Chapter 44

Theresa strung up the twisted steel cables between the anchor points, adding turnbuckles where needed. John had pre-made the cables in sets, torching each end so it wouldn’t fray. She strung the cross bars at the hips and shoulders, explaining how they eliminated four cables. Pointing out the first Cindy model.

Sheila nodded. Her eyes drifting back to the John mannequin.

“Pay attention, sweets. Cause these have to be tight. Otherwise it will make a saggy woman. And we don’t want that, do we.” Theresa chuckled.

“Sorry. You’ll never know how much that meant to me.” Sheila said.

“Oh ... I think I do. As you were doing it, I was remembering the first time I lowered myself upon John, while he was asleep.

“He was the first man I wanted to make love with. And he wouldn’t do it, so I did. It wasn’t very ethical of me, but I didn’t know what ethics were then. I don’t think I’m sorry for it. In a way this all started by my doing that. John might still be a hermit living in the desert if I hadn’t. “ Theresa said.

“Well, I’m glad you did.” Sheila said.

“Come on, let’s get you made.” Theresa said, checking the chemicals and moving to the computer.

She was about to start the process, when she turned to Sheila.

“Uh ... When we were playing with Cindy’s toy, you did say that my side fit you better?” she asked.

“Well ... It felt closer. Damn near exact.” Sheila replied, “Why?”

“Well, I was just thinking ... How about we plug my measurements into your body ... It might not be exact, but as you say, real close. Unless you want to wait?” Theresa asked.

“That would be great. You know how to do that?” Sheila asked.

“Well let’s see ... call in my image, like so. Pick view location below skin ... Goodness, do I look like that inside? Anyway, take cursor and highlight area ... Hm ... have to go point to point at the opening ... Okay ... now copy.

Back to your image ... paste. Oops. not there ... but that might be fun ... having one behind your navel ... let’s see ... grab paste and move ... about there ... now fine move to match opening ... like so?” Theresa asked.

“Looks right to me ... maybe tipped a bit back...” Sheila said.

“Okay ... yaw ... how much? Want oriental heritage? No? Say when ... Okay. Better? Now back to me ... Backside. Same thing.”

Theresa completed the task. Sheila nodding in satisfaction.

“Okey dokie ... just a sec. Where did John put that ... Ah.” Theresa said, adding a little something to the wire frame.

“Now tell the computer that that is there ... where did John put that ... here? No ... here! Okay, it will map around it ... rather come at it from a different angle and map inside ... Gosh. I never used to talk like this.” Theresa said.

“I think that you and Cindy both have an excellent vocabulary ... you can be downright eloquent when you want to be.” Sheila said.

“Fucking-A rights we can ... Okay ready?” Theresa chuckled.

“Go for it.” Sheila said, chuckling...

“Gone.” Theresa said, starting the process.

This time the computer started at the anchor points. Centering its bearings. It precisely located cross bars and the extra package. Then the spray arms came out.

“This part stinks. Hit that switch over there, will ya. It will suck out most of it. It will take awhile, so let’s go get some dinner.” Theresa said.

“In a minute ... kiss me?” Sheila asked.

“Anytime!” Theresa said, going for it.

“Thanks.” Sheila said.

“Anytime!” Theresa repeated.

Sheila recovered her clothes and they went off to dinner.

Just as they walked in the kitchen the phone rang.

“I’ll take it.” Cindy said.

“Be gentle with him.” Theresa asked.

“Like mink wrapped round a mace.” Cindy replied.

“Hello”

“Hi sweets, where were you last night?” John asked.

“Last night? You called?” Cindy asked.

“About eight your time.” John said.

“Oh ... Sheila made us all hot buttered rums. They knocked us out pretty good. We had a pretty full day.” Cindy said, fighting to keep her voice even.

“Really? What did you do?” John asked.

“Well ... First off, we talked to Sheila about you and her in San Francisco. I don’t think she left anything out.” Cindy said, clearly angry.

“Uh ... San Francisco?” John asked.

“Don’t feed me that Mr. Innocent crap. I said; I don’t think she left anything out. She’s a very honest lady.” Cindy said.

John sighed. “So now what?”

“So now you’ve got at least two and maybe three very pissed off ladies to deal with. John, Why the hell didn’t you just tell us what you wanted instead of this clandestine bullshit?” Cindy spat.

“I ... I didn’t think you and Theresa would take to kindly to it.” John said.

“Maybe not, but you owed us the respect to tell us the truth.” Cindy said.

“The truth, ... is that I thought she was perfect for your company, I didn’t expect to like her so much myself. I though that if you and Theresa met her first ... well ... You’d like her too.” John said.

“I agree. She is perfect for the company and we do like her. That’s not the fucking point. The point is that you wanted her. I don’t blame you for that, she’s adorable. What I don’t like is being deceived.” Cindy hissed.

“I’m sorry about that ... I was wrong.” John said.

“Well it’s getting to be a habit. And I for one don’t like it a bit.” Cindy said, forcing herself to calm down.

“Habit?” John asked.

“The fucking cameras!” Cindy reminded him.

“I explained about them.” John said.

“After the fact, like you’re doing now. John ... I love you dearly. But if you pull this kind of stunt again ... I don’t know. I don’t want to leave you ... But if you force me to, I will.” Cindy cried.

“I don’t want that either. I love you too. Please ... I’m sorry about Sheila. I’ll stay away from her. I just don’t want to lose you.” John said.

“You won’t have to do that. She’ll be staying ... after she goes back and ties up her affairs. I’m not going anywhere and neither is Theresa. I’m just god damned mad. Theresa’s hurt. You can work out with Sheila how she feels about it. We’ll see you Monday, don’t call till then.” Cindy said, breaking the connection.

“Hell you only swung the mace around a bit, hardly hit him more than forty-three times.” said Theresa.

“Why did you tell him that about me?” Sheila asked.

“I didn’t lie. I didn’t tell him you were pissed off at him. I just did the same damn thing to him. I skirted the truth. Let him sweat for a while.” Cindy said, smugly.

“Remind me never to piss you off.” Sheila chuckled.

“Let’s eat.” Cindy said.

John stared at the phone.

It could have been much worse, he reasoned. He could have lost Cindy and Theresa too.

A shiver ran through him. “Time to change your act, John.” he thought.

He sat back drinking a scotch water.

The room was littered with packages. He had been out to a whole bunch of fashion houses. He thought that maybe the best way for the girls to get a feel for the fashion world, was for him to buy them each a new wardrobe. Including things they probably wouldn’t wear for years. Evening dresses, business suits and such.

That day had been a lot of fun. He reflected upon it.

He’d entered one of the salons and a snooty blonde had looked up and snapped: “Yes, what do you want?”

“I’d like to look at some of your fashions.” John said.

“I doubt you could afford them. We cater to the upper class.” she said, turning back to her schedule.

John looked at her a moment. It was obvious she was dismissing him. He opened his wallet and took out a platinum credit card.

“Here, run this.” John said.

The blonde took it, looking at him in a slightly different light.

“Wait here, I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere while I check this.” she commanded him.

John bided his time. Seething under a calm exterior.

The blonde came back all contrite: “Yes, Mr. Stevens, we’ll deal with you. If you’ll follow me I’ve arranged a showing.”

“Thank you, may I have my card please?” John asked.

“Yes, of course, I was just going to hold it for your purchases ... But if you’d rather?” she said, making no move to return it.

“I would rather, yes.” John said.

She shrugged and handed the card back. Turning she led him into a showing room.

“What may we show you?” she asked.

“Evening wear, dresses. Pant suits. Business wear, high end.” John said.

“And perhaps some high end lingerie as well?” The blonde offered.

John shrugged.

“If you’ll just sit here. The girls are getting dressed now” she said.

John sat, the blonde left him alone.

After a few minutes, lovely models who were too damn skinny began to parade by in various outfits. The blonde came back and described the outfits, naming price first.

Occasionally John would say: “I like that.”

The blonde would scribble something on a pad.

Eventually the lingerie came by. John was unimpressed. Thinking that Cindy in her body suit beat anything they had in the way of models or outfits.

He did say: “That’s nice.” to one or two.

Then the blonde turned to him.

“Now, if you could supply us with measurements, then we can place your order.” she said.

“Order?” John asked.

“The ones you liked. I presumed you’d be ordering them.” The blonde said.

“Is the manager in? I’d like to deal with him or her personally.” John said.

“Yes, of course, but our prices are never discounted.” she said, snootily.

“Nonetheless.” John said, waiting.

“Very well, wait here.” she said, leaving.

After a few minutes, a very well dressed man came in, with the blonde following behind.

“Yes, Mr. Stevens. I am Mr. Moore. How may I serve you?” he said.

“Well ... excuse me. Miss, what was the total on the outfits I expressed an interest in?” John asked.

“The blonde glanced at her notes and jotted a few figures.

“Sixteen thousand, seven hundred eighty three dollars plus alterations and taxes.” She replied.

“Thank you. Now ... Mr. Moore. I wanted you to know exactly how I felt.

I walked in here with the intention of buying.

This woman wouldn’t give me the time of day until I handed her my Platinum Credit card. I have been treated shoddily from the moment I walked in. I was told what to do. She did not introduce herself. I was offered no refreshment. I was left waiting alone. She made assumptions about what I would purchase.

On the whole I find this establishment, as represented by this woman, totally offensive. Had I been treated with the slightest bit of respect, I would have purchased every outfit I saw. But now, I will make no purchase here at all.

Good manners should not have a price limit placed upon them. Now, I suspect you wish to have a few words with this woman, so I will take my leave. Good day sir.” John said.

The blonde had turned white as a ghost. Mr. Moore nodded his head as John spoke, the anger welling up inside him.

“I quite understand, Mr. Stevens. Should you choose to return in the future, I can guarantee you better treatment.” Mr. Moore said, looking at the blonde, who was almost trembling.

“Perhaps I will ... but I can’t help but wonder how many other customers, or potential customers have been treated in this manner. Good Day.” John said. He turned and walked out.

Later in the day John happened to be passing back by, his arms laden with packages from another salon. He glanced in and found a crying blonde cleaning out her desk. Mr. Moore standing behind her. He nodded at John. John smiled back.

Later, John had suddenly figured out that the salons would deliver his purchases to his hotel for him. A good thing as he had lots of them. He was going to have to ship them separately. He cringed at the value of them.

Shortly after he had walked in the second salon, he was given the white glove treatment, and at every subsequent salon. Either they were much different than the first, or Mr. Moore must have made a few phone calls, after he left. He strongly suspected the latter.

He couldn’t help but speculate that if the girls made it a policy that every customer be treated with the utmost respect, that they couldn’t help but clean house on the fashion world.

Once again he looked around the hotel room. Way too much to deal with at the airport. He lifted the phone and rang the desk. Asking for a bonded delivery service to pack them up and ship them separately. The clerk assured him that it would be taken care of if he would just supply a shipping address. John flipped open his laptop and read off the Helicopter services address.

“Yes, sir. I will personally oversee it myself. They will be waiting for you when you return.” the clerk assured him.

“Thank you.” John said, and hung up the phone.

Now that was the way that service should be handled ... He thought, but the hotel had already run his card.

Rather than being impressed by the service he’d gotten since he’d come into his money, he was angry that he hadn’t gotten that same service beforehand.

What had happened to the world?

He got up and put his coat on. He felt like walking.

He headed down the street from his hotel, declining an offer to call him a cab. The bellman with his hand out. John continued to walk.

A few blocks from his hotel he ended up in a district a little less haughty ... and safe. Thinking his coat and mannerisms marked him as an outsider, he chose a bar.

A small piano bar, not very full. Couples out for drinks before the show. Business men who weren’t yet finished with business. A call girl awaiting her pager.

John sat on the end of the bar. The bartender came over.

“A single malt, rocks.” John ordered.

The bartender raised one eyebrow and made his drink.

“Six bucks.” he said, putting it in front of John.

“Start me a tab?” John asked.

“Plastic?” asked the bartender.

“Never mind. Here.” John said, handing him a twenty.

“Sorry, house rules.” the bartender said, making change.

“Not your fault. I’m just a little touchy about it tonight. I seem to get great good service after people know I can afford it.” John said.

“I know what you mean.” said the bartender, “It bugs me too.”

“What ever happened to the days of wash your windows and check under the hood for 35 cents a gallon.” John asked.

“Not a big enough profit margin, I guess.” said the bartender.

“Is that what it all boils down to? Profit margin?” John asked.

The bartender shrugged and went to fill an order. There was a cute barmaid with an attitude and an older, more humble one who had to be nice to make her tips. John watched them work around the bar. The cute attitude won hands down over the older one. Why?

The cute one acted like the world owed her tips just for letting it watch her. Hardly a shrug over her tips. The older one gave superb service with a smile. Thanking her customers for the smallest tip. That sucks, thought John.

“How does the tip system work here? Do you pool the tips and divide them, or does everybody just keep what they get?” John asked the bartender when he came back.

“Everybody just keeps what they get.” replied the bartender, wandering away again so he wouldn’t have to talk to John.

John finished the drink in one large swallow. He tipped the bartender two bucks. He caught the older barmaid on his way out and laid a hundred dollar bill on her tray.

“I’m sorry sir. I can’t cash that.” she apologized.

“No need, it’s a tip.” John said.

“What for? I didn’t even serve you.” she said, flabbergasted.

“For calling me sir. You deserve it.” he said, walking away.

Almost to the door, the cute one, who had witnessed the transaction caught John’s arm: “What about me?”

“You didn’t serve me.” John answered, pulling back his arm.

“Neither did she.” she said.

“I was rewarding her, because she was giving excellent service to everyone she served. You, did absolutely nothing for me.” John said.

“Fuck You.” the barmaid said.

“I think that perhaps it was you, who got fucked.” John said, walking out the door.

The older barmaid pocketed the bill. It would make her rent for her. The cute one shot daggers at her with her eyes.

John wandered aimlessly. He came across an area where a bunch of straggly looking kids milled about. The guys trying to hustle the girls. The girls reminded John very much of Theresa when he first met her. He was naturally inclined towards helping them.

One separated herself from the flock and approached John.

“Sir? Can you spare any change. I haven’t eaten in a while.” she asked.

John looked at her a moment. The others seemed to drift away, thinking him to be a cop or something.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you a couple of bucks, or buy you dinner, a big one. Which would you prefer?” John asked.

“I ain’t in that kind of business, I just want to eat.” the girl told him.

“I wasn’t looking for that kind of action. That diner on the corner, any good?” John asked.

“There’s a better one a block over.” the girl said.

“Your choice, your turf. Just don’t get me rolled.” John said.

The girl looked at him suspiciously, but her hunger won out.

“Okay ... the next one. But I’m really not out for anything else.” the girl told him.

“Neither am I.” John said, “Lead on.”

She actually led him to a better lit area. The diner was clean, the food smelled good.

John selected a booth and slid in one side. The girl slid into the other, still eyeing him suspiciously.

John pulled a menu from the end holder and handed it to her.

“Anything you want.” he said, picking up a menu himself.

“Anything?” she asked.

“Anything ... But I’d pick something you like rather than picking by price. If you want more, we can order more.” John said, scanning the menu.

“Why are you doing this?” the girl asked, scanning her own menu.

“Well ... about a year ago I met a girl who was in much the same situation as yourself. I helped her out. Now she’s a very dear friend of mine. All she really needed was a place to stay that was safe. I was able to provide it. She’s turned into quite an outstanding person. Sometimes I think about what would have happened to her, had I not done that.

So ... I guess you could call this an insurance policy for my conscience. If I didn’t do it, I would always wonder what you might end up doing, just because you were hungry.” John said.

“And what did she give you for helping her out?” the girl asked, still suspicious.

“Her company. And eventually, many good meals. I hired her as my cook. But I guess what you’re asking. Did I extract payment from her for what I gave her. No...

“We did become lovers later, but it was not a condition of her presence. It was her choice.” John said.

“You expect me to believe that?” the girl asked.

“No ... I don’t really care what you believe. I don’t expect I’ll see you ever again when we leave here. As I said before, I am not seeking that sort of company. I have enough troubles with women to last me a long while. I just don’t like eating alone.” John replied, choosing what he wanted.

The waitress came up, eyeing the girl suspiciously and then John even more so.

“What can I get for you?” she asked.

“A club sandwich and black coffee for me and whatever she’s having, one ticket, keep it open.” John said.

“And what will she be having?” the waitress asked.

“Ask her, I’m sure she can speak for herself.” John said, disliking the waitress a bit.

“Yes, but can she pay for herself?” she asked.