Three Sides of the Coin (Catherine I)

by Lennon, Carole J

  "We have researched your company the best we can from afar. But we have found the true nature of a company can only be found in the minds of the people who come to work each day. So how do you see your company? Who do you know yourself to be?"

  That seemed to work well. His head held higher and like a bantam rooster at the henhouse door, he launched into a spiel of classic mission statement. "We are a customer focused, process optimized company that uses innovation and integrated end to end processes with a team oriented dedicated workforce to deliver value added services and products." He stopped to allow the grandeur of his statement to sink in. He smiled and stood. "I expect that should be enough to get you started. Edith is the Project Manager on this and she'll be your contact for all the day to day stuff. I'll be monitoring it all the way,” he concluded with his hand on her shoulder. With a head tilt, he swiftly left the room. Edith chased after him, looking back at us with a finger raised indicating she would be back in a minute. As soon as she left, Catherine swiveled in her chair and asked angrily, “Did he say anything?"

  "Oh yes." I replied. "He said he was full of himself, got the job on height and a full head of hair, and possibly nude photos of the CEO. And has no idea how to run anything. I suspect we'll find a lot of competence in Edith. Guys like him know how to find their ‘Ediths’ or they discover that even nude photos won't carry the day. If we do the job, the next time we'll see him will be at the closing meeting."

  She looked at me, paused and nodded with a laugh. "Then we'll need Edith to share a little bit more productively."

  We could see Edith intently trying to get Mr. Ed Withers to focus and answer some questions. When she returned she asked if she could freshen the coffees she had supplied earlier and produced some specification sheets and answered our questions on what intangibles we could expect to have to deal with. She basically outlined the typical impossible dream, something cheap and something powerful, and quickly. Upon discussion she admitted that Mr. Ed had a hand in the spec sheet and that something less than impossible might be considered. We got a better picture of what they wanted and we left at mid-afternoon to discuss our strategy.

  It was hot and muggy. Maybe there were clouds, but it was mostly sunny. We had stopped at a Gap store, Catherine being attracted by some shiny object or colorful garment. I, frankly, don't remember. What I do recall was being in the store when suddenly all the power cut out. We waited for a few minutes expecting the power to return. When it did not we went out into the streets where people ambled about aimlessly. We heard speculations. The first came and went quickly, that some terrorist had done some sort of damage. After 9/11, that was always everyone's first guess and greatest fear. Fortunately, the City government got on it quickly and announced that it was some sort of lightning strike in Canada that caused a series of trip switches causing major shutdown across the Northeast. Eventually, the truth came out that it was something on the American side near Detroit, but the damage to Canada's reputation was done with the first reports. I am sure a Senate Investigation Committee was launched to determine how blame could fall somewhere other than Washington D.C., preferably Canada. But if nothing else would work, Detroit would do just fine.

  The tourists on Fifth Avenue refused to believe that anything could shut down mighty New York for long. Eventually, as store after store shuttled their customers out the door and sent their staff home, the impact of the lack of electricity began to sink in. The subway was out of play, the bus lines were over-packed and taxis were too few and too far between, even if you could afford them. Catherine and I returned to the Ritz-Carlton and found that, unlike many other hotels, we could actually get back into our rooms, so we would not be forced to sleep in hallways, streets and lobbies. But hot food was out of the question and we found ourselves paying extraordinary prices for a cold plate food. Prices all over the city were becoming impossible. Snack food, water and flashlights were scalped when they could. Other times, integrity became more important and sane prices and even free water was given out. People trudged past the hotel like refugees fleeing a war zone. They would stop and ask where the bridge to another borough was. Though they had lived and worked in the city their entire life, they knew their home as one end of the subway, and their work as the other end. When the electricity ended, they took the word of strangers and plodded slowly home in the heat.

  Eventually, we headed up the stairs where, due to the emergency generator, there were dim hall lights and the capacity to read our little magnetic room keys. But there was not enough capacity for air conditioning or hot water. "Stay with me." Catherine said and my heart nearly stopped. "What?" I stuttered. "I'd feel better if I had someone staying with me. And since you are the only one I know in town....If you think I should ask a stranger...." She said with a smile.

  "No,” I replied. "No, I'll be glad to be your knight in shining armor."

  "More like knight in his underwear." She said.

  "What?" Again, I stuttered like an idiot.

  "The room is going to be hot." She said, matter-of-factly. "We'll both be lucky if we don't swelter on the sheet, leave alone under them, even if we are only wearing underwear. You must have never lived in the South."

  "No, but I thought they had running water and electricity there of late. When did you ever sleep in the heat?" I asked.

  She laughed, "As a kid, in the summer time we'd go camping. It was too hot in the tent and we'd sleep in the open hoping to get some breeze. As you have noticed, there is little breeze to be found on the sixth floor of the Ritz."

  Per her suggestion, we went to my room first and I grabbed a fresh change of underwear and we went to her room. There we propped the door open to get a glimmer of light from the emergency lights lining the hallway. We set the little metal clasp so no one could peek in. She showered first, as I chivalrously hoped she would obtain the last vestiges of the hot water. She came out wrapped in a terry towel, pulling a comb through her hair. "There are absolutely no warm molecules left, I'm afraid. It is also a lot tougher to shower in the dark than you might think. You can leave the door open while you shower."

  I did so and after drying off and putting on my underwear, came out shivering. Catherine stood up and rubbed her towel on my back. "Men never dry off well enough." She said.

  "And that's why women need all those moisturizers. They rub all the water out of their bodies." I retorted.

  I jumped in the bed and pulled the sheet over me, hoping to warm up quickly, but my teeth kept chattering. Catherine stood there, in the soft dark and I realized that I was seeing her in her lingerie again and rued the fact that it was so dark. While I would have loved to have had better light to see every detail, I had to admit, that like every other woman I had ever met, the dark added a mystery, an illusion of even more perfection. It appeared that she wore a lacy dark red bra and panty set. She stood there for a second and realized how cold I was and she slid under the covers and into the bed beside me. "Here, snuggle with me. I run hot," she said. I had to agree, but I didn't say anything. But wrapped my arms around her from behind and pulled myself close. Very quickly I found out what she meant by running hot. Her skin was almost a fever. I rapidly lost my chill and found myself enjoying the feel of her.

  "More Bi than gay, huh?" she asked. I was glad it was dark as I turned red.

  "I think if you keep it up, you'll convert me to the other team full time." I suggested.

  We both rolled away and kicked off the sheet, since we were now suffering from the muggy heat. We both lay there in the dark, me thinking of her so close. "You ought to take care of that." She said in a whisper.

  Again, I was the idiot. "What?"

  "You ought to take care of that. You know what I mean."

  "I'm at least a little embarrassed." I said.

  "You'd do it if you were alone." She said, encouragingly.

  "But, I'm not alone." I said, quietly.

  "I want to see. I've always wondered how you did it. You can always imagine you are with one of
your guy friends, if you want. Do you want me to speak in a guy's voice to make it more realistic?"

  "That'll be okay. I'll just pretend you aren't there." I said in a resigned voice. I knew when she got in a persistent mode, she wouldn't relent.

  "Oh goody!" she giggled, propping herself up on one elbow to watch.

  "Is the light sufficient enough for you?" I asked dryly, "Or will you need a flashlight?"

  "Oh, no." She replied, oblivious to my sarcasm. "The light is perfect."

  I pulled my underwear down to just beneath my balls and began stroking. I looked at her in the faint light, her breasts heaving with each of my strokes and I took all of her in. It took nothing for me to release. How could it? One of the most beautiful and exciting women I had ever known and here she was encouraging me to perform for her. How many times had I done this alone in my room?

  It didn't take long before the orgasm surged from my body, wave after wave, as I looked into her face, her eyes growing wide as the spurts splattered on first my chest, then belly, then dribbling across my fingers. I lay there, panting with exhaustion and suddenly she popped up and returned shortly with a hand towel and she clinically cleaned me off as if I was a baby with a dirty diaper. "You came so much!" she exclaimed. I chose to remain silent at this point, as I had no idea on what just happened really.

  "I wondered if small cocks came less than big ones. You know, proportionally."

  "Even more Bi than Gay guy’s egos can be hurt with implications like that." I said, dryly.

  "Oh, I'm sorry." She said, sincerely. "I thought you were pretty strong about stuff like that. It's not like you hadn't noticed."

  "No.” I laughed. "I have always been well aware. It is one of the reasons why I like thinking about sex more than actually doing it."

  "Well, you know I didn't mean anything cruel about it." She said contritely.

  "No offense taken,” I replied. “Let’s gets some sleep." I continued, as the tryptophan kicked in. We ‘starfished’ out to get as cool as we could and soon we both were asleep. She actually started snoring before I drifted off.

  The next day broke quiet and cool, both things surprised me. The cool weather was nice, a cool front moved in overnight and the newscaster on somebody's transistor radio said that the Canadians owed us one after the blackout.

  The quiet was eerie. Since the subway was due to be down for another day, most all the stores in downtown Manhattan would be grossly understaffed and so they did not even offer to be open. With no stores, there were no people, and with no people, there was little need for taxis. We found out that we could walk about 30 blocks to the Upper East Side where we heard there was a pocket of electricity and sure enough there was. The food was good, not out-priced and hot. We walked slowly back through Central Park and enjoyed the extra solitude it offered. It was quiet and as we passed by Barney's, Catherine discovered it was open. It was the only store open in all of Manhattan and she found it! They had an emergency generator and they taxied all their employees in to staff it. Not too surprisingly, we weren't the only ones in the store. People who like to shop will find a way I suppose. While the other people bought, Catherine did not. She was a shopper not a buyer, and Barney's pricing was a little too stiff for her. I suppose I should have offered to buy something for her, but that would have been too much like buying her services, and that was nothing I wanted to feel. As odd as the night before was, I wanted to believe, to feel, that we had a connection of some weird type.

  At four o'clock the electricity kicked back in, earlier than they had projected. We had our rooms and our hot water back, and we did not have the awkward decision about what to do about the evening. I was amazed at how out of control I felt about the whole thing and how uncertain the implications of the event. Catherine plowed through those waters effortlessly. It seemed like a non-event to her. Having me wring my dolphin for her was no big deal, another little step in a two way relationship. I did not feel that cavalier about all of this. I think I failed to appreciate the traumatic and dramatic changes in her world. Once I realized how fast things were moving in her world, I began to see how that night might have been close to forgettable for her. I, however, was forever marked.

  Chapter 9: The Agency

  "I'm glad you arrived on time," the brunette said to Catherine, extending a sheaf of papers. "This will take, at least, all morning. And if we want to find out if you are a good fit today, we'll need to get right on it."

  Catherine, drawing the stack of papers to herself, took in the vividly green-eyed woman sitting across from her. She wore a black jacket and mid-thigh skirt combo. Her, not insignificant, breasts thrust up from her very low cut magenta silk camisole top. Her sheer black stockings flashed the garter attachments as the woman crossed her long legs. She wore high platform heels which, all in all, conveyed an image of an incredibly self-confident woman. With pale-lipsticked full lips, the woman was soaked in sensuality.

  Intimidated, a bit, with both the sexy woman and the paperwork, Catherine turned her eyes to the questionnaire. The phone call had come the day before, at the hotel in San Francisco, warning her of the long event that now faced her. Mike told her that he would take the follow-on meeting with the clients to go over the kitchen colors. She regretted not being there as that was her role in this partnership, but Mike laughed, reminding her that this particular set of clients always had to have at least three meetings before they felt comfortable about making any design choices, and this was only the second round. "Don't worry. We are at least 2 weeks away from making a definitive color choice. You can take the time. Besides, you need to get this gig if you expect to get enough money to finish your house in the next decade."

  She knew he was right and put the anxiety to the back of her mind while she puzzled over the questions. They seemed to be all over the place and she wondered if there was a random question generator at work here, or a deep psychological study on distraction and concentration; or a subtle set of questions aimed at sussing out whether the victim of this quiz was lying or consistent over the two hour examination. With a sigh, she trudged through the questions.

  La Boheme is a: a.) Symphony b.)Opera c.)Restaurant d.) Town south of Paris in France

  The 'Organ Symphony’ was written by: a.)Bach b.)Saint-Saens c.) Mendelssohn d.)Handel

  True-False: The salad fork should be found at the top of the plate.

  True-False: When introducing two people, introduce the woman to the man first.

  True-False: Never applaud between movements in a symphony, only at the end.

  After two hours of art, music and etiquette questions, Catherine looked up feeling like her brain had been drug across burning coals. She had been raised in a mid-American culture of reasonable limits. She never chewed with her mouth open, would never even imagine herself rude to anyone, knew the difference between a symphony and a Choral work, and knew which fork to use as long as the quantity of silverware did not exceed 6 pieces (Her two stand bys: 1.) Always take from the outside in and 2.) Watch and follow your host). But the test seemed to require someone reared by the queen mother, but wouldn't know how to bake a loaf of bread or know where to store the vacuum. She worried that she would be found lacking as a courtesan, an escort. Her mission, her paid mission to make the man, an unknown but wealthy man feel comfortable would be at risk. The ambivalent feelings she harbored that morning on the way to this meeting seemed less ambivalent now. She wanted this job. She wanted this challenge, and she was a bit depressed that she seemed to be letting herself down.

  The third hour found her back with the sexy brunette, who, Catherine finally remembered in the middle of the test, was named Cynthia. At first, Catherine was reluctant to call her that because it was merely a voice on the phone yesterday that was named Cynthia, but then the smoky voice of the woman before her confirmed her suspicions that they were one and the same. Catherine had a pretty good spider sense about people. This man, in ten words, could assure her that he was an ass. In two sentences this w
oman was trustworthy, or this woman she would trust as far as she could throw a bull by the tail. Cynthia, Catherine deemed, was a straight shooter.

  "Well, are you sleeping with Mike?" Was her stunning first question.

  Catherine, blushing, did not hesitate for a second, "Of course not." Even though they had been affectionate in their gestures during discussions and clothes buying trips, she knew the gist of the question was about having sex, not about being sensual. Besides, Mike being gay should have been a clue to Cynthia. Perhaps this is a test of her discretion.

  "I have to ask," the brunette continued, "I need to know if there will be conflicts for me to contend with."

  Catherine felt a little wind come out of her sails. "You do know that I am married?"

  "Yes, of course," replied the other, "I knew that from the beginning."

  "I would consider that a potential conflict of interest, if I thought I was expected to have sex with the clients, which I really wasn't anticipating. I thought this was about being a bauble on the arm of someone for show, not being a high priced call girl."

  Cynthia gave a soft smile and said, "I think you have it right. The husband thing, we find, is not often a problem. Husbands and wives have rhythms of give and takes. By the time the wives, or occasionally husbands, show up here, they both know how far they are willing to go. New boy and girlfriends are a different thing altogether. The thrills of the first flush of sexual relationships bring daring thoughts, but often fall prey to unimagined jealousies. We can't risk any of this for those."

  "My husband isn't to know. And I am not going to have sex with these men! This is my presence and wit for money, not anything else."