Gynophagia Chronicles: Samantha
Monday, September 21, 2218, 7:15 AM
Franklin High School, San Ramon, CA
From Samantha Marie Wells’ Memoirs
I did not think at all about what to expect on that Monday morning. We woke up, as usual, bubbly, bouncy Gracie, sour Jenna and me all on our way downstairs to get breakfast before school. Sunday had been a very quiet day for me. I spent almost all of it reading about President Adil Naoroji-Rao. His biography allowed me to get lost and forget the world. The morning was pretty normal, except the newspaper was missing. It was delivered only as we left, and Daddy wasn't happy about it.
Jenna, Gracie and I arrived at school together, as usual, to see a crowd outside, police cars, news vans, pandemonium. Students were being guided through the side gate by the Police. Not one of us had any idea what was happening. But anyone in a school uniform was caught by the Police, and sent to the back field, where we waited.
Finally, some of the teachers came out and organized us to come to class, which we did. I did not see any of my teachers, or Principal Farmer. We were just told to go to our home room and study. Finally, Lisa, the school secretary, came in and took attendance.
“Miss Lynch,” Lisa called the new girl that threw up on me. “We need to get you to your appointment.”
The elfin looking girl stood up and followed Lisa out of the room. The rest of us sat till nearly noon completely unaware of anything. Bells rang, and we still had only the occasional teacher, none of which were our own, come in and tell us to stay put.
Finally, Lisa returned.
“Samantha Wells,” Lisa called.
“Yes, Ma'am.”
“Come with me, please.”
I stood nervously and followed Lisa out of the room and down the stairs to the offices. Principal Farmer was waiting for me outside her office with that severe look on her face I had come to know well. She turned and I followed her into her office.
“Closed the door,” she told me. I did. “Sit!” I did.
She sat down.
“The police will be coming in here in a minute. I just want to read to you what I read to the press this morning.
“We at Franklin High School are, as you all know, a small charter school. This abhorrant act of cruelty is not at all the product of our educational staff or faculty. It is the product of sub-standard workers forced upon this school by law. It is a law which dictates that the only food service employees we may hire must be from the Service Food Craft Worker's Union local 416 which has sent none but unqualified, untrained and unsupervised staff to serve the needs of our school. A beloved teacher and popular student were not culled last Friday. They were murdered with extreme cruelty. I call upon the State Legislature and the Governor to release Franklin High School from this intollerable situation so that no more horrific cruelty will occure.”
Miss Farmer looked up and into my eyes.
“I read that to the press at eight this morning. I just finished answering questions. I really don't know right now whether I want to comfort you or wring your neck, Samantha Wells. How is it one little girl can cause so much trouble?”
I was crying.
Gwen Farmer stood and came to my chair and held me.
“I am so sorry...” she cooed. “I am so sorry you had to see that...” Her long hands and fingers ran through my hair and really were a comfort. Not something I would have expected from Gwen Farmer, but then, I had only known her wrath up close till now.
There was a knock at the door, and Lisa appeared.
“The officers are ready, Gwen.”
“Give us a moment,” Miss Farmer said. She retrieved a tissue and wiped the tears off my face.
“The police want to talk to you,” Miss Farmer said. “So you need to be clear in any answers you give them, and this will go faster.”
Do I have to? I knew I did, of course, but this was not something I needed right now. Why couldn't they just read my article like everyone else?
Miss Farmer took her seat behind her desk, pushed a button on her desk phone and said: “Send them in.”
The door flew open instantly and two imposing men swaggered in. Both were well appointed in their polyester suits, badges hanging from their coat pockets. The first man was black, the second white. Both were older than my father, but probably not over forty. They were both about the same height as my father as well, but with more presence and a bit more bulk. They moved with heavy grace, the kind that betrayed men who know how to plant their feet and take a hit, and give back as good as they got.
“Samantha Wells?” said the first one. “I'm detective Chase, and this is Detective Gunn. We need to ask you a few questions. Principal Farmer will be here with you as I'm sure she's already informed you,” he shot a glance toward Miss Farmer with a hint of animosity.
Miss Farmer sat with her hands folded before her mouth, elbows on her desk.
“Miss Wells,” said Detective Gunn, breaking out a small note pad. “You apparently witnessed a criminal act. Is that true?” I nodded. “And you wrote an article about it, then submitted that story to a news service, correct?” I nodded. “And you did not go to the Police and report this crime?”
“Yes,” I said.
“You did report the crime?”
“No.”
“So you did not report the crime to the police.”
“No, I did not.”
“So, you are a student,” Detective Gunn continued. “Not a professional reporter who submitted a story to a news service nobody ever heard of before today, and you never bothered to even hint to the police that a crime had occurred?” I simply shook my head, no. “Do you realize that this little stunt you pulled is prohibited under the California State Criminal Code? If you see a crime, you are to report it or you are complicit in that crime? I have enough to arrest you right now.”
The shock of that was enough to push tears down my cheeks again.
“Does she need a lawyer?” asked Miss Farmer.
“Better be a damn good one,” said Detective Chase. “This is a slam-dunk. But we're not here to arrest Miss Wells unless she gives us any reason to believe she won't cooperate. So, I hope you'll be cooperating, Miss Wells.”
BANG! BANG! BANG! Someone was at the door. It flew open and I thought I was looking at Andrea Yates in a fancy suit. The woman wore a matching tweed blazer and skirt cut just above the knees over a blue silk blouse with a colourful scarf around her neck. Her well managed kinky hair formed a halo around her face, and she wore round lens glasses just like the ones Andrea sometimes wore.
“You are interfering with a police investigation, Lady!” hollered Detective Gunn towering over the woman and seemingly making himself bigger, the way a dragon might rear to eat its prey.
“And you are interrogating my client without her lawyer present!”
“You have got to be kidding me!” Said Chase. “When did Samantha Wells retain a lawyer?”
“This morning,” said the woman. She handed each of the officers her card, and one to me. The name on it was Barbara Yates.
“Really,” said Chase. “So you're doing this pro-bono?”
“No,Officer” Said my attorney.
“Detective!”
“Whatever. I've been retained by Playpen Enterainment Group News Wire Division, the operation which employs Miss Wells.”
“She said she wasn't a professional!” Gunn protested.
“That's not true,” Miss Farmer said. “You told her she was not a professional. She never commented on it.”
“All questions to my client will be submitted in writing and we have twenty four hours to respond as per the Professional Journalist Protection Act of 2170.”
“I need a statement from her,” Chase said.
“You have it,” responded Barbara Yates. “It was published in the local paper this morning. As I said, any further questions you may submit in writing to my office. You have my number. Now, I need to get my client somewhere private where I can assess your brutality and possibly take action.”
Barbara Yates took my arm and led me away from the scowling detectives. Glancing back I actually saw Miss Farmer smile.
She was just a little taller than me, slightly shorter than Andrea. She did not look exactly like her daughter, but enough so that it was easy to mistake one for the other at first glance.
“You,” she said as she led me down the hall. “Are a very lucky girl.”
“How...”
“Shh... don't say a word till we're in the car.”
“Car?”
She led me right out the front entrance and into the throng of reporters. Microphones and cameras menaced us as my attorney pushed through and dragged me along behind her.
“Who are you?” “Is this the girl?” “Did the police question you?”
“I'm just a parent here,” hollered Andrea, leading me brusquely by the arm pushing our way through the crowd. It seemed to take forever to get to the other side of this gauntlet, but when we finally did, Miss Yates' stride quickened and I had trouble keeping up. She had long legs and a short torso, it seemed to me. Much more so than Andrea's build.
She led me to a tiny yellow and white Toyota Smurf that had two seats and barely enough length for those. She clicked her key chain and the car beeped and the lights flashed.
“Get in.”
She drove me in the opposite direction from home.
“Where are we going?”
“Playpen set up an appointment for you in San Jose with a photographer. That's where.”
“A... now?”
“All Playpen told me was told was to get you out of there and get you to San Jose.”
“I don't understand,” I said, my composure coming back a bit. “You are Andrea's mother, right?”
“I am. Sorry. When I get in this mode I'm all business. Barbara. Just call me that. Even Andrea does.”
“Did my parents hire you?”
“No. Bernie Foss did.”
“He did? Andrea never said anything...”
“He hired me about an hour ago... no, more like two hours ago... it was just quarter of eleven when I got the call from Foss.”
She glanced over at me and read the question in my expression.
“Okay, here's what happened. Andrea's boyfriend, your brother, begged Andrea to call me, so she did. I told her I couldn't do anything till either you called me or I was retained by an employer. So I get a call from your father about ten thirty, then a call from your boss, Bernie, at quarter till eleven. He gives me the particulars, and I get over to rescue you lickity split. On the way over, I get a call from Foss again, and he tells me to get me this San Jose address as soon as I can.” She paused for a moment, then glanced over at me. “You do realize that if they had arrested you, you'd have been converted by the end of the day and in the meat department at Safeway by tomorrow morning, don't you?”
No, I did not.
“It's happened to reporters before. The police don't like to be surprised. Which reminds me, what I told them was a bit of hyperbole. They'll still want a statement from you as soon as possible. As I said, you're a very lucky girl. You have a phone, right? Phone home.”
I did. Mom answered, hysterical. I told her everything. School was canceled for the day. Daddy was home. Andrea and Reba were both there as well as our new neighbours. Mom told me there were reporters camped outside but the police had arrived and were clearing them out of the neighbourhood. I told her I loved her very much and I'd be home soon and not to worry. She would, of course, but the fact that I was out of town was a good thing. Nobody would know where to find me. San Ramon, apparently, has a little problem with large disruptive crowds in residential neighbourhoods, so the police get to enforce the law. I heard Eric speak up in the background laughing about how they were giving reporters fines for jay walking and arrested several for trespassing when they set foot on any property where I was not present.
“They're having to stay on the sidewalk! Look at that! They're taking that one down! You're damn right you got rights, asshole! You got the right to leave!”
“The boys are having way too much fun with this,” Mom said. “Hurry home!”
“I will,” I said. “I promise.”
I hung up and we rode in silence while I worked on my PDA. I was lost in it when we stopped.
“We're here,” Miss Yates said.
“Huh? Oh...” I handed her my PDA.
“What's this?”
“My statement.”
Miss Yates smiled, then looked at it. “Good girl,” she said. “I'll edit this for content while you're in there. Any idea how long you'll be?” I shook my head. “Hmmm... okie doke. Well, I'll go hit the law library and be back as soon as I'm done. You stay put till then, okay?”
“Okay,” I nodded.
We sat there for a moment.
“It's right in there,” Miss Yates said pointing at the door that had only an address number to identify it. I nodded, and stepped out of the car, leaving my PDA with Miss Yates. As soon as I shut the door, she sped off leaving me at the curb.
I watched her car disappear before I turned to the glass door. When I finally pulled it open, my ears were assaulted with gossipy cackle. Fifteen or so girls sat filling out forms on clip boards, and being chatty. Most of them, anyway. They were of all sorts. There were torn jeans, business outfits that ranged from sharp to frumpy, a girl in coveralls and a girl wearing an evening gown. The one in the evening gown looked mousy and nervous. The blonde in the very sharp looking suit sitting upright focused on her form and looked at no one.
Behind the desk a well tanned girl with streaky blonde in her dark hair smacked as she chewed. I approached the desk and she held out a clipboard and pen without looking at me.
“Fill out the form, attach your head shot, and your name will be called.” She told me. “Are you wearing underwear?”
“I have an appointment.”
“Everyone has an appointment. Fill out the form, attach your head shot and put the form in the basket. Are you wearing underwear?”
“Yes.”
“The bathroom is there, please go in there and remove your bra and your panties so you don't have panty or bra marks on your skin for the shoot.”
I took the clipboard, the form and the pen, looked for a seat, and found none. So I stood against the wall next to the well dressed upright blonde and began filling out the sheet. Name, Address, phone number, day phone number, email address, height, weight, cup size, bust, waist and hip size... I put 34-24-34 on that last part, which is not accurate, but I couldn't remember exactly what it was at the time. Mom could have rattled it off for each and every one of my sisters as well as me. I wouldn't be surprised if Miki could as well.
“Head Shot” by Email with a check box next to it... thank goodness, because I did not have one. I placed the clipboard on the counter, the form in the basket, and the pen in the pen cup and went to the bathroom to slip off my panties and bra. Those I stuffed in my pack. When I had returned, another girl had come in and had taken the only seat vacated, so I resumed my spot next to the upright blonde, who was now reading London Calling. All the magazines were taken. There was not a single Playpen in the room. London Calling, Fashion Slavegirl, Cosmo and Vogue.
“Look at the school girl,” one of the girls across from me snickered to the one next to her. Both were dressed in torn jeans and had caked makeup on their faces. They might have had nice faces under that paint, but I couldn't tell.
The woman next to me looked up at me, looked me up and down, then went back to her reading as the girls across from me snickered ever more and the rest of the room went quiet. The girl behind the desk continued smacking at the gum in her mouth and took no notice.
“Gaby,” came a deep but feminine voice from the hall. A tall black woman wearing corn rows strode to the desk, camera around her neck. She wore a tube top over an impressive chest that showed no visible signs of being supported by a bra, wide hips and a very flat belly. Her skin was very dark brown and had that shinyness to it that some black skin has. She was also very beautiful in a strong sort of way.
“Gaby, did that girl Bernie Foss sent come in yet?”
“No.”
“Let me know when she's here.”
“Okay.”
“Are you talking about me?” I asked.
“No, bitch! She's talking about me! Bernie Boss sent me!” it was the same girl who made the snide comment earlier. She stood up and approached the desk.
“Who sent you?” The black woman asked.
“Bernie Boss. Just like you said.”
“What's your name?”
“Kayla Brendan.”
“Where are you from, Kayla?” the black woman went through the forms her secretary had processed. “Here we are...”
“Menlo Park.”
“Okay, Kayla Brendan from Menlo Park... and you, what's your name?”
“Samantha Wells.”
“From where?”
“I'm from San Ramon.”
“Okay... and who sent you?”
“I was told Bernie Foss set up an appointment for me.”
“Okay,” she turned back to Kayla. “Bernie Foss is the Editor in Chief of Playpen Magazine. I have no idea who Bernie Boss is... but you...” she held up the form with Kayla's name on it and tore it in half. “...are obviously in the wrong place.”
“You bitch! Who the fuck are you...”
“I'm in charge,” the black woman hollarred, seemingly growing bigger and taller as she did. “Now get out before I call the cops!”
The girl screeched, but made no move other than to wheel and bolt out the door. Her friend followed.
“Don't let those two back in, Gaby. They show up, call the cops.”
“'Kay...” Gaby said, still smacking her lips.
“Okay, you... come with me.”
The other girls in the room were buzzing before the door closed behind us. I followed the woman into what was basically a small warehouse. There were three different backdrops, each with a set of lights around it. Only one was lit. It was the closest and smallest of them.
“I'm Shariah, in case you didn't guess. What was your name again?”
“Samantha.”
“Okay, Samantha. Get undressed and stand over there. Do exactly what I tell you. You're not wearing makeup.”
“I'm sorry. I didn't know I was coming.”
“It's okay,” she put her fingers under my chin and lifted it. She moved my face from one side to the other. “Yeah, this is nice. We'll work around it. Get your schoolgirl costume off. You just come from a fetish party or something?”
“No,” I said. I didn't even know what the word “fetish” meant. “I came from school.”
Shariah looked at me. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen. I'll be sixteen in January.”
“That's interesting,” Shariah said after a moment regarding me. “Get undressed. I've got a lot of girls to see and you cut in line. That never goes over well.”
I unbuttoned my blouse and slipped off my skirt, leaving both on a nearby steel chair. It was air conditioned cold and I was covered in gooseflesh. She pointed to a spot in front of the first backdrop and I moved to stand there.
She took my wrists and lifted my arms, pursed her lips and looked at me sideways. She spun me around and appraised my back. The gooseflesh was no longer just from the cold.
“You say you were from San Ramon?”
“Yes.”
“Horrible thing this morning there. Did you hear?”
“Yes.”
“I hope they nail those assholes but good.”
“So do I,” I agreed. “Do you see a lot of girls every day?”
“I only do this Mondays and Wednesdays. The rest of the time this is a portrait studio and a couple of up and coming designers have me do fashion work. That's the world I really want to be in. I get a Playmate and all doors will open. Help with this will you? Get on that side and pull slowly and evenly.”
She placed me on the side of the backdrop and had pulled down a silver gray backing that started off as silver painted canvas. We pulled it down, and draped it over the floor mat.
“How long have you worked for Playpen?”
“Never,” Shariah said. “I'm an independent contractor. They don't hire photographers unless they produce two playmates and right now, they only employ two: Ford Givens and Rick Springer. They're legends. I haven't even produced one yet. All I need is one.” she brought over a silver box and had me sit on it.
“See those markers?” She called my attention to several red balls on the walls. “When I point to one of them, I want you to face it. Let's see how you do. Sit on the box, look there.”
Flash!
“What's that?” She pointed, I turned to look: FLASH! “Good! Over there!” Flash! “This way.” Flash! “Now stand up.” Flash! “Put your hands on the box.” Flash! “Look up.” Flash! “Now, I just want you to walk around that box and look at everything in the room for one second, then move on to something else. Get that? Good!” Flash!... Flash!.... Flash!... Flash!
“So,” Shariah said. Flash! “No, don't look at me, keep doing what you were doing.” Flash! “What made you want to be a Playmate?”
“I'm just getting tested,” I said. “It's a condition of being employed.”
“OH!” Flash! “Interesting. That's a first for me. No, don't stop, you're doing good.” Flash! “Just keep studying the room... one thousand one... one thousand one... count as you look...” Flash! “So, congratulations on the job! Are you a secretary? I didn't know they had an office here.”
“I'm a journalist... well...” Flash! “I'm sort of being tested, I guess. I don't think they have a local office.”
“Sit in front of the box and hug your knees.... that's it. Look at me. Now smile...” Flash! “Again!” Flash! “Toss your hair.” Flash!
“So you're... wait! Just one damn minute,” she strode over to an ancient steel desk and picked up a copy of the San Jose Mercury News. “Samantha Wells... holy shit. You wrote this?”
I nodded, hugging my knees. Flash!
“Lay back,” Flash! “Look at me,” Flash! “Arms over your chest,” Flash!
“How are you with makeup?” Shariah asked.
“Uhm, okay I guess. I usually don't wear it. When I do it's light makeup.”
“Alright,” she said. “Why don't you put on some. There's a station there.” She grabbed a yellow terrycloth robe and tossed it to me. “Put this on. Take your time, I want to clear some of the girls in that room. You don't mind, do you? Are you in a hurry?”
“Can I make a call?”
“Sure. Make it quick, though.”
Shariah strode toward the lobby as I fumbled in the pack for my phone and the card Barbara Yates had given me. I phoned her and asked her how soon she wanted to pick me up. She told me she had some things she needed to take care of and would be back in two or three hours.
There was a complete vanity with all new Max Factor and Estée Lauder makeup, cleansers and tools organized as if for a department store display. It took me a few minutes to understand what was there, but I did find the blush, which I began brushing on even as I heard Shariah barking orders at the next girl. Then she was at my side.
“Okay, that blush is good, but this... uhm... 41 Taupe... this one! Use this shadow. Ever put taupe eyeshadow on? Jesus those eyes are green! Yeah, taupe and make it darker with this below... Damn, I can't believe this girl thinks she's getting in the magazine! She really thinks she's that good!”
I did as she asked, I applied the Estée Lauder 41 Taupe shadow, painted on eye-liner on my upper lid (I hate doing lower lids... I can't ever get it right. I brushed my hair and brushed and brushed. I hate my hair, and listened to the interaction between Shariah and the three girls she was working with.
I took the brush and continued working with it while she worked with the third. The girl was tall and curvy. I thought she was pretty. She was obviously excited to be there. When Shariah told her to put her cloths back on the girl, smiling and trying to be friendly became chatty.
“So you think I have a chance?” The girl asked.
“Everybody's got a chance,” said the photographer. “I'd set my sights on becoming E-Girl of the Week, assuming you get picked for a daily spot.”
“Not Playmate?” The girl's smile dissapeared.
“Honey, there are three hundred and sixty five E-Girls of the Day, fifty two E-Girls of the Week, and only twelve Playmates. You don't get to be a Playmate unless you get picked by the Board, or you pass the E-Girl Gauntlet. And E-Girls do okay. I was E-Girl of the Month for February, 2214. Third runner up for Playmate.”
“Oh,” said the girl. “So should I call?”
“No, sweetie. They call you. Got lots to do! I need to get the next girl in here...”
“Okay, but...”
“Honey, you're really getting on my nerves now...”
The girl's lower lip quivered, but she turned to leave.
“Some of these girls are so needy,” said Shariah. “Let me look at you. That's good. Do you need to go?”
“My friend said she'd be back in a few hours.”
“Hours? Jesus, so I'm stuck with you? For crying out loud. Sit down there. I'm gonna clear some more of that room.”
And she did. I watched the parade of naked girls pose for Shariah's camera. Many of them were very cocky. Some were scared. Then there was the one upright sharp dressing blonde who's chair I had stood next to. Her name was Wilma Dewes and she had a lovely body. Out of her heels she was not much taller than me. Naked, she was as humble as she could be. I completely sympathized. I have to confess that I would not have minded if Shariah had asked me to pose with her. I think I would have done so.
“We'll be in touch, Wilma,” Shariah said.
“Thank you very much,” the woman said as she dressed.
“Little more confidence on your part, and you at least get a EGOW, E-Girl of the Week. Practice that.”
“My boss wanted me to do this. She worked very hard to get me the appointment.”
“Good for her. How old did you say you are?”
“I just turned eighteen. If I don't get it, I think they might want me for the company barbecue... how long till I know?”
“It usually takes a month before you find out. You find out when your picture gets published. You get an e-mail the day of.”
“A month? Really? Wow, maybe they won't get to cook me if they have to wait that long. At least not this month.”
“The guidelines are online,” Shariah said. “I'd rather them not cook you before you appear. If there's a chance of that, please let me know so I can withdraw you. They get upset if girls are taken out of the running before the vote to elevate you. I have this feeling you're going to get it. In fact, have your boss call me. Take this, it's my personal number.”
“Thank you!” Wilma lit up. “Thank you so much!”
“Lots of work to do, Wilma. Have her call me...” Shariah escorted Wilma out and brought the next girl in. She was far less interested in the rest of them. And she worked through them as quickly as she could, showing little patience. She asked some probing questions about themselves as she had done with me. It seemed to make them comfortable, but was a bit of a task master as well. She spent less than fifteen minutes with each girl.
“How do you keep them organized?” I asked as she came back from the front office by herself.
“They're numbered. Gaby does that for me. She's a big help. I don't keep her on for her sunny personality.”
I laughed at that, and Shariah joined me. “I see you noticed.”
I nodded.
“She works on stuff as the girls come out. Every photo I take is instantly sent to her desktop, and she organizes them. Who's ever in here is the sheet she has in front of her, and she's very good at it. She's also not a half bad photo editor. But, anyway, what do I need from you... would you mind wearing a coat of oil?”
I was there another two hours after the last girl left, wearing nothing at all. Shariah turned on a heater to keep me from being cold, thank goodness, because I was naked the whole time except for my makeup and a sheen of oil (which she insisted on me renewing often), and some jewelery. She pierced my ears as well, and had me wear various costume jewelery as well as real pearls. She must have taken hundreds of photographs. Her secretary, Gaby, came back a couple of times and had a whispering conversation with Shariah at least three times that I remember, always glancing my way.
Finally, Gaby brought Barbara Yates back into the studio.
“We need to go,” Yates said impatiently. “I've got to get back home and type up some briefs.”
“I'm oily...” I protested... “Can I shower at least?”
“I really don't have time,” Barbara said.
“Okay, then,” Shariah said. “Sam, why don't you put on your shoes and throw a robe on. I have a tonne of them, so don't worry about it getting it back to me, okay?”
“Thank you,” I said. “It was a lot of fun!”
“It was,” Shariah said. And after I stuffed my skirt and blouse into my pack I followed Barbara's purposeful stride, I heard Shariah talking excitedly with Gaby. “She's amazing...!” I thought for sure she was talking about Barbara...
As soon as I had the car door closed, Barbara's tiny car was in overdrive speeding to I680.
“Andrea's at your place,” Barbara said.
“Still?”
“Yep,” Barbara said. She did not sound happy about it, and the awkward silence that followed had me fidgety. I dove into my pack to look for my PDA, then realized Miss Yates still had it.
“Your PDA is behind your seat,” Miss Yates said.
“Thank you,” I said, retrieved it, and set about finding something to do on it. There was nothing at all on the Franklin High story other than a lot of speculation and assumption. Not one new development. Teachers were not giving interviews to the press because of a police gag order. I did not know that they could not gag me, but I'd find out shortly.
“So,” Miss Yates said as we sped past Fremont. “You get bored? I didn't see anyone in there, she couldn't have been very busy.”
“She had about fifteen girls when I walked in. She finished them all.”
“Really? All those girls hoping to be in the magazine?”
“I think so,” I said.
“So, how was it for you?”
“Shariah was nice to me.”
“Always wondered what it would be like to get naked for pictures. Maybe I should try it.”
“It's just for my job,” I said. “I'm not going anywhere with it.”
“So you didn't want to do it?”
“It was fun,” I said. “I don't know that I want to... I'm a little nervous when I'm naked.”
“You're a pleaser, then.”
“A what?”
“A pleaser. Someone who likes to please people. You don't like it when people are unhappy with you.”
I thought about it. “I guess that's true.”
“You don't fight.”
“Except with Jenna.”
“Your sister, Jenna?”
“Yes.”
“I hear she's a bit of a fighter. Andrea talks about her a lot. But Andrea's like me. She likes a good fight... your brother is in her sights. She'll fight for him, you know. If she really wants him, that is, and I think she does... and by the way, she thinks the world of you! Maybe that's because your Eric's sister, and she's just trying to see the best in you, but you're a little too guarded to read easily, so it's probable she doesn't really know you.”
“I don't understand,” I told her.
“Understand this: Andrea is my baby! You play fast and lose with her, or be phoney in a way that hurts her, I will absolutely destroy you. I've had four daughters, and Andrea is my baby. She's the last one left. One is married, two were culled and there's Andrea. She may be full of piss and vinegar, but she's as vulnerable as any romantic girl. She's naïve and outgoing and trusting. She'll grow out of all that eventually, but I live in the real world. In the real world, people like you are dangerous to people like her.”
I was a bit stunned. “I... I like Andrea.”
“And you have no problem with her being after Eric?”
“No. Why would I?”
“You tell me.”
I thought about it. “Eric doesn't like it when she gets vulgar.”
“Yeah, there is that... I've tried to get her to watch her mouth. It's going to get her in trouble. But you think he likes her?”
“He... I really don't know how he feels about her.”
“He hasn't said anything to you at all?”
“No,” I lied. “Except the part about her vulgarity. He gets excited about his projects... but I'm really the wrong sister to ask. He's a lot closer to Gracie.”
“Gracie? Andrea hasn't mentioned her to me. Only you and Jenna.”
“Gracie is everybody's confidant,” I said even as I realized it.
We were pulling up in front of my home now and my entire family raced out. As soon as I was out of the car, Mom wrapped herself around me and held me so tightly at first I could barely breath, but my body molded to hers and the truth is, I really could have stayed that way for a long time. I was very aware of her breasts my chest. My robe had come open a bit, and it was easy to tell she was excited. I could feel her nipples through the thin fabric of that gray dress.
All my sisters took their turn hugging me. Celine was as Mom, wanted to hold me tightly. She's the only one who is smaller than me and I was very aware of that as well. She never wore a bra. She didn't need to with her barely there breasts.
Mom and Daddy invited Andrea, Barbara and Reba to dinner which we took on the brand new back porch Daddy and Eric had built.
“So,” Reba asked. “Are you going to be a Playpen Playmate now?”
“No,” I shook my head. “I's just something you have to do when they hire you. I guess they might put me in the E-Girl program... I don't know.”
Mom and Daddy were exchanging glances and Mom was smiling mysteriously.
“We didn't get the petition done!” Andrea complained.
“What petition?” Mom asked.
“Andrea wants to swim naked in PE class,” Barbara said.
“I don't care about that!” Andrea protested. “The bathing suits suck!”
“Oh, wow, I forgot,” Mara said. “I still have mine.”
“You signed mine, Mom,” Miki informed. “The uniform thing, remember?”
“Then I already signed one,” Mom said.
“You sign all ten?”
“Nine,” Eric corrected. “I don't count.”
“Nine then,” Andrea said.
“Why nine?” Daddy asked.
“You get one vote for each of your children,” Andrea said. “Including Jimmy.”
“Okay,” Daddy said. “I want those brought to me right now.”
Except for Miki and Eric, we all popped out of our seats and rushed to get those sheets of paper. I found mine in my pack, but it was buried and a bit crumpled. I was the last to return.
“Okay, Uniforms, yes” Daddy said. “Clothing optional swimming... no...”
“DADDY!” all of us girls screached.
“What?”
“Vote Yes!” Danielle said. “Please vote yes!”
Daddy looked around. “Why?”
“Because the suits are horrible!” Danielle added.
“What's wrong with them?”
“We swim in them,” Patti said. “Then have to run in them, then we do gym class in them all wet and it's not... it's disgusting!”
“Wait,” Daddy said. “Your swim suits are your gym uniform?”
“YES!” we all cried.
Daddy looked around letting his eyes wander till they lighted upon Reba. “How did your parents vote, Reba?”
“My father voted yes on both after I explained it to him.”
Daddy sighed. “Oh... alright... I guess...”
Daddy signed and Barbara took Reba home, Andrea and Reba sharing the passenger's seat in that tiny car. I had no idea how exhausted I was till my head hit the pillow... then I was out like a light.