Chapter 41

The game between Norway and the United States was billed as a "friendly." That meant the game had no implications on seeding for the World Cup. It didn't mean the teams liked one another.

Norway had dropped its previous game, 5-2, to Germany and was under pressure to re-establish its dominance with a solid game against the Americans. When the U.S. scored two goals in the first nine minutes, the Norwegians seemed to take it personally. The game got chippy with hard fouls and harder retaliations. The crowd gasped each time a Norwegian defender would slide into an American attacker. They cheered when the Americans did the same thing on the other end of the pitch. The referees seemed to have perfected the "play on" motion because, although fouls were whistled, no cards were issued.

Push came to shove in the 20th minute (or the 20th minute as far as Brock could tell; the game had been stopped so frequently that he had no idea how much time would be added at the end of the 90 regulation minutes). Chastity took a cross down the left sideline and cut back toward the middle, completely humiliating a Norwegian defender with a nifty pass to herself. As Chastity drove toward the net with only the goalie in front of her, the defender recovered and took her down from behind with a hard slide tackle.

Brock was on his feet along with the rest of the crowd. But the other spectators weren't considering heading to the field to have a few words with the officiating crew. Or perhaps they were (they were soccer fans, after all). Brock wondered briefly if Chastity was injured but she was on her feet and stalking toward the defender before the referee could get in position to issue the red card. If Chastity struck back, she would probably be in line for a yellow card herself but it appeared she didn't care.

As Chastity neared the defiant defender, a U.S. player hit her almost as hard as the player from Norway had. Chastity spun from the impact and came close to missing see her teammate delivering a hard forearm right to the jaw of the player who had committed the foul.

"Jesus Christ!" Chris said. "She cold-cocked her!"

Indeed, she had. The Norwegian player's head snapped back and it appeared she was unconscious before she hit the turf.

"Oh, my," Cynthia gasped. She was sitting directly behind Brock in the stadium and had put her hand on his shoulder when he arose. Part of it was so she could elevate herself enough to see the field over his head. The other part was because she knew exactly how protective of his friends Brock Miller could be. She could imagine the look of terror on the face of the Dodgers' owner if she were to watch her star shortstop striding across the soccer field and throttling the referee.

The field became one large scrum as players from both teams pushed and screamed at each other. Tia had raced from the U.S. net to find Chastity. She grasped the captain around the waist and literally dragged her to the sideline, Chastity kicking and flailing the entire way.

"That's what you looked like the last time you were here," Cynthia joked. "Although I believe your captor was somewhat larger but perhaps not as mean."

"Your sense of humor is awe-inspiring," Brock muttered. He might have been right. Everyone within earshot was laughing at Cynthia's remark.

It took several minutes to get order restored but eventually the referee and the linesmen managed to separate the combatants. The initial foul was awarded a red card ejection. Of course, the young woman who knocked the other player out was ejected, as well. Both players would have to sit out the team's next contest – even though none were scheduled until Pool Play of the World Cup.

"I was sort of hoping for some clothes ripping," Zack remarked, earning an elbow in the side from Tara.

"You'd think someone would have at least pantsed someone else," Brock put forth. "I've always wondered what sort of panties they wear under their shorts."

It earned him dual elbows Randi and Meredith and a slap on the back of the head from Cynthia.

As the teams headed to midfield, the referee kept looking around for someone. He still had the yellow card in his hand but he couldn't find who he wanted to give it to.

He finally spotted Chastity standing next to her coach – who, it should be noted, was helping Tia hold her back from re-entering the fight. The ref frowned as he put his card back in shirt pocket. He could have still given her a card but it would have looked bad for him when she appealed the warning to the world governing body. It was evident that she hadn't taken part in the fight. If the man wanted to referee games at the Cup, he would have to let it go.

Chastity drilled her penalty kick into the upper left corner of the net to hand the U.S. a 3-0 lead that the team took into intermission. Both coaches substituted freely in the second half because the style of physical play had actually managed to increase after the break. Still, the U.S. posted a 4-1 win over a team everyone said was talented in its final match before the World Cup.

Brock had been surprised the next morning when Meredith told him she didn't need to go to look for things for Randi's immersion into D&S (as Cynthia had pointed out, dominance and submission didn't necessarily involve pain). Brock secretly hoped the idea had died a quick death but he knew he was probably wrong.

He found himself sitting with Zoe on the flight home. Randi was buried in her script again and Meredith was making the rounds to ensure everyone had a good time. He was just as happy to sit in his seat and talk with his sister.

"Do you have plans for Christmas Eve?" Zoe wondered.

"I'll make my rounds," Brock said. "I haven't really thought about it."

"I mean do you think Meredith and Randi will be staying over?" Zoe clarified.

"No, they're going to stay with their parents," Brock said.

"I thought that was what I'd heard," she admitted. "Would you like to stay with me that night? I think it would be cool to race my brother into the living room to see what Santa left."

"That sounds great," Brock said. "What about Emmy?"

"What about her?" Zoe wondered.

"Well, uh, will she be there?" Brock tried.

"We don't live together," Zoe pointed out. "I mean, yeah, things are good with us. But neither of us is ready to take that step. She's going to be with Al and Esmi that night. Her parents are coming out. I'm a little nervous about meeting them on Christmas Day. I wish I could get together with them earlier but I'm working a 12 on Christmas Eve so I can have a later shift on Christmas Day."

"I just didn't want to be a bother," Brock said.

"Oh, please," Zoe replied. "If I thought you'd be a bother, I wouldn't have invited you. It's just ... it's just the first Christmas without Mom. She was killed on December 29th. I was going to work all day both days but with the big deal at Sam's Christmas afternoon I figured I'd be in trouble if I missed it."

Brock nodded and reflected on how lonely he'd felt the first holiday season following his mother's death.

"We can't replace your Mom," he said. "But I hope you know you still have family."

"I know," Zoe said, putting her hand on his arm. "I'm glad we get along so well."

"I wasn't just talking about me," he told her. "I meant everyone here. They'll be a couple of dozen people at Sam's house for dinner. I think it's safe to say that everyone who's known you for more than a month or two considers you to be a sister – or at least a close cousin."

Zoe smiled her thanks.

"It's really been amazing how your friends have just accepted me," she said. "You know, we never did send those DNA samples off to be tested."

Brock shrugged.

"After the second or third time we met, I decided it didn't matter," he said.

"You mean once you found out I wasn't going to sleep with you either way," Zoe replied with a laugh.

"That, too," Brock rejoined in a like manner. "It's good, Zoe. I mean, I think it's pretty evident. We've got the same hair coloring and the same color eyes. You'll have to show me a picture of your Mom sometime."

"She resembled your Mom a great deal," Zoe admitted. "Mine was a little shorter, I think. Your Mom looked a little more athletic."

"Not so much athletic as fit," Brock corrected. "She worked on a farm for a lot of her young life. Believe it not, she had six-pack abs when she was in her 30s. She was just all lean muscle."

"It shows on you," Zoe told him. "So, I've got to work until midnight."

"I'll make my rounds and drop off goodies for everyone while you're working," he decided. "I'll meet you at your house a little after 1."

"I'll get you a key," Zoe replied. "I've been meaning to do that."

"I promise not to go through your underwear drawer," Brock joked.

"Who wears underwear?" Zoe rejoined.

Brock finished lugging the last bag into the house after the car service dropped them off. He found Meredith and Randi hugging. He decided to join them, wrapping them both in an embrace.

Meredith was the first to pull away.

"Well, what shall we do with this one, Roland?" she asked. After a brief discussion with Cynthia, Brock had convinced Meredith that the whole submission exercise be considered play-acting. Not only would Randi be a different character, so would Meredith and Brock.

"She'll require a firm hand, I think," Brock answered. "Have you named it yet, Pricilla?"

"Not yet," Meredith answered. "I think until she earns a name, we can just call her Kitty. I mean, until she proves she belongs to us, she's simply a hole for us to fuck anyway."

Brock nodded and noted the bewildered look on Randi's face.

"We'll need to get her a collar," Brock said.

"I have one," Meredith replied. She pulled the velvet necklace out of her bag and went to put it around Randi's neck. Randi stepped back.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Only speak when spoken to, Kitty," Brock chastised. Meredith didn't say a word but gave Randi a sharp slap on her behind.

"You're a pet," Meredith said. "I know your last master didn't train you very well before he lost you in that poker game but I will not tolerate insubordination."

Recognition dawned on Randi's face. She had expected her lovers to back out or to suggest some other way to help her. In fact, she has spent part of the plane ride home coming up with answers to the questions she was certain Brock and Meredith would have.

"Periwinkle," Brock said. As soon as Brock said the word, Meredith stopped trying to put the collar around Randi's neck.

"That's our word," Meredith explained. "Whenever anyone sees or feels something they don't like, we use that word. That means all acting stops immediately. Are you good with that?"

"A safeword," Randi said. "Yeah, I think that's a good idea. So you're going to go by different names, too? I just sort of thought we would act out the book."

"We've discussed this a lot," Meredith said. "If we're going to do this, nothing we do here should remind you of the series. And we also decided that nothing we do in the next few weeks should stay with you when we're back to being who we really are. So I'm going to be Pricilla; Brock is going to be Roland; and you're Kathleen, or Kitty for now. You will, of course, refer to us as Master and Mistress."

"Of course," Randi said with a laugh. "So you're ready to start?"

"If you are," Brock confirmed. "We decided that we will take short breaks throughout the day, maybe 15 minutes, maybe two or three hours, where we return to normal – just like we figure you'd do on the set. If we find we're doing OK, we might play for longer."

"Cool," Randi said.

"There's one other thing I'll need you to agree to before we start," Brock said. He wasn't sure how to bring up the issue of therapy for Randi. He hadn't even broached the subject with Meredith.

"Sure," Randi said. "Whatever you want."

"I'd rather you think about this before you agree," he said. "I want you to agree to see a therapist at least once a week while you're shooting."

"I've done the therapy thing," Randi insisted.

"I'd like for you to continue it," Brock said.

"Bullshit," Randi muttered.

"Hear him out," Meredith said. "He knows how you feel about it. If he's asking you to do it again he must have a reason."

Randi frowned but nodded.

"I do have a reason," Brock said with a sigh. "Come, sit down with me while we discuss things."

Randi continued to look unhappy but she agreed. She and Meredith sat down on the couch and both were surprised when Brock took a seat in a chair opposite them.

"Randi, I've spoken with someone who has done a great deal of research on non-traditional lifestyles," he admitted. "Given the events in your past, we feel it is important that you have someone who can assess if you're losing part of yourself by taking on this role."

"What a crock of shit," Randi hissed. "You told some fucking shrink about my past? I thought I knew you better than that."

"I didn't tell a shrink anything," Brock said. "The person I spoke to approached me because she was concerned about you. She already knew about your past."

"That's a lie!" Randi shouted.

Meredith watched her friend carefully.

"I don't think it is," she said.

"If anyone knew they would be after me to pay them to keep it quiet," Randi insisted.

"Not this woman," Meredith said. It had taken her only a couple of clues to figure out who had spoken to Brock. That Cynthia had a background in psychology came as a surprise, though.

"You're in on it, too?" Randi asked.

"No, this is the first I'm hearing of it," Meredith replied. "But think about it. Who would have gone to the trouble to investigate your past? Who would have approached Brock without coming to all of us? Her field of study is a surprise although I guess it shouldn't be."