Chapter 27

Finally it was time for Little Bit and Ann to go out to the Coast for the big dance. Since their school was out for the Christmas Holidays (now Winter Holidays; let’s not offend the ACLU, after all), although the dance was Saturday night, they went out on Thursday morning. Moreover, because they were not planning on returning until Tuesday, Little Bit had had a brainstorm.

The result was that I had called Fred Hodges, the CEO of Executive Aviation. He was out of the office, so I spoke with his executive secretary, Mary Beth McBride. It was funny, really. I had never met the woman, but I had had prior dealings with her over the phone. In every case, she was amazingly knowledgeable about all facets of Executive Aviation’s business and capable of making things happen in a hurry.

Passing on Little Bit’s message, I requested that the aircrew for their flight out be Guy Barnes and Bill Jones. Furthermore, Guy was invited to bring his wife, and Bill was invited to bring his girlfriend, Trudy.

“Oh, Mr. Harris!” Mary Beth exclaimed, “that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done. I just know that Brandi — that’s Guy Barnes’ wife — will adore it, and I’m certain Trudy Elliott will, too.” She paused and then added, “I only wish that girl would get her act together and marry Bill. He needs her and she needs him.” She paused and then said, “I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but Guy and Brandi will be celebrating their first anniversary on Friday. Brandi will be so utterly thrilled... !”

I was astounded. “Ms. McBride—” I began.

“Please, Mr. Harris, could you call me Mary Beth? Everybody does. But if you feel it necessary to be more formal, it’s Miss McBride.” She paused and then added, “Quite honestly, I abhor the title, Ms.”

“You’re amazingly current on the marital status of your flight crews,” I commented. “How come?”

“Because it’s part of my job,” she replied. “After all, our crews are the primary contact point between our clients and ourselves. If they don’t do a good job — if they’re not friendly because they’re preoccupied with a personal problem — it shows, and it reflects poorly on us as a company.”

I thought about what she had just said for a few moments and then asked, “What about you, Mary Beth? How long have you been with Fred?”

“Forever!” she replied with a little sigh. “Since just before his wife died, as a matter of fact.”

“Has he noticed that you’re more than the office furniture, yet?” I asked. That was quite a question coming from me. I normally avoid personal questions like the plague.

“No, because I’m not.”

“And what’s that mean?”

“It means that I’m ... I’m just a piece of office furniture, is what it means.”

“Tell me a little about yourself,” I pursued. “To me, you’re a very lovely voice on the telephone, but that’s all.”

“I’m five feet eight, brown hair, brown eyes ... And I weigh about 155 and wear Coke-bottle glasses.”

“Would you do me a favor?” I asked.

“Of course!” she instantly replied. “What do you need?”

“Two things,” I replied. “First, I would like you to see an ophthalmologist I’ve used. He does remarkable things with his magic laser; a sister of mine went from 20/500 to 20/20 in a few moments. Oh, yeah...” I added, “it’s all paid for. Second, if I send over an exercise machine for you, would you use it? It’s a brand-new model from Female Fitness that’s not even on the market yet, but the women who’ve used it absolutely love it.” Again I paused and then asked, “Are you a virgin by any chance?”

That last question really took her aback. There was a noticeable pause as she collected her thoughts. Finally she asked, “What does me possibly being a virgin have to do with anything?”

“It relates to the machine’s action,” I replied. “Without going into any detail, all I can say is that if you are, you won’t be after you use it for the first time.”

A note about Mom’s latest magic machine: It’s computer-controlled and sets itself initially for the user’s physical condition. Over time, it keeps advancing its settings until the preestablished target level is reached. With female users, two spring-loaded cylinders extend upward with one entering the vagina and the other entering the rectum. They are angled so that when they’re at their operating level, the two are almost touching. As the user exercises, the two cylinders transmit electrical impulses: very pleasant ones when the user meets the machine’s standards, and increasingly unpleasant ones if the user falls behind. At the end, the rider is encouraged to work harder, and, if successful, is rewarded with a beautiful orgasm.

Again there was a pause. “I would be delighted to see your ophthalmologist friend, and I promise to use your machine. How’s that?”

“That’s great!” I enthused. I then gave her the doctor’s name and phone number and got her shipping address.

(What follows was gleaned from Little Bit and Ann after their trip. Obviously, I wasn’t there, but the two girls (and me, now) have phonographic memories. Not only can they play back conversations with perfect accuracy, they even do it with appropriate voice inflection, too.)

There was a bit of scrambling around in the Harris’ manses with deliveries coming from the strangest sources. One I recognized was a delivery from a famous Manhattan specialty food shop noted for being able to provide the world’s most exotic foods at the world’s most outrageous prices. I asked Kris about that one.

“What’s my primary duty in this household?”

“Huh... ?”

“It’s to help my lord and master with his money problems,” she said in answer to her own question.

“And... ?” I prompted.

“And that’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m working very hard to help you get rid of some of it.”

At any rate, Kris and I drove the girls to Westchester County Airport where we found my G-5 waiting for us with its starboard engine slowly turning over. Trudy Elliott and Brandi Barnes were already aboard; they had come over with the aircraft when it was ferried from its base at Teterboro.

The girls got aboard and off they went.

Brandi’s appearance was quite similar to Little Bit’s. Like my sister, she had golden blonde hair and blue eyes along with a gorgeous figure. She was a bit shorter than Little Bit at five feet eight.

Trudy Elliott was very interesting. Like Brandi, she was five-eight, but appeared to weigh about 160; in short, she was too heavy. Her hair was brown and her eyes were a beautiful shade of gray.

By the time the plane had reached its cruising altitude and headed west, it was shortly before noon; Little Bit and Ann went into action. They set up a table at two seats and announced that lunch was being served to Guy and Brandi Barnes. And, it turned out, that’s what Kris had meant when she said they were helping to spend my money.

First, they served canapés along with Harvey’s Tico, a very dry cocktail sherry. Their two guests’ eyes widened as they looked at the small plate with the canapés, each of which was a miniature work of art. That was followed by smoked trout served with a horseradish sauce along with a lovely Chardonnay. (They only served a half bottle to Brandi; Guy, the pilot, had to make do with Perrier.) According to the girls, the smoked trout was the world’s finest.

That was followed by a roast fillet of beef, Wellington, that the girls had roasted on board. Ann did the honors, slicing the beef at the table and serving it on a Périgord sauce that Brandi pronounced to be the finest meal she had ever eaten in her life. That was followed by a salad and then a dessert of crème caramèl. Oh, yeah ... The entrée was served with a half-bottle of Chateau Mouton Rothschild from a 20 year. Although Guy didn’t get any at dinner (lunch?), he was given half-bottles of both the Chardonnay and the Bordeaux to take with him.

Having completed the service to them, Guy returned to the cockpit and relieved Bill Jones who came back for his turn at dining. Brandi Barnes went to the rear of the plane, opened a sofa out to a bed and proceeded to take a nap to sleep off the meal.

Bill and Trudy ate the same meal previously served to the Barnes. When they finished, Bill returned to the cockpit while Trudy just stretched.

“That meal was unbelievably good,” she said, “and it took care of my weight problem, for a while, at least.”

“What weight problem?” Little Bit asked. She was taken aback by the comment, because she thought that if Trudy had a problem with weight it was that she was carrying too much.

Trudy shook her head and replied, “It’s my dumb job.”

That comment made no sense to Little Bit. “I don’t understand.”

“I work for a feminist magazine,” Trudy replied, “and, believe it or not, my present weight is as light as I can afford to be. If I lose any more, they’re all over me like a tent: I’m appealing to the male stereotype!”

“What?” Ann squawked. “What’s that mean?”

“It means the editors and staff were long ago carried away by what Christina Hoff Somers calls ‘gender feminism’ as distinct from ‘equity feminism.’ The latter is equal rights, equal pay for the same work, and so forth. The former has become largely male bashing and lesbianism.”

“If you don’t like it, why do you stay?” Ann asked reasonably.

“Because it beats starvation is why,” Trudy pointed out. “And it’s my own fault, too. I majored in Women’s Studies in college.” She paused and shook her head sadly. “What an incredible waste of time and money that was! But it’s even worse: Any girl who majors in Women’s Studies is looked upon — correctly, I might add — as a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen. Heck, even the notoriously liberal mainstream media aren’t that dumb. Or the Suits they employ aren’t, anyway. So I’m stuck.”

She paused and then continued, “The fact is that they would utterly freak if they knew I was living with ... a guy! As it is, Bill and I have separate phone lines and His and Her answering machines. Boy, what I wouldn’t give to be able to write for a magazine that featured women with families.”

“Why don’t you?” Ann asked reasonably.

“Because there aren’t any. At least, there aren’t any of the kind my friends and I have been talking about.”

“And what are you talking about?” Little Bit asked.

“Well ... it’s sort of a People, but for married women.”

“You sound like you’ve talked about it a lot,” Ann commented.

“Oh, we sure have!” Trudy enthusiastically agreed. “We’ve even put dummies together for a couple of issues. But then we really need...” And she ran down without completing her thought.

“What do you really need?” Ann coaxed.

“A really well-known cover subject for the premier issue is what we need,” Trudy replied morosely.

“You mean a woman who’s married with children, but who is well known, and ideally, a sex symbol?” Little Bit filled in.

“You got it!”

“How about my soon-to-be mother-in-law?”

“Huh... ?”

“I’m sort of unofficially engaged to Tony Kramer. He’s the eldest son of Brad and Kimberly Kramer,” Little Bit explained.

“Brad Kramer is going to be your father-in-law?” Brandi Barnes asked. She had awakened from her nap and was listening to the conversation, although she was still lying on the bed.