Little Sister Pt 02

Chapter 7 -- An Eventful Week

With her call, Sheila accomplished three significant things. She introduced me to two other women—Francine Martel and Christine Collingsworth, the "submissive". If you know Christine, the irony is deep. Sheila also invited me to run a social event. I did not know it yet, but it would become the most important social event of the year. When I went into politics, it was a reference no one missed. Most important, Sheila gave me the sister I never had. Talent like that is too good to waste.

I rerecorded the call to make it easy to play through my phone. All the girls I called, and two of the guys, had the same reactions I did. By the fourth call, I was running behind rumor. I never did call Elspeth; she called me. Before it was done, I had to cut the list of names down to twelve, nine of which were keepers.

The next day was crazy. I had to finish grading papers, pack, arrange to get Shadow delivered to the House, and arrange details like having mail forwarded. Sean took care of plane tickets, but I had to get to Manchester to use them. The garage helped with that. I dropped off the clunker. They would deliver Shadow to New Jersey. In the mean time, one of their guys drove me to the airport. I was on the flight before I considered what meeting Sheila would be like.

It was too late to change how I was dressed. I switched a few of the showier rings for simple posts I had in the carry on. My hair was a mess, so I tied on a bandanna. It was the most thought I had given to my appearance in at least a year. If I only knew then, what I know now.

My plans for meeting Sheila went down in flames. First, she would not react to my appraisal. I first critiqued Elspeth, after "Waiting for Godot." Since that night, I practiced the technique continuously, often with devastating effect. Sheila was the first subject to shrug it off. When her turn came, Sheila put me in my place with five short sentences, using single syllable words. Damn, she was good. Fortunately, I had family history on my side. In Newark, that meant paella.

Dinner at Casa de Espana was a tradition and a rare privilege. Once we were seated I could tell I was not the only one Sheila had burned verbally. Sean also wanted some payback. Sheila talked of having sex with Sean up against the wall after a meeting. I expressed disbelief. Sean affirmed by saying Sheila was very limber. Sweet Jesus that woman can blush.

Using this as a pretext, Sheila invited me, literally, to powder my nose. Shaking my head in disbelief, I followed. In the women's room, I received another education. Sheila opened herself like a flower. In five minutes I knew things about her that a shrink might discover after a year. It was a gesture of trust and respect. To this day I am glad I started our relationship with an offer of marriage. Sheila deserved one.

After dinner, we had to pick up my dozen workers. One thing after another went wrong. When we made it back to town, I was short six of my people. Three either never showed up, or they took a cab home. Worse, I was going out of town the next day. Sheila, naturally, had the solution. She turned them over to Gerald in one of the most amazing conversations I have ever witnessed. Sean told me that Sheila got on with Gerald, but that is nothing like watching it happen. Surreal does not cover it. In hindsight, my surprise circuits were starting to fry.

I asked what Sheila did for a living, though she had already told me she was a dominatrix. Hearing it was not seeing it. We went to her studio. Sheila started with an impromptu homage to Sean, which revved my sociology gene overdrive. Next, Sheila and I had a bonding moment. They say shared suffering pulls you closer, but shared insecurities work well too. My surprise circuit must have blown by then, because I took watching video of Mistress Cynthia in stride. At least, I think I did. One thing was certain. Sheila might play Mistress Cynthia, but it was an act.

After her revelation, Sheila led us to the XTreme Gyms part of her building. She called it the rabbit hole, which fit perfectly. More for the surreal file. On that side, we met Sharon, a yoga instructor who seemed nice. In this context, "nice" was not a compliment. I did a double take when Sheila asked Sharon to cover her fitness clients during the honeymoon—and would not take no for an answer. Both sides impressed. Sharon raised some damn good objections. Sheila had even better answers. I decided Sharon might be nice, but she was no doormat.

After the stop on the mundane side of Sheila's work space, we went back to the car. In one of my better moments, I gave Sheila a big hug and welcomed her to the family. That done, we headed out. Fortunately for my overloaded sensibilities, Sheila had an verbiage problem concerning the wedding invitation. Proper communication forms were my bread and butter. While we drove to their printer, I wrote out suitable invitation prose.

In yet another shock, Sheila asked me to cover her bondage clients during the honeymoon. The first client I would meet is the printer we were about to see. As I said, burned out surprise circuit. As we talked to the printer/client, Sheila deftly put my name in the rumor mill. On the side, she tipped me to some things to watch for during sessions.

Eventually we made it home and to bed. If I had known what Tuesday would bring, I might have gone back to Hanover.

It started innocently. I dressed as presentably as my wardrobe would allow, which was not much. I had variety, but it was all in the same vein. For the first time in forever, I wanted to dress up a little, but all I had were tattered jeans and torn T-shirts. As it turned out, it was just as well. I still have a mismatched pair of Army boots as a reminder.

The first major event of the day was meeting Francine Martel—again. Sean had mentioned her, so I had time to process the memories. It was not a fun part of growing up. When I was ten or eleven, Mother dragged me to dance classes for several weeks. Sheila and Francine were both there, though Sheila did not remember me. Francine and Sheila moved on a higher plane than most of the students, while I was on a still lower plane. I remembered Francine, but did not expect the reverse. Francine surprised me by immediately calling me by name. It was a hated old nickname, Jo Jo, but that paled beside what she told me.

In essence, Francine gave me two choices. I could work to the point I was not an embarrassment at the wedding or she would find a way to hide me. I never said a thing, but she took that as agreement to make an effort. Francine immediately started telling me what to do. The short version was that I needed to unlearn 25 years of sitting, standing and walking. Francine started me on a posture exercise that doubles as a slave position. Humorous as that seems, it worked.

In my expert opinion, Francine was an exceptionally good teacher. She explained what I was doing, down to which bones went where and what muscles pulled which tendons. Sheila, Francine and Christine all had formal educations that stopped at high school, yet any of them can make me feel slow in the head. As Sean says, uneducated does not mean stupid.

All this was in a corset makers waiting room. As soon as Sheila rejoined us, she threw her weight behind Francine's. Our next stop was a shoe store, where Sheila picked out some tall pumps and managed to get me standing in front of a mirror. When my posture was correct—no small adjustment—I looked presentable. Not beautiful. Not pretty. Not even attractive. Presentable was quite sufficient, thank you. I wore heels the rest of the day.

Next came a warehouse clothing store. Francine and Sheila picked out a power suit for me, with some separates in the same vein. Once again the mirror was a shock. This was not just presentable—I looked damned good. With tears on my face, I asked Sheila how I had missed so much, for so long. She made me think it through. Two things jumped out. First, I had been dressing ugly on purpose. It deflected people from my face and body, but at a cost. Second, only grown woman fashions showed me well at all. I would never be beautiful or pretty, but I flat owned boardroom suits. Thank God I had the money for the clothes.

That would have been enough for a normal month, but the day was only half over. We went to Brooklyn, where I met one of the legends of New York society, Angela Molinari. She and Francine were close friends. Unknown to me, but much more impressive in his area of influence, was Angela's husband Pedro. Francine, Sheila and Christine stopped schooling after 12th grade. Pedro stopped after 4th. This did not prevent him from becoming the best kept secret on and off Broadway. He had come to meet Sheila, but he offered me a few observations. It took me a while to unravel them all, but I have rarely been so deeply complimented.

We were in Brooklyn to see a costume storage. Sheila picked out a cute dress for the bridesmaids. I balked. Everyone understood, but matching dresses are traditional. In desperation I offered to wear a man's suit and stand with Sean. It was one of those moments when time stops, so everyone had to think it through. It only took a moment, then people were running for the pieces we needed. You have seen the pictures. That was my idea.

I have referred at length to Francine and Sheila. Both of them were accomplished and acknowledged in their own areas. Christine was a nineteen year old greasy spoon waitress, recently hired as a personal assistant. She rarely spoke. When she did, it is usually a sentence fragment or a name. It should tell you something that Christine dominated the most memorable part of the day.

It started in the restaurant. Francine took us to

The Crows Nest,

a place she owns. Appetizers were oysters in half shell. I fed them to Christine with hot sauce, starting with Texas Pete, moving to Tabasco, then Melinda's. That is where pepper heads get serious. Christine wanted more heat, so Francine's people brought out the big guns. The hottest was Mad Dog 44 Magnum. I asked for gloves, because I was scared about what that stuff might do to my hands. Regardless of my reasons, it added to the theater of the moment, which made the nightly news. Christine kept it down, but showed me blisters later. The whole restaurant cheered. As of the day I left New Jersey, no one had duplicated the feat.

Next came a bondage club Francine also owned,

Le Chat Noir

. Knowing Francine, there is no doubt the club was named for Sheila, who wanted no part of it. Francine prevailed, while Christine acted like a kid on Christmas morning. We stripped to undergarments and donned masks. Francine pushed Sheila to get involved, which she finally did. Using her professional dominatrix persona, Sheila staged a race. She whipped a guy, while Christine ate a girl's pussy. It was no contest. The whip won in a time under ten seconds. On the side I met my husband, Lars.

That would have been a great cherry on the sundae, but Christine wanted more. Sheila offered her a reward, which Christine pushed onto center stage. The details were fairly well recorded, so I will not go into details. It is sufficient to say that New York's bondage culture had never seen the like. It was so impressive that Francine stood by gaping. I had to step in and direct traffic. Lars, bless him, just gave me his card and kept out of my way.

The day had been a highlight marathon, but we still needed to get home. Sheila and Christine were both done out. They took the chauffeured Mercedes. I drove Sheila's car and put up with Francine's nonstop talking. It's actually rather scary when Francine gets quiet. Once home, I needed to care for Christine's bruises. As memorable as the day was, our quiet bonding ranks up with everything else. Christine fits me like a glove. It was because of her that I knew how to handle Elspeth.

That happened the next morning. I dressed in bra and corset, but otherwise like always. Though the outward clothes were the same, no one recognized me til I spoke. Posture and attitude made that much difference. Elspeth was so shocked she dumped her purse. That moment was another highlight, but I had no time to linger. I sent them to work, then went to Target and bought undamaged clothes. A guy I knew from high school told me I was looking good. I can say from personal experience, positive reinforcement works.

The wedding is another thing covered in detail elsewhere. Somehow, I turned out to be in charge. Other than Sean, who was at the office, no one else had the clout to settle the arguments. It worked because very few people tried to mess with me. There are advantages to having a reputation as a bitch. The worst screw up came from Francine's twisted humor. More on that later.

Consider the layout. Our grounds cover about ten acres, including a chunk of the lake. A full acre of that was laid out for the lawn party. It sounds like a lot, until you consider the merry-go-round in the middle. We had to work around it, provide ingress and egress, games, food, sanitation, child care and seating for the ceremony.

If I have not mentioned it, my brother Sean is a genius. Off the top of my head, he discovered Sheila in her bondage studio. First he hired her for photographic work, at which she is now world renowned. He hired Christine from a diner, to be her assistant. After less than two weeks with Sheila, he proposed marriage. He pulled the carousel out of storage. Who sees a merry-go-round and thinks wedding? Yet, it is impossible to think of Sean and Sheila's wedding and not think of it. The words "merry-go-round wedding" are still all the reference you need.

We had grounds crew leveling an area for tables and chairs. Equipment people setting up the carousel. Security wanted to make sure they could see everything. Events people worried about traffic flow. There were catering people, rental people, household staff and a gazillion temporary employees. All that was in house. In addition, we had set and prop people from Francine's production company. Soon after, we had a load of Amish. I was the only one named Richards. Yay me.

Tuesday changed my life. I loose count of things that flowed out of the people I met and the events that occurred. Wednesday and Thursday drew on the old me. I needed to handle the workload and deal with constant changes. A crushing workload was nothing new, so I coped. I love the word "gestalt". It means a unified whole that cannot be described by listing the parts. Friday was when the gestalt occurred.

Francine was the impetus, of course. While she had people at the house, doing various things, Francine's real impact was on the wedding party. We were being costumed, principally Sheila and I. Friday's first stop was Elizabeth. Francine taught me some more about shopping, while Sheila had her final corset fitting. Sheila also outfitted Christine in a killer faux Catholic schoolgirl outfit. You should see the pictures. After a ferry ride to Manhattan, we were each fitted for our wedding suit or dress.

Sheila looked divine in her forest green dress. Francine gave her a pair of emerald earrings that matched perfectly. During the week, I had come to understand that Francine was more than just wealthy, but this was the first sign of serious money. Not everyone can sink a few hundred thousand in a wedding gift. I could not do it without raiding a safety deposit box. I whispered to Sheila that she should accept them. She was that close to declining.

We left the costume company and went to an Italian restaurant. That would have been fine, except Francine invited all of Manhattan's dance and theater people. It was not all bad. First to arrive were Angela Molinari and her old friend Edith Dryden. Before long I was on first names with one of Broadway's greatest stars. It did not last. More people started pouring in. Susan Farwell showed up with Giesla Kirtland and George Blanchard, followed closely by Lisl Rhinehardt and Rudolph Nerovski. Someone had to run interference and Christine, the Maid of Honor, was hopeless for the task.

Surprisingly, it went like clockwork. I controlled the mob by lining them up. This allowed me to get names, while the press and Christine shot pictures. Various blogs and publications were very happy. Sheila took my cues like we had practiced all week. If someone was being rude, Sheila's lethal wit punctured their bubble. If they were press, Sheila greeted them and I directed them to the appropriate corner, where the theater and ballet people were klatsching. Occasionally, we would get one seeking Mistress Cynthia, Sheila's stage name. Those I formed into another pool.

The event was a huge success. Everyone had a chance to meet and speak to Sheila. Many posed for pictures. I had no idea someone would find me of interest, but I was in many of the published pictures. Several of the pictures proved valuable when I went into politics. Nothing serves as an introduction like a press photo, with both you and the person you wish to see. There was more. A month later, I was shocked when a major bridal magazine ran a full page article on me, using some of those pictures. I was just the help.

Saturday was the wedding. Properly, that should have been about the bride and groom. Francine's so called wit had other ideas. She sent a package of maternity clothes to the Residence. Security handled it as a bomb. Face-palm time. Sean, at Sheila's suggestion, delegated payback to me. I will not get into what happened late Friday. It suffices to say that Francine and I were already not speaking politely. When Sean's message came, my smile must have been evil. Christine's answering grin certainly indicated so. She held out her fist, knuckles vertical. It says a great many things that I needed no elaboration.

Christine set everything up. I simply walked into the room, picked Francine up and dangled her out an open window. Christine recorded it all, streaming it to a disk in Security. When Sheila asked me to pull Francine in, I pulled the memory card from the camera and gave it to Francine, for which she has never forgiven me. Fortunately, Sheila made peace. She chose that moment to thank Francine for the emeralds.

Once the tears had dried and the makeup was repaired, we trouped down and did the ceremony. Ritual is never completely empty, but rarely does it reach the level it did that day. Societies create weddings because people like Sean and Sheila show them the way. I just wish they had done it on shore. Several of us almost fell off the floating catwalk.

There was a tedious reception line. At the tail end, Lars introduced himself to Sean. My husband is almost two meters (6'6") tall. He does not sneak up on anyone—except me. His first line, "So,

Frau Doktor

...", is still a favorite of his and I still get chills. Though they had barely met, Sean already knew that Lars had intentions. It is a bit frightening how close the two have become, almost like Sheila and Christine.

After Lars scared the hell out of me, Sean wanted pictures. That meant the merry-go-round. You've seen them. Everyone has. They still call it the merry-go-round wedding. For some reason Sean wanted to pick on me. While I attempted death by embarrassment, Lars commented that I had good color. He's an asshole, but he's my asshole.

The next hurdle was the gown. I can say, with certainty, that a week before I would have committed murder, rather than try the thing on. Now I have it under glass in the foyer, with a picture of Lars and I dancing at the ball. In a week of eye opening mirror images, that was the best. Not only did it make me look damned good, none of those bitches from high school could wear it. Maybe I am a bit petty, but there it is.

The ball was fun, which is yet another thing I would never have expected. Lars and I both knew just enough theory of dance to be a bit ahead of the crowd. I was turning down offers from good looking guys. Amazing. In fact, I was one of Jason Porter's fifty girls. That picture was in my suitcase as I returned to Hanover. The most fun was dropping the hammer on Sheila and Francine. I say from experience, pranking either is hard as hell. Both at once is worthy of Christine.