Chapter 1: First Positions

25th Anniversary

Cindy:

“I would like to make a toast to my parents.” [giggles] “This is almost like my valedictorian speech: ‘I would like to thank Principal Rogers, Mrs. Cotting, Mr. Wright, the list is too long to manage. Yatta. Yatta.’ All the teachers and councilors contributed something.

But, I wanted to talk about my parents: Sheila and Sean Richards. They are the ones who taught me that perfect is barely good enough, that nothing substitutes for work, and that while dreams are important, they need to change as we change. Most of all, they taught me that to protect and serve is the highest calling.

Many people think that it was love at first sight for my parents. That may be because both were older when they met if 30-something is older--mom was 28. I think it is just that they were engaged before most people knew they were seeing each other.

As you may know, Mom had a bit of a name as a fitness instructor. A business associate of Dad’s introduced him to Mom as a possible client for her.

Sean:

It was a lunch date for business. I was meeting Chuck, a.k.a. Charles Blanding, at Cianfrani’s. All I needed were some approvals and a signature, which could be done by messenger. Chuck had insisted on getting together for lunch. Considering whom I was meeting, I should have expected something. I may be a bit gullible. Since not many people are willing to try me, it may have been complacency. Chuck always did have more balls than brains.

After the waiter served the soup, an attractive woman stopped by the table and greeted Chuck. I could see him nod in my direction. She turned to me and introduced herself as Cynthia, giving no last name. She was moderately tall, with brown hair and dark eyes. The hair was up with an attractive black comb. Her makeup was subtle and sufficiently understated that one had to look closely to see it. She had pearl studs and a simple pearl necklace as her only jewelry. She wore no watch, which was interesting, though many people now use their phones for that purpose.

The suit was brown worsted wool, cut below the knee, and accurately tailored. The top was cream-colored and appeared linen, making an inverted contrast--textured top with a smooth jacket. The heels were a shade or two lighter than the suit and of a practical height. In short, she was every inch the understated professional that Chuck was not.

We shook hands, and she offered me her card: “Cynthia” in 16-point Arial bold and “Executive Performance Training” in 12-point standard. The card was like her tailoring, simple, clean, and elegant without frills. Intriguing. The address on the card was not close to my business, but also not far, about 10 minutes away. I accepted the card and, thanked her. She went to be seated while Chuck was desperately trying to look unconcerned. I decided to let him have his joke.

I asked, “What kind of training?”

Chuck paused, “Mostly in the area of focus and concentration. It’s amazing how she can get you to remember the slightest little detail.”

Chuck looked decidedly pleased with himself, so I let it drop. He gave me the signature I needed, which was the point of the lunch. It wasn’t till late that afternoon that I wondered what he could have considered amusing. I dialed the number on the card and made an appointment.

Sheila:

It was a lunch date for business. Charles promised to introduce me to a potential client. Considering whom I was meeting, I should have expected something. I must be a bit gullible. Besides, not that many people are willing to try me. Charles always did leap before he looked.

I arrived just as they were receiving soup and salad. The soup was an aromatic butternut, which looked perfect. I would have to try some later. I looked at G. Sean Richards. About 40, middle tall, fair, dark-haired, blue eyes. Not handsome, but dignified, self-assured. Charles suggested that he might be a candidate for my clientele. I had my doubts. Mr. Richards was almost everything Charles was not, confident, controlled, and professional. Charles had his virtues, but it was clear that Mr. Richards was there for business, not for Charles’ company.

Still, business is business, so I introduced myself and left a card. I gave it only a one in three chance, which was a pity. Mr. Richards came across as someone I would like to meet. His eyes did not seem to miss any detail, so I was glad my grooming was beyond reproach. In a way, it was odd. I thought of him as Mr. Richards, though Charles had always been Charles.

Well, the bait was in the water, and time would tell. At least the soup looked promising. Cianfrani’s soup and salad lunches are a staple for the business community. Over the last ten years, I closed many deals there. Mentally toasting Mr. Richards, I wished for one more.

Mr. Richards’ call came in just before closing. Normally, I prefer to do introductory things before the regular clients populate the changing area. It is easier to make a good impression in their absence. Mr. Richards, however, received the last slot on Tuesday. I do not know why. Perhaps I wanted extra time if needed. I already knew this client would be different, though not why.

Sean:

The appointment was at 4:00 PM, so I closed early and drove over. The building was a converted warehouse, the front half of which was a franchise of a well-known fitness chain: XTreme Fitness. The address was on a side street, next to two empty offices. Opening the door, I found a small, rather sterile waiting area. As I intended, I was precisely on time. It was a small but agreeable surprise that Cynthia was also punctual.

She came right to the point. “Good afternoon, Mr. Richards. Did Charles tell you much about our business?”

“Almost nothing. He mentioned that you were good at getting him to remember details.”

She laughed. “That is Charles. A number of my clients need help in that area. I have some sharp methods when required.”

She handed me a contract and fee schedule. “This first interview is gratis. All I need is a waiver, and we can begin.”

“Waiver?”, I asked.

It was for unspecified mental and physical distress and not for medical or defamation. Waiving those would not be legal anyway. Cynthia expanded, “Some of my methods can be um ... uncomfortable. The waiver says that you agree, in advance, not to hold it against me. As with any waiver, the real intent is never to use it.”

I didn’t know what to think. I still had not agreed, or for that matter figured out exactly what she intended to do. But, it was clear she expected me to sign on the spot. Complicating things, I could not help but notice her physically.

She was about 5’ 6”, but seemed taller. Her heels were high, though not unreasonably so. The appearance of height came from her very erect posture and confident bearing. Her brown hair was long and held up by a comb. She had brown eyes, big brown eyes accented with only a touch of liner. Her figure was trim, athletic, and healthy. Her gray suit was sharp but conservatively cut, just as in the restaurant.

There was one discordant element, and it was understandable. While her manner was professional and attentive, there was an edge of unease. She appeared to be taking refuge in her prepared remarks, which is what I teach my salespeople to do. No one is perfect, but preparation can cover a lot of weaknesses. Again, it was very professional, with just a touch of humanity. I was pleased.

As I processed this, I realized she had been subtly coming on to me the entire time. Her suit was conservative, but her shirt was silk and open enough to reveal the lace beneath. Except for the handshake, we had not touched, but her distance was intimate rather than formal. Her perfume was discrete but present. She scratched her leg with a foot, which brought attention to her well-turned calves and elegant pumps. Those were not your usual business suit kind of shoe. One of my clients would be trying to kiss that black leather while we spoke.

It was impressive. My business requires me to deal with many salespeople. She was doing a first-rate selling job, and I still did not know the product. She was not a fitness trainer, especially not at these rates. What exactly she was remained elusive.

I extemporized, “Could we have a tour first?”

Smiling, she responded, “Of course.”

Was there a bit of shark in that grin? Hmmm. She led me to the changing rooms, and the canned sales pitch kicked into high gear. I would be expected to arrive early enough to change before the appointment. There were two doors. Behind one she showed me a spotlessly clean sensory deprivation tank. This could be rented only on Tuesdays and Saturdays, and she would not personally monitor the sessions, just the in and out points. Several other details were rolled out, particularly concerning the security system. Finally, she paused dramatically, laid her hand on my elbow, and opened the other door.

It was a gym of sorts, the latex and leather sorts. There was a vaulting horse, which had manacles dangling from each end. An entire wall featured hooks, rings, and straps, up to 12 feet above the floor. There were benches and blocks, armed chairs and sofas, and restraints everywhere you looked. I shook my head. I had not had a clear idea of what to expect, but this was not what I would have guessed. I walked to an equipment cart and ran my fingers over some handcuffs. They looked like a police model to me.