6 comments/ 18883 views/ 1 favorites Freddie and Lucy Find Love By: Egmont Grigor WARNING: Don't read this story if easily offended by niceness. The desire to create, to be given the opportunity to use any such talent for reward and to experience the joy of witnessing the end results rested deep within Freddie Redding, a media studies graduate from a third-rate college. However, because of his lowly degree plus lack of experience invariably met advice not to complete the recruitment form when he applied for jobs in creative advertising in New York. So at Grand Central he picked out a town upstate in an endeavor to kick-start his career at a small city/big town, make his mark and then head back to Manhattan. It didn't matter to him what place he chose so he picked the first name that appealed on the timetable and waited for his train, thinking life sucks. Early that afternoon Freddie made his pitch. The advertising manager of 'The Beacon' – a tabloid newspaper - started off promising, asking numerous questions but then declaring he had a full staff with no authority to recruit over the 'establishment' figure. Freddie said he'd like to see the newspaper owner, a request that rather started the manager, who agreed to initiate the request. Freddie was ushered into an office marked 'Proprietor' but instead of a bewhiskered old man with glasses perched above his forehead he was introduced to Mrs West, slightly bewhiskered but without glasses and only middle-aged. Thirty minutes later she called the advertising manager, her nephew John Young, and told him to find a desk for Freddie who was starting as a contract advertising salesperson and would be paid by the column inch of space he sold. "This is highly irregular." "Your job is to find Mr Redding a workspace, not to tell me how to do my job," snapped John's aunt. Freddie was placed in the darkest corner of the office, then given a list of names and addresses of all current advertisers and instructed not to go near them. Freddie went to leave the office and was called back by John Young, who advised that Freddie must log the assignment book where he was going and his estimated time of return. "When I'm on permanent staff I will follow office systems; but until then I work as I wish," he said, leaving John speechless with indignation. Freddie was in a strange town, supervised by a manager who didn't want him and no instructions where to find likely suckers – er, possible potential advertisers. In all, a very unpromising start. Outside the newspaper offices Freddie watched contractors reforming one side of Main Street. He phoned the number written on the vehicles after checking that the company wasn't a current advertiser and asked to speak to the chief executive. "Hello, Mr Castle – Freddie of 'The Beacon'. Your men are doing a great job outside our offices. "What, still another 800 yards to go? "Yes, they are working. "Listen, hundreds of townspeople will see your men working, some of them cursing because of the dust, mess or being held up because two lanes are out of use for traffic. Why don't you take out an ad in 'The Beacon' apologizing for the inconvenience? "Why? To engender goodwill and to build business." "Right, I'll tell you what will work – a quarter page, thick black border with your company name and logo at the bottom. The heading says, 'Sorry About the Mess But We're Improving Main Street.' 'No job too small. Phone us now for repairs or new work before winter sets in. Your job will be next. 'Castle Highway Construction and Permanent Paving… etc.' "Yes, of course that's not many words for a quarter page ad. You'll get a two-line big heading and plenty of white space to make the ad look attractive and stand out. "Of course, I understand Mr Jones, you are not meant to know much about advertising; your expertise is building highways. I'm your expert consultant in advertising. "What do I recommend? Three insertions that will cost you $1320.00 all up." "It's not a lot of money; it's probably two- thousandth of what you are being paid for this reconstruction contract. "Mr Castle, there's been no breach of confidentiality by the city administration. I had no idea what the value of the contract was worth. I just took a stab. "Drop in for a beer on Friday night? I'd really like that, Mr Jones as I'm new in town. Could you please have your PA phone in the space order. Thank you." Freddie rubbed his hands. He'd just made $264 as his first commission as the artwork, setting and composition would be charged out to the client. Jim Castle had said he didn't advertise because he knew nothing about it and the other people at 'The Beacon' were next to useless. He would use Freddie as his consultant and they'll talk about a fee over a beer late Friday afternoon. "They make an awful mess, don't they?" Freddie turned and saw a beautiful brunette waiting for him to answer. "Relatively speaking yes, but practically speaking no – it's a messy job, they are watering down dust and other management practices appear at least adequate." "Do you work for Jim Castle?" "No, I work for 'The Beacon'. "No you don't, Are you some sort of trickster?" "Mrs West hired me fifteen minutes ago to sell advertising on contract." "But we don't employ contract ad reps." "How would you know?" "Because I am general manager of 'The Beacon'. "Well, fancy that – here is the letter of authority Mrs West scrawled out for me until my business cards are printed. Does that satisfy you?" "I'm sorry, Freddie," she said sweetly, flushing slightly. "You can never be too careful these days. I'm Lucy, Mrs West's daughter." "Hi, do I kiss you or just shake hands?" She now really flushed. "A handshake will suffice." "Good, I didn't want to mess you make-up. Why don't you do a better job with it?" "Pardon me," she said stiffly. "I'm sorry – I'm a bit of a tease. However you'd benefit by having expert tuition. You have lovely skin but your cosmetic tonings are out." "You think you know better than I do?" "In this instance, yes. My parents run an old-fashion emporium and I've worked in every department." "Even in make-up and lingerie?" "Yes, let's look at you – 34B bra, dress between 7 and 8, medium hose and shoes probably a seven." "That's incredible – I do fit some size seven dresses and occasionally size six and a half shoes will fit. You appear to be a very interesting man Freddie. I must dash – but come with me for a drink after work today, Freddie; I'd like to find out why a young man with your obvious talent would want to settle in the place like this." "Thank you, I'll come to your office." They smiled and parted, his smile growing wider as he watched the slight swing in her ass as she walked up the steps to enter the offices of her newspaper. Freddie called at two stores not on the list of advertisers and met only impenetrable resistance from management. He took a break, disappointed, at coffee shop and ordered a flat white. The premises were crowded but there was one woman at a table with three empty seats. He introduced himself as Freddie Redding and asked if he could sit at the table. "Yes, by all means – but please say something funny to make me smile." "You are quite a rare woman – you are wearing a perfectly fitting bra." The woman laughed, said that was a lucky guess, and introduced herself as Dora Washington. "Hello, Dora. Do you work in the city centre or are you a lady of leisure?" "Until recently I owned this thriving coffee shop, but thought ten years was enough so sold it and bought a lingerie store but that is ailing because of discounting by two competitors at the mall." "What are you doing about that?" Dora looked at him quizzically and before stuffing her mouth with the remaining piece of fruit cake asked, "What can I do?" "Advertise a point of difference and in-store have a full range but always feature your top lines in the window show case, leaving the display no longer than two weeks before changing it. At one end feature an item, say a product you'll describe as 'Our top bra' and then another item, even a bra, down the other end you call, 'This week's special'. Both will sell because some women like to be seen buying quality while others are a sucker for bargains. "You've worked in retailing." "Yes, for my parents, who operate an old-style emporium in central Pennsylvania…" "The Settlers' Emporium?" "Yes." "I've detoured to visit it two years ago and I met your parents – the name Redding has come back to me. Very nice people. You've worked in lingerie haven't you? That remark of yours earlier about my perfectly fitting bra tells me that. What sort of advertising?" "Small ads costing say $150 each or instead go for bust, if you'll excuse the pun, and take a full page for $1760 I think it is including a loading for requesting an early right-hand page." Freddie checked his rate card and added in the loading – "Sorry, that would be $1780. May I disclose to you that I began working for 'The Beacon' on commission about one hour ago, appointed by Mrs West. So the larger the ad you take, the bigger my commission." "It's honest of you to point that out; what do you recommend?" "A full page radical ad." Dora sighed. "Something told me you'd recommend a big ad – you are betting on the King Hit, aren't you?" "Yes, and if it works you then fall back to regular small ads using a similar theme. Here's what I suggest." Freddie spread out his white paper serviette that had come with his coffee. In the centre of the ad he drew two humps that looked like a child's drawing of a bird. "Symbolic of breasts?" Freddie nodded while writing a small heading: 'They Deserve the Perfect Fit. Get yours in traditional or latest styles, expertly fitted, at (business name and address)'. "I like it – but the type is squashed right down the bottom of the page." "Right, let me explain. The white page with just a child-like drawing attracts attention. 'What's this they ask…a bird…two islands in the sea? Ohmigod, it's meant to be a pair of boobs. Just what is this?' "And they read down and are surprised the type is so small, but they can read it easily enough. If they are women in poorly fitting bras the image of our little drawing and accompanying words will haunt them." Dora's face creased and she said, "So next morning or soon after, in they'll trot and I make sale after sale and win some of those people as regular clients." "That's the theory," smiled Freddie. "Yes, and you want me to pour more money into promoting a failing business on the chance your ad will win hearts and minds and motivate women?" "Yes, and it's a gamble. If you can't afford the outlay I will loan you money – I've come back from Europe with some money in my pocket." "Good God, I can't take your money and I guess if you have been wandering Europe you are near broke. I have the money thank you and please book the ad in for...um…" "Next Thursday morning." "Why Thursday?" "I believe in your case Friday is too late and Wednesday is too early. Mrs West told me most stores don't trade on Sundays but the mall is open as are garden and hardware centers." "Right, Thursday it is as Fridays and Saturdays are our busiest days – but I want much larger type for the heading and for the address details." "No." "You can't refuse me; it's my ad and my money." "Ah, but it's my concept and I want it given the chance to work. If you don't agree then take your ad to 'The Beacon' yourself or call a regular rep." "You're rather cocky for someone fresh out of college and extensive travel, with no business experience." "Ideas have no boundaries which includes no respect for age or experience. I'll tell you what, I'll pay for the ad and production costs and you reimburse me only if the ad at least trebles your usual Thursday to Saturday takings." "Damn boy – you're so cocky it hurts. I used to have that intense self-belief once. You design and have the ad produced to your specifications and you sign it off as if I sight the proof I'll only want to change it. I'm going back to the store now and will phone the space order through." "Will they know who you are? You're not on the current list of advertisers." "I was a regular advertiser until six months ago and everyone at the newspaper knows as Mrs West's lovely sister." "It's cozy how people network and are related in smaller communities, isn't it?" said Freddie, grinning. "Goodbye Dora." "Goodbye Freddie, your arrival has lifted the skill and intelligent levels of this town up a notch. Where are you living?" "Hope to find a place tonight." "Barbara Mitchell at 24 Apple Blossom Lane had a clean room she lets out cheaply. She said yesterday it's still vacant. You just turn up; I'll advise here you will be arriving by 7:00 as the room rental includes breakfast and dinners with her and Ted." "That's wonderful, thanks," Freddie said, walking off whistling as his commission on that ad would be $356. Freddie sold two ads from other traders and then went to the mall. It was a typical mall – spick and span, all class but lacking character. To really compete head-on the town centre needed the sidewalks repaved, their shop fronts repaired and redecorated and to string permanent bunting hung across Main Street and arrange end-of-week street events. He saw an elderly lady in a china store pulling a large crate. "Allow me, ma'am, just show me where you want it." "Why thank you – over here please." "There you go – hand me the bar and I'll open it." "Please be careful – the crate if full of English bone china." Freddie broke the metal strapping, levered off the nailed down top and removed the protective packing and the thick brown paper, exposing the china nestling in shavings. "This product looks quality." "It is but it will be a slow seller." "I'm Freddie Redding and I sell advertising space for 'The Beacon'. Take a two column by 10 inch deep ad and I'll write you an ad that will sell all of this within 48 hours or my name isn't Scrimshank Huntinghorse." "No-one has a name like that and you've just said your name was Freddie Redding." "I know, ma'am, I'm a bit of a tease but not a trickster. It will sell." "I would love to, but unfortunately mall management controls all advertising." Freddie's eyebrow rose. "May I inspect your tenancy and trading agreement?" "I'm afraid not, it's a confidential document." "Look, I'll take this rubbish out to the back and you open the agreement under the advertising clause – that's all I need to see. It's probably a standard clause so you won't be giving secrets away." "I really don't know." "What's your name?" "Milly Jessop." "Look Milly, I'm offering to help you, to extract a little money from you, but it will be for your own good." "Very well, you sound convincing, just like a trickster." Freddie studied the clause relating to advertising and promotion. "It's a standard clause Milly – you are required to contribute monthly to mall management's mall promotion advertising fund and to contribute pro rata – meaning on the existing set scale - to any special promotion that wins a minimum support of 60 per cent of mall traders. And that's all – you are free to advertise whenever, wherever and with whomever you wish in addition to those two requirements I've just mentioned." "Are you certain about that? Mall management is all smiles and assurances 'We are here to help you' but at the same time we are ruled with an iron fist and are required to submit all advertising we wish to place ourselves." "Yes, totally sure and their is no contractual requirement for you to submit your individual advertising for management approval." Freddie gave Milly the cost of the ad and she agreed to take it. "When did this shipment arrive?" "Almost a year ago. I stuck it out the back waiting for the right time to display it but the right time didn't seem to arrive. The supplier's new catalogue arrived yesterday so I thought I should quit this lot before deciding whether to order more." "Good, good. And how much is the discount?" "Ten percent." "Oh, yeah right. Let's get some words down; how about: 'Just Landed! Fine English Bone China – a selection of patterns. Be the envy of your friends. Priced to sell!' Then we add your store name andlocation." "But a year ago is not just landed." "Compared with the date of the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers a year ago rates only as a small moment in time in that context." "I suppose it does. It's not nice to encourage people to be envious." "My answer to that, Milly, is that you are selling china, not being in the pulpit selling high ground morality or ethics." "Oh, I would agree with that. But why don't you say ten percent discount?" "Well, the truth is Milly, saying ten percent off is almost like saying ten percent on, it's nothing. The phrase 'reduced to sell' is called perceptive-inducing wording. It's not lying, it just suggests that a sizeable amount MAY have been knocked off the price, so prospective purchasers are left with this formula racing through their minds: Quality+envy+lowered price=must have!" "You seem to have a remarkable talent for one so young, Freddie. I approve your proposal." "That's fine – could you please phone your space booking for a ten by two run-of-paper advertisement for Thursday with a request that it go in the cooking/home/décor section if they have one – to tell you the truth I haven't seen a copy of 'The Beacon' yet as I only arrived in town just before noon. "You're looking nervous: here's Mrs West's confirmation of my appointment for your perusal." x x x x x Back at the office Freddie drafted his five ads and when his manager came in he told John he'd like to insert an advertisement and asked about discount for staff. "You're not staff, so no discount." "Do you know if Mrs West is in?" John flushed and said, "All right, you get full staff discount of 50 per cent. My approval of staff ads is required." "Thank you John, I appreciate being treated like family." Freddie drafted his ad: 8 x 1 with, 4 pt border. Heading 24pt bold: 'Introducing' then. single col. mono mugshot of advertiser here, then text: 'Freddie Redding has joined 'The Beacon' as an advertising consultant. If you want ads that work, let Freddie do the work for you. Phone (Beacon's phone number).' John looked at the draft Freddie handed him and growled, "You can't run an ad like this; it's placing all other staff at a disadvantage." "Bullshit – they can run their own ads and pay for them. Clearly it's still a level playing field here." "You can't call yourself a consultant. You all are advertising salespersons." "Are they engaged on contract?" "Er, no." "Well, I don't sell ads – I consult, and during the consultation process the ad just seems to materialize." "Well, bully for you. I'm not approving it." Freddie stroked his chin and looked at the ceiling at approximately where he thought Mrs West's office was." "All right – it's approved." Reluctantly John showed Freddie around the office, explained office systems, took him out and did the same in production and when they returned three sales reps were back and John introduced Freddie to them as "Our new contract advertising consultant, appointed personally by Mrs West". "How on earth did you get the Old Bag to agree to that," asked Stella, one of the reps. "Yes, I'd also like to hear the answer to that," said Lucy West entering the room, ignoring the slur on her mother. "Well, it was easy I guess. She told me I was wasting her time that John employed sales reps and had a full team at present. I said I would work on contact – no results, no remuneration and that seemed to appeal to her but she said I'd still have to go on to the payroll for insurances purposes and the like. She said it would be good having an assertive male in advertising but I should watch myself because all the women in advertising and administration were sex starved." Freddie and Lucy Find Love There was a moment's silence before Wendy cried, "That last bit is a lie." "I do like to tease." John took charge. "Lucy, this is…" "I know thanks John. We introduced ourselves earlier this afternoon. Come on, Freddie, let's chase after that drink. There's only one decent bar in this region other than at the Country Club." They walked out, leaving John and the five female ad reps – two more had come back to the office – standing with mouths agape. "She's never had anything to do with a man since being ditched last Fall," said Stella. "This guy is bound to be good with the ladies but he'll be working uphill to sell any ads." "I've news for you Bubba," John said, using Stella's nickname. "In the four hours since seeing Mrs West he's sold 177 column centimeters which is equivalent to 1.75 pages." "Ohmigod, what a find," said Stella, and John said his new man had certainly made an illustrious start. "But he'd not good enough to melt Lucy's cold, cold heart," Stella said, watching John rubbing his ugly little beard and wearing the look as if he was undecided about her prediction. x x x x x Lucy bought Freddie his beer and a Martini; she was pleased he didn't make a fuss like many men and insist on paying as if all women were destitute or fearful of spending on demon drink. "Cheers – may I ask how old you are?" "Twenty-six." "That's an overly long stay at college." "I toured Europe for two years after graduating. How old are you?" That question was impertinent, thought Lucy and before she could decide whether to change the subject or lie she heard herself saying, "Thirty." "A nice age." A nice age? She thought what a ridiculous statement to make to a woman who'd had two rather patchy love affairs and then when she finally found Mr Dreamboat he up and broke off their engagement, leaving her for the slut she caught him humping in the back seat of his car. There was her voice going again, acting on reflex: "What do you mean a nice age?" "It's when a woman is into her prime, her cheeks are full and rosy, her butt is still tight and her uplift is the best it's ever been and she walks with confidence, talks with authority and mostly she has her mood swings under control." "How does one so young – and a male at that – know this?" Lucy asked, feeling her face warm and thinking, the crafty bastard – he's out to fuck me! "I've always read a lot, especially books and websites discussing human behavior, which is why I found myself becoming quite adept at dealing with people, in particular bolstering the confidence of nervous people and those unsure about what confronts them. I was so interested in this that I took psychology as an additional study at college. "What did you major in?" Oh, he's smooth – he's taken the spotlight off himself and landing it on me which allows him to look at me closely. The jerk, he's focused on my boobs. Calming herself, Lucy decided to bring him to heel. "Why are your staring at my breasts?" He didn't flinch and the reply made her blink. "You are wearing a thin dress and you appear almost braless, there is no sign of seams. So I wondered whether you are in a Macpherson or a Le Mystere seamless but then as you turned I saw the outline of a reasonably wide shoulder strap so changed my mind to a Chantelle." "Are you one of these bra-wearing guys we read about?" "Me? No way. My parents operate an emporium and I've worked in all departments since a young teenager. Although I sold bras I never fitted them, although being invited to a few times, usually by giggly girls but not always. The truth is I am an admirer of bra technology – it is so sophisticated and after all these years continues to develop." "Bra technology, you're not interested in what they contain?" With satisfaction Lucy watched Freddie turn crimson. To her that indicated he was not a weirdo. "If you must know I'm in a Wacoal iBra. I vary styles, have some dresses with shelf bras and sometimes I go without. I tend to wear what fits the mood and going without at times is good for my health." "You have a lovely pair." He said it so beautifully that Lucy blushed with pleasure, rather than embarrassment. She decided she'd let him have her, if that's what he wanted. She hoped it wasn't what he wanted this evening because men who wanted in on the first date were carnivores in her opinion. Anyway, this wasn't a date...it was…building staff relations. He bought her another Martini and had one himself. All his questions from then on were about the newspaper. She knew he would be working to ask, "Where's your father?" But no, just like the lust thought she imagined he had for her, Freddie didn't venture down that path to be told about her run-away parent. Finally he looked at his watch and said, "I must go and meet my new landlady." "I'll drop you off." "No, it's fine. I'll either walk or take a cab." "Where do you wish to go?" "Twenty-four Apple Blossom Lane." "Lucy smiled – come on, I'll take you. No arguing." She liked his strong handsome, unlined face though it was freckled and the blue eyes were warm with a slight mocking look to them. He had a body to die for so must work out and eat well to enhance body shape. His waist and hips were so slender – he'd have a great butt for sure. Perhaps he'd join her gym and they could work out at partners; he could then gaze at her sports bra as well as her legs – everyone told her she had great legs. "I'll come in with you," Lucy said. "You know my landlady?" "Yes – where is your luggage?" "Oh fuck…ooops, sorry. In a security locker at the station, I'll fetch it later." Lucy went ahead of him and called out, "Hello, it's Lucy." "Lucy darling," said a tall graying man coming to the door. "Hi, Uncle Ted – this is Auntie Barb's new house-guest, Freddie Redding." "Hi, Freddie, I live here under someone's thumb. Please call me Ted. We've had an enthusiastic report about you from Barbara's sister Dora." "Sisters? Then Mrs West has two sisters?" "No, mom has three sisters – you'll meet Alison in due course as she runs the Country Club." "Hello, my darling," oozed a high personality, red-dyed headed rotund woman who swept from inside the house to seize Lucy and kiss her noisily. She turned and saw Freddie and said, "Oh my, just look at you – the perfect partner for our Lucy." "Aunt Barb, go to your room immediately," giggled Lucy, not at all embarrassed and Freddie thought at last he'd landed on his feet – with a job of sorts and a good home and a promising circle of interesting people to befriend. "I didn't know you'd met Aunt Dora. Oh, of course, you went in to inspect her display of bras." Freddie shuffled his feet. "Hi, Freddie," said Barbara. "No, he met her in her old coffee shop and he ended up selling her a full page in Thursday morning's newspaper. She told me this when she called about Freddie wanting a bed. She thinks he's brilliant with touches of a confidence man. But he came through playing it straight and has drafted her an advertisement that knocked the socks off her." "I had to do my utmost; the poor woman is in danger of going down the tubes as her store is ailing." The other three laughed themselves almost into tears. "What, what did I say?" "My sister Dora and husband Frank are the town's richest couple, millionaires. Frank's mother was a McCarthy-Bayer, of diamond fame, and just like her with her family Frank was an only child. Frank owns the mall and half of the West-Wing Industrial Estate and Dora own something like twelve buildings in the town centre." Freddie looked very perplexed. "But she was so conservative and appeared worried about losing money." "That's the nature of my sister." "What type of bra was she in, Freddie?" "Lucy!" scolded her Aunt. "Well, I'm off – see you tomorrow, Freddie. Uncle Ted, could you take Freddie down to the station after dinner to pick up his luggage?" "No, you go home and feed your dog, then come back here for dinner," said her aunt. "I've cooked plenty, then you can take Freddie out for a drink while Ted and I watch 'Three New York Sisters' – it's fast becoming our favorite program." Freddie held his breath. "Oh, all right. I'll be back in thirty minutes." "Come in, Freddie. You and I have to talk," said Barbara, as they waved Lucy off. Freddie went inside and was instantly captivated: the living rooms was filled with character down to Barbara's self-made cushions and the table and chairs crafted by Ted, to paintings by local artists and 500 books overflowing bookshelves, a sleeping grey-haired cat and an ingratiating slobbering mutt called Toby. "This reminds me of my mother's house," he said. "Oh, poor Freddie, with a widowed mother," Barbara said. "No, my father is hale and hearty, not too hearty I hope, but he is configured into the background. "I know the feeling," muttered Ted. "Pardon me?" snapped Barbara. "I said it's a cool evening," smirked Ted. "Fetch us drinks, darling," Barbara ordered, patting the sofa beside her for Freddie to settle. "Freddie, Lucy needs a man to send her over the edge in ecstasy. She is frustrated, embittered and sexually deprived, a little bit like me, actually." "I…" "Shut up, Freddie. I'm holding the floor. "Last Fall Lucy went as arranged to her fiancé's car, expecting to be taken out to dinner, and there he was shafting her personal assistant in the butt." "I-I'm sorry to hear that, Barbara." "It devastated poor Lucy as that very evening they were to discuss wedding plans. Needless to say the swine called the engagement off and demanded back the ring, which Lucy obliged but threw at him and it disappeared down a street water collection sump, or whatever you call those things." "I'm sorry to hear that Barbara." "She did have some satisfaction as some weeks later she heard that the bastard was receiving treatment for a STD." "Bravo." "You are to be congratulated, Freddie, for having a sympathetic heart. "Freddie – you seem to be a nice guy. Dora told me you were not married nor attached. Is that true?" "Yes, regrettably I am not attached." "Well, Freddie, I want you to court Lucy and then hump her senseless until all her hurt and insecurities are driven from her." "That's rather radical." "I don't think so." "I disagree, Barbara. I feel she needs to be nurtured and encouraged to find herself and stimulated until she cries out to be held and loved." "Isn't that exactly what I was proposing?" "A similar end result, Barbara, but my version keeps Lucy holding all the options and it is she who decides whether or not she requires immersion with someone else, how it is achieved, and what outcome she desires." Barbara looked at Freddie in awe, asking, "Are you sure you are a male; that was so well put, almost poetic, and so expressive of the feminine viewpoint." "It's elementary, Barbara. When someone has been psychologically hurt, hopefully all they require is warmth and comfort and being shown the doorways that give them choices. With loving support they'll know what to do." Barbara took Freddie's hand. "You are amazing for someone so young, Freddie; Nora told me she was smitten by you. I scoffed, but can see what she meant." "Barbara – I really think we have gone as far as we sensibly can go with this particular conversation. Could you kindly show me my room. I need to freshen up before Lucy returns." x x x x x Three hours later Lucy and Freddie were back at the bar they'd visited earlier that evening, Freddie's luggage in the back of Lucy's 4WD wagon. "I suppose Aunt Barb told you all." "Yes." "Is that all you have to say." "Yes, unless you have more questions." "What do you feel about it?" Freddie took his time answering, realizing it was not a stupid question; how he answered might be considered important. "Hearing about it saddened me but these things happen; one cannot change history and that experience will gradually dim." "But it isn't." "I know, but believe me it will." "Can you help me?" Freddie looked around the dark-strained walls of the bar, enclosing a large number of people who basically seemed very happy. Lucy should have that similar seemingly carefree happiness. "Yes, but my help must be limited to helping your rise out of yourself." "That sounds very melodramatic." "Yes, doesn't it?" "Then you think my behavior is melodramatic?" "Yes, since you've asked me." "Jesus, you pack a punch." Freddie reached for her hand. "Lucy, this may sound callous but listen with eyes closed at the truth this statement contains: you can step outside the hurt anytime you wish, permanently if that's your wish." Lucy clenched his hand, eyes closed. She opened her beautiful light green eyes and they were filled with tears. "Freddie, I must go home to contemplate." "I know, let's go." It was not an instant cure and Freddie had known that. Everyone at the office had assumed Lucy and Freddie were a number as they went everywhere together. "Fucking the tail off her, I shouldn't wonder," Stella confided to her cronies. Even Mrs West thought the newcomer was into her daughter's pants, but she didn't mind because he seemed suitable as a son if Lucy became pregnant and they decided to marry. But the reality was sex was rather peripheral: they kissed like friends and sometimes Lucy would ask, "What kind of bra am I wearing today?" and she would take his hand and put it on to her chest, saying, "Just a light touch, no cheating." Lucy's outwardly friendliness was gratifying but her inner coldness left him in despair. Two months on after his arrival, came the break through. Freddie's new career as an advertising consultant was roaring ahead. After the 'we apologize for the mess' from the highway contractor was published, the Letters to the Editor column in the newspaper was filled with responses, 90 per cent favorable, praising the contractor for his inspired thoughtfulness and 'community awareness' and small resealing jobs and pot-hole repairs requests flooded into his office. Milly Jessop's 'recent' shipment of English fine bone china sold out by mid-morning Saturday and Nora's lingerie shops had lines of women wanting 'perfectly fitting bras' and sales figures went through the roof. By the end of that two months Freddie's own weekly ad had boosted his popularity as a advertising consultant so much that he'd appointed a personal assistant and employed Stella on contract to look after his advert concepts once he'd drafted them; she'd take them to design and composition and supervise their production and run proofs back to Freddie's clients. Frustrated as his inability to effect change in Lucy's emotional depth, Freddie concluded she'd only change if she was shocked into it or else sought professional help. One of these was about to happen. Once a year the sisters and husbands were invited to spend a weekend at the Country Club. On this occasion the invitation was extended to 'Lucy and Partner'; she invited Freddie. He was intrigued to see the pecking order of the sisters – one would have assumed that the moneyed Nora in the company of mega-rich husband Frank, would have been shown deference. Not so. Newspaper proprietor Mae (nee Ellwood) West, the third oldest sister, was the one commanding respect because she was so autocratic. She'd taken over the newspaper on the death of her husband, fatally injured at the age of 44, in a car accident. Next in line, though sheer personality, was Barbara, and then Country Club chief executive Alison, with her MBA and large salary counting for naught, and then Nora. At various times on Friday night Mae, Alison and Nora said in asides to Freddie how Lucy had become much improved socially since being in his company. These older women made such a fuss of him and it became very competitive. There was an unlocked connecting door between Freddie's and Lucy's rooms but it remain closed throughout the two nights of residency. The weekend was to finish with a banquet lunch. At 8:00 that morning Lucy and Freddie went out on to Eight-Mile Lake – it was approximately eight miles in length, four miles wide in one part – sailing a 14ft 6in catamaran. Both had some sailing experience. They had a marvelous time, both rosy cheeked with excitement and wind-burn. During a beat across the wind on the way home, Freddie was out on the trapeze, feet braced against the top of the hull, when the stainless steel wire supporting him gave way and he fell into the lake. Lucy struggle to keep the yacht stable and when she looked back Freddie's head above the water was barely visible. When she gibed to turn, a wind gust almost over-turned the yacht. When Lucy regained control and completed the turn she'd had no idea of their former course, which was understandable. She tacked in a zigzag pattern of tacks across what she believed was their course at the time of the mishap, but there was no sign of Freddie. In panic Lucy stood up to pull out her cell phone from the pocket under her buoyancy vest to call for help and then, almost lost her footing in a wind gust, saw the the phone spin from her hand and disappear overboard. "Freddie, Freddie!" she screamed. No answer. Then Lucy had the presence of mind, doing something that was to save Freddie's life. Looking at distance landmarks he sailed to the position of what she thought had been their course, and fed out the sheet and sat back, allowing the wind behind her to push the yacht down the lake. She was trailing the jib-sail behind her to slow down the vessel. She figured her drift still would be faster than Freddie's in his buoyancy vest but with the drag of his lower body. Every thirty seconds or so she shouted, "Freddie, Freddie!" At times she imagined she heard answering cries, but eventually decided it was the wind and water slap deceiving her. Finally she heard it: "Over here!" She changed course and headed for the sound, still running with the wind. Then she saw him. "Freddie, thank God! I see you." She rounded behind him, putting the yacht 'in irons', pointing directly into the wind so he could come to her. She was calling out comforting things, telling him he'd soon be rescued. "Hi," he said, looking little the worst for his misadventure because thankfully he was wearing Alison's husband's wetsuit, but his face and hands were blue. "I reckoned I had at least a 50 percent chance of being saved, knowing a woman of your intelligence would do the right thing." He reached up and Lucy, tears streaming down her face, helped pull him aboard. "That was a very interesting experience. Being alone in the water, without knowing if you will be saved or can make it to shore, empties your mind of petty thoughts and…" "Shut up you beautiful man and kiss me." "Your face is frozen," she said a minute later, looking at his blue, rubbery lips. She unzipped the front of her vest, opened her thick jacket and pulled down her dress, allowing her bra-less breasts to fall free. "Here, warm your mouth on these. They are yours." She sat, nursing him and humming, rocking on her seat. On their return they made no mention of the mishap, not wishing to create fuss, and went to their rooms to change for lunch. Freddie was preparing to enter the shower when the connecting door opened and Lucy called, "Freddie?" He emerged from the bathroom to find her standing looking dreamily, wearing only panties. Lucy held out her arms and said, "Let's start having real dates. I almost lost you and I now know what I want. I am ready to commence a relationship if that's what you want." "That's what I want." Lucy pulled him on to his bed. "Let's be naughty and be late for lunch. Do you like these breasts?" Freddie and Lucy Find Love Freddie couldn't answer because his mouth was full. Looking at his closed eyes and almost child-like innocence, Lucy stroked his hair and her heart filled with love. THE END