Annie Oakley and Buffalo Bill Ch. 02

I'd been so grateful when my foster parents took me in all those years ago. I was thirteen years old and had lived in the orphanage since I was six. My father ran away when I was very young; I have only faint memories of him. When my mother was killed in the auto accident, she had no other living relatives. The authorities tried to track my father down but never found him, so there was nothing to do but put me in the children's orphanage.

I had pretty much given up hope of ever finding a family to live with when the Sykes came along. They'd foster-parented a number of kids over the years, and agreed to take me when they heard my story. I don't know that I ever came to love them the way you do your real parents, but they were good to me and did their best to bring me up right. What they lacked in closeness and affection they more than compensated for with their care and concern. If they were strict and demanding, I knew it was out of concern for my safety and development. If you've ever lived in an orphanage, you know that a sense of security is worth a lot, and I'd always been grateful for all they'd done for me.

So you can imagine how painful it was for me to have to confess to them what had happened. I felt I had to be honest so I confessed everything: my big mistake, my failure to resist Mr. Jorgenson, my dismissal from Consolidated. When I was done, my parents didn't have a lot to say, but I could tell how disappointed they were in me. What made it worse was that they'd been opposed to my going to Houston in the first place. My Dad wanted me to stay and do the bookkeeping for their rose farm, but I'd been eager to take on the big city and the big corporation. Now I was forced to admit that they had been right all along.

So I went back to working at the nursery. The first thing you should know about a commercial rose nursery is that it's pretty much like any other kind of farming: you're at the mercy of the weather, insects, diseases, changes in supply and demand, and all the other factors that make farming so tough.

You might think that bookkeeping for a rose farm would be simple, but you'd be wrong. Mom and Dad grew roses in half a dozen different categories, and each category might have as many as fifty different varieties. Lots of SKUs! On top of that, their nursery didn't sell only to garden stores and mass market retailers, they also sold direct to the rose-growing public. Keeping track of orders ranging in size from a single plant to thousands for a big retailer can get pretty complicated.

So for the next few months I buried myself in the minutiae of the rose growing business. It didn't take long for me to see some ways to automate their bookkeeping, and I was glad I could help them that way. But I also soon saw that the business wasn't very profitable. Interest on crop loans cut their margins to the bone, and a spell of bad weather or a drop in prices would almost certainly mean a loss for the season. It was clear to me that Mom and Dad would have to keep working for a long time before they could even think about retirement.

I'd had it in the back of my mind that if I became a big success at Consolidated maybe I could help them out a little financially. But, of course, that dream had died along with many others.

Working on the farm kept me busy. If it wasn't terribly exciting, at least it helped keep my mind off of what had happened at Consolidated. But there were times, especially in the evening, when I couldn't stop myself from going over everything that had happened.

I remembered how excited I'd been when I'd started my new job. For one thing, it was the first time I'd truly been on my own. Even college hadn't given me that much freedom, since I'd lived at home all but one semester.

I also had to admit that I'd been prideful about snagging such a desirable job with a big corporation like COG. But "pride goeth before a fall," and my pride had taken a big hit when I'd bungled those lease valuations. My punishment was to be abused by my boss, Kurt Jorgenson, and what he'd done had dredged up all those bad memories of my days back in the orphanage, rendering me helpless to resist. The whole episode was so painful and humiliating that even now it would bring tears to my eyes when I would remember it.

And then when I'd finally tried to confront Mr. Jorgenson about what had happened, there'd been that awful confrontation at his house. It was little wonder that they fired me the next day. I'd been stupid to go there and stupid to make the mistake that got me in trouble in the first place. In fact, the more I thought about it the more convinced I became that I'd been stupid to ever think I could go out on my own and take on a world that didn't really want me in the first place.

At least back in Tyler I was safe in a world that was small but familiar. "This is the best place for me," I decided, even though it made me sad to put away my dreams.

But I guess the big world decided it wasn't done using me for its amusement.

It was late in the afternoon that fall, and I was going over our receipts when there was a knock on the door to my little office. Before I could look up, a voice spoke up that I never expected to hear again: "You're a hard woman to find, Annie Oakley."

Omigosh! My head jerked up and my eyes confirmed what my ears had already told me. There stood Buffalo Bill with a big grin on his face. I jumped to my feet, ran to his side and threw my arms around him.

"Buffalo Bill, what are you doing here?" I asked in delighted amazement.

"Looking for you," he answered with a laugh, "and that was no easy task. The only phone number and email address I had for you were the ones at COG, so they were no help. Then I remembered that you lived in Tyler and that your folks owned a rose farm. But I was stumped when I found out there weren't any rose growers in Tyler named Ochs. But I remembered your telling me you were a foster kid, and I figured you must not have the same name as your parents. So I drove up here. I think I've been to every rose nursery in town trying to track you down!"

At that moment my Dad walked in to see what had caused the commotion.

"Dad," I said excitedly, "this is Bill Hitchcock, one of the people I worked with at Consolidated."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sykes," Bill said, extending his hand.

My Dad scowled and kept his hands to his side. "You're not the one who . . ."

"No, no, Dad. He's not the one. Bill was my best friend back in Houston. He tried to help me," I interjected quickly.

"All right," my Dad said, reaching out to shake Bill's hand. "Sorry for being rude, but Houston was a bad place for our Annie, and we're not real kindly disposed toward a lot of folks from down there."

Then he turned to leave. "I'll let you two catch up now. But don't be too long – Annie's got to finish up that batch of invoices."

"I will, Dad," I promised. Then I turned back to Bill, and led him to the small reception area outside my little office. When we were seated, I resumed our conversation.

"Tell me what's happening with you, Buffalo Bill," I asked. "The last time I saw you, you were being carted off to jail."

He got a wry look on his face. "I wound up spending that night in the clink, but the next afternoon they released me. They told me Jorgenson had dropped the charges."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there, Bill," I told him. "They called me in the next morning and fired me. After that, all I could think about was getting out of Houston and coming home."

Bill's face darkened. "That's alright, Annie. Besides, as soon as I got in to the office, they fired me too. So you're talking to an unemployed accountant who's fast running through his life savings."

I hadn't even thought about that. "Gosh, Bill, what are you going to do?" I asked him.

"In the long term, I'm going to do what I've always wanted: move back to Boulder and open up my own accounting firm," Bill said without hesitation. "But first I've got some unfinished business to look after in Houston."

I thought I knew what he was talking about. "Of course -- Denise. What's happening with her?"

Bill rolled his eyes. "Ah, Annie Oakley, that's quite a tale. I went to see a lawyer about a divorce the day after I got out of jail. A divorce was fine with Denise; she was eager to be free of me so she could marry Kurt Jorgenson. She signed the papers as soon as they were served, the decree was issued and we're now in the sixty-day waiting period."

I reached over to squeeze his hand. "I'm sorry, Bill. Despite the way everything happened, I know that that still must have been painful."

"Thanks, Annie," he said, looking into my eyes. "I'm pretty much over it, but it did hurt. I really thought Denise was the one. I guess it just shows that sometimes you don't know someone as well as you thought."

Then he straightened up. "But that's not the end of the story. It turns out Kurt was stringing Denise along the whole time: he never had any intention of divorcing his wife and taking up with Denise."

Bill smiled thinly. "And there's more. It appears that Jorgenson has had similar escapades in the past. Remember my telling you about Betty Murphy, the woman who was part of our team before you joined us? I found out Jorgenson pulled a similar stunt with her like he did with you. That's why she quit so suddenly."

"So it wasn't just me," I thought and somehow I found that comforting, even though I was sorry for Betty's sake.

"But what about Mr. Jorgenson's wife?" I asked. "I don't understand why she would put up with his behavior. She had to know about it, didn't she?"

"That's where it gets interesting, Annie Oakley. Edith Jorgenson apparently loves the guy and is willing to ignore his little affairs. Not only that, but it seems she even cleans up the mess afterwards. When Betty left, I think it was because Kurt's wife bought her off. I know for sure that Mrs. Jorgenson paid Denise to stop making waves. One day Denise was threatening to sue Jorgenson, the next day she left town without a peep."

"That's so weird," I told him. "I just can't understand why Mrs. Jorgenson would want to hang onto him after all that. For that matter, if he's so eager to find other women, why doesn't he just leave his wife?"

Bill shook his head. "Why she puts up with that bastard I have no idea, but I'm pretty sure I know why he doesn't leave her. It turns out she's the daughter of the former president of COG. Not only does she have all the money in the family but she also has a lot of pull in the company through her father. She's not just Kurt's gravy train, she's the reason the company hasn't fired him. What a fool Denise was to think he'd ever leave her!"

I shook my head in wonder. I knew I'd never understand people and why they acted the way they did. It was better to stick to roses; they were a lot more predictable.

But then I remembered something Bill had said a minute ago. "Well, if you've settled things with Denise and are no longer working at COG, why are you still in Houston?"

This time his smile had a nasty edge to it. "That's my unfinished business, Annie Oakley. I'm suing Jorgenson for splitting up my marriage, and I'm suing COG for helping him do it. Don't you see, many of the times when we were away conducting our audits, when he wasn't assaulting women like you and Betty, Jorgenson was flying home to meet up with Denise. COG knew about his behavior and looked the other way. In my book, they're as guilty as he is."

"But I thought you and Denise were finished," I said in surprise. "I thought you were happy to be rid of her."

"I am," he said with conviction, "but that doesn't mean I'm going to let Kurt Jorgenson mess with my life and go unpunished. And I'm certainly not going to let Consolidated Oil protect him and get away with it."

I shook my head. "I can understand why you'd feel that way, Buffalo Bill, but how can you ever hope to take on such a big corporation and win?"

"I know you're right, Annie, the odds aren't very good. But I just can't stand to one side and let all this happen to me without doing something. Anyway, I've found a sharp attorney in Houston who's made a career of being a thorn in the side of COG. She's beaten them before and she's agreed to take my case on a contingency basis, so I think I've got a fighting chance."

He paused and looked at me. "And there's another thing, Annie. I may have a secret weapon."

"What are you talking about?"

He looked at me eagerly. "It's you, Annie. If you'll come back to Houston and testify about what Jorgenson did to you, we can prove that he's a predator, that he's done this sort of stuff more than once and that COG has been covering up his actions to protect him."

I couldn't repress a shudder at the idea of having to confront Mr. Jorgenson again. "Oh, Bill, please don't ask me to do that. I want to help, but I don't think I could bear to face that man again. I've spent the last few months trying to forget all of that. To make me dredge it all up again is asking too much!"

I could tell he was disappointed, but I also saw the concern on his face. He leaned over and took both my hands. "It's alright, Annie Oakley, I understand. I remember how traumatized you were when all that happened. I guess I just hoped that time and distance would have helped you heal. The last thing I want to do is make you suffer any more."

"What about Betty Murphy?" I asked. "Wouldn't she help prove your case?"

Bill sighed. "She won't testify either. She feels the same way about Jorgenson that you do. I tracked her down, and she told me she's been in counseling ever since she left COG. She just can't bear to deal with all that again."

He looked at me carefully and then seemed to make a decision, "Forget about testifying, Annie. I should have realized it's not fair to ask you to put yourself through that."

He took my chin and raised my face so I was looking at him. "But no matter what, I do hate to see you hiding away from life up here on your folks' farm. You have so much going for you, but you don't realize it. You're an intelligent, talented, beautiful woman, but you can't see that because you got off to such a rough start in life. It doesn't have to stay that way, believe me."

He let go of my chin and dropped his hands to his side. Now he looked awkward, even uncomfortable. "Before I go, there's one more thing I wanted to say to you, Annie." He paused, almost like he was gathering his nerve. "I didn't drive up here just to ask you to testify. I also wanted to tell you that I miss you, and I'd really like to see you some more."

He blushed, dropped his eyes and started toward the door. There he stopped and turned back. "If you change your mind, call me. Or if you'd just like to talk. Or maybe come down for a visit. Or . . ." He paused uncertainly, then suddenly darted back to my side and, before I realized what he was doing, he bent down and quickly kissed me. Then he spun around and headed out the door. Once again he stopped and turned, but this time he had his usual big grin on his face. "Hope to see you again soon, Annie Oakley, sure as shootin.'" With that he was gone.

I finished my invoices in a daze. "Buffalo Bill likes me!" I thought in wonder. "He said I was beautiful!" I'd always felt that Bill was a hunk, but he was married when I was in Houston, so he'd become my good friend, and that's all I thought I was to him. But now . . .

I took the report on the day's invoices into my Dad. He took them and looked up at me. "That boy gone?" he asked. I nodded. "Good," he said. "It's better to put all that nonsense behind you."

"I think I'll take a walk, Dad," I told him.

I headed out the door toward the fields. The light was starting to fade, but I could still see well enough. I liked to walk through the rose fields when I wanted to think.

"Maybe Dad is right," I thought to myself. The idea of going back to Houston was daunting: I'd felt so uncomfortable, so out of place there. The prospect of having to face Mr. Jorgenson again was almost unbearable.

The truth was I'd always felt out of place, never felt comfortable anywhere I'd been. Moving from my mother's home to the orphanage to the rose farm had done that to me. For that matter, I'd never felt comfortable with myself. Growing up without parents had been hard. Growing up tall with my long, skinny legs and arms had made me the butt of constant jokes from the other kids. Even discovering my talent in math had made me feel different. By the time the Sykes became my foster parents, I'd already learned to be as inconspicuous as possible. Not calling attention to myself was the best way I knew to get along in the world.

But, I remembered, Bill didn't seem to think I was so gawky and awkward. He'd called me beautiful -- could that be true? Had I changed over the years and just hadn't seen it? Or was he just trying to be nice to the poor little country girl, especially since he wanted me to do something for him? How do you ever really know?

As I walked along, I noticed a pile of old rose bushes tossed to one side. They were returns, roses that buyers hadn't liked for one reason or another. We couldn't do anything with them once they'd been returned so they got tossed aside. Later they'd be burned.

I looked at the unwanted bushes lying on the ground with their bare canes sticking up at odd angles, and they made me think of myself. The unwanted roses had come back here; nobody wanted them and they had no place else to go, just like me, I thought. Tears came and I wiped them away fiercely.

Then something caught my eye, a little bit of color among the brownish-green dying plants. I walked closer and saw to my amazement a yellow rose. Despite being unwanted, cast aside and left to die, one of the discarded roses had somehow managed to bloom. I stood there for the longest time, looking at it and thinking.

Finally I straightened up and returned to the house. My mother was in the kitchen cooking. "Mom," I said, "I'm going back to Houston."

I thought that she'd be shocked, but she simply looked at me with her head cocked slightly to one side and said quietly, "Are you sure, dear?"

"Yes, Mom, I have to try again. Can you explain to Dad?"

She nodded and I grabbed her and hugged her. "Thanks, Mom. Thanks for everything." Then I went to my room and began to pack.

Buffalo Bill had left me his cellphone number, and I called him the next morning while I was on the interstate heading south. He was surprised when I told him I was coming, but I got the impression it was a pleasant surprise.

"What made you change your mind?" he asked.

"It's kind of a long story," I told him, "but let's just say I'm not going to be tossed away without a fight."

We met in the parking lot of a Hartz Chicken, and I surprised him by greeting him with a big kiss. He didn't say anything as we went inside, but he had a silly grin on his face, so I guess he didn't mind.

Over a plate of tejas wings, he brought me up to speed on the lawsuit. "There'll be a hearing in the next couple of days, so we don't have a lot of time," he told me. "I've set up an appointment for you with my attorney, Randi Rubenstein, after lunch. She's a bit of a character, but she's the best, trust me."

When we walked into Ms. Rubenstein's office, she seemed to be as curious about me as I was about her. She was tiny and round, probably no more than five feet tall, and wore a suit jacket over a flowered skirt that stretched to the floor. She had salt-and-pepper hair which she wore parted in the middle, and appeared to be in her fifties. When she spoke, she had a trace of a middle-European accent, but there was no mistaking what she had to say.

"I want you to tell me everything about what happened on the audit trip when you were assaulted," she said. "Leave nothing out."