"Little" Sister

The interview turned out to be a breeze. The youngest applicant, a nineteen-year-old whiz kid from Stanford, was more interested in computer models than actual people. I heard he landed in the business school. Of the other applicants, I was the only one with dirt under my nails, so to speak. One of the women doing the interview flirted with me. I think I would have earned the job anyway, but that likely sealed the deal.

Back in New Haven, I prepared for company. I had blown off my high school graduation to piss off my mother. I missed my collegiate graduation because of my thesis. There was no way I was going to miss my hooding, which meant visitors. Sean came. Mother and George did not. Mimi came, bringing good wishes from Veronica. She and Mimi were working together occasionally. Veronica's note to me had mended more than one fence. I told Mimi that I would like to see Roni again—someday. She laughed in understanding.

After the ceremony, Sean took me out for steak. His life had been almost as eventful as mine. He spent two years at Brown, then four in the Army. Big brother did not do that in the normal way. When his Army term was up, he took a place on the Board of Directors of Richards and Sons, Inc. while attending Brown's business school. Two years later, he received his BS and MBA one day and the next he became President and CEO. By my hooding ceremony, the company name was Richards Enterprises and Sean was a featured CEO in a Wall Street Journal article on young guns.

The dinner was a bit awkward. Sean gave me a family hug. I seriously missed those. We talked about what had gone on during the last eight years. That much was fine. The problem was that my looks caused problems with some of the restaurants. Worse, they made Sean uncomfortable. He was a suit and tie businessman. Grunge did not fit. For the first time, I was forced to consider that objection to the way I dressed might have merit.

Regardless, we talked until the restaurant closed, then found a coffee shop and talked until two AM. Sean had a motel room, so I crashed with him. For what it may be worth, in the morning Sean went down to the office and paid for multiple occupancy. We had waffles, cereal, and juice, then headed different directions. That was when I discovered my graduation gift.

In the same stall as my old Honda Accord was a midnight blue BMW 503 cabriolet, with a bow on the rear fender. Thus I met Shadow. On the dash was an envelope, giving the address of a garage and a paid invoice for three years of car storage. Jotted at the bottom was a note, saying I could find my Honda there if I needed to "slum for a while." Sean gives the best presents. Shadow has been the source of much amusement through the years.

For example, the first time I went to the garage. I parked Shadow out of sight of the office. When I went in to get the clunker, they refused to believe I was me. After wrangling for maybe fifteen minutes, the owner came in. He said, "Who owns that sweet 503 outside?" Looking the asshole clerk straight in the eye, I held up the keys. I have had some experience inflicting pain. That is the whitest I have ever seen a man.

Chapter 7 -- Hanover

Shadow would cause problems in Hanover, so she spent a lot of time in storage. I arranged a parking sticker for her, but even that much was an issue. I smoothed things over by saying she was owned by Richards Enterprises and driven by the CEO's sister, who might visit. That was good enough for the parking police to issue a visitor's permit. I could not park in my usual lot, but what could I do?

Much of the summer was spent in Connecticut, wrapping up my situation at Yale. My dissertation had attracted international attention. I made sure everyone knew that Dartmouth had been first in line, something that earned me thanks in the fall. In the press, I was attacked from both ends of the political spectrum. One interesting sidelight was a panel on Sean Hannity's radio show. Both of the other guests claimed that my work supported their opposing positions. Idiots. They were both wrong.

It was a big fight, which may have been the point. Hannity seemed to have at least read a precis of my thesis, because he asked the best question, along with some ridiculous ones. Of course, I had read Karl Marx. He was a founding sociologist and well respected as such. I did not give a damn about his economic theories. When I said so, Hannity seemed taken aback. It is sufficient to say that it was not the last time I was on his program.

August came, so I formally moved Hanover. The flat threw me a going away party. We had a night of five girls in a bed, but I do not remember any of their names. I went back to New Jersey for a week. It was a trying time. For one thing, I needed the Honda worked on. Shadow stayed in New Hampshire, so I was on foot. As a family member, I had the right to check out the cars, but that meant dealing with security. By then, that meant Gerald. I had a mother. I did not need a male version. What made it worse was that Gerald is tall enough to look down on me. There are a lot of ironies in that.

In any event, I mostly stayed in and sulked. I had learned to play decent pool in Boston, but Jerry, one of security guys, taught me another level. Sean has incredible hands for massage. It turns out mine are not bad with a stick. Jerry started me on 8-ball and 9-ball, followed by full rack rotation, straight pool, then changed tables to snooker. Strange game. Finally, it was billiards, which really stresses your judgment of spin and angle. When I ran 20 shots at billiards, Jerry quit playing me for money. Oh well. I considered my losses to be tuition. Veronica taught me that.

That Sunday afternoon, I threw my bags in the car and headed north. During the week I moved into my new apartment, attended faculty orientation, had my lesson plan approved by the Dean and learned the campus and town. On the weekend I cruised south, toward Concord and Manchester.

I found a nice place to get old concert shirts and a couple of bars to hustle pool. I won two dates. One was scared shitless, so I sent her back to the guy that lost her. Her panties I kept. The other girl, Marci, was at least bi-curious, so I bought her dinner and half a motel bed. Either my technique had improved or she was already leaning lesbian. Marci went off and kept going off all night.

Feeling satisfied, I drove back to Hanover to teach my first class. I was about two minutes late, so I was the last one through the door. I set my books down, wrote my name on the board, then turned to see what I had to work with. As soon as I did, I heard, "Oh my God. No way. No freaking way." That was how I learned Elspeth Otis-Endicott's name. Small world.

There is not a lot to say about the next two years. I only had Elspeth in the one class, but she never was far from my awareness. In retrospect, she was trying to get my attention. At the time, I was not secure enough to consider that she might find me attractive. We had a couple of long coffee talks about how misconceptions came close to ruining a good relationship.

Otherwise, I fit into the Ivy League sisterhood fairly well. Campus life was a lot like Yale, braless and piercings not-with-standing. Off campus life was quite different, but that was good. I grew up in rural New Jersey, so rural New Hampshire was soothingly homelike. Summer's I did research in Manchester, New Hampshire's version of big city.

I was grading final exams when I received a call from Sean. This was not unusual. We talked every week or two. However, this call was for a big announcement—Sean was engaged to be married. His previous call had him worried about losing a chunk of the company, so I was not sure what to think.

Sean sent follow up emails, including contact information for his fiancée, Sheila Schwartz. The next day I received a text from her, which I did not understand. I text a query, but she called back. I have a recording.

"Hello. Is this Sheila?"

Phone: Yes it is. I wanted to cover the plans for Tuesday. Another of my witnesses will be joining us, Francine Martel. You may have heard of her.

"Oh my God. Sean said you liked to drop bombs, but I had no idea. I love theater and I have seen her many times. She's one of the wedding party. Wow. I am guessing this is not something to spread around, but there had better be pictures."

Phone: You are quite correct that discretion is appropriate. As to the pictures, maybe not Tuesday, but rest assured, we have a camera bug on tap. Justin is really obnoxious with his Nikon.

"Justin, as in Justin Immons? I have heard some rumors about him here at the school. One of the big universities is doing an e-book of ritual and fetish items. Sean as much as said that they were from his auction. Well, not really. You have to be able to read big brother. Justin Immons was the name."

Phone: I will confirm, without comment. How involved do you wish to be in this, uh, endeavor? I understand you have considerable background in the social sciences. I want to do a period theme, hence the corsets. Interested?

"You cannot be serious. No. My God. Do you realize you are asking an Ivy League anthropologist if she wants to be involved with the re-creation of a period social event? In my, literally, own back yard? I would do this if the wedding was in Sri Lanka, in summer."

Phone: What do you mean, grad students?

"Think of them as slave labor. I can think of three girls, off the top of my head, that could use this for their thesis research. I know half a dozen more that would do it for the fun. You do understand this is what some of us live for, right?"

Phone: Just so they understand that I am a dominatrix in my day job.

"I can see why Sean likes you. You cut through the crap. He does too, but you knew that already. Ummm. Personal question, and you don't have to answer, what do you call him?"

Phone: Teddy Bear.

"You have known him, what, less than two weeks, and you call him Teddy Bear? Did you ever have him tied up? Whipped?"

Phone: Reverse it.

"Short answers for important content. Good to know. I'm a lesbian, I'd marry you myself if you weren't engaged. I am insanely jealous. OK. Maybe not insane. Sean deserves something nice. Have him reserve six rooms wherever. I will double them up and tell them to use birth control. I am going to like having you as a sister. I assume you want early 20th. Europe or US?"

Phone: US. Pool table green and white. Top hat and tails. Gloves. You claim you want to marry me and you have not even met Francine yet. Tsk, tsk. I will tie them up and whip them, with photographs, signed in red lipstick, as full compensation for their time. You drive a hard bargain. I already have one submissive. $1000 says she can take more abuse than any of them. Tuesday, 9:00 AM at the Residence. Be there.

Sean says Sheila can deliver a thirty-minute brief in fifteen seconds. The call took barely two minutes, but it changed my life.