Chapter 19: Some Who Would Heal

About two weeks after the meeting with Masterson things finally came to a head. I had a meeting scheduled for 3 pm one afternoon at the offices of Richmond Slendabond where I knew I would be conferencing with Morgan Richmond, Stephanie's attorney and Stephanie herself.

But first I had promised my brother that I would pick up his boy Steven, a fourth-grader whose school would be letting out at 11:30 am today because of parent teacher conferences scheduled all this week. I pulled into the parking lot of Steven's private elementary school a little before 11:30 and waited for the kids to come out. When it got to be 11:35 and no sign of the kids yet I realized there may have been some mistake about the time. I parked and went into the school. A helpful desk attendant spoke to me.

"Can I help you sir?"

"Yes", I replied, "I am here to pickup Steven Steelforth. I understood his class would be letting out at 11:30."

"Actually they will be getting out at 12 noon. Here, let me see ... Steven is in Ms. Wilson's class in Room 104. That is just ahead on the left sir. If you would like you can go in the rear door of that room and quietly observe the class until the bell."

"Thank you. I think I will do that", I said and walked up to the rear door of 104. I really didn't want to meet little Steven's teacher today since I knew this Ms. Wilson in an entirely different way from only a few weeks ago. Yet there seemed little alternative but to do as the desk attendant had suggested and go to Room 104.

As I entered quietly I heard a softly familiar voice lecturing the students from the blackboard. The beautiful woman up front had satisfied my impulses when I met her as a 'working girl' not so long ago. She went by the name Sheila Brown then. I felt embarrassed that I would soon be speaking to someone I had known intimately three weeks ago but now in an entirely different context and in the presence of my nephew. I told myself that she had serviced a lot of customers before and since and probably would not remember me. At least I hoped that would be the case.

Ms. Wilson was explaining the "Intelligentsia Driven Media" system, or IDM system, that Capitallia had enacted into law a few years after it's founding. She was explaining that, unlike the old USA or the US Remnant of today, radio and TV broadcasting of news, entertainment and the arts in Capitallia was paid for entirely by subscription and not by advertising of beer, soap and other products. Further that only certain people, the "best and the brightest" as she put it, were the paid subscribers for these services, while others got free access to many of the programs. One little girl put her hand up.

"Why do we not have our radio and TV programs for free as they do in USR?" the little blonde in the second row asked.

"I am glad you asked, Emily. It is because our leaders realized that letting beer and soap sales determine what programs would be broadcast led to a general lowering of standards in news reporting, in music and in entertainment programs. Only programs that appealed to the overwhelming masses of people could get any time or space in the airwaves. So the old USA and now the USR wound up with their TV sets dominated by silly game shows, reality shows, sitcoms and news shows that really did not report significant world or national events anymore. All the space on the radio dials came to be taken up with hip-hop and gansta rap music, much of it violent and obscene. There was no room in radio anymore for the best contemporary music let alone the best music of all time."

My nephew Steven had his hand up.

"So who are these 'intelligentsia' people who choose our programs now?" he asked.

"They are folks who show an interest in world history, world affairs and national affairs as well as in cultural things like drama, dance, classical music, ballet and opera. They show they are knowledgeable about these things by passing tests given every two years. They are also people who are successful enough in life that they can afford to buy subscriptions to our TV and radio stations. The programming they express a desire to see is what gets shown on TV and heard on radio stations. Other people get to see some but not all of these programs for free."

"But what about the others" Steven persisted "the ones who aren't so smart or don't know or care anything about world history or culture. Don't they ever get to see the programs they want to see or hear their kind of music?"

"Good question, Steven. Actually they do have two TV networks and two or three radio stations reserved for them. They have to pay for a subscription to watch those TV stations or listen to their own radio stations, so many of those folks who can't afford a subscription just listen to the free music on the Intelligentsia Networks. As a result the common people in this country are learning to like better quality music than most of the people in USR today."

"It is almost time to end today, so let me give you your homework assignment. I want you all to run Internet searches on your home computers on the key words "Intelligentsia Driven Media". You will find a lot more material on what we covered today. I want each of you to bring in something you found to share with the class tomorrow. Class dismissed."

I went forward to collect little Steven, hoping she would not notice me. I kept my head down.

"Hello Mr. Steelforth", she called out brightly. "I assume you are Steven's uncle."

I looked in her direction. Something in her voice and facial expression told me that she did remember me from that night three weeks ago. I saw her face coloring just a bit, even as I felt my own face coloring.

"Yes, Ms. Wilson", I replied. "My brother asked me to pick him up today. It certainly looks like you have an interesting lesson plan for today."

"I try, Mr. Steelforth, I try. Sometimes a teacher in my position has to put forth a bit of extra effort just to stay ahead of things, if you catch my drift!"

"I can surely appreciate that, Ms. Wilson. I know that teacher salaries haven't always been as high as they should be."

Hopefully she and I were communicating on a level that would go well above little Steven's head. He didn't seem to be following this exchange too intently. I noticed that by now all the other kids had left the classroom. Just then she raised her voice a bit and looked directly at him.

"Steven, I wonder if you could do me a really big favor?"

"Sure Ms. Wilson. What is it?"

"I have attendance reports for this week that I promised to get to the principal's office by noon today. Do you think you could take them up to the second floor office and give them to the secretary there?"

She handed him an envelope that he eagerly took and he was on his way. I suspected she had invented this errand for him because she wanted a private word with me. We found ourselves alone and it was an awkward moment at first.

"Mr. Steelforth, what we did three weeks ago ... you understand I hope that is another life that I try to keep entirely separate from my work here as an elementary school teacher. No one connected with the school, except you, knows about my 'other line of work'. I hope you will be discreet since it could jeopardize my position here if my principal knew of that life.

"You have nothing to worry about from me. I can see you are an excellent teacher and I am the very soul of discretion."

"Thank you. I read the review you posted online about our little sex encounter and I must thank you for that as well! As you can well imagine not all the Johns ... I mean clients, take the time to do a review of a paid sex encounter. Now all the guys down on Fourth Street that look me up under my working name will see that you gave 'Sheila Brown' a good rating and that I was — how did you put it — 'very pneumatic'! That should be good for my business down there!"

"I felt I owed that to you after the fine ride you gave me. I didn't really expect to get so much from a casual street transaction."

"I get pleasure from giving my clients pleasure, Mr. Steelforth. It isn't just 'another day, another dollar' you know."

"I believe you Sheila ... I mean Ms. Wilson."

"There is a favor I would like to ask you Bill, if I may call you that. I have applied for a part-time position as a sex surrogate with a sex-surrogate agency. In that job I will be working under the supervision of qualified sex therapists who help men with problems of sexual dysfunction. My job will be to act as a sex partner and sex technique teacher for these men who are practicing new techniques they are learning in therapy. Perhaps you can appreciate that I would find that more satisfying than just turning tricks down on Fourth Street!"

"I can indeed. It would seem an excellent way to combine your natural teaching skills with the sex knowledge you have undoubtedly picked up in your other work. But what was the favor you wanted from me, Ms. Wilson?"

"Call me Sherri please! I need a reference. I need someone who can write a letter for me that will speak to both my teaching ability and my level of sexual skill. You have experienced my sexual skills. After reading that review you wrote about me I think you might be the person ideally qualified to give me the letter of reference I need."

"Would you want me to do this using my actual name of Bill Steelforth?"

"I would prefer it that way. You don't have to say that your sex with me was a prostitution transaction. You could speak as just a friend who had a sexual liaison with me and is also familiar with my classroom teaching skills. You are well known in this town for your own profession Bill, so that your endorsement would carry some weight. I know you are not married, so what difference would it make if you admitted, in your letter of reference, to having had sex with me?"

I swallowed hard and hesitated for a moment. Then I thought why not go for it. She was right. What difference did it make since I wasn't married or in any committed relationship at present?

"I will do this for you Ms. Wilson ... I mean Sherri. Just tell me who I am to write to."

"Here is all the information." She passed me an envelope just as little Steven returned from his errand to the principal's office.

She smiled and waved as I escorted him out of the classroom.

On the way to his home he had a question for me.

"Uncle Bill, do you like Ms. Wilson?"

"Yes I do, Steven. Very much."

"Last week she was teaching us about slavery ... I mean how some people are made into slaves to punish them for doing bad things to others. Isn't that what you do Uncle Bill?"

"That is the work I have been doing for the last 20 years, Steven. Did Ms. Wilson explain why we punish people in that way?"

"Yeah — she said down south in the USR they don't make people be slaves. They just lock them up in little cages for 10 or 20 years, or sometimes for the rest of their lives. She said what we do in Capitallia is better because it is more humane and also the slaves pay for their own food, housing and medicines by working for others in the community. She said that is better than making the taxpayers pay for all that and treating human beings like animals in cages."