Mike & Karen Ch. 19

"Psh, nonsense, I've barely any role to play at all," Angie said dismissively. "Besides, if this all goes askew, I can just say I'm the hired help for the evening and know nothing, right? But I do have one question."

"Anything, just ask," Karen said readily.

"Your friends are helping you, yes?"

The three nodded.

"And this is supposed to be a business meeting with your father, right?" Angie reasoned. "Gotta admit, none of you are gonna pass for a man."

"I already have someone lined up for that, actually," Karen announced, nodding.

"Who, aside from that giant blond lunatic who lumbers around your campus, is insane enough to try and imitate a zillionaire businessman on a moment's notice?" Angie asked.

None of the girls replied.

"Oh, God," Angie breathed. "You somehow conned him into doing it? When was the last time you saw a business magnate who was built like Hulk Hogan, honey?"

Karen looked at her friends, eyebrow raised.

"A wrestler in the WWF, Kar," Janet explained. "Big muscles and loud all over, but less hair than DeBourne."

"Everybody's got less hair than DeBourne," mentioned Mona, making Lisa snicker.

"How did you convince him?" Angie asked.

Karen shrugged. "It didn't take much, to be honest. The moment he found out that he'd be taking on Beijing, he was all over it like a dirty shirt."

"Lunatic," Angie sighed. "Look, I have no idea if even you can do this, Karen, but I owe you and I'll happily help. Just let me and two of my people stay out of the way and cook, and you have a deal."

Karen hugged Angie again in relief. "Thank you so much..."

"Where is Paul Bunyan, anyway?" Angie asked, looking around. "The floor isn't shaking, so he's not in the building."

"He's gone back to campus," Karen explained. "He has an exquisitely tailored suit that he looks amazing in."

Her three friends all smirked at one another. Karen failed to notice.

"He'll bring it back here, and then probably start getting into character," she continued. "Knowing him, he'll pick up any books he can find on the subject of international business deals and read them on his way back."

"Will that be any help?"

"If it was anyone else, no," Karen said, shaking her head. "With him, God only knows. It can't hurt, though."

Her dilemma was by no means solved, but every tiny bit helped, didn't it?

***

Tatyana looked at Karen rather intently. "How, if one might ask, ma'am, did you manage to pull this scam together at all? What sequence of events allowed you to get even this far?"

Karen sighed and tried to decide how to answer. The event in question had been over thirty years ago, so there was no harm in being completely honest. But from her point of view, so many of the pertinent details were maddeningly dull.

"Although I was not an actual member of my father's companies and firms," she began, "I knew just about everyone who worked for him, especially the higher-ups. Or, more to the point, they knew me, the hyper-intelligent, inquisitive, and precocious young girl who was constantly getting underfoot when she visited any of the offices. They were used to me, and more or less thought nothing of me being around."

"So as you grew up, you were privy to a lot of things," Tatyana mused. "And you learned quickly, via osmosis."

Karen nodded. "I knew a lot more than I should have, and essentially was armed with much bigger guns than I was capable of using as yet. More than that, people began owing me favours, one way or another."

The seneschal thought about what her employer was saying. "You more or less had carte blanche, since your father trusted you implicitly, even if you were not involved in the company's dealings. You still managed to know what was going on."

"Often better than even he did, since I was unhampered by details and being mired daily in the subject, I always had a fresh perspective and eye," Karen agreed. "In any event, I spied an opportunity that no one else had glanced at, soon after the departure of my mother and father for Italy."

"And you got it in your head that this was a good idea."

"Maybe I was still stinging from my drubbing at the hands of this lout some weeks earlier," Karen said, tilting her head at her giant husband. "But I needed to prove to myself that I was still in charge of my own destiny. I know, it makes no sense, but I was rather given to flights of fancy."

"Are you sure it was yourself you were trying to prove things to?" Tatyana asked, looking over her teacup as she sipped. Her meaning was clear.

Karen smiled and leaned into Mike's side. "I am pretty certain that I was trying to show off for this man here, even if I couldn't admit it to anyone, including myself. In any event, I managed to orchestrate a series of calls and negotiations about getting this deal done, before my parents came home. The window was small, and the Chinese jumped on it. Too quickly."

"Goodness, so they insisted on the meeting ahead of whatever your schedule was?" Tatyana queried, pouring more tea for herself. She then looked at Jordan. "And you abandoned her? In her crazed hour of need?"

Jordan cleared his throat rather uncomfortably. "I seem to recall thinking that if I helped her, she would not learn anything."

"And if she succeeded, she definitely wouldn't learn anything," Mike chuckled. "Failure is the better teacher."

"Like you'd know," Karen snorted before returning her attention to Tatyana. "I basically had all the right people doing my bidding putting it together, but nobody knew what anyone else was doing. If I had my way, it would all be over before anyone figured it out, and then the results would be too green and convenient for anyone to protest."

"You really thought this could possibly work?" Tatyana asked.

By way of response, Karen spread her hands out and looked around. "I'm here, aren't I? I assume Jordan told you what my father was like about incompetent people and failure."

"That people who embarrassed the family were shipped off to remote resort islands to live on a comfortable stipend so that they could never cause trouble again," Tatyana said, nodding. "So you essentially got your father's company, in his absence, to broker a deal to meet with Chinese businessmen, and intended to conduct the affair yourself, without anyone knowing."

Karen nodded.

"And you convinced a bunch of teenagers to help you."

Again, the mistress of Blackwell Manor nodded.

"How did the Chinese fall for any of this?" Tatyana asked finally, still perplexed.

"Well..." Karen began, folding her hands in her lap.

***

Blackwell Manor, February 1987...

"You've been losing some weight in the right places; this suit is fitting you better than it did last time I saw it on you," Karen mused as she adjusted Mike's suit while he stood in front of a full-length mirror. She could hear he was about to protest, so she chimed in before he could. "Have you tweaked your workout? It shows."

"Oh, well... yeah, I guess I have," Mike answered, trying to not sound pleased. He gently flexed his arm, his giant bicep bulging, yet somehow not tearing the fabric or looking ridiculous within it. "I mean, we wouldn't want the suit to look wrong tonight, would we?"

"No, sir, we would not," Karen said lightly, smiling to herself while she smoothed out the lapel. "You look as sharp as the day we fitted it to you."

"Hey, if that's what it takes to pull this off," he agreed, determination in his voice. "How are we on time?"

"Fine, I guess, although there's still a lot to do," Karen said, grimacing slightly as she stood behind him, making sure the suit was immaculate. She hoped her tone didn't betray her concern. His suit was the one part of this endeavour that had thus far proved flawless. "Angie says they're on schedule in the kitchen and everything looks great. Apparently the layout and all the equipment available is a dream come true."

"Hard to imagine when there's a jacuzzi just down the hall to relax in," Mike quipped, checking himself out in the mirror. "So you think I'm ready?"

"Oh, not even close," Karen said emphatically. "All I said was that your suit was ready for this event. You, on the other hand, Enkidu..."

He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. "You intend to screw with my hair, don't you?"

"You're getting shaved and I'm doing something with that mane of yours," she replied, brooking no argument. "You cannot meet them having five o'clock shadow, nor with hair that a Celtic warrior or a wild horse would be insanely jealous of."

"Hey now," Mike protested, but Karen was having none of it. She didn't have time to debate DeBourne's grooming habits. He was doing this her way, end of story. When she needed to know how to rough it by eating twigs and beetles, then he could run the show. "So what do you plan to do?"

"Relax, I'll probably just use some pomade to slick it back so that it looks more contained, and then give it tiny trims here and there to assist. But I promise, once you wash out the goop, you'll be back to your shaggy glory, Aslan."

She turned him around and assessed him again, looking up and down and then nodding. "Good. Now go to my parent's bathroom and wait. I'll be along in a minute. Try not to break anything."

He gave her a wry look before turning and walking off in the direction instructed. She didn't want to be ordering him around, it felt very wrong, but she needed to keep him off-balance for now, so that she could get him in the proper headspace. If he tried to get there on his own...

She headed down to the kitchen to check on Angie and her crew, who were busily making all the food and seemed to have things well in hand. Their job was to prepare this magnificent feast, trundle if up on carts and in chafing dishes, and it would be served at the table by the single attendant in the room.

And if the guests asked why there were so few servants, it would be explained to them that these negotiations were simply too valuable and too sensitive to allow any but the most trusted of employees be privy to it. Everyone else had been given the night off. It only made sense, didn't it?

"How are we doing?" she asked as she swished back into the anteroom where the girls were getting ready. There were piles of outfits everywhere, and they seemed to be at their wits' end.

"Kar, is nobody in this house shaped like an average woman?" Janet groused, holding up one dress after another. "Seriously, most of these tits are too big for me! I'll need to stuff cantaloupes down the front to fit properly."

"And you and I are about to have words, princess," Mona announced as she approached Karen. "Because I know you are not gonna make me wear a maid's outfit, right?"

Karen said nothing.

"Tell me that never even crossed your mind, girl," Mona warned. Karen looked at Janet, who shook her head.

"Pass," the brunette said. "You know how clumsy I can get."

All three of her friends were looking at her intently, and Karen felt the hair on the back of her neck go up.

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

***

"I almost dread asking what happened next, but I simply must know," Tatyana said, almost on the edge of her seat while she looked at Mike and Karen intently.

At some point, several other members of the staff had joined the group, standing around expectantly and waiting to hear more. Valentina was practically leaning over the back of Tatyana's seat, her chores obviously forgotten. Ari was standing nearby, smirking, while both Glenda and Andrea were leaning against the wall. Trilby waited near the doorway into the room.

"What happened next?" asked Tatyana.

"Some hours later, our visitors finally arrived..." Karen explained.

***

Meanwhile, back in Decepticon Central...

The doorbell had rung, and Karen slowly walked toward the great doors, taking a deep breath. How? How had this gone so very wrong?

Somehow, she had been reduced to the role of the maid, the lone employee entrusted with keeping her mouth shut about these secret dealings. Her three so-called 'friends' had all agreed that she was best suited for the role amongst them, which didn't make much sense. She had anticipated helping Mike, her 'father', in getting these negotiations handled. And she wasn't going to be doing that when she was the hired help.

A maid.

A French maid.

Named Mitsou.

"Why am I a French maid?!" she'd protested.

"Because you speak French fluently, duh," Janet had said simply. "I mean, yeah, you also speak Arabic and Russian, but you don't exactly look Arabic, y'know?"

"What was the problem with me being a native English-speaking maid if I'm to be the maid at all?!" she'd shot back.

"Well that's just boring, isn't it?" Lisa giggled. "And it always makes me wet when you speak French."

"I thought it was when I spoke Russian that your knees got weak," Karen pointed out.

Lisa shrugged. "What can I say, I get gooey when you start speaking. Go get ready, Mitsou."

Karen stopped now and looked at herself in a mirror in the grand foyer- on such short notice, she'd had to borrow one of Angelique's uniforms, and it looked ridiculous on her. Frantic adjustments had allowed Karen to somehow wiggle into it (with the help of a lot of baby powder), and final adjustments were finished while she was wearing it.

Her shining bronze hair was framed by a maid's lace cap, while her large bust was barely restrained by the corset top. She was showing an absurd amount of cleavage. The waist had been taken in, accenting her almost hourglass figure, and the skirt, which normally fell past the shorter Angelique's knees, rested somewhere on her thighs, showing off her long dancer's legs, clad in sheer stockings.

What had she done to deserve this?

Another deep breath, and she walked toward the doorway, steeling herself. She twisted the handle and opened the huge wooden doors, the February twilight banished by the overhead lights directly in front of the door, along with a heating unit to keep visitors warm.

Standing in front of her were ten Chinese men, the youngest of whom was likely in his late twenties, and the oldest in his late fifties. They were all wearing heavy coats to protect themselves from the Canadian winter.

"Good evening," said the youngest man, whom she guessed was the fluent English speaker, based on his diction. "We are here for the business meeting and dinner with Mister Jonathan Blackwell and his family?"

"Mais bien sûr," she said in a lilting French accent while she curtsied slightly, as she'd always seen the staff do when answering the door. "Please, follow me..."

She allowed them all to come in, and then took their coats quickly, depositing them on hangers in a small room off the side of the foyer. Her guests were looking around in varying degrees of wonder at their surroundings. While they were no doubt all wealthy themselves, they probably had not had that much exposure to Victorian and Edwardian luxury, even in Hong Kong. No, these men were from Beijing, and this would have quite the effect on them. Good.

"Gentlemen, if you would," she said in her French accent, indicating they should follow her. She led them out of the grand foyer, and then down the Hall of Ancestors, taking her time so that they had plenty of opportunity to stare at the patriarchs who lined the walls, portraits and busts alike. "My name is Mitsou, and I shall be looking after you this evening."

"It is very quiet," mentioned the youngest man. "Why are there so few people in a house that is so big?"

"My employer, Monsieur Blackwell, he thought it best to give the rest of the staff the night off, oui?" Karen replied, trying to talk with her hands, because that's what French people did. "I was retained because of my subtlety and devotion to confidences. Given the nature of your dealings, he thought it best if as few people as possible were around."

"Sensible, yes," stated the eldest man, whom she perceived to be the lead in this endeavour. He walked toward the front of the group, preceded only by the youngest man, and with the others gathered around him.

Remember what your father had always said about the way the Chinese do business, she thought to herself as she led them toward the formal dining room. Everyone has a place in the strategy, a mission, and they are reliant on groupthink. Individualism is not a social norm, even in business. They'll always look to the leader for their answers.

They rounded a corner and came through a set of open doors, leading them into the dining room. Around the long, formal wooden table, nearly twenty places were set, but currently only four of them were occupied. The people awaiting them all stood, and the Chinese delegation could not contain their awe. The incredibly striking maid with the hawk-like golden eyes was unusual enough, but Mister Blackwell was totally unexpected.

The man they'd come to do business with was gigantic, a head and shoulders over the tallest of them, and most of the businessmen would come to his sternum. Within his immaculate suit (it had to be Savile Row), he was powerfully built, huge all over. His blond hair was formed back, revealing a high forehead, and his eyes were a piercing electric blue.

He was terrifying. This man was the mogul, the mandarin, the taipan, of Blackwell Industries.

And what a worthy adversary he would be.

"Welcome," he thundered in a deep voice as he came around the table. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Jonathan Blackwell."

"I am honoured, Mister Blackwell," said the senior businessman, stepping forward now and holding out his head. "I am Zhao Liang."

"The pleasure is mine," Mike said amiably, accepting the proffered hand. He made sure not to engulf his guest's entire hand in his own, but shook it politely for some seconds.

Zhao observed and then smiled up at Mike. "So... you are human after all."

Not one to be left with nothing to say, Mike replied. "Indeed. And there's twice as much of me as there is of you."

The guests all chuckled, including Zhao. Karen watched silently from nearby, observing everything. She only hoped she could pass any subtle hints as might be helpful to DeBourne over the course of the evening, based on her observations.

Mike then made his way through the other men present, introducing himself while the youngest man gave all their names to him. Karen's keen eye saw at least two of the men subtly smell their hands after Mike had shaken them, pretending to wipe at their faces or touch their noses.

They're so used to bowing, instead of the personal contact of Western business. Even after all that tradition, humans still try to mark one another's scent, to assess friend or foe. What will they make of DeBourne? This must be disconcerting for them.

"Please, come and meet my family," Mike said grandly, gesturing at the women around the table, who were all standing and waiting patiently. "First, my cousin Florence Blackwell, who does much of her business in France, but is looking at the east to open up her options."

"Pleased to meet you all," Janet said, beaming a smile and holding out her hand to be shake. There was a pause before the youngest man shook it, followed by Zhao taking the bullet and doing the same on behalf of his team. It would have to do.

Female business moguls?

"This is my second cousin Brianna, from the Harcourt-Blackwells," Mike continued, indicating Mona, who simply nodded her head by way of greeting.

There was another pause, and Zhao tilted his head slightly. "She is a Blackwell?"

Mike and Mona both nodded.

"A negress?"

Karen eyes widened and she went into instant mental damage control mode as she saw Mona's eyes harden slightly, and Mike stood a little taller, waiting to see what happened next.