Red Ribbons and Scripture

He thanked me for the coffee and said, "We're going to meet with my CPA first.

She will take care of all the paperwork for your new position. I'll smooth things over with your employers at the restaurants. After that, we have three other stops at places I own outright or have an interest or partnership. Do you have any questions, Mrs. Foster?"

"Yes, Sir," I replied, thinking about God and my Church to bolster my resolve and self-confidence; the man was a stranger to me, "What are my days off?" "Right to the point, as well as punctual," he said, smiling, "Saturday and Sunday unless needed otherwise. Sir is a bit stiff, considering how close we will be working together; you may call Lucas if you like."

"Thank you, Sir," I replied, determined to make the best of things and not give him a reason to find fault with me. "Have it your way, Mrs. Foster. Your ponytail needs a splash of color, and he took a long piece of red ribbon from his pocket, tied it on, making a bow.

When we got to his late-model silver-gray Chevy Suburban, Mr. Cain remembered he left his wallet with his driver's license on the kitchen table. So he gave me his keys and sent me to get them. When I came out, I was surprised to see him standing by the passenger door and pleased when he opened the door and helped me in.

After the paperwork was complete and signed, we were driving to the next venue when Mr. Cain received an urgent phone call, and he put it on speaker, "Yes, Jerry, what do you need?" "Boss, we have a problem. Tom Nelson is here and is demanding we release his backhoes and graders. He has a cashier's check for half the money and needs to finish the Arsenal Street sewer and water line contract.

He swears he can pay in full next week, and he won't take no for an answer."

"OK, Jerry, keep a lid on things. I'll be there in five minutes."

We parked in front of the main building of a sizeable paved property surrounded by a tall chain-link fence topped with razor wire and surveillance cameras. Cars, trucks, boats, RVs, anything on wheels, including a small airplane, were secured inside. There was a one-ton beat-up mud-covered pickup truck near the entrance door. I noticed a pair of binoculars and an Audubon field guide on the passenger seat as we passed to enter the building. I only mention them because they seemed out of place.

The light grey building was nondescript, aside from a five-by-seven sign on the steel entry door that said, ASSETS COMPLIANCE RECOVERY, INC, plus a telephone number and Post Office Box address. I looked at Mr. Cain and asked, "Do you own this, and are you the Boss?" "Yes. Mrs. Foster, I have storage locations throughout the State for these recovery services, including your Mercedes. Here are the keys to the Suburban in case things get violent."

We went inside and heard a loud, angry voice, cursing and swearing, and the source of the profanity and threats was an immense and blocky, tough-looking man, wearing muddy rubber boots, stained bib overalls over a tee-shirt, and a scuffed metal hardhat. It was evident from his appearance that this ugly bristly man, desperately needed a bath and a shave was not a stranger to hard manual labor or violent confrontation.

The first thing Mr. Cain said was, "There is a Lady with me, Tom; calm down and watch your language." Tom retorted, "Fuck you; I demand my property now!" Mrs. Foster, wait for me outside?" Mr. Cain said quietly.

"No, "he said to me, "stay here," and he took a roundhouse swing missing my new employer. Mr. Cain stepped gracefully to one side and struck him blow behind the ear; the combination of the missed clumsy puncher's momentum and Mr. Cain's calculated blow sent the man crashing to the floor.

As the dazed man slowly got up, Mr. Cain picked up the man's hardhat; his angry eyes were hard and cold, like green glacial ice. Jerry was ready with a baseball bat, and Lucas ordered, "No, Jerry, I got this," and he glanced at me, saying, "Mrs. Foster?" meaning I should leave.

"I'm a witness, and you were... I didn't get a chance to finish because Jerry hollered, "Look out!"

Mr. Cain again moved to one side, his attacker failing to hit him a second time. Crouching low and with a sweeping motion, my Boss kicked his opponent's legs out from underneath him. "Stay down, Tom," he warned. The lummox slowly got to his feet with a hammer in his hand. Before he could use it, Mr. Cain forcefully and repeatedly hammered his inept attacker's face and head with the hardhat, spattering both of them with blood from the man's broken nose and cut lips.

He didn't stop until his antagonist slumped, dazed to his knees, looking up with soon-to-be black eyes, shaking his head, and raising his arms in supplication, saying, "enough."

Mr. Cain kicked his antagonist's ball-peen hammer underneath a desk, and contemptuously threw the battered and bloody hardhat to the floor, and said, "The property you demanded. I expect the balance paid in full, in cash, by the end of the day, plus another five hundred, for disrespecting my Secretary, Mrs. Foster."

The man moaned and stood up, although only God knows how after the beating he took; he staggered to the nearest chair and sat heavily. He wiped the blood and snot from his face with a blue paisley bandana, coughed, and then said, "All right, all right, Lucas, I'll pay. Are you trying to kill me?"

"Mr. Cain ignored the question, "You owe my Secretary an apology. Are you sorry for your bad and rude behavior?" Tom Nelson nodded, yes.

Nodding is not a definitive answer," He warned him, "Mrs. Foster is waiting. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Foster. I apologize for my bad behavior," he said, defeated, again wiping his face. "What about you, Jerry? Do you need an apology?" "I'm good, Boss."

"Damn it, one punch, you need to control your temper, and why the hammer, you're better than that, you have my cell number. I'd have worked something out." It's too late for that now?" Mr. Cain told him, "It's time for you to leave."

Jerry followed him out the door, leaving me alone with the Boss, "Are you hurt?" I asked, concerned, "following him into the bathroom. "No, I'm fine." He took off his blood-spattered white shirt and threw it in the trash can. He turned on the water in the sink and started washing the blood off his hands and face. "Are you angry with me, Mr. Cain?"

He pumped liquid soap into his hand and continued washing. "We will discuss it later," he sighed, "I need a shower."

"How can you be so calm after what just happened?" I asked incredulously. " Cry "Havoc!" and let slip the dogs of war," he replied matter of factually, and I was thinking, 'Who talks like this? He beat the man to a pulp, and now he's quoting Shakespeare? And then oddly enough, I was thinking, 'That this foul deed shall smell above the earth. With carrion men groaning for burial.'

"Tom Nelson got what his hand called for, Mrs. Foster; remember that, now please pass me some paper towels." At that point, Jerry returned, "He's gone, Boss. I'll get the paperwork ready for the equipment. "Thanks, Jerry, take two-fifty out of the five, and split the rest between the crew."

Mr. Cain made a few telephone calls while he drove, rearranging his schedule and canceling appointments. "How many people work for you? I asked. "As of now, and including you, one hundred-three." "How many employees do you have there, including Jerry?" "I have five at that location." "That's fifty dollars each?"

"Yes, the lions share going to Jerry; he's in charge of the crew." "What if Nelson doesn't pay? What if he calls the police?" "He won't contact the authorities, and he will pay me, Mrs. Foster. Tom was wrong, and he knew it. Care to bet your ponytail on it?" I didn't answer. "You don't have to answer; it is a redundant question."

It was around noon when Mr. Cain was showering. "Mrs. Foster, please come here," he called out from the bathroom. So I did, as instructed. He was standing in front of the mirror, shaving, wearing only his under briefs; he paused and said, "A shave puts a shine on a man's face." I stood watching, waiting for further instructions, admiring his hard muscular body.

He was focused and relentless when he bloodied and battered that big, vulgar oaf and then made him apologize to me. It was exhilarating; Lucas Cain protected me, and as a woman, I secretly enjoyed the primal sexual periphery of that bloody encounter, ending with justice served.

I also prefer a clean shave on a man. My husband grew a scruffy van dyke beard in our later years together. He thought it made him look distinguished, and scholarly-it didn't. Mr. Cain's bathroom is efficient, with a white free-standing Japanese style soaking tub, big enough for two, and a four-sided glass-enclosed shower next to it.

When he finished shaving, he turned to look at me. "Mrs. Foster, I've been thinking. Yes, you disobeyed me," he patted some cologne on his face and neck. He then ran his hands through his damp tawny brown hair to put some scent there. "The violent encounter was unexpected and beyond your control. Violent encounters during seizures or after are a part of this business; you've no doubt lived a safe and sheltered life.

It's plausible you were frightened and frozen in place like a deer in the headlights, or perhaps you enjoyed the violence. People watch movies to see violence or horror, safe, as the voyeur for the temporary rush, knowing they are safe.

I'm responsible for you when we are together. For the record, I'm not angry with you. However, I expect prompt obedience from this time forward. We will leave shortly for a business lunch. You may freshen yourself while I get dressed," and my Boss then walked into his bedroom.

"Where are we going for lunch?" I asked as we were driving. "Barton's," he answered," they have raw oysters on the half shell. Oysters are considered an aphrodisiac that dates back to ancient Rome." "You don't believe that about oysters, do you?" I asked."Perhaps I need all the help I can get," he said with a poker face, something he's good at when it suits him.

"Did you make reservations? I hear it's almost impossible to get in without them?" "No, we don't need them." Then, I paused and asked, "Are they a business you have an interest in?" "Yes, and after lunch, we'll see my attorney for our signed contract about the house and dismiss the eviction order; per our agreement, you will live there rent-free contingent remaining in my employ. "The broiled sea scallops are excellent, and I recommend the Caesar Salad."

Mr. Cain introduced me to his partner, Mrs. Barton. She was a tall, gray-haired woman of imposing stature, all business-no-nonsense, and very gracious and polite. She had lunch with us, and they discussed building an addition to the restaurant: the generous portions of the scallops served cooked to perfection.

My goodness, the Boss enjoyed his three dozen raw oysters immensely as his lunch-I don't care for oysters at all, and the scallops are better than excellent.

We left the attorney's office around four in the afternoon. Mr. Cain drove to a pet shop, gave me a twenty, and sent me inside for a box of dog treats. "Do you have a dog?" I asked, giving him the change. "No," he answered; puzzled, I dropped the subject, and from there, he took me home.

We sat in my driveway in the Suburban for a while, "There's a late model Dodge Grand Caravan in the impound lot we use for surveillance or to block driveways. You're welcome to use it if you don't mind a soccer mom vehicle." Then Jerry called, seconds after, and Mr. Cain put it on speaker, "Hey, Boss, Tom's foreman left with all the equipment. Nelson was waiting outside in his truck, and his face looked like a bulldozer ran over it twice." And he paused to laugh.

I walked outside with his receipt and gave it to him, and he said, "Tell Lucas there are no hard feelings. You win some; you lose some." "Like him or hate him; Tom's a tough bastard...... ah, Boss, is Mrs. Foster with you?" "Yes, and she's going to be using the Caravan until further notice; you know the address."

The call ended, and Mr. Cain asked, "Do you have any questions or concerns for me?" "Thank you for the use of the vehicle, and yes, why did you hire me?"

"Has any of your friends or your husband's friends, colleagues, or golfing buddies; stepped forward to help you financially, he asked?" "None," I replied. "You did receive some moral support in the beginning, though, sympathy and condolences?" "Yes," I answered, my Church and Pastor are always there for me?"

"Commendable, and to your question, I have followed your charitable works in the newspapers and then social media. You did it out of the goodness of your heart. Yet, you mostly stayed in the background and let others take the credit, not wanting the limelight.

You declined a salary or stipend when all the others on the board took theirs. You instead donated that said money to the animal shelter. Emanuel Swedenborg described you long before you were born when he said, "True charity is the desire to be useful to others with no thought of recompense."

Did you ever wonder about the Cashier's Checks from anonymous donor 'Limited Liability Corporation?' "Was that you, Mr. Cain? Those substantial checks always included Attention-Sarah Anne Foster?" "Yes, me, Lucas Levi Cain," and he smiled, "My Father is a Lutheran Minister. You attend a Lutheran Church, I believe. My Father likes Old Testament names, or perhaps Reverand Micah Abraham Cain has an odd sense of humor. We don't always see eye to eye."

"Is your mother still alive," I asked. "No, she died when I was eight years old; My Father never remarried. So we're both people without brothers and sisters, Mrs. Foster." "My father passed," I offered, "and my Mom is living in an assisted living community in California. She has good days and bad and often confuses me with her sister, my Aunt Mary, who has also passed on."

"Back to your question, I can more than afford to help you. I think we're a good fit overall. "Are you always so blunt and to the point, Mr. Cain?" "Most of the time, yes, do you have any more questions or concerns you want to talk about?"

I did, many, but I answered, "No, Sir." "Fine, I'll see you to your door." He helped me out of the Suburban and walked me to my front door, where we stood on the porch. "You are a charming woman, Mrs. Foster, and I mean that sincerely." "Thank you," I replied, pleased with the compliment and the quote.

"Report to work by eight sharp, and until then, turn around and put your key in the lock." He ordered firmly; I recognized that uncompromising tone of voice. I fumbled in my purse for the key, put it in, and he said, "Never interpret or assume good manners and politeness are a sign of weakness.

Take your panties off and hand them back to me," I did, and fortunately, the shrubs blocked most of the view. "Excellent," the Boss praised, putting them in his pocket, "Turn around, look at me, and get close--a step closer. Put your arms around my neck; good, this is nice," and he put one arm around my waist and his opposite hand in the small back as if we were dancing.

"A French twist and red lipstick for Monday, and you will wear a skirt and blouse. You will not wear panties tomorrow, and you will shave your flower, for that is my preference. You will obey me in all things without hesitation. Do I have your word, Mrs. Foster?" "Yes, Sir," I replied. "One more thing, Mrs. Foster, bring your ribbon with you."

I was safe again inside my home, looking through the peephole of the double-locked front door as Mr. Cain drove away. Things were moving fast and furious.

My life was beginning a new chapter, uncertain in many ways, but life is often uncertain. There are no guarantees, and I was thinking, 'Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal-Matthew 6-19, followed by a brief prayer. 'I accept whatever you have planned for me, Lord. I accept your divine will.'

Later that evening, the doorbell rang. It was Jerry. He is very loyal to Lucas.

"Here's the keys, Mrs. Foster. The tank is full." "Thank you, Jerry." "You're welcome, and good night, Ma'am," he said, looking at a text message just sent to his cellphone; "my wife wants to go out for dinner," as he turned to leave." "Jerry." "Yes, Mrs. Foster?" "How long have you worked for Mr. Cain, what's he like, and how is he to work for?"

"I met the Boss during a fight about 15 years ago." "You were fighting him?" "No, Ma'am, not exactly him, that would be suicide. I was at the Black North Inn up at Point Breeze, Lake Ontario, shooting a little billiards in the bar one evening. I do know my way around a table. I used to hustle pool, and I was single, reckless, and wild in those days. Lucas was there for the fried smelt they serve there; after finding a cabin cruiser, he tracked down and would repossess on Oak Orchard Creek.

I left the bar with a pocket full of money to get surrounded by five angry bikers in the parking lot. I'm no pushover, and two I can handle, maybe, but I would get a beating even if I gave them their money back. Lucas walked past them and up to me and asked, "I'm hiring; you want a job? Just like that, as if they weren't even there. I said, "Boss, you get me out of this pickle jar in one piece, and I'll follow you to hell wearing a gasoline raincoat." I've worked for him since. "Did you win?" I asked.

"Aside from a black eye and bruised knuckles, Mrs. Foster, yes." And Mr.Cain, was he hurt?" "He was like the wind, Mrs. Foster; you can't touch the wind.

Street smarts and book learning sum him up. Did you know he never went to college? It's incredible the complex math he can do in his head. He's blunt and to the point most of the time. We do things his way. Not that we don't have any input; the Boss encourages that.

If he's wrong, the Boss takes the blame. You mess up; he lets you know; continue to mess up, there's the door. When things go well, we get a bonus, and the Boss always has your back. You saw what he did with Nelson. If you are honest and loyal to him, he will pay you back ten times in the same. Good night, Mrs. Foster."

I went upstairs to my bedroom, undressed, and stood in front of the antique full-length mirror mounted on the door, studying myself. I lifted my hair, twisting it up on the top of my head, and posed, pouting and blowing kisses.

I am a forty-year-old widow; no, a desirable single woman with a home and a job.

I have choices and new experiences to explore, but first things first. So I turned on the faucets to fill the tub with hot water and put a fresh blade in my pink Lady's razor. I put a towel on the floor and stood on it.

I trimmed my thick bush with blunt tip grooming scissors, the towel catching the bulk of the hair until all that remained was uneven stubble. I then lounged in the bathtub for a half-hour or so, thinking about my new position and soaking to soften my stubble in preparation for shaving. The hot water was familiar and soothing; a hot bubble bath or hot water with essential bath oils, the lights dimmed, the water illuminated with scented candles, perhaps a glass of sweet wine, to enjoy occasionally.

I then stood in the tub and slathered my mound generously with copious amounts of shaving gel, massaging it in firmly and thoroughly before shaving gently and carefully, twice, finishing with a cold, wet washcloth. I stood in front of the mirror a second time, admiring myself, and I liked this new look. I felt fresh and clean. I also had the most restful sleep in almost a year.

I was awake early Monday morning. My blouse was a classic white tuck-in with a side tie, bow at the neck, and flutter half-sleeves. My skirt was soft cornflower blue with a high ruched fold over at the waist, A-line pleated body, and an ankle-length with a gathered bottom.