Chapter 27

I felt exposed all around. Exposed to terrorists, to Maggie’s situation, to hackers and snoops. Exposed to whatever the government wanted from me. I had all of that covered, except for Maggie. My brain can know that life is not all chocolate milk and cookies but my heart raged at the thought another innocent person might be snatched away while I watched from the sidelines.

Exposed to whatever Phoebe wanted to catch up on. Back then, we were more than casual friends with benefits up until I got my Masters and she began her siege at Mass General. We were too young and career-focused for any sort of commitment beyond pleasantly uncomplicated pressure relief.

Life became complicated for the both of us about the time my parents were killed. She was totally immersed in her studies and we quickly lost touch when I escaped Boston, moving to New York. Mutual friends told me later Phoebe met and married her new mate, a politically connected investment banker who worshipped the ground she walked on, soon after we parted and started a family. The friends said she was very successful on her own as a cancer specialist. I was crazy happy for her. She deserved better than me. I was not good company at the time.

The earpiece silenced once more, I reviewed my place in all this madness. I suppose I was lost in the past for quite a while. The others left me alone. I probably looked like bad company again.

“It’s calm outside, so we all came inside.” Amy broke into my nostalgic reverie. “The nurse says that Maggie is in surgery now and it is going as expected.” She hesitated and continued. “Sir. What was expected?”

“Dr. McLean said she suspected a burst uterine cyst, non-malignant and some ovarian lumps she did not like.” I shrugged. “She is an old friend and is supposed to be one of the best oncologists around. Or so I’m told. Anyway, we’re on her home court, so I have to go with what she says.”

“Old friends like Karen?” My XO was one of the few people on this earth who could ask that question honestly. “Or old friends like the rest of the world has?”

“Some of both.” I smiled halfway. “I was an Asheville kid, going from NC State to M.I.T and she was going from Cornell to Harvard. I was into computer theory heavy and she was neck-deep in med school. We were both young smarties and not uber cool trust fund legacies, but too active outdoors to be real geeks. We met at a J Geils concert. Never part of the regular social life on either campus, so it was natural to hook up. We were comfortable together but knew there was no future ‘us’. It was nine years ago. A year later, I graduated, became an orphan and moved to New York. She graduated from Harvard, if that’s what doctors do, and started her advanced training at Mass General. We didn’t part so much as drifted away. We didn’t weave strings and didn’t break any. Just friends curing solitude and shelter from the hubbub.”

I grinned this time. “She has a good career now, husband and family. Boston was the last time I saw her before today. Our Karen was just three years ago and weaseled her way back. She fits our lifestyle easily. Phoebe McLean and I were not meant to be. We, as in all of the Z-Girls, are.”

“I want to meet the woman who let you get away.” Amy declared, “She might not be all that smart.”

“She was then. I was not a good catch, too sour and out of season, and as I said before, too damaged and wrapped in my own struggles to be of much use. Karen was a pile of fun, but she had to find herself somewhere outside of her family’s sphere. Every time I started to care for someone, they went away. It hurt.” I hugged her. “I spotted you and Ellie in time to bring me back from the edge.”

She chuckled. “That’s us, always in season, the right size and no limit. Wild caught, rescued and free range Mobsterettes, at your service.”

She got me unfunked enough to cruise the facility and talk to the other girls. “Still quiet, Mark, but I keep getting a weird vibe. The hairs on the back of your neck feeling like Dad claimed to get before the fan got dirty.” Kelli volunteered. “Vicki senses it, too. Maybe basic paranoia, maybe worry about Maggie or maybe nerves, but I’m afraid to ignore it.”

“Beth, get my laptop. We need to see what the Colonel sees. The troops are nervous.”

She was there before I stopped talking. “Nell’s been on with Belle. It too quiet on the Bowery and the Pennys are jumpy. Emma is listening to the police scanner at the desk and hears nothing about Amsterdam House.” Beth grimaced. “He evacuated us for a reason. What got his panties in an uproar?”

That got me laughing. “If you’re going to be snarky, he would rather you ask if his shorts were riding up. Even that wouldn’t make him panic, but something has pushed him almost that far.” I booted up and ran my spy-eye program.

“You going to turn that thing around or do I have to beat you up?” She tried to punch my shoulder, but I caught her fist without looking.

“In your dreams, Short Stuff. Here have a peep. Mysteries revealed thanks to IR.”

“Ouch. That hurt, you meanie.” Beth looked at the screen and saw what I did. “Sucks to be them.”

Color-coded chaos. White hats in green, black hats in red. Billings was letting the world know why he was in charge. He, the NYPD and unnamed assets had set ambushes in advance, well out from our perimeter. The bad guys never had a chance. For once, we were the clean up crew if any creeps got through. Ditto for Bright Star.

Amsterdam Avenue was busy, but Llewellen had the streets under control. Green was having a red-letter day. Red was just having a bad day. “Beth, can you and Suki port this to the big TV in the lobby? The girls can stand down for a while and still be ready to respond.”

“Piece of cake. Better warn the lady at the desk before she has a stroke. Laura already scared the crap out of her.” Beth laughed. “She’s all out of rosary beads and dangerously low on bejesus.”

A dose of irreverence is an excellent antidote for tension. Smart girls in action are a good thing.

At the desk, I showed the nurse administrator my ID and apologized for being such a pain. Her nameplate read ‘Melba Rappaport’. “We’ve commandeered the lobby TV, but I don’t think you’ll mind once you see what is happening outside. We’re the good guys. The bad guys are in red and they are very bad, bad guys.”

The cyber girls had the three feeds on the big screen. The story was playing out on the Bowery and at home. “This is just outside? Oh My God!” She was rapt. “Green is outnumbered. Now I see. My husband calls it the hammer and anvil when he watches war movies. Red is running into a bigger trap.”

“Amateur fanatics against trained professionals.” I stared into her eyes. “You know of course, this will not be on the news for a few days. Please don’t endanger this facility or your family by talking about it.”

“I don’t blab patient information. HIPAA rules are super strict. This the same?” She wondered.

“Same enough but with heavier penalties. Blabbing about a soap star getting an STD will get you fined and fired.” I warned. “Ms Rappaport, blabbing about this may get you tried for interfering with a Federal investigation. It will all work out, but until the threat is eliminated, don’t make it harder for the people keeping the barbarians from the gates.”

“How do you know who the reds are?” She was curious, but seemed trustworthy.

“Associations with people we’ve captured before, facial recognition software and various secret methods. I’m not at liberty to say more, but you are at liberty because we have these tools.”

I saw a light bulb light up in her eyes. “You’re Mark Allyn! The Zephyr guy who keeps our system secure! Dr. McLean said she knew you in college. This is like being in a spy novel. Secret identities, cyber warfare, invaders, heroes, the whole megilla. Don’t worry about loose lips. Who would believe me?” Melba punched the air. “Who will play you in the movie?”

Now that was funny. “With my luck, John Cleese. I’ll recommend Cyndi Lauper in a cameo, to play you.”

“I’ll hold out for Jessica Lange, thank you very much.”

We all watched the drama unfold on TV until it became a rout for the Greens on all three fronts. Phoebe tapped my shoulder. “You’re watching movies at a time like this?”

“Nope. This is a live feed from a block away. We’re the guys holding the fort. You’re in the fort.” I answered, “These guns ain’t toys and this is not our first rodeo, Phoebe.”

“Sorry. Bad joke, the show is playing al over the hospital. Can we talk in private?”

“If this has to do with Maggie, say it here. We’re all family.”

“Ms Riker is going to be OK. But she had the beginnings of ovarian cancer and a pre-cancerous condition in her uterus. We saved some eggs, but everything past her cervix had to go. She can continue the family line, but a surrogate will have to do the heavy lifting.” She shrugged. “The cosmetic surgeon is closing her up now. He’s good. The scar will be nearly invisible. We removed and examined the adjacent lymph nodes and everything looks clear. Another week and the story would have been very different. She dodged a big fat fatal bullet.”

“When can we see her?” Frieda asked quickly.

“She will be in ICU recovery under observation until the anesthetic wears off. If she sticks to a normal schedule, we’ll have her in a room in three or four hours. You can see her then but don’t expect much in the way of conversation.”

“Thank you for everything, Dr. McLean.” Billi whispered, “You saved my oldest friend.”

“You are welcome. In my specialty, good outcomes are never assured. It feels good to win one, especially for Maggie, but for one of my oldest friends, too.” She indicated the inner sanctum doors. “Now can we talk in private for real? It’s not about Maggie. Just old family stuff.”

The girls perked up and collectively drew attention to my sisters.

“If you want ‘family’ family, meet my long unsuspected sisters, Elaine Zarkhov and Cynthia Wolfsdottir. We’re halfsies from different mothers. Our parents kept secrets, too.”

“Awkward. But, there is more to the strange saga coming.” Phoebe lead us out of the lobby and into her office.

“I’m not feeling real good here, Phoebe. Spill it.” I pointed to the girls. “It can’t be weirder than feeling like the first triplet, born fourteen years early.”

“Or fourteen years late.” Cyn added.

“Except for the gender thing, Amy calls us clones.” Elaine commented quickly. “Our strange bar is pretty high.”

Never one to dither and delay, Phoebe cut to the details. “Barrett Wagner worked as an advisor for Senator Whitesides from before I met him. I’m not political unless it involves healthcare delivery. He totally ignored my field unless he was sick. We kept our professional lives completely separate all these years, but he seemed a perfect mate and great father. Your name came up in conversation a couple of days ago. My husband knows who you are and you have him scared. He got worse when the Senator was taken into custody and I found out about the White Supremacist/Neo-Nazi/National Religion Christianists. Now I’m scared.”

“Knowing who I am is one thing. Being afraid of me is another.” I knew who he was but never connected Wagner to Phoebe McLean. I didn’t know where she was. “I scare people who have reason to be scared. But only through the Agency, not one on one, usually. Public and ‘other’ lives I try to keep separate.”

“Now he had reason. He looked up your picture again in one of my scrapbooks, it’s not like he didn’t know we were friends in college and that you were a rich computer wizard. It was never a big deal that I knew the guy who founded Zephyr. But his knowledge of our friendship ended there. That has changed.”

“Think how things have changed for our brother.” Cynthia said, “Like having someone calling him ‘brother’.”

“What was different enough to make this conference so necessary?” I asked, hoping she gave the right answer.

“This time something clicked about your looks and he got really insane angry. Barrett disappeared yesterday without a word. I’m pretty certain he is one of your top bad guys.”

Good answer. “That explains the concentration of their few remaining forces on us. I am not some amorphous government department anymore. Wagner had a face and location and hoped to gain a measure of personal revenge for destroying his employer’s plot.”

“That really pissed him off, but is just the start.” She looked at my sisters. “I know what infuriated him. He knew your name from my books. He knew your agency affiliation from his contacts in DC. He knew your face from my daughters.”

Some answers are too good. I felt sucker punched. But I believed her. Why make up something that outrageous? Deal with it.

“I know no birth control method is 100% sure, so we won the Boston lottery. You found out right after I moved away and chose to keep it to yourself because I was a mess after Mom and Dad were killed. That was probably the merciful thing to do for me and a pretty big sacrifice for you.”

“Not so much. You were broken but fixable and I found Barrett immediately. Things worked out fine.”

“He thought they were his and a month or two premature? And you sold it. If you loved him, and you no doubt did then, it was the humane thing to do.” I intoned as calmly as I could manage. “I know what he looks like and it is not like me or my sisters. How did you explain that?”

“It was an easy sell. We used artificial insemination after he claimed some vague justification. My Scots-Irish heritage explained the lack of resemblance. They were small at birth, twins usually are. Looking back, he probably loved the Northern European appearance since he was olive skinned, a little Italian maybe. The twins gave him genetic justification for membership in the Super Race. The twins were actually healthy, full term babies, but he had no comparisons. He was the proud new daddy until day before yesterday.” She sighed, “He has to feel doubly betrayed and played for a fool. Like I said, things changed.”

“Finding out your worst enemy is the real father of your admission tickets has to suck.” Elaine commented, “I’m guessing someone suddenly calling you ‘daddy’ is a big change, too.”

“Do you have pictures? I’d like to see my daughters.” I asked. “Blue eyed blondes?”

“Blue eyed, curly strawberry blondes. Tall and slender for their age.” She grinned too big. “I was worried Barrett would do something drastic and brought them here for safety. Wait for a few minutes.”

“We’ll see how the daughters deal with the changes. Bring them to the lobby. I’ll let you explain to the girls, ours and mine.” I grinned. “It is easier that way.”

Beth and Amy met us at the door. “Everything all right, Sir? You have that stunned face on.”

“I come by it honestly, too. You will understand soon and be wearing your own version.” I smiled, “Beth, how goes the outside?”

“According to the reports, they’re in mop-up mode. The drone views agree. The City has the caravans rolling already.” She stopped. “You might want to call the Colonel before we go home. Just sayin’.”

“Any particular reason, Ms Baker?” My turn to laugh. “Feeling all dressed up and no one to punch out?”

“Only that we are supposed to stay put until the all-clear and he hasn’t given it yet. And that too.”

I turned on the earpiece tactical channel. “Good evening, sir. Have any late breaking news? I have some questions if you have time.”

“You’re in luck. Life is good for us, not so much for them. Talk.”

“I found out some strange news tonight. The lead doctor here is an old college pal of mine. The trouble is that she is married to Barrett Wagner, in the top ten with a bullet. I’m positive she’s not involved in this mess, but he is in up to his eyeballs and in the wind as of yesterday.” I paused. “She thinks he knows who we are and is looking for revenge, up close and personal.”

“That explains the effort to target you. But he lost his top ten listing because of the bullets. We’ve ID-ed the body. The details are in a text on your sat phone. Do you want to break the news to the widow or should I?”

“I will, Colonel. He began to scare her and she feared for the kids so the news might not be that hard to take.” I sighed. “She just found out how bad a guy he really was, but they were close once, too. He was good at keeping his real life quiet and she was too busy being a doctor and Mom to be very curious. You don’t have any bad pings on Dr. Phoebe McLean yet, do you?”

I realized to whom I was speaking. “Sorry, sir. That was a stupid question. If you did, we would be at another hospital.”

“You’re forgiven, it’s been a long few days. How’s your girl?”

I told the tale at length, ending with, “Not great but not bad. She’ll get better. Thanks for asking.”

“You guys do good work for us and I care about my people, even when they are part-time and make me crazy.” He laughed. “But I would be crazier without you guys. Stick around for a while and I will send Pulaski and Brown to escort you home when Llewellen sweeps up Amsterdam. Their better halves will stand guard over Ms Riker. They will put guys on station at her Grandfather’s house. I’ll have Zack see to it.”

“Thanks, Colonel. See you later.”

I had my back turned to the door when the proverbial hush fell over the Mobsterettes. Amy had her version of ‘stunned face’ going and she was in good company. Patty started giggling. “Is this the week from outer space, or what?”

Irina echoed the sentiment, “Just when you thought it was safe to go outside, Boom!”

Phoebe, the rat, pushed her daughters toward me gently. She could have introduced us. But no. The girls took over instead. They grabbed a hand each and pulled me to a chair. Standing side-by-side, the little twins (5’, at seven, Amy’s height little) touched my nose, then each other’s, my hair then theirs, repeating with eyebrows, chins, ears, until every facial feature had been mapped, compared and memorized.

Next, my sisters got a more detailed, girl-specific once over, then back to me.

“You’re like us. You’re the guy in Mom’s picture book. Who are you? Who are they? Why are you here?”

“I’m Mark Carlyle Allyn. Meet my half-sister, Cynthia Alana Wolfsdottir with the curly hair and her half-sister, my other half-sister, Elaine Alexandra Zarkhov. We’re here with our friend who got sick. Who are you?”

“She’s Marcy McLean Wagner. I’m Carly McLean Wagner. Maybe. I’m not so sure anymore.” Carly thought about it. “So nobody is whole anything. Three Moms and one Dad. We have one Mom and you’re our real Dad, right?”

“Father did not feel like our Daddy. You do.” Marcy agreed, touching her heart. “He wasn’t exactly mean, but he treated us different when Mom wasn’t around. You are our real Daddy. I know it!”

“That’s what your Mom says. It’s news to me, too. Look at this through my eyes. Two days ago I was an orphaned only child. Today, I have two sisters and two daughters.” I smiled. “I think we’re quintuplets with different ages.”

“You’re not actually named Wagner. Barrett never saw your birth certificates and I filled in the blanks. The ‘Father’ line is blank.” Phoebe told them. “Your true names are Marcy Allyson McLean and Carly Allyna McLean.”

“This is so cool. We’re not who we are.” Carly shouted, “We are someone else with his names!”

“That other Father missed a lot. That’s a biggie. Who do we look like?” Marcy, this time. “We don’t look like him and not much like Mom. Your hair wants to be like ours, but can’t.”

“You have my eyes and your Grandma Bonnie’s hair, Marcy. I have Mom’s eyes and Dad’s hair. So do Cynthia and Elaine. The curly might come from Mom or your Mom. I don’t know what Phoebe’s folks look like. Part of you could come from them, but that doesn’t account for my sisters looking like you so much. The tall comes from my Dad, your Grandpa Alex, and me. I’m taller than he was. The girl comes from your Mom or my Mom, but not from me.” I made her make a funny face. “Since you two are twin girls, that goes for Carly, too.”

“Are we on purpose?” Marcy asked.

“We’ll say you were an unexpected and happy surprise.” Phoebe saved me on that one. “That is a long story for another time.”

“What are we?” These girls liked straight answers to straight questions.

I pointed to each in turn, “Carly and Marcy, you are your Mom’s and my daughters, Elaine and Cynthia’s nieces, and sisters to each other. Or, we’re aliens sent to earth to confuse mere humans.” I pointed to the Z-Girls. “These girls probably believe the alien theory and they all live in my house. They are not blood-related except to each other. Amy and Ellie McGee are sisters. Jean and Jane Baxter are twins. Yumi and Suki are twins and sisters to Mika Tanner. Polly and Holly Ellis are twins. Vicki and Kelli James are sisters. Anne, Beth and Carol Baker are triplets.”

“How do you tell us apart? Mom can’t every time, the man who was our Father couldn’t, but you get it right every time.” They said, twin style, in unison. “That’s not possible.”

“You look different to me.” I said. “Don’t ask. I won’t tell you how. Top Secret stuff. I’m a doctor of top secret stuff.”

Caralyn scooped them up into the crowd. “Hi, I’m Caralyn Thomas. These bozettes call me a Cartoon Anime Robot. They’re wrong, I’m really an alien android and Little Sam Gordon is my cyborg mosquito partner in confusion.”

Anne put her arms around my daughters and stage whispered, “I’m not triplets. But I move so fast I can be three places at once. I think you are Martian Amazon Sprouts smuggled off the mothership. In a few years, you’ll grow up to be like those two giants masquerading as Mark’s sisters. Mark feeds them a pound of chocolate, two pizzas and three tablespoons of plant food every day, right after he hangs them upside down for an hour of tickling.”

Carly and Marcy began to giggle. “We’re gonna be Markasaurus Reginae? Woot!” Marcy hooted. “More Snickers™!”

“Pizza. Pizza. Pizza.” Carly chanted twirling around.

“You really take the brain shocks easily, girls. All you did was find your actual Dad. I was close to normal one day and my Mom passed away. Dad remarried and I had a Dad and stepmother. He died and she remarried. Now, I have two steps. She expired and he got married again. I’m now living with a double stepmother and a stepfather. That isn’t weird enough, nooooo. Repeat the cycle once more and I’m in a house with a triple stepmother, a double stepfather and double/triple siblings I don’t know. Patty Mayfield and the pod people who want to steal her trust fund and sell her to dirty film makers.” She aimed a thumb at me and said. “Sooper Snoopy Mark found out, rescued me from that mess and today I’m a certified adult person at the ripe old age of fifteen.”

“We’re Jean and Jane Baxter and were poor farmer’s daughters living in a convent, driving the nuns nuts. Mark moved us in with the others, so we can drive him crazy instead. But he’s crazier than we can ever be and smarter than anybody, so we have to work super hard at it.” Jane snickered.

Jean said, “He is happy if we are crazy smart and we don’t like to disappoint Mark, ever.”

In singles, doubles and pairs, the Z-Girls told age-appropriate versions, often comical, of how they came to live at Amsterdam House to the wonder and astonishment of the little kids.

I read the Billings’ Notes version of the battle outside. It was ugly, even in summary form.

They were up to Nell Nye and Emma Reeves being super-spy commando girls who can disappear into the night and find the villains by yesterday’s shadows when I motioned Phoebe into the examination area. She continued to her office and shut the door. “This is not going to be good, is it?”

“I have to come clean, Phoebe. Barrett is not coming back. You saw the drone feeds. It was brutal. He led the assault on the hospital and lost. His remains are going to the morgue.”

She squeezed her eyes closed and a tear escaped down her cheek. “I suppose did love him once, but he is not the man I married. I suppose I’ll be able someday to miss the façade but not the man hidden behind.”

“The entire ragtag army was carrying pictures of you, our daughters and me. Our faces were circled and ‘X’ed out. The source and purpose was obvious. He wanted us dead, his perceived humiliation erased out of existence. Barrett Wagner’s blind, vengeful rage cost him his life and the lives of a few hundred co-fanatics tonight. The total casualty count this week is well over a thousand in New York alone.”

Seeming to gather strength from the air around her, Phoebe straightened up. “The man behind the wall was an evil man, following megalomaniacs and giving orders to other very bad people. I was the idiot here, Mark. I fell for an illusion and never looked deeper.”

“You had no reason to question the status quo, Phoebe. He was good at the game.” I asked the big one. “Where do we go from here? Our girls are getting adopted by my charges and housemates. That means we need to get some things settled.”

“This is not the time, Mark. It’s too soon.”

“I don’t think we are thinking the same things. But in that vein, I think it will always be too soon, in truth, too late. You have your life and I have mine. Realistically, we are too different to walk the same path. But we do share two little treasures. That is what I wanted to get settled.”

“I’m glad you said it first. The ‘USS Us’ sailed gently and sweetly into the sunset long ago. I think it best if we remain as reconnected, very good friends with history and kids together. In the near future, I want to make some changes for me. Barrett wanted to live near the airports so he could yoyo between his job in Garden City and the Senate Office Building in DC. I work here and at a private practice near NYU Med Center on the East Side.”

“Convenient for him. Long commute for you. He was an investment banker, right? So you’re financially secure? Do the girls like the neighborhood?”

“Secure for the moment. I have to look at the will. He might have written in surprises. As for Carly and Marcy, at seven, they don’t see much outside of the house. Just like any area in Queens, OK shopping, stuff to do, but Corona Park is not Manhattan. They go to a nice school. They come home. Sixth grade is sixth grade.” Phoebe sighed. “I don’t want to live in that house anymore and I want my own practice. I want the kids to be near their real Dad and go to the best schools. I want to stay on staff here and be available to work at the cancer centers at Memorial Sloan-Kettering/NYU Complex. My life needs fixing this time.”

Sixth grade is sixth grade for seven year olds?

She did not need to know that I would insure her financial security before the night was over. The bots were restless.

“We can start by getting you moved. I have a ton of space on Amsterdam Avenue, a building in Tribeca and a huge house on Staten Island. The Island is a worse commute, Tribeca is filling up and Amsterdam Avenue will probably fill soon with the business concerns the girls and I operate.” I shrugged, “We can dedicate spacious living space and even make it relatively private in one of those buildings, but you need to visit one of our websites before we discuss a possible future there. Browse www.ZSAirwear.com. Then BrightStarNYC.com. We design and market the Airwear Fashion Line and Bold Teenage Revolution, the chief reasons the religionists hate everything we do. That is us and describes directly how we dress at home and away. Their all-girl school, Bingham-Hampton Academy, endorses the style and allows it at school. The faculty considers it a freedom of expression and choice issue. They buy their regular school uniforms both in normal cottons through Bright Star Apparel and Zephyr Airwear fabrics. through us.”

“I’ve seen the news reports and am not morally opposed.” Phoebe logged on to the desktop. “Yikes! Plays into most fastasies, adjustable modesty, unwilling yet unavoidable exposure. Tons of accidental tits! Sweet! Daring and very affordable.”

“Otherwise, Phoebe, we’re just a rich computer geek and a house full of schoolgirls and regular people. And a few trained commandoes, college girls and researchers.” I spoke softly. “Between us, I have a couple hundred million in cash and the girls, collectively have another hundred million or so in cash, investments and trust funds. We’ve about run out ways to spend it. All the Airwear stuff started as just something to stir things up, to keep life interesting, then took on a life of its own. The loonys got involved, we refused to back down and here we are.”

“Naked by default, clothing as an afterthought. And the surprises keep coming. The schools and parents don’t have issues with the new look?”

“Julliard, Hamilton, Bay Shore Prep, Union and Madison Science and Math are all in. Sales are booming nationwide. The teenagers are, as always, driving the bus. Read the mission statement. Nothing is ever forced and we encourage the girls to come to an agreement with their parents who must have the final decision. None I’ve contacted have objected and most of the mothers are buying it, too. However, it is our philosophy and you may not think it appropriate for seven year olds.”