Humiliation and Revenge

Humiliation and Revenge

Part 4

The avengers are not finished

by G. Lawrence

Several readers have requested more episodes of Humiliation and Revenge. And I wanted to see our avengers take on more missions. Because of the intertwining plotlines, this is not a tightly focused story and it's not intended to be. As mentioned before, this is a fantasy. It is not intended to reflect real life.

In the previous episode, we saw Emma seeking resolution with her estranged father, and the antics of her malicious younger sister. And we witnessed Emma's campaign to seek justice for wronged women, aided by the formidable Jimmy Hopkins. All of the characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

Emma entered the rundown coffee shop outside Seattle to take a seat at the counter. It wasn't much different than the diner where she had been working a year before. Before a kind man pretending to be a struggling factory manager had changed her life.

She was not alone. Her best friend Janet Rawlings was watching from a corner booth with Jimmy Hopkins. There were two private security men standing unobtrusively on the sidewalk, and two more in the rear parking lot guarding the back door. A van across the street was filled with high-tech monitoring equipment.

"Hello, may I help you?" a 19-year-old waitress asked, wearing a pink uniform with white collars. She wasn't so small as Emma, about 5'7 and 120 pounds, with a figure thinner than she should be. The nametag read Grace.

"I'm new to the area. What's good?" Emma asked. The server glanced over her shoulder to make sure the boss wasn't listening.

"To tell the truth, nothing. But the coffee and apple pie aren't bad," she whispered.

Emma appreciated the honesty, thankful her old workplace had a better reputation. She still visited with Marge and the girls from time to time.

"Coffee and apple pie," Emma ordered. The diner was quiet, only a few patrons in the late afternoon. The food arrived a moment later.

"Have you worked here long?" Emma asked.

"About six months," Grace hesitantly replied.

"What did you do before?" Emma asked.

"I was a student. An art student. But those days are over," Grace said, choking up and turning away. Emma reached out to take her arm.

"They don't have to be, Alice," Emma said. "You can get your life back. I did."

"What do you mean?" the young woman said, startled. "How do you know my real name?"

"Let's talk," Emma replied.

Alice paused, not sure what to do. Her customer was small, barely 5'4 and a hundred pounds, in her mid-20s, with long golden-brown hair and hopeful brown eyes. She wore a modest powder blue dress with a red beret. Nothing about her seemed ominous, but Alice had learned the hard way that looks could be deceiving.

Without acknowledging her escort, Emma took Alice to a back corner, huddling down.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Emma requested.

"I can't. It's too humiliating," Alice replied.

"Let me guess. You wanted to do a favor for some friends, but it was a trick. They betrayed you. They decided to destroy your life. And now you're running away, afraid to let anyone from your past know what happened."

Alice stared in disbelief. "How could you possibly know that?"

"Because the same thing happened to me. In my hometown. It was awful, and I thought my world was over."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Emma. We can talk about the rest later. Please tell me what happened. And then I want to see what we can do about it."

"I'll tell you, but nothing can be done about it," Alice answered. "My pictures are hanging in an art gallery. Horrible, pornographic pictures. They are in brochures, and on the internet. Whatever reputation I hoped to have is gone now. Gone forever."

"I understand. Mine was, too, until the people who hurt me had to pay a price."

"It happened last fall, at the start of my senior year at Mendacious Frontier College," she explained. "I was at the county fair with my friends Joyce Rogers and Melinda Stockman. Having a good time. We were drinking beer and kidding around. Joyce had just been offered an assistant position at the college art gallery. Melinda was hired to arrange exhibits. I didn't even work there. I was just a student volunteer. My old boyfriend, Eric Sassman, showed up with his creepy buddy, Nick. I had broken up with Eric when I caught him cheating on me.

"Joyce said Eric and I should still be friends. I think she liked him, but I didn't know that at the time. She suggested a contest. A dare. We would do the ring toss, with the winner choosing a project at the gallery for the loser. I didn't want to, but Joyce pressed me hard and I said yes."

Alice started crying, using a napkin to dab her eyes. This was not a new story to Emma. It sounded a lot like her own, and others her teams were investigating.

Suddenly, they were interrupted as the boss marched over, frowning. He was middle-aged with Popeye arms, a dirty white apron, and a shaved head.

"Grace, get your lazy ass out of that seat and back to work," the fat gruff beast demanded.

"Yes, Mr. Hagman," Alice sheepishly obeyed, starting to get up. Emma reached to stop her.

"No, Mr. Hagman, she won't," Emma said.

"What do you mean?" the grouchy man asked.

"Grace doesn't work for you anymore. She works for me. Now please give us some privacy," Emma answered.

"She works for me until I say different. Now get back to work," Hagman ordered. Alice looked back and forth between them, not sure what to do.

"Stay where you are, Alice. We haven't finished our conversation," Emma calmly instructed. The manager was getting ticked off, leaning over the table with a dark stare. He smelled of grease.

"Look, lady, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but waitresses sitting on their duffs looks bad for my business," Hagman growled. "I reserve the right to serve whoever I want, so you had better leave."

"Sir, I suggest you learn better manners or there will be trouble," Emma warned.

"Trouble? From a snip like you?" he laughed, ready to drag Emma from the booth.

"No," Jimmy Hopkins said, coming up behind him. "From snips like us."

Hagman turned to find a large stocky man staring at him. And two more men standing in the doorway, ready to move. Through the plate-glass window, he saw a tall black man and a short Asian woman running toward his front door, possibly armed. Obviously private security. He looked back at Emma, seeing the defiance in her eyes. He didn't know what it was all about, and didn't want to.

"My apologies, ma'am. Call if you need anything," he said, quickly walking away.

"Who are you?" Alice asked in astonishment.

"You were saying?" Emma responded.

"Eric had a good toss with his three rings, but two of mine were better. I only needed a fair toss on my third try to win, but Mindy bumped my arm and it went wild. I wanted another try, but everyone laughed and said I lost. We went to the tavern to discuss the dare."

"A bad one, I presume," Emma guessed.

"Eric said I had to pose nude for an art class," Alice answered. "Joyce said she needed a model to show her new boss, Mrs. Rosenbaum, that she could do the job. Mindy told me the class would be small, only five or six artists doing sketches. I didn't want to. I'd never modeled before. Joyce said I had to. I lost the dare. And then she produced a contract."

"A contract?" Emma said.

"It was already filled out. I would need to pose in different positions for ninety minutes, and if I quit early, there were penalty clauses. I was on a scholarship without much money. I couldn't afford to pay any penalties, and Joyce knew that. They all did. I never should have signed that contract. Not ever. But Joyce said she needed my help. I thought we were friends."

"I know how that can happen," Emma consoled, taking her hand.

"On the evening of the art session, I arrived on time from my job at the bookstore. Joyce had me strip naked, put on a thin robe, and locked all of my clothes in a locker. With a padlock. The studio was bigger than usual. More of an auditorium, but Mindy said only registered students would be admitted."

Alice had to pause, and Emma knew how she felt. Emma had been drugged, stripped, raped on a nightclub stage, and video recorded by her childhood friends. Alice had not experienced the same depth of violation, but that didn't make it any less painful.

"Joyce made me pose in bad ways. Not too extreme, at first, but then more. Bent over. My legs spread. More spectators showed up. With cameras. And they weren't students. I saw jealous rivals. Wanda and her mean girls from our old high school, who had always hated me. There were co-workers from the bookstore. Classmates. Men who just wanted to degrade me. Even one of my professors. As the session went on, I saw them whispering and mocking. Thirty of them. Maybe forty. I wanted to stop, but Joyce wouldn't let me. She said the gallery would invoke the penalty clauses of my contract and fine me thousands of dollars. I was forced to twist in front of them horrified and humiliated."

Alice paused again. She was crying. Emma gave her a tissue.

"I heard that modeling sessions are supposed to be professional. Respectful. But Joyce didn't maintain any control," Alice recounted. "There were shouts like, 'Show us more pussy, bitch.' 'Stick your fingers in your ass.' And 'Come down here and suck my cock.'"

Emma had heard such comments, too. From those she believed to be her best friends. And her own sister. She knew how much they hurt.

"I thought that was the worst, but toward the end, Mindy brought out a box of sex toys," Alice continued. "Dildos. Handcuffs. A leather collar with dog tags. She put up a sign saying I was a $20 whore on display. Mindy had me pose with them, and Joyce was directing everything. She told Mindy to spread my vulva open wider so everyone could see. By the end, I was sobbing."

"Mindy touched you? On Joyce's orders?" Emma asked, glancing at Jimmy, who was making notes.

"Yes, with her fingers," Alice confirmed. "And then, a week later, they mounted that giant photo on the gallery wall for everyone to see. And more. Sketches. And paintings. Labeled with my name. I went to Joyce and asked why she would do that to me. She grinned like she'd won the lottery."

Emma did not appear surprised by Alice's story. Yes, she was shocked by the cruelty. But she had been shocked by cruelty before.

"Those disgusting porn pictures were a first for a minor gallery," Emma explained. "They gathered a lot of attention for using a model who wasn't a professional. But to get the raw imagery they wanted, they needed to catch you by surprise. Your spontaneous responses were the hook the exhibitors wanted. Joyce Rogers was promoted to project manager. Melinda Stockman became the events director. Eric Templeton is the primary contractor for building new exhibits. Director Gerta Rosenbaum has been praised for a daring escalation of the art scene. Even Nicholas Bellingham has a job there as a gopher. They used your shock and pain to advance their careers."

"How do you know all this?" Alice asked, sniffling.

"I've had my investigators on it for the last two weeks," Emma replied.

"Mr. Jacobs fired me from my bookstore job, saying he couldn't have such a slut on the sales floor," Alice remembered. "I became a joke on campus. Gallery employees were posting my photos on walls and poles. Students would snicker every time I walked into a classroom, showing videos on their phones. Dean Roberts took away my scholarship, saying I could earn my own way as a nude model. Or a prostitute. My parents stopped speaking to me."

"None of them had any right to do those things," Emma said, leaning forward. "I only have two questions for you. Do you want your life back? And do you want justice?"

* * * * * *

It was a Saturday morning at the Latimer Estate. Emma was making breakfast in the chef's kitchen while her father, Janet, and Mrs. Hanna Hubbard sat patiently at the dining table. Wendy Shin, acting as Emma's personal bodyguard, had a small desk in the corner, reading reports. A warm sun glistened through the picture windows from the grand patio.

"You manage this whole place?" Melvin asked Hanna.

He was 50 years old, slight of build and turning gray. The estate was twenty acres with a two-story mansion, a gigantic patio and pool, orchards, gardens, a 3-hole golf course, and meadows behind the house filled with deer. The sturdy elder woman with piercing gray eyes smiled.

"Mrs. Latimer manages the estate," Hanna replied. "I only supervise the staff, the repairs, and the grounds."

"Hanna does everything! I would be so lost without her," Emma shouted from the stove wearing a frilly yellow dress that was loose around her waist. Her country apron was red and white checkers.

"Emma is a quick learner," Hanna conceded. "And a wonderful friend."

"She has always been very smart," Melvin said. "No one expected anyone from Langsford to get an art scholarship to New York University. I never dreamed how jealous that made her friends."

"Only a few more minutes for the eggs. How's the coffee?" Emma called out.

"It's great, honey," Janet said, also lightly outfitted for the warm fall day. "Are you sure we can't help?"

"I'm good. Not even showing much of a bulge yet," Emma happily answered.

"What do you think of becoming a grandfather?" Hanna asked, noticing that Janet wasn't cozying up to Emma's father.

"It's good she's married, though I still haven't met her husband," Melvin answered.

"Be careful when you do," Janet warned. "Emma has a forgiving nature. John doesn't. He spent half a billion dollars to destroy your hometown. He'd burn it down and salt the earth if that was an option."

"It sounds like you would, too, Mrs. Rawlings," Melvin observed.

"I was there the night we raided Donna Livingston's bar," Janet said, leaning forward. "I watched Jimmy Hopkins's detectives strip every one of your depraved friends naked, handcuff them, and load them on the state police buses for while they cried and begged for mercy. Including your daughter, Katy."

"Not my depraved friends," Melvin objected. "They had been Emma's friends before she left for college. I had no clue what they were doing. I'm still not even sure what happened."

"We lured all of them in. Judy, Tricia, Samantha. Fifty more," Janet said with immense satisfaction. "We got the whole stinking crew that raped Emma. They were told that Emma was coming back for an encore performance, and Jimmy Hopkins used Marta Svoboda as bait. Now they are going to prison. And the night Emma needed you most, you locked her out of the house. Naked. While she was being chased by a mob. Don't expect Joe to forget that. Or me."

Melvin was stunned. He knew Janet Rawlings as a famous celebrity, the wife of a billionaire. He had no idea she was such a passionate defender of his daughter.

"It was a terrible mistake, and I'll spend the rest of my life making up for it," Melvin replied.

"See that you do. Destroying your town and taking away your house--" Janet continued.

Suddenly Emma appeared, setting glasses of orange juice on the table and kneeling at Janet's feet. She took her hand.

"Jan, my father and I will work this out. Let's not spoil breakfast," she urged. "And thank you for loving me so much. No woman could ever have a better friend."

Emma kissed Janet on the cheek and ran back into the kitchen. Janet returned her gaze to Melvin.

"For Emma's sake, I'll cut you some slack," Janet relented.

Melvin was more relieved than he thought possible. When Emma had said she was running with a rough crowd, he hadn't imagined how true it was.

Young Katy Coleman staggered into the kitchen looking hungover, only wearing a white bath towel. She was twenty-one years old with long brunette hair, deep brown eyes, sleek and beautiful where Emma was merely pretty. Which gave Katy a lot of satisfaction.

"My suitcase isn't in my room. What happened to it?" she asked.

"It's a big house. Sometimes things get mislaid," Hanna replied. "This isn't a hotel."

"Where are my clothes from yesterday?" she asked. "The clothes I had at the pool."

"We burned them," Hanna answered.

"You burned my clothes?" Katy said.

"Maybe we can find a maid's uniform for you?" Janet suggested with a grin.

"Hopefully not one of those tear-away porn outfits Emma likes," Katy responded. "At least Emma is working for a change. I thought she was the estate whore."

"I have a few duties to keep me occupied," Emma calmly answered, leaning across the kitchen counter.

Janet and Hanna exchanged looks. Emma had quietly informed her father the day before about her marriage. And pregnancy. No one had told her bratty sister.

Katy sat at the table as Hanna poured coffee for her. Her father watched with a cool detachment. He had been badly confused about which daughter to believe, recalling the shame of it. Emma emerged from the kitchen.

"Scrambled eggs, pancakes, and sausages," she announced, carrying many plates at once. As she had while working for Marge's coffee shop.

Janet did the serving. Emma returned to the kitchen for another tray. Katy still seemed surprised that such a famous jetsetter like Janet Rawlings was sitting at the table with her father and a house servant. She noticed Wendy Shin at a desk in the corner, remembering how the scary young woman had pawed her thighs at the pool the previous day. While she lay naked and helpless, surrounded by the sudden appearance of Farranti Decant's film crew. There was something dangerous about the petite woman with her black hair tied back and dark watchful eyes. Wendy noticed Katy looking and gave her a sly wink.

"I need clothes," Katy complained, adjusting the towel.

"Why bother?" Janet said with a grin. "Thanks to Farranti, your naked images are all over the internet. You're the country's latest slut."

"I am not a slut!" Katy protested. "Emma is the slut!"

A stocky man in his early 40s entered the dining room, short black hair and balding. He was dressed in an expensive blue suit ready for work.

"Good morning, my loves," John said, tapping Hanna on the shoulder and giving Janet a peck on the cheek.

"Oh, my God, you are Jackson John Latimer," Katy said, jumping up. "You're really him."

"That's what my security people tell me every day, after the DNA check," John replied.

"DNA check?" Katy asked.

"Can't have me being impersonated by a clone," he mischievously answered. "The financial markets would go crazy."

He sat down at the head of the table next to Janet, taking her hand, and looked toward the kitchen.

"Need help, sweetheart?" he called.

"No thank you, dearest. Just getting the orange juice," Emma answered.

Dearest? Katy wondered. Is my sister is a billionaire's mistress? How juicy is that?

Emma arrived with fruit cups. John jumped up to assist.

"I don't believe your sister and I have been formally introduced," John said, gallantly pouring a glass of orange juice for Katy.

"Mr. Latimer, this is my little sister, Katy Coleman. She is going on trial next month for accomplice to rape," Emma said without particular emotion. "Katy, this is Jackson John Latimer. You are a guest at his estate."

"It's an honor to meet you, sir. Sorry I'm not to better dressed," Katy stuttered, tucking the towel tighter.

"From what I understand, you'll be wearing an orange jumpsuit soon," John calmly replied, taking a bite of scrambled eggs. "Good morning, Mr. Coleman. We haven't met before, either."

"Thank you for inviting us, Mr. Latimer," Melvin said, getting his first close look at his new son-in-law. "We should talk later."

"I agree, though keep your expectations low," John ominously warned.

"We know how you closed the factory, and undermined Langsford's real estate. And I understand why," Melvin confessed. "I won't ask for mercy. What they did to Emma that night was unforgivable. But if you could help Katy, it would be a mercy. She is Emma's sister, after all."