Business as Unusual
Chapter 41

Copyright© 2017 by autofocus

Sex Story: Chapter 41 - Orphaned computer nerd assembles huge team of assorted housemates as he discovers his solitude/orphanitude ain't a bit like the brochure. Spies, bad guys and family lurk around every corner. Atypical days in NYC are the norm.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   mt/ft   Ma/ft   ft/ft   Fa/ft   Mult   Teenagers   Consensual   Romantic   BiSexual   Heterosexual   Fiction   Crime   Humor   Mystery   Workplace   Extra Sensory Perception   Incest   Brother   Sister   Daughter   Cousins   Light Bond   Group Sex   Harem   Orgy   Black Female   White Male   Oriental Female   Hispanic Female   Indian Female   Anal Sex   Exhibitionism   First   Oral Sex   Petting   Safe Sex   Sex Toys   Voyeurism   Public Sex   Small Breasts   Nudism   Politics  

I guided the group downstairs into a Las Vegas casino-style buffet scene. Acres of cold cuts and hot deli meat, enough chips and dips to pave Broadway, mounds of bread and salads and condiments, it was a perfect meal after a crazy day. A return to sanity was not in sight.

Did I say Sin City? In front of my bedazzled eyes were seventy-seven, count ‘em, seventy-seven pairs of absolutely astonishing tits. Nothing worn above the waist, except the occasional ‘X’, bed jacket or nipple ring here and there. Teachers, Pennys, and Z-Girls (and the Sprouts, but they don’t appear in the total titty tally) swirled all around the space, fixing plates and planning the tests. More than a few were naked and all were commando, except the Sprouts, who were wearing ½-sheer silver panties. I guess they wanted to feel grown up if they cared at all.

Magnetism, strong and weak atomic forces, gravity and duct tape, make room! Girl-powered peer pressure is the truest force of nature. Some of the Z-Girls and most of the new people, though voluntarily topless or better, acted somewhat bashful and became even more self-conscious, blushing every shade of red you can imagine whenever they caught me looking them over. They blushed a lot.

Yikes! Another startling realization: Through no deliberate manipulation of events on my part, sixty-five of the sixty-eight girls or women for whom I had been their ‘first and only’ were eating dinner together in my house. Nell and Tina were elsewhere. Hope Rabin had crossed over the Rainbow Bridge.

Freaking 68! OK, that is ‘only’ about four a year since 1991-ish, but really, most were in the last month. The Alpha Prime effect was strong medicine! And they are all perfect in their unique ways, not a jealous bone to be found in any of them and friends to boot.

Birthdays! Damn good thing I had an eidetic memory and was stupid rich. Extra staying power did not hurt a bit.

While I was not paying much attention to the conversations, the eleven instructors selected to be proctors and the thirty-one girls testing up sequestered themselves everywhere. Which translated to the rest of us getting banned from the third floor, both buildings. Ever wonder how many teenaged girls have quizzed out of Algebra III, late at night, naked on a futon with Rita Coolidge singing in the background? No, not the student/teacher scandal you see on the 6:00 News, a real placement test. Riza’s understanding of our ‘normal’ gained a new insight.

Connie, Bonnie, Leigh, Emma, Wendy and Pamela went down to the first floor to do Ten Penny stuff on the phones with Laura. June and Luz got on a conference call with the Bright Stars to catch up on normal fashion industry business.

Phoebe, Irina and Karen captured Tara and went to the garden to talk. A little sister-to-sister attitude adjustment was in order. Good stuff.

I checked in with Maggie before our banishment. She had her cancer surgery on the night of the ninth and this was the night of the fourteenth. “I’m OK mostly, but tire sooner and it aches a little inside then. It’s better every day, Mark, really. Today was stressful and that sniper rifle gets mighty heavy. After the tests, I’ll crash on the first flat, soft surface I find.”

“Sorry about messing up the memorial service plans. We kinda broke the helicopter today. The Top Spook promised to grow us another but we don’t know when it will be here.” I apologized sincerely, “The Police and Ten Pennys are guarding your properties by Union Square and if you need anything, call me or Albert Gonzales, my primary attorney.”

“Grandpa would understand. It’s not a problem. Send my thanks to all the guys who are working so hard and dealing with my stuff.” She smiled, “The girls are taking care of me here, too.”

“Good. Get Better! House rules. That’s an order!”

Maggie tried to hit me on the arm, but missed. “Just you wait, you meanie.”

I still felt pretty wound up and there was no use trying to sleep with a zillion (56) people stirring around. What to do, what to do?

That left nine naked girls (the four Cymbalines, Quincy, Sally, Felicia, Faye and Mitzi), eleven in ½-sheer silver miniskirts (the three Bakers, Astrid, the two Bradleys, Audrey, Celeste, Amy, Britney and Linh), three in silver cello miniskirt and bed jacket sets (Maya, Patsy and Minerva), two in silver cello X-front semi dresses (the two Swansons, though injured, were included) and me in my black boxer shorts footloose and fancy-free. The Bakers, Amy and Linh still had their S/S-Z nipple pendants, and all the girls wore solid silver chokers with S/S broaches.

(((((((Insert Chap41 Chart 1.htm)))))))

What to do was to take an inner outing for a few hours. I found Emma, telling her to call me on the sat phone if the world went to hell and needed a map or if the Colonel needed further assistance. I was going to the substation and get out of the way.

“There’s Audrey’s Humvee in the freight car, Mark. Ours is in the basement” Sioux reminded me. “We ought to keep one them handy.”

“Cool. One of you takes us down and brings the car back up. There’s room. I’ll use an earwig to call for a ride later.” I answered, “If you can’t retrieve us for some reason, we can hike to Ryan House and hang out there. No sweat. If you need us before or if the phone is out of repeater range, we’ll be in the south tunnel.”

I ushered the whole group to the first floor, rear of the Annex. “Road trip, girls. Amy, prep your usual unusual travel bag, light weps, etc. Felicia, prep and replenish a first aid kit. Linh, you and Carol get some very bright flashlights. Everyone, get a chain belt and hang your IDs. Follow Amy, she’ll set you up. Scoot. Be back here in ten minutes. Come exactly as you are.”

On the sly, I instructed Anne and Beth, “In my dresser, grab my PPK and the Desert Eagle shoulder holster combo. Collect some Glocks for yourselves, Carol, Linh and Amy. Maybe a few extras for the others, plus your blades. We have a total of nine girls with carry permits tonight. Use shoulder bags and let the girls packing carry their own. You never know.”

“Pippa, India, Zoë and Paige had no ID when they got here.” Beth snarked, “They had very little of anything.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no, mon amí. Let me see what’s in the printer queue first. Come by my office on the way back here.”

“Rose and YoBeau sent over a box of those silver cellophane lab coats to fit everyone. Well, large, medium and small, height-wise. Short girls with giant boobs may have a slight problem. I’ll stuff some in a bag or two when we get the sidearms. Before you ask, YoBeau sent extras with Rock and Coder when they went back to the Bat Cave.” Anne giggled, “Might get chilly down there.”

“With any luck at all. Are you ready for your close-up, Ms Baker?”

“We’ll see when the time comes, Mr. DeMille.” With that, we scattered to get our respective acts together.

The Colonel was fast. Correction: His staff was fast. They all cleared easily. I saved the small details and comments in the attached appendix for later when I customized them their Zephyr/RIA assignments.

I loaded some triple weight glossy paper in the photo printer and sent the file. The Cymbalines had 2”x3” laminated temporary RIA Analyst IDs in no time at all. The clasp was a problem. The quick choices were nipple clips, bent paper clips or cobble something from old convention style ‘HELLO, My Name Is ______’ badges, for belts or boobs.

I put a few clips, nip and paper, in a pocket after punching a hole in the top of the IDs. I wasn’t sure if the Cymbalines would bother to get a belt, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to reveal the lab coats just yet.

Beth came by in a couple of minutes and we started toward the Annex. I showed her the badges. “Smarty. You knew, didn’t you?”

“Sorta. Billings said he would put a rush on it. Won’t know about carry permits until the packet gets here in a day or so.”

“Anything for Britney?”

“For your ears only, Beth, I imagine she has her NSA ID with her. We stopped by her rooms on the way here from the dock.”

“NSA? Heavy duty. Wow.”

“I recognized her style from the reports and the locations. She confirmed it today.” I whispered, “More along the lines of confidential information transfer, not a traditional spy. Britney gets invited to places where the wrong people talk in small groups. Prime Ministers get drunk and talk big. Things overheard do not get printed. Mistresses gossip. People need to know that the President of Iran, a Swiss banker and a German industrialist are discussing centrifuges at the Prince of Monaco’s birthday party.” I cautioned her. “She doesn’t collect details, we do, once we get her hints. No one under a ‘seven’ is cleared to know this, just Amy and you three at our house and Laura, Norm and Emma among the Pennys. No talking out of school.”

We merged with the group at the freight door. “Y’all ready to go strolling, Mark?” Emma asked.

I glanced at Amy, Anne and Carol. They nodded subtly. “Yes. We’re outta here.” I nudged everyone into the elevator with the car. “We fit. Take us away, Cat.”

She grinned and down we went. On the way, she told me that the Colonel had texted to confirm our receipt of the IDs and that the world was quiet and, even thought it was late morning tomorrow in Beijing, they were still playing well enough with others. A message from the Commander-in-Chief was passed along. “Negotiations planned. Carrot and/or stick approach promises results. Quiz your mythologists about ‘dragons’. Tokyo insists they are real.”

“Something got their attention.” I thought Amy was going to choke on her tongue. India misunderstood her reaction.

“Dragons are powerful symbols in Asia. I think this reference means they are scared of ancient vengeful forces, maybe not literally imaginary flying reptiles, but something much more dangerous. I suppose they could have described it as having awakened sleeping tigers. In Western terms, it’s like admitting your God is angry and you have nowhere to hide from a Supreme Being in a smiting mood.”

“The Greeks would call it ‘hubris’. You claim the power of the Gods at your own peril. Someone got too full of themselves and the Olympians smacked them down.” Pippa said. “They may not do it personally. They are not above using outside agencies. Prometheus got vultures for all of eternity, and he was a god himself!”

“Sounds like the ailing Asians got jailhouse religion to me.” Britney snickered. “Too little, too late.”

“At least they don’t seem to be blaming us anymore.” I laughed. “Now, if the City Fathers will keep the domestic clowns down, we can forget about dragons and triggers and wheres for a few days and get working on our own do-list.”

“Oh. My.” Mitzi chuckled. Fortunately, Emma opened the door and we exited before more miscarriages of humor could be perpetrated.

“OK, everyone have sandals or sneakers? Next, nine of you will be armed, just in case.” The Bakers passed out Glocks to Mitzi, Felicia, Celeste and Britney. Amy and Linh had their own. “Made sure you have IDs evident. I don’t think we’ll see anyone, in fact, I will be really annoyed if we do, but it’s a good habit.”

“We don’t have our IDs, Mark. Amy offered us little silver belts anyway, but we were forbidden to wear anything without your permission.” Zoë said softly.

“Not a problem.” I gave the new hanging cards, the paperclips and spring rings to Amy. “Do you have the findings to attach these to spring clips?”

“Sure. Give me a minute or two.” She poked around on her bag pulling out four belts with necklace-style closures. Felicity watched and offered needle-nosed pliers and a pair of scissors. In no time at all, they cut small sections of the paperclip wire, formed neat loops and attached the ID badges to the nipple rings.

“Very good. And we have belts left over.” I took the new jewelry and approached Paige. “I will fit Ms Turner if you two will take care of Pippa, India and Zoë.”

“Mind if I help?” Celeste asked, a little too innocently, pulling a Thermos® bottle out of her shoulder bag.

“If you can prepare them faster, go right ahead.”

She opened the top and dumped ice cubes into the cup. “This will do the trick nicely.”

Indeed it did. Although I’ll admit to taking extra time with Paige and her super-sensitive titties.

“Is it too late to ask for the belt?” Paige panted.

“You refused the belts earlier. I won’t force you to change your mind. You could have carried them and asked me if they were considered clothing or jewelry. This is the result of the deliberate choices you have been making all day, dear.” I smiled, “Ellie made it clear hours ago that you four are in our ‘opt-out’ world now. We can’t tell the difference between acceptance and selective mutism unless you speak up.”

I flicked the hanging badge. “Every time it moves, you will remember. Especially when people have to get close to read the fine print.” Turning to Amy and Mitzi, “Since we have the extras, go ahead and use the belts as belts and hang an S/S Airwear pendant. According to our experts, naked girls appreciate nice, attention distracting, accessories.”

Eventually, we were ready to venture into uncharted territory. “Here’s the plan. I’ll take point, followed by the Bakers, three across. Row 2 is Astrid and Audrey. Minerva, Heather and Buffy are Row 3 and Row 4 is Kim, Amy and Kris. Sally, Celeste and Quincy are Row 5.”

I looked around. They were falling in line.

Row 6 is Pippa, Mitzi and Paige. 7 is Zoë, Faye and India. Patsy, Felicia and Maya are Row 8, then Row 9, Britney and Linh, has drag.”

“Got it, Sir. Hand signals?”

“Fist means stop. I’ll point in the direction I want you to move after an open palm. Thumbs down means freeze, lights out ASAP. Keep talking to a minimum and voices low. If I hit the dirt, beat me there.” I reassured them. “This may not be necessary, but if it is, I want everyone to be in the same game. We do not know what to expect, so expect everything and nothing.”

“Mark, we brought two heavy-duty, four cell Maglites© and a crazy bright, two million candlepower searchlight.” Carol said. “Anyone have something dimmer? This will kill our night-vision.”

“I have a couple of bright-for-their-size LED lights.” Felicia volunteered. “Save the Maglites for bludgeons.”

“The plan, ladies: Heather gets the big beam in row 3. It stays off. Kim and Kris get the Maglites in row 4 and keep them pointed at the ceiling for reflected illumination, one light at a time. Astrid and Audrey have the LEDs pointed at the walls beside the Bakers for the same reason when I ask. Shine nothing up ahead unless I request it.” I warned, “Again, there’s no reason to expect trouble, but sure as shooting, if we don’t have a plan, we’ll be up to our asses in alligators.”

A few jokes about subways and subterranean reptiles later, we set out. The walls had the same markings in assorted pleasant tiles, ‘67th Street at 10th Avenue’ through ‘63rd Street at 10th Avenue’. At 66th Street, it was too dark to see so I had Astrid point one of Feelie’s LED lights.

Between 66th and 65th Streets, there was a side passage on the east side big enough for three to walk abreast, labeled “Ventilators To Basements’. At 64th Street, the tube widened into a small ‘Doubleday Station’, not as large as Ryan, but fairly plush. The elevator bay was empty.

“Looks like this one is under part of the Vivian Beaumont Theater.” I posited, “It would have been economically smart to build the current facility over an existing basement, if the foundation was sturdy enough.”

“The ‘ventilators’ point toward the Julliard School. The shaft could be closed off, built over or open and forgotten.” Celeste suggested, “I’d like to pace it off and compare to a floor plan. It might tie into the ductwork. It may be the core of the temperature stabilizers in the instrument and costume storage areas. It would make sense.”

“And it may be a door into the wings.” Quincy laughed. “It would be funny if Mark and Britney appeared suddenly as credentialed reporters in the dressing rooms.”

“Why do I get the feeling you all are turning into pervy little cat burglars? Now that I think about it, the Doubleday car could be blind wired like ours at Booth. They might be using it to move scenery sections to the basement and not know this secret underworld is here.” I thought. “I would like to have a few minutes with the control box.”

“Mark, we’re fairly well respected teachers. Justine, Yvonne and I can finagle our way backstage at either house. We can bring you and Connie as consultants to observe and advise us on future upgrades of the Bingham-Hampton performance spaces. Scoping out the machinery will be easy.” Audrey offered.

“We probably shouldn’t mention that Mark is the impetus behind Airwear, a bale of which has been ordered by the Costume Departments and the Metropolitan Ballet Company, but we probably will.” Amy laughed. “Celeste, Rainbow and Bailey can work their magic at Julliard at the same time.”

Beyond 63rd Street, the tunnel ended in a mass of densely packed debris. A sealer wall had been started, backfilled with cement, but never finished. “Looks like either a catastrophic collapse or an attempt to hide the stations north of here when the private railroad became obsolete. It might have crossed under Amsterdam and reconnected with the regular railroad around 54th Street. I would have hidden it. I wonder why the terminus wall was never finished.”

“Might not have been necessary if they dressed up the other side.” Amy said. “I wonder how many ‘stations’ are isolated or destroyed between here and the other end.”

“Why wish for more stuff to do?” I sighed.”I about halfway hope this is the end. But I’m not that lucky.”

“That one is answerable with Zephyr Grade research.” Carol told her. “We trace construction dates and original owners of the buildings or lots on Amsterdam, from here to 50th Street. Sort the results by relative wealth, family connections and social standing. 90 to 130 years old puts the building on the possibles list. It has to have been intended as a private residence for an uber rich person or well-connected family. Who owns the properties now?”

“This is our specialty.” Anne chuckled, “We need to look carefully at the basic specs of any new construction if the original has been razed or significantly renovated. How many have ‘oversized’ freight capacity? Does the footprint fit the type? Talk to Frieda and Celeste about ancient NYC history and family legends.”

“Then we need access to inspect what is actually still in place. It could happen.” Beth looked at me grinning. “We are Allyn Intermedia Research/Baker Resource Agency, four sneaky people with high level clearance and Ninja skills. This is doable.”

“And when you get convicted of breaking and entering, they’ll name a cellblock after you at Riker’s.” Quincy snarked.

“This would not be breaking news. Mark’s been breaking and entering since he was eleven.” Felicia giggled, “I’m not surprised he’s hooked up with more larcenous demons from home.”

“Words of wisdom from his grade school enabler.” Sally chuckled, “Remember me? I was there, too. The Bakers can’t possibly be better accomplices than you.”

“Hey! I’m standing right here!” I laughed. “I loves me some larcenous demons.”

“How many of you people are from North Carolina, anyway” India asked.

“The count, so far: Felicia, Patsy, Maya and I are from Asheville. Sally and Quincy are from Durham, Kristin from Albemarle, and Kimberly from Monroe. Bonnie and Connie were born in Nags Head. Anne, Beth and Carol came from Raleigh. Britney is one of those hot-blooded Manteo girls. No enablers needed, I assure you.”

Pippa grinned, “So that would be you and a baker’s dozen with actual Bakers.”

That cracked Celeste and Britney up, seriously. Celeste began. “OK. Back to research and acquisition. If we like what we see, make an offer. We can afford it. You, Charity, the Tanners, Toon, I, and to some extent, Leah and Jenny, have unlimited funds. You and I own an office building. You own Zephyr House, the Annex, the Clinic, Hill House, Chandler’s Row, the Troll Palace, and Ryan House. What’s another few deeds?”

“So, what? Two, three more buildings?” I laughed, “Just because we’re curious about something that may not be there?”

“That’s us. Just a bunch of nosy slumlords.” Celeste giggled. “With Ninjas. And money.”

I began to see some humor in the inventory. “You girls talk too much.” I grinned, “But I never told you to keep secrets among yourselves. You Bingham-Hampton ladies are not to let this information leave the house. Ever. While we’re playing the cards face up, my dear old parents left Bonnie, Connie, Cynthia and Elaine rather well off. Karen, Mini and their sister/cousins are the eventual heiresses to the Pizza Empire. Girls got to have their own money.”

“You and Charity own a big rental house in Chapel Hill. Wagner left Phoebe and the Sprouts extremely well off and she has the house in Corona Park. Maggie owns a condo building and a warehouse. Diane has a townhouse in Manhattan. Patty has a big honkin’ trust fund and a house on the Grand Concourse in the Bronx.” Amy listed, “Andy owes us a bucket load of money. If he defaults, you own a fortress in Hoboken.”

Kristin smiled at Kimberly, received a cheerful nod in return and said, “We can toss some major money in the pot, too. We’re done special effects on a ton of movies and residuals are forever.”

“At NC State and at SCAD, we learned a hard lesson about intellectual property. ‘If it comes out of your head, you own it like you own any object or invention.’ Mark copyrighted or registered a patent on every little program, every piece of architecture and every application. We thought it unnecessary.” Kimberly admitted. “We were so wrong.”

“After we transferred to Savannah, both of us CGI-ed a bunch of posters for exhibits, shows and shops. A few were reproduced in bulk and sold in art shops, student stores and online. We never received a penny. It really pissed us off to see our work framed and hanging in restaurants, art galleries and public buildings with someone else’s name beside the encircled ‘c’.” Kris was making herself quite angry. “We were robbed, plain and simple.”

“That never happened again. We get a piece of all poster sales, t-shirts, any kind of promotion the studios mount for DVD sales, comicons, revivals and sequels. But you get nothing for mediocrity. Anyone with a box of crayons can be average. Sign and protect everything, but before you market it, make it the best possible.” Kimberly grinned. “We ain’t clipping coupons anymore!”

“Ditto for Sally and I. We own our ideas, our images and we control their use.” Quincy added. “Performance videos, choreography credits, instructional videos for exotic, modern and jazz dancers bring in fat checks every day. We’ve been busy.”

“Plus, the competitive cheerleading DVDs sell to professionals, amateurs and dirty old perverts alike.” Sally was shameless. “We aren’t hard to look at. Garrick/Nelson home fitness programs are everywhere. Pole dancing and burlesque as an exercise regimen is quite popular.”

“You have business managers and agents?” Zoë asked. “Distribution? Marketing?”

“We both double majored in Dance and Stage Management at UNC and picked up MBAs from CUNY while we studied at the City Ballet and with Martha Graham.” Quincy chuckled. “Why give away 25 to 30% of your income to agents if you have time to do it yourself?”

“There are whole industries dedicated to distribution. They are way better it than us.” Sally laughed. “We let them earn their money, too.”

“You do need to join SAG, Actors Equity or one of the technical unions to work in the best jobs with the best people.” Audrey contributed. “You can pay the dues out of the money you make being spies and strategic defense analysts. Remember, Julia Child was an encryption specialist for British Intelligence. How cool is that?”

“Poof. There goes the last of my repressive mental programming.” Mitzi sputtered. “It is not only possible, but preferable, to be a formidable intellect and a beautiful woman. Even better to use that combination to make boatloads of money teaching others how to succeed. Ballet, burlesque and brains in one powerful package, that’s how it’s done.”

“It’s the same in your field. You’re a world-class gymnast, dear.” Kristin said. “It helps to be visually pleasing to get in the door, but hard work, mental concentration and drive get you on the podium. They don’t give the precious metals or medals away.”

“It’s not just sports or the performing arts.” Quincy commented, “Look at Faye, our tiny human mathematical wizard. She’s gorgeous and when she finishes shedding her shell, the world is hers. Contemporaries know Ms Edison is brilliant, but when they see the whole woman, she will become the force of nature she is meant to be. But she also likes a take-charge man. Does that make her less successful? Will experience make the Cymbalines less productive or will they gain realism?”

“I don’t know about the writers, but I feel like less of a drudge, no longer afraid of my own shadow.” Faye said, “I decided to whistle my tune now that I can hear it or found a missing part of the spectrum, whatever, the numbers have colors I can see.”

Beth laughed, “Your right brain met your left brain and they are getting along just fine.”

Sally added. “Sweetie, you are who you are. Have fun being a girl. There’s nothing wrong with being sexy and smart. It makes you complete. You alone decide what ‘complete’ means for you. No matter what someone tells you, at this level it’s not just a contest with men. Theirs is a different sport where they make the rules. We need to play our game on our terms, not what we think theirs is. Mark would be a terrible employee, because plays his own game. Mark is also the smartest person I’ve ever met and competes not against women, but with partners against common adversaries, always wins and makes those around him better and stronger. These girls say he can’t stand to see someone in trouble. Most of the girls in the house are rescues, really. Ask. He’s also a fierce warrior who will show no mercy in the defense of friends and family. We all saw that several times today. But in the end, he’s just Mark, being who he is, slightly nutty, protector, wealthy computer nerd with a little cheerful caveman thrown in. We like him that way. Eventually, you will have everything you want by being the best Mitzi you can be.”

“I know men and women who look good only if they make others look worse. Do not allow them to rent space in your head. Women are easy targets for assholes like that. Do not base your self-esteem on the opinions of people with their own agenda, no matter the gender or gender bias. Change the rules.” Amy added, “You can’t win a debate with people who aren’t smart enough to know how dumb they are. Try to ignore and work around them, if you can. Incidentally, we put an embarrassing number of them in the morgue today. That is probably not a solution for everyone.”

“We make this sound kind of rambling, but we’re trying to advise to stay out of men’s games and women’s games alike.” Minerva said, “You have to live your life for you, by your rules. Be you, not a tool in someone else’s life.”

“I’m proud to say I went to a high school for the geekiest of the genius science nerds the state school systems could gather in one place, an internment camp for the uber smart kids they can’t understand, much less control. Mark and I fit right in, we excelled, but we learned a lot more than calculus! In Christchurch, I majored in Broadcast Journalism. Now I own a big piece of my society media syndicate, and the rebroadcast rights on all that came before. The science still comes in handy. I can modify and repair my own equipment in the field. I don’t need a technical assistant. Furthermore, the Cymbalines are raking in the book big bucks around the clock, and Rochelle, Janine and Riza are published worldwide. Astrid, Audrey and Justine are asked to be visiting artists guest directors, choreographers, and conductors despite how young as they are.” Britney laughed loud. “As I understand it, most of the faculty at the Academy was hired because of their world-class performance in a particular field. They teach success by example. Many don’t need to work. Those lucky students study in pretty rarefied company. I hope they realize how special the school is.”

“We started as Mark and Minerva’s mannequins, a couple of fifteen-year-old babes from Missoula skipping into the fast lane.” Buffy began to laugh. “Last year, Heather, Mini and I licensed a design portfolio or ten to four department store chains for their ‘private label’ lines. Off-the-rack sales are brisk.”

“The partnership with Bright Star and Airwear will be even more profitable.” Minerva added, “The fabric people, the designers and the seamstresses all share.”

Heather agreed, “Those hours in the computer lab in Raleigh really paid off. CAD generated custom-fittings are the bomb. They send photographs and detailed measurements, Minerva creates a pattern, we tweak it and the tailors make the lucky customer the belle of the ball. She does not worry if another woman is wearing the same dress. She has the only one, made to order, designed for her, exclusively.”

 
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