Vocations

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A helpmeet, a warrior, and a priestess.
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"Helen..." Martine scanned the little space quickly. Whatever her mentor saw in it had yet to register on her. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

The older woman raised one eyebrow ever so slightly. "Isn't it a bit late for second thoughts, dear?"

"No...well, maybe." The surrounding area was beautiful, open and lushly green, but the city was quiet, far quieter than Los Angeles. It wasn't exactly farm country, but it bore little resemblance to the milieu in which her mentor had recruited her and honed her skills. The great majority of the buildings were one or two storeys. The streets were traveled, but not full or nearly so. Most of the men were in overalls or blue jeans. The women they'd passed on the streets simply didn't look like the sort who'd seek the services of a specialist of her sort. "Where will our clientele come from?"

"Just set up as close as possible to how we were set up in California and wait to be noticed," Helen said. "Surely you're not worried about money?"

"No...no." Martine tried to imagine the rows of displays, the racks of goods, familiar from their store in Los Angeles. It was hard; the lighting, the differences in geometry, and the lack of ambient noise from the street beyond worked against her. The back of the store, just then partitioned off by a plain drywall but ultimately to be concealed by a wall of mirrors, was impossible to imagine set up as Naughty But Nice was arranged. She grimaced briefly and strove to quell her misgivings.

Helen laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "You have nothing to fear, dear. Remember, we're not here to turn a monetary profit. We are called to this work. If that which we serve decrees that you be here, then here you must be." She smiled. "Just do what you've trained to do...what you did so well in Los Angeles. Do it with skill, pride, and joy. My confidence in you is boundless. One word of advice?"

Martine nodded vigorously.

"Whenever you're open, always have the tea service ready. And the cakes."

"I will." Impulsively, Martine whirled and threw her arms around the older woman. "I'm going to miss you."

Helen squeezed her and stroked her short cap of shiny black hair. "I'm never more than half a day away, dear. I'll be here whenever you truly need me."

Martine repressed a shiver. "I hope so."

Another squeeze. "Count on it."

***

Maureen Harkness quickly made the Sign of the Cross and started to turn toward her husband, but Chris had already turned away and pulled the blanket to his chin. She tensed, thought briefly about importuning him, and relaxed with a silent sigh. Two tears leaked down her face in the darkness.

His goodness is killing me.

Fully aware of her vaginitis, Chris would not, as he put it, impose himself on her physically. He loved her too much to cause her pain for his own pleasure.

Maureen had come to miss that pain more than life itself.

Lord, how do I cope? He's the best man You ever put on this earth. I love him beyond all reason. Amanda does, too. I could never have believed in his degree of bravery or integrity before I saw them with my own eyes. And I can't convince him that, despite my problems, I want him still, that having him in my body means more to me than anything else in this world. What must I do?

She feared it was having an effect on Chris that he wouldn't discuss. He'd become ever quieter since their last attempted coitus. There was a new tone of resignation in his carriage and his dealings with others. That morning he'd politely asked a garbageman not to toss their cans into the street. The lout flipped him off without eliciting a reaction, much less a penalty for his cheek.

His calling was to be a warrior in service to freedom and justice. Has my lessening as a woman lessened him as well?

She held herself very still, careful not to disturb Chris's incipient slumbers.

Guide me, Lord. Help me to find a way out of this impasse. But if that's not to be, if our marriage is to be without fleshly coitus from now on, help me to accept it with patience and bear it with unfailing love. Grant me Your grace.

She turned onto her side and closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. But before she drifted off, a faint signal, like something heard from across the sea and over the horizon beyond, seemed to impinge on her semiconscious mind.

Ask Christine.

***

Maureen edged tentatively into the Integral Security gymnasium, mindful of the irregularity. Interrupting a training session in progress simply wasn't done. Kevin Conway, Integral's owner-proprietor, took a dim view of it. She'd likely hear about it from her husband, too.

As she rounded the turn into the martial-arts room, she collided frontally with Patricia Larson. The young patrolwoman seemed in a hurry to get to wherever she was going. The two women turned faces red with embarrassment on one another, each muttered a low apology, and Larson continued away at a fast trot.

Lord, help me to forgive her. Not to hold it against her that she wants what I have. Had.

Christine hoisted herself out of her seat as Maureen scampered across the exercise mats. She smiled widely and spread her arms, and they embraced.

"Good to see you, babe," Christine said. "Are you back on the schedule again?"

Maureen looked up at the younger woman and shook her head. "I'd like to be, though. Do you have an empty slot I could fill?"

Christine's smile grew wider still. "I'll make one. Just pick a time and I'll reserve it for you. Anyone who complains can fight for it."

"Me?"

The trainer shook her head. "Me!"

Maureen pulled her close again, rested her cheek against the cushion of Christine's bosom, luxuriated in the welcome there.

Lord, what comfort there is in holding this girl! So warm, so gifted, and so beautiful! Feeling her against me is almost as good as holding Chris. Truly, You never made two things the same. All praise to You!

Presently they sat, Maureen's hands enfolded in Christine's. All it took was for Christine to say, "So how have you been?" and though Maureen had never willed it, the whole of her agony poured forth uncensored.

It was several minutes before she ran down. When she did, she slumped forward, breathless and exhausted, ready to collapse into Christine's arms.

The trainer didn't speak for nearly a minute. She chewed her lips, stroked the backs of Maureen's hands with her thumbs, glanced randomly around the gymnasium, and finally gave a great sigh.

"We have to come at this from the beginning," Christine said. "Are you absolutely, positively certain it's just your problem that's in the way?"

Maureen straightened up. She started to expostulate an indignant affirmative, checked herself.

Am I really sure?

"I...don't know. I'd assumed so, but..."

The trainer nodded. "You can't be. You never can. It could also be a loss of desire on his part. Or he might have flogged himself into no longer thinking of you as a sexual being."

"Can a healthy man do that?"

Christine nodded. "I never told you about my trainer, did I?"

"No, you've..." Maybe I don't know you as well as I'd like. "Might I learn something from the tale? I don't wish to pry --"

Christine smirked. "I expect you would. Both ways, babe. Women are cats. We have to know everything, sniff every crevice and lick every surface. Why pretend otherwise?" She squeezed Maureen's hands. "So come sit by me and cock an ear."

Maureen shifted in her seat to draw closer to the younger woman, but the geometry of the metal chairs held them several inches apart. Christine snorted, trotted to one edge of the exercise mats, and yanked it loose from its moorings in a display of her considerable strength. With a few tugs and twists she fashioned an improvised chaise longue large enough for the two of them to share.

"Will you get in trouble for this?" Maureen settled gingerly onto the mats next to Christine.

The younger woman drew the older one snugly into her arms, encouraging Maureen to rest her head on her bosom again. She stroked Maureen's hair and rocked her gently.

How she mothers me, and me the older by a good twenty years!

"I'll put it back later," Christine said. "Right now, I want to tell you all about Louis Dylan Aloysius Redmond."

***

"I never would have guessed any of it," Maureen murmured. "He sounds like an angel made flesh." Like my Chris.

Christine stroked her hair again. "He was, if there are any such. When he died it damn near killed me. Took the heart right out of another woman who loved him just as much. But that's the story."

Christine's hands went to the sides of Maureen's face, held her tenderly but firmly as they locked eyes. "It took a whole week, even after I'd raped him --" Maureen winced. "What's the matter, babe?"

"That word. Is that really...what it was?"

"Well, what would you call it when one person forces himself, or herself, on another sexually? I promise you, the first time around he fought me the whole way."

Maureen nodded. "And the week after?"

Christine pouted. "He wouldn't touch me. Acted like it had never happened. I pretty much had to do it again." She smirked. "He didn't fight me the second time, though."

"Bloody --" Maureen clapped a hand to her mouth. "Sorry."

The trainer chuckled. "For what? I can outswear a carrier battle group when I get cranked. Anyway, he'd never had anyone to do for him what he'd done for me."

"What was that?"

"Made me beautiful." A joy swelled in Christine's face that engulfed all the sorrow there. "Treated me like someone special, someone who deserved respect and admiration. Made me someone to love, instead of someone to abuse."

"Chris, if you had to be made to feel beautiful and special, I can't imagine --"

"And I don't want you to," Christine said. "I want you to feel the way he made me feel. Stand up." She rose and pulled Maureen to her feet. "Off with the duds."

"What?"

"Come on, it's just us little girls. Skin 'em!"

Maureen cast a hasty glance at the entrance and complied.

"Undies too."

"Must I?"

Christine scowled, and Maureen hurried to doff her panties and bra. When she was completely nude, the younger woman bade her stand still, arms at her sides and feet slightly spread, and moved around her, looking critically, touching her gently here and there and emitting the occasional hmmm of assessment.

"You've got the goods, babe. Good shape, still tight in all the right places, skin smooth, no big moles or tags. Not much of a rack, though. A or B?"

Maureen cringed. "A's just a little tight."

"Well, we can fix that. Get dressed." The trainer trotted to the front row of chairs and fished up her purse. "We're going shopping."

***

They were on their sixth outfit before Maureen protested in earnest.

"Chris," she whispered as the Albrecht's saleslady moved away for another selection, "I can't afford this!"

Christine's eyes twinkled. "Yes, you can. Relax, babe. We're not halfway there yet."

Dear Lord. Everything silk or linen. Everything gorgeous. Everything so flirtatious I could never have dreamed of wearing it. Where's the money supposed to come from for all of it?

She'd gotten a single fleeting glance at one price tag before Christine ripped it out of her hand.

And we haven't been to the shoe salon yet. I think I feel faint.

Her hands rose to cup the pliable gel "cutlets" Christine had molded to the undersides of her breasts.

"Are they uncomfortable? Coming loose?" Christine said.

"No, not at all. I very nearly forgot they were there."

The younger woman grinned. "They do you good, babe. I'd say to wear them all the time. Well, maybe not in bed." She put on an exaggerated upper-class-Londonian accent. "One must let the skin breathe now and then, eh?"

Maureen couldn't help but giggle. "Oh, mustn't one just. And serve the cause of discretion as well!"

Christine laughed. "Discretion and a C cup. A breakthrough for the ages!"

A seventh fitting, this one a daringly cut red silk minidress that clung to her like a desperate lover, and Christine called a halt. They toted their selections to the register, and before Maureen could say a word, Christine told the saleslady to ship all the purchases to the Chase residence, whipped out a gold credit card, and thrust it through the stripe reader. The saleslady rang up the transaction without comment.

"Chris --"

"My treat, babe. We're getting you beautiful." Christine grinned, signed the credit slip, and pocketed the receipt before Maureen could glimpse the total. "And we're way far from done, so summon your reserves. Next comes the fun part: shoes!"

"What's fun about that?"

Christine frowned. "Are you sure you're a girl?"

***

Martine had done her best with the available space. Thinning out the breadth of the selections helped. There was room for at least one of everything, and much to her surprise, she'd managed to make the displays somewhat reminiscent of Helen's shop in Los Angeles. The workmen had finished installing the tub and mirroring the walls of the rear gallery, and she'd hung a lovely curtain of Baltic amber beads in the doorway to it. The card table was set up in the corner, the tea service and a plate of Helen's special cakes upon it. A sense of having settled in was building in her.

She sighed in satisfaction, went to the door of the shop, and stepped outside to breathe the evening air. On impulse, she flipped the sign to OPEN before pulling the door closed behind her.

I'm ready. It's time to make Helen proud.

There was a prospect of traffic after all. She hadn't previously taken account of the large department store a block to the south. With Grand Street, the city's main drag, only a block further to the north, pedestrian passers-by might be more numerous than she'd feared.

As she scanned the area, her eyes lit on a pair of women exiting the department store. Even at a block's distance, Martine could tell they were revved high, excited and pleased with themselves and their purchases. From their body language it was clear that the taller one was the dominant, leader of the expedition.

Martine's hand drifted toward the steel busk that covered her mound. The anxiety of solitude, the sense of nakedness from not having immeasurably wiser and more assured Helen to backstop her had risen in her again. She fought it down, prayed for the chance to prove herself.

Walk this way, ladies. Be my first customers. Please!

The two did exactly that, the taller one with a relaxed yet confident saunter, the smaller one stumbling, wobbling, and giggling in unfeigned delight as she accustomed herself to her high heels, probably the first high heels she'd ever owned.

***

"Oooh," Maureen cooed.

"Getting the hang of it?"

"Chris, this simply must be a mortal sin!

"Hm?"

"Feeling this good. This..."

"Sexy?"

Maureen blushed.

"The point is sex, isn't it?" Christine said.

"Well, yes. Partly."

"Oh? What's the other part?"

Maureen giggled. She'd learned that the knack for walking in her five-inch stiletto-heeled sandals was to put one foot directly in front of the other, keep her legs close together, and take short, deliberate steps. It compelled her to swing her hips as no ordinarily modest Englishwoman would have done. The minidress caressed her from shoulders to hips with each step. The sensuous friction as her silk-clad thighs swished against one another was more of a delight than she could have imagined. "Feeling beautiful." Young, innocent, and carefree. Like a newborn.

"Wallow in it, babe. This is what life in America is supposed to be. Capitalism without guilt. Work hard, play even harder. Pamper and be pampered. Give your best and be your best. What I don't get is why Chris never did this for you."

"He's a very practical sort, dear. He deals with necessities readily and quite well, but luxuries are...foreign to him." You should see his underwear. Or perhaps not. "What is it?"

The younger woman had halted, eyes fixed on the front of a nearby store. It appeared newly occupied. The windows displayed an assortment of saucy lingerie, in a wide variety of fabrics, styles, and colors. The marquee proclaimed the name of the establishment to be Evenings To Remember.

"Aren't we done for the evening, Chris?"

"Maybe not," Christine said. "Let's have a look in here."

***

Martine stood before her counter and waited with as much nonchalance as she could fake. When the shop door finally opened, she had to repress a sigh of relief.

The two women who entered were a study in contrasts. One was young and tall, with a Valkyrie's figure. She carried herself like a warrior, as well: boundless confidence, unfazed by anything and ready for all of it. The other woman was slender, short, and middle-aged, with a natural reserve, or shyness, that she couldn't conceal. Both sported smiles, but the older woman displayed a hint of tension, of the sort that comes from finding oneself in unfamiliar, disturbing surroundings.

The older woman's eyes roved the racks of lingerie and marital aids, her expression slowly changing from puzzled to disturbed. The younger one stared directly at Martine. She murmured a single word: "Yum!"

Martine smiled and bowed. "Welcome to Evenings To Remember, ladies. I'm Martine Arnault. Today is our grand opening, and you're our very first customers." She gestured toward the card table and the tea service. "Shall we take a few minutes to celebrate and get acquainted?"

The younger woman smiled naughtily and pulled the older one forward. "We shall."

***

It took only one of the little cakes to dissolve Maureen's reserve like the sugar lump in her tea. Not ten minutes after they'd stepped through the door, she was holding Martine's hands and chattering away as if the two were bosom friends of twenty years' standing. Christine simply sat back and listened, attentive but relaxed and openly amused. Time passed unmeasured and unmonitored.

Presently Christine stood and stretched. "I have to get going. I have early appointments tomorrow. Take care of her for me, Martine?"

Maureen started from her chair. "Chris --"

"Enjoy the rest of the evening, babe. I can catch the bus at the corner. " Her eyes moved to Martine's. "Congrats on your opening. I'll be back sometime."

Martine smiled suggestively. "I hope so."

As the door closed, Martine squeezed Maureen's hands gently and said, "You're lucky to have a friend like that."

"I know," Maureen said. She took a second cake from the salver and nibbled at it, savoring the spicy sweetness as it spread over her tongue. "These are frightfully good. Is it your own recipe?"

Martine shook her head. "Taught to me by Helen. My mentor."

"Hm?"

"I'm sort of an apprentice, Mo. This is my first venture out from under Helen's wing." Her gaze briefly swept the shop. "First test of a lot of things she taught me."

"Does Helen run a shop like this, then?"

"In Los Angeles. Where we met." Martine hesitated. "It's only a day since she left, and I already miss her terribly."

Maureen leaned forward. "I think I understand, dear. I can't imagine life without my Chris."

Martine peered closely at the older woman. "What about your other Chris? The one you ran to first with your problem? The one who just dolled you up like the queen of all English sexpots? The one who checked me out for a whole hour before deciding it was okay to leave you in my care?"

Maureen's mouth fell open.

"Did she say what moved her to bring you in here, Mo?"

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