K&T, LLC Ch. 04

I was glad the car was close. We could barely cram all the packages in, even with Francine in Siobhan's lap and Christine in mine. We picked up my car, with Siobhan going ahead in the Mercedes. This late in the afternoon parking was wide open. As we exited the car, Francine slapped Christine, "for being fresh." Christine only grinned. Some submissive.

Siobhan was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. I could understand why. Those stairs are treacherous and Siobhan was new to heels. Francine and I went up, while Christine helped Siobhan. I was once again glad that I had refused to take Christine on as a 24/7 slave. I would have had to order Christine to do that. It means so much more when it is a free decision.

Francine and I waited, so that we could all go in together. When we walked into the Parlor, Millie and Maggie looked at us like we were aliens. More exactly, they looked at Siobhan that way. Truly the transformation was that impressive. To think, we had not yet tackled hair and make up. Maggie led Siobhan and Christine to Julian's lair.

While we waited, I asked Francine what she had purchased at the medical supply store. Francine pulled out her phone and called up a website. It had been a posture trainer, in the medical sense. It strapped high on the arm and went behind the back. It was possible to move the shoulders forward, but the strap was strong elastic. This was not the first time that Francine had to correct a serious slump.

Two days later, I also discovered what else Francine had been doing. I received a delivery of pregnancy pants and nursing bras. There was a note. In case I can't make the shower. FM Francine can be a bitch, but I love her.

Siobhan:

Francine had me kneeling on the floor, with my hands behind my back. I would have said it was uncomfortable, except I had just seen CC damn near comatose while sitting in the posture. Posture was the word. I could feel my shoulders creak and complain. Rather than listen, Martel corrected my position in subtle ways. I could feel the moment when everything was stacked. Suddenly, I had no need to hold myself upright. The moment did not last, but I knew what to look for.

As I tweaked my position, Francine dropped to the floor in front of me. With most people, that would be a figure of speech. Martel simply crossed her ankles and dropped. She wanted to talk. I would have preferred doing it in chairs, but I had promised to make an effort and Francine had warned me that it would be difficult. So I stayed.

We chatted for a few minutes about how things had been. Then, Francine began to tell her story. It started two years before I met them. Francine was second year in high school, but Sheila had just begun middle school. Yet, Sheila was too gifted to ignore, so Francine made life difficult. At some point that stopped, because Francine had an epiphany. Sheila was not just better, she was much better. I could relate, though not about someone five years younger.

Francine told her story well. While I knew she acted, I suspected she also did voice overs. The quality of her sing-songy voice was that good. In fact, it was hypnotic, because suddenly both CC and Sheila were back and my knees hurt like a bitch. Francine was telling me to notice how my spine felt, because it was correct. How about that. Then they all helped me unfold from my posture. I hurt, but I also had a sense of accomplishment. Go figure. On the way out, Francine mentioned food, as if were not barely 11:00 AM.

Our first stop was a chain shoe store. As I feared, Sheila went and grabbed a bunch of girly shoes. I wear Army boots, because they are comfortable and they last. The last thing I wanted was a closet full of shoes I never used. Still, I had promised. Dutifully, I put on the towering pair of heels—why would I want to be taller—and needed help standing up. Sheila gave me her hand, corrected my posture, again, then we shuffled over to the mirrors.

If I did not recognize the woman in the mirror, no one would have blamed me. However, the Ramstein T-shirt was the same, so it must be me. I just did not look like me. I looked damned attractive, in a grunge mode. With the right hair and makeup, I would not have to pay for a drink all night. For me, usually things have worked the other way around. Sheila's look of satisfaction said "I told you so." louder than the same words coming from Martel.

We left the shoe store with an armload of boxes and my Army boots in a bag. I had a surprisingly comfortable pair of medium tall sandals on my feet. Oddly, it was CC walking beside me, helping my balance. Her heels were at least an inch taller, but she wore them well. I was shocked to learn that she had only worn them a few days, which was encouraging. Martel and Schwartz could have walked on toe point, as Martel had demonstrated. I found that CC's advice had more practical value.

The next stop was a medical supply store. Francine went in alone. I had an idea what she was getting, so I was glad the others stayed outside. Then, it was on to the warehouse store. This was rather like one in Concord, New Hampshire. The one up north is a great place to get concert shirts and name brand jeans, at half what they cost near campus. At this one, I doubted we would be getting either.

Sheila and Francine were both salivating like Pavlov's dogs when we came through the doors. They quickly divided the chores, but first headed for the bra rack. I own bras, and use them occasionally, but they are not my favorite thing. Francine came back with three each for CC and I.

Dutifully, I went in the changing room and put it on. It was more comfortable than most I had used. When I remembered to stand up straight, I could see it spreading my rack. They looked like tits, not dugs. I resolved to ask for more information. Plainly I had been buying the wrong brand, or size, or something.

About then, there was a commotion outside. Shortly, Sheila called me out of the changing room, saying that Francine had called everyone away. Fortunately, it was true. However Sheila thrust a pair of slacks and a jacket at me. Sighing, I kicked off my shoes and went back in the booth. Surprisingly, the slacks sort of fit. They were very short, but that is a style I have seen. I did not have a top, so I pulled the Ramstein shirt back on. Then I pulled on the jacket. It was too tight across the tits, but otherwise OK. Sheila passed me the shoes, then dragged me to a mirror.

Earlier, when I first put on the heels, I thought I looked like a different person. Silly me. The real new person was in this mirror. I looked like one of the faculty. I concentrated on standing straighter. Even that little bit added to the image. Francine came up with clothes for Sheila. I had to see myself with a proper top. Sheila was already heading for the changing rooms, so Francine and I headed out to get me one.

The next couple of hours were a blur. For the first time in my life, I was having fun shopping for girl clothes. It made the thrill of finding a rare concert shirt seem pale. In the end, we did not get that first suit. It was tailored for someone much shorter. What surprised me is how well other clothes fit. Sheila said that I fitted normally for a full figured woman. That last word was the key. I had never fit anything intended for a teenager, unless it was supposed to be baggy. Who'd'a thought I would improve with age.

We finished shopping, mostly because of the time, and headed for checkout. I was wearing a russet suit, with a maroon silk shirt and a white belt. In my arms were a pair of khaki slacks and a navy blazer, which I had just removed. I was trying to figure the difference between a jacket and a blazer, when Sheila and Francine started arguing over who was paying for what. We had a pile of clothes, not to mention belts, bags and some low end jewelry. The total was close to $3000. While Mutt and Jeff were distracted, I slipped the clerk my family gold card. Normally, I hate using it, but unexpected expenses were why I carried it.

CC and I started trundling the load out to the car before Sheila and Francine realized they had been upstaged. That alone was worth using the card. I figured Martel was worth something, but it was interesting that Schwartz could toss off this sort of money. Everything I had seen said meticulous money management.

At the car, Russell had soup and sandwiches. I checked my phone. It was after three. How had we missed lunch? I took one of the (cold) soups as did CC. Sheila, coming up with Francine, waved off even that much. Instead she opened a package of crackers. It did not matter. Francine inhaled three sandwiches and washed it down with cold soup. I glanced at Sheila, who merely rolled her eyes.

We were due back at Julian's studio at 4:00 PM. I was not thrilled with the prospect of wearing a corset for the rest of the day, not to mention future days, but I was beginning to understand what was going on. It may be cliché, but damned if I would be the weakest link.

Chapter 9 -- They also Serve, who only Stand and Wait

Interlude: 25^th Anniversary

Cindy:

If you get down to it, Mom, Aunt Frannie and Aunt Jo only had three days to pull the wedding together, unless you count Saturday morning, the day of the event. Friday was spent on the dresses and similar things. All that was done in the City. That leaves just Wednesday and Thursday. I know they are all good at getting things down, but damn. Excuse my language.

Dad claims he had nothing to do with it, because he was at work all week, getting ready to be gone. I have never quite accepted that.

Sean:

About 10:00 I received word, from Russell, that my sister Jo had met up with Sheila and company, near downtown Elizabethtown. I mentally scolded myself for forgetting that the city had officially dropped the "town" before the Civil War, no matter what people call it. This, in turn, set me wondering where my head was at.

Business was odd. We had released the catalog to the printers on Friday. Harold Johnstead had done a special weekend press run. Monday had swamped the staff with mailing details. That was all done, but the response had not had time to filter in. Other than the new real estate project, the agenda was clear of new business. My staff had stacks of ongoing projects, but they were all handled below my level.

On a personal level, the invitations would come back from the printers before noon. Helen and her minions had a mailing list. Someone would have to approve the print work, but it would not be me. Most likely, Sheila would do it by phone.

I seriously considered taking time off to go home, but it is rarely a good idea to jog your manager's elbows. I had my best people on the job. There was nothing more I could do. Then I reconsidered. I had an important part of the plan scheduled for a meeting. If Elder Nuefeld was willing, I could take him to see the property, and get a good look myself. Management by walking around. That was a plan. I told Helen that she was on her own for the next few hours. If nothing else, I could go early to the meeting. Elder Nuefeld was arriving by train, and I might need some services from the railroad.

George dropped me at the new freight yard. I walked into the Conrail office and asked to speak to the manager. This caused the usual inquiry about my problem. CYA is a universal trait. I did my best sales smile and told them there was no problem, but potentially some new, time sensitive business. This brought me a man wearing a name tag: Howard Fitzpatrick, Shift Supervisor. He was about twenty five years old and did not introduce himself.

I said, "Howard, can we sit? I was planning to get some coffee. Do you want some?" That should get his salesman radar pinging loudly, which was exactly what I wanted. We took our cups into a break area. Howard sat first. Before I sat down, he asked, "What are you selling?" Bingo.

I smiled and spread my hands. "Nothing. However, I hope to be needing a special car or two, if a lunch meeting goes well. We are talking car rental and routing, each direction, later this week and early next. Are you the man?"

People call me the Bear. I never knew where it got started, but I think the look on Howard's face might have been involved. I had sandbagged Mr. Fitzpatrick, so now I had an opportunity to operate in an information vacuum. It is a tactic I have employed successfully on several occasions. In a way, it is a bit odd. The response, "I can put you in touch with the right person." is almost never wrong. However, it is also almost never used.

Howard Fitzgerald tried for a middle approach. "I see. I would need to know the details, but something might be managed." Poor kid. Anything but "No" is a green light.

I smiled and replied, "Excellent. I will forward your name to Helen. She is Mr. Richards Executive Secretary. Everything will be done on his personal account, not on the Richard's Enterprises corporate account. This will be one animal car for horses and one box car for carriages. That would be from northern Pennsylvania, Amish country, to this location on Thursday, with the return on Monday. I realize I do not have final approval to proceed, but how soon could you have a firm estimate?"

Oddly, that speech relaxed young Mr. Fitzgerald. Perhaps, shipping Amish carriages was not entirely new. He replied, "Given the time constraints, there may be extra charges. However, I can ballpark it now. If we assume a Thursday morning pickup in York, return the same, exclusive of the car rentals, we have..." Howard slid a calculator across the table. My eyes widened a bit, but I was prepared to go higher. Howard smiled. "It's the price you pay for doing business with them. I take it this your first time?"

I had to admit defeat. "Personally yes. Richards Enterprises is thirty companies. I am sure some of them have done so before. Auctions maybe. As I said, this is personal, for the wedding." This time Mr. Fitzpatrick's eye got wide, but he did not ask. I guess the dots were easy to connect. Instead, he pulled out a business card and wrote a pair of numbers on the back. One was labeled "Cell"; the other was "Expedite".

He rose from his seat and extended his hand. "Pleased to do business with you, Mr., ah..." I shook the hand. "Clarence Richards, and yes, I am one of the lesser family scions. But, whatever you do, do not cross the bride. I have heard stories." Howard merely nodded and walked away. Sorry Sheila, my devil made me do it.

As I walked back to the car, I called the house. After a couple of holds, I was finally put through to Michael Gilbert. I asked what we had available for stabling horses. Fortunately, Sheila had given him a heads up. Provided we had a suitable tent, arrangements could be made for hay, feed and water. He then flipped the question back to me. Would we need to house personnel, and if so, how many. I promised to raise the issue at my meeting.

At the Amtrak station, Elder Nuefeld was, to me at least, surprisingly young. Perhaps 40 - 45. He was a big man, at least 6'2" and 275 pounds. He wore the expected black suit and straw hat. What was less expected was an antique meerschaum pipe, which he was not smoking. I asked him if he would like to step outside and smoke during our conversation, he nodded graciously, and perhaps gratefully. If this went well, I would have some good quality pipe tobacco sent his way.

The negotiations went slowly. What I was asking was easily doable, if he chose to authorize it. However, Elder Nuefeld wanted more in depth reasons. Rather than reply, I asked if he would be willing to accept a ride in my car. This he accepted, with a patently false show of reluctance.

Once we reached the house, I had George pull to the front entrance. Normally, this would be useless, since the door is kept locked, but clean up was in full swing. He took in the activity without comment. Once again I was reminded that a simple lifestyle is not a sign of stupidity. Usually, this reflection applies to some third world country, but we also have odd communities in the USA.

As we walked through the house, I pointed out things that had come down through generations. I could tell that Elder Nuefeld was quite comfortable with many of our old pieces. In particular, he seemed impressed with the quarter sawn, tiger eye maple paneling. I asked if he had a family history in woodwork. It turned out he did not, but recognized the wood from the home of a family named Yoder, who were woodworkers.

As we progressed, I explained Sheila's concept. The Amish are non-electrical by choice. This would fit well with a turn of the 20^th century theme. I never did explain why I wanted the horses and carriages. As I said, the man was not stupid.

When we went through the ballroom, I explained that there was to be a formal dance. It would not be one suitable for Amish to attend, but the concept would be very familiar. Dances are a principle way young Amish men meet marriageable Amish women. I apologized that the dance floor would be unavailable, except on Sunday. On the spur of the moment, I offered it as a temporary meeting hall for their services and family time afterward.

Elder Neufeld stopped and looked at me shrewdly. At that point I knew we had an agreement in principle and only needed to work out the details. He asked how many men I expected to need. To answer this, I led him outside.

Mitchell had several crews working. My events people had delivered the side show booths, and crews were busily unpacking them. Again, these were vintage items, of a sort he would recognize. I told him that I hoped to have whole families. One man for each carriage of course, but boys to attend the horses, girls to run errands and women to run the food booths. I stated that, should the church deem it suitable, and subject to other uses, the families could make use of the preparations. Then the dickering got serious.

In essence, the deal was for twelve carriages, with horses and drivers. In addition, a block of money would be provided to the church for services rendered by dependents of the drivers. I was responsible to arrange three train cars and minimal accommodations, meaning tents, water and portable toilets. Since I was already planning to rent two train cars, an additional passenger car was probably cheaper than the dozen round trip fares. I allowed the Elder use of any additional space in the train cars.

What the Elder was getting was a paid vacation for at least a dozen of his families. They would have to bring food, though I promised certain staples like beans and potatoes. In addition, they would need bedding and all the other things you need camping. Provided the setup was finished, the Amish could hold a dance in the ballroom on Friday night. Likewise, the midway and paddle boats would be available, if ready. There was no limit on the number of people they could bring, but only the basic twelve would get paid.

I did not tell Elder Neufeld that I felt like a manor Lord authorizing a gypsy camp, in exchange for entertainment. He would not have been amused. He was amused by the houseboat. Like Sheila, he thought the name was too grand. The yacht he plainly admired. I mentioned that there was going to be skilled woodworking jobs in the near future. Elder Neufeld promised to tell the appropriate people.

I had George deliver Elder Neufeld back to the station. Then I found the Gilbert brothers and we exchanged updates. This done, I asked to assemble Jo's grad students. One of the boys had refused to get out of bed. Most likely, he had arrived in Portland already. Two of the girls had simply taken their bags and left. The remaining nine were, per Sheila's directions, dirty. I thanked them for sticking it out, which brought a laugh.