7 comments/  11983 views/  1 favorites

Overlook

By: Melaphyre



It was open mic night at some pretentious coffee shop. She had begged him to come see her sing, so he had conceded, though he hated places like that. 

At seven o' clock, he walked through the doors and saw her just walking onstage then.

She had dressed for him, he could tell—her low shirt, a black lace bra peeking from the corner, a tight pencil skirt, and high heels.

She carried her guitar, smiled shyly, and introduced herself.

He listened as her voice carried across the shop, watching, enthralled, as her breasts moved with each strum of the guitar. Her adept fingers caressed the strings, her lips forming the words of a familiar song.

She finished her performance. Light applause could be heard as she stepped offstage and pulled her hair out of the ponytail she had it in. He watched as she shook her hair and sighed, her chest heaving.

He smiled and approached her, saying, "Were you nervous?"

"Of course not," she replied haughtily, embracing him tightly.

She thanked him for coming, a genuine smile brightening her face.

He stroked her hair and said, "I love that song, you know."

She smiled and nodded.

"That's why I picked it," she replied

He placed a hand on her waist.

She allowed him to guide her to a table by a window as a poetry slammer began to whine into the microphone.

He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. But as he watched her gaze at the performer with interest, he smiled and decided his patience was far from spent.

He asked if she'd like something to drink. She politely asked for a glass of water, though he knew she want something sweet..

He approached the counter and ordered himself a coffee, and her a glass of water

Sitting on the counter, a jar of lollipops caught his eye.

He grinned in a sly manner.

At the table, she sat and played with the hem of her skirt. She was so happy he'd come to see her that night.

She watched him as he stood at the counter. She traced her gaze down his broad shoulders and his muscular arms. As he turned, he caught her looking and smiled brightly. She sighed, wondering how she'd gotten so lucky to find someone like him.

He came back to the table and set her water down in front of her.

She drank deeply, leaving a pink lipstick stain on the rim of the glass.

He moved his chair a little closer, trying to ignore the next performer, a shaggy man with a drum, who was hollering nonsensical phrases into the mic.

She looked into his eyes and stated, 'Something on your mind?'

He took her hand in his and pressed something into it. She looked down to see a lollipop in her hand.

She smiled.

"These are my favorite candy," She said in a singsong tone.

Before she could touch it, he gently clenched his hand around hers, holding the lollipop inside,

and pulled the wrapper off with his teeth.

He slowly lowered the candy to her lips.

She opened her mouth in anticipation, but he drew it back slightly.

She pouted.

Her gaze became quizzical.

"Wha-" she began.

He leaned over, his lips close to her ear

"Say please," he whispered in a deep, rumbling tone.

She felt a tingle shoot down her spine.

"Please, may I have it?" She murmured.

He gave a half-smile and placed it upon her lips, and she took the sweet candy into her mouth.

He let her hand go and watched as she admired the performances, her tongue caressing the candy.

He found himself feeling hot in the small shop, so he leaned over once more

"Want to go somewhere else?" He whispered.

The electric tingle went down her spine again.

She took a deep breath to calm herself, and nodded.

In the parking lot, he held the passenger door of his car open for her.

She asked where they would go.

He smiled and quoted some proverb about the virtues of patience.

She pouted.

She hated when she had to be patient.

While driving, he would brush her knee not-so-accidentally when shifting the car's gears, each time leaving his hand on her knee for a little longer.

Finally, putting the car into park at a scenic lookout, he slowly let his hand slide from the gearshift to her leg, rubbing his hand against her smooth thigh.

His touch made her skin tingle.

He caressed her supple, warm skin, slowly sliding his hand further up, moving it around her and finally pulling her closer to him.

He reached down and let his seat slide back to make room for her, then pulled her leg over top of him.

She straddled him, her breasts rubbing his chin as she breathed.

He ran his hand along the back of her neck and urged her head closer to his, kissing her deeply.

He caressed her face, and she pressed her cheek into the comforting warmth of his hands.

She pulled back slightly, and he followed her, craning his neck to reach her lips

Suddenly, a loud honk startled them. They both jumped, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. He could feel her pulse against his cheek.

They realized that her ass had honked the car's horn.

They laughed, and she asked, "Do you think we should move so I don't do that again?"

He chortled, "I personally thought it takes a tremendous amount of talent to do something like that. I'd love to see you do it again."

She giggled playfully and said, "Wait, I have an idea."

She reached to the side of the seat and reclined the seat back, then settled directly on top of him

He grasped the back of her neck and pushed her lips to meet his own. His tongue mingled with hers, sharing its warmth.

Their kisses became more passionate, more fervent, wilder.

Breathing raggedly, he instructed her to get in the backseat of the car.

Gasping for air after that amorous kiss, she nodded and moved to open the door.

He grabbed her hand to stop her.

"Climb over me," he demanded. "Just do it."

She sighed and commented, rolling her eyes, "You always have to make things difficult."

She began to crawl over him to get in back.

When her hips were at the height of his head, with one hand, he grabbed hold of her by the waist, holding her pelvis level with his face. With the other, he yanked the tight little skirt off of her hips.

She was wearing black panties with a lacy waistband. Not that he noticed as he removed them with his teeth.

She squirmed and struggled, saying playfully, "You fiend, you evil bastard, you--"

Her speech was cut off as he buried his face in her depths and was replaced with desirous She ground her hips in rhythm with his tongue as he explored her, his tongue turning the spark into lightning that shot down her spine.

She could feel the buildup. She could sense the peak coming, and she let him know by grasping the back of his head and pushing him firmly into her slippery softness

Even as she convulsed, coming hard, he didn't stop licking and sucking her pussy, for he knew her true limits better than she did.

Her moans became louder, her climax intensifying, when suddenly, he stopped

She gasped for breath and looked down at him, taking in the satisfaction on his face.

He grinned and said, "My turn."

He grabbed her by the hips and threw her into the spacious backseat of his car, clambering after her. She was too weak to move after what he'd done to her just then.

She wanted to move her legs, to spread them, to wrap them around him, but she was powerless

He grinned and commanded, "Top, off. Now."

She shook her head exhaustedly and said, breathless, "I don't think I can--"

He suddenly drew close to her and wrapped his hand around her neck forcefully

"NOW," He growled.

She gasped and nodded, her hands shaking and her face flush.

She weakly began to tug at the shirt

He decided he'd been patient enough, and aggressively yanked the shirt over her head.

"Ow, that hurt!" she whined.

"I don't give a shit," He said, his voice deep and commanding, "Now spread those legs. Don't make me tell you again."

She obliged.

He swiftly swiped his belt off of his pants and unbuttoned them, revealing his virile, erect cock standing at attention.

She reached for it eagerly with both hands

He grabbed her by both wrists and pinned them over her head.

Using one hand, he ran his throbbing cock against her slit.

She squirmed, wanting more, begging and pleading, "Please, don't make me wait for it any longer"

He sank himself into her and shuddered, her tight walls enveloping his member entirely in their warmth.

She arched her back, his massive cock hitting all the right places.

Slowly, he pulled back, then powerfully, with a slight grunt, thrust into her once more.

They developed a rhythm, as his strokes increased, their skin thudding together

She began to let out gentle, quiet little whimpers as his movement became more and more frenzied, his cock beginning to hit her deepest reaches

He felt her tighten around him, her breathing turning into punctuated gasps with every thrust. And so he continued his quickening rhythm, and her erratic panting told him the pleasure was becoming more intense, and so too did he feel the jarring passion crest.

Feeling it bubble from deep within his cock, rising, faster and faster she rocked with him, his thrusting now violent and wild. His hands cupped her breasts and dug into her flesh. 

Her hands darted around his body, searching for some part of him to hold onto, something to brace herself with for the coming climax.

As her passion reached its peak, she began to gasp, then groan, then moan, then scream in ecstasy.

Her sounds, the wetness of her warm, soft pussy, her expression of desperate lust... he could feel his climax coming.

He let out a cry and began to ride the waves of passion, erupting inside her

She felt his warmth fill her. As she embraced him tightly, he rabbed a handful of her hair and soared into the final thrusts, pumping the last of his juice into her.

They lay there, gasping for air for a few minutes.

He removed himself from her and slumped over, his face against her belly.

Their breathing slowed to a normal pace.

She ran her hands through his hair, wordlessly marvelling at him.

He looked up to meet her gaze and smiled, asking her, " Did you like it?"

She nodded.

"I take it you did too?" She said with a grin.

"You're fucking right I did," he replied, and they embraced.

The smell of passion hung in the air of his car, and they held each other and watched as the sun sank below the horizon

--The End.

Overlooked Bride Ch. 01



Bianca White whose acclaimed creative mind matches her blonde beauty suffered many young women's unspoken nightmare – being left a little short of the altar. The almost handsome Joe the fiancé turned scumbag by dumping Bianca after falling into the arms a sauna 'hostess' eight days before the wedding. 

Perhaps understandably, Bianca became a little upset when Joe said he was rescheduling their wedding and then calmly explained the bride would be Rosa, top earner at her mother's Gentleman's Trouble-free Sauna. 

Joe waited, hands on hips for the tears and was caught napping. Bianca kicked him, sending Joe to Hospital Emergency by ambulance for treatment to part of his anatomy by then the size of golf balls.

Naturally compassionate thanks to a soft upbringing, Bianca had called an ambulance and left the door to his apartment wide open for the mobile medics; disappeared into a nearby bar to cry into a couple of martinis. 

Next morning Bianca turned up for work at Melrose PR two hours late, drunk. She assaulted the boss who tried to push her back out the door to go home and sober up. Bianca of course, being in the mood she was, resisted although not physically any longer. But by then her boss had lost his cool. Nursing a swelling eye destined to show bruising, Stan Melrose fired Bianca in a fit of pique.

Oh dear, Bianca thought, what have I done. As she walked between the two lines of cold-eyed fellow workers – actually they were now former fellow workers – she laughed a little short of hysteria and joked, "What, no going away present?"

The abrupt end to her current working career persuaded Bianca to think she'd had enough of Melbourne so she spent the next couple of days packing and left for Auckland, pleased that she'd never told Joe her home was in New Zealand; that meant he'd not be able to forward her his medical bills. 

The flight proved a brief diversion in itself when a male cabin attendant came on strongly, which made Bianca feel much better. He rewarded her slightly flirtatious behavior by serving her French champagne instead of Aussie bubbles. At least some men are nice, an increasingly relaxed Bianca thought until the cabin attendant leaned over her again and she noticed his wedding ring.

That happened two months ago. Bianca now worked an expensively furnished room she'd leased in an A-class office building with wonderful views of the Auckland waterfront and across to Devonport. A newspaper lay open in front of her, absorbing a second coffee cup ring as for the umpteenth time she read her advertisement.

'Miss Fix-it A graduate in advertising and public relations offers a professional advisory service to people with personal or small business image aspirations wanting to raise the bar to become stand-outs. The impossible may remain impossible but we promise to make a difference. We think outside the box and engage other professionals to offer a complete service. The first interview is free. Contact: Bianca White, Success Consultancy, Blue Sky Tower, Tel 128-9444.'

Bianca's phone didn't ring that day. A call at 9:00 next morning was a wrong number and one at 9:45 was the building maintenance man enquiring had she settled in comfortably and advising a receptionist's work-station would be installed overnight. 

By this stage bored Bianca's finger-nails were looking perfect and all her personal correspondence was up to date. She also accepted she was consuming far too much coffee. Inclining towards insanity as well she had the ridiculous thought of calling Joe to say hi and ask how his rearranged wedding plans were progressing.

At 11:58 the phone went, sending her pulse soaring only to have her ear filled by the caller's yawn.

"Ooops, sorry – attempting to multi-task; you being female will assume we men are useless at that."

What a bozo, Bianca thought. "You assumed your victim was a woman?"

"If someone with a chic name of Bianca White was male I'd be worried."

She laughed and said she'd meant a male receptionist may have been answering the phone. The reply was he didn't think someone with a name like Bianca White would hire a male PA; she'd be getting more than enough socially without being distracted at the office.

"I beg your pardon!"

"Oops, perhaps I meant more than enough attention. Nothing wrong with that is there?"

"I suppose not. How may I help you?"

"My name is Marty, Marty Young. I'd like you to find me a wife."

"Marty, this is not a dating service."

"A wife with business flair."

"Oh."

Marty asked did 'Oh' signal rejection, He was told not necessarily.

"Does that mean you're too over-stretched to take on my request?"

"No, not at all."

He pressed on relentlessly: "Do you have any clients?"

Bianca sighed. "No – after twelve business hours you are my first prospective client."

"But not a suitable one? Don't answer that. Allow me to buy lunch to allow you to assess me."

Bianca considered that and immediately felt hungry. "Okay, where?"

"Harbourside – it's near you. Say 12:30 – I'll book a table. How will I recognize you?"

"I'll be wearing bright red-frame Italian sunglasses – just the very latest arrival at Melbourne Airport duty-free."

"How will I tell they're Italian – don't answer. That was my idea of a joke."

"Fine, Mr Young. I'll meet you at the Manchurian in thirty minutes.

"Harbourside."

"That was my idea of a joke. Good-bye."

Bianca joined the short line waiting for the maitre d'. Two other women were wearing bright red-frame sunglasses but the approaching maitre d' came to the back of the line and said, "Welcome, Miss White. Please follow me."

Once Bianca was seated and receiving her host's welcoming smile, Marty reached across and shook her hand.

Puzzled that he'd apparently identified her and pointed her out to the maitre d' she asked: "How were you able to distinguish between Italian sunglasses and non-Italian sunglasses at this distance?"

"That was no problem. Those other two women had partners and didn't look like people suitable for the name of Bianca White whereas you were alone so, bingo Miss White White!"

"Oh God, not you too. My mother had no idea what Bianca meant, she just liked the name and I guess father just thought it sounded sexy."

"You father obviously was a discerning man with foresight."

"Yes, and remains so. Is your Marty with a 'y' or an 'i'? 

The reply was 'y'. 

"My mother is French and that name in France usually goes with an 'i'. 

Bianca thinking a compliment wouldn't go amiss said, "But it's a lovely name and perhaps that explains your good looks," She watched Marty duck his head behind the wine list. 

Bianca concluded that was a good sign, knowing women tend to like a little humility in a man. She switched off her phone to avoid having non-existent office calls switching through. She'd decided to have this broad-shouldered and very personable man as a client. It ought to be easy to fit him up with a lovely lady. Some of her old girl friends were still unmarried, a couple were divorcees and if she placed his photo on a dating website and filtered the calls she'd probably get a few local responses and perhaps 10,000 from Russia.

"Marty, up close and personal, okay? Tell me about your undesirable traits?"

"Wow, are you hired?"

"Yes – I'm that desperate for business."

"That's a joke, isn't it?"

She smiled, shook her head, and said she'd like just one glass of sparking wine while waiting for her chicken salad with vinaigrette dressing.

"How do you know it's on today's menu?"

"This restaurant is in the heart of the CBD. It would lose potential custom from weight conscious women without that standard dish."

"Oh yes, waiters call it the chic-dish I believe," she smiled.

"Or the Virgin's Banquet – I've heard waiter's call out that when heading into the kitchen."

"My God, aren't men cruel?"

"Actually, in the main those shouting the Virgin's Banquet are waitresses in the main."

A waitress appeared at the table. Marty ordered a glass of sparkling and a glass of light alcohol beer. Asked about food he said they would skip soup and entrée. 

"Virgin's Banquet and Hunk's Fodder – medium rare."

The round face of the waitress lit up. "You've been listening to trade secrets sir."

They both watched the attractive rear of the waitress swinging like a pendulum.

"Hunk's Fodder?" enquired Marty's guest.

"Rump steak, onions, mushrooms, salad and French fries."

"Oh, why aren't I surprised? Since we are close to the subject of delectable flesh, what are the specifications for the prospective spouse?"

"Around twenty-five, any color hair or eyes, strong but very feminine build, about five-ten, unlikely to run to fat early, great in bed, loyal, takes an instant liking to me, doesn't take quick quips against her too personally, doesn't sulk, likes adventure, is sports minded and will go to the gym with me, doesn't mind me hanging out with the boys a couple of times a month and I suppose can't get enough of me."

"Is that all?"

"It's enough isn't it; if I set the bar too high you won't find anyone for me."

"I don't think those specs are too onerous to fill – I for one would meet them with ease and..." Gulping, Bianca realized where her fast mouth had taken her; her 'client' was gazing at her with new interest.

"Excuse me for a minute," she said, grabbing her shoulder bag and heading for the restroom to exorcise her huge blush, under cold water if necessary.

Marty stood as she approached the table. She was aware she was under scrutiny so said brightly, "Oh our drinks have arrived."

"We did order them," he said unnecessarily.

"You made no mention about business specs – the deal was you wanted me to find someone with business flair."

"Oh yes, that too."

Marty said he ran a school for immigrants or 'new arrivals' as they were politely called. "We teach what we call 'Aspects of New Zealand's Distinctive Culture for new arrivals' but it's been a struggle to fill classes."

"I'm not surprised – that's rather a mouthful to promote and sounds boring."

"What do you mean, I thought up the concept and the name?"

"Oops, I accept that. But you overlooked the end tag – it's called marketing."

"But the name has to be long as we're not teaching every aspect of New Zealand culture. We have no wish to run foul of the Commerce Commission and be fined $250,000 or whatever for misrepresentation."

"You don't do that if you chose your wording carefully."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I'm not in thinking mode. Something direct and snappy. Um, like this one, 'Learn the New Zealand Way'.

Marty's mouth fell open. "Jesus, that's it. How much do I owe you for that?"

"Just my Virgin's Banquet, glass of wine and long black coffee will be fine."

They parted, exchanging cards outside the restaurant. 

"How much?" asked Marty.

"Seventy bucks an hour"

Two women passing looked at them with interest. "Hell, I'd pay her treble for an hour; she's gorgeous," the older woman said to her companion.

Marty met Bianca's eyes and they both burst into laugher.

"I hope you wouldn't think I'd be such a skinflint in paying for THAT service," he laughed, and virtually bellowed when Bianca replied, "But I never charge."

Recovering first Bianca said if seventy bucks an hour to find a suitable wife/business partner was too expensive, he'd better try elsewhere.

"No, it's fine – but to keep the lid on it, could you report in every evening you work on my case, say between 6:00 and 7:00?"

"Certainly. I take it you are free to marry?"

"Yes, I'm thirty-three, quite wealthy after my grandmother's estate came my way. My parents are living in Boston at the moment. Oh – candidates must like dogs and horses."

"Horses?"

"Yes, those sexy things, usually brown with long classy legs, a mane and sometimes wear reins and a saddle. Grandma left me a lush 33-acre lifestyle block. I inherited three horses, three dogs and seven Hereford steers."

"What, no bull?" "Steers are cattle a little removed from requiring the service of a bull."

"Oh gawd, I knew that. I love horses."

"Well, you've scored a big point there, haven't you? Bye."

Bianca decided to allow him see the blush. "Bye." He looked at her intently before turning away.

Well, he'll be a great catch for someone she thought, walking back to the office. There were five telephone messages, four of them business calls. Time to advertise for a receptionist; perhaps some of those applicants could be of interest to Marty?

The next hour was spent at the computer designing a questionnaire to capture all the information she needed on Marty, explaining in a covering note that women were too discriminatory to line up to be interviewed as a prospective wife without knowing such things and hair loss in his family, did he snore, employment and salary details, political affiliation, attitude towards children and level of respect for women.

Bianca emailed that off. Back came the questionnaire filled in with a couple of comments:

"You forgot to ask about favorite sexual position, do I habitually leave the toilet seat down and how much of my income would she get a month. Excellent questions thought."

Bianca replied: "Thank you for prompt action and I find your attitude encouraging. I had to leave some questions for the young women to ask at their interview. I suggest you spend the night with each one in a hotel to test performance..."

The phone went. Bianca had meant to write 'Joke' in brackets after that last word performance but lost concentration. She signed it 'Bianca' and fired it off and grabbed the phone.

"It's Fitzroy Herbert, speaking Bianca. I'm looking for support."

"Sorry Mr Herbert. I remain neutral; I don't donate to any political party or individual politician. If I want to grease palms use butter."

"Pardon me?"

"That bit about greasing palms was a joke, Mr Herbert."

"Oh I see, a joke eh? Haw-haw-haw. A consultant with a humor who looks like the back of a bus."

There was a silence.

"That bit about the bus was a joke Bianca."

"Oh, Heh-heh-heh."

"That's the spirit Bianca. I have an image problem – got caught cheating on my wife by my wife who's told the Sunday newspapers coming ou late Saturday night. May I come and see you?"

"Yes, anytime today. As I've just started the business I'm not overloaded yet."

"I suppose you demand $150 an hour?"

"No, a flat $100 is fine. If you don't have an over-enlarged ego, this will be a quick fix."

"I'm a politician, Bianca. We float on ego. Are you sure you're experienced?"

"I said over-enlarged ego – that's a matter for me to find out. I'll get the coffee machine primed up."

The phone went again. "Hi Bianca, it's Sara Bloom. How are you dear?"

"Fine and you?"

"Great. Fiona told me you were home and that I ought to consult with you. I'm director of the Auckland Regional Visitor's Centre and we have a city accommodation crisis – we have an over-supply of four star-plus hotel rooms and some owner's a doing a freeze and threatening to convert their hotels into luxury apartments. That would really give us a room crisis because we are experiencing great growth each year. I'm desperate to keep these operators profitable and so far have spend almost $150,000 on consultants to come up with ways to get those rooms filled but it's been money down the drain. Are you able to meet me and our chairman tomorrow at 3:00 in the deputy-mayor's office. Deputy-mayor Brenda Coddingham is our chairman."

"Yes, my pleasure. I must catch up with Fiona."

"Excellent. Some of these consultants charge up to $300 an hour. I hope your fee is a little more modest." "Well, I know it's public money but you will still be on a budget Mrs Bloom. I'll only charge you $180 an hour."

"That's magnificent. I always knew you were a lovely girl. Bye Bianca."

I seem to have racked up my fees, Bianca sighed. This is scary. By the end of the week I'll be $1500 an hour at this rate.

Bianca spent half an hour looking through Russian dating websites and finally found a guy who looked quite a lot like Marty despite the moustache and goatee. She 'grabbed' the photo electronically and copied it into the two New Zealand dating sites she'd already registered with and paid the fees. Her text read:

'Hi, I'm 33, successful in business in Auckland and desire a sexy 5ft 10in lively woman, attractive but not necessarily beautiful with great boobs. She must be strong in either business management or business financial control to become my business partner with prospect of marriage. You'll contact my professional adviser when responding to this message.' 

She had those posted before Mr Herbert arrived to undress her, mentally; she was warmed by the lust in his eyes.

"Bianca, how wonderful to meet you at last. My word, what a surprise. Are you free tonight?"

"Hi Mr Herbert. Sorry, my live-in girlfriend and I are going to a cross-dressing ball tonight – and you can't come as it's an all-girl affair."

"Oh, well I suppose that's just as well as I am in disgrace with older people in my electorate. Young single women and divorcees think me being found accompanied in bed is a hoot and many wish to personally console me but they are heavily out-numbered."

"Has you wife thrown you out or alternatively walked out?"

"No, a night of tears for Kit was enough for her; she came into the spare room for company and bang, we were soon banging again. Normality restored. I need you to win back these bitchy elderly women who now hate my guts."

"Well, I can help you. But that ends your free interview. Come back tomorrow and the clock will tick."

"Can't I go on to fee-paying now – I'm off back to Parliament in the morning on the 'Red Eye Special at 7:00."

"It's you call."

"Start the clock ticking sweetie – um, I mean Bianca."

Bianca noted the time and said: "The easiest thing is for you to make a public apology for being unfaithful to Kit."

"I can't do that," Fitzroy Herbert said, grabbing a handful of his thinning hair, his long face looking mournful. "I'd win back the oldies but lose those women who admire me for being a playboy. It's not ego; it's political survival. The PM is thinking about calling an early election."

"Right," Bianca mused, not believing that claim about an early election. "Stay quiet and let me think while I get the coffee." Ten minutes later as they drank and chatted about the Film Festival the thought suddenly seized her.

"Kit is an unusual name. Is your wronged wife Kit Hughson."

"Yes, but listen, she wronged me by allowing to have such easy access to her friend Leta."

"Spoken like a politician Mr Herbert. You wife took me for Psychology 1 and 2 at university. I know her rather well because I flourished under her tutelage. This is what I propose: I should meet her for lunch on Saturday so could you would kindly arrange the place, time and her presence then inform me. Do you dare tell her what I want to talk to her about, other than I'm being paid to get your career back on track. When the story of your infidelity breaks in the Sunday papers I'll have to have her issue a moving statement for publication in next morning's 'New Zealand Herald' that she accepts you have been under stress through overwork and that she forgives you for this lapse."

"But Kit, she's the one with the ego; she'll never agree to that."

"Just leave it to me, Mr Herbert. You are paying me to be the expert problem solver. You may leave now. Here's my card – email me when you've arranged the lunch. I want you to arrange this luncheon meeting to help soften up Kit – she'll be surprised finding you actually seem to care."

Bianca busied herself designing a small run-on advertisement for the 'Situations Vacant' section of the morning newspaper. It was impossible to pitch only for women without breaking equal opportunity laws but that was okay – she would interview all applicants who measured up and just by chance the few who were selected to meet the prospective 'employer' would be female. The ad read:




Overlooked Bride Ch. 01



INSPIRED BUSINESS ASSOCIATE Lower-level private Adult Education establishment requires a motivated person able interface well with adult students principally in a social sense. Applicants must have strong academic-qualified skills to co-manage the operation. The requirement is a person capable of interfacing attractively with warmth and personality to support a lasting relationship. A generous salary, new 3-litre saloon with unrestricted mileage will be provided. Please email a one-page CV with contact details to: Bianca White Success Consultancy Blue Sky Tower bianca@bwhite.co.nz

Bianca emailed that ad to the newspaper to run in Friday's and Saturday's issues. Bianca accepted the advert was vague but she decided it had enough feeling of 'mysterious' pull to attract people who were intrigued to find out more. She'd chosen the wording carefully – wording designed to turn men off. She sighed – either that or readers would interpret it as a subtle ad to recruit a person to receive a car to carry out her duties as a prostitute. 

Bianca logged into the dating websites and found one was recording three 'reads' of her ad and the other site scored higher with eleven. In the password protected area she found one reply from a guy names Michael said he was seeking a relationship with a 30-year-old businessman. He had no business experience but was willing to learn. The response from the other person included a picture – 'A hairy part of the female body well below the head,' is how Bianca described this response when reporting to Marty at 6:45 that evening. She added that the woman is thirty-eight, works in a clothing factory in Russia and has a dream to immigrate to New Zealand to marry.

Marty received a sigh mothers give to misbehaving boys when he asked, "Was she wanting to bring her two sisters?"

He broke the silence by stating, "That was a joke."

"I was hoping it was."

"Look, disregard any responses from foreigners. I don't want to get involved in hassles over immigration and being asked to forward money for fares and travel expenses. Most if not all will be scams."

"Ah, at last a sensible response; I shall follow your instructions Marty."

Apparently encouraged by the light-hearted response, Marty enquired was Bianca interested in looking at quality etchings only to find the call disconnected.

He called back. "Don't hang up, it's not what you think – there are no etchings in my bedroom; in fact I don't have any etchings. But I do have an invitation for 6:30 tomorrow to Fisher Gallery to attending the opening of a display of very famous 19th Century etchings of animals that go on sale at the end of the month. I just thought..."

"Yes, certainly. Please pick me up from here at a time to suit. I shall look forward to it."

A knock brought Bianca out of her self-chastisement: she'd earlier resolved never to socially date with a client and here she was, blowing that resolve asunder with her very first client. The doorknocker had read the 'Please Enter' sign on the door and was walking in. It was a woman Bianca had twice exchanged greetings with in the elevator.

"Miss White, please forgive this intrusion. I'm Amy MacLeod. We've said hello a..." "Yes, I recognize you. I guess we are business neighbors."

"Well, that depends. I'm working out my termination notice with Smith's Stamps; Stan Smith has decided to retire and his stock has been purchased by a stamp trader in Christchurch. I'm under the impression you don't have a receptionist yet – in fact Mr Oakes the building maintenance man said you're waiting to build up your business before you do that."

"That's a fact and Mr Oakes has a lose mouth, but now I know how to spread rumors around the building. Take two weeks holiday then start here the same rate plus 10% Mr Smith is paying you."

"But you don't know if I'm honest or can work to your requirements. You need to interview me to find out."

"You must be honest, otherwise you wouldn't have just said that. You are polite and very friendly as I've already chatted briefing with you in the elevator twice today. Thirdly you demonstrate initiative. I have to assume expecting more than that is over-expecting of a receptionist."

"If you don't mind me saying so, Miss White, you have a refreshing way of looking at staff recruitment."

"Thank you Amy. Sit down for a quick cup of coffee and I'll explain what I do. Before your last day with Mr Smith you must arrange a breakfast meeting with me and we'll sign the papers including your tax form. Ask Mr Smith if he will kindly give me your personnel file – he won't require it any longer, will he?"

"I'll make the coffee Miss White."

"Call me Bianca at all times, Amy. You may call yourself office manager – receptionist sounds a little demeaning for someone with your initiative. We'll review your salary at the end of three months. Strong black, roughly two teaspoons of milk, no sugar – always."

"Coming up, Bianca. This is a flash coffee machine." 

As Amy hurried away to rejoin Mr Smith and his stamps Bianca thought this wasn't a co-incidence, Amy was meant to come to work with her. Bianca acknowledged she was quite used to things happening like this: she attracted certain people, people who seemed to have a mystic depth. Like Marty – she laughed and refreshed her lipstick and thought that will be the day! He seemed too shallow for her liking which reminded her, she needed to establish rapport with a man potentially capable of filling all her needs – she was rising twenty-nine, for goodness sake.

To Be Continued... 



Overlooked Bride Ch. 02



SO FAR: Bianca White is jilted by her fiancée in Melbourne just days from the altar. The advertising wiz returns to her New Zealand homeland in despair and starts up a consulting business to sort out problems for people. Her first client Marty Young seeks a potential wife with business experience.

*

Bianca White had arrived back in New Zealand revitalized, ready to start a new round in her life and had the assistance of a bagful of money. 

It had taken the university arts and advertising graduate two years to establish in Melbourne. After a year the ad agency gave Bianca her creative freedom. Before long discerning clients began insisting she work on their accounts and that pushed up her salary. The monthly publication 'Ad Showcase' did a three page spread on Bianca with two clients acclaiming her as being a rising star. 

During this euphoria, Stan Melrose of Melrose PR and Advertising arrived, headhunting. He lured Bianca into a bar where she was asked to name her price, got it and went on to earn it. For three years Stan was deliriously happy with Bianca until that fateful morning after she had been jilted and she drunkenly bowled Stan with a haymaker in front of horrified staff, flattening his ego as well as his skinny body. Goodbye Bianca.

The smiling eggshell blue-eyed blonde with a gym toughened body jogged up the steps and into the foyer of Glasgow Apartments on the site of Auckland's old Glasgow Shipping Agency and bounced up to a front unit on the third level, which was just high enough for her to have a something really splendid to catch her eye. She looked beyond the wharf sheds to Devonport and North Head and shiting to the right out to the fabulous island-studded Hauraki Gulf – a view to die for although Bianca was nothing think about doing that. 

If they built multi-storey apartments on the wharves she'd sell out of Glasgow, take the loss; and chase after a wharf apartment in one of the new developments.

After showering then taking a sip of white wine she'd left standing on the wash basin, Bianca stepped back to dry herself while looking critically in the mirror. The blonde hair – yucky blonde she reminded herself – was overdue for attention at the hairdressers. She scowled, as always, at the boob that irresponsibly hung a little lower that its mate. Once again ruled out getting a chain to hang from her naval, agreed the tuff should stay as a memorial to the thicket long gone and finally worried about the thighs – were they expanding? God, if they did fatten she'd wear trousers for the rest of her life.

Pulling on panties, Bianca transferred her white wine to the kitchen and slipped Nora Jones into the CD. She tossed three small frozen fish slices into a heated pan with a little butter and olive oil, pulled two thigh-fattening hash browns from a packet in the freezer, halved two tomatoes ready to dunk to sear at the last moment and shoved half a cup of frozen peas with a knob of thigh-fattening butter in the glass bowl into the microwave.

"Oh Norah Jones, I don't want a man just for sex; I want a hungry man drinking beer and watching my ass move around the kitchen preparing us real cuisine. Cooking for one is about as hopeless as sex is for one; why does life have to be so unfair, Norah?"

Off went Norah, on went TV to screen the video recording of the pre-lunchtime Soap. Bianca ate slowly, ready to cry at the first sign of any emotionally brutalized women's eyes on-screen beginning to dilate. 

"Yum – this meal is great. Did I have it last night and the night before? Does it matter? Think of the women on this Soap who can't remember the last time when they didn't have sex. Don't some people live in different worlds?

During an ad break Bianca decided that if she didn't land a man soon she'd probably buy a cat.

On the exercise bicycle at 7:00 that evening, perspiration glistening on her exposed back and sweat showing immediately below her breasts, Bianca thought about her wedding.

They were lovely thoughts until the matter of actually having someone standing alongside her at the altar dulled the romance. She really had to work quickly to build up her business and then spend some time corning a Mr Right – that Right without the 'W' in front. 

She mused she wouldn't find him at hosted Tennis Tournaments or after summer at Friday Night Football because she didn't enjoy having masses of under-washed humanity PLUS screeching noise. She visualized herself seated in arm chair luxury in a box high about the mass, doing the Cleopatra thing holding a glass of champagne and a turkey drum stick while doing little 'Ooohs' of approval as someone down there in the team favored by the host committed mayhem on the football field was a lovely thought. But the hosts tended to be awful used vehicle dealers or high-powered business leaders looking to copulate as soon as his or her spouse was taken home by a frisky looking young minion.

The end of week bash at the bar on Friday nights was always a sure thing to end up with a very keen male – too keenly hair-triggered all too often – but inevitably they were already married; they usually confessed with a yawn after – what was the phrase – oh yes, 'readjusting their attire'. 

While that might sound somewhat cynical of men, Bianca was aware that learning the lesson about being a primary single-purpose target for sexually-driven males with only just sufficient post-sex skill to be able to enquire whether there would be a next time, had generated a whiplash effect influencing her print and TV ads; she created women with an air of innocence and intelligent paired with one sometimes two men with smoldering sensuality and always they had pointy ears and incisors that were exaggeratedly drawn or digitally altered to appear almost fang-like. 

Women viewers responded to those ads positively knowing they were created by an unknown but sensitive woman signally subliminally that it was okay to buy this product or service when associating with males with demonic ears and teeth interested in only one thing – and that wasn't shopping. Bianca kept winning awards for her ads – male judges simply announced 'Bianca' injects this intrinsic quality we're unable to quite identify such is its mystic', while female judges just smiled and kept their mouth shut, unwilling to give away Bianca's subliminal secret, justifying their decision with cover-up wording such a 'enhanced creativity that captures the mind of world-hardened women who find sanctuary when shopping'.

It would be unfair, as Bianca knew, to suggest all men interested in only one thing were abominable because at times she found herself in tune with them needing them. She inevitably would ask "Are you married?" and inevitably some would tell the truth when, if desire was pumping, she wished they had lied. 

The frustrations and complications led Bianca to decide that marriage led to the apparent solution when incorporating the R.O.E formula – regular, often and exclusively. Unfortunately her quests for marriage had all failed although the latest attempt came within eight days of the finishing post. Whether the subsequent marriage would have lasted even eight days was debatable.

Perhaps tomorrow evening she might spot Mr Right at the display of etchings. Etchings of animals – "Oh, I don't think so," she sighed, clearing away the remains of dinner. A couple of good cries during the Soap had left her feeling almost rejuvenated. She went to the computer.

Bianca checked her holdings in stock on her broker's website and then switched to a dating site with the intention of looking for Mr Right. Initially these sites had been used by male and female prostitutes to drum up business but now every Tom, Dick and Ellen was riding the wave.

She chose New Listings and the first image of a short guy with practically no neck and a bushy moustache described himself as a meat worker which disgusted her until she read on and found he was an owner driver who delivered chilled meat to suburban butcher's shops. He was seeking: A 'blonde, can be dyed, no taller than 5ft 5in, who enjoys fishing and skinny dipping at the beach. Being able to handle my GST returns and other business documentation would be to any girl's advantage'.

Doing all the work is an advantage? I don't think so, Mr Meat Worker, Bianca scoffed. Another entry then jumped at her – a woman: not for her, for Marty.

'I seek a successful man who can offer me a challenging life. I am lively, intelligent, would be fun to live with, have few bad habits and my parents say I'm loyal, honest, beautiful and would make someone a lovely wife. Even if that's only half true it would still make me a great catch. I'm working as office administrator for three plumbers and I hold a teaching diploma and taught in primary schools for five years. I'm 25 and like doing things a guy likes doing and I love cooking. If you're only interested in a one-night stand don't bother responding. Gloria.'

There was no photo. Bianca responded, saying she was a professional female business consultant who had a client who had commissioned her to locate a prospective wife for him. He was seeking quote – 'an attractive woman with business experience who could related to adult students in a learning environment' – end quote. She told Gloria if she were interested to call to arrange a time for a preliminary interview.

Gloria called within the hour. Her voice sounded warm and educated and they arranged to meet in Bianca's office at 12:15 the next day. Gloria had an hour's lunch break and only had to come across the Harbor Bridge from Northcote. She accepted Bianca's offer to join her for chicken sandwiches and coffee at the office.

Amy MacLeod dropped in just after Bianca arrived at 9:00 to hand across her employment file. She expressed delight at the work station that had been installed overnight. They greeted very warmly and Amy said, "Mr Smith asked me to invite you to my farewell on Friday at 4:00. It will only be him and me and a few regular clients. He says you appear to be a very bright woman and he wants to – and this is what he said – T'ake a good decko at you to confirm you're as good as you sound'. I think he's under the impression you are elderly and probably like, er, I have to say this, like women who work just to remain close to men to remember how it was."

"Oh I do, but not in the manner he seems to think."

They laughed and Amy said she had to hurry back to prepare orders for mailing.

"Do you use a franking machine or damaged stamps from stock?"

Amy opened her mouth to reply, caught the expression and said Mr Smith would find out about the waspish humor on Friday.

"Waspish humor? I must add that to my CV to send to prospective clients."

Member of Parliament Fitzroy Herbert called and began in a most unpromising way: "Just called to ensure you survived the night without me at your side."

"Fitzroy, I really don't..."

"Oh Christ, another woman without humor. I apologize for my crass ignorance and ungentlemanly behavior."

"Accepted, but before speaking to women throw a bucket of ice water over yourself Fitzroy."

"Huh."

"It's even more off-putting for a female to be talking to a man who thinks in a devious manner and openly acts predatorily. You'll be lucky if you last your three-year first term in Parliament at this rate."

"I need help, don't I? I view it as being playful but obviously others don't share my view."

"Yes you do need help. Consult a psychologist."

"I'd rather you try."

"But I'm not qualified in that..."

But Fitzroy interjected to insisted she take him on, saying he was already responding well to Bianca.

"When men become too uncouth or physically troublesome for me, I whack them."

"Perhaps that's what I need?"

Bianca said she would talk with him for an hour, but it had to hurt him – the fee would be $500 cash. 

"Cash?"

"Yes, it's an excessive charge and I don't want you attempting to wriggle out of it; remember you are a politician."

"Wow, that's pretty sharp, Bianca. Good one."

The appointment was set for 10:00 on Friday. Fitzroy then remembered the reason why he'd called – Kit was pleased to hear Bianca was back in town and surprised Fitzroy had engaged her as a consultant but yes, she'd agree to lunch Saturday. Getting plastered over lunch was a lovely way to kill a Saturday afternoon.

During the morning Marty called to invite Bianca to drink after the gallery viewing. She hesitated so he said business drink; she accepted and heard his voice lift thinking that was for her but he said – quite unnecessarily he thought – "We've just recruited a new tutor with great teaching endorsements with a bonus of really great legs."

Oh thought Bianca, I must change that internet lisying where I mentioned boobs.

"Two external parts of a women's body catch my mind," he added.

Oh, what a sweet way of expressing it instead of lewdly as most men would.

"Well, I must be off and introduce Mrs Longfellow to her students; this is her first day. Bye."

"Bye," she replied, experiencing a lift in spirit. But why – it didn't matter whether the new tutor was Miss or Mrs, did it? It puzzled Bianca why she avoided answering that question.

Physically, Gloria Schmidt was admirably suited for Marty – almost at his height with aggressively uplifted and well defined breasts and the legs encased in lightly patterned panty-hose or stockings appeared beautifully shaped.

"If you don't mind me saying so, you work among plumbers and their kind looking this good?"

"It's the reason why I want out; the jokes are always blonde jokes or jokes about breasts and I receive more requests for dates that most other office workers experience in being asked to pass the stapler."

"Then, let's see how promising my client looks to you."

Bianca passed across the photograph printed off the imaged Marty had emailed, saying his name was Marty Young who was thirty-three, never married and appeared to be an eligible bachelor but Gloria would have to assess that herself. She poured the coffee and opened the sandwich box while Gloria looked at the photo transfixed.

Gloria was eyeing a strong-jawed, wide-faced man with green eyes and curly multi-brown hair, and lots of it, cascading over the collar of his polo-shirt that failed to hide the outline of nipples on a wide chest and that fell away to a flat stomach.

"Oh Jesus," Gloria sighed. "How is it he's managed to escape this long?"

"I asked him many personal questions, but not that one," Bianca smiled, lifting out the six sandwich halves on the serviette and lowering the whole package on to a serving plate.

They ate in silence as Gloria read the résumé Bianca had constructed from the answers and elaborations she'd elicited from the prospective bridegroom.

Sipping coffee Gloria, eyes bright, said Marty's business appeared fascinating. The whole package appealed to her.

Bianca reiterated her position. "I'm engaged only as a finder and to conduct initial appraisal. Tell me more about yourself and your aspirations, Gloria."

Twenty minutes later they were done. Gloria was given the choice of Bianca arranging a meeting or approaching Marty herself.

"I'll make my own appointment, thank you – he ought to be pleased I'm that confident."

"He will be interviewing other prospects."

"Of course, but he'll choose me, I know he will."

Bianca hoped he wouldn't; there was something not quite right about Gloria but what she didn't know. Scanning the print-out of a email she'd sent to Marty with the suggestion of an over-night try-out, Bianca noticed with dismay the wording [Joke!] was missing. She knew she couldn't allow her professional reputation to be compromised. She would have to admit her stupidity over that suggestion.

"Er, Gloria. When I was setting up this project for Mr Young I flippantly remarked he might wish to arrange a one-night try-out..."

"Oh, no problem, Bianca. A night or even a week would be fine; he's entitled to make a full assessment before making his choice."

"I really must point out it was a flippant remark."

"Well, for what it's worth Bianca, I think it should be a mandatory requirement for any candidate wishing to proceed her application to a higher level of assessment. I rather welcome the opportunity of trying to improve my chances by being the best performer in bed."

Bianca arrived for her meeting with the deputy-Mayor ten minutes early and ten minutes after the appointed time said sweetly to the receptionist, "I'm afraid I don't like being kept for appointments. Please tell Mrs Coddingham and Mrs Bloom I waited patiently but have now left."

"But ten minutes isn't long to wait for a busy city senior official."

"It is when you're a busy consultant. If they still wish to consult with me, please ask them to make an appointment to see me. Good day."

At 4:15 the two women were in Bianca's office – Sara was apologetic and Brenda Coddingham was livid, saying, "Really, I think your impatience outside my office was quite unacceptable, giving no credit to the fact that I have a city to run."

"You have a job and so do I, Mrs Coddingham. I work efficiently by working efficiently which includes running to time. If you can't run to time and make decisions in a timely manner with me, Mrs Coddingham then I'd rather by sailing."

"Really, this is..."

Sara Bloom was quick to react. "Cool it please Brenda – the problem we face requires bridge-building, not assassinating the bridge-builder. Bianca, have you had time to develop stategy?"

"Not really – I need you two to describe the extent of the problem to me in detail to allow me to visualize the big picture. As my impression is other consultants have failed you, this calls for my specialty – attacking the problem from outside the square. I'd like to read your reports on the problem, Mrs Coddingham's assessments and the recommendations of your failed consultants. In the meantime I want to call a meeting of hoteliers to discuss the coming hotel bed shortage crisis under Mrs Coddingham's signature; I'll write the letter for her approval."

"Good God young woman," said Brenda. "Don't you mean bed oversupply?"

"No, if booking agents overseas read that they'd expect really big discounts."

"But Bianca dear," Sara frowned. "Hoteliers will know there's an oversupply of beds, not the reverse."

"True, but that establishes the title of the emergency meeting and I can use that theme in developing marketing and information programs. The notice of meeting will indicate there could very well be a bed shortage is the threat to convert hotels into luxury apartments takes off."

"I see," said Mrs Coddington. "This sounds a little shonky."

"I prefer the term borderline," Mrs Coddingham. "It's a has far more credibility than the council indicating the rise in property rates is expected to be minuscule and then announcing an average 7.321% increase."

"But ratepayers expect that sort of thing."

"Yes and no doubt hoteliers expect the regional visitors' office to emphasize the positive for them."

"Bianca has a point there, Brenda."

"I see the coffee is ready," the plump chairman observed. "Do you serve cream cake?"

"Ah, saved by that door-knock – here's the courier with a cream sponge from Anne's Kitchen, Mrs Coddingham. Please open the box."

"Ooh. A double cream centre sandwiched between thick raspberry jam with more cream on top and scattered with premium chocolate flakes – this is Anne's premium cream cake, Sara. Bianca is honoring us."

The two women left, each with a slab of the left-over cream cake. Bianca had declined to have any. They promised to have copies of their reports delivered to Bianca within the next half hour. When Marty arrived at 6:15 to collect her, Bianca already had her strategies outlined and emailed the draft letter to the hoteliers to Mrs Coddingham for approval.




Overlooked Bride Ch. 02



If Marty was disappointed by her jaded appearance he kept it to himself – instead saying 'This looks more like a working office,' looking at the reception workstation partly cut off from Bianca's desk side-on to the big landscape window with its great view.

Applying perfume Bianca explained she'd had a bitch of a afternoon and Marty took the cue and asked to be told about it, adding she was less than ten minutes away from having a drink placed in her hand.

"Etchings, I know very little about etchings," Bianca said as they walked to the gallery, saying the only one she could remember seeing was of a French nude of the 1880s with enormous buttocks, head turned with the suggested facial expression of extreme depravity.

"Suggested facial expression of extreme depravity – oh my, do you have her addressed?" Marty joked and was rewarded by something that passed for a faint smile, accomplished with a curled top lip.

Asked exactly what was an etching, apart from scratchings on copper, Marty looked triumphant and stopped outside a lit shop windows. Pulling a piece of paper from his jacket pocket he read with authority: 'Etching is an intaglio printing process in which an etching needle is used to draw into a wax ground applied over a metal plate, usually copper but can be other material such as zinc or iron. The plate is then submerged in a series of acid baths, each biting into the metal surface only where unprotected by the ground. The ground is removed, ink is forced into the etched depressions, the un-etched surfaces wiped, and an impression is printed, usually on to paper. The word etching applies both the design etched on a plate and an impression made from an etched plate. Too often it's confused with engraving. Etching is considered to be one of the most versatile of all the graphic media due to the endless effects a skilled artist can achieve.' Phew – I need a drink."

"Come on," Bianca laughed as a shower hit them. "Let's run.'

* * *

Marty looked at the pretty blonde who'd taken his hand and suggested they run. Good, this presented the opportunity to show a little male superiority.

"Okay," he responded, breaking into a bit of a lumbering gallop, only to find his hand was held by a gazelle half-floating through the evening air.

Well babe, let's see if you can keep up with this! He caught Bianca by surprise and she lagged until he was almost pulling her along. But then she seemed to drop down a gear and powered past him, jerking at his arm and calling "Come on, Mr Ox."

Marty knew then she must be some sort of sprint champion from university days so covered his embarrassment by calling, "You go on, all my loose change is bogging me down." She tinkled a laugh and suggested he join her gym.

"Nah," he puffed. "They are only for gays."

"Excuse me, I go to the gym every evening."

"Gays and you." There went that tinkle again; she seemed bent on making him sound if he had an appealing humor. Well, she could do worse – like running ahead the whole block and waiting ten minutes for him to arrive. But whoa, they were here – the Mayor's limo doubled park right outside.

"You won't know anyone so it shall be my pleasure to make introductions," Marty said genially. But they struck trouble at the door – the two security guards said sorry, only one ticket, only one admission.

"I protest," Marty fumed.

"Protest all you like buddy, but do it across the street; I'd prefer you do that now."

"Miss Bianca White is with my party, Kevin. Please allow her to proceed."

"Yes Lady Alice," said the thickset 6ft 6in or so security man, giving Lady Alice Ashton-Jones, one of Bianca's mother's friends a half salute.

The guard said to Marty quietly, "You're lucky buddy Lady Alice came to your rescue – please proceed."

When Marty grabbed his red wine from the smiling babes hosting at the drinks station and he reached the women, they were hugging, Lady Whatshername was saying, "We shared an apartment with your parents in Nimes in September – the men wanted to go to the bullfights but that was too wretched for your mother and me. We spent most of the five days drinking cocktails and listening to jazz, waiting to be picked up. But there was too much competition from tourist women from around the world. Just joking dear but we did hear a lot of jazz and consume enough cocktails to last us three months."

Bianca turned to him."Marty, this is Alice who attended boarding school in the UK at Pembury, Kent, with my mother Nicole. They went on to university together where they both did languages and married friends – my father from Auckland and Alice' husband was from Gloucestershire."

"With a title it would seem."

Alice smiled."Yes, but way out here Alice is fine."

"Greetings, Alice; it's very nice to meet you."

"Are you two together?"

"We came here together."

"Oh my, how discreet Marty; I take it that you are married to someone else?"

Marty felt his giveaway flush and thought what a rude woman, scarcely an aristocrat. Alice apparently noticed that reaction and said he must forgive her but she wasn't a lady; she was a retired concert pianist of no particular note but had never lost her naughtiness learned reluctantly from Bianca's mother.

"Believe what you want, Marty. Alice blames everything on my mother, always has, even her two pregnancies so I'm told and my father stoutly denies any involvement in that."

"Wicked mothers bear wicked children," Alice sniffed. "May I fetch you another red, Marty."

"No please, allow me."

"I'm not yet fifty, Marty, so can still walk without a stick and manage to carry three drinks without spilling them. Besides, I'd like you two to look at my ass as I walk away and expect an assessment when I return – I suspect it may look a little too wide."

As she tottered away on very high heels, Marty said, "What a character – and how did that doorman know her?"

"Alice co-owns this gallery with my mother. Alice hates the cold so spends from mid-spring to mid-autumn in New Zealand. This time she arrived a week after my mother left to spend a year in Provence after reading the book of that name to revive memories of living cold winters, in the main horrible memories I'm sure."

"Someone must be in the money."

"Both husbands are wealthy. Dad and his partner sold their national truck freight line and national airfreight line to an English investment company for nineteen million pounds, dad getting half less debt, taxes and disbursements and Sir Archer Ashton-Jones inherited all the Ashton-Jones estates including two market towns, a brewery, a forest and two golf courses."

"But Alice doesn't speak with a strong west English accent."

"Like mum, she speaks five languages fluently so I guess she only injects accent for authenticity."

"She has nice breasts for an older woman."

"Marty!"

"Hello, commenting about my boobs, was he?" Alice asked, handing over the drinks.

"Yes, I admired both them and your butt and believe they are excellent for a woman of your age."

Alice patted his cheek and purred, "A very nice compliment and you appear to be an honest man. Preserve that rarity will you, and just go easy with the phrase 'for a woman of your age'. Be a charmer and you'll have Bianca in your bed before you know it. I must go and chat to my party before I toddle up to make my speech."

She kissed them both, the kiss with Marty lasting noticeably longer – at least Marty thought Bianca would have noticed that. However she appeared unperturbed.

"God, that woman is a menace," he whispered.

"One gets used to it; when she teams up with my mother it can be very uncomfortable for people, including their own families. She'll be expecting we are together so please just allow me to walk viewing the exhibition holding your hand; if she suspects we're not together she'll become insufferable." 

"Okay, I have my reputation to consider but just this once."

"Oh God, she's set you off, hasn't she? Please, Marty spare me the jokes tonight; I have told you I had a trying day." 

Hand-in-hand they went from the ante room into the gallery proper.

Marty was caught by surprise. "Gosh, they'll small."

Bianca whispered, "This is not a Gainsborough landscape exhibition," receiving a sharp look from her hand-holder.

Still caught in awe he said, "Look – there's a rhinoceros. I expected the topics of the exhibition would be domestic and farm animals."

"Why?"

"Because I just did."

"That answer is not exercising your obvious intelligence Marty."

"Okay – that was a lazy answer. The truth is I just didn't think expansively."

"An excellent answer and I was being encouraging, not critical. You know engraving in caves started it all. Etching followed the development of woodcuts. The earliest dated printed engraving is a German print dated 1446,"

"That's brilliant, Bianca. Obviously you've done a bit of swot."

Smiling wickedly and thanking him for such generous praise, Bianca pointed to a notice on an easel just to his right. It read: 'Engraving in caves started it all. Etching followed the development of woodcuts. The earliest dated printed engraving is a German print dated 1446. The etchings here are off plates dating back to 1883. Some prints have been hand water colored.'

"I think my problem is my vision is too narrow." 

That comment earned Marty a tinkled laugh that made him feel far more comfortable in the world of etchings.

To Be Continued... 



Overlooked Bride Ch. 03



SO FAR: Jilted just short of her wedding day Bianca White returns to New Zealand and opens a consultancy to advise people with business problems. She begins to attract people including her first client, Marty Young, who seeks a female business partner with a sexy side to her. In this chapter Bianca's choice proves to be a woman with more sex drive than Marty can handle.

*

Bianca and Marti slowly inspected the 221 hangings ranging from a whimsically etched Bichon Frise with her puppies to a carcass ripping vulture watched by a cheeky-faced monkey. Some were simple and yet elegant etchings; others were rendered in intricate detail and one of those caught Marti's eye – a gnu. Three giraffes caught the eye of Bianca who was waiting for him to suggest going on to dinner.

They listened to the speeches, the three of them being short and witty and Alice presented the mayor with an etching of a Basset Hound which he'd said looked very much like the one he had as a boy. "Thank you Alice – an exceedingly welcomed gift. You have made yourself into quite an asset and notable character in this city in the six months of the year that we have you." 

Bianca whispered the mayor is Malcolm McKee whose family has for three generations imported explosives into the country for commercial use.

"What, for ice-cream making."

"No, for farmers to blow up stumps, forestry, demolition, quarrying and that's about where my imagination stops."

Alice came up to them with a rush. "Right you two, have you made your choice?"

"I like this one the best," Bianca said. It was priced at $205. Alice attached a red sticker with the number twenty-one and wrote on the clipboard saying aloud, "Twenty-one, Bianca White – fifty dollars."

"Your pick Marty?"

"The gnu but..."

"I know it's rather expensive for a etching, but just look at the workmanship will you. Dated 1905 and it's one of my favorites. It's yours if you can afford fifty dollars."

"I can but that's a steal."

"Steal from me. Marty. I've taken a little fancy to you. Now you two must join my party for dinner this evening. I'm not accepting a rejection."

"Yes, thank you."

"Me too," Marty said. "I'll enjoy being in exalted company."

Alice smiled, "I think you better keep this one Bianca."

As Alice rejoined the mayor and mayoress Marty asked Bianca, "Was she saying what I think she said?"

"Words just tumble out from Alice – take her with a grain of salt and you'll be fine," Bianca said impassively. "I'm off home to shower and change; give me a call when you learn the venue and I'll meet you there. Just tell Alice I've gone home to powder her nose and she'll know the code. I'm not dining in your exalted company dressed in a business suit."

"You look okay – a comb up and slash on some more lipstick and I'd take you anywhere."

"Thank you Marty; your eloquence and depth of feeling is beyond belief."

"Pleased you think so," he beamed, unaware of the sarcasm. 

A few minutes later Marty took a call, hurrying to a corner where he had a quiet chat with Gloria Schmidt. He finished the call in a daze – she'd suggested she call on him tomorrow evening for a drink and if they established empathy she'd stay on and cook dinner.

"After that, who knows?"

"What?" he'd answered shakily.

"Oh, have I embarrassed you."

"I'm not easily embarrassed," he replied. When he said that Marty knew he was croaking in tension like a bullfrog.

He phoned Bianca from the Pink Ocean restaurant – with no view of the ocean but the walls were painted in a light pink wash over rough-finished plaster. She said she was five minutes away but not running because she was in red silk everything and any perspiration would show. Bianca listened – he thought with delight – as he waxed on about Gloria. "Is she as good as she sounds?"

"Yes."

"I didn't have to ask her to stay the night as you suggested; she came right out and said there could be extras after dinner."

"The strumpet."

"No, she just sounded eager to become my partner."

"Well, I hope you will be happy. Marty, that comment about inviting candidates to sleep with you – I was distracted and sent it off without adding 'Joke' in brackets."

"Oh, so it wasn't meant to be an offensive comment?"

"No, of course not. I'm so...Martin Young. You are teasing me. You know damn well I wouldn't say such a thing with serious intent."

"I did notice the sentence didn't end in a fullstop, so I guess that let's you off the hook."

"Thank you – now go back to thinking about Miss Honeypot or better still talking to your hostess and her guess while I concentrate on arriving there in one piece; these male layabouts on the street are swarming around me like a pack of blood-starved mosquitoes."

"Oh God, where are you? I'm on the way."

"That was an exaggeration – one is nursing a bloody cheek walking away with his mate who's just apologized to me excessively and asked that I not call the cops. I'll be there within minutes. Tell Alice you love her hair – she worries about her hair."

The conversation died as Bianca arrived at the table after waving away the maitre d'. "Oh hello darling," Alice said, holding up still well-formed lips to be kissed. "Dressed to kill – just as well as Romeo here has gone on about my hair and you know what that compliment usually earns."

"That's naughty Alice," Bianca replied, finishing off in whispering something to Alice in what Marty knew, having taken the language at high school, was fluent French, spoken so fast he missed most of it in his translation.

Alice laughed delightfully and those at the table responded as guest always think they should and laughed with the hostess.

"Y-you look gorgeous," Marty complimented. "How on earth does that delicate silk top stay up?"

"There is substantial mass just below the top, in case you haven't noticed," she whispered, feeling rather girlish as she did so.

"I'd noticed the legs which are great but didn't focus properly on the superstructure."

"Are you asking me to pull my dress-top down to give you a proper look?"

"Bianca," he hissed. "Behave yourself."

Alice sitting at the head of the table, with Marty on her left, obviously had hearing far too good for her years. She leaned into Marty and said, "Bianca, her mother and me thrive on repartee. If you wish to get lucky with Bianca you'll have to tickle her intellectual fancy; telling her to behave herself is not going to allow you to achieve your goal, believe me."

Aghast, Marty look around for the men's room but didn't spot it. Alice's hand slipping on to his thigh and giving him a horse-bite made him wish he had. 

"Alice," he croaked. "How is your husband?" The hand slid away from his leg as she replied he was presently in England attending to a flock of pedigree maiden ewes. Marty attempted desperately to avoid spluttering a mouthful of wine over Alice and the white linen tablecloth and succeeded. His vision on her husband 'attending' his flock was quite inappropriate. 

Marty had a lively conservation as he walked Bianca to her brilliantly situated apartment and declined to go up, instead flagging a passing cab to retrieve his car from the car park near his workplace. They embraced lightly and kissed in much that same manner, Marty receiving the distinct impression that Bianca, handing his back his jacket that he'd draped over her shoulders, had cooled on him somewhat on the walk home. Only when he was gliding along in the cab did he recall their principle conversation on that walk of just over ten minutes – Gloria.

Oh crap he sighed, aware he'd committed a cardinal.

His fingers in his jacked touched cardboard. Oh crap he sighed; Alice had dropped that card into his pocket telling him to come and see her – early afternoon was quiet, a good time. She usually worked mornings. Quiet for what, he asked already aware of the probably answer, wondering how old were women when they finally gave up sex. Thank God he didn't have to think anymore about Alice and the fast lane; sweet gentle Gloria would keep him focused on reality. He wondered what her preferred position was a let out a long sigh.

"Are you all right buddy?" the cabdriver enquired.

"Yep, just thinking it' Saturday tomorrow, the day the pace slackens off."

"You young bucks are too job focused," said the sage at the wheel. "That woman in red you were with. If you don't mind me saying so but she was hanging out for it and all you did was to peck her on the lips."

"What's so wrong with that?"

"Woman approaching thirty want action, not being left on the doorstep with just a peck on the cheek. They want action to remind themselves they're doing their best to ensure they don't stay on the shelf permanently."

"You don't say. What makes you an expert?"

"Five older sisters all married. I have a wife and a girlfriend with one of mine and the wife's had five. You'll never see two more satisfied women."

"You're a hero, Mac." 

Arriving at the 'farmhouse' as that's what grandpa called it because when it was constructed the property spread over 1400 acres, Marty eyed the ranch-house style home built snugly into the wooded hillside overlooking a stream. Although most of the land had been cut-up into 12 acre blocks, this block being 30 acres, it still was idyllic rural New Zealand to him, even after midnight under a half moon. Inside it was typically a bachelor's retreat – a little messy, no flowers, emphasis on electronics but nevertheless clean because old Mrs Parsons came two mornings a week to do the housework and his washing.

Marty pulled out his phone and looked at it with a 'should I/shouldn't I' expression but the alcohol in his blood pushed him into daring mode. He called Bianca because he felt guilty having talked excessively about Gloria; Christ he was as thick as one of his fence posts.

She answered instantly before he had completely rehearsed what he'd say, knowing a straight out apology wouldn't work with here; she'd want a subtle crawling on hands and knees and two quick licks of her elegant feet – assuming her feet were like the rest of her. So he thought her of her elegant pussy and sighed. One smack over his teeth from her for saying that would be the end of that.

"I asked, who's there?"

"Ooops, sorry Bianca; it's Marty," he said, mentally getting on to his hands and knees with apologetic intent. "What are you doing?"

She giggled. "One doesn't ask a lady what she's doing when in bed after midnight awash in magical moonlight."

Oh God, she's talking about playing with a toy or something. Marty closed his eyes waiting to be swallowed up and delivered to his fate."

Bianca rescued him. "I haven't embarrassed you have I? It should be okay in this day and age to talk suggestively to Big Boys like that. The truth is it was only a naughty joke."

"No, of course no," Marty said, his inner voice shouting 'Liar, liar – Marty's a liar'.

"Did Alice give you her card?"

"Yes."

"And invite you to visit?"

"Yes, I didn't know which way to turn when she whispered that. At first I thought I was imagining it but then I caught the look in her eyes and she ran her tongue over her top lip."

"Sexy thing, isn't she? Mum's just the same. I use to think they were lesbians but the closest they appear to come to that is boy sandwich – but Marty, if you don't know what they means don't ask. Are you going to see her?"

"Christ no; this is me getting out of the fast lane - fast."

"Well don't be too hasty. Older women have something – I think it's a mixture of confidence and style and knowing when a male presents himself before them they know what to do with it. I think of my own mother as one of the sexiest women alive."

"I'm not sure you should be talking to me like this," Marty said nervously.

"Well in that case let's change away from my mother. I believe you answered those earlier questions truthfully. I bet most men would have lied in your situation while wondering if they had the guts to visit her."

"Is she a prostitute?"

"I wouldn't think so. Both women each disply enough sexuality for two women and both chose to marry quiet, respectable men. But the cure never came so they prowl to find acceptable ways of expending excessive energy. It doesn't have to be sex – my mother get's release in the excitement of returning to France, knowing she doesn't have to hurry back home, and then she gets the excitement of coming home. Of course in the meantime she just happens to fall over a lonely man now and again."

"It must be uncomfortable knowing that about your mother."

"Not really. You're one of the few people I've told. Actually I'm rather proud both of them have the guts to act as they feel driven, knowing society frowns very heavily on such behavior from adult women, more so when both have position and respectability on their respective communities. Are you calling to apologize?"

"Yes, how did you know? I feel the need to drop humbly on to my hands and knees and gently lick you feet."

"Oh God, don't talk like that Marty – if you do I'll really have to grab my friend."

Choking with embarrassment Marty said he was sorry.

"Think nothing of it. I realized you were on a sexual high, the beginning of venturing into uncharted waters. I'm very pleased the project appears to be working out for you. She gave the appearance of being a very nice girl; at the same time be on the look-out for unexpected surprises."

"I shall."

"By the way, when I arrived home I removed your two listings on those internet dating sites – there are already more than 200 responses from Russia alone. My feeling is we'll get more women similar to the caliber of Gloria from the newspaper ads. I emailed cancellation of the Monday and Tuesday ads as my feeling it we'll receive a huge response from women on Saturday sitting with their feet up, drinking coffee, and attempting to sort out the Prince Charmings from the louses who'll dabble with the sex and then disappear. The image of you in your ad sounds good and the reasons for inviting the woman to come forward and communicate sounds noble. My fear tonight is that we will be overwhelmed with responses."

"Not a chance," Marty said. "There are too many smart women out there. The ones who respond will be only looking for financial support."

"We'll see what Monday's calls bring. When you meet my mother try not to think about what I told you earlier. I thought it necessary to give you the background you'd have some understanding if you saw her with a man who was not my father."

"Am I to meet your mother?"

"Oh yes. Whether you know it or not, you've become my first new friend since I've arrive back in Auckland. A lasting friendship is quite on the cards."

"I certainly hope so. Goodnight you lovely lady."

Wow, thought Marty, heading to bed. He'd made a friend of a woman who was not the lover of one of his male friends, or a girl next door. Bianca was the first female friend he'd made, unassisted, since leaving university. He made friends with women at the business college but that didn't count; he was the director so it was expedient for them to be friendly. It was true he was Bianca's client but her whole instinct would have told her not to befriend him because of that connection. The friendship had just jumped the fence and draped over them both. How charming.

Barking dogs brought Marty awake. Then he heard another sound, someone knocking. Damn it would be a motorist unable to find someone in the locality; some houses on the lifestyle blocks were hidden behind hillocks. He was nude but so what – give directions and they'd be away. Grabbing a towel he wrapped it around his waist and answered the door. The clock indicated almost 8:30 – Gloria would be here in ninety minutes. Wow!

The young woman was poured in her jeans, her silver shirt was a size too small for her and something with an apparent mind of its own was trying to bust out from it. Hello Saturday – someone in the valley was about to experience a Lost Weekend!

"Good morning," he said, blocking a yawn. How may I help?"

"Marty."

His bottom jaw hit his feet: "Gloria."

"Yes, aren't you a handsome specimen of a man."

"Come in. Have you had breakfast?"

"No. I apologize for being early but I couldn't sleep – I was so exciting. This is like venturing into uncharted waters."

Marty wondered who'd said practically those same words to him only recently. "Come in, we'll get your gear later." He couldn't believe this friendly, quite beautiful woman, was totaled focused on aligning with him, in whatever way she imagined. 

Just how far she'd go he didn't have to wait to find out.

"Oh Marty – may I use the loo?"

"The guest loo is down the passage or else the one for the master bedroom is through that door over there, which takes you into the master bedroom. Go straight across and through the dressing room. Take you pick," Marty said, keeping a tight grip on the top of his towel.

"The master bedroom bathroom sounds more portentous."

Marty watched her walk across to the door, thinking beautiful legs, great ass. She turned and met his gaze full on, gave him a cute wave and disappeared.

As soon as she's out of there I'll dress and cook breakfast.

He waited, wondering what she was doing then heard her call, "Oh Marty?"

Marty went after the call like a Beagle, ears flopping, behind waggling. What did she want?

Gloria was sitting up in bed, hair down and cascading over a pair of great boobs, bared. She patted the bed beside him and smiling said, "We may as well cut maneuvering and get right into it."

It? 

Marty wondered if 'it' meant what he thought it did. He dropped the towel and Gloria groaned, "It's more than a month since I've been near one of those. Put a rubber on and don't mess around – we can engage in erotic byplay later."

This was one of those occasions, Marty decided quickly, that a guy does exactly what a gal wants.

"This is Captain Marty," he called huskily, tearing open a packet. "Mission Control, we are preparing to dock."

"Oh God, Marty, hurry," screamed Gloria, sending the dogs waiting for overdue breakfast into a barking frenzy.

Marty boggled – he'd never seen a woman do this live – on DVD's yes but this was in his bed for fuck sake: Gloria had pulled her legs way back under her arms, her feet were well past her shoulders and starting right at him was her moist pussy. Dynamic electrodes tore around his body, alerting every senor to prepare for an overdose of sensations. 

The completely bald pussy gaped open, so much so that he worried that his dick might have to bounce around a bit to find the sides. But he needn't have worried. When a great sigh tore itself from between Gloria's lips she clamped down on him, making him grunt with the effort of moving in and out to create the friction they both needed to benefit from this act of lust.

More than two hours later, when Gloria went to the toilet, Marty fled the bed; dressing and grabbing the dog bucket and added two handfuls of dog biscuits to to the kitchen scraps and headed outside, feeling exhausted and wondering what he'd taken on. Unlike most women he's known carnally, Gloria cried 'More!' rather than 'That's enough'.

He waited outside with the dogs as long as he thought he could get away with that dodge before returning timidly into the house. He sighed with relief – she was cooking breakfast, or rather brunch.

"You're a bit of a goer, I was beginning to lag."

That compliment made Marty stand taller. "I aim to please."

"We should prepare some meals and spend the weekend in bed."

"Do you ride?" he asked desperately.

"No, but I ride motorbikes."

"Good, I have a trail bike and so do the MacDonald's next door. I'll borrow Sally's for you and we'll ride in Riverhead Forest for a few hours."

"Oh good – we could make a bed of pine needles."




Overlooked Bride Ch. 03



"Oops, I meant cross country to the beach."

"We'll need to take a rug and a pillow for under my back."

"On the other hand we can ride along the back roads to the village and spend the afternoon in the pub."

"You're the boss. I'll fit in with you and you're welcome to fit into me."

"The pub option," Marty said uneasily.

Martin looked at his plate impassively. Gloria had attempted to present sausages, scrambled eggs, fried tomatoes and French fries. A no-brained meal to present, his mother insisted. He'd believed that, until now. The eggs had separated into a gooey dribble that tasted, he imagined, like yellow wallpaper glue. The sausages had been overcooked into blackened and split pieces of elongated tasteless rubber and the tomatoes – well he supposed the red 'gravy' Gloria had dug off the bottom of the pan was the remains of sun-ripened tomatoes. The French fries miraculous had been added late – she'd forgotten then until being reminded – and they tasted fine.

The fearless urban guerilla in bed turned embarrassed and said apologetically, "I'm afraid my cooking lets me down."

"Come on – just eat the fries. We'll have a spot of lunch at the pub."

The pub was a quiet country tavern. Well at least if she could manage to ride that distance on her motorcycle they could have a lovely afternoon looking across the river to the native bush and get to know one another better.

Unfortunately members of a motor-cycle gang from the city had chosen the pub for their annual meeting – five guys to every one female. That signaled disaster and he told Gloria they'd better head for the beach instead.

"No, this looks like fun; we'll probably see a brawl and the cops will be called." 

Instead the motorcyclists conducted their annual meeting with decorum, the president insisting they following the accepted procedures for a meeting. The officers were re-elected, the deficit of $45.00 in accounts was met by passing a crash helmet around with everyone, including locals and other visitors, were asked to donate. Ninety-free dollars was raised. The members had lunch and then the juke box was turned on and dancing began.

A ruffian came over and invited Gloria for a dance. She accepted without even looking at Marty. She was a good dancer, he thought, and winced as she removed her top and threw it on to the bar. He squirmed as soon after she following the lead of the other bikies' women and removed her top and soon her breasts were being fondled and licked by her dancing partner. 

Outraged and disgusted, Marty rode home on Sally MacDonald's bike, leaving his behind for Gloria to ride home or if she rode off into the sunset with a biker he'd pick it up tomorrow if it survived the night. They had parked alongside the tavern in the compound, so it should be okay.

Marty called Bianca and left a message. It hadn't worked out with Gloria; would Bianca please cancel all attempts to set him up with a bride and business partner. Instead he'd just wait for something to happen.

Bianca called at 5:00, her speech was slurred and although she seemed happy she became sad when learning about the disillusionment. "You poor boy, want me to come and comfort you?"

"No thanks – I'm going out fencing till dark to get rid of my frustrations. It's not your fault that she lied and said she was a wonderful cook. Neither you were to know anymore than I was that she'd addicted to sex."

"I really want to comfort you."

"Well, come horse riding with me tomorrow in the Woodhill Forest."

"Really!"

"When did you last ride a horse?"

"Six weeks ago out of Melbourne; we did an overnight trek."

"Excellent. You go straight out to Kumeu Village and park by Carriages – that restaurant using two old railways carriages."

"I know it – what time?"

"Is 8:30 too early?" "No, I've been drinking so probably will be asleep by 7:00 tonight. I have a yellow new VW; the number plate is 'B-White'.

"How racist."

"It's my name silly."

"Oh yeah, Tee-hee-hee."

Bianca laughed as well.

"I'll come via Riverhead Road in my black wagon pulling a double horse float painted shiny black."

"Lovely, I'm looking forward to this. I'll do full catering. Oh, I must be back in the city by 4:00."

"No problem – we'll be back in Kumeu by 2:00."

Marty felt better after talking to a soft-centered woman again. 

He packed Gloria's things into a cardboard box and left them outside the front door. When he returned from fencing at dusk the dogs raced ahead and were sniffing around where the box had been. Driving his all-terrain farm bike into the barn he found his trail bike parked where he always parked it with a one-word note hanging from the front brake handle: 'Goodbye'.

Over-sexed you may be Gloria but you terminate with panache, Marty mused, no longer despondent over what it might have been. He'd keep relaxed and mingling; something would happen just as veteran real estate agents tell youngsters eager to notch up a string of sales, "Advertising and other promotions work but what sells properties is you talking to people, lots of people." 

To Be Continued...



Overlooked Bride Ch. 04



SO FAR: Jilted a few days from the altar and now back in her homeland, business consultant Bianca White's attempt to find a female business partner and possible mate for her first client nose-dives. But the quest continues while both Biance and client Marty Young inch closer together. Exciting times lie ahead for both of them.

*

Bianca White awoke on Saturday morning becoming aware she was stroking her left breast and thinking of her client Marty Young. Oh you lucky man, she thought. Gloria comes to you later this morning. I bet you have clean underpants laid out, she giggled.

Well good luck to him. God, she could do with a man – it was more than a month since that twerp Joe had jilted her in Melbourne. The memory of phoning her folk in France, crying, and then sending out the 'I'm Sorry' letters to invitees on her side remained painful. Her problem was she wasn't socializing to meet men and not reuniting with old girlfriends to give them the opportunity of pairing her with somebody they thought suitable – like he was smart enough to know how to unzip. Yeah! They'd do that pairing expeditiously if she began hanging around to keep their own husbands out of the equation; very clever how the system worked, really. 

After a small pot of fat-reduced yoghurt and lightly toasted piece of whole-meal bread with just a smear of marmalade, Bianca finished her coffee with a happy sigh; time to do the housework. She actually looked forward to Saturday morning chores because it made her feel house-proud and she really only cleaned properly on Saturdays, regarding what she did on all other days as 'environmental care'. She hooked up her MP3 player, selecting Sandi Thom's 'Smile, It Confuses People' and pushed the vacuum cleaner around the apartment, humming along with Sandi. The morning just flew by.

Bianca met Kit Hughson, wife of Fitzroy Herbert, MP, at 12:30 at the chosen restaurant overlooking part of the 185-acre Auckland Domain, a reserve of land around the core of an extinct volcano. They greeted each other excitedly,

Fighting against thinking it, unsuccessfully, Bianca mused with Kit having her hair pulled down severely like that and wearing a granny-print dress down to mid-calf and very light pink lipstick plus shoes that looked like clogs, Fitzroy could almost be excused for wandering. But that was overlooking the warm personality under that awful dress.

"Oh Bianca, just look at you – you're blooming," the university lecturer cried as she was drawn into Bianca's enthusiastic hug.

Bianca did look arresting – to both men and women – in a strapless orange and white paneled sundress with matching orange sandals and orange hair tie and white frame sunglasses. The lipstick was violet, not orange. Overall, she looked lithe and lethal.

Eventually they got to the purpose of the luncheon meeting.

"It's going to be a dismal week for me when the crap hits the fan tomorrow with the story about Fitzroy being caught in our garden on a neighbour's telephone camera having sex with my friend against the trunk of an oak tree."

"I thought you caught him in bed?"

"Oh, don't the rumors twist the facts."

Bianca said indignantly, "That wasn't a neighborly thing for the camera person to do."

"She belongs to a party that detest's Fitzroy's lot."

"Were the police called?"

"Advised but declined to become involved when informed the act took place well out of the sight of the public and it occurred on private property."

Bianca smiled and said at least the copulating couple did one thing right by keeping behind bushes. 

"Yes, but there were in sight of the neighbor's kitchen windows," said Kit.

"This is awful for you."

"Yes, but thankfully I work in a very liberal environment of a university when this sort of thing is considered normal behavior. I still can't understand why you have been employed to talk to me about this. There is no solution, but I've decided not to divorce him."

Bianca topped up their glasses and signaled for a replacement bottle of the Matakana pinot gris.

"My task is to find a solution. Have you seen a proof of the articles?"

"There is only one article – I detest the other Sunday newspaper."

"I understood you went to both Sunday papers?"

Kit smiled and said it was appalling that rumors could not be trusted. She confirmed only one newspaper was involved and both she and Fitzroy had read the article.

Kit continued: "A conference was set-up which we attended with our lawyer and the three newspaper people had two lawyers there. We first had to sign a paper that we'd not talk to anyone about the article until it was published."

"But Fitzroy spoke to me."

"Well, what do you expect from someone who fucks his wife's best friend?"

"Of course, I see your point. What can you tell me about the article – mind you, you're already in breach of that agreement you signed."

"I know but I knew I could talk to you as I trust you."

"Oh, I see."

"The article is a page 3 story under the heading, 'Naughty Boy Fitzroy'. The neighbor tells what he saw and the writer moralizes and the story summarizes my background and political CV. The article was referred, in confidence, to the Prime Minister who was quoted at saying 'No Comment'. The low resolution photographs have been digitally enhance so are quite clear. The main photo of Fizroy with his trousers around his ankles and slamming into Leta is very arresting, as her Boxer is caught in the shot, looking at them with a very bored look on its face, poor doggie. Another shows Fitzroy with his head in the air – the moment of climax no doubt – and he's clearly identifiable. Leta's face has been partially screened out but her eyes have rolled up into their sockets and her mouth is open, obviously in a great cry of release. I had to agree with one of the newspaper's lawyers – it's a very sexy photograph."

"Oh God, you poor darling. What did you tell them for publication after reading that filth?"

"Nothing – my lawyer said I was only to look – to say nothing, not even to nod my head if asked was the man my husband – and they did ask. He also urged me to display no emotion and I believe I acted like a pro. Er, a professional actress."

"I'm sure you did."

"What do you want from me, Bianca?"

"For me to collect you from your home at 5:00 tomorrow afternoon and take you to the 'New Zealand Herald' where a reporter and photographer will interview us at 5:30. You may ask your lawyer to meet us there if you wish. I just want you to tell the newspaper the incident has distressed and disgusted you but when you married you vowed to stick with Fitzroy for better or for worse so you've decided to stay with him and bring him to heel."

"Bring him to heel?"

"Yes, Kit. Your twin declarations of disgust and promise to reform him will save Fitzroy's career provided he's not vilified by his parliamentary peers. I rather think, however, there are too many guilt-laden politicians in the House to get enough votes mustered to toss Fitzroy out of Parliament or his own party. People voting for ejection know the media will gleefully probe into their backgrounds for just a sniff of scandal."

"You want me to be quoted publicly that I forgive Fitzroy?"

"Indeed so he bounces back but not quite smelling of roses."

"I won't do it."

Kit looked at Bianca and her defiance wilted. "What?"

"I have no wish to swing the paint brush on you Kit."

"What – pressure me; you have nothing on me?"

"Those monthly girl's nights out for a tight-knit group of university lecturers are really just one big mass of heaving naked female flesh."

"Oh God, how do you know?"

"Everyone knows but says nothing, Kit. That's the beauty of the liberal atmosphere at the university. Students in my day would have thought something was up if you hadn't been involved in such licentious, normal behavior."

"Oh God, pour me more wine."

They were asked to leave the restaurant after everyone had gone; staff wished to take their late afternoon break. Much of the time had been absorbed by Bianca answering Kit's question how to heighten Fitzroy's interest in her. Kit agreed to make an appointment with Bianca's beautician on Monday and go shopping together on Wednesday afternoon, Kit's regular half-day off. 

Bianca couldn't bring herself to suggest Leta be invited to occasionally join Kit and Fitzroy but thought Fitzroy was bound to come up with that expansive idea.

After a nap Bianca called Fitzroy at his apartment in Wellington. He was breathing heavily as if working on home gym equipment or being on something else.

"That's great. I'm flying home tonight at 6:00..."

"No, Fitzroy," Bianca screamed. "Don't you dare show your face in Auckland until Monday at the earliest." "Okay, you're the boss, Bianca. You'll doing great. Good day to you."

Bianca continued holding the phone to her ear and had her suspicion confirmed. She heard a feminine squeal of delight when Fitzroy said, "I'm not returning home till Monday early."

The bastard, Bianca scowled.

She cleared her messages. The one from Marty distressed her; if it hadn't worked out it wouldn't be Marty's fault. Gloria you conniving bitch, she gritted. It was 5:00 – if he was still out on the farm he'd have his phone with him. He'd resquested her to cancel the quest – thank goodness for that; she'd just read twenty-seven emails from women seeking a screening interview to meet her client. She called and his voice seemed to lift as she spoke to him, poor boy. When men are down they tend become vulnerable boys.

First thing Sunday morning Bianca went out and bought the Sunday newspapers running Kit's story. The pictures were highly embarrassing for the Government, Fitzroy, Kit and everyone who is disgusted by such goings-on. Reading the story dispassionately, Bianca thought it could have been a lost worse. The tut-tutting was quite light-hearted, no attempt at censorship. That would come from members of the Opposition on TV tonight. She turned to the editorials hoping Fitzroy's indiscretion would not have become editorial fodder; it hadn't. One editorial was about alleged global warming 'misreads', the other about the decline in public transportation throughout the country. 

Bianca and Marty greeted happily in the fine morning on the very unattractive main highway strip village of Kume; they avoided touching. Once again she apologized for the disappointing outcome with Gloria and said there would be no charge for services. Out jutted his jaw and he said unless she promised to bill him authentically he was turning around and dropping her back at her vehicle, only a few hundred yards behind them. Bianca's sigh relaxed his jaw. She agreed to bill him – "authentically."

"That's it. You look lovely in tight clothes."

Ohmigod, I'm having an ego blush, she thought. Bianca categorized her blushes/embarrassments. The ego blush was the pits, it really embarrassed her.

"You look—um—woodsman-like."

He almost drove off the road grappling with that one but only replied thanks. He was dressed in brown stock-boots, thick loose trousers and a long-sleeved checked wool shirt, unbuttoned to the naval and the sleeves unbuttoned. She'd already noticed an Akubra (Stetson) on the back seat.

"Although it's warm in the open, it will be cool under the trees and undergrowth will tear at our clothes."

"These are heavy jeans – I don't have jodhpurs. I hope the undergrowth doesn't tear them off."

"I'll attempt to prevent that from happening," he grinned wolfishly and for the first time since she'd known him Bianca felt a heart flutter.

"Who do we have in the float – I only saw the rumps?"

"The big bay is my Beckett, he's eleven. Your black is Sheba and she's six with a beautiful temperament and is content to follow Beckett which makes it easy for us. If you're good and want a real ride I'll bring Savannah for you when we trek up Muriwai Beach one day. Beckett is nervous of Savannah, who's nine, knowing if I'm off my ride or Savannah gets someone right for her in the saddle she'll beat Beckett."

"You're just setting that up right now, you sneak; you think Savannah and I will top you and Beckett."

"Oh, if only I could be so clever," Marty muttered behind the safety of his dark glasses. He stared straight ahead but his neck turning red had been spotted.

"The forest is big, isn't it," she said. "I've never been in it but I know horses have to share it with racing cars, runners, motor-cross racers, recreational cyclists and orienteers."

"Yeah, it's divided into sectors so the separations contribute greatly to user safety but I warn you to always expect the unexpected – some idiot can roar at you in a car driving almost out of control – but at least you hear them coming. Mountain bikers create the worst hazard I find and I guess we to them if either of us ventures out of zone. Chances of colliding head-on with other horse riders are unlikely as we'll do a 10-mile ride that is a one-way ring. It's easy terrain so allowing a stop for lunch I aim to have you back in Kumeu by 2:00." To Bianca's delight when backed out of the float Sheba took an immediate interest in her. Soon they were riding through s plantation of eucalypts in the 36,000 acre forest on a well trodden track of sandy soil, sunlight shining through the quite open canopy. It was wonderful.

"This is rather easy-going for hardened trekkers."

Marty, in the lead, turned around and called there were a variety of forest tracks and trekkers had access to more difficult country as well as riding the 30-miles of Muriwai Beach. You ain't seen nothing yet – even in the forest there are open spaces and water flows to cross.

They left the track for a knoll where they had the lunch Bianca had placed into her saddle bags. A bottle of Kumeu Dry Red, egg sandwiches and slices of apple tart and coffee.

They lay after eating, heads almost touching. Marty said he'd been born and raised on a sheep and cattle station out of Taihape in the middle of the North Island. The family sold the farm and shifted to Auckland when he and his year younger sister were reaching the age of entering secondary school.

"You ride very well for a townie." 

He was told by Bianca her mother, who'd been a noted horsewoman in France, enrolled her in a riding school when she was five; they were living in Napier at the time where she was born.

"Oh, riding since five. Look out Beckett; I sense trouble ahead for us and our assumed superiority." Marty took some of Bianca's hair in his hand and said how soft it was. Her heart did that flip again but the next thing she knew he was on his feet saying, "Come on lazy bones; let's clean up leaving no evidence that we've been here apart from our footprints. As a registered rider with guest, I'm obliged to be firm about this."

"Yes boss."

Late afternoon the bathed and conservatively dressed Bianca collected and indignant Kit from her home. "I called Fitzroy and he said you advised him to remain the day in Wellington."

"Yes, sorry."

"But he should have been here taking some of these abusive calls I've been receiving."

"That is one viewpoint. How many calls did you take from the media?"

"Eight to ten I suppose."

"Did any insist on coming out to interview you when they found Fitzroy was not at home?"

"No, but they—oh, I get the point, no Fitzroy, not story."

"Quite. In Wellington this would only rate as a request by one, two at the most, journalists phoning for a one-paragraph quote. It's a non-event down in the capital if someone under the rank of an undersecretary has been a naughty boy or girl. The only surprise would be that Fitzroy is apparently able to keep two women happy."

"You're very cynical Bianca, but I daresay you are correct."

Bianca asked would her lawyer be meeting them.

"No, after reading the story I thought the stupid picture of that bored looking dog turned the whole thing into a bit of a farce but no so for high ground moralists. What was you read?"

"Exactly the same. Kit, here's how I want you to act – I mean displaying body language. I want to you reply to questions in this manner that I'm about to outline including refusing absolutely to condemn Fitzroy. Just imagine Fitzroy is going to the guillotine unless you convince the Préfet de Police that he's innocent."

"Oh, how artful; I'm not likely to forget that nonsense when under pressure, am I?" 

At the newspaper Kit and Bianca were taken to an interview room by a reporter, Jessica Talbot. Asked if she had any objection to the interview being recorded and the chief of staff sitting in, Kit said no.

Jessica: What was your reaction when you learned of this disgraceful exhibition of lust by your husband?

Kit: I'm unaware that it was overly lustful but I was devastated and the woman involved is my best friend.

Jessica: A double blow then. Kit: That's a reasonable assumption.

Jessica: Are you seeking a divorce?

Kit (taking her time to dab an eye with a handkerchief): Why?

Jessica: Because you have been so wrong, betrayed in fact.

Kit: That's a bit of an over-reaction for this the first straying by Fitzroy that I've known about.

Jessica: There have been others?

Kit: Not that I know about.

Jessica: I see. May I ask are you two very close?

Kit: For a couple who have been married for eighteen years I'd say very close.

Jessica: Then why have you kept your maiden name – your are known as Kit Hughson, not Kit Herbert."

Kit: I liked Hughson a little better than Herbert so stayed with it. A number of women – academics and the like – tend to do this. I guess it's associated with intellect.

Jessica: Give me an example of a woman of note who has done this?

Kit: A woman New Zealand Prime Minister.

Jessica: Oh, of course. Well, is there anything you'd like to say?

Kit: Yes, I feel it's necessary to state publicly that I'm sticking by my man. Like many politicians he's under stress from over-work and in an uncharacteristic moment of weakness he just yielded to temptation. He had been working in the garden. I was at the supermarket. My friend arrived and greeted him as usual with a kiss and the kiss apparently was a very long one and they both got carried away. I forgive her also; both have apologized to me. That's all I wish to say. I thank the 'Herald' for allowing me to publicly state my position. To the people of our Electorate I say my husband, their Member of Parliament, has been a naughty man, but no more that that. I ask them to overlook this lapse by Fitzroy."

Jessica: Thank you, Kit. I admire your strength in being able to handle this unfortunate affair with dignity. Miss White obviously has coached you very well.

As they walked away from the interview room, Kit suggested they go for a drink and on to dinner – "My shout. I'm not an expert on this by any means, Bianca, but my feeling is you've done a wonderful job at damage control."

"Thank you, Kit. I accept your invitation. Let's drop my car off and we'll go to Harborside Restaurant and you can go home by cab."

Bianca picked up a 'Herald' from a news-stand just along from her apartment building at 5:30 next morning. A beautiful photo of Kit wiping a tear from her eye covered a big slab at the bottom of the front page. The over-line read:

'Kit: Tut-tut Fitzroy, But I Forgive'

Beside the photo was a tight, well-written story and included Kit's message to the people of Fitzroy's electorate. 

An hour later Fitzroy called, bubbling with energy. "I called on you to rescue me Bianca, and you've done a grand job. Bloodly amazing really. The 'Dominion' ran the 'Herald's' photo and part of the story on page 3. I was surprised they bothered but Kit's photo and those lovely words influence them. I know those were your words, but so what? This thing is now being swept under the carpet. I'll call you about taking you out to dinner one night. Come down to Wellington; I'll pay your return fare. We can do it overnight –um—dinner I mean."




Overlooked Bride Ch. 04



"Thank you for expressing your appreciation Fitzroy, but I rarely do hotel dates and never with married men. Please just keep our relationship on a business level. Kit and I and bound to become friends now, but not one of her friends you greet and undo your zip. Be very clear about that, Fitzroy."

"Hear you loud and clear; you seem to have the wrong impression of me, Bianca. I'm just an enthusiastic lad who can easily be led astray. I won't mess with you; I promise."

Oh yeah? I'll be watching you unfaithful MP, Bianca thought, cutting the call.

Almost 300 responses to advertisements to fit up a workmate/partner for Marty who no longer wanted to carry on with the project. It seemed such a shame to abandon this resource but Bianca deemed it unethical to use those names for any other purpose so she'd have the temporary office assistant she'd hired to either write, call or email as appropriate the response: 'We regret the position has been filled, thank you for your response." 

The cost of that would be added to Marty's account. She did find a most interesting response – a technical institute tutor in Australia who expressed an interest in a managerial position but she would also be prepared to have a romantic liaison if that was necessary to secure the position, but she'd rather not.

Bianca read this application thoroughly and sent it on to Marty marked: Head of department/tutor? She marked some sections, 'Born and raised in Shanghai, fluent in Cantonese, French and Spanish', 'English father, Spanish mother, both university lecturers', 'M Ed., London University 1976, BBS (business studies, Massey University)', 'divorced, no children, living in Wellington and hate place.'

Fifteen minutes later he phoned. "Thanks, Monica Wisenberg sounds great. She could be a good fit for the professional business person section we are about to establish. I called her and she's coming up for an interview early Friday evening of next week. You may have found a goldmine for our college. May I buy you a drink this evening?"

"Yes please. I adore drinking with gentlemen."

Marty seemed taken aback by that remark but his only comment was a polite goodbye, he'd call at her office around 6:00.

I only said that because I value him; I wasn't flirting, Bianca mused, not believing a word of her denial.

Sara Bloom of the visitor's centre called to say Brenda the chairman had made some minor changes to Bianca's draft letter and would be emailed back in a few minutes. "I found it unnecessary to change anything but Brenda and I agreed you should change it to and urgent meeting and hold it Thursday of next week. The urgency should incite some favorable reaction."

"Good idea, thank you."

"My friend Ruby Williams has just been speaking to me. I want you two to meet. She's wife of Crown Prosecutor Wilf Williams, so is a socialite. It's a case of the girls against the boys but I'll let her tell you about it."

"Fine, if you're going to procure for me we must do lunch on me."

"That would be lovely but procure, you don't know close that is to the mark."

"Pardon me?"

"No more hints. Bye."

Ruby Williams swept into Bianca's office as if she owned it. "This office is very small."

"It's big for just me, a receptionist or one or two clients. If big means more to you than quality service then I suggest you look elsewhere, Mrs Williams."

"No, I suppose you'll do. Sara Bloom seems to think you are top shelf and capable of thinking unlike anyone else she knows. We'll need a lot of that because this side issue comes down to them and us, and them has the resources though we rather think we out-brain them."

Bianca waited, expecting the confusion would lift soon.

"I suppose you're wondering what I'm talking about?"

"I have plenty of time."

"Is that sarcasm?"

"That's one interpretation."

"I see, a cute answer. You've pinged me without appearing to do so."

Bianca decided it was time. "Well then, let's get on with it. Tell me the problem in thirty words."

"Good heavens, you don't back down, do you?"

"Thirty words or fewer."

"A brothel is planned near Crucible Private School for Girls. It's an abomination and must be stopped. Our men-folk just laugh and say we tilt at windmills."

Bianca clapped her hands and complimented Ruby, saying it was the most interesting, dynamic and succinct job briefing she'd ever received.

"You have a very educated tongue, young woman. My confidence in you grows by the minute."

Bianca smiled and asked would Ruby expend another thirty words describing how she perceived Bianca's involvement in this windmill tilting mission.

"At our committee meeting tomorrow evening I want you to tell us how to shift this brothel project into the next suburb or even Antarctica."

"Wow. I ought to be charging treble full-rate. Instead I'll work for $25 an hour – does your committee have funding?"

"Yes, and most of use have a few pennies to spare. But please $100 an hour and I'll whisper you've halved your fee because of your social conscience. If I said $50 my parents' liaison committee would think I was hiring trash."

"Oh, we can't give them that impression."

Ruby smiled. "It's going to be fun working with you. I'll now give you a brief description of the school, it's ideals, a typical male and a typical female parent and how these husbands of ours, top professional men in the main, describe our concerns as and I quote, 'A bloody hilarious joke'. I ask you why aren't they interested in resisting and I'll ask you not to answer as the thought of the answer disgusts we women."

"Women go to brothels too, Ruby."

"Oh Bianca – please. Don't dare mention that. We stand united and must give the impression we are pure and staunch."

Ninety-ninutes and four cups of coffee later, Ruby left, looked far more relaxed than when she arrived. Without saying what she'd do, Bianca said she was absolutely confident she could lead a staunch troop of women into embarrassing the men and bring the wrath of the city, indeed the entire national and even beyond, on to unscrupulous investors in legalized sin and unacceptable pornography who threatee to blight the neighborhood of Crucible Private School for Girls."

"You have lifted my spirits, dear Bianca. I was worrying that over this issue I would become known forever as the least successful committee chairman in the history of the school."

"I'll succeed providing you hand me a troop of staunch women."

Ruby said Bianca had her promise.

Bianca was glad she'd switched from afternoon to a 6:30 morning slot at the gym. That allowed her to be available or not when being asked out for a drink. She slipped out at 5:00 as the temp left. She raced home for a shower and changed into something that was more complimentary to her body than a business suit. Walking back to the office and noticing some admiring glances she decided Marty would qualify as being staunch.

Staunch perhaps but Marty appeared to almost melt when he entered the office at 5:50 and Bianca came around the desk wearing half a yard of something flimsy that plunged from a halter neck to one of the deepest V's he'd ever seen in the flesh – meaning apart from MM or Gina L movies – and the flimsy stuff halted a foot above her knees.

"Hi, w-w-won't you g-get c-cold."

"You're staunch; I can rely on you to drape your jacket over me," she said, stopping just a hand's span away from him.

No reaction.

She shimmered to narrow that gap by half, looking up at his lips with intensity.

Nothing dammit, she thought, I'll not made the first move but had the satisfaction of hearing a quavered as he said, "We should be going."

Why should we, what's the rush, Bianca thought aggressively. You had time to comment on the precision with which I'd applied by lip gloss or mention romantically, 'How can a woman smell so beautiful as this when working all day in the office. You smell better than my mother.' Yeah, and he'd be thinking that was a supreme compliment in the ranking of 'This pie tastes better than what my mother makes. A long pause, and then comes just one word – 'almost'. Why is it some men become hesitant when faced by a female who's all woman, in this case standing only half a hand span away?

"Yes, we best go as a matter of urgency," she sighed, drawing a blank look.

Follow me out Marty and I'll give you an eye-bugging demonstration of an interesting way a woman can use her hips.

"You lock up while I'll hit the button for the elevator," he said. Masterfully she thought – efficient work, Marty, but you missed seeing my hip play.

No-one else was in the elevator. You have the choice Marty – kiss me or pick your nose. What? That's rather common, Bianca. Show your class please.

"Did your college earn more today than what it spent?"

"Huh?'

Bianca turned her back on him and aware that he was at the right angle to see into the mirror in front of her waggled her breasts into a more comfortable position in her half-bra. She looked to meet his eyes – a mysterious locking gaze of mutual allure. But he was reading an ad on the other wall of the cage promoting rodent control.

Another wasted opportunity, you rat. She waggled an ear-ring to give herself a little pain in the piercing, to sharpen her thoughts. Did males have any idea how many opportunities to—er—inter-elate with their date only to be misread or ignored? In all probability that occurred because females were too subtle for males. Well, Marty – that's the end of the show for now; this hopeful series of maneuvers has left me a tad stressed and exhausted. What do I want from you, Marty? Okay, I know, I'm not sure. If I were I'm damn sure we wouldn't be time-wasting in this elevator, not with my hormones yelling at me to get on with it. Aren't I'm lucky I'm staunch – it saves me from facing rejection. Have you rejected me as something warm and receptive to cuddle up to and exploit, Marty? Well, if I knew I wanted you I'd send our clearer vibes. It's my fault, isn't it? Men always think it's the women's fault. This is pathetic – I should be out with Kit doing the girlie thing. Oops, I really didn't mean that. I'm flexible, but not that flexible. So what am I? Thirsty.

"God I feel like a drink."

"Me too, Bianca; me too. May I say how stunning you look. If I look at you much more I'll have to borrow your handbag to cover my embarrassment."

Bianca's ears were filled with a roar; it was her rioting hormones yelling for her to knock him to the floor. Relieve flooded through her as the doors of the elevator opened: she was saved! From acting indelicately with a male, that is.

Her rollercoaster mind slowed towards normal as they walked through the foyer and on to the end-of-day vehicle and people polluted Queen Street, the city's principal shopping thoroughfare excluding outlying malls; that of course depending on one's definition of 'principal' in relation to shopping and one's definite of shopping but why dwell on semantics? I'd be better off trying to find adult maturity at last when it comes to men, she thought. These surges of lust that grip me occasionally are unladylike and are partly the reason why I've failed to lodge sensibly against the comforting hip of a desirable man who WANTS to leave that arm around me. Thank God that Joe dumped me in Melbourne. Talk about big dicks – small brains, where was my brain? She invented a line to a song, probably bits stolen from lyrics stored in her brain: 'You're a big girl now, won't your ever learn?'

"What was that?"

"Oh, just humming a line to a song, Marty."

"We've hit the street at a bad time – nevermind," he said as she was jostled heavily against Marty by a guy rushing to the harbor ferries.

"Asshole!"

"Tut-tut," Marty grinned, placing am arm around Bianca protectively and not in any hurry to remove it. The arm fell away as they entered the bar against people leaving and when they grabbed two vacated bar stools he was attracting the attention of the bargirl instead of helping her on to her stool and sneaking a feel of what kind of bra Bianca had on or whatever men think when they do that. I want that arm back around me, she whined to herself.

"Two Harvey Wallbangers," he ordered. 

Bianca thought, he'd not consulting me; he's ordering that particular drink because he has seduction in mind. Well, he could get lucky after I've downed two or three of those.

Their drinks arrived with the recipients still not touching.

"We best only have one of these."

"Why are they strong?"

"You sound innocent; they do have a reputation."

"Like what?"

Marty rubbed his chin, obviously enjoying this conversation. "It's bar folklore really – mothers warn their daughters if they're drinking Harvey Wallbangers not to ride in the back of a black Cadillac."

"Why are earth not?"

Marty grinned. "Now that's something you'll have to ask your mother."

"You're not particularly brave when challenged, are you Marty?"

"Come out to my place for lunch Sunday but come early – I'll show you something that's a really big challenge."

"Oooh, I can't wait." She thought Marty looked a little confused so asked what was a Harvey Wallbanger.

"Just old-fashion Screwdriver with Galliano – an Italian herb flavoured liquer – added to the mix."

"Oh, is that all," Bianca pouted. "I thought it had some secret potion added."

"Whatever for?"

Lowering her voice an octave, Bianca told him: "So a girl can get it without really believing she's getting it thus feels moral when squealing in delight and giving back as good as she gets."

To his credit Marty laughed aloud, genuinely laughed. "God, you can be so funny."

To Be Continued...



Overlooked Bride Ch. 05



SO FAR: Jilted days away from the altar, Bianca White returns to her homeland to become a business problems consultant in Auckland. Business is beginning to take off but her first client Marty Young has become her romantic quarry and at last his interest in her appears about to erupt.

Bianca White regarded as encouraging the response of her client Marty Young that he thought she could be so funny. As well as plying her with Harvey Wallbangers he was inviting her out to the ranch or whatever he called it for Sunday lunch.

"What time Sunday?" She didn't really expect him to drawl "Why not come for all day and stay the night." This wasn't a book or a film. She wasn't disappointed when he said, "Ten-thirty onwards will be fine. I'll give you directions during dinner tonight."


'Over dinner' proved to be fascinating: Marty talked expansively about his educational college, indicating without saying to Bianca he fancied he was contributing usefully to the assimilation of foreigners into their new homeland. 

She'd been to this restaurant before – a typical home-style low-budget Italian family eatery where sloppily rendered walls with pictures torn from magazines and framed were offset by jovial hosts, saucy waitresses and surly young sons pathetically posing as real wine waiters plus there was the honest to goodness food. It was exactly the right setting – noisy and friendly with aroams that tempted the nostrils to distraction.

Looking at her client Bianca thought to hear a young man talk passionately about his vocation – well, he was young, a mere four years older than she was - and who doesn't like men being passionate about something?

The conversation was one-sided then why interrupt? Most of her girlfriends perennially complained their lovers – including husband – didn't talk enough. 

Bianca decided she was determined to take advantage of this opportunity. Why let him drift away just because he was uncommitted to marriage? Someone had to arrest his elusiveness and it seemed appropriate that she did just that even if it meant grooming him for some other woman. Eligible men at thirty should not be left corral-shy.

"Tomorrow for lunch as well?" she heard herself saying. Two lunches within two days of tonight's dinner; this was adding up to a dating frenzy. Keep your mouth shut – he'll elaborate.

"Yes, I'd like to introduce you to my partner and our management team tomorrow and to take you through our establishment. I'm thinking of engaging you permanently as a consultant, making your our second outside director. Our legal adviser is currently the only outside director on our board of six."

"Your college is large enough to justify a board of six?"

"Oh yes."

Well, how big was big? He'd probably been telling her while she was figuring out how to nail him. You are over-complicating your relationship with this man by having runaway thoughts, my girl. Stop it.

"Okay, I'll readjust my schedule to ensure I can make lunch."

"Go on, you have virtually no appointments tomorrow."

Clearly it was meant as a joke; she knew that and she knew she had only two appointments tomorrow – one early, the other in the evening. Even so, she blushed.

Oh God, he'd taken her hand and was apologizing earnestly, saying what a callous thing to say to a lovely lady struggling to build up a new business in a competitive environment. She thought that strategically she should milk sympathy and possible hugs by softly weepng but she was um too honest for that. That, of course, but the word she was seeking was staunch. This wasn't a public relations project; this was an attempt to create and capture romance to really find out if Marty would reveal himself as Mr Right.

Capturing romance? She wasn't sure she'd heard that expression before but it fitted her situation like a glove.

"No, don't apologize – I love it when you make your little quips and spontaneous comments. It's part of what makes you so interesting."

"Interesting, you find me interesting?" he asked, quite agog.

Jumping jellyfish – he had no idea how hard she was working this evening to attract him to her. Time for the gamble – it could attract or repel.

"Oh yes, you are a great client but in the social moments we've had together I find myself becoming attracted to you."

"To me?"

She half expected him to look around to see who she was addressing.

Tactics again: She didn't reply – she just held out her glass to be topped up and stared at him, riveting a strong look into his jade green eyes. He overfilled her glass and wine trickled over her slightly shaking fingers, He broke their locked gaze to say a naughty four-letter word and began dabbing her fingers with his paper serviette, in his haste spilling more wine from her glass.

"Allow me sir," said their waitress, arriving with a thick hand-towel.

"I'm sorry..." Marty began.

"Think nothing of it, sir. My family loves it when our customers become passionate. I'll fetch a finger bowl for you ma'am."

"Passionate – me passionate?" he said as the waitress sped away.

"The emotion is there; it just needs to be triggered," Bianca said casually, looking at one of the awful wall pictures.

The fleet-footed waitress was back and dipping Bianca's hand into the water. "You must enjoy these beautiful long fingers exploring your body, sir."

Bianca and Marty sat like two stunned mackerel.

"Long fingers and the quality of epicure are part of a women's defining assets," Marty croaked.

The waitress and Bianca looked at Marty with interest. He turned away embarrassed. The table had a waterproof centre cover so the waitress wiped that clean and said, "We are sorry our wine caused an accident. My father says the liquers and coffee will be served without change."

"Apart from the pictures, I love coming to this restaurant," Bianca said.

"It's fast becoming one of my favorites," Marty beamed. "I must tip that waitress well. She has a lovely face but pity about the hips."

"Give her a break, Marty. She's Italian, though doubtless Kiwi-born and she works in food and her mother probably forbids her to diet. But never fear – she'll make it on sheer personality and probably can cook like an angel."

Marty nodded. "Well said, Bianca. I must say you're never boring – you sound almost ruthless at times and yet have to ability to soar and say such a lovely thing as you've just said about that girl. I suppose if we knock around a bit like this I'll find out more about you."

"I suppose so."

Outside the restaurant Bianca ended their awkwardness at farewell time forever. She reached up and kissed him on the lips. "Thank you – lovely evening. Lovely kiss. I'm only ten minutes walk from home in well-lit streets and it's not quite 9:00. So off you go to collect your vehicle and drive safely."

"I cannot allow..."

"This is not negotiable, Marty. Believe me. Now kiss me again and I'll be off. When unaccompanied I always try to be off the streets by 9:00 at nights to preserve my impeccable reputation."

They kissed unhurriedly.

"Marvellous lips, marvelous fingers. What else do you have in that category?"

Bianca giggled and said it was for him to find out, so he'd better stick around. 

Marty handed Bianca a slip of paper and waved goodbye, calling, "You've only seen and public pages of our website. That's the password to allow you to go deeper."

Bianca blew him a kiss and walked off, wondering if he was standing to look at her hips. She fell into a bit of a nautical roll but didn't look back.

Bianca opened the website of the New Arrival's Induction College, Basil Kennard and Marty Young, joint principals, established 1985. She'd forgotten to ask Marty who Basil Kennard was – presumably the founder as in the staff photograph he looked in his late sixties. She counted the staff – 43. This was no fly-by-night outfit.

The college ran morning, afternoon and evening courses – the maximum number of students per class was fifteen and the claim was 'Low student-tutor ratios to facilitate rapid student immersion'.

The fees raised her eyebrows – it wasn't cheap education, but the shortest class was the initial introductory intensive 5-day course. After that students elected what classes they wished to attend; the minimum number required for a 5-day class to run was eight students.

The password was one Marty was unlikely to forget: the name of his horse and its age – Beckett11. She read the company's strategic plan and business plan, code of ethics and operations report. Then for the next few hours Bianca worked on a draft marketing report, finishing just before 4:00 which mean by skipping gym she could snatch three and a half hours' sleep and still open the office on time. Although tired, she was very pleased with her work and thrilled that she had a boyfriend again. 

* * *

Driving home after dinner, Marty turned the radio up loud and let his thoughts soar. The most amazing thing had happened – the beautiful Bianca White had taken to him. He shook his head, unable to believe it; a woman like that could virtually align with anyone but she'd chosen him.

Marty tried to think of what had attracted her; it couldn't be the sex because they hadn't been any. His mind went on an erotic detour thinking about having sex with that gorgeous woman. Perhaps she wasn't so gorgeous and that's why no-one else wanted her? Nah, that was ridiculous.

A grinding mind came up with a few likely things:

-he was her first client. -she felt sorry for what Gloria had done to him. -they interacted well. -they appeared to be compatible. -his farmlet,'Young Meadows', had horses she could ride. -new Arrivals Induction College would be a big account for her. -she was looking for a good guy; he was a great guy. -Bianca thought sex would be great with him. -She assumed he wanted those long fingers exploring his body. Oh yeah; to be truthful he's looked at that body of hers in a calculating way a couple of times.

Sex, just sex, or do I want more than that; even more than a complete and intimate friendship? Marty looked into the darkness ahead, split by an illuminated pale gold channel created by the headlights of his vehicle as he waited for tumbling thoughts to settle into some sort of pattern. The wait was a little frustrating because considering that poser had produced more questions: Was marriage even a faint thought in her mind; was she the right woman for him to court; what hope had he of taking her as a bride? This irritated him; why was he bothering with these uncertainties, taking his mind away from the exciting central consideration: she might be interesting in having sex with him? 

Question: how do I find out? You make the right moves, dumb cluck.

He turned into his driveway and wound the driver's window down to hear the welcome of three hungry dogs. He always enjoyed being welcomed home as that made him feel he was not alone.

In bed Marty thought of Bianca and that last kiss they had on the sidewalk; that was a memorable kiss, like he was remembering it now. Bianca had probably gone into the website as soon as she arrived home. He hoped so as it would give her a better 'feel' for the college in case she was thrown curly questions. There was a mood of unrest among staff as they knew Basil intended resigning as soon as Marty found a replacement business partner. So far the search had been unsuccessful and by now Bianca may have read his memo to staff about that.

At noon Marty saw Bianca drive up and rushed out to welcome her. As she opened the car door she warned, "Don't kiss me other than on the cheek, Marty. With your difficulty finding a replacement for Mr Kennard it is likely staff will be rather nervous; they won't want to see you bringing in a consultant with whom you are acting as if you are having an affair."

"Oh I wish," he grinned. "But sharp comment; I had a similar thought last night when thinking of you."

"You think of me when I'm not with you?"

"Your unseemly behavior with me last evening, Miss White, has triggered an affair of the mind."

"That's cute comment, Marty. Now give me a sweet kiss on the cheek and don't grope."

"Grope? I wouldn't dare, but please allow me to carry your carton – what's in this?"

"A draft marketing proposal for your college including a section devoted to restructuring."

"What? When did you do this?"

"When you were in your bed having fanciful thoughts about me. What you have there are nine copies – you said I'd meet eight new faces at the meeting so the extra one is for you. There is an executive summary so there's no need at this preliminary stage to read the whole report to get the gist. I wrote it last night, finishing at 4:00 this morning."

"Good God."

"No, Good Bianca."

Marty introduced Bianca to Basil Kennard, an affable man who looked strained, ready for retirement. The partners took Bianca on a quick tour and then into the boardroom to meet other members of senior management.

The college occupies the former head office and production plant of a long gone food processing company in premises that had been substantially upgraded by the previous owners – a national accounting firm now housed in one of the city's tallest office towers. The frontage looked impressive, being finished in glazed dark brown brick. There was plenty of parking for students and the air-conditioned classrooms were well lit with modern furniture – altogether a modern teaching facility helping to justify the high fees.

Because New Zealand only has just over 4 million people, it's immigration figures are small – averaging annually around 80,000 permanent/long stay people of whom around 25,000 are returning New Zealanders, giving the college a net inflow of immigrants of around 55,000 to target for enrolments. But it also attracts students from the tens of thousands other people arriving including long-stay tourists, international students and people on short term work permits. The college and several like-minded institutions compete within these inflows for students.

Explaining this to Bianca during the inspection tour, Basil said the college had a through-up of more that 500 students a week with some of those being students taking more than just the one class a day.

"Our goal is to accelerate newcomers to assimilate into New Zealand culture to the depth they desire," Basil said.

"Yes, I note that's the board's Mission Statement," Bianca said. Basil raised an approving eyebrow.

After the luncheon Marty spoke about his reasons for engaging Bianca as a consultant, with emphasis on marketing. "We have thirty percent of our premises not being used so we need to assess whether we should expand and into what direction. I propose setting up a five-person working party comprising myself and Bianca. I'd like you people to nominate the other three persons at our next meeting."

Bianca found Marty to be a strong, non-nonsense speaker and everyone seemed intent on listening to him; this indicated good leadership qualities and his people seemed keen to speak with him during the buffet lunch, which was of excellent quality; no wine was served. Bianca fully approved.

Bianca was invited to speak after Marty had delivered a résumé of her CV.

"I have written a discussion document which I emphasize is in draft form; at this stage anything in it is up for debate either today or as we progress with further meetings. I apologize in advance for any errors created through assumptions I have made when I had not even stepped into this college; I worked off the website."

Bianca began distributing the discussion paper asking everyone to take a minute or two and read the executive summary on pages four and five.

"This document is a draft titled 'Image and Positioning'. I have academic knowledge about those two vital topics in marketing and establishment success but you people have the experience at the coalface; we bring knowledge and skills together through positive discussion. I'd ask that you don't seize on some comments as red herrings because at this stage that's what they are – comments through to suggestions for discussion. For example, my suggestion that the college's stated mission be changed to 'Learn the New Zealand Way' and that theme be stated when any document or booklet is updated or any promotional film-strip or advertisement or poster is reviewed."

"I also believe our discussion should look at comprehensive reform, rather than just production of a slicker marketing program. That means a new name for the College – I've suggested the Introducing New Zealand College of Learning. Perhaps you guys can come up with something that hits the bull'seye or we may even have to consult specialists in logos and names. Please read the executive summary; I'll resume in two minutes from now."

The meeting ended thirty minutes later to allow staff to return to duties at the resumption of classes for the afternoon session.

"About all that's happen is you've been introduced to them and you've got us thinking," Basil said.

"Getting people thinking is an achievement in itself," Bianca responded and turning to Marty listened to his comment she knew had to come: "This suggested name change for the college took me by surprise."

"At this stage it's only a suggestion; in my view everything should be up for discussion with Basil as symbolizing the old guard moving out."

"Don't forget Mavis Anchor – she was my first recruit."

"Basil, I gained the impression she would prefer me not being here."

Basil smiled. "Yes, that's to be expected if you know Mavis, but I sensed two or three others were swinging her way."

"Yes, I'd agree with that Basis," Marty said earnestly. "We must ensure at all times we allow any dissenter on any point to speak for a reasonable period. These people are tertiary teachers and administrators who hold dearly to democracy and fair hearings."

"That's fine," Bianca smiled. "We should settle the naming question quickly – whether it's to proceed or not. If a new name is adopted, reregistering with the education authorities and the like will take time." 

Accompanying Bianca to her silver Lexus, Marty sensed her disappointment. "The reception was negative but remember you will received some support and from here on your role is principally that of facilitator. I won't kiss you – three of them are at the second floor windows, watching. Not good, I'm afraid."

Where was the support? Bianca sighed as she drove off, giving the reflective Marty a little wave; you and I could lose this one heavily. Clearly the conservatives who reflected Basil held sway. The damn place was more like a learning institution that a creative centre of modern learning. She wondered when any of the curriculum had been reviewed substantially, or even a little.

Gloom hovered over her like a tiny rain cloud. Then she wailed, "Oh God" knowing a similar reception awaited her this evening from the stalwarts of one of Auckland's 'true blue' schools where the underpinning word behind entire institutionalized philosophy was 'tradition'. She banged the steering wheel and a minute later was stopping at a small shopping strip to drown her frustration in a double shot black coffee. 

Bianca called her 'temp' who would have been waiting at least 30 minutes for her overdue employer. She had been warned that Bianca may be late so had taken sanctuary in a nearby coffee shop where she said she was attacking 'a sensational cream cake.' Bianca said give her another twenty minutes as she had to reach her apartment to park in the basement and then walk the short distance to the office.

Bianca handed the woman ten dollars to cover afternoon tea. Gwen protested, saying no she couldn't accept the money and then took it before Bianca could react. Typical, Bianca thought grumpily – at least some transactions are efficient because recipients know what's good for them. Not like teachers entrenched in their comfort zones and dealing with adult students walking on to foreign soil who'll be prepared to accept anything thrown at them. This is a lesson, she thought grimly; I must stick with clients who have a degree of sophistication and purpose in life. 




Overlooked Bride Ch. 05



Fourteen letters were in the mail answering the advert Bianca had placed last Friday and Saturday for a business associate tinged with the hint of possible romance. Quite an irregular advert actually so she was surprised at receiving fourteen replies. Gwen was asked to mail a reply to each respondent acknowledging receipt of their application and to state that respondents selected for final interview would be advised at the end of the month and unsuccessful candidates would receive their letter at the same time.

As Gwen finished other work before drafting the letter to the latest applicants, Bianca read the responses and was surprised at the over-all quality of applicant – at least as promising as Gloria she thought bitterly but then smiled; Gloria probably would rate as the one maverick in every 200 responses, so with only fourteen responses plus a few more late ones over the next couple of days, chances of landing another Gloria were less than slim.

Cheered, Bianca said, "Gwen you finish up with me at noon. How would you like me to buy you lunch?"

Gwen looked at Bianca with brimming eyes. "I'd love that – I really need to talk to a woman who's not family. Although I'm forty-two years of age withy my youngest child aged ten, I learned late Friday I'm pregnant."

"I sensed something was troubling you deeply. We'll have a lovely chat. Although I don't know much about late arrivals I'm aware they can happen and I definitely know how you must adjust you attitude right now to better cope. A new baby, what fun."

"Fun?" queried the mother of three, bottom lip quavering.

Marty called just to say hello so she invited him to dinner at 6:00 and said she'd have to leave at 7:30 and told him about the Crucible School meeting. "We could do this tomorrow evening when I don't have to rush off."

"No, tonight is fine. You are rather intense so becoming used to you in short burst is fine. You're taking on a lot – our bunch of conservatives at lunchtime and now the blue rinse brigade and cloned daughters."

"Thank you for your sympathy. Bye."

She resisted making kissing sounds on the phone. Perhaps after dinner this evening she might.

Marty arrived to be greeted by a lovely vision who handed him a beer and simultaneously held up her face to be kissed. Possibly it was luck or possibly he recognized it as a test, but he kissed first and then accepted the beer.

"Please don't mind my robe – I have underwear on. It's just that I don't wish to mark my light gray dress."

Marty accepted that explanation with a "That's fine" and if he noticed later when they left the apartment together Bianca was wearing a black dress he refrained from becoming a smart-ass whistle-blower.

Dinner, he was told, was ordinary fare. She'd made a casserole before leaving home that morning and it had been slow-cooking all day. Dessert would be a simple apply turnover. She would only have the one glass of wine because she would be addressing "the blue rinse brigade and cloned daughters."

"You have a good memory."

"And you can express yourself very well. How are the horses?"

"Fine, but I also have dogs and cattle."

"How are the three dogs and the Herefords?"

"Impressive – you have a memory for detail though you've yet to step foot on Young's Meadows."

"Oh, that's a sweet name for a lifestyle block. Did your grandparents name it?"

"No, their property was called Tiresome Hills Farms as it was mostly foothills. I was left the hay paddocks, pick of the land. Grandma always called that acreage the meadows so I chose to commemorate the name."

"That's lovely."

"You're lovely," he said with burning eyes.

She managed to look coy when taking the opportunity she'd been hoping for: "We've time to fool around a bit; sit beside me."

Marty was out of his chair in a flash, leaving his beer behind. She held her arms open. Snuggling up against her Marty turned and holding both sides of face kissed gently feeling her lips fuse against his as they opened slightly – just like petals, he thought. She had an arm around him and tenderly pulled a hank of his long hair at the back of his neck, released, re-gripped and repeated this affectionate attention – it couldn't be anything else - to his mane of multiple browns.

"This is lovely," he whispered.

"Hmmmmm." 

She attempted to pull him back closer but he widened the gap, pulled her down behind him and swung her legs on to the sofa, meeting no resistance.

Marty turned and said meeting her deep gaze, "May I look at your underwear?"

"Yes."

"You're very direct and economical."

"True."

"Don't you want to know why I wish to look?"

"I'll either find out or I won't."

"Aren't you worried I may have an underwear fetish?"

"If it were confined to me I'd probably freak out with delirium."

"Steady on, Bianca, I don't wish to over-excite you."

She smiled at that and watched intently as he undid the tie of her silk robe. The eyes became unfathomable as he looked back to check as he deliberately opened the gown to maximum width, unhurriedly. 

The cheerful red, yellow and green overlapping pattern of the bra struggling to cope was inspected first. Although the breasts remained untouched he trailed a finger down from the little pink bow between the cups down her lower chest to circle her unadorned navel. Her breathing was increasing while his seemed to be choking back. The finger continued on down to the top of her panty, then stopped. Her breathing stopped, momentarily.

"God, you wear thigh-highs. I love stockings."

Her breathing resumed, a little faster.

"This is the part I really like," he surprised, touching the slight swell of flesh at the top of the black lace band of a stocking.

"Why?"

"It's sweet, succulent flesh – perhaps the best. May I kiss there?"

She didn't answer so was kissed there, his nose leading the way to the softest flesh of the inner thigh. But the legs didn't open. 

Marty's sensually charged finger continued down the shapely silkily-encased legs. Leaning across her knees he picked up a foot and kissed an inside ankle.

Bianca sighed.

Marty rose and turning at the end of the sofa picked up her outer leg and sucked her toes, oblivious to the fact they were encased in stocking.

Bianca sighed deeply this time and effectively replicating the lowering of a drawbridge slowly opened her legs.

But although no longer toe sucking, Marty didn't move; he just stared at her, feeling slightly triumphant but a little nervous at leaving her this aroused, outcome suspended.

Bianca moaned once – a wrenching frustrated moan, then smiled thinly and offered her hand to be pulled up. Marty obliged, ensuring he was in position for that to end in a kiss, and was rewarded with an outgoing exist of passion.

"Wow," he said as he felt her hand brush against him, obviously checking on what she had been denied.

"I'm sorry," he kissed as a murmur into her ear. "You did indicate there was time to 'fool around a bit."

She sighed. "That was an intelligent thing for me to say to you but unfortunately intelligence and emotions sometimes disagree. Intelligence and your restraint won through – on my part it's the price I pay for trying to always do the right thing. We'll fuck sometime soon, won't we?"

"Oh yes, Marty said, pulling her into a bear hug.

* * *

A overly smiling Ruby Williams, wearing a necklace that probably cost the price of a medium size family car, kissed Bianca's cheek and said, "Don't expect an easy ride tonight, dear. Emotions are running high; two of the husbands have openly declared they regard a brothel as an essential community service."

"Have their wives gone home to their mothers?"

Ruby looked aghast. "My dear, we are intelligent and very capable women around here. We don't deal with our husbands by running away. Spare me."

"Of course, with a name like Crucible I should have known; some of you are former pupils?"

"All of us on the committee are bar Edwin Rice, an American Harvard-trained gynecologist, a prized asset to have in our midst."

"Is the committee's legal adviser male or female?"

"Male, but we're very comfortable about that as is Edwin; as well as being a highly regarded barrister and solicitor our legal-beaver is a recognized unbiased humanist and the only male on our governing committee; male parents are represented on our finance, sports, staffing, standards/discipline and building/maintenance sub-committes."

"Good gracious – how large is this school?" Bianca asked, having heard of it of course but as it was not in 'the top three' in rated excellence and awards of university scholarships, she'd never taken much notice of it.

"We have just over 1100 students; we've grown enormously since Morag MacFie because head mistress."

"The poet and very talented actress at the former Mercury Theatre?"

"That's our Morag, PhD."

"As a kid I used to be taken to the Mercury Christmas pantomime. She was always the wicked witch or some other scary person. I loved her."

"So do we and our girls. She's devastated about this proposed brothel; it's eating at her."

"Christ, then I better deliver."

Looking slightly shocked by the language, Ruby nevertheless took Bianca's arm and said, "That's the spirit." She took Bianca in and introduced her to the gathering who included three former chairman of the committee, one of whom was the deputy mayor. Everyone else included Ruby looked please to find that their consultant not only knew Brenda Coddingham but Brenda gave Bianca a top-shelf greeting. 

Bianca told the meeting she'd mention what they already knew, or should know: that since brothels had been declared legitimate activities through a change in leglislation that's what they were, legitimate businesses providing they met certain criteria.

"My enquiries show that this proposed small brothel would be housed in upstairs commercial accommodation in the village, a location that is 144 meters, as measured by a land surveyor, from the gates of this school. That, I am reliably informed, complies with the spirit of the legislation which makes it very difficult to oppose. Courts do not take kindly to pressure groups who oppose the legitimate rights of others. We must keep this in mind – this is an issue about concerns of parents who don't appear to have the law on their side; the plain fact is it cannot be a moral challenge because the legislation was enacted completely leaving aside any issues of morality. Please remember that.

"Shame on them!"

"Hear, hear."

Bianca shook her head, choosing to do that noticeably. She did not smile. "Right, here's what I think we need to do. It's a simple solution but to be effective it needs to be a coordinated and well staged fight-back. We need to shame the landlord. This must be done indirectly; if we resort to mud-slinging physically or verbally we'll be shooting ourselves in the foot, some of us even being arrested. For the next five minutes I will outline my proposed strategy, leaving out one crucial element of surprise that I shall reveal only in confidence to Dr MacFie and your chairman in utmost secrecy because if it's leaked it won't be a surprise tactic. As committee members you will be advised at the same time as the media are advised, not a moment before. Please understand, this is essential for success."

That created a buzz, eventually silenced by the chairman. 

Bianca outlined her proposal. Questions followed and it seemed she had won general support.

The chairman asked Edwin Rice what he thought.

"Incisive, even-handed though I suspect the undisclosed element could be something pushing boundaries. I admire Bianca for emphasizing we must play this clean otherwise we may be the architects of any failure."

"Felicity."

"I don't really wish to sound picky but wouldn't we be better served by a consultant who was a parent with children?"

Ruby said she'd approached Bianca on the strong urging of Brenda Coddingham. "I met Bianca and thought I'd attempt a hard-nosed approach myself, and oh girl, was I bounced on to my backside ever so charmingly but with sheer verbal force."

That produced some laughter, but it didn't convince Wendy who said she supported Felicity – a parent from the school with children should have been engaged.

Ruby sighed and called, "Bianca."

Bianca said softly, "What's the deal about having a consultant aligned with the school? Does that automatically suggest that privileged makes them a better person for the job? If not, then you're shot off one barrel before you've even started. Usually I don't mind some opposition but perhaps not in this instance: we are teetering on this once and nothing will improve that situation without an incisive campaign. Now hear this: dissenters in the camp could interfere with momentum so I'd not be comfortable with that. Apologies for pulling out this example, but it's my impression that Jesus was without children and went into bat for his people – and look at what he achieved? That's just making the point one does not have to have children to be sympathetic and determined to bring about change."

There was a gasp and silence, broken by a belly laugh from forties-something Edwin. "I guess that's knocked you Felicity and you Wendy back on the place where you sit?"

Nervous laughter greeted that and people looked confused. Bianca fixed that.

"I'm leaving the room. Would you kindly take a vote on me leading this bid to repel the brothel operators Ruby? I'll wait outside for as long as it takes to discuss and vote on me. Unless I'm supported 100 percent I'm walking."

Committee members and the three ex officio former chairmen watched in silence as Bianca left.

Within two minutes Ruby came out to Bianca. "I decided to have just a straight vote – everyone knew the issue. I simply asked for loyalty and got it – a vote totally in support of you. Come join us for supper."



Overlooked Bride Ch. 06



SO FAR: Jilted days before the wedding in Melbourne, Biance White returns home to Auckland to throw herself into work, setting up as a consultant to people with business problems. Her first client is a honey, or so it seems as romance begins to swirl around them. But when Marty Young fails to drive through her proposals for business reform at his college for immigrants she walks away from him to silence the possible ringing of wedding bells.

*

Bianca White was about to turn down into the basement of her apartment building when lights on a SUV parked outside the building doubled-blinked and her phone went.

"Hi, it's Marty flicking lights at you."

"I guessed – the black vehicle looked familiar. What are you doing here?"

"I just had to return but I am confused about why I'm here. I just had to return; don't think of me as a stalker."

"The soft bunch of thigh above my stockings wants to be kissed and licked."

Bianca heard a groan and smiled. "Wait at the front doors – I'll come up internally and let you in."

"How far can I get in?"

"Only you can determine that," she said, making noisy kisses and switching off the phone as she went underground.

Inside the apartment the wet kissing stopped as her client Marty Young lifted Bianca on to the dinning table.

"Oh my, what do you intend doing? My shoe heels will dig into the wood."

"Stay still and the indents will remind us of this night."

"I'll have to spread my legs."

"Then spread."

"What else?"

"Pull the hem of your dress up high."

Being in an obedient mood, she obeyed.

Marty's tongue erotically followed a pathfinder trail made by the initial scouting party: his kissing lips.

"Oh," she groaned. "I'm about to lose control."

"Don't," he ordered. "If that's to happen I need my mouth in position."

"Oh gawd," she bawled, bucking and gasping. "Sorry, it's been such a long time."

"Think nothing of it," he said, snaking his tongue forward on a reconnaissance mission. 

"Oooh, that's lovely."

"Are you good for any more?"

"Oh yes, provided I'm lovingly worked like a Stradivarius."

"I do better thinking double bass."

She sighed and said anything light-fingered would produce encores. 

"You're sexy," he said, unintentionally making her body heave in staccato again.

"This has the makings of a long night," she sighed. "You better stay."

Bianca was invited to stay at Young's Meadows on Saturday night. After dinner that evening they kept themselves and the dogs awake for half the night because of their groaning and the sound of a banging headboard.

Next day Marty proved to his lover how fearless he was at jumping – taking a high stone wall on the gallant Beckett that had Bianca's heart in her mouth. Marty beamed when she ran forward to hug Beckett and call up to Marty what a heroic rider he was.

She helped rub down Beckett and put a reward of two scoops of oats into the old washing machine bowl for him. 

"I need to do a couple of reports," Marty said. "It will take a couple of hours or so. You watch TV or take a kip."

They kissed and parted.

Bianca went into the paddock with a bridle where the horses were – Beckett and Sheba drifted away deceptively, at a pace faster than Bianca could walk. No problem, she caught her target lazy Savannah with ease.

Savannah followed her lazily to the tack room and was saddled without any problem. Bianca swung into the saddle and all hell broke loose; Savannah hadn't been ridden for months, didn't know this rider and had to show who was boss. Bianca managed to keep her seat but had blood flowing from the corner of her mouth where her teeth had caught the inside of her bottom lip during a jarring descent from a cantankerous stiff-legged buck. 

Finally Savannah decided she'd had enough and submitted – a little. Bianca worked her from a walk into a trot and into a canter but the mare refused to gallop. She was returned to the tack room and didn't see the riding crop being tucked into Bianca's new riding boot.

Away they went again, from a walk into a trot and quickly into a canter that seemed to suit them both although Bianca wanted more. She attempted the meter high jump slotted into the fence line but Savannah served away from it. She was taken around in a semi circle and felt the whack of the crop. Her ears shot up. As she was driven forward towards the fence again she received another whack and realized this rider meant business so sailed over the jump in honest endeavor.

Half an hour later Marty was pulled away from his almost completed Staff Newsletter by a piercing 'Yippee' that drew him to the widow in one leap. He knew before he saw horse and rider by the thumping of hooves it was the heavier mare and that Savannah was being really cranked up. He groaned as he saw the speed of them as they flashed by: "Beckett, we're in big trouble unless we choose a route that includes a fence and water jump; Savannah is a shy jumper."

Away from the farmhouse Bianca walked the mare to give her a blow. Leaning forward she patted the neck: "Savannah, you're bit of a nervous jumper; you and I must spend time jumping and learning to trust one another."

On Tuesday Marty called Bianca and invited her to lunch. But she was lunching with the head mistress of Crucible School.

"But I have something urgent to tell you."

"Tell me now."

"Face to face would be better."

"Well, I fly to Wellington late this afternoon and am away for two days – remember?"

"Oh yes. Bianca, this is difficult to tell you but the staff has voted almost unanimously asking that I terminate you as a consultant. The only grouch is you are too radical for their comfort; you seem to regard the college as a business rather than a centre of learning."

"A mutiny, eh. That's something to get your teeth into."

A silence followed.

"Oh God, you've buckled."

"Don't be too hard on me, Bianca. I'll have to take out a $435,000 loan to buy out Basil; he wants to make a clean break. I've failed to find a partner. With that debt hanging over me I require a loyal staff more than ever. I have to comply with their combined demand."

Bianca offered no comment.

"You understand my position, don't you?" Marty said nervously.

"No."

"But Bianca..."

"You've lost control, Marty. You should have been in there, capturing the feeling. You missed that opportunity and now what have you spawned – a Hydra, ready to pounce at the slightest bit of dissatisfaction."

"That's unfair."

"Is it? I'll send my invoice in due course. Meanwhile it's goodbye, Marty."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't understand the meaning of goodbye? It Marty, you're not the man I thought I was choosing. Don't phone; don't send flowers or anything else. I know I'm angry but know deep down I'm not over-reacting. I'd mistakenly though you were staunch. Our relationship is over, goodbye. Make sure Savannah is ridden competently at times, Marty. She's staunch but weakens a little from neglect.

Terminating the call Bianca screamed "Fuck!" and threw the phone at the door just as it opened and the woman somehow managed to catch the missile against her bosom.

"Having a bad day at the office, are we darling."

"Oh Fiona," wailed Bianca, identifying Sara Bloom the tourism executive's daughter. Fiona held out her arms, holding the phone in one hand and closing the door with her ass. "Come to mummy," she cooed as Bianca ran around the desk; "It's man trouble, isn't it?"

After Bianca's temporary rocky skid on rampant emotion, she recovered under the sympathetic hugs and the two women had a satisfactory reunion after a separation of almost six years. The two-month's pregnant Fiona was supremely happily married to an importer of road-making machinery with service centers through-out the country. After two hours of non-stop chat Bianca had to send Fiona on her way – politely of course – and attend to urgent calls, emails and clear the mail.

Lunch with Dr MacFie was an unexpected delight. The headmistress spoke with a Scottish accent "My girls expect me with a name like Morag MacFie to speak with a Scottish accent," she explained. 

"Although I am New Zealand born and bred I did finish my doctorate in Edinburgh so I returned one summer during our six-week Christmas-January holiday break here and studied intensively under a tutor who actually came from the Isle of Lewis. She'd spent ten years in Glasgow before arriving in Edinburgh so even the Scots have difficulty of picking my regional accent inherited from her. Of course I claim I originate in spirit from the ancient lands of the MacFie family of clans, and that always satisfies everyone." 

"Och, we must start lunch with a single malt over ice – we have a pretence to maintain, or at least I do."

The whiskey bit into Bianca's stomach so for the first time in several hours she felt great.

"You eyes are red-rimmed my dear. I'm thinking he's done something bad."

Bianca nodded.

"You wear no wedding ring my dear," said the spinster in her early fifties. "I'll let you into a wee secret. Most women have men trouble and survive, with or without the little beastie. Take heart. I've fallen in and out of love so many times I canna' remember some of their names. Take my advice – get it oot of yer mind."

She persuaded Bianca to have another wee whiskey before ordering. Before long Bianca was almost ready to sing. She talked long and earnestly to Morag, who at first resisted, saying it was not proper for her to become involved publicly in a landlord's choice of tenants whose activities had been legalized by law. But Bianca pushed on relentlessly.

"What is more important to you, Morag – avoiding being linked to unseemly behavior of protesters or fighting tomaintain excellence in environment for your girls? What is more important to you, Morag – being linked to unseemly protest action or watching parents pullout their daughters from your school if the battle against the establishment of the brothel is lost?"'

Morag looked at her companion and shook her head: "Bianca, you are so resolute, so difficult to rebuff. Your mother must have been a formidable person?"

"My mother is creative, boisterous and fearless; she is French."

"Ah, the French. Ill-disciplined and—ohmigod; your name is White. Yvette White is..."

"My mother's name, Yvette White nee de Beauvoir." 

"Oh my darling, how wonderful to meet you like this Morag said excitedly, suddenly losing her fake Scottish accent. 

"It's so astonishing. At university I had a student exchange to France and stayed six weeks with your mother in the home of your grandparents in Dijon. I had such a rewarding time culturally living with that family. I also met your mother's friend from England Alice Baker who would become your mother's best friend. I lunch occasionally with her when she'd living in Auckland."

They talked excitedly, at times lapsing unconsciously into French and finally Morag said firmly: "Bianca, because of your mother, I'll do anything within reason for you."

Bianca leapt around the table and hugged the older woman. They toasted their agreement with water because both had work ahead of them that afternoon. 

Back at her office Bianca launched into the anti-brothel campaign, arranging the 'New Zealand Herald' civics reporter Jacqui Starr to interview the celebrated children's novelist Tammy Winslow who enjoys international sales in numerous languages of her adventure series of two loveable and risk-taking schoolgirls, Meg and India. Jacqui had attended Crucible School.

It was a stirring interview with 31 year old Jacqui posing dramatically for the camera outside the school gates and holding a banner, "Man the barricades, ladies."

The following day the newspaper ran three letters to the editor from influential Auckland women crying shame on the city for allowing Crucible School to have its traditions and stature compromised by a brothel being located nearby. That enticed 'for and against' letter writers out of the woodwork and the public debate that had died rather soon after the proposed location of the brothel was ignited in a war of vitriolic excesses – the kind of controversy the media adores.

On Thursday the media was advised that 'a protest of enterprising significance' would take place from 8:00 next morning outside the gates of Crucible and outside the location of the proposed brothel. The letter on letterhead of the office of the city's deputy mayor was signed, 'Brenda Coddingham, a proud and disgusted ex-pupil of Crucible Private School for Girls.'

What happened that Friday morning caught the attention of Auckland, with publicity spreading into parliamentary corridors in Wellington and overseas media published photographs and run film clips that created a tiny embarrassment for the New Zealand Government.

Precisely at 8:00 six ex-pupils of Crucible with high public profiles lined-up outside the school gates with another six emerged from a mini-bus parked outside the proposed brothel location. All twelve women were in theatrical make-up and costumes organized by former actress Morag MacPhie – they were dressed in the romantic concept of theatre producers as prostitutes in styles through the ages.

Horrified parents arriving to drop off their children at the school did what the big sign said, 'Toot in Protest." 

Up in the village traffic slowed to a crawl and stopping with minor nose to tail collusions as drivers rubber-necked to eye the 'prostitutes'. The snarl-up caused peak hour traffic chaos leading to traffic gridlock over a much wider area as motorists diverted to head into Remuera to confirm what the radio reports were telling them. 

Breakfast TV was taking a live feed from its reporter-on-the-spot, Shelley Robinson, who identified herself as a Crucible old girl and declared viewers could expect very biased reporting. A decision to pull Shelley off-air was cancelled when the head of programming called from her home to let Shelley be – the executive, of course, being an Crucible old girl.

Morag attended to media enquiries outside the school gates while school parent's liaison committee chairman Ruby Williams performed the similar duty in the village.

By 8:30 there was a carnival-like atmosphere in the village, with people jamming the street, reducing the usual four lanes of slow-crawl peak hour traffic to a stop-start crawl reduced to two lanes because of the crush of pedestrians. The police arrived in force headed by an assistant chief commisioner, an old girl of the school, who ordered her force to concentrate on keeping vehicles moving and attempt to open up the other two lanes. 

'No Brothel' banners appeared from nowhere but obviously had been screen-printed and attached to holders well before the start of this protest.

Ruby was being interviewed by Channel TV-3 when she spied two faces she recognized in the crowd. "Oh look, she said – there are the Larkin brothers who own this building where those out-of-area investors have applied to have licensed for a brothel."

Magically the crowd around the brothers melted away, leaving them standing exposed to Ruby's accusing pointing hand. The TV team hurried over to the brothers.

"Do you remain defiant?" the male TV interviewer asked hopefully.

"We may have to reconsider," said one of the brothers. "We thought the protest was coming from a couple of old spinsters and three or four warped divorcees associated with the school. We had no idea feeling was this intense. The problem is we have a tight contract with these guys wanting to pile babes into our premises to earn big bucks."

Ruby, who like Morag was not dressed as a prostitute, pushed into the interview. "The school's parent's liaison committee will supply you guys with the best female legal brains in the city, which means to best legal brains in the city, to unravel your contract obligations at no cost to you. Start looking for a new tenant today. As for those investors in this brothel project we plan to publicly identify them as people providing a wonderful service for the community."

"Don't you mean two guys and three women who are scum of the earth in bringing their wicked business into close proximity of your school, thereby risking corrupting more than a 1000 girls?" asked a journalist.

"Oh no, if we ridiculed them like that they could sue us for tens of thousands of dollars. But when we expose them with praise the public will know what this is about and shame those people in their own way with the probable result that the commercial activities of those five business people will disintegrate around their wallets. They have two weeks from today to abandon this project or else we launch our campaign praising their enterprise."

"This is weird."

"It's called protecting our butts, Sonny Boy. If you can think of a better way, call me."

Traffic flow through the village was back to normal by 10:30. The twelve 'prostitutes', Morag and Ruby were brought together for a group photograph and the fourteen of them appeared on live on TV-1 during the news that evening.

Morag was brilliant, borrowing from the novel and film character Miss Jean Brodie and calling her students in a heavy Scottish accent, "My girls who deserve a clean start to life and by God these mothers of theirs are determined they'll get it."

The pro-school interviewer asked "The organizer of this fabulous protest; who is she?"

"An awesome young woman who wishes to remain anonymous." Ruby said. "She says she's simply a paid consultant who didn't attend the school so has no wish to take credit about from our tight bunch of pro-school ladies who, as she says, put our hearts and butts on the line."

"So her name will never be known unless a reporter uncovers her identity?"

"Oh, it will become known," Ruby said. "On Founders Day in two months she'll be installed as an honorary life associate of our school. Morag and I believe this is such an outstanding contribution by an individual that we'll easily attract 3000 present and past pupils to the ceremony. Then people who need to know will know who this woman is."

The interviewer tried again. "This is most unusual – such people working in that arena usually crave public attention."

"Not our benefactor in this context."

"Just a moment please," said the interviewer, pressing his ear plug."

"I've just been instructed to advise we believe the consultant who lead you into this astonishing display of inspired public protest today is Miss Bianca White. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. May your campaign succeed."

"Oh it will," Morag said. "As soon as that first parent saw our prostitutes this morning I knew by her horrified look that we had a winning campaign underway."

"Just a moment please," said the interviewer. We are switching to a news flash. Look over here at the big monitor."

Newsreader Jessie Drake came on screen, smiling, the big yellow sign 'News Flash' running across the bottom of the screen.

"A few moments ago, Mr Jonathon Speight, QC, announced that the syndicate attempting to establish the brothel near Crucible Private School for Girls in Remuera, Auckland, have decided to withdraw their application for licensing and to abandon permanently that locality for a brothel. Back to you Martin."

Martin the interviewer was filmed grinning as the twelve 'prostitute' mothers and Morag and Ruby were shown in a huge joyous hugging melee.

"This is amazing – these women, wives of some of our most influential men in our city – are bawling they eyes out. Good luck to them and we acclaim their wonderful highly motivated campaign. I understand a big party is being hastily arranged in the Lotus Room of the Orient Towers Hotel, but security will be tight, so people are advised it will be a waste of time attempting to gate-crash. It's for Crucible girls only – only one exception I'm told and I guess that's Miss Bianca While. Back to you Jessie.C 




Overlooked Bride Ch. 06



* * *

Marty Young remained gripped in melancholy. Very little seemed to interest him, he found himself only half listening to people with problems and an evening a gallop on Beckett failed to fire him with exhilarated freedom. 

That convinced him he was a prisoner of his own stupidity. 

There were several things he could do to dig himself out of this hole, but declaring he was no longer interested in Bianca was not an option. So, what to do? He sulked another day before the answers started coming; he concluded he could do some things alone but for real effect he needed assistance.

Marty called a staff meeting next day. "I haven't been frank with you," he said. "Had I been it perhaps would have made a significant difference. Just recently I have fallen head over heels for Bianca White, the consultant most of you persuaded me to reject her plan of reforms for this college. Bianca has walked out on me, not because of your defiance, but because she concluded I had not been prepared to support her when much of what she was advocating would benefit the college and students and improve profitability, allowing us to upgrade."

"It's unlikely that changing my stance over this will bring Bianca back to me. But I now know I have to do the right thing, even though it will probably cost me dearly because it puts me into conflict with you people. The truth is when you rejected Bianca you rejected me, knowing that I broadly approved of her proposals. The difficulty I have here is you had your reasons for rejecting her and in such a short period those reasons are unlikely to have changed. Therefore we have a problem and the purpose of this meeting is to try to find solutions."

Marty looked around the room and his heavy heart was not lightened by the expressions he faced.

"So, do I get these reforms underway with or without your co-operation? I must state you guys do not possess the winning hand. If necessary I'm prepared to close the college for two months and re-staff it completely. In a moment of weakness I unintentionally gave you as a group the opportunity to decide on acceptance of Bianca's proposals rather than examining each proposal critically and then deciding the best course of action. Let's start the review – but making one thing clear – reform will proceed and those who can't stomach the thought of having to cope with that may wish to consider resigning."

The meeting was adjourned at the end of the lunch hour, with one tutor definite about resigning and four others considering their position and the remainder not indicating where they stood at this stage.

The big thing Marty learned from the question and answer session that had followed was many of them were alarmed at facing the unknown; although tutors involved in teaching concepts they appeared unwilling to deal with planning concepts involving a structural changed to the college and to be followed by a total curriculum rethink and a significant increase of subject modes. These people work in their own little boxes; we need a far more vigorous refresher training program and encouragement to adopt broader vision, he concluded. We must nurture, positively, and weed out low-performers and, if we can, disruptive dissenters. At present we are deficient as managers in those areas.

Marty felt a little better after that bout of navel-gazing. But inside he remained emotionally a mess, yearning to have his Bianca back. As if saddling up his white charger, he reached for his phone.

"Lady Ashton-Jones – it's Marty Young; you won't remember me..."

"Oh yes, I remember you Marty with your enquiry eyes and the straight back of a horseman."

"Pardon me?"

"If I go on I may embarrass you on the phone. Please call me Alice."

It all came tumbling out. "Alice, I desperately require help. Bianca has abandoned me, all because of my stupidity."

"Well, personally I can't say that displeases me; it makes you available. But I admit you do make a lovely couple."

"Did."

"Think 'do' Marty; situations change, especially if you remain positive."

"I want her back, Alice." Out it flooded, in detail.

"Good girl, I would have dumped you in Bianca's position; it's just not cricket to act as you did Marty and ignorance is no excuse. I suppose you want me to woo her back to you?"

Marty's voice faded. "I was hoping."

Alice's voice became a command: "Straighten you back Marty, and act like a man. Bianca is too strong-willed for me to handle alone: I call her mother to my side."

"What – bring Mrs White all the way from France?"

"If I call her, she'll come, Marty; it's what real friends do."

"But..."

"That's enough, Marty. It's done so keep your phone switched on. Good-bye for now Marty. I believe I was within a whisker of having you pleasuring me but then I knew not to come between you and Bianca; Yvette would have expected that of me."

Marty stared at his phone, humbled. He'd just listened to a woman exhibit the true test of friendship – putting friendship ahead of self. He would have gladly trading access to his body in return for Alice assisting him reach out for Bianca. Instead Alice made the noble choice. The thought of her belief that Mrs White would come running halfway around the world to attempt to repair a hole in her daughter's love life was an awesome concept. This was exactly the level of commitment Bianca had expected from him.

"Oh God," he said to the wall. "I put the distaste of commercial risk ahead of commitment of someone in the throes of loving me. As the Bard might have written... my unworthiness has been exposed."

He wallowed a few minutes more until a light bulb flashed in his brain. Marty found Alice's personal card and Bianca's business card and read the names and addresses of both women to the florist and asked that the card simply state, 'Marty'.

"Is that the usual way or the French way?"

"With a 'y'. Two dozen red roses to both women please."

"Sir, have you any idea of the cost of red roses – it's mid-spring?"

"No but it doesn't matter."

"Well, I only have thirty eight – will ten short be acceptable?"

"No."

"I'll send out to other florists."

"Fine, I'll pay for that."

"You sound shattered sir; there will be no charge for out-sourcing."

"With a soft heart like that you'll be my florist for as long as you remain in business, ma'am."

"Florists love romantics. My name is Joyce, sir. I hope you get the young lady back."

"What young lady are you talking about?"

"This city's current heroine, Miss Bianca White. We mothers adore her. You are sending flowers to her."

"What's she done?"

"It's been on wireless all day and on the midday TV news. Watch the news tonight, sir, and you'll see a modern-day Joan of Arc. Miss White's mother Yvette is one of my original clients – she's only in the country for about six months of the year. But she always buys her flowers from me, Marty, if you don't mind me calling that. All florists have a client base that are loyal or as we say, staunch. Two dozen red roses will be delivered to both addresses within the hour. Alice is also a regular client. I take it you want your details you've given me on to my data base."

"Absolutely, Joyce and thank you."

Marty called his PA at the college and said he was not feeling sunny so was going home. He slept a while and then went out under an oak tree with a bottle of red wine, setting the dogs free to join him for company. He kept checking his watch for the three-hour count-down to the News at Six on TV-1.

Half an hour later Alice called. "You naughty man – what glorious flowers. I cried when I was handed them. Thank you very much. Now for two pieces of news – look at TV news at 6:00. Our smart Bianca has brazenly made a name for herself. Have you heard about it?"

"No, but someone has suggested I watch the news. What is it about?"

"I won't spoil the impact. You just be watching. I waited until it was a reasonable hour in the morning before phoning Yvette. She said I'm to tell you she's on her way and hopes you're worth it. I assured her you were. Are you drinking?"

"Yes."

"Well don't drink yourself to sleep before 6:00. Friends who known my connection with Bianca – I'm her godmother – have been phoning me to talk to me about it."

"What's it?"

"Nice try, Marty. You are a sneaky; that's a quality Bianca should like because she too knows how to be naughty. Good-bye. I'll call just before 6:00 ensure you're awake."

Marty stopped drinking thinking he must remain alert; there must be something in this; what did Joyce the flower lady call Bianca – the city's current heroine' wasn't it? Alice was also lauding her. Still a half hour to go and he kept checking his watch every few minutes hoping that his rising expectation wouldn't trigger an over-expectation.

It was the lead item: 'Look-alike Prostitutes Win the Day!' was the headline and with flashing eyes and a half-concealed smile the news reader Meg Barnes warned parents that the following item might be unsuitable for children.

Marty thought the six prostitutes outside the school gates looked like something out of an old Hollywood music hall film. But they put on a staggering performance of sauciness as they played up to the media cameras. It was staggering to think these wealthy mothers of teenage children could perform so well; obviously they'd been professionally coached. 

The camera focused on the headmistresses with her strange accent. "This is only the beginning – we owe it to my girls to bring these commercial people behind this evil brothel venture to their knees. And by God we will" and as she thrust a fist skywards the surrounding mothers cheered the six 'prostitutes' broke into a pretty fair version of the Can-Can.

The TV camera panned along the two lines of jostling media representatives who obviously loved what they were witnessing.

The film cut to the village where another six 'prostitutes' – thin and sleazy women looking straight out of Alberto Moravia's 'The Women of Rome' had attracted a huge crowd and peak-hour traffic was slowed to a stop-start crawl.

A woman identified as Ruby Williams, chairman of the parents' liaison committee of Crucible Private School for Girls, was standing in front of the 'prostitutes' saying "We have no wish to have our daughters who walk to school passing the House of Ill-repute being established in this building."

She scowled, "The law may say it's now a permitted activity subject to passing local authority licensing requirements. Well, damn the stupid law. This is a village, not the impersonal heart of a downtown business district. So this is war – we give notice now that the investors in this horrendously badly sited brothel will rue the day they came into this neighborhood. Please cover the ears of any children present as my girls are about to sing a song a bawdy song sailors sang in bygone days when returning from sea and marching to local brothels before going home to their mothers or wives."

The song began, 'My body lies over the ocean; My body now lives over Maud...'

"We regret we must cut this beautifully sung song, said the news reader, but it became unbelievable risqué as it proceeded. Mrs Ruby Williams told the crowd if that song shocked them, they should wait until the sights and sounds outside the entrance to the brothel become an everyday occurrence."

"Today's remarkable display of light-hearted protest with a stern warning in its tail is attributed to this woman, Bianca White..." A photo of Bianca on the day she was capped appeared on screen. 

"This photo supplied by Bianca's godmother Lady Alice Ashton-Jones is five years old. We tried to contact Miss White but learned she'd gone into hiding, saying she takes no credit for this morning's dramatically inspired protest that already has resulted in the syndicate behind the brothel venture announcing they were, and I quote, "No longer interested in establishing a business profit centre in this particular locality."

"Quite obviously the school authorities don't accept that Miss White simply threw some ideas together and handed the project over for others to sort out. School headmistress Dr Morag MacPhie says Miss White became a tireless, inspirational leader to drive the project through to what was seen today. The school's governing board has already decided to honor Miss White by declaring her a life associate of the school."

"We now speak to Peggy Thwait, our reporter at the protest today who is an old girl of Crucible."

Meg: Proud of your old school today Peggy?"

Peggy: I was absolutely overcome. An earlier protest campaign had dribbled into nothing within a week, so the revival team faced assured defeat. But then along comes this half French-half Kiwi almost thirty woman who, incidentally attended St Cuthbert's when not at school in France. Just one person, it's unbelievable.

Meg: Surely that's an over-exaggeration.

Peggy: Who pushed to get accesses to professional makep-up artists; who negotiated access to professional theatre wardrobes, who arranged professional coaching of the so-called prostitutes, who searched school records on the known backgrounds of mothers who were ex-pupils and personally met and assessed her short-list of sixty-six to hand-pick the final twelve scarlet women plus two under-studies?

Meg: I guess I'm suppose to say this Bianca White?

Peggy: You're dead right. But she also delegated after appointing the two site managers – head mistress Morag MacPhie at the gates and Ruby Williams, wife of the new Minister of Foreign Affairs and Overseas Trade, controlling action outside the premises of the proposed brothel. She produced a plan called Media Alert and another establishing a call centre utilizing a dozen mothers who each were given a list of local residents calling them to turn out to protests; not all targets were parents of Crucible but all had daughters.

Meg: Attention to detail won the day?

Peggy: Yes, but Bianca White also appears to be a brilliant strategists – perfect in everything even down to vanishing so no one person gets the credit.

Meg: Thank you Peggy. As you indicated a brilliant day for Crucible Private School for Girls. We return to world and national news after this commercial break.

Feeding the dogs, Marty's mind was still in a whirl when his phone went. It was Alice. She asked him for his opinion on what he'd just seen and heard.

"An amazing protest, as that reporter said. But even more amazing was so much of the TV presentation was about Bianca, when she wasn't even there – at least I didn't see her captured on film and she didn't stick around to be interviewed. I hope she is safe?"

Alice's voice dropped to a whisper. "She's here with me, Marty. In the next room – exhausted but deliriously happy. She came to kick butt as I gave the TV busy-body her photograph but she conceded if I was so proud of her I had no option."

"She's with you?"

"Yes, but leave it, Marty. Wait till her mother and I meet to discuss options. Just be patient. I'm glad you admired her performance on this protest project."

* * *

Bianca was tired. It had been an intensive week for her. She was glad it had gone well. 

The success of the project had been unbelievable. Obviously the telephone call to turn-out had been remarkably successful, the big turn-out generating the feeling something big was happening, that it was a historic day for the community.

The media – the bloody media, a facilitator's nightmare. Usually they were unpredictable in every way – turning up, not turning up, turning up and reporting nothing, turning up and ridiculing everything. This time it had been a dream – the media had come, presumably expecting a few mummies acting a little hysterically about the brothel menace. Oh hum. But they'd arrived to find a well-worked presentation, so professional that some of the journalists felt compelled to chat up some of the so-called prostitutes. They'd been promised a display of look-alike prostitutes but obviously what they found far exceeded expectations. Support personnel had been truly amazing.

It had been lovely working exclusively with well-motivated, intelligent and carrying women. Not at all like that indifferent lot she'd been about to work with at the assimilation focused college, until Marty pulled the plug.

Acelebratory party was being held at the Royal Orange Hotel – orange because the exterior was painted bright orange. She mused, some projects go wrong, some like today run perfectly and it helped beyond belief by having the media acting like pet lambs. Bianca decided to go to bed instead of going to the hotel party. She didn't want to be centre of attention, not when she had a bleeding heart.

Thank God Alice hadn't asked her about 'your man, what's his name?' That's how Alice would act, pretending she'd forgotten his name, giving the impression she was not interested. Alice not interested in a guy under forty? Pull the other leg. Wait – why hadn't Alice mentioned him? This was suspicious, very suspicious indeed. Had Alice found out about the split and was playing some sort of game – but why? Well, sooner rather than later Alice's tongue would run away on her.

* * *

The 5:00 am call on a chilly morning to the White's 350 year old home in Dijon woke both Yvette and Max. Yvette de Beauvoir first met Max twenty years ago when he came to France as an engineering student to gain work experience. That French summer she went to New Zealand to visit Max and they slipped up and she found herself pregnant. 

Her father brokered an agreement – Max would live in England with her while they completed their universities studies – going to Dijon for long weekends and term breaks. Max went on to become a pre-stressed concrete bridge construction consultant of internal national repute and had taken early retirement to pursue his handful of interests – travel, food, wine, theatre and Yvette.

"You're closest to the phone," he said to the groaning Yvette.

She spoke in French and immediately caught the accent when the caller replied in French. 

"Alice, oh God, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, keep calm," Alice said, lapsing into English. I don't think your daughter's told you yet but there's this man, someone who's admirably suited to her in my opinion. The romance was building, she did some consultancy work for him, his staff rebelled and he aligned with his people."

"Don't tell me – God do you know its 5:00 in the morning here?"

"Yes."

"You callous bitch but I love hearing your voice; thank God you're speaking English, Your accent always gets up my nose. However, don't tell me how she reacted – up went that half-French snoot and she dumped him."

"Correct, I want you to come immediately to see if we can repair bridges."

"Max would be the right person for that," Yvette said dryly.

"Aren't you going to protest about my request?"

"No, it's a bit boring around here at the moment and is turning quite cold. I fancy some bikini weather."

"At your age you should never be seen in a bikini."

"You wear them."

"Oh yes, but that's different. I'm English and everyone knows the English are eccentric."

"I'll come as soon as I can get my bum on a seat, but seats are usually available for those traveling first class. Do you mind if I bring Max; I think he's bored?"

"No, I'd love him around me."

"You promise to keep your hands off him?"

"Yes, for as long as my promise lasts."

Yvette sighed and said the reason why she stuck with the English sexpot was because she was always interesting.

"Tell me about this guy. From your breathless mentioned of him I guess he had what it takes?"

"Excellent breeding stock I can verify. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, about six two and rides horses."

"Perhaps we should ensure this rescue mission doesn't work and we both could share him?"




Overlooked Bride Ch. 06



"Hands off. When do you think you'll be here?"

"Early Wednesday morning, your time. We'll pop across to Heathrow and take Air New Zealand straight through with the brief stopover in Los Angeles."

"I'll love seeing you again. We must fix this for Bianca."

"We will, darling. Till Wednesday then." 

* * *

At 7:30 Marty was in the foyer of the Gulf Hotel asking for a recently arrived guest, Monica Wisenberg. He was told she'd meet him in the Rooster Bar in a few minutes.

She was tall, thin with chestnut hair and a confident smile.

"Good evening Monica, welcome to Auckland."

"Hello Mr Young, or is Marty okay?"

"Marty is fine. What may I get you?"

"A single shot of Scotch, preferably Dimple thank you."

He ordered the two Dimples and joined Monica is the booth she'd chosen.

"I thought we would be less disturbed in a booth – you are permitted by Mrs Young to be in a booth with a stranger who is female?"

"Is that a crafty way of finding is there a Mrs Young?"

"Yes, confirmation or denial?"

"Unless it's relevant you may expect neither."

"Well, if I'm to be your business partner I am entitled to full exposure."

"My what?"

"Business partner, you are looking for one are you not?"

"Well yes. How did you learn about that?"

"When I was checked out by Bianca White last Thursday."

Marty was confused. That couldn't be right. Bianca had broken up with him by then. Furthermore, this interview was for the possible position of head of the new department of Higher Learning. Bianca's earlier activity for him had thrown up Monica's name and Monica had called hime and this interview was arranged. Current thinking was she could replace one of senior staff who were resigning in protest.

"Are we able to inspect the facility tomorrow morning?"

"Yes, of course," Marty replied. "I'm just rather surprised the possible position of a head of department had become a possible business partner."

"Blame Bianca for that. She called to say after reading my CV and looking at my website she'd had a gut feeling about me. She described the activities of the college in detail and then explained why you were seeking a business partner. She said I appeared to have the quality of credentials required and she felt I would have access to the capital needed to buy the partnership. Does Bianca have the powers of extrasensory perception?"

"I don't believe so, at least not highly developed; she is very intelligent and definitely works outside the square in her thinking. What made you say that about ESP?"

"As I said in my CV my parents both teach at the same university in Shanghai. Bianca must have been visionary about this because the day before she called my parents had emailed me saying they were three years away from early retirement. They had just decided to cash out of their investments in Hong Hong and the US and reinvest here before returning home. They want a secure financial platform when returning to their former home town of Dunedin."

Marty sipped his whiskey and as he put down the glass he said: "And you're thinking Bianca somehow anticipated this and thought your parents could loand you money for the partnership?"

"Yes, exactly - either that or inject capital."

"This is uncanny – the timing is perfect for you if everything works out, if this is what you want.

"I'm thinking seriously about it. Much depends on our conversation tonight and on my inspection tomorrow."

"If everything appears satisfactory, your parents are welcome to come out, at their own expense of course, to inspect the facilities and to engage a professional to perform due diligence for them."

"Thank you; such openness will impress them."

"Are you alone in New Zealand?

"No, I am about to become engaged. My domestic partner is executive chef at a top hotel in Wellington. His parents have offered to help him set up in his own restaurant if we move to Auckland."

Marty prepared to begin the discussion in earnest. "This all seems a run of coincidences, almost too much to accept. 

Monica shrugged and draining her glass and decline another said, "Sometimes the planets align," 

Three hours later Marty was driving home humming a half-forgotten tune. Monica had checked out as a senior tutor, over-qualified at that level in fact and that was confirmed by her references. She'd fit the role of a department head perfectly and she displayed a sense of adventure, worldliness in fact that would be a legacy of her receiving education internationally. Her parents had taught in either English or American schools in Singapore, Korea, Japan and now China for most of their teaching careers and half of Monica's teaching experience had been gained in China, Australia and Canada. She was pleasant, a mature thirty-six year old and appeared to be focused. His impression was she'd be no pushover should she be challenged, which is what he wanted in the nucleus of people he intended to build around him to push ahead with reforms and development.

A downside was Monica had little admin experience although was assistant head of department in her present position and had been acting head for six months while the head tutor was on a six-month sabbatical in Boston, Massachusetts. She had, however, indicated a strong desire to learn the business side. She'd said if she became a partner she'd accelerate her learning curve to become a full working business partner and would do some university business admin papers via the internet.

A real upside appeared to be financial security. When he'd checked obliquely asking would she anticipate problems with raising finance to buy out Basil Kennard, she just smiled and had said, "No problem; for the last fifteen years my parents have been paid American salaries in American dollars and apart from travel they are not big spenders."

Marty drove into the barn to a noisy committee welcome of three barking dogs which he set loose for a run. At the front door of the farm house he found a note on the metal clip attached to the door. He unfolded the single sheet and jerked in surprise.

'Marty. I hope you don't mind but I knew you had the meeting in the city at 7:00 so came out here for a bit of relaxation; I've been a bit busy lately. I took the liberty of taking Sheba for a canter and the dogs accompanied me and enjoyed a good blow out. I rather like the thought that we'll get back together again, Marty. Perhaps soon but I don't want to rush it; I was wounded. Bianca.'

Marty re-read the note with mixed feelings. Although delighted with the tone of the writing and glad she'd come out to ride Sheba and thoughtfully had taken the dogs with her, his lip curled and he muttered, "Self-inflicted wounds because of you high expectations." 

He wondered if Bianca really knew what she wanted in romance. She'd earlier told him she was more than happy with the way in which they had bonded, and yet she didn't have a successful record in her romantic past. Unrealistically high standards and unwilling to yield. Yeah, and that's a recipe for disaster. Bianca, you are one heck of a strange woman – busting up with me yet coming out her when making sure I'd not be around. Very strange – other woman who'd tossed aside their man would have stay right away.

He returned the dogs to their adjoining kennels with secure 3-metre long exercise yards and returned to the farmhouse grumpy, kicking large stones on the unsealed track. Bianca had taken a risk riding out near dusk with the dogs. They easily could have taken off after a rabbit and disappeared. Roaming dogs at night in this district were shot by anxious lifestyle property owners with their precious small flocks of sheep or vulnerable new born calves or pedigree bitches on heat. But no, that probably was unfair; the blonde rider would command, "Get-in-behind!" and the trio of delinquents would circle back to slink in behind her horse's heels just as she'd expect them to do.

At 4:30 on Wednesday morning Marty was brought out of sleep by his phone ringing mercilessly. He listened to it ringing for a while and then answered.

"It's about time,"

"Alice?"

"Shower, shave and dress in your informal best. I'll call for you at 5:00 – my driver knows where to come. We then go the International Airport," Alice said mysteriously, terminating the call.

"This is mysterious," Marty yawned, scratching his chest and then dashed for the bathroom, both fists raised above his head. Alice had called and Bianca's mother had answered the clarion. What amazing women they were. His heart attempted to burst out of his chest. He yelled, "Get used to the idea, Mrs Bianca Young or Bianca Young who's married to a Mr Young." 

The dogs barked unknowingly in encouragement. Before toweling off Marty called local flower grower Mrs Yates who was already at work; her husband had just left for the auction markets but she had enough flowers to make a huge bouquet.

"So big that the woman will scarcely be able to lift it."

"Aye. I'll leave it at the gate by 5:00. Pay me in the next week or so. Are you getting married?"

"Hopefully. This is for the mother, arriving from France to look me over."

"Right, I'll try to excel myself with the arrangement."

* * *

Yvette White came out of the secure area followed by Max pushing the trolley. She saw Alice and waved and they rushed each other, shrieking. Yvette was dimly aware of an enormous bouquet of flowers following Alice with someone's legs beneath it.

The two women failed at attempting not to mess up lip coating. Alice turned and said, "Yvette, please take the flowers and then look him over – he goes by the name of Marty Young. If Bianca doesn't want him, hands off; he's mine."

"Flowers for you, Madam," Marty said smiling and looking slightly shy.

"Why thank you Marty – is that with an 'i' or a 'y'? 

"A 'y'."

Yvette looked at the man in front of her and smiled; he was taking an eyeful of her breasts. She then checked him out. Well, Alice had said he was the man for Bianca so who was she to argue; Alice was the better judge of character.

"So you wish to marry my daughter?"

"Our daughter," Max said quite loudly but was ignored.

"I haven't spoken to Bianca about that."

"Then speak to me."

"Bianca first, if you don't mind."

"I have come all the way from France to save this marriage. You have no right to be so brusque with me. Max!"

"Be warned, Marty. She is accustomed to getting her own way except with Alice when the outcomes are approximately fifty-fifty."

"I've all but lost Bianca because I failed to stand up alone when confronted by my staff on a project she was working with me; I've learned my lesson. I respectfully suggest you back off Mrs White. Just a little will suffice – don't regard it as the end of civilization."

Max and Alice looked uneasy, Yvette noted with satisfaction, but this guy showed no sign of backing down. In fact his steady gaze made her feel slightly uneasy. Well, neither she nor Bianca was interested in weakling. So she smiled, handed the bouquet to Max and stepped up and kissed Marty saying, "As the man I've come half-way around the world to help rescue, my instinct tells me you're worth rescuing. We'll stop off at you home for coffee if you don't mind; I understand you have horses – I'd like to look at them."

Ninety minutes later Yvette farewelled Marty with a kiss to the cheek, watched closely by Alice and Max.

"Thank you for showing us around. She'll be very happy here."

"Thank you. Sleep well."

And that was it. Alice wore the look of someone who'd missed the last scene of the play. She kissed the other cheek and as they went to the car Max smiled as he shook Marty's hand and said, "Never has a gentleman friend of Bianca;s received such acceptance from Yvette."

That left Marty a little confused; was that good or bad? The wink as Max turned away told him all.

But then, nothing.

A week went by with Marty still confident it would happen. He was working twelve to fourteen-hour days at the college implementing change. So far only two resignations had been tabled and slowly he was receiving acceptance of change from other staff until he had a sufficient number of commitments to begin to breathe easy, confident the crisis was behind him. That had been helped by the inspection of facilities by Monica Wisenberg who'd been more than delighted with what she found and her enthusiasm had spilled over on to especially the women staff.

"I am going to commit, with or without my parents but they seemed excited when told of the potential there is in this establishment to be driven forward as a pre-eminent learning centre," she'd told Marty. "I completed my financial studies last night and am satisfied – all I require is an independent appraisal of the value of current assets. One we agree on the price I need to pay to buy out your partner and the goodwill payment to you I shall begin to divest to free up capital. Even if my parents do not agree to make the capital investment they will provide me with all of loan money I required. Subject to buy-in agreements, I expect to be signing up with you and Mr Kennard at the end of next month."

At Monica's request Marty had called an emergency meeting of all staff for 4:00 that afternoon. 

"There's a mood of resentment amongst staff – some of them have already spoken to me about this," she'd told Marty. "I'm convinced this discussion plan for change that's causing this disquiet is fundamentally sound – all that is required is the addition of curriculum reform. My mother was horrified to learn that the staff is entirely white, middle-income New Zealanders – she says this kind of learning institution should be staffed like an international school with teaching staff representative of mainstream nationals. I think she'd hooked, don't you? Mother is big into administration."

Marty had noted most of the staff left that short meeting smiling. That was encouraging. He was also very confident about Monica who seemed to have a foot in both worlds from what he'd learned so far – a visionary with a pragmatic backbone.

A week after Yvette and Max's arrival in the country and their immediate disappearance, Max received a large envelop delivered by courier. Ruth his PA delivered it with a smile – "It's a formal invitation and I can smell the fragrance of French perfume, you naughty boy."

The white and gold envelop was addressed to 'Marty Young, Esq.' His blood began racing; this was it, the ladies' initiative. He was invited to dinner at the Royal Orange Hotel at 9 pm this Friday by Lady Alice Ashton-Jones in honor of her great friend, Yvette White, at present on a short visit from France. Dress formal. Marty noted no notice of acceptance was requested: this was a command.

He called Ruth and she noted his pathetic look.

"It means dinner suit, definitely," said the motherly forty-eight year old. "Come on, we're going to buy you a penguin suit – with you cavorting with the likes of Lady Alice Ashton-Jones you require one in your wardrobe permanently.

Arriving home after dark and finding the dogs uncharacteristically subdued in their greeting, Marty's heart began racing again.

* * *

Bianca had lunched that day with Monica Wisenberg and had been greatly impressed. She heard with disbelief that staff at the college were slowly coming to grips with the need for change after being driven into a corner by Marty. She was relieved to hear Marty had told Monica he'd only received two resignations and remained confident he'd receive no more than another two. 

"So Marty's drew the line in the sand?"

"Yes. I'm very impressed by him and also really taken by the work you've done for him although I'm surprised you're not alongside him driving these reforms through."

Bianca was silent and Monica noticed the look and the dulled eyes. She had reached for Bianca's arm and said to her, "Do you want to tell me about it? 

Bianca had told all, knowing it wouldn't harm Marty's prospects of winning Monica over as his new business partner. Monica was sympathetic but understandably unable to help. She did say, "I'd stick by him if it were me."

After lunch Bianca went out to Young's Meadows. She let the dogs loose and they leapt at her like old friends. In the horse paddock Beckett and Sheba drifted away but Savannah stood looking at Bianca almost shyly and allowed herself to be led to the tack room by the mane. She offered no resistance when Bianca mounted – acting just like a compliant woman, Bianca giggled.

Bianca ran the dogs into the ground, giving them and Savannah a real work out. She was sure Savannah was one of the fastest horses she'd ever ridden and today she'd jumped like a dream so Bianca had attempted to take her over the water jump – it took three attempts so Bianca cooed and rewarded Savannah with pats and pushed away Beckett and Sheba while Savannah ate her special ration of oats. "If this doesn't win over your heart and mind, nothing will," Bianca said, making sure Savannah remained aware Bianca was holding back the other two horses.

She entered the house this time, knowing where the key was hidden, showered and dressed in her sweaty shirt and jeans but without the even sweatier underwear. Before leaving she left a note on the table.

'Hi. Sorry for the intrusion again without an invitation. I exercised the dogs while riding Savannah; I'm sure she's connecting with me. I fed the dogs at 5:15. Heard excellent reports about you today from the very impressive (and impressed) Miss Wisenberg – don't let her slip through your fingers. She's perfect for you, at the college I mean. I love being here. Oh my mother has arrived unexpectedly from France and is acting a little strange – stranger than usual that is. I do hope everything is OK between her and daddy. – Bianca. Oh, dammit, Love Bianca.'

* * *

Marty read the note again and again. Well it deserved to be read for what it didn't say, he though. What to do? 

Obviously Bianca was thawing, he was so pleased about that and those particular words, 'I love being here.' But what to do? Her mother had come on a rescue mission and Alice was spending heaps on a dinner for the five of them plus a few guests. 

Marty decided to do nothing – contact none of them and on the night fake it; if there should be a kiss-and-make-up Alice and Yvette would be beside themselves in delight. That way everyone would be happy.

Oh yeah!

*

To Be Continued...



Overlooked Bride Ch. 07



AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry readers, this final chapter slipped through the cracks, Several direct emails drew the omission to my attention. Apologies; enjoy. 

*

Just as all but one the invited guests had been seated, the maitre d' took the call that Mr Marty Young had arrived. He opened the double doors and asked Marty to enter, announcing, "Lady Alice Ashton-Jones' special guest Mr Marty Young."

Alice came forward, wearing a beautiful floral dress with an almost sheer over-skirt and wearing a diamond studded headband with three brightly dyed feathers above her right ear, both ears weighed down with bands studded with diamonds on both sides to match the headband; she looked elegantly stunning and not at all like a flapper. She placed both hands on Marty's shoulders and kissed him deliberately on the lips, slowly and almost chastely. A tongue tip gave her away.

"Thank you for coming. There are thirty of us now. We'll have a break before coffee and liqueurs and chocolates so I'll introduce you to people then. Please offer me your arm -- you are seated at the head of the table to your left."

Marty found he was seated between Yvette and Max, both of whom greeted him warmly. Yvette indicated she wished to be kissed and offered only her lips, so Marty obliged. Drawing away he looked straight down her cleavage that was nothing but flesh-- she was without a bra, despite being so well developed and Marty realized there was not a wrinkled to be seen, at least not that he detected. Not bad for a woman who must be knocking fifty. Max was standing to shake hands and did so by slapping Marty's back, three solid thumps in fact.

As he was being seated by a waitress, Marty looked down the very long table straight at Bianca. Her blonde hair was in hairdresser trained ringlets -- she finger-waved and smiled, smiled cutely, he thought. It all made sense to him now: he'd been given a glass of champagne outside the room and told his entrance was scheduled for exactly 9:00. That and the kissing and back thumping had been staged, presumably as a display of solidarity by Alice, Yvette and Max for the benefit of Bianca to indicate their acceptance of him. 

Well, what now? he thought. How's that display of unity plus a slap-up dinner going to have Bianca rest in his arms again? This was like a Victorian play gone wrong.

While caviar starter was being served Marty engaged in conversation with Max and Yvette and the two couples beyond them; small talk, naturally. Twice when chatting to Yvette his eyes unconsciously slipped towards her chest and when he raised them to regain eye contact he flushed slightly, recognizing the good-humored smile -- especially in her eyes -- of a 'you naughty boy' look. Yes, definitely a soft look, not a rebuke.

Marty did a wriggle to take the heat off himself: "May I invited you and Max to visit me for a picnic lunch on Saturday -- the forecast is for fine weather?"

Max only half heard the invitation as the women next to him was asking him something. But Yvette leaned closed to Marty; he saw it coming a mile a way by the curl to her lips so was ready for it: "What, so you can seduce me?"

"A lovely thought but I was thinking you might like ride my stallion Beckett unless Max fights you for him."

"Max doesn't ride but anyway I'd prefer the larger mare."

"Why?"

"Because of her speed -- she'd built to go like a bullet but looks a little out of condition."

"Well, maybe -- but Beckett would leave her behind over rough ground and over jumps -- he's built for that."

"With you on him it may seem that way but speed is deceptive and so are riders. I would out perform you on either horse, if I am permitted to be that modest."

"Er, I was thinking more of a social canter."

"An excellent reply Marty," Max said re-entering the conversation. "In her younger days this lady of mine won everything that was going regionally when at her peak and brought home two titles when riding internationally for France."

"Er, perhaps a walk with Yvette's horse in hobbles?"

"An excellent reply again Marty," Max laughed. "I can see why Alice has taken such a liking to you. Yvette will be also taken with you. You scored hugely by presenting her with flowers at the airport. She'd been expecting only scowls from you."

"That's enough Max, return to looking at women's bosoms please."

They all laughed and the woman next to Max whispered loud enough for their little group to hear: "Mine are always available for your inspection Max -- I understand you are an international authority."

Everyone chuckled just as the side doors were pulled aside to display a four-piece band of keyboard, double bass, guitar and drums which began playing soft, easy music. 

Marty thought music without the audience being blasted out of the room was evidence of Alice being in control as a consummate hostess; she probably liked to be in control in bed just like this. 

Well, he'd never know. But if it came to the choice between push and shove, he'd have to choose Yvette of the two -- her waters ran deeper if it could be described like that, Alice would be all attention for the duration until brought to ejaculation and then her attention would switch to other things with her lover receiving a pat on the head and told he was a good boy. Yvette would, in his opinion, be in there for the longer run -- a full-blown affair with intense action coupled with an engagement of minds and activities right down to almost sharing the same toothbrush. Well, that was his assessment, not that he'd ever have it tested.

Then out of the blue Marty was shaken by a profound statement coming from his right without warning. "She's yours for the taking Marty," Max said quietly. "Yvette and I have helped to talk her down from her tree."

Marty breathed heavily, "Really?" and turned to Yvette for confirmation; she nodded.

"We talked for hours, explaining she's always been hard on herself and has this tendency of being overly hard on anyone close to her -- even her parents," Max said.

"Alice was there and joined in," Yvette said. "For some reason Bianca will take it on the chin from Alice. She said that Bianca had found true romance elusive because she drove her suitors away by insisting on standards most people cannot live with."

"Yes," Max added. " We all then continued with that theme, giving examples and watching dismayed as she continued looking at us defiantly, not conceding an inch which of course had been the root of the problem."

"Then Alice said if Bianca walked away from you she'd gladly sign the authority for her to be admitted to an institution for the mentally unbalanced," Yvette said woodenly. "Bianca's shoulders slumped; she looked at Alice in horror and ran screaming into my arms. It took quite sometime for us to calm her and we all then got gloriously drunk. Of course she and Alice had made up before the second round was poured."

"Well, this is amazing and I must thank you," Marty said. "What happens now?"

Max said the best advice he could give was to just let it happen. Yvette said she agreed with that. "Alice is has created the venue; it could happen tonight."

After the cold appetizer, Alice invited Bianca to sing. Marty was not even aware Bianca had that skill but she sang two songs with the band, one in French, and a trained voice was evident.

After the soup, Alice called down the table, "Marty?"

He waved.

"What can you perform for us? Do you sing and recite or even tell a witty joke?"

"I can play a trumpet," Marty said and believed he was safe.

"Ruben?"

"Alice, I have one out on my vehicle. Best you come out and warm up with it young fellow," the band leader said to the dismayed 'special guest'.

Ruben led Marty back in. "Marty hasn't had a trumpet to his lips for two years and says he never advanced much beyond a competent beginner but will give it a go providing we accompany him and drown him out. So folk, here we go."

Marty surprised himself by playing rather well, the incentive being trying to impress Bianca. He and the band played 'Love Me Tender' and then changed into a sweet swing for 'Marie'. 

He received quite an ovation and as he was handing back the trumpet and shaking Ruben's hand Bianca came forward and placing her arm around Marty said something to Ruben. The band broke into 'Baby Face' and Marty and Bianca turned away into a fox-trot and in the simplest possible way they were as one again. Another five couples left the table to join them including Max and Yvette.

"Welcome back," Marty whispered, kissing into Bianca's neck. She stretched her neck upwards for him and wept.

Lunch under the trees beyond Marty's home on Saturday turned into a celebration as Bianca's parents and Alice were so delighted to see her so happy again. It was fine and although there was a strong breeze they encamped on the side of a sheltering hillock. The guests arrived at 11:00 to find the horses saddled -- the reunited couple had decided on the night of Alice's dinner to live together and marry soon. It was decided to retain Bianca's apartment to have a bed in the city for when they dined in town or attending late-finishing functions. Given a small retainer, Marty's occasional housekeeper was happy to feed the dogs and said she had not problem receiving very short notice. The couple appeared about to be living in the best of both words -- city/country living.

Max produced maps of the course and it was decided to eliminate the possibility of collisions by competing as time trials. Riders had the option of taking the safe but longer course with brush jumps or the shorter course that included the stone wall and the water jump. They would each ride the three horses and the winner would be the person with the lowest aggregate times with penalties being imposed for missed jumps.

After a start-up with French champagne, canapés and the first of the new season's strawberries, Alice and Yvette went off to change and returned dressed in full riding gear -- newly purchased. Bianca and Marty wore helmets and riding boots and were dressed similarly in T-shirts and jeans. The two older women were allowed two practice runs and a carnival atmosphere began to develop as competitive spirits began to rise.

"Ride safely everyone," Marty cautioned as Max in a wide-brim sunhat took his cell phone for communication with the starter, stopwatch, binoculars, picnic chair and almost full bottle of champagne to the top of the hillock where he had a great view of the last half of the course and the finish. At the starter's call of 'Go!' he'd push the stopwatch.

"This is it -- our ultimate test darling," Bianca said, snuggling up to Marty at the start. "Do your best, no holding back."

They'd ridden together but not competitively apart when one would break into a gallop shouting "race you" to take unfair advantage. This time the competition was for real.

It ended without mishaps -- Bianca winning with the lowest aggregate, 53 seconds below her proud mother's score with Marty next and then Alice, who'd not attempted the stone fence and water jump. They're drawn positions for their first jump and it was almost 2:00 before they finished because they had to spell the horses. Yvette took the short route on Beckett and Bianca took it with both Beckett and Savannah. 

Marty was amazed to watch as Bianca took on the wall with Savannah and stood stupefied when Max telephoned the time back to him. He finished the short route with the second-best time, seven seconds behind Bianca but Savannah refused to take the stone wall for him costing Max time penalties and the balk that pushed him back into third place but her took it on the chin and hugged both women when returning from that unsuccessful run on Savannah.

As they reassembled for lunch and the group toasted their host, Marty made a short speech thanking the timekeeper and the riders for their fair competitive spirit and ended by saying: "What you have done with Savannah is amazing, Bianca -- the fact she took me over the water jump is amazing in itself as I could never manage to get her to do that. Savannah is now your horse darling."

Bianca squealed and came running to hug him, with Marty thinking he'd never forget the unmasked look of pride on Yvette's face as he finished making that announcement about gifting Savannah.

It was almost 7:00 before Alice called her driver to return to collect her, Yvette and Max to end a great day.

* * *

Two Saturdays later, Bianca assisted by Marty held an all-day workshop for all college staff. There had been a cocktail party for staff and their partners from 6 to 8 the previous evening so Bianca was no longer a stranger to them. They were also aware that she was now Marty's fiancée with a platinum milgrain diamond band engagement ring to show for it (an identical ring would be added at the wedding) in a week's time.

Bianca's presentation took most of the day, starting with the physical changes to classroom 'pods' as she termed them -- groupings of classrooms according to the subjects and levels of education. The changes were radical but so logical that staff acceptance was easy, especially when they had their questions answered as the disclosures continued at a leisurely pace.

She then presented the marketing program with emphasis on 'capturing' incoming prospective students before they left their homelands for New Zealand.

After lunch Monica Wisenberg joined the presenters and she and Marty concentrated in curricular changes. There was little dissention and everyone seemed pleased that new construction and disruptive remodeling was planned to minimize disturbance to the college routine, which had been a major concern.

At the end of the day when Monica, Bianca and Marty was having a drink in Marty's office, Monica dropped a bombshell. She'd signed papers the previous day with Marty with their lawyers to formally take up Basil Kennard's half-share in the company running the college.

The company leased the facilities off another company that owned the land and buildings. Marty owned a 40 percent share in that company and an insurance company had the remainder. The latest property valuation was $7.8 million mainly because of the value of the land for redevelopment which is why the insurance company had taken its strategic stake. That information had been disclosed fully to Monica.

"My parents like your -- I mean our -- college very much," Monica said. "Their wish is for you two to dine with us tonight in a private room at their hotel. They are interested in talking about acquiring you financial interest in this college Marty. I'm sorry to drop this on you so suddenly, but it has occurred suddenly and they return to China on Wednesday evening.

Marty held on to his chin -- possibly to stop uttering gibberish. Finally, "This is rather a shock but yes, let's chat over dinner. I see no harm in that. You and your parents may even succeed in twisting my arm. But nothing is promised -- right?"

"Right. You know where we are," Monica said, picking up her handbag. "Tonight at 8:30 then."

"Well, well," Bianca said. "This is a little shock for you, and for me I guess if you are going to become jobless. How much did Monica finally have to pay in total?"

"She managed to cut Basil back ten grand to $425,000 indicating it was a take-it-or-leave-it offer and gave me the thirty grand I was asking for goodwill as I had the legal right to approve or reject my new partner.

"So, $455,000 plus say a ten grand sweetener to entice you to sell and you'd have good pocket money but no job."

"Exactly, and good reason for not selling but I suspect mummy and daddy have something else in mind."

"What?"

"So you think they want to own the land and buildings as well as the operating company?'

"Could be."

"That's not saying much."

"Well, it's the only deal that would make me quit. Otherwise, as you said I only have pocket money and have to look for a new job. If I received an offer of say $3 to $3.5 million for my interest in the holding company then I might be interested in talking about a deal. Otherwise all I get is a free meal and a free meal for you."

"You're cynical."

"Could be but then I know how people with money who want something think and act. If mummy and daddy go to the insurance company asking to buy their interest before dealing with me, I would expect a visit from men in suits from the insurance company. So don't expect a deal anytime soon unless mummy and daddy dazzle me with figures."

"I'm horny -- you know talking money gets me going. Let's go to my apartment and try to find a way to make use of the time to 8:30. Have you any ideas?"

Snuggled in a cool bath after a hot time on the bed, Marty asked Bianca how her business was going.

"Fine and I love having a permanent PA doing the routine work as it gives me additional thinking time. What I deal in is ideas and then to develop strategies when I am given an implementation contract."

"I understand that -- it's what consultancy is all about. Are you making money?"

"Yes, good money really -- more than when I worked in advertising on a fat salary. I'll take you through the books if you're interested -- I really like the thought of your being interested. In fact..." She tailed off.

"What?"

Bianca said her ambition was to expand. If Marty ended up without a job perhaps she could develop an expansion strategy and take him on as joint managing-director responsible for administration and development of new business.

"Yeah, I could be interested."

"You'd have to invest money in the company to earn the title of joint managing-director."

"I see no problem with that. I could also ease you back when you begin riding staff too hard."

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?"

Bianca sighed and agreed it was fair comment.

"Brilliant people often have a temperamental streak," he offered, and was soundly kissed for his understanding and was offered a breast to suck but he had something else on his mind. Marty asked her how successful was the business overall.

"Well, the Crucible project has given me star-quality status and inquiries have taken a real jump although I've only signed one contract originating from that interest to date, but its early days yet."

"What about notable failures?"

Bianca said only one to date -- her attempt to dissuade hoteliers from turning some accommodation into apartments and sell them off as permanent residential units.

"My developing campaign was stopped in its tracks when the hoteliers called an informal meeting to discuss my agenda for a meeting I was organizing and they decided to bail out and instead approach the Minister of Tourism to persuade the Government to underwrite a bi-annual promotion to persuade New Zealanders to spend a week in five-star luxury by holidaying in their own country instead of going to Australia and beyond."

"Oh dear."

"Oh dear what?"

"You have egg on your face."

Bianca smiled and said she didn't think so. The twerps would find the attraction of a 5-star hotel room for New Zealanders in their own country would have less appeal than Disneyland, the Great Barrier Reef or a tropical holiday in Fiji.

"It's the lure of concepts and a hotel room doesn't project much of a lure," she said. "It's a project that is bound to fail."

"Then shouldn't you be having a quiet word in the ear of someone in Government advising them they have been invited to underwrite a lemon. The Government pulls the plug and earmarks you as a possible source for independent business advice and the hoteliers' problem comes back on your plate with a promise of full support fro any proposal of yours that is adopted."

"Here, suck on this, bright boy. Why aren't you working with me already? That is brilliant double-dealing but ethical as the hoteliers and the party bringing the problem to me have not paid a cent for the work I did for them so I'm not their client. Brilliant, brilliant! And I have the right contract to lick the ear of Government -- a local MP who was a naughty boy caught committing adultery in his garden. He owes me a big favor and will wish to ingratiate himself with his political bosses. This is a real 'Think Tank' outcome -- oh darling, I'm so pleased with you."




Overlooked Bride Ch. 07



* * *

Dinner at the hotel was very informal. Although now expatriates, Anthony and Jillian Wisenberg had not lost their Kiwi ways. They had met Marty at the college and lunched with him there once and appeared to take an immediate liking to Bianca, so it quickly became 'Tony' and 'Jill' with Tony and Marty choosing the same brand and style of beer to start off and the three women choosing wine; Jill opted for sparkling and Monica and Bianca still white and the group slipped easily into relaxed conversation.

After the main course, all but Jill on to red wine and bubbling alone nicely, Tony asked, "Shall we talk business?" He remained relaxed while Jill and Monica both tensed.

"Why not?" Marty said expansively. Now Bianca was nervous, wondering if Marty had drunk too much alcohol too quickly. But a horse-bite on her thigh pressing against him suggested he was in a playful mood. 

"Monica has told you of our interest?"

"Yes," Marty said, topping up the glasses.

"Well?"

"Offer enough and I'm all ears."

"We want it all."

"Fair enough. You are aware of the property holding company details."

"Yes -- and the insurance company is happy about us acquiring your holding; it is not prepared out its interests as a long-term strategic investment but it has agreed to sign guarantees of non-involvement in our on-site developments and agrees to new commercial arrangement that will include a thirty-year lease plus three 10-year rights of renewal."

"I'm surprised the insurance chiefs didn't come to me over this."

Tony smiled. "Why should they -- there's no chance of a price war because they've committed to retain their holding."

"Yes, I suppose expecting a courtesy call from an insurance company on such a matter is expecting too much."

Tony said the proposal was he and Jill would front a multi-million development to proceed within the next five years but a condition was the site must be secured now.

Marty yawned, hand over mouth and apologized. "So, if we do a deal you want me to walk, leaving Monica in charge?"

Monica said yes, but that should not be a problem because current proposals for change would be abandoned.

"So there are plans for a different use of the site?"

"Yes."

"Educational?"

Monica looked at her father and he nodded. She said yes.

Bianca then couldn't believe the rubbish Marty was talking.

"So the wealthy mummy and daddies in China who want their teenies to have the best education in a wholesome clean, green environment like New Zealand where the sport and recreational opportunities are second to none and the crime rate is low would pay big bucks to have their teenies attend a Chinese controlled university in New Zealand where all teaching except the Chinese language and courses on other things Chinese would be in English?"

At Marty was finishing Bianca began realizing what she was hearing had elements of credibility and that was confirmed by the shocked looks on the faces of the Wisenberg's.

"Who's been talking?" Tony demanded. "There's been a leak from within Government!"

"Rubbish," Marty said. "Just relax Tony; it's rather logical isn't it with China wanting to win the hearts of the West without military means in it's long-term goal of world-wide influence to at least equal that of the United States?"

"You seem to know an awful lot about what you shouldn't know," Jill said.

"It's called native intelligence and you two should know that endemic in this country."

Bianca chimed in: "So it's true, a Chinese Government funded university on New Zealand soil is proposed?" 

Tony looked aghast and apologized saying he was unable to confirm or deny that comment.

"Offer big money, Tony and I'll sign as soon as the papers are ready," Marty grinned, applying a horse bite to Bianca's thigh.

Tony leant against Jill and whispered something and she replied.

"Okay - $4.5 million and it's a done deal, otherwise we have to bring in the heavyweights to negotiate and commission other people to look for an alternative site. My principles will be interest that Monica became drawn to this site for other reasons; it will be seen as a tremendously good omen. If their proposal falls through, Jill and I will have no worries as we'll end up with an asset providing twin income streams."

"Well who am I to stand in the way of Chinese educational development?" Marty grinned, standing up to shake Tony's hand and to kiss Jill's hand. "I'll call for champagne and you must aim to have the papers to my lawyers at noon Tuesday with the signing late Wednesday at the Royal Orange Hotel where your guys and our lawyers will be my guest."

"Sounds great," Tony said. 

Monica said she'd like to pay for the lunch at the Royal Orange. "You guys have just ensured me of a very big job in the years ahead as I'll be liaison director of the development as I speak both Kiwi and Chinese."

"Oh God, this fantastic deal now means you're my business partner, doesn't it," Bianca said as they walked from the hotel, she exaggerating a slight limp because of horse bit bruising to the thigh.

"Yes -- fifty-fifty in everything. Can you accept that?"

"Perhaps but I'm worried about temperamental upsets between us."

"Why don't we look for new premises with an atrium -- one side can be 'Creative' under your direction and on the other side of the shaft can be 'Admin and Business Development' under my direction. Then if you become snotty nosed over me for any reason you can hide in your little empire."

"Darling that's brilliant," Bianca cried, leaping and kissing him enthusiastically. She also dug a hand to grab his testicles and squeezed, quite hard.

"Ouch," he complained.

"Now we both can limp to the car," she grinned.

* * *

It was a small wedding, with no honeymoon to follow until Christmas when the newly marrieds would travel to France to stay in the villa on Bianca's parent's estate.

They were married in the small church near the farm, built seventy years ago and financed substantially by Marty's grandfather. Bianca and her father were taken in a horse and trap to the church, proudly driven by its owner, Dick Joss, husband of Marty's housekeeper Marleen. Bianca's best friend - the pregnant but still not showing - Fiona Bloom was the bridesmaid and Harry Kemp flew in from Australia to be best man. It was decided to have a confirmation of wedding vows in France in January to allow more English and French friends of the bride's parents to attend the re-enactment. 

Marty's parents arrived from Boston to act as wedding hosts and to see their son journey down from the altar with a woman who stole their hearts the moment they'd met at the airport. They would be also attending the re-enactment in Dijon. Alice's husband made the wedding with just a day to spare. Although the church could hold only seventy people almost double that number attending the wedding breakfast in a marquee on the croquet lawn of the estate of Sir Archer and Lady Alice Ashton-Jones in Epsom in Auckland city.

As the registry was being signed, Bianca burst into tears and hugged her husband. "As I have told you before, I never felt I'd marry as until I met you; romance always seemed to elude me."

Dabbing the tears, Marty smiled and said something they'd both always remember: "I'm really glad about that because it has allowed me to end up with a treasure -- the overlooked bride."

THE END