by Nesly Clerge
“I love it. But how will—?”
“Funding? I read your mind. Let me remind you that a good number of our top members are wealthy. Seriously so. Plus, there are the worldwide contributions. Naturally, each group has to keep some of what they collect for their own purposes, but they send ten percent to headquarters. Some of the wealthier members have agreed to sponsor several girls, some as many as twenty a year or even throughout their entire time here.”
“It almost sounds as though they know your ultimate goal.”
Patricia winked. “Some of them do. Some of them live in places where women are oppressed. They put up with it because they have to. However, they’re committed to changing this, no matter if it takes a generation or two.”
“And, I assume, some of them do this under the noses of their male overlords.”
“They’re women of vision and hope for women’s futures. I leave what they tell their husbands about this expenditure to them.”
“I’m more than impressed.”
She rolled the papers up and put them away. “The only way to make a long-term difference is to start them young or, if older, as soon as possible. Even if we have a young woman for one year, she’ll leave here believing in herself and her rights as a woman, and with skills that will never fail her.”
I walked to the window and fixed my gaze on Caitlin’s tree. “Borrowing from John Milton, we’ll untwist ‘all the chains that tie the hidden soul of harmony.’”
“The only way for peace and harmony to ever exist on this planet is for women to take over.”
“Men aren’t going to know what hit them.”
CHAPTER 68
The next three years went by in a relative flash as I continued to complete requirements to become licensed. Patricia’s school was still under construction, but closer to being completed than not. The slight delay was a result of safety modifications she decided to add, plus expansion—she wanted to go big—and issues over décor.
For my twenty-eighth birthday, Patricia gave me a relatively new invention—an iPhone—and prepaid my bill for two years. It was yet another extravagant gift from her.
I no longer had to wait for Jenni to be out of the room so I could talk on my landline phone. This wasn’t a result of now being able to talk anywhere. It was a result of my having moved into a furnished efficiency apartment, inexpensive, but adequate for the little time I spent there. As did others at the hospital, I kept the phone on vibrate. Each time a call or text came in, it never failed to bring Mama to mind.
It was while scrolling through the directory that I saw Abigail’s name. It had been awhile since we’d spoken. I thought of the topics we usually discussed when we did speak, and the ones I never brought up or ever intended to. Things were going well in my life, and I wondered if she’d still be as happy for my successes as she’d once been.
Nostalgia has a way of cropping up uninvited. Depending on circumstances, I found such times either soothing or annoying. At the moment, I found myself wishing to hear her voice, no matter what she chose to discuss.
I pressed the call button, only to decide after the first ring to disengage. Abigail’s sexual proclivities and extracurricular activities, which did and didn’t involve Hubby-Buns, were not topics I relished. It was, however, Abigail’s favorite topic, and she would go on and on about this, as though I wasn’t even there, unless I stopped her. When it came to men, Abigail was magnetic, or easy—I couldn’t decide which—and with a strong tendency to attract trouble.
She knew how I felt regarding this and expressed dismay that I no longer was curious as when we were teens. I tried to explain my why to her but she couldn’t or wouldn’t hear me. I’d been curious about her adventures back then solely because of the scientific aspect. Her tales served as edification regarding something I had no personal desire to experience. I’d experienced enough of the up-close-and-personal aspects prior to that time, and since, and continued to regard it as distasteful.
I slipped the phone back into my pocket and felt it vibrate. Abigail, calling back. I thought about answering. That’s as far as it went. This decision was partially my reticence to hear about her latest foray and also because I’d never entirely forgiven her for what she’d subjected me to, and the consequences. I didn’t want to feel that way toward her but I did.
I’d speak with her again one day.
Today wasn’t that day.
CHAPTER 69
Patricia handed me a cup of tea then took a seat in her chair. “You once told me you had a list of men’s names. As far as I know, you’ve scratched a line through two of them.”
“That number hasn’t changed. One was a definite name, the other was the question mark. I didn’t write his name in. He didn’t deserve it.”
“What about the others? Any special plans for them?”
“I’ll deal with them when the time is right.”
Patricia nodded and rested her cup and saucer on the small table next to her. “Any chance you’re available this Saturday?”
“I can arrange it. What’s going on?”
“Membership has expanded quite a lot since you joined us.”
“I noticed.”
“In order to facilitate and protect our short-term and ultimate goals, we—me, Agatha, Brenda, and Connie—realized we needed to create two membership groups. There will now be the regular members and a select group. Regular members will know only what the public and government know about our organization. The others will know more, based on their performance over time.”
“You’re saying they’ll have to prove themselves, like I did.”
Patricia smiled. “I had no doubts about you or your value to us, but I did need to be certain you were dedicated.”
“How do you decide who’s who?”
“We’ve assigned ten women, who don’t know more than we’ve told them, to keep their eyes and ears open as they engage with non-member meeting attendees as well as existing and new members. They look at or for women who’ve been through a traumatic event perpetuated by a man and are ready to take a stand, and or those who can contribute to our goals in a significant way.”
“And you trust these women to discern this?”
“They were carefully selected. These are women who’ve dealt with the public and individuals in particular ways. They can read people quite well. They include a social worker, lawyer, cop, a counselor—all women who know what to look for.” She laughed. “One is a bartender. But they’re all expert at body language and watching a person’s eyes.”
“What’s my role in this?”
“Sit in with me as I conduct interviews.”
“I’m happy to, but why?”
“I value your opinion.”
“Reading people is not an expertise I possess.”
“You’re better at it than you know.”
I’d managed to switch shifts with someone so I could have the weekend off. Good thing, too. There were three hundred interviews scheduled for that weekend. It took four women—Patricia, Connie, Agatha, and Brenda—two days to interview seventy-five women each.
In a room other than Patricia’s office, I listened to the Q&A, made comments to her during the intervals we were alone in the room, and, with Connie’s help, took the files to the tech fairies at the end of each day. The files stayed in four batches so that each interviewer received her specific files once whatever the techs did was completed. Apparently, it was an all-hands-on-deck situation, as twenty-five techs occupied a computer each down in the lab.
That Sunday, when we returned upstairs, Connie took our orders and left to get take-out food. We ate and waited for the techs to finish their tasks.
While we waited, I asked what the techs were doing.
Connie said, “These particular members have to be vetted down to their toenails.”
I glanced at each of the four women. “What exactly do you look for?”
The others turned to Patricia, who said, “A variety of things.
Finances, marriages, divorces, other relationships, criminal records, and …”
“And?”
“Religious affiliations or beliefs.”
“Does that matter?”
“Absolutely. The one type of woman we don’t want in our exclusive group is one with strong religious beliefs that align with submissiveness of women to men.”
“That could be tricky,” I said. “Most members, at one time or another, and in some measure, have been submissive.”
Brenda leaned forward in her chair. “The difference is that the women we’re interested in are the ones who were forced into submission by cultural or religious beliefs and rejected it. Neither do we want the ones who volunteer to submit, whether that’s a result of dogma or a desire for a man to take care of them.”
“I’m not religious,” Patricia said, “though do believe in a higher power. However, I question—make that adamantly disagree—with submission of women cited in the Bible. I suspect when Constantine did his machinations at Nicea, he had his minions omit passages about women being equal and changed texts in order to subjugate women.
“Women who attain specific roles and responsibilities in top levels here cannot succumb to dogma that proclaims men as natural rulers, heads of households, or the boss of women.”
I nodded once. “That explains some of the questions.”
“Indeed. But people are prone to lie if they think it’ll get them where they want to be. We not only have to be careful about our selections, but make certain we avoid infiltrators.”
“No Bible believers, then?”
Patricia snorted a laugh. “Good book, my fanny. Not one of those tomes proclaims women as equals. One thing I’m certain of is that a new book will be written and followed one day, one we or those who come after us write.”
We discussed this and other things for another two hours, interrupted only when the hidden door opened and four techs brought the files to us with the reports tucked inside each file. The techs left as silently as they’d arrived.
Patricia and I took the sofa. The others went to a conference table at the other end of the room. A few hours and a lengthy discussion later, fifty women were selected.
Among those chosen were doctors, research scientists, engineers, educators from various grade levels and areas of expertise, psychologists and therapists, a few policewomen, a few bank executives, one CPA, and one sanitation worker.
I sat back and yawned. “A diverse group for certain.”
“Yes,” Patricia said. “We need to be covered when specific knowledge is needed or particular tasks need to be done.”
“I get that about all but the sanitation worker.”
“Everyone has a role. Use your imagination. Can you think of even one instance when someone in that field might prove useful?” She tilted her head and waited.
It didn’t take long. “Definitely.”
Connie stood and stretched. “No grass grows on her head.”
CHAPTER 70
This interview process was held once a month after that first one I attended. I wasn’t always available but made a point to try to be. How many women were interviewed varied, sometimes almost as many as the first batch and sometimes only a small percentage of that number. The women accepted were put on probation, without their knowledge, of course. I’d asked Patricia if each woman interviewed knew what it was about.
“Better if they don’t. At least, not until their probationary period is over, and if they warrant being elevated to the level just below the top one.”
“How long is probation?”
“A minimum of two years. It all depends on how involved they become, how well they perform, and how trustworthy they prove themselves to be.”
“What do you tell them? After all, if they talk to some of the regular members who’ve never been interviewed, won’t they, and the regular members, get suspicious?”
“We say that we occasionally look for women with particular skill sets. If necessary, we say it’s for placement purposes, either within the organization or in the general public. Most of our members are content to receive the basic care and advancement we offer.”
I chuckled and said, “You and the other three are adept liars.”
“Dearest Katherine, women have been forced to lie with men and to them since the beginning of time.”
My smile departed. “Forced is the right word.”
She made eye contact with me and said, “Only until we turn the tables on them.” She smoothed her hair and said, “They should have been smart enough to realize they could piss us off only for so long.”
“They should have never, to use your words, pissed us off in the first place.”
Four months later, I sat for and aced Step 3, received my license as a qualified medical doctor, and gave notice to a disappointed hospital. I spent time in the lab at headquarters, exploring the equipment and conversing with the scientists. But the need for medical care at the headquarters facility became greater sooner than anticipated.
A select number of members who were doctors and nurses, which included me, joined Agatha in her efforts to tend to the homeless women and children and some of the more destitute or abused new members. Those who could pay nothing received free care. Those who could afford to contribute toward costs, even if only a dollar, did so.
I split my time between the medical facility and adhering to Patricia’s request that I learn more about the administrative side of the organization. She started by explaining the financial aspects then gave me limited responsibilities, all the while monitoring how I did. Always good with numbers and logic, I did well. Soon, I oversaw the handling of contributions, regulating expenses, and managing payment of full- and part-time staffers who were compensated by salary or hourly. Fortunately, I wasn’t involved with any aspect regarding volunteers, of which there was a substantive number.
Patricia did something else for me—she threw a massive party to celebrate my certification, complete with giant banners proclaiming my success and party favors for guests. Thankfully, the day was sunny and comfortable, because women and girls of all ages and backgrounds crowded the appointed rooms inside as well as spilled onto the grounds. Caterers and wait staff—all women—bustled about at warp speed, keeping food trays and platters filled and fluted glasses topped.
“Did you invite every woman in Palo Alto and its environs?” I asked.
Patricia laughed and grabbed a fresh glass of champagne for her and one filled with punch for me. “It certainly looks like it. I couldn’t have gotten this kind of response and promotion by running an advertising campaign, which would have cost a bundle.”
“What’s this party going to cost WAM?”
“Nothing. I’m paying.”
I faced her, eyebrows arched. “Do you realize how much of this could be deducted as a legitimate expense?”
“Katherine, there are expenditures and there are investments. You need to distinguish between the two.” She wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “You’re one of the best investments of my life.”
Tears spilled onto my cheeks.
She grabbed a clean cocktail napkin from the tray of a passing waitperson and handed it to me. “Surely, after all this time, you know how I feel about you. You’re the daughter I always wanted.”
I nodded and used the napkin to dry my eyes. “You mean as much to me. But I can’t help but think about Mama and what she’d say if she were standing here with us.”
“She’d be so proud of you, as we all are.”
“I’m going to tidy myself up. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Find me outside. I’m going to make the rounds.”
The cold water I splashed on my face in the ladies room revived me somewhat, but the heaviness in my heart about Mama’s absence refused to diminish. Only one thing could lighten that burden in some measure. I found a room off-limits to guests and called Abigail. No answer. I sent her a text and asked that she call me right away. Five minutes went by
with no response. I needed to return to the party.
I fixed a smile on my face and joined the women who’d given my life purpose.
The future would be ours.
Or I’d die trying.
We stayed to help staff with clean-up, which took several hours. Thirty minutes after I got home, I got a call from a sobbing Connie.
“Irish is gone,” she said.
“How could he get out?”
“Not that kind of gone.”
“Connie, I’m so sorry.”
“I got worried when he didn’t meet me at the door. Found him on the bed surrounded by a dozen tennis balls. He’d slowed down—age, you know—but hadn’t acted sick at all. He scarfed his food this morning and acted normal. I hate that I wasn’t with him. That he was alone.”
“I understand.”
“That’s why I called you.”
“We three had a history.” I got to my feet. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Thanks, but no. I want to spend some time with him before I take care of …” Weeping, she hung up.
The next morning, when I visited Caitlin’s tree before starting my workday, I saw a new sapling had been planted several yards to the left—a red maple.
CHAPTER 71
During a mid-morning break, I sat sipping tea with Agatha in the medical facility lounge. We were recounting highlights of the party when one of the nurses sprinted into the room.
“Homeless shelter just dropped off a pregnant woman in labor.”
Agatha stood and stretched. “C’mon, Katherine. Let’s see how long this little one takes to enter the world.”
“Not so simple,” the nurse said. “The mother’s a heroin addict.”
Agatha scowled. “Damn it. What else do we know about her?”
“She told them she’s been on methadone for almost a year. Somehow, she got herself to the shelter. Told the administrator her boyfriend held her down and injected her with the real stuff against her will. Heart rate and oxygen levels are unstable.”