Gynophagia Chronicles: Samantha

/files/Authors/LuisCypher/

Friday, October 2, 2218, 9AM

The Tucker Estate, Blackhawk, California

From Samantha Marie Wells’ Memoirs

“It says here,” Mara was reading. “That he graduated from Eaton before he turned sixteen with high honours in history and maths... why do they spell math with an 's'?”

“That's just how they spell it,” Danielle said.

“Anyway,” Mara went on reading. “Prince James has only been seen publicly eighteen times since his graduation. The last time was on the palace balcony overlooking Buckingham Gate last year. The Royal Family has been completely silent about his activities and whereabouts, but speculation and rumoured sightings persist. Prince James is considered to be the world's most eligible bachelor. As yet unmarried, it is unknown if he has ever associated with a perspective bride. Aaron Tuttlesby of the Daily Mail, one of the foremost experts on the Royal Family, has often speculated that James' eccentric behaviour may be a product of a desire for privacy and the intention of protecting any woman he courts. That said, rumours include his being connected to organized crime, an irresponsible playboy and even an operative in Her Majesty's Secret Service.

“'They're all ridiculous,' says Mr. Tuttlesby,” Mara continued. “'The very notion that Prince James could be any of those things and not be discovered is simply ludicrous. The most likely place you'll find James is in some very secluded place where he is being tutored on how to be king, something Her Majesty never benefited from'.”

“Interesting,” I said as I put on my lipstick at the vanity-desk in our room. It was very small. It was almost a closet. The double bed Mara and Danielle lay on filled most of it. The bed was up against one wall with a wardrobe and desk on the opposite side. The wardrobe was more than big enough to contain what few cloths we had left (after the fire). The desk at which I sat doubled as a vanity with a fold out mirror. At least we had own bathroom.

“Isn't he beautiful?” Mara said. “Could you imagine getting to spend time in some lonely place with him? Have him all to yourself?”

I had to admit, at least to myself, that he was very handsome. In the photograph the Prince wore his sandy blonde hair quite short, and was rumoured to be tall for a Royal at six foot even. He had grey eyes and a look that might approach a rugged quality. Far softer than the look of men like Daddy and Jake Tucker, but still, a man.

“He is good looking,” I said. “Beautiful doesn't seem to fit.”

“Sammy's being coy,” Danielle said. “You watch. When she's a playmate, she'll meet him out there and she'll be the one marrying him!”

“Damn it Danielle! Will you shut up already about me being a playmate!”

“Whatever,” Danielle snorted. “You're EGOD pictures are going viral! Everyone's sending them around, so you're a shoe in!”

I snorted, incredulous. It was ridiculous on its face. My E-Girl of the Day Pictures went up Wednesday, and I only found out yesterday from Celine. I hadn't even had time to see them yet.

“Samantha, are you ready?” Mrs. Fatima Khan strode into our room. Since her return, she had not worn her Choli and Sari, instead opting for more native dress. She loved strapless dresses that displayed her lovely and generous cleavage. The single button that suspended the dress over her breasts left a vast open space down past her sternum, teasing the eyes with her ample softness.

“Yes, Ma-am,” I said, gathering my things. I threw on my new tweed blazer and hurried as fast as I could.

“Well, hurry!” Mrs. Khan said. “Robert is waiting! He has better things to do than to wait for you! Jenna was ready before you were!”

I was being very careful about my appearance today. I was on my way to a protest rally in Oakland where a very charismatic Dr. Liberty Bellford would be giving the keynote address. He'd been something of a phenomenon in Los Angeles, and was quickly gaining support. He made the politicians nervous, and anyone who did that was worth hearing.

Mrs. Khan herded me out of the room I now stayed in with Mara and Danielle. We were in the basement of the Tucker Mansion, the servants quarters which, Ashima told me, had not been occupied, except by the occasional guest servants, for years. Mrs. Khan had put me there Wednesday after she caught Mara and Danielle completely naked in a lip lock. She moved Celine out and in with Gracie and Jenna. My job was to make sure that Mara and Danielle behaved.

Mom was still in the Tucker-Klein San Jose Campus in an induced coma. Had she gone to a hospital, she'd have been rendered by now. But Jake had made sure she was taken care of for Daddy's sake if nothing else. Of course, we all knew Jake was very fond of Mom and that Fatima Khan and his wife Ashima simply adored her. I'd only seen Daddy Monday evening. He was with us to make sure we were all safe before he moved into the room where Mom was being kept. We spoke with him every night. Dr. Sharp, the man in charge of her care, had told him all she needed was to sleep and heal. Her nurse told us Daddy lay in bed with her every night holding her. It was simply the most romantic thing I'd ever heard of. I missed her terribly. I had yet to lay eyes on her since I saw our house burning.

While Robert had collected my siblings, Miss Masters drove me first south to Pleasanton, then north to Danville where Robert met us in the Limousine. I don't remember much of it. I was a little traumatized. But Robert assured us that Mom was in the best of care, and that she would be fine. Jake had flown his big helicopter in and picked her up from a backyard neighbour's home, then taken her directly to the Tucker-Klein campus in San Jose.

I arrived downstairs and slipped into the limousine that had brought me here. Robert, Martin Tucker's “man” was not just a driver, he was the elder Tucker's personal confidant and closest friend. He'd served Mr. Tucker for twenty five years and would continue to do so so long as he was able. He was short for a man, about the same height as Miki and Patti, maybe a little shorter, but broad and solid. He stood at the car door dutifully with a smile on his face.

“Good morning to you, Miss Samantha,” he said, tipping his uniform cap.

“Show her no kindness, Robert,” said Mrs. Kahn. “I'm sure she was purposefully late. When your mother returns, I am sure to tell her of your disrespect.” She swatted my bottom twice, causing me to jump. “In with you! I am so sorry, Robert. Thank you for your patience with this ill bred child.”

“My pleasure, Ma'am,” said Robert, giving her a wink, and he closed the car door.

I watched Mrs. Khan as we drove off. The truth was, she had been wonderful. She had flown in especially to be our surrogate mother for as long as Mom was being cared for. After a twelve hour flight from New Delhi she had arrived bleary eyed on Tuesday Morning and had immediately set to work making sure all ten of us were being properly supervised. Well, nine of us. Eric was mostly left to his own devices since his study was already independent.

Fatima Khan had conversed with each of our teachers, organizing our studies, and making sure we would not fall behind. By the end of the day Tuesday we were not only caught up, but ahead. The end of the day was seven o'clock. We went to bed exhausted.

That next day, Wednesday, Miss Masters and Miss Emerson told Jenna and I to take advantage of the situation if we thought it safe. Everyone knew what had happened, of course. But we both had assignments for the day. We were relieved of all other studies, and told to get ourselves each to a political event and cover it as if out lives depended upon it. Have the stories ready to go within fifteen minutes of the end of the event. The same again happened yesterday, Thursday. Today, I was assigned to cover this rally. To say I was feeling fatigue at all this running around was an understatement. I simply was not used to it.

“Where are you going?” I asked Jenna.

“Sausalito,” she said. “Marcus Jackson's having a rally up there.”

“You drew Congressman Jackson?” I said, incredulous.

“Miss Emerson said you've had your chance with him,” Jenna said. “Did she tell you she's considering doing the same thing for the whole class? The Herald likes it a lot!”

“I'm sure they do!” I said. They didn't have to pay for my stories. Those they got for free from PEG Wire. Jenna's were paid for to the school directly, and they had exclusive rights to those.

“Ready for another adventurous day, ladies?” Robert asked from up front.

“I am!” Jenna said, enthusiastically. You would think I would be, but I was not, and less so now that I knew she and not I was going to cover the Jackson rally.

“Robert,” I said to him, still a little uncomfortable at calling a grown man by his first name. “I've noticed Mr. Tucker seems to be avoiding all of us.”

Robert did not answer immediately.

“Give him a minute or two, Samantha,” Robert said. “He very much misses Mrs. Tucker and he's still leery of having a house full of children again. And he's preoccupied with other things as well. He'll come around, I promise.”

I was not all that confident about it. Martin Tucker was not exactly warm. He was difficult to get anywhere near, let alone close to. My longest conversation with him had been when we danced at Jake and Ashima's wedding. He'd shown me nothing but stand-office contempt ever since.

I simply don't understand, I wanted to tell Robert. I said nothing. Robert dropped us at the Danville BART station, and headed off to whatever else he had planned. Jenna and I would each take a taxi back to the estate at the end of the day.

The trip to Oakland seemed to take forever. These long excursions were the most unpleasant part of my day. It did not used to be that way for me. I found myself lost in thought about Mom, and how much I wanted to see her again. I seemed to have her in my thoughts most of the time now. Even Michael had been banished from them by thoughts of her. I had this horrible dread that something terrible was going to keep me from ever seeing her again. I found myself quite absently watching two young professional women making out as I rode, staring at them. At one point, one saw me, nodded to her lover in my direction and the two started back. It was a moment before I realized they were staring at me. Then they both gave a huge grin, someone mischievous grins at that, and went back to what they had been doing.

“... and we are being systematically exterminated by the system!” Dr. Liberty Bellford shouted to the crowd gathered at Snow Park on Lake Merritt. “The Mexicans shoot us, the welfare office destroys our families and the white man has made a point of whitening us! We're being murdered and starved and bred out of existence! I tell you my people, this must not stand!”

They cheered loudly. The crowd had a strong male contingent. I'd never seen so many men in one place, let alone black men.

“But we can solve this ourselves, people! Not with violence! No, no, no, no, no! We can solve this! And for that, you must go to work! You must prosper! If a black man sells what you need, you buy it from him! If a black man does NOT sell what you need, you start providing that product! YOU create your own business and tell your brothers it is a black OWNED business!”

Again, cheers that were deafening. You must take on as many concubines as you can and produce as many black children as you can! We can win this battle with the war of the womb, and you know... YOU know, that we have more than enough stamina to do it!”

Again, the cheers went up long and loud. I tried to ignore the sound as I jotted down notes about the crowd's reaction.

“My Brothers and Sisters, join with me. This nation, the United States, was founded on the idea of enlightened self interest. For that to work, we have to work in OUR own self interests! Or Own Families must come first. Our own sons and daughters must come first! Our own community must come first! Thank you all, and may God bless you all!”

The applause did not die down quickly after Dr. Bellford left the dais. I was waiting for those cheers to die down to begin talking to random people when a woman caught my arm.

“You press?” she asked. She had an angry face with furled brow.

“Yes, ma'am,” I replied, smiling.

“What one?”

“PEG Wire, Ma'am,” I said.

“'Kay. Come with me. Dr. Bellford wants you news peeps in the tent.”

I had to push my way through the crowd to follow her. She led me to the pavilion behind the dais where reporters were gathering into a makeshift press room. A stately looking woman with dark as night skin and a pinstriped pants suit stopped us at the entrance.

“Who's this?”

“She from Pigwear,” my guide said.

“Huh? What kind of news group is Pigwear?”

“Actually, Ma'am, it's PEG Wire. Playpen Entertainment Group Wire Service.”

“Oh, yeah. That's the one Samantha Wells is from, right?”

“I'm Samantha Wells,” I said, and the two women looked at me like I was from Mars.

“You ain't no Samantha Wells. You too young!” Protested my guide.

“Credentials?” The woman asked me as I checked the tag on her Lapel. It red Talia Washington. I handed her mine.

“Real deal,” said Miss Washington. “Okay. Come in, grab a seat. Welcome to the cause, Miss Wells.”

“Thank you,” I said smiled. Cause?

The steel folding chairs were already mostly full. Cameras were in the back. I recognized Colleen Lassiter from KPIX sitting on one of the front row seats. It was not my first press conference. That was on Wednesday. But this was by far the biggest. I managed to slip into a seat in the fifth row almost directly behind her.

“Press Corps,” Talia Washington came to the stage with a microphone in her hand. “The Honourable Dr. Bellford is about to join us. He is just freshening up after being with his people. Please, if he calls on you to ask a question, a microphone will move to you. Please stand up, speak clearly and slowly into it and identify yourself, and your news service before you ask the question. You are limited to one question. Not two, not a series of questions. One question. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Right and Honourable Dr. Liberty Bellford.”

Press do not applaud, and Dr. Bellford's entourage seemed genuinely angry that we did not. Bellford, however, seemed to take this in stride. He was a large man, big around his chest and belly, like a barrel on legs. He had a wide face and close cropped hair.

“I trust all of you have heard my speech. I believe that many of the questions I receive will simply have me repeating myself, though I hope otherwise. Please be as clear as possible.”

“Yes, the lady from ABC News.”

“Dr. Bellford, Antonia Lakes, ABC Network News. Please tell us which politicians have responded positively to your message.”

“I've actually had a lot of positive response to my message from politicians on both sides of the isle. Yes, CBS News.”

“Dr. Bellford, Kevin Martin, CBS News. How have the Vietnamese community leaders, such as Gwyn Lu Fok responded to you?”

“I have had very little dialogue with Gwyn Lu Fok's people through my own. We have never spoken personally. CWN, yes, that one.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bellford. Martina Kolhour, CWN News. The current issue of Playpen Magazine profiled you with the title “Most Dangerous Man in America.” In it you are described, and I quote, as “a man who has made both the Speaker of the House and the Senate Majority Leader fearful. Both refuse to publicly acknowledge Dr. Bellford in any way.” Yet you just said you have received many favourable responses from Politicians. Can you name one that has responded favourably and what did that one say in your favour?”

“That's two questions. You should ask the politicians what they think of me directly. Yes, you, the girl in the fifth row.”

“Dr. Bellford, Samantha Wells, PEG Wire. You stated in your speech the need for economic unity among the African American community. Do you believe that the same should be true of the Vietnamese, Korean, Mexican and White American communities?”

“That's a bit of a loaded question, Miss Wells. What you are suggesting is a racist response to an effort to save what is left of the African American community. We have been decimated. We are the victims. The others are not victims. Yes, is that the Local CBS Station?”

“Dr. Bellford, Colleen Lassiter, KPIX Channel 5. To follow up: leaders in the Mexican American Community, particularly Roberto Santiago of the San Jose City Council, have strongly denounced you as a racist, and labelled your entire platform anti-hispanic. He is particularly angry at your assertion that Hispanic Americans have been systematically exterminating African Americans. Can you back up these claims you are making with real statistics?”

“Miss Lassiter, I have not heard these comments by this City Councilman, but I will listen to them. So far as statistical evidence, one has to look no further than the FBI Uniform Crime Reports and the data on Racial Violence. The vast majority of racial violence is Hispanic against black. Those statistics include the largest per capita inter-racial murder rate in the country. This has been going on for centuries, and while I'm not the first person to speak of it, I'm certainly the one that is being heard. I say, it's about time. Mister Santiago, did you say his name was? Mr. Santiago needs to look at facts before he engaged in racially charged hyperbole.”

I tried to call up those statistics, but there was no way for me to make head or tale of the way they were presented on the FBI Website. I'd have to find out where someone had crunched the numbers into something I could understand. The rest of the questions amounted to a regurgitation of the speech, which was available in text format already.

The rally included a huge barbecue. Twenty Five Hispanic girls were brought up and roasted. I watched one of them being pulled onto a table and gutted. She looked quite out of it as she was lead up naked through he crowd to jeers from some of the onlookers. I made note of that and snapped some pictures with the camera on my phone. The scene made me a little uncomfortable the way they treated those girls. It was not overtly cruel, but the jeers were not at all kind. I did not hear a racist remark, but it certainly felt like they were just under the surface.

I was on my way back to San Ramon by four. The trip took all of an hour and a half because of train delays. BART had not been running at peak efficiency for a while. It was constantly being investigated by the five TV news outlets. By the time the train let me off in San Ramon, it was twenty minutes to six, and I was satisfied that my story was complete. I solved the issue of the statistics by finding three separate analysis, all of which disagreed, and reported each finding. In the cab ride I sent it off by cell connection to PEG Wire. I arrived at the Tucker Estate just a few minutes before six.

As we had been instructed, I went around the right side of the mansion and in through the kitchen where Miriam spent most of her time. She had a light dinner waiting for me.

“Sit, Sam,” Miriam said. I did and she placed a bowl of think soup and a pepper jack cheese, tofu, tomato and lettuce sandwich before me.

“None of your siblings are back yet.”

“Back? Back from where?”

“Jake took them to see your mother.”

“See Mom?”

“Yes. They woke her up this afternoon and she wanted to see her children. You were the only one not home, so I guess Jake will take you tomorrow.”

“Oh! Samantha!” Ashima arrived wearing a vest and cut-offs. “How did it go today?”

“It was interesting,” I said. “Uncomfortable, but interesting.”

“I see. Belinda and I have been talking very much about you.”

“And?” I asked.

“I need you to help me edit the first issue of Zenana. There is going to be a lot of material in it. Some of it is yours, of course. I also need to ask you something else.”

“What else?”

“I need to ask you if you think your parents would approve of nude pictures of your mother, you and all your sisters.”

“What?”

“Yes. Bernie Foss has called me. Do you remember Lawrence Gray?”

“Of course,” I said. Who could forget him. He's such a genius and reminded everyone constantly of it.

“Well, Lawrence Gray has been speaking with Playpen hoping to get his work into the magazine. Of course he would like it very much if he could use his own models. But Playpen will not have that and Bernie made this very clear. They were discussing acceptable ways to do this with Playmates... Of course, I was one on this list, but since I shall be Playmate next month, it is redundant. Lawrence sent a note back to the Magazine telling them how he wished he had girls like the ones in that family he decorated... Of course he was referring to you and your sisters and your mother.”

My jaw dropped.

“So, Bernie wanted me to broach this subject with you first. He would like it very much if your photographer might come here to photograph all of you. Of course, Lawrence will come first and decorate all of you in the morning.”

“My photographer?”

“The one who photographed you. It's a woman, yes? I don't remember her name.”

“Shariah,” I said.

“Shariah, very well. But this pictorial of the work of Lawrence Gray is truly just an excuse to get your mother and all of your sisters into the magazine. Bernie was very adamant about this. He regrets that your mother was never a Playmate. The question he said is this: how will your father, mostly, react?”

I thought about it. “I don't know,” I said. “I could guess, but I honestly have no idea how he will react? He's been very supportive of me working for PEG Wire.”

“He knows about your EGOD pictures, yes?”

“He knows about them, but I doubt he's seen them. I haven't even seen them.”

“Has he not said anything about them at all?”

I shook my head. I remembered the day they were taken. So much else was going on. I couldn't remember him saying anything at all about me posing nude. Frankly, I hadn't thought to discuss it with him. We were worried about the bank account, I remember. We settled that. I had an account with Bank America that I could access anywhere. I'd barely spent a dime out of it except to use my card to travel and buy lunch, and since PEG Wire now deposited my pay directly, I had not bothered to check the balance lately. And then there was everything else. The photo shoot had receded from my memory as if it happened in some other lifetime, or in some story I read about someone else.

“Maybe I should send Mother to go see her and your father to ask them. Mother would like it very much if she could see your mother again anyway. She keeps talking about what it would be like to kiss her now that it is legal.”

“Your mother wants to kiss my mother?” I felt something I'd never felt before. It was a sense of loss. Like I was somehow in danger of losing something precious. I could not get the picture, imagined of course, of Fatima Khan kissing Mom. It seemed like it was too obvious not to come together. It was a terrible sensation. I almost wanted to cry over it.

“What is wrong?” Ashima asked. “Our mothers are such good friends. Do you not want them to experience the joy that comes with this?”

I looked at her.

“So, you think it's okay?”

“You do not? Why not? What could be more beautiful than such close friends expressing their love for each other in such a way?”

I shook my head. “I don't know.”

“But you think it is.”

“No,” I said. “I don't think it... I think it's fine. I just...”

“You just?”

“I'm sorry,” I finally said. “It's just different, I guess. I mean, I've seen you and your mother both naked when I was naked and everyone was naked and we didn't... you know.”

“Hah, you are such a hypocrite, Samantha. You hoped for this freedom, and now it scares you that you have it! Perhaps I should take you to my bed now and ravish you. I must tell you, though, I have never done this! To this day, I have never so much as touched another girl when she is naked. In India, it is still illegal!”

“Oh! I didn't know that.”

“Of course you did not. You have not yet been to India, so how could you know?” Ashima stood, hands on her hips, shaking her head. “I had not known this about you till now. You can be so timid. Perhaps you are jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Perhaps you are a child who believes your mother belongs to you because you are her child. This must end. And I know your mother intends to be converted soon. Perhaps even next month. You will lose her, and you must get on with your life. Oh! OH!”

“What?”

“My mother and your mother as lovers! It would be a wonderful statement of the mission of Zenana. They go to India together, as lovers, and they roast gloriously at the grand opening of the Zenana Hotel! What do you think of this?”

Ashima had grandiose thoughts often. This one was particularly so. I had heard in the last week from Ashima and Jake that the Zenana Hotel was on schedule for opening in late January, with a grand opening in early February. Jake had even shown me the plans which had been drawn by a German architect. It was not simply a hotel, it was a resort with several buildings and a series of bungalows close to the beach. It was as touristy a hotel as anything I could imagine, and I'd never been to anything touristy.

“Ashima!” Jake called. “Oh, hello Sam.”

“Hi, Jake,” I said. “Did you bring my brothers and sisters back?”

“Uh, no,” he said. “They're staying overnight in San Jose. Dr. Sharp wants to examine them. Eric is here, of course.”

Eric did appear behind Jake.

“What?” Eric said.

“Nothing,” Jake said. “Ashima, we have to go to dinner. Dad wants you to meet Lord Grayson. Samantha, why don't you come too. Might as well, since you're here.”

“But, will your father approve, Jake?” Ashima said.

“Samantha is my guest!” Jake snapped. “And I'm the one cooking tonight in our house, so I get to decide who comes.”

“A son's defiance. My father has told me of this,” Ashima said.

“It's an old story,” Miriam observed.

“You be quiet,” Jake said. “This is my battle, and I'll fight it as I see fit. Samantha, please come help me win this war.”

Reluctantly, I followed.

The new cottage was on the east wing of the main house. It was basically a mirror of the one Martin and Claudia Tucker lived in, and where Martin now lived alone.

I followed Jake and Ashima with Eric at my side.

“You as nervous as I am?”

“More. I can't believe I'm doing this.”

“I know!” Eric said. “I've never met a real Lord before.”

“Lord?”

“Yeah, Lord Gregory Grayson. He's a big flipping deal in England. He dated the Queen before she was Queen.”

“Okay, Danielle,” I mocked.

“Hey, I can do Pop Culture too. I'm not just about lathes and metallurgy. Besides, Lord Grayson has a lot going on in Africa. Jake says he's got a huge project there that needs a tonne of engineers.”

“You want to go to Africa? Isn't it dangerous?”

“I hope so!”

“Whatever,” I said. “Dad would kill you if you died.”

Eric laughed at that as Jake opened the cottage door and let us in.

It was cosy and warm in Jake and Ashima's home, and had the faintest odour of sandalwood. A fire burned in the fireplace which was appropriate with the evenings getting so much cooler.

There was a long, five seat couch upholstered in a green corduroy like material with six matching arm chairs. In the far ones sat Mr. Martin Tucker and Lord Gregory Grayson.

“Bout time, boy! We're getting hungry and your kitchen slaves are wearing themselves out!” Mr. Tucker said.

“Lord Grayson,” Jake ignored his father. “May I present to you two of my guests, this is Eric Wells, and his sister Samantha Wells.”

“This is the boy that designed that cradle?”

“And it's making him damn bloody rich,” said Martin Tucker. “Ten thousand units sold in pre-order. That's two years manufacturing at the current rate. We have to expand production if it gets any bigger.”

Lord Grayson rose from his seat.

“Am I to understand you are an inventor?” asked Grayson.

“Well, no sir. I'm just the engineer. My baby brother actually thought up the thing. He drew it for me and asked if it could be built. So I did.”

“It would appear you have quite a little design team in the making, Martin. Planning on tapping it?”

Martin Tucker grumbled something unintelligible.

“Miss Samantha,” Lord Grayson took my hand and kissed it. Did I curtsy? I think I did. I know my face was hot and ten different shades of pink.

“My love,” said Ashima. “Perhaps you should look in on dinner. I will see to our guests needs.”

“Yes, Dear,” said Jake. “Sam, mind being our mule and setting the table?”

“No. Not at all.”

I followed Jake into the kitchen where two more people I'd never seen before stood. The man turned first, grey eyes going wide, and dropped his spoon on the floor. The woman turned, but was distracted by the spoon and hurried to clean up the mess.

“Sam, Charlie, Maureen, this is Samantha, Sam this is Charlie Gordon, Lord Grayson's all around jack of all trades, and Maureen Stratford, the most capable secretary on earth.”

“Samantha,” Maureen said. “Nice to meet you.” She was very pretty. She had this very English face of a kind and friendly sort with a genuine smile and sparkling eyes under light brown curls.

Charlie looked to be built stronger than Jake, but not by much. He had a heaviness about his movement that gave him inertia. But he was also graceful in the way he moved. He had a brown and red complexion and sandy blonde hair. His face also looked to me to be very British. Rounder than most, I think.

“So is this one of the Girls your father is so fond of?” Charlie asked with a bit of a twinkle in his eye.

“Yeah,” Jake said. “But she's okay,” he added. “Samantha's a reporter and a good one. She's been working a lot with Ashima. She's even been published through PEG Wire in the New York Times.”

“Samantha Wells?” Charlie asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“As in Samantha Wells who did the interviews with Carmen Sanchez and Marcus Jackson?” Mr. Gordon spoke in a very eloquent and understated British accent. His voice was pleasing to hear in a way I had not heard before.

“Yes sir.”

“And they burned your house?”

I nodded.

“I'd have thought you'd be a little more...”

I cocked my head, wondering at his regard.

“...a little more bookish and a little less beautiful.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Gordon,” I said, unable to suppress my smile at all. “Uhm... how can I help?”

“We need the table set,” Jake said.

“I'm on it,” I grinned. I found the plates, six. There were six of us. I found the flatware and gathered those up as Mr. Gordon, Jake and Miss Stratford set up the serving dishes.

“Unfortunately,” Lord Grayson was saying as we ate, sitting at one end of the table. “The Peers are a bit leery of the happenings in Africa. They have making moves to investigate and audit every aspect of Trust activity.”

“Why?” Martin Tucker asked.

“Anomalies have shown up in one form or another in an alarming number of those accounts. They're afraid someone, or several, are probing and moving funds around within Trust as if to get our attention. What's disturbing is that the Trust may have security leaks that allow outsiders to identify accounts at all, much less gain access.”

“Wait,” Jake said. “We're talking about the British National Trust, right?”

“We are,” said Lord Grayson.

“So, they keep the accounts secret?”

“Everything the Trust has it's hands is,” Martin Tucker said. “If the Trust is involved, they go dark. It's a national security issue for the Brits. They're nothing if not protective of the trust.”

“But we're involved,” Jake observed.

“Yes. The trust has its fingers in Tucker-Klein and Tucker Engineering. But they don't own enough of our stock for us to be a real issue. They have options on a lot more for both companies. But we still have fifty five percent TE and fifty one of TK. Nobody, not even the Trust will take that away from us.”

“And Tucker Engineering is too valuable as it is,” Grayson said. “Oh, Martin. Did you know the Federal Reserve just purchased five percent of Tucker-Klein?”

Martin dropped his fork. “No. I didn't.”

“Be careful of that lot,” Grayson said.

“Careful? I don't want that den of fascists anywhere near my company! Since when does the Fed buy stock?”

“You haven't been paying attention, Martin. The Federal Reserve has been quietly acquiring stock for the past thirty years. They've become a little more public about it. The Trust believes they are in the process of forming the first United States Trust. Questions of its legality under American law remain, of course. But if the Federal Reserve continues to acquire stock at this rate, they'll quickly rival some of the larger trusts. Perhaps grow as large as the Deutsche Kreditfähig or the Japanese Co-Prosperity Company.”

“Why does the Federal Reserve hate the Jews?” asked Eric, who had been silent beside me throughout dinner.

“Excuse me?” Lord Grayson asked.

“Mr. Tucker said they were fascists.”

Martin Tucker and Lord Grayson both laughed out loud.

“Boy,” Martin Tucker said. “Don't confuse racism with fascism. They're not the same. Fascism is an unholy alliance between big business and government. Government gets power from big business and big business gets protection from government. The benefit to big business is they get to squash competition before it can get started.”

“I don't understand,” Eric said.

“Yeah,” Martin Tucker said. “It took me a while to get it. I'll get together with you and explain it to you. Come to the wood shop tomorrow and I'll tell you all about it. Gregory, I need to know what kinds of things your people are seeing so I can have a check run of my own accounts.”

“The business with Mulsquevitch is certainly a disturbing development. We need to talk about how we can mitigate any potential damage there first.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Mr. Tucker. “But I still want to get my people on this. If it's blatant as what you're describing, we should catch it pretty quickly. Maybe we could even track down who's doing it.”

“Agreed,” Lord Grayson said. “I forgot to ask. Did you start an investigation on William Acres? We must get that started right away...”

“Lord Grayson,” Mr. Gordon said.

“Yes, Charlie?”

“I hope you are aware you are speaking very candidly in front of a news reporter.”

“Whhot?” Grayson looked alarmed. “Where?” He looked around over both shoulders.

“Right there,” Mr. Gordon said, pointing his fork at me.

Lord Grayson had an astonished look on his face and Miss Stratford sniggered beside him.

“Really, Mr. Gordon,” Miss Stratford said. “You'll give the poor man a heart attack if you do that again. You should be kinder. Next time, hit him over the head and drag him away before he runs off at the mouth.”

“Quiet, you,” said Lord Grayson with furled brow.

“Of course, My Lord,” Miss Stratford said. Then she looked me square in the eye. “His Lordship loves nothing more than to hear himself speak of things of world changing import. You should hear him practice after sex. He'll have me every way from Sunday, I'll be languid on the bed as he paces the room proudly practising his next speech to the House of Lords.”

“Wench,” Lord Grayson said. “I swear, if you don't shut up, I will have Charlie cart you off to the kitchen.”

“Yes, Luv,” grinned Miss Stratford. “He actually adores me when I get cheeky. It's a type of foreplay.”

“He looks like he could spit nails,” Said Martin Tucker.

Maureen giggled and her eyes sparkled at Lord Grayson. Grayson's expression was tight lipped. But his eyes were smiling. He had the same look in them Daddy gave Mom when they whispered together. This man loved this woman, I suddenly realized.

“What is it you find amusing, Miss Samantha?” Lord Grayson caught my eye.

I shook my head. “Lord Grayson,” I said, trying to figure out how I was to address this man. “My Lord, you just reminded me of a married couple I know.”

Miss Stratford's hand went to Lord Grayson's and she squeezed it.

“And,” I added. “Miss Stratford managed to make me forget everything you said before. Not that I understood any of it, anyway...”

Lord Grayson smirked.

“I rather like this one, Martin,” Lord Grayson said. “You should probably make her your next wife.”

Martin Tucker looked away.

“Excuse my rudeness, Martin,” Lord Grayson was contrite. “Please.”

“Samantha,” Ashima said. “Why do not you and I fetch dessert?”

I followed Ashima's lead and began collecting plates as those left continued their conversation. Miss Stratford also stood and began clearing the serving platters.

“Men,” Ashima said with mock exasperation. “Must they be so competitive in everything they do?”

Miss Stratford laughed. “I hope you can get used to it,” she said. “Gregory is as guilty of it as any of them. He'll play any game there is to play so long as he thinks he can win. Be it playing at cards or verbal combat, he will play at it.”

“I experience this daily,” said Ashima. “I had no idea they were like this. You would think they like it more than they like sex!”

“Oh, no,” Miss Stratford said. “Think of it as a prelude to sex. When Gregory has won, or thinks he's won, he's as energetic in bed as he can be. When he thinks he's lost he tends to lose interest.”

“That is interesting. I will be interesting to watch to see how Jake is... I must pay more attention to this.”

“I'm sure you'll see it,” said Miss Stratford. “Men are men... I was fortunate in that I grew up around a few of them. Morse so than most girls, some of whom never see a man unless it's on the tele till they're nearly twenty.”

“In India, I knew girls who had never seen a man at all, and were converted before they had.”

“What about you, Samantha? How old were you when you saw a man other than your father?”

“I don't really remember, Miss Stratford,” I said.

“Oh, do call me Maureen,” she said. “I'm only Miss Stratford in the office.”

I nodded. “Daddy always had men coming over for dinner,” I said. “And there are a lot of old men living in our neighbourhood.”

“What a different world it must be, here,” said Maureen. “I'll take that one,” she told Ashima. “You are pregnant, aren't you!”

“I am,” said Ashima. “I am going to have a son!”

“Congratulations!” Maureen said.

“How did you know?” Ashima asked. “I just found out today!”

“You have a glow about you,” said Maureen. “It's quite beautiful.”

“Why thank you!” Ashima said genuinely. “You are so very kind to say so. We must get these in. The men will be wrestling on the floor if we do not put pie in front of them.”

We all laughed at that, though I didn't really understand the joke. After we'd served and listened for a few minutes of verbal combat between Jake and his father (Lord Gregory seemed to be egging each of them on in turn) Ashima interrupted them.

“Father Martin,” that's what she called him.

“Yes, love?”

“I believe you must know that I shall have someone you must meet soon. I should introduce you at first opportunity.”

“Oh? Who's this guy?”

“He is your grandson.”

Martin Tucker looked confused for a moment. “I don't have a grandson,” he said. “Not that I'm aware of, anyway... I...”

“He will be born in less than nine months, I think,” Ashima said as she put her hand over her husband's.

Lord Gregory stood. He picked up his wine glass and raised it.

“A toast! To my good friends, Martin, Jake and Ashima! May the new Mr. Tucker bring you joy!”

It was as Maureen and I were washing dishes that Jake came in.

“Sam,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Robert is going to fly you to San Jose. Dr. Sharp needs to examine you, and he wants to do it tomorrow morning early.”

“Who's Dr. Sharp?” I asked. I remembered that the name was mentioned earlier this evening, and it rang a bell, but I couldn't place the name.

“I think you met him at my wedding.”

“I don't think so,” I said.

“It doesn't matter,” Jake said. “Robert is warming up Little Bird to take you there.”

“Oh,” I said. Al right. This was unexpected.

“And Jessica is awake,” Jake said. “Fatima says she looks great and she's feeling very well.”

“It was so nice to meet you,” Maureen said, and we hugged. “We're leaving tomorrow, so I won't get to see you again I don't think.”

“I really enjoyed the evening,” I said to her. “I hope you'll come back soon.”

“I do as well. I rather like it here. It's a nice escape. The last time we stayed a week, and it was like a grand vacation. I'll have to convince Gregory he needs to spend quality time with Martin... they do so complement each other. Maybe we'll bring Iain with us as well, next time. You should meet him.”

“Who's Iain?”

“Iain Shelby. He's Lord Gregory's god son. Poor boy, his parents died tragically when he was only eleven, and Lord Gregory had to take him in, much to his wife's displeasure. Iain is like a son to Lord Gregory. Morse so even than his own son. He's a wonderful boy. In fact, I think I will find an excuse to bring us back. I'm sure there's enough reason for it now that all this trouble is brewing.”

“Samantha!” Jake commanded.

“Sorry!” I said. “Bye Maureen! Bye Ashima!”

I crossed the enormous yard behind the estate. Beyond the twelve foot high hedge there were two helicopter pads and two helicopters. The larger one was the one Jake used to transport guests. It looked like an army could fit in it. The smaller one was not all that small. It seated six in the rear with a pilot and copilot's seat. I sat in back. Robert did not like people sitting up front with him. At the time I didn't know, but the fuel cost to get me to San Jose would have eaten up more than what was in my bank account that day.

It was late, nearly nine when we arrived over the San Jose campus. It was seven rectangular buildings each twenty stories tall forming a circle around three... what looked like green houses. As we drew closer, I could see that these were simply enormous. They looked like massive glass bugs. They were oval shaped, but they could have engulfed three blocks of my neighbourhood, each of them. We hovered over one of the seven toward the south end of the campus and I could see a figure waiting on the helipad.

Daddy opened the door as we landed on. I leapt into his arms and covered his face in kisses.

“I missed you so much!” he told me. I didn't realize I was crying till I felt my own tears on his face.

“Your mascara is running,” he said when he looked at me. He led me away from the helicopter so that Robert could take off. “You're all dressed for success!” Daddy said as he led me by the hand inside. “What did you do today?”

I told him about Dr. Bellford's speech.

“That guy's dangerous, I think,” Daddy said. “Be careful when you go to these. You are being careful, right?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I said. “Is Mom awake?”

“You're anxious to see her?” Daddy observed in his question. I simply nodded. “She misses you,” he said. “You know what she said when she woke up? She said 'I wish I Samantha was here so I could brush her hair'.” That so touched me so far deep down my eyes streamed again.

Down to the 17^th floor from the 21^st (the roof), Daddy held my little hand in his manly one till we came to to the ladies room.

“Go wash your face,” Daddy said.

I went inside and saw myself in the mirror. Black streaks ran down both my cheeks. I looked like a badly made up Goth girl. I scrubbed my face till all my make-up was off.

Daddy was waiting for me when I emerged. He put his hand on my back and guided me down the hall. We came to a door and Daddy put his hand on it, stopped and looked at me.

“Mrs. Khan is in there with your mother,” Daddy said.

I looked at him and cocked my head.

“Is something wrong?” I asked. When he did not answer for a moment I asked again. “Daddy? Is something wrong?”

“That depends on you,” Daddy said mysteriously. “Fatima and your mother... well, they're hoping for something from you. Your mother loves you, Samantha. My wife loves you very, very much. I love you. If you.... I'll wait out here for a while. If everything is okay, stay. If nothing is, come talk to me. Al right?” He was looking at me with those hazel eyes a bit wider than I'd ever seen them.

“Daddy, please tell me what's wrong?”

“I hope nothing is. I really do hope nothing is wrong.”

Daddy pushed the door open for me and I went in. There was a curtain hanging forming a tiny foyer. I went through it, and my eyes went wild at what I saw. My heart pounded in my chest and I had trouble catching my breath. All my senses engaged with electrical tingles shooting up and down my body.

Mom's skin looked so creamy under Fatima's bronze flesh. Mom's hands were caressing Fatima's Fatima's large breasts, and those were dangling over Mom's, the two engaged in a deep, energetic kiss. Mom's legs were parted wide and Fatima had four fingers inside her, massaging her to orgasm.

Mom and Fatima's kiss broke, and Mom's arms went around Fatima's neck suddenly, her body convulsing violently. Deep gasps came from her wide open mouth. I could almost feel the orgasm she experienced simply by watching her.

The door finally closed, the latch sounding off as it did. Mrs. Khan and Mom stopped their activity and turned wide eyed at me, frozen in their position as I was frozen in mine.

I was crying again, I realized. My tears streamed down my face, and I had no idea what I was feeling. Heart ache was there, desire, loss... and a fear so intense that it was as if I were already being sexually molested by it. Was Fatima going to take my mother away from me? Please don't take her from me!

Mrs. Khan said not a word as she parted from Mom. Mom propped herself up on an elbow with her fingers in front of her mouth. She'd begun weeping with me.

Mrs. Khan slid off the opposite side of the bed. My eyes were locked with Mom's. Neither of us could move, it seemed. I certainly could not. But Mrs. Khan moved slowly around the bed. Part of me, somewhere, noticed her mons was still devoid of pubic hair.

She finally reached me, and put her hand on my face, drawing me to face her.

“Do not be angry,” Mrs. Khan said. “Please do not be angry.”

Mrs. Khan took my hand and pulled me forward, toward Mom. Mom's chest was heaving, her breath ragged. Fatima drew me all the way to the side of Mom's bed and I was very close to her. Mom's naked body looked so small and vulnerable to me. She looked like a virgin sacrifice laid out before me, waiting for me to plunge a knife into her chest.

Mrs. Khan took my hand, kissed my palm, and gently laid it over Mom's right breast. Mom, who's eyes were still locked with mine, drew a breath as my hand made contact. Beneath my fingers, her nipple was hardening, poking into my palm.

I don't know how, but our lips touched. It was as if by magic that they came in contact, and suddenly my world was only her. Mrs. Khan must have undressed me. The next thing I remember is that I was naked in my mother's arms, warm against her bare skin, clinging to her, infrequently gasping for breath before the need to kiss her again took over.

Fatima's hands were on me, they were on Mom. She sat next to us and caressed and explored our bodies as we lay there. It was Fatima who pleasured me between my legs as I clung to Mom. I felt her fingers inside me till I climaxed. I held Mom as she climaxed again to Fatima's attentions. Mom covered my face and chest with kisses. She cupped my breasts and kissed my nipples. I didn't know where to start on her body. I touched her everywhere. I explored every part of her. Even with my small hands she felt delicate to my touch.

And we wept.

Daddy was there when our energy finally left us. He was the most handsome man in the world to me. He sat in an arm chair in this luxury hospital suite with his hand over his manhood. The look on his face was the same one he gave me when I published my first article. The same one he gave me when I made him a birthday card when I was ten. It was the same one he gave me as I interviewed Marcus Jackson on our back porch. I lay with Mom, and we watched him and he watched us, and Fatima lay over us as a nurse cares for two children... Mom and I lay there, unmoving, clinging to each other asleep till morning. I never felt so healed and so loved ever before.