Chapter 8: Coffee to Go

Interlude: 25^th Anniversary

Cindy:

One thing I have always wished I could have watched is the meeting of Aunt Frannie and Aunt Jo. If you want to talk of odd couples, start right there. Of course, shopping in New York is a great way to meet anyone. Mom and Nanny CC were involved, so almost anything could have happened.

Sean:

For the first time in our relationship, I woke at the same time as Sheila. I put it down to exhaustion on her part. I rolled over and sucked on one of her nipples. This earned me a very un-Sheila like squeal. I told her that I was prospecting for milk. I had found a good site and would keep looking, even if it took months. Sheila blushes so prettily.

It was a full day, so we could not linger in the shower, tempting though that was. We had our usual quick breakfast, then Sheila took off for an early appointment. I sent Helen a message saying that I would be late, because I was checking on wedding preparations. That gave me an excuse to go down to the boathouse and look around again. The progress was substantial.

First, the yard below the house had been sectioned off like a county fair midway. Blocks were laid out for various food providers and entertainment stalls, even one for clown makeup. The boathouse itself had been pressure-washed and a crew was laying drop cloths for the painters.

Inside, I was pleased to see a crew working on the houseboat. Sheila had told me it was silly calling it a houseboat, because there were no rooms. She could call it a party barge if she wished. I hoped I would call it an altar. Five minutes discussion encouraged me on that point. It would, I was told, make a lovely platform for the ceremony. For some reason I flashed to the bible story about Jesus preaching from a fishing boat.

Across the boathouse was the yacht. Much of the draping had been removed, so that you could see the woodwork underneath. The boat specialist, who had just assured me of the water worthiness of the houseboat, followed my gaze to Grandfather's pride. He cleared his throat, so I gave him my attention.

"Mr. Richards, that is truly a work of art. She's a ways from being fit, but the structure's sound. I'd be glad to see about getting her float ready, but you'll be needin' cabinet makers for the woodwork. There be wood in there that ye don't find no more. Put the right people on the job and they could add a quarter million to her value."

He cleared his throat again. "I been meaning to ask, 'cause I seen the name's been stripped off, what do ye call her? T'ain't good luck for a fine boat to have no name." I liked this guy. He thought of poetic things.

I gave it a moments thought. By rights, naming should go to my bride, but I wanted to give her a gift. Sheila would get my reference immediately, and she would love it. I looked at the guy and asked his name. It was Clayton Roberts, "Just call me CR."

I said, "Well, CR, I should let my fiancée name her, but then I would not get to see her blush. She'll be The Other Shoe. I am guessing there are none in the registry yet." CR thought that was quite funny. Then he sobered. "Give me the job. I do right by her." I told him to get me a formal estimate by Friday, but the job was his. We shook on it.

When I emerged from the boathouse, I saw the first of Jo's grad students. It was one of the six we had delivered to the motel, though her name escaped me. She was arguing strenuously with Mitchell Gilbert. As I walked up, they both turned to me. Rather than settle an argument, this was a time to back up my manager—to a point.

I said, "Miss, I do not know the point under discussion. I do know that it is Mitchell's decision. It probably does not matter much, since we are still in clean up mode. Both of you, make some mental notes and we will have a war council tonight. Both of you remember, you will have to defend yourselves to my sister Jo and my fiancée. Choose your poison, because they are getting along like hammer and anvil. God help the first one to try playing them against each other. Now, I need to borrow Mitchell."

I went over the plan for the day. As expected, the rest of the students were present and almost all were hung over. I told him that hangovers crave sunlight and sweat. Then I told him to expect deliveries from my events people. Mitchell said that he had been contacted. I love competent people. I told him that I would have catering dedicate a truck to the project, so that at least lunch was covered. That done, I found Michael and gave him the same speech.

By the time I hit the office, the shit was ankle deep and rising. One of the drawbacks of owning thirty odd companies is that they all have clients. Clients get nervous when there is a change, and my marriage was a big one. Naturally I had staff to sooth and coddle, but that only works with some clients. The important ones have the clout to get through to me. By the twentieth call, I was looking forward to meeting Elder Neufeld for lunch. I was only asking him to bend his religious convictions for money.

Siobhan:

There are times I hate my brother. Early morning is at the top of the list. If anything, Sheila was worse. I dragged myself out of bed and paged Sean's room, only to find that Sheila had left over an hour before, presumably already having had breakfast. That, at least, was worth a small chuckle. Sheila's idea of breakfast was probably tea and toast.

I showered and dressed, including a bra for a change, and nuked the latest offering from freezerland. During the third cup of coffee I called down for a car. I was told that Russell was available for Sheila and myself. Fortunately, Sean had not left, so I could commandeer the Mercedes. Sheila had mentioned shopping, so we might need the extra space. That reminded me to notify American Express. Any charges would not be in my normal pattern, and it is a good idea to let them know ahead of time.

Before we left, I made a pit stop and checked the reflection. I looked like what I was—an oversized intellectual with no pretensions of beauty. My big concession was to wear only two sets of earrings and a newish shirt. I stuck with the boots because they are comfortable. I mentally snorted to myself. As if someone my height would wear heels.

I hoped I would not regret this.

Sheila:

Tuesday at the gym was a new experience. I had appointments with four clients at once. Normally, I believe a personal trainer gives personal service. But, things were not normal. All of this group had declined to cancel or reschedule. Mostly that meant that they wanted news directly from the source, me, but they also wanted some continuity. At least, that is what I told myself.

Watching them together was interesting. This was also unfamiliar ground for them as well. They all knew each other socially, but this was not a social occasion, at least not in the usual sense. After a few tense moments, I called for their attention. My informal meeting was brief. I told them that I was getting married and that changes were coming, beginning with substitutes both in the gym and in the studio. I also told them to expect another move. It had been five years since the last one, but heads were nodding. I have good client loyalty.

That done, I had them all move to the yoga studio. Sharon took a moment from her class so that I could make introductions. As we filed back, I told everyone that Sharon was not a trainer, so the routine would be their responsibility. Sharon was going to coach them on limits. That made sense to everyone, since no one trifles with yoga.

Once we finally hit the weights and machines, things went smoothly. Everyone did know their own routine. I just needed to spot check occasionally. In fact, it went better than usual. I think some competitive juices were running. Then it was over and my other day began.

When my clients were released to go shower, I headed for my studio for a change of clothes. It felt odd to think of it in those terms, rather than a change of costume. At the studio, I untied Christine, so she could help me change. She had been working on the computer during the exercise session. Since flexibility was Christine's current objective, I had lashed her ankles to opposite ends of a pole. That way she could stretch while using the computer.

I often tied clients in uncomfortable, or even painful ways, but it was a new thing for Christine. It would be interesting to see how it progressed. In any event, I gave her a moment to deal with the stiffness, while I peeled off my workouts. The outfit I would be wearing would be textbook turn of the century American, except that it had cheat zippers in the pleats. That meant a smooth fronted blouse, with buttons in the back. The skirt hooked, rather than zipped, but it was still easy. Stockings, of course. I had too much respect for my feet to wear turn of the 20^th century style shoes. I was visiting Julian, so the bustier was mandatory. None the less, I brought a garter belt and bra. This was purely for changing at Julian's shop.

Christine helped me with the skirt hooks and stocking stays. Then, I asked her to go start the car. As she walked away I checked for signs of bruising in her movements. I was pleased to see her moving comfortably, allowing for a bit of stiffness from her stretching. That would change tomorrow, when I did a session with both Tess and Jason. It was also going to be Richard's job interview.

Julian's studio was in Elizabeth, so we had a bit of a drive coming. Siobhan was going to meet us there, but I needed to pick up Francine. As luck would have it, we went to the last place Christine had worked—the 7^th Street Diner. It was an old favorite of Francine's. As we approached the door, Christine tugged on my sleeve, for attention, then held a finger to her lips. She tapped her wrist and help up three fingers. Christine wanted me to wait three minutes.

I was mystified, but complied. It gave me a chance to check my messages. As it happened, Harold Johnstead had sent me a set of images for the finished invitations. I replied. Use your judgment Harold. Time is short. I am sure you will not disappoint me.

C

When I entered the diner, I saw Francine at her usual table, with the wreckage of another huge meal laid in front of her. I sat down across from her. Just then Christine came up, wearing a waitress uniform. She quietly warmed Francine's coffee. It took considerable control to keep from laughing out loud.

Francine said, "Well about fucking time. Don't we have a 20 minute drive? And where is that cum factory of yours? I thought she was going, too." Cum factory? Just how intense were Christine's orgasms?

I said, "Christine is reading a part today. Wait a minute and we will get some tea and coffee for the drive. In the mean time I have a favor to ask. I know it is an imposition, but I will need someone to cover my special clients while I am, ah, otherwise engaged. It would be for two weeks, ending Monday after next. Here's the drinks."

Christine set two covered styrofoam cups on the table, along with a tab. Francine literally growled as she pulled out $20. "I suppose you expect a tip." Christine was not going to say anything, so I did. "After the way she got you to cum the other morning, I think she deserves one. Don't you?"

Francine stared at me, glanced at Christine, did a double take, then pointed at Christine and started to laugh. Once Francine got started, she may have had trouble stopping, because she laughed until tears were running down her face. When she finally calmed down, Francine threw $20 more on the table. Christine picked that bill up, then did a quick exit.

Francine said, "God Schwartz, when did you think that one up? It was exactly like the one I played on Pedro at his retirement dinner. Angela recognized me, but never tipped off Pedro. He did not recognize me until the middle of his farewell speech, and I had to wave when he mentioned not seeing me. Damn, that was good."

I admitted, "All the credit on this one goes to Christine. She just asked for three minutes. She never told me what she had in mind, but I spotted her warming up your coffee when I came in the door. I tried to throw you a bone by mentioning we would get tea to go, when no one was here to take the order." Christine had come up, dressed for the street again. Since Francine's original $20 was still on the table, I saw no reason to linger.

Once we were in my car, driving toward Elizabeth, Francine asked me what, exactly, I needed done. I laid the bones of a plan out. Christine was available to cover the clerical part of the business, as well as the tedious things like checking the showers and sanitizing the equipment after use. Francine had done a decent job with Christine, Tess if you prefer, though I would not look kindly on another long absence. I also mentioned that Siobhan was willing to assist.

Francine summarized, "So, you want me and Ricky's sister She-o-ban to do the sessions. Miss Cums-a-lot will cover the rest. Is that about it?" Francine was nervous. She is never rude accidentally.

I said, "Please do not make fun of Siobhan's name. I hate funerals. Besides, she answers to Jo, if you can't get the pronunciation down." Yes, that was a low blow, but she started it.

Francine opened her mouth, then closed it. Opened, then closed. Finally, "Damn Schwartz, I forgot how good you were at this. CC, make note. Your Mistress just insulted me at least three different ways, and managed to sound helpful while doing it. You really think she could take me?" Wow. Francine caved after one punch. Now that I thought about it, Siobhan had waved a fast white flag as well. Maybe I was the one that needed to lighten up.

I said, "Siobhan has to be experienced to be believed. For the moment, her preferred persona is bull dyke, with physical strength to match. I gave her a tip that she would be getting a makeover today, but she may not have picked up on it. So, play nice, or you will spoil her moment."

That did not shut Francine up, but it did get her to play along. If there is one thing Francine loves more than a good practical joke, its pulling people out of shells. Siobhan had just become Francine's project of the week. Wait til they actually met.

I had agreed to meet Siobhan, on foot, at a news stand near the downtown train station. Julian's place of business is difficult to find, even with a map and instructions. It is easiest to find a parking spot first, then walk. Francine and Siobhan eyed each other like new dogs at the pound. I simply walked away, forcing them to follow.

About three blocks from where we met is an old Kress department store, which had been converted into a Sisters of Mercy resale shop. Francine would have dived into that, had I not held her back. Up the alley, halfway to the thrift store receiving dock, is a pair of disreputable concrete stairs. The one leading up is to Julian's official business. It is a dress alteration shop, called the Parlor. The one leading down is where Julian performs his corsetry. Make no mistake, Julian was all about performance.