[K][T] and Family Ch. 05

I called Emilia and asked her to send Barbara Johnson to the small conference room, with the sexual harassment package. I walked Roxanna to the door and told her to wait for Barbara. The initial portion would take about fifteen minutes, which gave me a chance to touch bases with Emilia and Helen. I did not think I would spend the day before my wedding doing a sexual harassment case, but these things have their own schedule.

I was tempted to get Sheila and CC involved, but they were in the City. Instead we did things by the numbers. Barbara Johnson had reason to know I was serious about protecting women. If Roxanna was worried about working with Sheila, we could deal with it, even if it meant moving her somewhere else. It was best to do it now, rather than give it a week to fester.

Helen was her usual efficient self. When I returned to my desk, there was a stack of related material waiting. Next to the stack was an unrelated issue, which I used to occupy my mind for the next hour. Then I returned to Roxanna's desk. Under the circumstances, this was a no-no, so I needed to use care.

I said, "Let's talk." Roxanna was nervous, but started to rise. I waved her back to her seat. Having the desk between us was important, so I pulled up a chair and did my best to reassure her. The problem was that Roxanna was in a unique position. She was the first person that would be working directly under Sheila—except CC Collingsworth. That was a potential issue. Several potential issues.

So I asked Roxanna straight out where things stood. She didn't know, which was scary. The relationship between Sheila and CC was bad enough, but Roxanna would be sharing a room with CC. Sheila would be both her boss and my wife. Behind everything was the Francine factor. I would not blame anyone for being intimidated.

I spelled out my thinking. Setting things out in the open often makes them less threatening. The first issue was Roxanna's new roommate. CC was odd by almost any standard, yet it had been her acquiescence that got Roxanna the job. I would not confide that detail, but it raised a point. I asked Roxanna why she thought she had been offered a position.

Her answer was no surprise. She thought it was a favor to Francine. That was true to a point, so I went with it. I talked about high school and the girl I had dated. Then I talked about the dance school and the relationship between Francine and Sheila. I did not need to tell Roxanna about Francine's business empire, so I pointed out that was one, built from the ground up. This built up to a point—it made good business sense for me to put her behind that desk.

That said, Roxanna had a job to do. The arrangement was like any other job—perform or face consequences. She had special experience that I could not get in the local market, but the skills were available. What I was looking for was a compatible member of a team.

I took a moment to do a quick read of Roxanna. She was Sheila's age. It went without saying that she did not have Sheila's maturity. Few did. The issue was whether she had any maturity at all. CC was almost ten years younger, but came across as more reliable. A tough standard, but one she needed to work with.

So I asked Roxanna if she wanted the job, or if she wanted something to carry her through while she looked for her own position. Then I waited for her to answer. To give her due credit, she did not blow me off. Instead she started to cry. I handed her a tissue and waited. When she finished, I told her that she had made a wise decision. I called Helen and asked for a disclosure package on the auction.

Several minutes later Roxanna and I were in the small conference room. Helen served as chaperone, standing by the open door. I told Roxanna that what she was about to see was confidential, though not for much longer. I then showed her some of the raw pictures of the auction merchandise, starting with ancient dildos and working up to the Hollywood bondage gear. When I reached that point, Roxanna gasped and reached for the page. She was a Hollywood insider. Of course she knew about it.

After a pause, I put down the image from the cover. Roxanna had seen it, which meant that she had seen the catalog. Interesting. I wondered when she had seen it, but deferred that question. Next I pulled out the image used for the credits. This she had not seen. I stopped and let things sink in. Questions were stirring behind her eyes, but none were voiced. That was not good enough.

I said, "What I have just shown you is in a published document. As such, confidentiality is loosened. What I will show you next is not published. It is closely held information, which is relevant to your position. I will not show it to you, unless you state, before this witness," I indicated Helen, "that you agree to be bound to a higher standard. Do you have any questions? Please answer aloud."

I might not have needed to go this heavy. In fact, I had not intended this conversation to occur til after the honeymoon. However, something needed to be done. LM Bujold wrote that nothing invites childish behavior as much as treating someone like a child. From what little Francine had told me, Roxanna's previous boss had treated her like a bimbo and received bimbo behavior. I chose to treat her as an adult and hope for mature behavior.

Roxanna said she had no questions. I told her to ask as soon as she had one, because each new element would involve greater responsibility. Roxanna looked torn. I waited. Helen smiled, then covered her mouth. I could not afford to smile, because Roxanna would misinterpret it. I waited.

Roxanna asked, "Why? Why me?" Those were two very good questions.

I answered, "The why is simple. The job requires it, so someone needs to know. If you choose not to see more, you will have a job here, but not the job I wish to put you in. The 'why you' is more complex. The simple answer is that Francine asked, but that would be misleading. Francine's request brought you only as far as we have already come. I would not take the next step on her say so. The same is true of Sheila. If her opinion controlled, she would be here and not me.

"The real answer is that I think you value your word. If you say that you will keep confidences, I believe that you will. I believe you are intelligent enough and focused enough that confidences will not slip from you accidentally. I also judge you are not mercenary enough to sell it. If you will not lose the confidence accidentally, or give it away or sell it, then you are trustworthy.

"I ask only that you commit your word."

Helen had smiled earlier, because she had heard this speech many times before. When I finished, she was not smiling. She was watching intently. Helen was the witness for good reason. Of all my people, only Sheila was more perceptive. I thought of Sheila, kneeling to offer me her favorite lash, and realized I was asking an oath of fealty.

Roxanna said, "OK." Not good enough.

I said, "State what you agree to do."

As sometimes happens, Roxanna laughed. She said, "Alright. I agree to keep your freaking secrets. What the hell is this all about?" I tapped the image of Mistress Cynthia, then added another that showed Sheila's face. At first, Roxanna didn't get it. Once she connected the dots, her eyes grew very wide. She looked at me, seeking confirmation. In response I laid out another image, showing Sheila's face after the others had gone.

I said, "Mistress Cynthia is a role. Sheila plays it very well, because she does everything very well. I, or my sister Jo, have more natural inclination that way. But, back to work." I pulled out the wide shot image, which was the source of the cover shot. I laid the finished shot next to it. We spent the next half hour discussing what Sheila was inclined to do. By the time I left, I had a good feeling about Roxanna's future with the firm.

In my business, Friday is often the day before Saturday, rather than the day before the weekend. Curtis has commented, frequently, on the subject. That Friday was different. It was half past three. I decided I had done my duty and notified my department heads that I was leaving the office. I did not wait for replies. If they could not handle a week of my absence, I needed new people.

Once outside, I realized I had free time, so I had George swing by the gym. Things seemed overly quiet, though I could do without the media circus. Sheila's former lair was locked up. In a fit of nostalgia, I stared at the door to Mistress Cynthia's reception area. I was startled to hear my name.

It was the Fitzpatrick brothers, from the real estate group. They were checking out some of the adjacent buildings. One was another warehouse, which could be converted to loft apartments. Sheila had her eye on that one. The Fitzpatricks were not competition for the building, since they liked new construction. Renovation was Michael Weston's forté. What they wanted was a sense of the area and its eventual use.

I asked them what they thought of a fire gutted and partly demolished block on the other side of the gym. In a better neighborhood, the buildings would have been razed long ago. The block needed to be leveled as a basic part of any plan. Putting small retail in the location, with parking behind, made good sense. Simple fenced parking would be sufficient until the residential units were complete. I asked about building a row of small stores, with the possibility of later adding a level or two of parking. Fred went glassy eyed as he thought of the design requirements that figured in the potential addition.

We spent half an hour discussing possibilities for that block and other buildings and lots in the area. Then I took them to the gym. Claudia Johnson was out, but she had left orders to assist us. I left the brothers with an assistant manager, since I had already had the tour. On the way home I considered possibilities. We had a Group meeting in two weeks. I thought the burned out block was the perfect place for the Group to start.

It was about five o'clock when we pulled into my drive. I detected the smell of baking bread, so I rolled down the window. Overlaying the smell of baking was the scent of applewood smoke and cooking meat. My mouth watered. Once the car was parked, I told George I would try to get him dinner. George's grunt seemed to say that I damn well better.

It proved no chore at all. Elder Josiah Neufeld met me at the top of the steps and offered his hospitality. On behalf of my house and staff, I accepted the invitation with thanks. Mitchell Gilbert caught my eye. I mimed washing hands. Mitchell nodded and the word went out. Shortly thereafter, Elder Isaiah joined us.

A whole pig had been roasting all day and was about ready to eat. Already set up was a long table full of covered dishes, baskets of bread and rolls and dozens of desserts. There were still children playing, but most of the Amish were gathered near the food. Elder Isaiah raised his hand and gestured for everyone to gather.

Immediately young boys went to collect the ones still playing. My staff came out of the house, the garage and the boathouse. In a few minutes everyone was assembled. After an abrupt gesture for silence, Elder Neufeld gave a lengthy prayer, which thanked the Almighty—and me. I definitely received second billing, but there was no mistaking the gratitude he expressed for bringing them to my home. It was a pity that Sheila was not there to hear it, but Gerald would give her the details.

Once the prayer was complete, I was ushered to the front of the line. As host, that made sense, but I demurred. Instead, I asked that the children be allowed to go first. This allowed me to thank all their parents for the hard work. Everyone accepted my thanks, often with pleasure, so they probably did work hard. In turn they all thanked me for opening my home. When the line thinned down, I told Elder Isaiah that I could not ask for better guests and wished them all a fine dance. He looked distinctly amused.

As I spoke, I noticed Evaine Schaefelker listening. I asked Elder Neufeld how well she had worked out with them. He started to reply, then stopped. He gave me a knowing half grin, positioning himself so she could not see it. Then he gave me a lecture on proper behavior of young people. Young people did not know how fortunate they were or how easy they had it, yatta, yatta. I was worried that the food would grow cold, when I realized that I had heard enough of his germanic dialect to follow such preaching. Cool.

After several minutes of his rambling, I stepped into a short pause, saying that I understood. Elder Neufeld clearly liked Evaine a great deal. I pointed out the she and Jo could be useful to the community. He promised to read their correspondence carefully. Evaine's eyes widened at the clear invitation to stay in touch. I shooed her away, lest something spoil the moment.

After that, the three of us visited the table. In retrospect, I could not have planned it better. We each had perquisites and constituencies. It was fitting that we dined as equals. There is a saying in North Carolina, "A properly smoked pig halloweth any cause." I cannot speak to holiness, but the the Tar Heels I knew could take some pointers from these Amish.

The meat was arrayed on platters. The aroma was of cooked pork, applewood smoke and nothing else. The cuts had a lovely smoke ring and there were platters of pulled shoulder. Next to the meat were ewers of drippings and a tangy sauce, slightly sweet and mildly spicy. I was about to tell Elder Neufeld that sometimes plain food was the best, when I realized that was exactly his point. Instead I smiled and said, "It is plain. The Lord is Good." He said, "For an English, you are not so stupid."

The rest of the meal was an expanse of Germanic home cooking. The potato salad and slaw had a vinegar dressing. Potatoes were everywhere—green beans and new potatoes, scalloped potatoes, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted redskin potatoes, just about anything but fried. There were several fresh vegetables, but pickling was a theme. Every imaginable vegetable was presented. Some were obvious, such as cucumbers and beets, but also corn, cauliflower, even things like watermelon rind and ham. One small dish looked suspiciously like lumpy cherry peppers. I treated it like a live grenade. One sniff told stories of the flames of perdition. I asked if I could get a jar for my wife. They thought that was funny, but imagine if they knew about my Thai night with Sheila.

After negotiating a heavy plate of food, I went to the desert table. Again, preserves were on display. Apple, peach and cherry pie were out in multiples. Gooseberry, blackberry and other berry pies as well. My favorite from childhood has been mince pie, of which there were four. I took a half slice from each pan and a mug of coffee. As I made made my way back to my seat, I noticed that all eyes were on me.

Realizing that I had formed an impromptu competition, I sampled each pie followed by black coffee. One was clearly better than the others, flaky crust with a tart but mellow filling. I ate it first, then the others in descending order. I finished with more coffee and a heart felt belch. Looking up, I smiled and said, "It was plain." Many heads nodded, but I thought there was one smile, immediately quashed. The Elders Neufeld watched the whole production before chuckling. Josiah said, "For an English, you are not so stupid."

That seemed to end the dinner phase. The entire group of women and children began clearing the table. Elder Josiah and I, hands behind back, walked down the hill to the midway. Signs of activity were everywhere. Before the Elder could make apology, I told him that children should play. Work would last a lifetime, but childhood ends. He accepted this, but I had no illusions that the children would not be working come morning.

Chapter 16—Three Ring Circus

Interlude: 25^th Anniversary

Cindy:

There was a lot of press in New Jersey, but nothing compares to the Big Apple for turning up the spotlights. Articles appeared in an array of publications, several of them having nothing to do with weddings.

Friday 9:22 PM—broadway.com/divawatch/martel

The wandering diva has returned to Manhattan. The occasion was the much talked about "Amish" wedding in New Jersey. Miss Martel hosted a party to introduce the bride, Sheila Schwartz, to the cream of Big Apple theater and dance. Some needed no introduction. No less a light than Susan Farwell knew Miss Schwartz from years ago.

Senior Times critic Jordan Edwards explained. Miss Martel and Miss Schwartz were recruited to do parts for a Lincoln Center production of The Nutcracker. Miss Martel was one of the elves, but Miss Schwartz, at age 14, danced the famous Sugar Plum Fairy opposite Susan Farwell. This was the first time Manhattan was able to meet the other half of the duet. This is not to say that Manhattan had not heard of Miss Schwartz. Miss Farwell frequently refers to the event.

One of the most common phrases of the evening, "She's the one..." There were at least three versions. The odd one came from the press coverage, notably the cameramen. Miss Schwartz had something to do with a famous catalog. The theater version was that she was Francine Martel's role model. That one is confusing, since Martel is several years older. I already mentioned that Susan Farwell had spoken of her often. Clearly that story has wide penetration in ballet circles.

It begs the question, where has Miss Schwartz been for more than a decade? In some ways it is a good question. Even in a room full of stellar ballet talent, Miss Schwartz epitomized grace and poise. Indeed, Miss Martel freely admits that Miss Schwartz was her role model, in spite of the age difference. So, why did Miss Martel go on to a great career, while her teenage friend languished in obscurity? In a word, physics. Miss Schwartz has an impressive bust. In the world of top level ballet, the extra top weight matters. When Susan Farwell spoke of Miss Schwartz, it was with regret for what might have been.

This is divawatch, Francine Martel's page. But for tonight, we wish Sheila Schwartz, non-diva, the best of luck.

Friday 10:03—tonkovichemilia@uniquebride.com

I have to tip my hat to Randy. Sheila Schwartz is not only going to be the cover bride (photo attached), she may well be our signature bride. Word went out that Francine Martel was bringing her to town and that they would be having dinner at Civitano's. Martel has her own crowd, but heavyweights like Pedro and Angela de la Garza and Susan Farwell cleared schedules to attend. What was set up as a modest meet and greet turned into an event.

The bride did not disappoint. The woman has impeccable taste and exudes class. Add that to a deadly subtle wit and you get Bride from Central Casting. Seriously, she's perfect. You would think she was used to meeting the luminati. It did not hurt that Martel and Susan Farwell were camped in corners, extolling her virtues, but Miss Schwartz owned the room.

Also of note was her prospective Sister-in-law, Jo Richards, who played hostess. That is Dr. Siobhan Richards, PhD—from Yale no less (picture attached). She is easily six feet tall in heels and quite imposing. While neither attractive nor graceful, especially in this company, she was the soul of courtesy and clearly understands etiquette.

We should do a sub-article on her. It will be a nice contrast to the perfection bride. When they chose the bridesmaid's dresses, Dr. Richards objected. The dress (photo attached) would look ridiculous on her. At her own suggestion, she will wear a suit and stand with the groom (picture attached, not for publication). It is a nice solution to a common problem.