume and makeup, then it was showtime. Enter farce, stage left. 

The ceremony was staged on the party barge. Backstage was a boathouse. Running from the boathouse was a dock, with a screen to cover our movements. This much was thought out in advance. As always, complications arise where thinking leaves off. The end of the dock floated. The barge floated. Between the two was a ten to twelve foot catwalk, which danced. I had dealt with worse, many times. Christine and Siobhan had not. Sheila and I would have no problem, but Siobhan was not steady and Christine looked a little seasick. I did my best not to smile, but it made up for a lot that had happened in the house. 

The stage itself was simple. My people had installed a rug and draped the background. The priest had only a simple lectern. Sean and Curtis were already standing to the right of the priest, as seen by the audience. Siobhan and I entered and moved to the outside positions. Christine came after, in a carefully measured step. As an instructor, I would have complemented her form to the class. Then the music changed. 

Sean and Sheila had chosen the opening part of an orchestral piece, featuring a solo trumpet. This gave them a full half minute to position everyone. The lyric implications were ironic, but Sheila had signed off on it. I had to hand it to her camera guy. He hit her with the spot exactly as the trumpet hit the high note. Sheila's timing, as always, was perfect, but the stage hands are not as reliable. They did their part. Together, it was an entrance to remember. 

Once in place, the priest read his speech. It was overlong without slapstick in the background. Still, when it came to the exchange of rings, you had to be there. I love Hollywood, but live drama sells for a reason. The camera guy was good and Sheila worked the images. Nothing could capture what we saw from five feet away. Even Siobhan sniffed. Weddings have witnesses, with no irony implied. I count myself privileged to be signatory. 

After that, we had more of the farce on the catwalk. Sean did better than Christine and his sister, but Curtis was even shakier. As always, trying not to laugh is as funny as the routine. I'm a professional, but it was difficult. I was able to hug them both, once they made it to solid ground. Who would have thought? 

Chapter 24 - Accolades 

Interlude: 25th Anniversary 

Cindy: 

At first, press coverage was very favorable. Nothing lasts, of course, but for a few days all was sunlight and Irish lace. Surely you have seen the picture. Dad has it, life size, in the main lobby. Mom claims she almost forgot the bouquet of silk flowers. Those are in the grandfather clock in the main hall. I used to go down and stare at them for hours. Nanny CC totally understood. 

Saturday 9:18 PM ET 

David, 

Give it up. We are not going to find out if Sheila Schwartz is an image genius from this wedding. A moron could do premium work at this party and Immons is no moron. In fact, I like his style. He has a museum piece, glass plate camera for effect, and a forty year old Hasselblad for some of the ceremony shots, but everything is also covered digitally. He is using ambient light, but has reflectors to cover the dark spots and a spot reflector to cover the bride. 

Speaking of the bride - damn Skippy. I hope my daughter looks like that when she ties the knot. She looked like something out of Celtic mythology. I understand she dances, which would explain her uncanny grace. Given bare competence, it would be impossible to take a bad shot of her. On a larger scale, you could shoot a full SD card on the activities and not get repetitive. Immons is using at least a dozen cameras that I can see. 

My invite did not cover the ball, but I did get a peek inside. The same applies all over again, though the lighting will be trickier. Still, even an idiot could take a ream of shots and cherry pick. Whoever they hired to stage this event did one hell of a job. 

Saturday 10:13 PM ET 

908-254-xxxx: R U back yt? 

862-981-xxxx: OMG OMFG 

908-254-xxxx: cn u belev tht drss 

862-981-xxxx: who cn wr tht 

862-981-xxxx: she ws dncng n it 

908-254-xxxx: dd u see thm cm dwn the hll 

908-254-xxxx: th sstr ws HOT n tht suit 

862-981-xxxx: O Y 

862-981-xxxx: i wd totly wr tht suit 

862-981-xxxx: if i ws tall 

908-254-xxxx: dd u see hr gown 

862-981-xxxx: OMG wht ws it lik 

908-254-xxxx: prpl 

908-254-xxxx: i cld nvr wr tht clr ... 

Saturday 11:23 PM ET 

Gloria, 

I just got home from the best wedding. You may know about it. There was a spot on the news about Amish carriages. They did it at a cousin's business associate's country house. You would have loved it. More to the point, there are things I think you could use for your own events. 

The whole affair came across as quiltwork. There were professionals everywhere, but they had small, closely defined roles. The oversight came from a bunch of Dartmouth grad students, led by the groom's sister. The bride wanted a lawn party and a formal dance, circa 1910. What they did was more like a county fair and Embassy Ball. I know that's an impossible mix, but they brought it off. 

It's late or I would call. They made us check cell phones and cameras at the door. Give me a buzz first thing tomorrow. This will take at least an hour. 

Rose. 

Monday 7:47 AM ET 

Good afternoon, 

The Times requests a selection of images from the Schwartz/Richards wedding. Please send images that include the grounds and outdoor activities, in addition to those of the ceremony, reception and dance. We offer standard rates. For exclusive content, we will consider compensation on a case by case basis. 

Rodney L. Johnson 

Associate Editor 

New York Times 

Unique Bride - June edition, editor's comments. 

We at Unique Bride seek out the unusual. After a while, even the unusual falls into patterns. We may start thinking that we have seen at least one version of everything. Then a wedding comes along that teaches us some humility. Our cover story is one of those. Instead of the usual gallery of three or four unusual items, we had trouble keeping it to four pages of things we had never seen before. Our thanks to Sean Richards, Siobhan Richards, Sheila Schwartz-Richards and all the people that made this Unique Wedding happen. 

Central New Jersey Beacon - Special section 

People are married in our community every week. This is news and we report it. However, it is rare that we dedicate an entire section to the coverage. So it is worthwhile to explain why we do so here. 

After the Independent School District and the Regional Medical Center, Richards Enterprises is our community's largest employer ... 

Chapter 25 - Wooden Horses 

Interlude: 25th Anniversary 

Cindy: 

Everyone admits the ceremony was forgettable. The minister read it straight out of an old hymnal. There were favorable comments about the music, but that is about it. What everyone talks about is the photo session on the merry-go-round. Uncle Lars says it was the first time he met Aunt Jo, which is silly. They met in the City earlier in the week. Aunt Jo still has the business card he gave her, but she doesn't disagree with him. 




[K][T] and Family Ch. 07



Sheila: 

I hate being late, but the crowd was not too put out. Our group made it to the boathouse in reasonable order, then went out to the raft. It is a measure of how much Francine had been effected, that she had nothing to say about Siobhan and Christine crossing the catwalk. They held their arms out as if fighting for balance. The walk was moving, but that seemed excessive. 

Once on the raft, I hoped things would be better. There are sayings about unfulfilled wishes. The butterflies were back, in force. I kept my eyes on Sean and paced to the music. It seemed to work. I gave my hand to Sean and turned to the altar. There was a man there. 

The fact that I did not recognize Pastor Mueller says all that needs saying about my mental state. Thinking back, I am glad the others had their scene. It kept me from worrying a hole in my stomach. I used the homily for that. It was short, but long enough for some serious fretting. When the time came for the oaths, I was shocked that my voice was steady. So was Sean's. When he kissed me, it came as a surprise. I have watched the video several times, but that kiss is the only thing I remember with clarity. 

The exit went better. Sean was nervous on the catwalk, but not as bad as Siobhan or Christine. Curtis made up for it. I had a chance to do some breathing exercises while Curtis and Christine edged across. Siobhan came last, while Francine did her best not to smile. Francine can tap dance on a rope. A bobbing walk is nothing. 

Once everyone was in place, we marched out to form the reception line. It had been years, but the old feelings were back. I always hated this part of performance. Some like it more than others, but even the biggest attention junkies eventually tire of it. I was the star of our show, so everyone wanted to get their bit in. Worse, some were current or past clients, often attending with family. If getting married was this much trouble, I could do without a repeat. 

That thought brought my attention back to Sean. His demeanor gave me the assurance I needed. He could provide the stability I needed, both at that moment and onward. Sean has the oddest inferiority complex. He thinks of himself as plodding and wonders what I see in him. I can never explain it so he understands, but his calm assurance that evening is all I need to recall. Oddly, Christine says the same of me. 

Nothing takes forever. After the reception line thinned, Sean wanted to get some pictures. For a supposed plodder, Sean can make some very good off-the-cuff decisions. He suggested we use the carousal. As soon as we heard it, everyone knew it would be ideal. 

We made our way through the crowd. Along the way, we picked up Jason, Lars Gunter and Curtis' wife, Madeline. Sean and I sat in the swan chair. Curtis and Madeline took horses behind us. Lars and Siobhan were behind them. Around the bend was a triangle of Francine, Jason and Christine. For some reason the words menage a troi popped into my head. Sean shocked me by speaking. 

"Ten dollars for your thoughts." Oops. 

"You were thinking about all your girls and their sex lives." Guilty as charged. 

"I can fix that." Oh shit. "We are going to start a public scene, right now, in front of the cameras." Suddenly Francine's bedroom arrangements were a million miles away. It got worse. "I don't suppose you could get your panties off?" 

Blushing while laughing is the oddest sensation. I wondered if I would ever manage it again. My expression broke Sean's train of thought. "What?" I leaned over and kissed him. In his ear, "I left them in the bureau. Try not to get me too wet; this dress will show." It was Sean's turn to blush. 

Curtis quipped, "Get a room you two." Sean blushed even more and my pussy twitched. What was interesting was Siobhan's reaction. I could not see it at the time, but I do video for a living. Siobhan went red, then white, then even redder. Lars said, "Gut. Ihr Blut ist rot." I think everyone spoke that much German, so we all cracked up. I pulled some great candid shots. 

When the laughter died down, Sean signaled to end the ride. We all formed up outside the rope. Sean looked at Curtis and Lars, "They're going to need to change for the dance." Curtis laughed, and got swatted by Madeline, who winked at me. Lars had to figure it out, so he only smiled. Unfortunately, Sean was more right than he knew. We had not sprung Siobhan's gown on her yet. 

I leaned over and whispered, "This may take a while. I need to get Siobhan into an actual dress. Negotiations could be lengthy." Sean barked a laugh, then whispered back, "Don't put on any panties. I intend to take you someplace public." Then he pinched my ass to explain the blood in my face. 

Herr Gunter said, "Sie ist sehr beeindruckend. Sie sind ein Glückspilz, Herr Richards."1 Sean replied, "Sie haben keine Ahnung."2 They both laughed. The German was too thick for my talents, but the compliment was clear. I felt warm all through as I kissed Sean to take my leave. Time to finish Siobhan's makeover. 

I was almost to the house before I wondered exactly how Sean meant "take me". 

1 She is quite impressive. You are a lucky guy. 

2 You have no idea. 

Sean: 

Sheila was beautiful. Everyone knew it and Justin recorded it. So much the good part. All that had nothing to do with the situation on the houseboat. Sheila was coming to me like a Goddess out of mythology. I was only human. What was I to do? 

I adopted Francine's perspective. This was a stage and we were actors. I was the groom. My part was simple for a reason. Everything assumed that I would be overwhelmed by the moment. It was a good assumption, because Sheila was that beautiful. You've seen the pictures. 

Still, the masque must be played. I always found it ironic that "masque" means both play and cover for the face. That particular irony came home to roost. We reached the end of a play and it was time to exit. The married couple goes first, so I had to negotiate the bobbing walk. My bride did it without difficulty, why couldn't I? Suffice to say, I made it across and Sheila was there to meet me. What more could I ask? I could ask to be spared the reception line. 

My only consolation was that I was not the worst. Except for Sheila and Francine, our crowd was a little unstable when we reached terra firma, but there was no time to linger. We had to get out to our places for the receiving line. Shit. Double Shit. We did it anyway. 

I had input on the invitations, which I used to keep the size of the crowd down. It didn't work. Everyone and his sister's dog was at lakeside. This meant we had to go through them to set up the line and they had to come through our party to leave. Ouch. We did it anyway. My wife was the beauty of the generation. Fuck the rest of you. 

I have a business smile. I brought it out and kept it on. Occasionally, there was someone of interest. Usually it was someone that Cynthia had as a client, though I could never tell for sure. Looking for such nuggets kept me sane. Eventually, the line ran out. One of the last ones through was Lars Gunter. 

I could already tell he had designs on Jo. Her reaction made it obvious she was aware of his interest. Who would have thought? Jo put out that she was lesbian. You could cut the sexual tension with a knife. Jo had no intention of refusing, or even playing coy. The entire mating dance was laid out in front of of me, with both sides asking permission to move forward. Naturally, I said "Hell, yes.", not that either of them believed me. Sometimes obstacles are important. Gerald played that role, but that was later. 

After the reception line, I wanted to show off my bride. Given the landscape, that meant the carousal. Our group jumped the line, with cameras in tow. Of all the snap decisions I made that year, pulling the old merry-go-round out of storage for a wedding had the most lasting consequences. 

I envisioned an attraction, but not the photographic possibilities. Various shots cropped up in magazines for years. I think Justin made enough royalties to retire. That said, it was entirely impromptu. Sheila and I claimed a bench. Curtis and his wife claimed horses nearby. Let the shrinks make their day with the implications of the rest. Jo and Lars chose horses behind us. Christine, Francine and Jason rode horses on the far side. Justin got pictures of everyone. 

Go to the lobby at Headquarters. You will see a life sized picture of Sheila in her wedding dress. Next to that, you will see a picture of the two of us, in a swan bench on the carousal. It was a good day. 

Siobhan: 

What is it about a high point that forces you down? After putting a major beat down on Francine, we had to move into her area of comfort. First there were the makeup gurus. Then there was the troupe down to the boathouse. In a different vein, there was the moving walk to the houseboat. It all conspired to take the buzz off. 

Somehow, I'm glad. It conspired to prepare me for the reception line. This was no novelty. Over the years I have won enough awards to be familiar with the principle. Still, this was not a Doctor Richards situation. I was supporting my brother and my new best friend. It was in the reception line that I realized I thought of Sheila that way. Christine worked seamlessly with me, but she was an extension of Sheila's will. 

Sheila was my friend and Sean was my brother. Thoughts like that kept me sane as I endured a succession of gawkers. The interesting ones knew me in public school. Several girls apologized for torturing me. Some of the guys, one married and with his wife, hit on me. I had a standard, "Thanks, but this is not about me." answer. Then I heard, "So Frau Doktor. We meet again." 

I froze completely solid. I knew Lars Gunter had been invited, but had managed to forget. Seriously, who could blame me? Herr Gunter had waited to stand at the end of the line. Sean used the opportunity to keep him close. We ran through the last few, then headed for the merry-go-round. 

Speaking as a cultural student, the carousal was the strangest thing I had ever heard of for any sort of reception. It is impossible to imagine Sean and Sheila's wedding without it. It is still referred to as the merry-go-round wedding. Not only was it huge and noisy, it was centrally placed. Everything revolved around it, if you will pardon the pun. We had to get pictures on it, so we did. 

Sean called the party together. Curtis' wife and Jason Porter were close at hand as was Herr Gunter. The lot of us traipsed up the hill, with a gallery in tow. A string of people were waiting their turn on the ride, but we jumped the line. Odd how well I remember that detail. 

Sean and Sheila settled into the bench. Curtis and his wife settled near by, as did Lars and myself. Christine and Jason were nearly out of sight, around the bend, along with Francine. I knew Christine and Jason had plans after the wedding. What the hell was Francine doing with them. My first thought was, "Kinky". My second thought was, "How is three in a bed kinky, compared to what I saw on Tuesday?" Sheila later informed me of Christine's matchmaking. 

That was later. At the time I had to deal with my feelings for Lars Gunter. I did not need to be a trained cultural observer to notice the look that passed between Lars and Sean. My big brother is a pain on occasion, but he was always willing to stick up for me. That said, when I asked him to stand aside and let me fight my own battles, he did. I could see both sides of his nature at work. 

My nature was at war with itself. Doctor Richards was pleased and honored by the implied compliment. Jo Richards was terrified to be close to the attractive boy. My experiences with males my own age were uniformly bad. In retrospect, having separate horses on a carousal is the perfect metaphor. We were close, but not touching. We moved together, in circles, to music, neither gaining or losing ground. 

The merry-go-round was the place I first thought of Lars by his first name. Herr Gunter is so formal. Lars is much more earthy. Of course, there are a lot of pictures. I ran across my picture in a hotel lobby in Prague and again in an embassy in Indonesia. I say "my picture", but there was Lars an arm's length away. I was still in the semi-formal suit, but the relationship was obvious. I did not look forward to the reaction in Hanover. 

That was me. In some ways the scary part is that both Sean and Sheila saw all that coming. Both of them swear that they did not discuss it, but both spent considerable time and effort throwing us together. This at their own wedding. There are pictures. 

It pales beside what Sheila and Francine cooked up. 

Francine: 

I love receptions. A lot of artists do. Part of it is that people line up to flatter us, but it is also a chance to reach outside the ghetto. Performers are an isolated and insular bunch. Except for receptions, we can go weeks meeting no one but cast and crew. This one was unusual, in that I was strictly supporting. It gave me a chance to gauge the crowd's reaction to the bride. Later, Siobhan went all Doctor Richards on me. She spent an hour taking notes of my thoughts. 

The most interesting one was this. Few of them thought Sheila was a gold digger. Her background was the topic of much gossip, but her stature was conceded. Her obvious poise and style admitted nothing less. The fact that she had worked as a fitness trainer was offset by the fact that she owned the building. The incognito aspect was one of the juiciest bits. 

It was easy to spot one of Sheila's studio clients. Grown men turned into boys as soon as she glanced at them. Only a few others were at all familiar with her. One of them I knew by reputation - Martha Douglas, the shrink. Sheila spoke highly of her. She was attending with her husband and two children - ages 25 and 21. 

I inquired if the invitations were that a tough a ticket. Her daughter rolled her eyes and told me I had no idea. I stared at her until she blushed, then we all laughed. Martha told me she was glad Sheila had a good friend. I agreed and flicked my eyes at Christine, who was watching the whole exchange. Martha cocked her head to concede the point, then frowned. After a moment, she produced a business card - Martha Douglas, PhD. Specializing in Child and Adolescent Therapy. Did everyone think I wanted children? 

The line was occasionally interesting, because I would recognize someone before they recognized me. For a number of reasons, this was quite unusual. All of them were male and most were from high school. Two of the wives recognized me, when their husband didn't. Both hit their husband for not introducing them. One of them didn't remember me, even after I introduced myself. I could hear his date halfway up the hill. Computer geek. We had them even back then. 

Eventually the line ran out. I had a front row seat as Herr Gunter surprised Siobhan. I had seen him coming, but Siobhan was busy discussing something academic. Herr Gunter's, "So Frau Doctor, we meet again." could not have been better timed. Between that and the catwalk, I decided to let the window incident go. It would be just as well. Retaliation from Siobhan was bad enough. Having Christine seeking payback was downright frightening. Besides, I still had a surprise for Siobhan, with both Sheila and Christine helping. 

Soon after that, we all trouped up to the merry-go-round. I must admit, the thing made a statement. It was hell working the area around it, because there was a constant crowd. Sean cut through the crowd like a knife, then skipped the admission line. It was like getting comped by an hotel owner. 

In a day of twists, Christine had another one. She picked up Jason Porter. I recognized him from his pictures. This is not the most flattering thing to mention, so I didn't. He clearly knew who I was, but was only mildly impressed. If I had mentioned some of my Hollywood contracts, it might have been different. As it was, I didn't need to. 

I don't know if it was Martha Douglas, or just practice reading Christine, but the proposition hit me just as we stepped onto the carousal. I am too much of a hedonist to have my mouth fall open, but it was close. Christine was not just offering Jason's sexual services, she was offering a father for my first child. Holy Mary, Mother of God. 

The first ambush, with Siobhan and the camera, had been nicely timed. This one was a work of art. Christine was making the offer in full view of the public and Sheila's cameras, but with enough privacy to consider and reject it gracefully. Damn. I was beginning to see what Sheila saw in her. I considered for an entire heartbeat before meeting her gaze. Then the two of us informed Jason of his new status. On second thought, the ambush of Jason was the real masterpiece of the day. 

Several minutes later, I had a date for threesome. The merry-go-round slowed to a stop and we all disembarked. Watching Christine tell Sheila was an education. No one said a word and I doubt Sean ever had a clue. Sheila nodded and the deal was done. This non-verbal shit had its uses. I could set my sights on Siobhan and her new gown. 

In that, I was disappointed. It wasn't that Siobhan refused, it was that she never put up a fight. She wanted to. It was easy to tell. Old habits are hard to erase and she is naturally contrary. That said, I could see her weighing factors and deciding to fight a different fight. Siobhan has had success in politics. I was never surprised. 

The gown was lovely. It was a shade of purple 90% of the female population cannot wear. The entire 90% is jealous of those that can. Well, maybe not Christine. In this case, they would have been right. Siobhan was even more striking in it than in the dove gray suit. In fact, the two looked damn good next to each other. Once we had the details straightened out, we headed to the ball, arm in arm. 

It shocked the hell out of me when, a month later, I received a framed print of the four of us. Where the hell was the camera? 

Chapter 26 - Lipstick and Powder 

Interlude: 25th Anniversary 

Cindy: 

As you might expect, Mom loved the Ball. Dad claims he endured it, then says he would do it a hundred times to make Mom happy. Read between the macho lines. Dad liked it and always takes her dancing on their anniversary. But, before the Ball, Mom had to get Aunt Jo into her ball gown. That could not have been easy, but they won't talk about it. Aunt Jo wants to talk about Uncle Lars. Mom just shrugs and smiles. 

Sheila: 

As much as the ride on the carousal suited us, it had to end. The video of the three relevant cameras occupied much of my time during the flight across the Pacific. Justin also managed some good shots with his film cameras. Sean had one enlarged for the lobby at the office. He's sweet that way. 

As the ride slowed to a stop, I asked Sean to grab Herr Gunter, because I had business with Siobhan. I promised her father a dance and he was going to get it. Francine was in on the plan and Christine follows my lead in everything, so Siobhan had nowhere to turn. We had her moving toward the house before she could begin a protest. 

It turned out that we need not have been so forceful. For Siobhan, she was remarkably compliant. She took off the frock suit without complaining and sat still for the hair stylist. She did not even protest when Jerome displayed the gown. Her only comment was that she would decide who would see it once everything was finished. It was such a mild comment that it was a moment before I understood why Christine's eyes suddenly widened. Siobhan is Sean's sister. Sometimes it shows. 




[K][T] and Family Ch. 07



I envy Siobhan that gown. I simply cannot wear violet or purple as a principle color, even though I love it. Siobhan has the perfect coloration. Christine took pictures while I pulled out my gift. I showed them to everyone, before giving them to the stylist. He needed to redo part of his work to display the hairpins properly, but clearly did not mind. He managed to use the red in the lacquer to highlight the ruby ear studs she was wearing. It is nice to work with professionals. 

The effect was lovely. I doubt if Siobhan really believed us until we brought her to a full length mirror. That is one image I did get, though I rarely show it. Siobhan's shock is too dramatic to seem real. There were tears and hugs all around. When we were composed again, I gave Francine and Christine their gifts. Francine loved the kabuki makeup. As I expected, the gender bending appealed to her. She laughed and we hugged. 

Christine's gifts were easily the least valuable and the easiest to obtain. The gift was not the item, but the thought behind it. Clichés, about thoughtful gifts arise when the gifts fall flat. Christine was making me nervous. I had wrapped the gifts in a simple bag and tissue. Francine had opened hers and gone through her full reaction while Christine stood and stared at the bag in her hand. 

Siobhan was ahead of me. It can be easy to miss in her general brashness, but Siobhan has a trained observer's gift for patience. She was watching Christine intently. In a moment, even Francine noticed our silence, though Christine did not. Her attention was fully on the gift in her hand. 

She handled the gift bag as if it contained a poisonous snake. First Christine pulled the tissue away with her fingertips. Then she stretched her neck to look inside. Finally she slowly reached in and extracted the sunglasses and lipstick. I imagine Siobhan and Francine looked confused, but my attention was on Christine's face. First her nose wrinkled, then her lip twitched. In one motion her face broke, she threw her arms around my neck and started to cry. 

I have only small clues what was behind those tears, but it all came out. I held her close and she cried in body shaking sobs. After the shaking stopped, she still clung, so I held her close and stroked her hair. Siobhan looked detached and academic, but Francine looked lost. When we finally separated, I told them, "These represent a promise. I will provide for her needs in body and spirit." In order, I gestured at the sun glasses and the lipstick. 

Siobhan nodded immediately. Francine took only a moment longer. I have mentioned that they are both quite intelligent. Then we all hugged each other again. In my ear, Siobhan whispered, "You know I'm insanely jealous. I hope you let me borrow her on occasion." Christine heard and swatted Siobhan on the back of the head, or at least as high as she could reach. It was hilarious. We degenerated into giggling girls, until the male in the room cleared his throat. We all attempted death by embarrassment, then broke out laughing again. 

After some more repair work, we went to the ball. 

Sean: 

The Carousal was wonderful, but all things must end and our time was limited. Sheila and I had a plane to catch. Allowing for travel time and security, we needed to leave no later than 9 o'clock. It was one reason I asked for a very short ceremony. The only thing I told Sheila was that we had a hard time limit and when we needed to be where. 

After the ride, the girls went back to the house en masse. As had happened all day, I was left with unscheduled time. It was a strange feeling. I had no idea how I would react to the beaches in the South Pacific or the ski slopes in New Zealand. I pulled out my phone to check the weather forecast. 

Kwajalein Island is equatorial, so the only important weather is tropical storms. None were on the horizon. It was early for skiing in New Zealand, but there was a usable snow pack and an early winter storm expected in three days. Hopefully it would drop a foot of snow for us to use. If not, we might never leave the beginner slopes. I suspected Sheila had been born on skis, but did not know it yet. My skill level is more meager. 

The subject of skiing gave me something to discuss with Lars Gunter. Like myself, he was more a fan than a participant, though he knew the basics. In Germany, skiing is at least as popular a spectator sport as baseball in the USA. I told him I did not envy him showing Jo how to buckle her boots. His triple take spoke volumes of his intentions. 

Curtis was still with us, so I decided a sandwich was in order. We went to the security stall. I had a simple pastrami and swiss in mind, but decided on a Reuben to get Lars' reaction. Curtis asked for Cuban pressed and Herr Gunter asked for Italian cold cuts and and provolone. It turned out he did not have a taste for kraut. How ironic. 

Damn Skippy. If I was to guess, he would be discouraged to marry in his current career path, but such things would not be new. Proper handling was important and Jo's pedigree would turn heads. No wonder he kept referring to her as Frau Doktor. It would give her standing in her own right. My first thought was to have him meet Gerald, so I cued my Bluetooth and offered a whiskey. If Gerald couldn't figure that out, I was paying him too much. 

Along the way I shook more hands than a politician. Everyone congratulated me on a lovely wedding, but I noticed their eyes were on the fair. As we neared the house, that changed. Outside the Ballroom the attendees were older and more respectable. I told several men about the smoking lounge and women about the Library and Parlor. 

There is a way to enter the main house without going through the Ballroom, but we were not using it. This made for a crowd blocking the doors. I whispered a suggestion to security. They assured me that they were already working on it. Sure enough, I spotted two of my pairs directing traffic. Gerald met us just inside the door to the hall. 

Gerald had twenty years in the Army and it showed. He was senior to me my whole time in service, yet he damn near comes to attention when he reports. That is not a detail someone like Herr Gunter is likely to miss and he didn't. When Gerald came up, I introduced him to Herr Gunter, who drew himself to full height and gave a stiff nod. Gerald acknowledged the nod, but stayed on alert. 

The two circled like rivals dogs. Since the female in question was my kid sister, this left me with a dilemma - protect or not. Both were minefields. I resolved it by reciting both of their military accomplishments. If Lars was surprised that I knew his background, he gave no sign. I chose to think it was expected. We went into the foyer and waited for drinks at the bar. 

I was proud of my whiskey. No aficionado would call it Irish, but the kinship was there. Added to cooked sweet cream, it outdid Baileys and went wonderfully with strong coffee. This "Irish" coffee was proving a hit. I ordered mine with an extra shot poured in. Gerald was on duty, so he followed the old tradition of getting water on the side - then drinking the water. Curtis had his with ice and soda, then excused himself for the smoker's lounge. 

Herr Gunter watched all this with interest. His own drink was simply whiskey on rocks, but he handled it with practiced ease. Before drinking, he examined the color and clarity, then took a good sniff. After his first sip, he held up the glass and inclined his head. Interestingly, he asked about the ice, which earned him a point in my book. Glacial ice has almost no air mixed in. It barely floats and melts slowly. I had a hundredweight shipped in for this event. 

We had no chance to make small talk, because I was the host and standing near the exit. Much handshaking was required. However, Gerald and Lars stayed nearby, talking about something. At least the early stiffness had not escalated to open hostility. Before things got too tedious, Jo's head appeared above the crowd. 

Have you ever noticed that there are four musketeers in Dumas' book: Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan? When I saw the ladies approaching, I was reminded of that fact. The characters were not at all parallel. For example, which would be Aramis, who eventually became a priest? I suppose Francine could be Athos, the father figure, but who would be Porthos, the dandy and ladies man? Christine as d'Artagnan? Please spare me. 

In any event, it was show time. Sheila came up and kissed me. Christine pulled Francine toward the ballroom. That left Jo facing Herr Gunter and Gerald. The look on both their faces was priceless. Sheila sent both of them pictures. Even in her dancing heels, it swept the floor. Jo carries some extra weight, but the corset kept that under control. With her hair done up and great gran's ruby ear studs, Jo was every inch the lady. 

Jo's gown was pale lavender or purple. The color had to have been chosen with Army dress greens in mind. I went perfectly with Gerald's uniform. They could not have known what color Herr Gunter would wear, but gray or blue were good bets. Lars wore a navy chalk stripe. The gown went even better with that. You may have seen pictures. 

Jo has a lot of inches, but Lars Gunter had more. He came fully to attention, clicked his heels and nodded formally. When he offered to take her hand, Jo blushed and extended it. Lars kissed her knuckles and Jo, swear to God, curtsied. In all the time I have known Gerald, I have never seen him more shocked, nor was he alone. Two of our grad student/security pairs were near by. Mouths dropped open. 

Jo clearly was aware of the stares she was getting. She flushed clear to the neck line of her gown and probably further. However, her posture was ramrod straight as Lars began to lead her toward the Ballroom. Jo stopped him and gestured to Gerald. I could not hear what she said, but Gerald's bet with Sheila had to be part of it. Jo will cut your crow into bite sized bits and feed it to you. 

As they left, Sheila pulled close. I looked over. If you want to think in paradigms, my towering sister had a man to look up to. I had one who was exactly my height, when she wore heels. Thinking of her wearing nothing but heels, I leaned over and nibbled her ear. I said, "That went well." Sheila is more practical. 

She addressed our audience, "The Show is over. Get back to work." That's my girl.



[K][T] and Family Ch. 08



Chapter 27—Media Circus II

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

I said earlier, Aunt Jo used to be punk/goth/grunge, or whatever you call it. Considering what she wears now, it is a bit hard to believe, but I've seen pictures and handled the Army boots. The gown she wore to the wedding ball seems to draw the line between before and after. Mom wanted Aunt Jo to look good dancing with men in military uniform. You've seen the picture. The distinguished man in dress greens is Gerald, our head of security. Aunt Jo says that she hated him growing up. It doesn't look like hate in that picture. Gerald gave her away at her wedding.

That wasn't the only picture from the Ball. Aunt Francine was everywhere, doing everything. One I love is when she led the Irish clog line-dance. You won't understand that unless you see a video called Riverdance. Another great shot is Edith Dryden dancing with Pedro de la Garza. Pedro's wife, Angela Molinari is in the background, smiling. Then there is Jason Porter and his fifty dates. I find it interesting that his last dance was with Nanny CC. You can check the time stamps.

Of course, this was a wedding ball. Dad is no one's Hollywood star, but he did Mom proud. The bride and groom traditionally have the first dance. Mom chose a waltz.

Entertainment Tonight—May 26, Monica Parsons reporting.

ET: I am standing in front of the Richards Estate with Francine Martel. We just attended the marriage of Sean Richards and Sheila Schwartz. Miss Martel was one of Mrs. Schwartz-Richards attendants. How did that come to pass?

Francine Martel: It's simple. Sheila asked me to.

ET: I doubt you would do this favor for most people. What made you accept in this case?

FM: I've known Sheila since she was ten. We trained together for four years. We were even cast together once.

ET: What was that?

FM: It was The Nutcracker. Sheila danced the Sugarplum Fairy, with Susan Farwell as Clara.

ET: Wait. The Susan Farwell?

FM: Is there two? Sheila was fourteen. She had to give up ballet after she matured, but I have known few to compare and none better.

ET: Wow. Is that why you cut your tour short?

FM: Sheila has a special place in my life, but I also knew Ricky, that's Sean Richards, the groom. We dated in high school. I even knew his sister Siobhan. She's the tall one in the lavender gown. In the ceremony, she wore a suit and stood with the groom.

ET: Still, you have the reputation of getting out of a hospital bed to make practice, much less a performance.

FM: [laughing] That only happened once and there was no one to cover the part. In this case, it was a good chance to get Diane some exposure.

ET: Diane Franklin, your understudy, will complete the tour. What are your plans now?

FM: Good question. I will be going back to California, but that is unfinished business, not show business. Sorry. No announcements of soon-to-be-shot films. After that, we'll see. I hear the orchestra. Want to see me dance some ragtime?

Saturday 6:53 PM—Smithwin@Bloomberg.net

Bruce,

Cameras and phones were prohibited at the ceremony. I am stepping out if the wedding reception to text you this. There are dozens of others doing the same. Entertainment Tonight is recording an interview with Francine Martel about ten feet from me. This party is making quite a splash.

On the subject of private suburban redevelopment, I can report good progress. Sean Richards is the spearhead of the project. Obviously, he will be unavailable for some time, but Richards Enterprises lead attorney, Curtis Albrecht, is also deeply involved. He has promised to introduce me to the others. They are all here. Reading between the lines, they will be glad to have a good excuse to leave the dance floor. The reception is a formal ball, with all the trimmings.

On a related note, I would like to request a transfer to the Washington office. I have personal reasons for the move and it will allow me to follow this story closely.

Saturday, 7:17 PM ET--broadway.com/divawatch/martel

Tickets to the Richards/Schwartz wedding were impossible to get, but getting in after the vows proved easier. We tracked down the diminutive star just after she gave an interview to Entertainment Tonight. According to ET's Monica Parsons, Miss Martel will be returning to LaLa land, but not for a new film. She cited unfinished business reasons.

Does that mean Miss Martel is still pursuing real estate near the studios? Is a move to the left coast inevitable? When we know, so will you. Meanwhile, the diminutive dynamo is the life of this party. As you know, she researches all of her parts, including period dance. That background is coming in quite handy.

Saturday, 7:12 PM—janice.springer@coxandhart.com

David,

Now that I have seen the event, I completely understand why Immons took the job. The scale was massive and the results were impressive. As nearly as I can tell, the bridal party never posed for anything. Everything was done on the fly and with natural light, though I saw the Maid of Honor carrying a good quality Nikon. She may be giving her take to Immons. At this event, my ten year old could shoot good prints.

Sheila Schwartz, now Schwartz-Richards, could be a tyro or a genius. We will never tell from what comes out of this party. I just wish I could attend the dance.

3:4 Magazine—June edition

How often do we cover weddings? How often do we cover John Phillip Sousa? After all, 3:4 is a dance time; Sousa wrote in 4:4 and 2:2. This is the first I have covered either. Then again, this wedding is quite unusual and Sousa was a genius.

The event drew national attention by using Amish horse drawn carriages. It was a good place to start, but it was just the beginning. The pre-wedding party was memorable, featuring a full sized Merry-go-round surrounded by an old fashioned country fair. The ceremony took place on the water, with the attendees packed on the shore. The Bride wore a handmade linen dress, with handmade lace covering, while the groom's sister wore a British mens suit and stood next to the best man. I will be telling stories about this for decades.

What does all this have to do with dancing? I'm glad you asked. The reception to the wedding, not counting the carousel, roasted peanuts and lemonade, was a formal ball. 3:4 is the dance beat and this party not only danced, it was to live music. Any music published by 1910 was fair game—classic waltz and foxtrot, antebellum reel and quadrille, early 20th ragtime and tango. The orchestra, led by John Phillip Sousa (portrayed by Dr. Michael Foxworth, see inset photo), played them all.

As a lesson in the history of American party music, the event was outstanding. Dr. Foxworth has written extensively about Sousa and his times. While remembered as a writer and conductor of marches, Sousa was primarily a teacher. After leaving the Marine Corps, he formed the famous band and toured many small communities, playing both his own and traditional music. Dr. Foxworth cited his own band as being indicative of Sousa's versatility. Prior to the wedding ceremony, the band played Sousa's martial music, which suited the fair-like atmosphere. During the ceremony, the music shifted to Bach, Handel and Mozart. After a break to change instruments, the same personnel played everything from Strauss to Scott Joplin. So might Sousa have done it a century earlier.

I am not saying that a marching band is our first choice for wedding music, but, in this case, it was a successful one.

New Jersey Architectural Institute Quarterly—July-September

We often refer to the "marriage of styles." Integrating new ideas into a old structure, or adding an addition to an existing building, is one of an architects most challenging duties, and one of the most common. New Jersey's rich architectural heritage spans a dozen generations and uncounted style motifs. In this article we examine the challenges of renovating four homes built more than two centuries ago. ...

Our third study is of the Richards Estate, located in rural Morris county. Originally settled by ...

This photo, of a wedding reception, appears to have been taken in the early 20th Century. In fact, it was taken in May of this year. The wedding used a pre-World War I theme, which meshed well with the design of the main house, constructed in 1742 and enlarged in 1795, 1849 and 1967. A portion of the most recent addition is visible at the far left.

Over the years, much of the house has fallen into disuse. The third floor servants quarters have long been empty. More recently the salons and formal dining/ballroom had passed from use. The main house was electrified in 1922, but climate control was not available at that time. Rather than extensively remodel the house, in 1967 Harold Richards chose to add a wing, with all the modern amenities. For most purposes, the rest of the house became vacant.

That changed when C. Sean Richards decided to marry Sheila Schwartz on the grounds. Miss Schwartz loved the old house and wanted her wedding in the period theme, shown in the lead photo. Central to the reception was a formal ball. Remarkably, in spite of generations of idleness, the ballroom was made presentable in less than a week. Understandably, compromises were necessary. For example, rather than use the outdated wiring, light was provided through dozens of battery powered LED lamps. Electrical and data lines were a major part of the renovations.

At the wedding ball, air conditioning was rendered unnecessary by an ingenious ventilation system built into the house during the 1849 enlargement, see diagram 2. ...

Saturday, 9:44 PM—johnsontayl@columbiapictures.net

Aaron,

I don't know about Hollywood parties. One of these days I need to go to LA and visit a couple. I do know New York parties and this wedding was a classic—in more ways than one. I gather Schwartz—I guess that's Schwartz-Richards now—provided the initial concept. The actual project was managed in house, by the groom's sister Dr. Siobhan Richards. That is a name to remember, though perhaps not in a business context. The work was done by the house and grounds staff, several of the Richards family businesses. Francine Martel supplied costuming, performers and technical assistance.

I understand you have met Martel. There is a story going around that there was a dispute about who was really in charge. According to the story, Dr. Richards picked her up and dangled her, head down, out of a second story window. Dr. Richards is six feet tall and oozes, "Do NOT fuck with me." You know how small Martel is. It could be true. Interestingly, both Richards and Martel were very prominent at the dance.

On to business. I hope you have something highly portable for this project. The couple is coming to you. They will be changing planes in LAX. The arriving flight is UCommute 6844, departing Hawaiian Air 8922. I spoke with Curtis Albrecht, as indicated in my last email. We have an agreement for an inspection and negotiation. They are bound to confidentiality. We are putting in $10K as a retainer. If they are willing to accept the project, a contract along the lines you discussed with Mr. Richards is anticipated. If the offer is declined, they will not charge the retainer.

Richards Enterprises was willing to waive the retainer. I insisted. If Mr. Richards is anything like Dr. Richards, he will be a handful. On the scale of things, the money is cheap. It generates goodwill and initiates the relationship on a strictly businesslike basis. This is a new player, but not a naive one.

Get what you can throw together and meet them at LAX. They will give you an answer when they return from the honeymoon.

On a side note, Schwartz-Richards' personal assistant has Hollywood experience. I'll give the details to Janice. They hired an experienced girl out of Martel's LA office. She's in town for the wedding and should be set up by the time they get back. Their level of professionalism impresses me.

Saturday, 11:43 PM—wilsonrandall@uniquebride.com

Bob,

I don't care what you've already done. Tear it down. This one is the cover and lead story. It will be the cover and lead story of the year end review. Hell, It may be the cover and lead story of the 25th anniversary edition. It's a freaking goldmine.

I waited until I had at least one good shot of the bride, see attached. The details of the dress are worth an insert article. If she looks impossibly thin, she is. She used a corset. Even the groom's sister wore one. More on her shortly. This picture—all the pictures—are 100% natural light. This one was shot using banked reflectors and a dish reflector for the spotlight effect.

The bride's dress was custom made. All the mens suits and bridesmaids dresses are tailored costumes. Yes, that includes the groom's sister, who wore almost the same suit as the best man. The work was done by Vivian's Costume in Manhattan. Both the bride and the groom's sister were wearing stunning earrings. Miss Schwartz wore emeralds and Dr. Richards wore rubies.

We have covered the preparations for the fair in some detail, so I will only say that the impact had to be experienced to be believed. The carousel in the middle of things—I do mean the middle—was unforgettable. The food and beverage service was nearby, so the activity level was amazing. Food was simple—sandwiches, fruit, cold finger food and fresh baked bread and pastries. Available drinks were beer, lemonade, vintage soda and iced tea. Noteworthy was the ice cream churn, which could be heard all over the yard. The band director let it beat the time, rather than fight it.

The bar, located in the entry foyer, was also noteworthy. Rather than stock a full bar, they served only whiskey, coffee or an Irish Cream made from the whiskey. The only mixed drink of note were whiskey sours. Otherwise it was whiskey neat, with ice (glacial ice was a nice touch), with water, with soda or with coffee. If you wanted sweet, the only option was the Irish Cream. None-the-less, the bar was a great success.

Simplicity was a general theme, underscored by quality. The excellence of the whiskey made the bar a success. Similar things can be said of the smoking porch, which provided pipes and tobacco, and the ladies parlor, which served tea and shortbread. After years of buffets at Tavern on the Green, it was a welcome change.

The Ball is worth a feature article by itself. The imagery of that will take longer, so I will cover it in detail later. Page one will be the bride, who is poetry in motion on the dance floor. Page two will be Francine Martel, who was everywhere. She demonstrated many of the period dances. My generation tends to think we invented line dance, but it is similar to the pre-Civil War reel. Jazz became popular in the 1920s, but Ragtime was a rage before the war. Miss Martel knew and explained it all.

Also of note were the many men attending in military dress. Current military parade uniforms are

very similar to those of a century ago. Naval whites and Army greens contributed greatly to the period feel of the dance. Here again Dr. Richards is significant. Her ballgown might have been made with Army dress greens in mind. The contrast of colors was perfect. She provides an element of humanity, which the divinely beautiful and ethereally graceful Mrs. Schwartz-Richards does not.

Dr. Richards is not particularly attractive, though she photographs well. If you look, the figure control is obvious and there are times her posture lapses or turns stiff. However, those are the exceptions, not the rule. On the whole, she is an impressive figure, handling multiple duties with grace. I recommend a full second article on the supporting people, which Dr. Richards typifies. While she is not the Maid of Honor, she filled many of the roles the MoH typically handles. As I noted above, she is much easier for our readership to relate with.

There is much more. We will be mining this wedding for years. But, it's late and I am going to get a drink or two. See you Monday.

Chapter 28—Take Me Out to the Ball

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

I always wanted to have a ball like Mom's Wedding Ball, but these things need spontaneity. No one my own age wants to do vintage dance, but the vintage dance societies—yes there are such things—tend to be narrowly focused on one period. The wedding ball did a little of everything. Aunt Francine knew an incredible number of them, but not everything. One of my favorite pictures is of Niles, one of Dad's security people, demonstrating British formal dance with his then future wife Harshini. Aunt Francine's studious expression is priceless.

Many of my other favorite pictures are of Aunt Jo. She danced with Dad, of course, and with Gerald, with Uncle Lars, but it doesn't stop there. According to Mom, Aunt Jo was one of the most popular partners at the ball. She knew enough dance to make a good partner, but without the intimidating brilliance of Aunt Francine or the liquid grade of my Mother. In about ten minutes, we are going to clear the floor and you will see what I mean. Even now, Mom has to be seen to be believed.

Sean:

I doubt if I will ever forget the feeling when I saw Jo come down the hall, arm in arm with Sheila and Francine. Jo proceeded to do a number on Gerald and her fellow students, which made me grin like an idiot (Sheila cropped me a picture). For all her accomplishments, that was the first time I thought of Jo as grown up. It was with genuine pride I followed her through the rabbit hole into Wonderland, a.k.a. Sheila's Ball.

Before I had a chance to adjust, a voice cut through the buzz of conversation. George, my driver, does not talk much. That doesn't mean he can't. Sergeants need to be heard, so George knew how to raise his voice. He called for quiet and he got it. Mitchell Gilbert's cultured voice took over.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, on behalf of Sean Richards and Sheila Schwartz-Richards, thank you for coming. As you can see our space is somewhat limited. We hope to be able to entertain you all this evening and we request your cooperation. Those who are not actively using the dance floor are invited to use the seating outside. It is promising to be a gorgeous evening. We also request that no food or drink be brought onto the dance floor.

"Now, since the happy couple has arrived, we may begin the dance portion of of our festivities. Kindly clear the floor so the wedded couple may have room for the first dance. Maestro, at your discretion."

There was a good deal of shuffling. Many people did not want to vacate the floor, but Gerald's people were politely insistent. In the comments, I heard repeated references to Youtube, which I found ironic, given the period theme of the dance. It took a couple of minutes, but the floor was cleared. The orchestra announced its readiness with Pomp and Circumstance, which had been played at my high school graduation. I suspected the irony was intentional. Giving the orchestra leader an evil eye, I led Sheila into the center of the floor. It was only when Sheila winked at me that I realized I had no idea what the orchestra would play.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 08



Fortunately, I was spared embarrassment by the opening passage of the Blue Danube. We worked through a half dozen measures without incident before Sheila started to embellish. Trusting her not to embarrass me, I did my best to keep up. I need not have worried. Sheila made my every move seem planned. When the music wound to a finish, she flowed into my arms, then pulled me forward as she dipped. You may have seen the video; it was all her. I am not that good.

We stood alone for a moment to generous applause. Then Francine pulled Jason Porter onto the floor, followed by Curtis and Madeline. Several others started forward, only to be pulled back by their partners or a nearby couple. During the pause, I watched as Gerald bowed to Jo and held out his hand. Blushing, she curtsied and followed him out. This time the dance was Shostakovich's unnamed second waltz from Anna Karanina.

I think Professor Foxworth was having pity on us, by playing a slow piece while the dance floor was mostly empty. After the second waltz, the floor flooded with couples. The next two pieces were tangos, followed by Scott Joplin's The Entertainer. By that point, there was considerable confusion. Francine stepped in and took control of the evening. She was explaining and demonstrating obscure dances long after Sheila and I had left for the airport. There is almost two hours of her on YouTube. Several individual pieces have been reposted as instructional videos.

After two waltzes and the first tango, Sheila and I took a dance off. One of Jo's grad students went for lemonade, which gave me a chance to watch my sister. Sheila saw the direction of my gaze. She said, "It is customary for a girl to dance with her father." Typical of Sheila, she left the real message unspoken. A shrink might consider Gerald to be Jo's primary father figure, but I was head of the house and de facto head of the family. That mattered. It also gave me privileges. As the dance wound down, I spoke to Dr. Foxworth. The next number would be brisk, followed by something slower.

Gerald saw me coming. It would have been noted on his annual review if he had not. He turned Jo to face me, then bowed out. Francine, ever the enthusiast, gave a quick talk on how to do the Castle Walk. Jo had the oddest smile. On someone else, I might have thought affectionate. Then she looked into the crowd and jerked her chin toward Francine. Elspeth hurried onto the floor, dragging one of the men. While I took Jo's hand, they were demonstrating the steps to a dance. Francine nodded to Dr. Foxworth.

This was as new for me as it was for Jo. Neither of us knew turn of the 20th century American dances, but both of us had endured some lessons, which put us ahead of most of the couples. By the time the piece was half played, we were managing the basics. I even contrived to guide us over to Hans Gunter. He clicked his heels and nodded to me. I nodded in return, then extended Jo's hand. Herr Gunter bowed to kiss her fingers, then led her onto the floor.

I felt I was giving away a bride. Sheila took my arm and pulled close. She murmured, "You did."

Francine:

We put a lot of work into the Ball. Watching Sheila lead Sean around the floor, while making it look like he was leading, made it all worth it. When they were done, I dragged Jason out on the floor. He was untrained and clumsy, but I am a professional. I can work with anything, but two dances made me realize no one else could. It all fell apart when the band played The Entertainer.

Everyone knew the piece, since it was used for the climax of The Sting. The problem was that no one knew a simple One Step, much less anything more complicated. This I could fix. Sean and Sheila moved off the floor, which gave me an opening. I talked to the guy doing the Sousa impression (excellent work). He agreed, eagerly, to string several ragtime pieces, so I could demonstrate the dances. Siobhan, of all people, sent me help.

It came in the form of her Boston blue blood, Elspeth, and a young man named Jasper. He was likely another one of the grad students. Elspeth and I had met. She had been serving as Siobhan's girl Friday and I knew her type. If she would take a back seat to Siobhan, she liked it in the back seat. I felt a smile spread across my face. This could work.

In my best director's voice, I asked, "Do you know anything about ragtime dance?" Elspeth blushed and said, "No, Mum." It was too good. Jasper was worse. I gestured for him to close his mouth, which he did with a click. I tried again, "Jazz dance? Either of you?" Jasper nodded, but Elspeth blushed clear down. I grinned, "Awww. Mummy doesn't know her princess has been bad." Jasper was starting to grin, so I put some snap into the next question, "Does she?"

Elspeth didn't need to reply and I did not have time to for her to crawl under a rock. "Well, she will find out soon enough. The way things are going, you may make the section cover in the Globe tomorrow." That was too much. Elspeth started to look panicked. ""Don't worry about that either. You'll have me to blame." Most times, her relief would have been comical, but I was against the clock. The song only had about a dozen bars to go. I said, "Watch me."

I quickly did the basic step of the Castle Walk, which is a simple variant of the One Step. We could get the Grizzly Bear, the Cakewalk, the Turkey Trot, and so on as we went. Since the Castle Walk is dead simple, at least for someone with basic instruction, my demonstration couple picked it up on the first attempt. I went over and formally introduced myself to Dr. Michael Foxworth, the band director. I requested time to do some demonstrations. We had spoken before, but this was the first time he looked at me. Recognition sparked. He waved me to his podium, which was sweet.

That set the stage for the next three hours. I announced the new dance and my young couple demonstrated. Doctor Mike proved very handy at varying tempo to suit our needs. In fact, he was exactly the type of performance professional I strove to be. I resolved to contact him after the party. In the mean time I had Herr Gruber to channel. As roles go, he was a piece of cake.

It was not til much later that I noticed both Jasper and Elspeth were hanging on my every word.

Siobhan:

The Ball was nothing like I expected. I had visions of something out of The Scarlet Pimpernel. It was true, most of the women wore floor length gowns, but the four of us were probably the only ones in corsets and Francine would not notice a difference. The first dance, where Sean and Sheila danced alone, was a traditional waltz. Gerald and I danced the second waltz. Then the music turned to Latin, which I had at least tried before. After that came a bouncy piece I remembered from a Paul Newman movie. I liked the song, but had no idea how to dance to it.

As Gerald and I moved to the sideline, Francine emerged from the crowd. I looked around til I spotted Elspeth. With a jerk of my chin I sent her to assist Francine. Francine is a teacher, with a dictatorial style. Elspeth is well versed in dance basics and she likes a firm hand. It proved one of my best task assignments of the whole week. Francine and Elspeth stayed in contact for years.

At the time, I had no chance to consider the matter, because I was passed in quick succession from Gerald, to Sean to Lars Gunter. It was an interesting contrast. Dancing with Gerald was surreal. I knew Sheila had claimed a bet with Gerald, so I had the satisfaction of putting one over on Mr. Perfect. At the same time, Gerald was plainly doting on me. I never knew quite how to take that.

After Gerald, Sean led me around the floor. Francine was lecturing and demonstrating by this point, so Sean and I learned the Turkey Trot together. I have had worse disasters. Up to that point, I had always considered the expressions "take my breath away" and "weak in the knees" to be metaphorical. When Sean passed my hand to Lars, I was unable to draw a breath. When Lars bent to kiss my hand, I had trouble standing. Fortunately, speech was not required.

Lars and I did three dances together. All were new to almost everyone in the room, which hid my inexperience. Lars was not much more confident. Between us we managed to stay upright. When I asked for time to get a drink, I think Lars was relieved. As he led me toward the door, I was struck by the change in my own attitude. A week before, I would have resisted such direction to the point of violence. As if to confirm the change, Sheila caught my eye and winked.

Outside, the warm afternoon was changing into a beautiful evening. Lars went to get drinks. The sky behind the lake still had a blush of color. The far shore seemed a wash of deep purple. Closer up, the houseboat was lit with lanterns. Sheila's photographer captured the scene, later winning some major awards. Lars returned with a beer and a lemonade. We stood, arms touching at the elbow, and drank both the night and our beverages. It was inconvenient not being able to converse, but I doubt if words would have improved the situation.

Presently I sighed and turned toward the house, just in time to catch three of my grad students ducking for cover. Also watching, but not ducking, was Evaine Schaeffelker. I waved her over. After a week immersed in the Amish version of German, she might be able to serve as a translator. I introduced Lars and she introduced a young Amish man named Jonah Lapp. In short order Evaine and I were talking, while Lars and Jonah conversed in German. Did I say surreal earlier? Perhaps it was premature. This was the truly surreal moment of the evening.

Evaine brought me up to speed with her time in the Amish community, while Lars and Jonah Lapp rattled on in German. We had been talking for a couple of minutes when Lars exclaimed, "Was? Alles?" Realizing that people were staring at his outburst, Lars looked abashed, which I thought was cute. Evaine asked what they had been talking about. Rather than get a reply, Lars turned to me. Waving his arm at all the booths and games, he said, "You, all of this did?" Evaine and Jonah chorused, "Jawohl."

It was my turn to be embarrassed. They both started rattling off more German. Lars flipped back and forth between them, never trying to get a single explanation. After a while, Evaine and Jonah realized they were both speaking and fell silent. Lars nodded. He said, "Ich dachte, es war nur der Tanz. Das ist beeindruckend. Gut. Sehr gut."1 He stroked his chin a moment, then nodded sharply. "Gut genug. Ganz gut in der Tat."2 Evaine and Jonah both stared.

Abruptly, Lars realized silence had fallen. Once again abashed, he nodded to Jonah and Evaine, "Herr Lapp, Fraulein Schaeffelker it ein pleasure ist." Turning to me, he extended his arm, "Frau Doktor." Wondering what had happened, I turned to Evaine. Wide eyed, she mouthed, "I think he plans to propose an engagement." What the hell?

1 "I thought it was only the dance. This is impressive. Good. Very good. "

2 "Good enough. Quite good in fact."

Sheila:

The word "ambivalent" always fascinated me—two incompatible emotions at once. That would cover my wedding. I was never one of those girls that spends high school dreaming of her wedding day, nor her wedding night. My daydreams involved spotlights and curtain calls, til it happened. After that, the world was different and not as nice. I had been thinking a lot about that night, well over a decade before.

The parallels were unnerving—frantic preparation, the short time on stage, the applause, the after party. My mind wanted to avoid what came after the party—tits, clumsiness, dismissal, shame. Like trying not to think of a pink rabbit, I thought of little else. All week I had buried myself in the preparations. Now that it was over, fear began to gnaw at me. I literally jumped when a voice spoke.

The was no need to be startled. Martha was right in front of me, in plain sight. She was wearing her own ambivalent expression. Our gazes locked, then she shook her head. "My dear, you have no idea how often I wanted to see you off balance. The way you glide through a room is bad enough. Watching you execute an exercise is intimidating. Normally, impossible standards are counter productive, but you were just human enough to make it seem possible, not that I ever came close. Watching you struggle is—difficult.

"Now, shape up. You have responsibilities. If you are unable to enjoy the party, at least do something useful. I am sure Sean will have instructions for you to follow, soon enough. In the meantime, remember that I will still be there in three or four years, to take your little darlings to task. These days, you can afford me." Of all the things that happened that day, having Martha sound like Francine was the most surprising.

I threw my arms around her and discovered she gave number one hugs, like Sean and Siobhan. When she pushed me away, Martha said, "Go. Play Hostess. If we hug any longer, people will talk." Martha's dry wit was one of her most aggravating qualities, but I loved her for it. Only after she was gone did it occur to me that Martha was my mother figure as much as Gerald was Siobhan's father figure. Somehow that made me feel much better.

I needed the support, because Sean and I had a steady stream of well wishers, many of which were either business rivals of Sean, clients of mine or both. Sean, with his usual sense of timing, liked to torture the dual purpose visitors. I never asked how he knew who they were. It is sufficient to say that he did. After a while, I started to ignore them, in favor of watching Francine. It was interesting enough that I almost missed Christine's matchmaking.

The girl's name was Maria. Francine and Siobhan had told me a great deal about her. Christine was introducing her to Richard Foster. As if sensing my attention, Christine turned and looked directly at me. In moments, all three were heading toward me. Sean saw the direction of my attention and surprised me by saying Maria's name. I did not know they had met.

The moment could have been awkward. Richard was my male protegé, while Sean had associations with Maria. People have been known to misunderstand. Christine would be no help, but for once I did not sense a joke. Sean played diplomat by introducing me to Maria, who blushed deeply. I examined her more closely as I introduced Sean and Richard. I turned an inquiring eye to Christine, who also colored. It was time to tell Richard what was going on. The question was how?

I extemporized by asking Maria if she wanted a picture. She looked confused, because cameras and phones were not allowed. Christine shook her head and Maria shrugged, taking my offer on faith. One point for her. That reduced it to logistics. Maria was wearing a dress, rather than a gown, in navy and cream. I decided the dark dresses could flank Christine's white one. I arranged us with Christine in the center, then we all smiled toward the camera, even though only I knew where it was.

I started my mental clock. I guessed that Gerald would have a print down within five minutes, if he was watching that monitor. Albert might take longer. If neither was on duty, words would be spoken. To make it easier, I posed Richard and Sean together. Siobhan and Lars Gunter were passing nearby, so I waved them over. I got pictures of them, then Siobhan, Christine and Maria. Francine came up, wanting to know what was going on, so I posed the four of them.

Without intending to, I had brought the dance to a halt. Work with it. I sent Christine to fetch Dr. Foxworth. Meanwhile, Francine announced that we would be posing for a group picture. She had everyone find their preferred dance partner, then face the chandelier and say cheese. I could add the cheese to her ham and make a sandwich. In the meantime, I posed Dr. Foxworth with Sean and Siobhan. I told him I would try to get a shot of his band if he would have everyone face the same direction. He and Francine left, talking.

Christine held my arm and leaned her head on my shoulder. I reached around and gave her a quick squeeze. Looking up, I realized we were being watched by everyone nearby. The expressions would give me something to study. Sean was affectionate and slightly amused. Siobhan was knowing, while Lars was intrigued. The really interesting ones were Maria and Richard. Both were very thoughtful.

Motioning them close, I said, "You both know what I do. Maria, Richard has taken a position as my apprentice, for lack of a better word. Christine is suggesting that you could be his assistant as she is mine. It is too soon to make that decision, but I want to explore the possibility. If you and Richard are both willing, I would like you to spend some time dancing together. I am sure Francine will make it worth your while. When the time comes, my car will take you home."

As they walked away, I realized this was the best I had felt all day. As if on cue, Martha winked at me.

Sean:

Getting married was a lot like hosting a retreat. A lot of people did a lot of work for a short event, then I stood around and shook a lot of hands. The problem was that Sheila was not enjoying her party. I didn't enjoy retreats, but it was business and I was used to it. If I saw another overdressed society wannabe gush to Sheila, about how wonderful the reception was, I felt I would strangle her, then pummel her escort.

In contrast, my socially backward sister was having a fine time. Jo and Lars Gunter were out learning Modern Dance, in the pre-Jazz Age sense. It reminded me of the lines from Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree—"Everyone's dancing merrily / In a new old fashioned way." There was a lot of old fashioned dancing and a lot of laughter to go with it. Even the old ladies were talking about the dances from their childhood, instead of the conduct of the youth. As a party, you could not ask for more.

Sheila gathered several people together for photo ops. That gave me a chance to motion CC over. I told her to go to our rooms and get a few items for Sheila. When she heard what I wanted, I think I made her day. I gave her strict instructions that she was to look wherever needed, but not to do anything but bring the items back, but it did not help. She literally bounced on her toes, while I found a security escort. Funny, a few Kegel beads and a couple of silk scarves would not normally inspire such glee.

Siobhan:

I was having such a good time, I felt guilty. The first few dances were traditional ballroom dances, but then we drifted toward the band director's idea of dance music, which was quite different. Francine jumped in with both feet. It did not surprise me that she had studied pre-WW I dance. Since no one else knew anything, my small amount of formal instruction was valuable. Lars was German, so naturally he knew Waltz, but also German folk dance. I was not able to follow closely, but his great grandmother was someone important. She insisted that all the "Jungen" learn traditional forms. Between the two of us, we kept up.

Still, I was glad for a breather. Sheila collected several of us for pictures. That drew a crowd, so Francine announced that she wanted group pictures. We all partnered up and looked at the chandelier, though I knew the camera was concealed in a sconce in the far wall. It was informal, but Dr. Foxworth had the band take a break. As we joined the masses heading out for lemonade, or beer in Lars case, I noticed Sean talking to Christine. She had her practical joke expression spread from ear to ear. This was too good to miss.

I told Lars, "Ein drinken. Nie alkohol." He smiled at my butchery of the German language, but nodded his head. I followed Christine up to the Sean's suite. As she and her security escort opened the door, I called to them. The security tech, seeing a family member, looked relieved. Silly boy. If he knew that "Master Suite" was not ironic, he gave no indication. Still no one fucked with Gerald and Sean was Gerald's boss. I had momentary disorientation when I recalled what Gerald said of Sheila, but decided it would be worth it.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 08



Christine and I entered the room, leaving the tech standing guard. Once inside, I asked Christine what Sean wanted. She never said a word, but managed to convey ben wa balls and silk scarves. At first I wondered where Sean would hide the balls. Then it occurred to me that Sheila must have owned her own set. That turned out to be conservative. Like many things I had seen from Sheila, she had excellent taste in a vintage mode. There was no telling how old the jade set was, but I could tell they had been used.

The five small balls would be interesting, but they were going on a plane. I did not want her accused of smuggling. The same went for ivory. The steel set might set off an alarm. There were five sets, but each was problematic. I had run out of options. Christine was also dejected. She signed "phone" and cast an inquiring look. I grabbed her with both hands and kissed her. Kerin was a dedicated hedonist. She probably had a set in her bags.

I called security, then sent our escort to bring her up. That taken care of, I started to go to Great Gran's things. She was a famous beauty and owned only the best. This stopped me for a moment. I was wearing her ruby earrings. I walked to the wall mirror and looked at my face. It was somewhat fleshy, but not really fat. I had always hated my long neck, but the high collar made it look attractive. My hair was pulled back and up, so the earrings were very visible. I was forced to admit, they did not look out of place. Who'da thunk it?

The moment lasted only til I noticed Christine watching my face in the mirror. I blushed, then turned to her. "Scamp. I'll tie you up and beat you to death." Much to my surprise, Christine smiled brightly and threw her arms around me. OK. I guess that takes care of what we would be doing Sunday night. We could tie up Maria and let her watch. I was suddenly wet, which caused Christine to grin. That earned her a swat on the back of the head, before I went back to searching.

As expected, Great Gran had a trove of silk everything. I was too big for the drawers, but I thought the stockings would go well with my Mistress persona. I took a couple of pairs and pulled more out to send with Sheila, along with a couple of shear underdresses and frilly, button up the back blouse. For Christine to carry down, I selected matching dark crimson scarves. They were so shear you could see through them and so glossy they slipped easily from you fingers. At that point, there was a knock on the door. Christine ran to let Kerin in.

As explanation, I showed Kerin the balls that Sheila already owned. Her hand immediately went to the group of small jade balls, while her lips parted and her breath deepened. Interesting. I snapped my fingers to get her attention, which caused her to jump. I said, "I promised to tie Christine up and whip her to death. You can join her if you wish. But, first, I need a favor." I waved my hands at the collection of vaginal inserts. "All of these are unsuitable for international borders, especially while in use." Kerin blushed past her collar line. "Do you have a set you can give me? For the bride?"

Kerin squealed and dashed for the door, closely followed by Christine. It was not the reaction I was expecting, but it worked. As they were running down the hall Elspeth came around the corner. When did I get so popular. In a snit of sarcasm, I said, "I am going to tie Christine up and whip her to death. There is a line forming of those who want to watch. They will also be tied up, of course." The expression on Elspeth's face pulled me up short. I lowered my head to show skepticism. "Seriously? I will not allow you to touch yourself. After we get back to Hanover, you will be my bitch as well as my girl Friday. You've seen Christine. Do you want that?" She did not have to speak. I could smell her answer. Stepping aside, I waved her into the room.

I almost lost her when she saw Great Gran's things. Her hands went out to stroke the silk. The desire was so tangible it was making me horny. Oh well. Go with the flow. "Stop. If you want to feel the silk, remove you panties, raise your skirt and bend over." Elspeth did not hesitate. Not quite. In moments, her ass was bare and thrust out. I picked up a slippery silk scarf and stepped behind her. "Do not move and make no sound. You do not have permission to cum. Nod if you understand." This time there was no hint of hesitation. Elspeth definitely liked a firm hand.

I placed my free hand on her butt cheek. As she shivered, I noted her ass was tight as a drum. Fitness is a religion in some circles. Elspeth could help find me a trainer. My hand slid across to the cleft. My fingers detected fine hairs. Christine's reward was now clear. I passed down, carefully avoiding the labia, but allowing my thumbnail to run over her anus. Elspeth jerked. I tsked and continued down. Bending low, my fingers ran over her knee, while my body heat radiated onto her ass. Turning my fingers under, I let the nails brush across the back of the knee, which brought a gasp and another demerit. One more and no orgasm for Elspeth.

Turning the hand sideways, I drew two nails up the inside of her thighs. There was another small sound, but I chose to ignore this one. Instead I dug the nails deeper, using enough strength that her ass was pulled to my breast, or vice versa. Elspeth was struggling to stay still and silent, so I continued to give her a pass. I had no doubt Christine would have done better, but that was too high to set the bar. Instead, I removed my nails and ran the glossy silk down the same stretch. The difference in tension was palpable. I set my finger onto her pucker, letting her feel the nail. I said, "Cum if you can." and shoved the finger through the hole.

Damn Skippy. Elspeth remained upright, barely, as she shook from the orgasm. When it finished, her entire body was red and sweaty. Good enough. I said, "Stand up and smooth yourself out. That was barely acceptable, and only because I am feeling generous. Rest assured, Christine would have done much better, though I have it on good authority she never had a master or mistress before last week. As punishment for your first slip, you may not freshen up before you return to the party. Your second punishment is deferred."

I thought for a moment, then had a thought. I brought the silk scarf to brush her face. The fabric was so smooth and fine that it was difficult not to drop. I said, "Hold out your hand." I placed the scarf over it. Sure enough, it slid right off before she could clutch it. "Carry that scarf. As you can see, it will try to escape and you may not knot it. If you can come to my room at midnight and claim you have not let it from your hand, I will change your punishment to a reward. It will be the same thing. The only change will be my intent and your understanding. We are finished. You may speak." For the second time that day, a young woman threw her arms around me and held me close.

Rather than ponder my sudden popularity, I had an inspiration. I went down to Sean's music library. Sure enough, he had what I wanted. I had to hunt for a CD player, because my own was at the motel. Fortunately, Sean had one of those as well. I stopped long enough to grab a bottle of water and check the time. Damn Skippy, I needed to hurry.

Francine:

Blessed Mary, I was having fun. One of the nice things about throwing things together is the chance to improvise. I had been so jealous of the way Christine took to Sheila, then Siobhan. Even the girl Elspeth annoyed me. She fawned on me as a star, but she worshiped at Siobhan's feet. Siobhan did not seem to notice, which made me wonder what Elspeth had been doing to get her attention. Being ignored causes some people to act out. Things seem to have improved when Siobhan accepted her as a gofer.

Sheila's reception party let me meet someone who clicked with me. Dr. Foxworth was old enough to be my father, but I would seriously consider having his children. He took hints and nuance as direction. Through him, the—I suppose you would have to call it an orchestra, since there were strings, but it seemed like a band—became an extension of my will. So were my presenters

Elspeth and Jasper were perfect—they knew the basics, did not know the specifics, and had no emotional attachment. In competition, they would be considered dry and technical, but that was what I wanted in a teaching situation. Newbies want to see some human error. Back in the day, Schwartz scared off about a zillion first timers. Hell, she scared me—still does.

We went through a bunch of ragtime pieces. There were a couple of hesitation waltzes, even a mountain boot scooter or two, but mostly we stuck to ragtime, which was perfect for Sheila's chosen period. It was also perfect for Sean's American immigrant sensibilities. Europe had its own versions of the earlier squares, circles and reels, but it went nuts over American "Modern" dance. The Jazz Age only deepened what was already there. To the wedding attendees, it was all new and they soaked it up like sponges. It was wonderful, but all things pass.

It happened spontaneously. Sheila posed a couple of people for a picture, then a couple more. Before long, there was a crowd at one end of the dance floor. These things have their own life, so it is usually best to ride it out. In some ways, it was just as well. The band needed a break. I called for attention and announced a group picture. Everyone smiled at the chandelier. By the time they were finished, the band had decamped.

I lost track of things at that point. With the music gone, half the dancers wanted to talk to me. I was answering questions til the band came back. I looked around and noticed Elspeth and Jasper were missing. Dr. Foxworth assisted by playing some Latin dances. Tango was the other dance craze of the early 20th century. These were more familiar, so I managed to sneak out for my own break. I needed something to drink, which turned out to be a fizzy lemon drink. Then I answered Mother Nature's call.

By the time I returned, Elspeth was back, looking very flushed. I could guess what she had been doing, but I could see the corner of a silk scarf sticking out of a closed fist. I had to hand it to Siobhan, for an inexperienced mistress, she knew a lot of the tricks. That would make her dancing interesting. Before I could react to that revelation, Christine appeared, carrying more silk. Holy Mary, Mother of God. Sean was doing a scene in a crowded ballroom, in full view of some of Mistress Cynthia's clients. Strike my thoughts on Siobhan. Sean was the genius in this family. Siobhan appeared and forced me to reconsider again.

For a ballroom, it was the most normal item imaginable—a CD player. Given the lengths Siobhan had gone to preserve the period feel of the party, it had to mean something special. Siobhan was searching the room, so I waved. Our eyes met and I got shivers up my spine. I knew what Siobhan wanted. It did not take a genius to figure out the specifics. She pointed to her wrist, indicating time was an issue. I turned to |Sheila, only to find her ducking into the kitchen. What the fuck?

Sheila was only gone a couple of minutes. When she returned, she was flushed, so this had to be part of Sean's scene. Her hand was closed in a fist, which probably contained the red silk scarf I had seen Christine carrying. Silk scarves were all over the place, but she would not need to duck out of sight for that. I already knew Sheila had done her ceremony commando, so she had not taken off her underwear. That left only—Oh. My. God.

That was the point I gave up trying to compete with any the Richards. If either of them had done this alone, it was brilliant. I suspected they managed to concoct it just by thinking alike, which made it truly evil. I was going to have so much fun, but first I had to let everyone in on their part of the joke. One glance at Dr. Foxworth was enough to gain a cymbal crash, then silence.

I raised my voice and announced, "Ladies and Gentlemen, the time is coming where the happy couple take their leave. Earlier, the bride and groom danced the first dance. Now I am going to ask the bride to dance with me. Pardon our informality. This was not planned, so we have not rehearsed. In fact I have not done this piece in years. It has been longer for Sheila, but she's better than I am." That last brought a few titters of laughter, but I only cared about Sheila. She was white as a ghost. Still, she turned to Christine and handed her a crimson silk scarf. Interesting.

What we were about to do was impossible. Leave aside the fact that I was well past my dancing prime and Sheila was more than a decade out of practice. That was bad enough, but we were both wearing heels, so en pointe was not possible. We would have to improvise and approximate. It was not til Sheila struck a starting pose that I realized we had to decide parts. Someone had to do the lifting and that was not going to be me. I had been so jealous when Sheila was announced for the Sugarplum Fairy. This would be my turn.

Before another thought could go through my head, Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker filled the room.

Sean:

I sent CC off on an errand and Sheila had gone off to answer nature's call. Sheila returned, but there was no sign of CC. I was beginning to get impatient when she returned, grinning. CC had become a cheeky little scamp, quite different from the unsure girl I met at the diner. If I didn't know she would enjoy it, I would be tempted to have her over my knee. On second thought, the problem was that I would enjoy it too much. Maybe I could do a session where I tied Sheila up and let her watch me whip CC.

On that train of thought, I watched Maria dance by with Sheila's protege, Richard. They made a cute couple. I had a feeling Sheila would force them into close contact, but keep them separated. It was what I would do. The male half of our other budding romance had come by, to quiz me out about Jo. It did not take a psychic to figure out that he was already serious. I had Curtis talk to him, since he spoke the best German. If Lars was half as decisive as I thought, I could expect some form of proposal before I left.

Or, maybe not. Our schedule had only an hour and a half for the dance. Over an hour has passed, so we needed to start thinking of leaving. Sheila had ducked out of the room. She reappeared, looking completely cool. I knew she inserted vaginal beads, but her face showed no sign. As she returned to my side, Jo came through the door, carrying a CD player. What?

It took a couple of minutes, but Francine explained it all. For once, Sheila's composure was rattled. The night she performed at the Lincoln Center was a watershed event in her life. Francine wanted her to relive it. Sheila was white with shock, but her jaw had a set I had seen many times on Jo. Sheila made eye contact with Francine, then turned to CC and handed her two silk scarves. I had forgotten them. Turning back to Francine, Sheila struck a pose. In the meantime, the dance floor emptied of people.

I am no ballet devotee, but I knew that this was one of the pink tutu and toe slipper dances. Sheila and Francine would perform it in gowns, heels and corsets. It promised to be interesting. Since that night, I have watched recordings at least a dozen times. I can never tell where they were forced to cut a corner or skimp on a passage. What I can say is that Sheila's skirt had a weighted hem. Though it often seemed she must, Sheila never flashed the audience. Francine was not so modest, freely showing some lacy underwear. They concluded to loud applause.

After the applause died, Jo stepped up and thanked everyone, then announced the ceremonial tossing of the bouquet and garter. I was unclear how old those traditions were, but garters were of the period. Why not? Blushing, Sheila extended her leg. I lifted the hem, being careful to stay in front of her. It was something of a shock to realize Sheila was using garters to hold up her stockings, not just for this ritual. That's my girl. I was tempted to use the red silk scarf to hold up the stocking, but let it pass.

Jo and Francine had organized the unmarried girls on the dance floor. CC brought the flowers. During the ceremony, I had never noticed if Sheila even had flowers, much less what they looked like. This was a lovely pink silk arrangement. Sheila tossed it far behind her, over the heads of the more ardent seekers. Elspeth went to look for the girl who caught the bouquet. When it was my turn, I tried to follow the same line, but threw it flat instead. It was snagged by someone I did not recognize.

So much for the forms. It was time for Sheila and I to change to traveling clothes. I took the floor and thanked everyone for coming. Since we had taken a break for pictures, I told everyone to leave an email at the cloak room. Once again I thanked them and had invited everyone to stay for more, but cautioned that the last carriage ran at ten o'clock.

Sheila turned to CC, presumably to retrieve the scarves, but I waved that off. Instead, I presented Sheila with my arm and did my best to seem a reasonable escort as we moved to the door and up the hall, CC trailing behind. I managed to make it to the bedroom before exhaling a load of my tension. Sheila hugged me tightly, but we could not linger. As I held her, I motioned CC forward and held out my hand.

Very carefully, as if it were difficult, CC placed the two red scarves in my hand, not releasing them til my fingers closed. I pointed toward the luggage. CC understood and took the scarves again. This time she did not handle them like greased eggs. Sheila had told me it was important for subjects to handle their restraints. Watching CC's extreme care brought home another lesson—my whims effected more than just me.

They both deserved a reward, but it would have to wait. I waved CC forward, to help Sheila undress. That would be her reward. I made a mental note to get CC enrolled in au pair and lady's maid classes. Sheila's was more subtle. As I held her close, I whispered that she had done well. Sheila's only reaction was a shiver. I decided I would let her choose when to use the scarves, but I told her to pack a hand towel to cover her seat. That brought a small intake of breath.

That would do for the moment. Her wedding gift was already in the car.

Sheila:

I may have had mixed emotions about the wedding, but I had none about the ball. My dances with Sean were lovely, but soon over. Once we reached the sideline, I found I could not leave it. Francine took over as Mistress of Ceremony and ad hoc dance instructor. Siobhan learned the old dances with Lars Gunter, who showed an interest in both Siobhan and the dances. Richard and Maria danced. Jason Porter seemed to be dancing with every girl in the room. Richard and I stood on the side and shook hands.

The break for pictures was nice. It gave me a chance to visit the private restroom, such as it was. Siobhan had placed a portable toilet just outside the pantry exit, screened off from the crowd outside. Even though the access was restricted, I had to wait in line. Still, I returned before the break in the music ended. Sean was looking for someone, but he did not volunteer who.

The mystery was solved when Christine returned. Her face had an odd combination of care and cheerful anticipation. Since Sean was involved, I expected some form of discipline exercise. It took the form of two black plastic ben wa balls and two red silk scarves. The vaginal stimulation I could understand, but the scarves were difficult. I often had clients hold something easily dropped, but that did not seem right in my case. For one thing, I needed my hands.

Still, instructions are instructions. I slipped back into the kitchen. There was no time to wait in line again, so I just blocked the door. Then I stopped to consider the task. My left hand held scarves and the right held the balls. There was no spare hand to raise my skirt. The scarves formed a significant mass. Transferring the balls to my left had would be tricky, but anything more was out of the question. Just getting them back, without dropping everything, would be unlikely.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 08



Instead I placed the balls in my mouth, raised the hem, then held it tight to my midriff using my left forearm. That done, I could contemplate placing the balls. This was also a two hand job—one to part, the other to insert. I hoped to do it one handed by being quick. When I touched my vulva, the shock almost undid me. I was surprised to find that I needed no lubrication. Instead, my outer had lips already parted and my clit was forward and quite sensitive. It was a simple mater to push the balls into my well, though the process left me gasping.

On returning to the dance floor, I had another surprise. Siobhan held a CD player. That was not in keeping with the period. Then Francine announced that she and I would be dancing. Oi vey. I was tempted to use stronger language. This was a nightmare partly because I could see the path, but not avoid it.

Siobhan had to have brought The Nutcracker. In the entire ballet repertoire, The Dance of the Prince and the Sugarplum Fairy may be the most famous duet dance. The Fairy's part is all on toe point, while the Prince does some leaping and a lot of lifting. One part was impossible in heels and the other merely dangerous. Still, the performer in me stepped forward. I handed Christine Sean's scarves, while I considered the challenge.

Music is music. I knew this music like I knew my name. The choreography is an expression of the story. All the leaps and twirls form the language, but other languages are available. Francine was ballet trained, but most of her experience was Broadway. We could do a Rogers and Hammerstein version. The floor emptied., I stepped to one edge of the crowd and Francine stepped to the other.

In spite of the situation, I had time to be amused. Francine had announced that this was unrehearsed, but it was not true. I had played the Prince to her Fairy one whole afternoon. I remembered that day and tried to channel Anton Tupelov from the night of the performance. The pressure of my corset reminded me of his hands on my waist, which reminded me of Sean's hands. Francine was fortunate I was not lifting her at that moment.

Considering the handicaps, it went well. Francine may not have been en pointe, but she moved almost as if she were. As the Prince, I only needed to be on my toes, so I could focus on being muscular. Francine spent the time flaunting her silk drawers. Too soon, it was over. Francine curtsied and I bowed to enthusiastic applause. Heady stuff.

As the applause died, Siobhan strode out and announced that it was time to throw the bouquet and garter. I had completely forgotten, so I had no spare garter. I blushed to think I had almost held up my stockings with a belt. Sean removed garter, then Christine handed me a bouquet. I could not tell if I had carried one at the ceremony, much less if this was it. Like so many details, Siobhan and the others made the arrangements.

I never saw who caught the flowers. The young man who caught my garter promptly shoved it in his pocket. It was a good thing we needed to change, because the garter was not coming back. Sean thanked everyone for coming and invited them to stay til ten o'clock. Once we exited the room I felt like collapsing in his arms.

It was not til we reached the bedroom that I remembered the scarves. Christine was holding them as if her life depended on them. In a sense, it was. Christine would rather die than fail this sort of task. When Sean asked for them, she presented them like crown jewels. When Sean told her pack to them in my carry-on, they became two pieces of cloth. I had to hug her for that. Rather than pack both, I decided the vivid red went well with my drab travel dress, much to Sean's amusement. I covered my hair with it. Let the symbolists read what they wished.

Suddenly, it was time to go. I told Christine to find Sharon and join her yoga class while I was gone. In the hall outside the Ballroom, Siobhan had seven of her eight grad students lined up. There was not a dry eye as I hugged each. In the Ballroom, all the guests were lined up. We were showered with pink and white flower petals, rather than rice. Outside, instead of petals, millet seed rained. I liked this deferral to modern interests. Rice is a symbol of fertility, but it harms the birds that eat it. Millet is also fecund and is a common bird seed.

As we descended the stairs to the drive, I could see the Bentley standing ready, trailing a mismated pair of Army boots. I would hazard Siobhan had a pair that were the mirror image. This was where the Amish chose to make their respects. I let Sean do the talking while I hugged Evaine Schaeffelker. I told her that I would need a steady supply of maids and cooks, plus there would be a garden to attend. She told me the girls would fight for positions.

When we turned back, Siobhan and Lars awaited us. I hugged Siobhan and told her I was very proud. She flushed and nodded, misty eyed. Siobhan never took praise or thanks easily, so that was a big concession. At the car, George and Russell waited at the front, but Gerald was holding the door. Before shaking hands, Sean and Gerald came to attention and exchanged salutes. Then they shook and did an uncomfortable A-hug.

Shaking my head, I gave Gerald a proper hug. In his ear I whispered, "Tell your daughter how proud you are." He started in my arms, then relaxed. Gruffly he said, "Watch your head and remember that sunblock is your friend." It was the first real clue I had about where we were headed. Sean slid in beside me and we pulled away.

Looking back at the house, I realized it was my home. When had that happened?

Chapter 29—Onward

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

The ball was a huge success. Aunt Francine essentially started a second career that night. Martel Dance Academy already existed, but the popular impact of the Youtube video is hard to overstate. Mother admits to doing the editing of the video, which should explain everything. She claims it took more of her time than the Will Smith movie.

One of the other videos Mom edited is of Aunt Jo. That one stayed in the family, because you have to understand how awkward Aunt Jo was growing up. She claims to have found confidence in Uncle Lars' arms. Maybe. I think she always had that drill instructor side. It runs in the family. I think she learned to relax that night. She would never be pretty or petite or graceful, but she was just as good as the other guests fumbling through the new dance steps.

Entertainment Tonight—May 26, Monica Parsons reporting.

ET: Once again I am with Francine Martel at a wedding in central New Jersey. Francine, a while ago you asked if I wanted to watch you dance Ragtime. You didn't say you would be giving dance instructions to all the guest and you said nothing about doing Swan Lake. First, when did you learn all this about dance in the Gay 90's.

FM: [laughing] It was The Nutcracker, not Swan Lake, but you got the composer right. About Ragtime, I have always loved Scott Joplin. I must have watched The Sting twenty times as a child. Years later I did a stage revival of the movie Ragtime, playing Evelyn Nesbit. The adaptation was musical and I had to learn several dances—the Cakewalk, the Grizzly Bear, and so on. That started the ball rolling. Michael—that's Dr. Michael Foxworth, the band director—has a similar infatuation with the period.

ET: You two seem to have hit it off.

FM: No kidding. If he were twenty years younger I would drag him to my priest and start him on instruction classes. I promised mother I would marry Catholic.

ET: What if he wanted to become a priest?

FM: [laughing] That's good. Old, but good.

ET: What about the ballet?

FM: That was Siobhan, the groom's sister. She organized this whole event in four days. Throwing things out, and having them stick, is a talent of hers. She showed up with a CD of the music and the player. The rest was obvious.

ET: What do you mean?

FM: When Sheila was fourteen years old, she danced that piece at Lincoln Center, with one of the Russians. We spent three months practicing for the audition. Of course, back then she danced the girl's part. I was on stage to see it.

ET: So you had practiced before.

FM: I had, more than ten years ago. That was the Sugarplum Fairy, in case it was unclear. Sheila practiced—and won—the same part. Tonight she danced the Prince. She only did that once that I recall. We were out of boys, so she partnered with me. I was smallest.

ET: She did that cold? It didn't look like it.

FM: I said she was better than me.

3:4 Magazine—June edition

While Dr. Foxworth dressed and played Sousa for the wedding, it quickly became clear he also has a darker passion. Darker as in skin color, specifically Scott Joplin. Dr. Foxworth has orchestrated more than a dozen Joplin and Lamb pieces for jazz or brass ensemble and marching band. In this he was not alone. Various jazz artists recorded ragtime pieces as part of their basic repertoire. What was news to us is the influence of Sousa on Scott Joplin. Dr. Foxworth explained in detail how marching music influenced ragtime—and vice versa.

He was joined in his explanation by noted Broadway performer Francine Martel. Miss Martel became the unofficial MC of the ball, demonstrating many of the less familiar "one step" dances. One step refers to taking one step per beat. Both teachers at heart, Miss Martel and Dr. Foxworth formed a dynamic team, explaining, demonstrating then leading piece after piece.

Miss Martel also did a demonstration in a Romantic vein, as in Russian ballet. Siobhan (pronounced jo-vahn) Richards, sister of the groom, broke with the period theme by using a CD player. The music was from The Nutcracker, the Dance of the Prince and the Sugarplum Fairy. Not surprisingly, Miss Martel played the Fairy. The Prince was performed by the bride, Sheila Schwartz-Richards, whom Miss Martel freely acknowledged as a better dancer. Three:Four magazine concurs, which is high praise. Miss Martel is quite good herself.

The dancers were attired in full length gowns and heeled shoes. Traditional ballet was impossible. The result owed as much to Andrew Lloyd Webber as Tchaikovsky. Miss Martel whirled and posed in her Latin heels. Mrs. Schwartz-Richards provided support and counterplay with effortless grace, belying the strength required to do the lifts. As a fusion of modern stage dance and classical ballet, it was one of the best I have seen. Look for video links at our website—www.3:4.com

Chapter 29—and Upward

Interlude: 25th Anniversary

Cindy:

There isn't much more to tell. They drove to the airport and spent the next day on planes. Dad complains that there was no internet access over the Pacific Ocean. Mom smiles and says she found the trip soothing. Only my mother can find airline travel relaxing. Dad claims it was because she brought work. Mom says that he brought work for her. Dad doesn't contradict her, so that's probably true.

Siobhan:

Tossing bird seed struck me as subtly wrong. It was one of the million details I approved without rethinking. The Unique Bride article said it was my idea. Having a full page sub-article, about me, in a bridal magazine no less, blew my mind. My grad students found it comforting. I never knew how much their stories smoothed things when I returned to Hanover. A lot of things were very different by then.

Once Sean and Sheila were in the Bentley, Gerald gestured to me. Thinking he had some details concerning the guests to discuss, I put on my boss hat and went over. We stood for a moment, watching the tail lights round the curve. Gerald said to himself, "Now, therefore, go..." That is one of the more famous lines from the Bible. Jesus went to Heaven, leaving his disciples standing on a hill top. I knew just how he felt.

When he turned to me, he wore his own boss hat. This was it. Gerald considered evaluations to be teaching moments. They were detailed and lengthy. Bracing internally, I met his gaze. He said, "You did well.", nodded and turned away. My mouth may have fallen open. At least two of the staff's did.

Elspeth watched the exchange, nodding. I asked, "Who?" She replied, "My Grandmother. To hear her tell it, she corrected Cotton Mather's sermon notes before each service. He's right, you know. There were half a dozen competing interests. You had final say over all of them. When you were in Town, all I had to say was, 'Miss Jo thinks...' and that was the way it was done. Authority permeates from you like perfume in an elevator." Damn Skippy. A coin dropped.

I said, "You like that particular perfume." Elspeth blushed. I continued, "You know that Christine is a submissive. I was planning on tying her up and teasing her with a feather duster for an hour or so. If she is willing, I'll let you watch. I'll let any of you watch. Since there are Amish down the hall, it will be necessary to restrain and gag everyone." The scent of aroused female told me her answer. "Now, go take off those wet panties and tell everyone else."

I did not expect much sleep.

Sean:

Every girl supposedly dreams of her wedding. I had no such illusions about Sheila, but I thought the Ball would lift her spirits. No joy. After a couple of dances, the two of us were back at schmoozing, so she never got out on the floor. I had more luck sending CC after kegel balls and restraints. It tickled my fancy when Sheila decided to wear one of the silk scarves over her hair. It was easy to visualize the same scarf over her eyes, while I put her body through its paces.

Once we were in the Bentley, things were better. Sheila wanted to get close and snuggle. I could sympathize, but we had a lot of traveling to do before we reached the south Pacific. Instead I had her open the picnic basket and pull out the nosh.

Sheila had liked the cheese and crackers from our first date, so I had selected food along the same lines, plus fish. We had rosemary flat bread, neufchatel, smoked oysters, pickles and an assortment of condiments. On the side were oranges and pears, followed by coffee and 85% cocoa solid chocolate. California was hours away and I had no illusions about airline food. Even first class food is marginal and we were stuck in coach.

Sheila seemed pleased to have something to do. Working on a tiny cutting board, she spread the neufchatel evenly on the bread, added lines of sriracha and wasabi sauce, topped them with smoked oysters and slivers of sweet pickles, then rolled and sliced it like so much sushi. I was impressed. Where we were going, I could get her training with a certified sushi chef and fresh off the boat fish. Sheila would like that. I peeled and sectioned an orange. When it was all ready, I had an inspiration.

Leaning close, I whispered, "Imagine that scarf on your head has been folded and used to bind your wrists behind you." Sheila's eyes widened, but her hands moved behind her back. "Now, another scarf has been folded and bound over your eyes. You are helpless and blind. You hope that I will sate the hunger you feel, but fear I will only give you food. Is this not so?"

Sheila closed her eyes and said, "Yes, Sir, it is so." Her scent told me I needed to take action to save her dress. Fortunately, there were napkins handy. I had her raise up, so that I could pull the hem of her dress up to her waist. I put three folded napkins on the leather seat, then let her sit. I informed her, "It will not do to have this car smelling like the Mercedes. I gave Russell a bonus for keeping you on the road with such distraction." As I said this, I pulled two fingers through her moist folds. On the word "distraction" I put my wet fingers under her nose. Sheila flushed, but made no response. That's my girl.

This was the kind of play I could continue for hours, and I intended to do so in the week to come. However, we were nearing Princeton, so I needed to hurry things along. I fed her slices of roll up, wedges of orange and bottled water. When I finished, I told her that her hands and eyes were free, so that she could pour coffee. I ate by feel, because watching Sheila was important. She managed to unstack the cups, pour the coffee, stir in cream and unwrap the chocolate without letting her dress cover her lap. Again, we were out of time.

I said, "Well done. You may cover yourself and enjoy the coffee. I promise to dip some chocolate in you, at some point, so you can compare flavor. For now, just think about the balls in your pussy and try to relax. We can take them out on our second air leg." This time her eyes went wide, then narrowed. I needed to stay on guard.

Sheila:

As the car pulled away from the house, I thought of my first view of the house seven days earlier. It had been a life changing week, but I thought of Sean's house as the end of the road. Silly me. It had been the beginning. So much more happened in the last week, my mind could not take it all in. The one surety was Sean. He seemed to think along the same lines, because he took charge.

Our drive to the airport in Philadelphia would take less than an hour. Even so, Sean had brought food. At his direction, I made two rolls of cream cheese and shell fish. I would have served them, but Sean had other ideas. He told me to consider myself bound and blindfolded. I let out a mental sigh of relief and told him this was exactly what I needed.

The first thing Sean did was have me raise off the car seat. He pulled back my skirt so that I was not sitting on it. Before I was allow to sit, he put a stack of napkins on the glove leather seat. As he worked. he made an embarrassing comment about the trip back from Brooklyn. I had no clear memory of that drive, but the car still smelled of sex on Friday. There is good embarrassing and bad embarrassing. This was not the good.

Before I could decide what, if anything, to do about it, Sean ran his fingers through my cleft and held them under my nose. Not good. I was not a puppy that had just shit on the floor. There was a limit and Sean was getting very close. Maybe he sensed it, because he changed the subject to coffee and chocolate. Just to prove I could, I kept the skirt up at my waist as I served him.

Sean ended the scene and gave appropriate praise, not that I cared. Then he jerked the chain again, by reminding me of the ben wa balls. That was one step too far. I spent the rest of the ride thinking how Christine would handle the situation. She had a gift for finding blind spots.

Francine:

After dancing with Sheila, the rest of the evening was pale. Sean and Sheila left with due fanfare, which was a chance to give the band a break. I gave a couple of interviews and signed autographs, but it felt like coming down from the mountain. Dancing the Sugarplum Fairy was in my bucket list. Who knew?

Siobhan came back in and I could see something significant had happened. I asked Elspeth, who told me Gerald—picky, fussy, check it three times Gerald—said nice things. I was stunned. Elspeth was in complete agreement, comparing it to an A from Dr. Mandrigan, whoever that was.

I sent her off while I looked for my date. Jason and I had an understanding, but I wanted to nail down the details. It was easy. I looked for a large collection of young women and gay men. I had dated rock stars with fewer groupies. It made me wonder how many of them had seen the picture and how many just followed the crowd. No worries. I can jump lines with the best.




[K][T] and Family Ch. 08



Jason and I went outside for lemonade, then sat on a bench, looking at the lake in the twilight. It was a great view. The purple sky reflected on the lake, with the houseboat in the foreground. Something about the lantern light made it all perfect. We said nothing for a while, which I liked. When we talked, I came straight to the point—I wanted a child and he had a right to know. I also wanted to see how he responded. There would be legal papers absolving him of financial obligation in exchange for giving up most of his rights. That kind of thing is more than some men can handle.

Both Sheila and Sean described Jason as a flighty surfer dude—who grew up fast. Christine hand picked him for this. Whatever. Jason passed my interview with points for style. He listened to my whole pitch without a word. To answer, he smiled and nodded. We hugged, then discussed how he could keep in touch with his son/daughter. When we started back into the house, he grinned and said, "I'm going to be a daddy. Cool." I could do a lot worse.

Christine gave me a big hug, which scared the shit out of me. Where the hell had she been?

Sean:

Sheila was pissed and I didn't blame her. She had been following my lead like a good little submissive. The problem was that she was not a submissive. We have CC to set that standard. As near as I could make it out, Sheila found direction soothing. I had the requisite mentality, but giving it free reign could lead to trouble. It just had, though not for the first time. I needed to make a conciliatory gesture.

To complicate matters, we were in heavy traffic near the airport, so time was limited. If the silk scarf had been any less visible, I might have missed it. I told her to give it to me, then cross her wrists. Sheila glared, but there was no hesitation. I folded the scarf into a narrow cord, then draped it over one of her arms. Sheila's reaction was a study in emotion.

She settled on a questioning look. I answered, "When you wish me to use it, return it." She threw her arms around my neck and mashed my face into her shoulder. I said, "I love you too, Kitten, but we need to get on a plane. I plan to punch your admission into the Mile High club, though not on this first flight." That earned me a laugh. When we separated, Sheila had on her public face. She pulled out a mirror and checked her makeup, but it was pure form.

Airport security is everyone's idea of inconvenient. Our luggage was pre-checked, but we both had a carry on and separate computer bag. After the wait in queue, with more time for me to put on my shoes and belt, we needed to run for the gate. It is the only time I ever envied pumps. Our plane was in final boarding, but any catch is a good catch. In a few minutes we were settling into our cramped seats.

On top of everything else, the only available seats were in coach and not together. I asked the steward if he could fix this, but we were stuck til after take off. One aggravating thing about overbooked flights is that there are standby passengers. Even though we had rushed to board at all, there was a delay for more people to board. In fact, we were so late we should have been bumped. I did not know if one of Gerald's people had called ahead, but I planned to check.

Eventually, we were told to stow our electronics and fasten seat belts. Some time after that, we turned onto the runway and lifted for California. When the seat belt light went out, I was ready to get up, but the woman in the aisle seat decided to dig in her bag. Finally I told her that I had come straight from my house and had not had time to visit the restroom. Never lie when the truth will do. I was glad of it when I saw Sheila's amused smile.

Unfortunately, I really did need to go. I gave Sheila a proper hug, then headed for the line at the facilities. When I returned, Sheila was sitting in my seat. The aisle seat was empty. I was about to ask where the woman had gone, but realized it was pointless. Sheila confirmed my guess with a simple nod. God, I love competent people. I offered Sheila the aisle seat, which she accepted. After that, the flight was almost enjoyable.

LAX is not. There are worse airports—O'Hare comes to mind—but nothing is convenient in Los Angeles. Once again we needed to hurry. We were in terminal one and needed to get to TBIT in under twenty minutes. This time I was glad I was not wearing pumps. I will never know how Sheila can make walking in heels look so easy.

Several breathless minutes later, we reached our departure gate. To my surprise, there was a sign with Sheila's full name on it. Like hell. You got to Sheila through me. Holding the sign was a well turned out man of about thirty or thirty five. I went up to him and asked, "Why do you want Mrs. Richards?" He started and said, "I cannot...Sean Richards?" Point for him. I nodded.

He said, "I am authorized to give this to you. You must be important, because AA bought me a ticket to Vegas, just to get me in the terminal." I knew I liked Aaron Aldermann. The man handed me a CD wallet, which I opened. Inside were four CD or DVD. One had a post-it note saying, "Play First." To thank him I said, "Good luck at the tables." He smirked and said, "I would rather get lucky off 'em." I just nodded, glad he did not work for me.

Sheila may have been spending too much time with CC. Her only question was a raised eyebrow. I handed her the wallet. She looked inside and nodded, as if expecting something like it. She didn't even ask who sent it. I found that comforting. Sheila reads me like a novel. At least I was not the only one.

I would have given her my present, but they called boarding for first class. We had crammed into five hours of economy to make this flight. This leg would be in style and I hoped she could sleep. We would arrive about six AM local time, in Honolulu. even though it was eleven hours in the air, plus an hour changing planes. Tuesday would be worse. The Marshall Islands are on the other side of the date line. Coming home was nonstop to JFK—ten air hours, but seventeen by the clock.

This whole trip was goofy that way. Scheduling late had made careful plans impossible. For some obscure reason, I wanted Sheila to see Kwajalein Island, where I had been stationed briefly. I had planned to go on to New Zealand. The closest I could get to Kwajalein was the national capital at Majuro. Continuing on to Australia or New Zealand proved impossible on short notice. However, the vagaries of plane schedules would take us to Guam on the flight out. That would be interesting. Guam is more Japanese than American

It was a twisted schedule. We had rushed to LA to catch the last flight to Hawaii. Richards Enterprises participated in a timeshare on one of the small islands. I would have taken the whole week, but it was already booked through Wednesday. Instead we would fly to Guam, spend two days, then on to Majuro, leaving 11:30 AM Tuesday, arriving 12:40 PM Wednesday—a three hour flight. We would stay the night and back to the big island, leaving Thursday morning, arriving Wednesday afternoon. Then it was charter float plane to the island condo for three days. Sunday it was back to Hawaii, then on to New York. I told Helen to expect me briefly on Monday afternoon. We needed to recover from all the travel.

This time, we had our seats together. As soon as Sheila was in her seat, the computer bag came out. It was not how I planned to give her present, but it was the perfect opportunity. I pulled out my own computer bag and handed her the new laptop. Technically, this was a business expense, which I would have no trouble justifying. It was a high end gaming laptop, with 3D graphics, top available graphics card, max memory and a terabyte drive. It was loaded with her preferred video software, the software Columbia Pictures preferred and their encryption package.

Sheila looked overwhelmed and I had not yet gotten to my gift. I waved her to silence and told her that she was now the Vice President on a digital graphics division. These were the appropriate tools. It was the simple truth and she knew it. After giving her a moment to absorb it all, I handed her my gift. It was a professional grade CAD platform, with a tutorial, and subscriptions to three architectural and design magazines. Sheila's eyes teared. As I hugged her, I said, "Don't thank me. I plan to drag you into a bathroom and fuck the lights out." Sheila said, "You damn sure better."

Cursing from Sheila? Oh boy. I unzipped the umbrella pouch on the computer bag and showed her the contents. Inside was the flogger she had given me. Sheila didn't say a word, but her eyes lit and her lips twitched up. Oh boy, again.

Why did I plan for twelve hours before we could get any real privacy?

Sheila:

Sean was across the line, but I let him run where he wished. At first, it seemed he was going to go seriously wrong, then he won it all back with a sweet gesture. I had come to understand the silk scarves were restraints, which made sense. Always get the client to handle the restraints. Sean took the one I had out and fondled it, then he gave it back.

I almost cried. First he had done a scene with imaginary restraints, which itself shows a great deal of trust. Then he recognized when he had overstepped. Finally, he returned the restraints, so that I could choose the time of their use. I did not have a single client I would trust that far. That said, I never married a client before. It made an interesting symmetry.

I had never been to the big airport in Philadelphia. Once was enough. We rushed to get on a flight to Los Angeles. According to Sean, most airlines stop running at eight thirty. Our flight, on NoName Air, was at 9:45 PM. It would make our connection time tight. Worse, the flight was overbooked, so we were packed in like kids on a school bus. Even that was not enough. After us, they still had to load standby passengers. Lovely, but not without benefit. It gave me time to find Sean in the crowd. When he went to the facilities, I showed my ring to the woman sitting adjacent and asked if we could exchange seats. The word honeymoon was magical.

The flight to LAX was five hours. It was the first time I had been able to relax and chat with Sean in days. Given all that happened that week, it was not surprising, but that did not make it welcome. Instead we talked about all sorts of inconsequential things, like the way Sean's ice cream churn had gone over and the way Francine had hit it off with Dr. Foxworth. Eventually, talk drifted to our property group and my new position at Richards Enterprises. Somewhere in there, Sean turned cagey. I was not sure why. Eventually, we both napped. I could get used to sleeping against Sean's shoulder.

Los Angeles International Airport, LAX, is world famous. To me it looked like a bigger version of Philadelphia. We ran through the concourses to our new gate. This time it was Hawaiian Air. Near the desk was a man with my name on a card. Given the timing and the place, I could guess what it was about, Sean gave me no chance to speak to him. Instead he returned with a CD wallet. That was nice. I had not packed one. As expected, the contents were from Columbia Pictures.

We were interrupted by the boarding call. This time we had First Class seats. I stowed my carry on bag and started to get out my notebook. Sean stopped me, so he could give with a new computer. It was above top-of-the-line. Before I could say anything, Sean waved it off as a business expense. No wonder he did not want to talk about work. He had a point. It was the sort of laptop a businesbs executive would carry.

He then gave me his present—a professional design suite, with tutorial, and a ton of online accesses. It was perfect. I wanted to learn design, for the work we would be doing on the house. I hugged him, but he cut off anything I might say, telling me he intended to extract sexual favors. I told him he had better, saving stronger language with difficulty. My pussy was a swamp. Sean took the opportunity to show that he carried the kangaroo hide lash in his computer bag. Correction, I only thought my pussy was a swamp. I did not dare sit down, or the dress would be soaked.

Since we had time during boarding, I took a turn in the toilet. Not only could I deal with the excess moisture, I wanted to extract the ben wa balls. Popping them out almost made me faint. With difficulty, I refrained from giving myself relief. After washing the balls, I tied them in the red scarf. Holding them up, two balls swinging in an improvised sack, I thought of another pair of balls and what I wanted to do to them. Oh my. Why had Sean scheduled us for a whole night apart?

As I exited the the toilet, a couple of the ladies saw the bag of balls and gave me knowing looks. I showed off the ring. Everyone got excited. One of them asked, "Are you, um...?" I nodded, blushing. She said, "Are you...?" I nodded again, blushing hotter. That brought a lot of exclamations, with many of them also blushing. I guess the Mile High Club is a popular fantasy with women as well as men.

A flight attendant shooed me away, with a wink. I made my way back to my seat and powered up the new laptop. It was Windows 8, so I needed to learn another new operating system. That kept me occupied until we were told to stow all electronics. Soon enough we were pressed into our seats by acceleration. For the first time, I left the continental United States.

Flights have rituals. Every flight has a safety briefing, telling you than the seat cushions float and that oxygen masks will drop down if there is pressure loss. After seeing one, you can tune them out. Once the plane reaches altitude, the flight attendants bring around drinks, then food. On the cross country flight, I picked at barely edible chicken and rice. This time I asked for vegetarian and received a tasty curry-like stewed vegetable dish, also with rice. On the side were green salad, fruit salad and a roll. Normally I do not eat much, but I inhaled all of this. Sean's dish looked like roast beef.

After the meal, we received drinks. I would have passed, but Sean asked for champagne. This led to our wedding being announced to all of First Class. Fine. Sean insisted I get more wine, or something stronger, to help me sleep. That was when the six AM arrival sank home. I drank a screwdriver while Sean had Irish whiskey. Eventually things started to settle in for the long ride, with several people trying to sleep. That was when the flight attendant winked at me and gestured toward the back.

Almost before I realized what was happening, Sean and I stood in the little hallway where the toilets stand. Another flight attendant gestured to a door, I went in, closely followed by Sean. There was barely room for one of us, much less two. Francine's advise made much more sense. Working my leg up beside Sean, I raised it over my head, then rested my ankle on his shoulder. His hands were busy below his waist. Once his member was clear of his pants, he shoved the skirt of my dress aside, then guided his prick into my waiting sex.

As a quicky, it was at least as good as the one in the cloak room, but shorter. I had a little orgasm on entry. Sean last only a few strokes. I came again when I felt his warm seed. I was not longer a virgin in any sense, save anal. I expected to lose that one in the next few days. In the mean time I tried to memorize the smell of my husband, the feel of his hands on my ass, even the roughness of his trousers. Then he surprised me.

We turned, so that my back was to the sink. He told me to put my hands on the counter and be ready to take weight. Once I was ready Sean put his hand behind my knee and picked my other leg off the floor. With my knees and toes against the door, he ate me. His first touch was not gentle and it escalated from there. His tongue dragged across my exposed clit, then he sucked it like a soda straw. When he paused for a breath, I relaxed slightly, only to feel his teeth. My locked jaws kept me from screaming, barely.

As he set me down, he asked, "Was it worth the wait?"