Kajirus of Gor Chapter Nineteen

 

“That’s such a lovely ring, Felicity. Really beautiful. Please, show it off to the table again,” said Chelsea, as Felicity raised her left hand once more, turning her fingers to display her new engagement ring. “So lovely. Don’t you think so, Roland?”

 

All eyes turned to me at the table. Dexter looked smugly self-satisfied as he placed his hand possessively on the back of Felicity’s free right hand. Felicity looked embarrassed, hardly daring to look at me, and Chelsea, well, Chelsea was as inscrutable as always, but seemed to enjoy being the cat who had all the cream.

 

“Lovely,” I said, gritting my teeth.

 

“It’s been in the family for several generations, hasn’t it, Dexter?” said Chelsea with apparent interest.

 

Dexter nodded. “That’s right. Only the best for my beloved Felicity.” He grinned at me again. If I didn’t like Dexter Bannon before now, that feeling was now magnified tenfold.

 

“Interesting suit, Roland,” he said, turning to me with a smirk. “I was going to ask if its vintage, but I guess thrift store would be more appropriate?”

 

“Now, now, boys, play nicely, please,” said Chelsea before I could reply. Dexter of course wore a made to measure suit. Possibly Italian wool. My own suit was from a department store.

 

The women were dressed elegantly for evening dinner. Felicity had a similar body shape to Chelsea, and so she had been loaned a dress from Chelsea’s extensive wardrobe. Granny had fussed over them both, taking a surprised Felicity quickly aside when it became apparent she had travelled here without formal wear for dinner, and set about overseeing their dressing while Dexter went out onto the grounds to indulge himself in a bit of clay pigeon shooting. I simply sat out in the garden, reading a book from the Frick library, as I didn’t fancy going out shooting with Dexter Bannon.  I was afraid I might accidentally shoot him in the leg. 

 

Accidentally, that is. 

 

The dressing of a Lady can take over an hour it seems. Both girls now had complicated coiffures – their hair upswept and arranged artfully, with a few locks of their hair hanging loose by each side of the neck. Both girls wore similar evening dresses of a style popular in the early twentieth century in polite American society, complete with long strands of pearls hanging almost to their waists. Their evening dress bodices were tightly boned, with a round opening in the front and a smaller V in the back. Lace was draped around the bust and down the front of the bodice to soften the sharp shape, along with a modest draped lace Bertha collar circling the neck.

 

Granny had ensured that neither girl displayed any bare skin, for the dresses included lace necks and long elbow-length sleeves with elaborate pleats, ruffles, and even more lace. The overall effect of the style was to widen the top of the feminine silhouette and create the illusion of a small waist. Granny had possibly strapped the girls into underwear bust enhancers, corsets and hip padding to enhance their bodices and bottom shapes. Felicity’s face was a picture. No doubt this hadn’t been her idea, and possibly she had protested at first, but Granny had of course had her way in the end. She would not have put up with any silly nonsense from Felicity. Felicity would have quickly learned to comply with Granny’s wishes.

 

It went without saying that I felt woefully under dressed in my common business suit. 

 

Dexter had stood up as the ladies were escorted into the drawing room adjacent to where dinner would be served. I took that as my cue to stand as well. 

 

“You look lovely, Chelsea,” I said with a smile. Her dress was all white pearl satin, lace, chiffon, silk crepe, taffeta, tulle and organdie. It must have cost a fortune. The Fricks certainly did dine formally, or at least their women were expected to do so. 

 

“Thank you, Mr Martell,” she said as she lifted her hand – a prompt for me to take it, as I noticed Felicity did with Dexter. 

 

“Are you comfortable in that?” I whispered as she drew near to me.

 

“The corset is insufferable,” she whispered back, “but at least I have some experience of it. You should have heard the soft yelps as Felicity was pulled and securely tied into hers, earlier on. She’s probably still learning how to breathe in it. I’m expecting her to pass out before the dessert course.” 

 

Possibly true, as Felicity’s cheeks looked slightly flushed already.

 

“Be a gentleman and, for forms sake, take me by the hand into the dining room area. Granny will be watching me.”

 

Both women wore soft elbow length opera gloves, and Felicity had chosen to wear her new engagement ring over the glove of her left hand. I didn’t want to look at it, but I couldn’t help myself.

 

She seemed skittish, and I suspected she hadn’t known I would be here. No doubt Chelsea hadn’t told her. Felicity did her best to always be looking somewhere other than where I stood, after having to dip into an unavoidable curtsey greeting to begin with, when introductions were made. 

 

As we walked to the table, Chelsea whispered some rules to me. “Greediness should not be indulged in at the table, Roland. Indecision must be avoided. Do not take up one piece of food and lay it down in favour of another, or hesitate. Never allow a maid to fill your glass with wine that you do not wish to drink. You can check her serve by touching the rim of your glass, and then she will pass you by. Bread is broken at dinner. Never use a napkin in place of a handkerchief for wiping the forehead, face or nose. Everything that can be cut without using a knife should be eaten with the fork alone. Never lay your hand, or play with your fingers upon the table. Do not toy with your knife, fork or spoon, make crumbs of your bread, or draw imaginary lines upon the tablecloth.” She squeezed the fingers of my hand. “Please don’t embarrass me at the table. Granny is watching everything.”

 

We sat boy-girl, boy-girl, at the silver service dining table. I sat opposite Chelsea. Felicity sat by my side.

 

“It’s good to see you again,” I said, turning to Felicity.

 

“Roland, I…” this was incredibly awkward for her. “Don’t start. Not now, please.”

 

I nodded and turned my attention back to Chelsea who seemed to smile at me as she stroked back a loose lock of her hair. She gave me a soft wink that Granny couldn’t see.

 

It was a large dining table, in a large room, shaped from mahogany wood, and big enough to seat between twelve to twenty people, depending on intimacy. We sat on upholstered dining chairs, and, to the left, there was a sideboard that was referred to as a commode by Granny, it being the surface on which the maid servants in their stuffy uniforms  carved the meat courses.

 

Clear Mock Turtle soup was served first, followed by boiled soles, lobster sauce and red mullet. With each dish came a separate choice of wine. We were served à la Russe where each course was served at the table individually and in order: soups and entrées, fish, meats, and lastly dessert.

 

Grilled mushrooms, larded fillets of rabbit, and freshly hung hashed game followed in due course as Chelsea engaged Dexter in conversation relating to their engagement.

 

“When I pursue a woman, I treat the matter like a military campaign,” he boasted, taking Felicity’s hand again and squeezing it gently. “Women like to be pursued. They want us to hunt them. They don’t respect a man who simply gives up,” he said, offering me a smug, knowing look. “They have no respect for a man who will not give chase. Isn’t that so, my dear?”

 

Felicity blushed and couldn’t look at me. “Yes, Dexter.”

 

I drank some wine, put the glass down and motioned for a maid to fill it again, by tapping the base. I was just going to get drunk tonight, and fuck all of this. 

 

“So how are things Roland?” asked Dexter. He seemed amused at how quickly I had drained my glass of wine. “Moved on yet? Some new woman in your life?”

 

“Not yet.” 

 

“I was never quite sure about you and my darling Felicity? You were dating, yes, but it was all very… well… casual and… trivial?”

 

I placed my fingers on a silver steak knife and imagined picking it up and stabbing Dexter through his windpipe before anyone could stop me. “We dated a while,” I said.

 

“Oh look,” remarked Chelsea in a pleased voice, changing the subject. “The ribs of beef are arriving at the table! How lovely!”

 

And so they were, accompanied by potatoes and stewed celery.

 

Stewed celery?

 

I stabbed at a piece of stewed celery with my fork and prodded it around my plate.

 

“Don’t play with your food, Roland,” said Chelsea in a low voice. “Granny is watching…”

 

I drank some more wine. As swiftly as I did, the glass was refilled.

 

“You’ll have to let me have your address later on,” remarked Dexter. “You’ll have an invite, of course, to the wedding.” He stroked Felicity’s gloved hand and traced his finger over her engagement ring. “Don’t worry about the wedding present list. I know it’s probably going to be a bit outside your budget.”

 

Say one more thing, I thought. Just one more thing, Dexter. Go on. 

 

Partridge was served next – two birds, each one set on its own silver tray, surrounded by more roasted potatoes. As the maid servants in their high starched collar dresses set the table, Felicity suddenly seemed flustered.

 

“I need some air,” she said, fanning her face. “It’s this corset. I’m sorry. I’m not used to it.” 

 

“Of course,” said Chelsea, with genuine concern. “Mine feels tight, too.” She rose from her upholstered chair and Felicity rose too, wobbling slightly on her feet. 

 

“Careful,” I said, but she drew away before I might touch her.

 

I sat there as Chelsea walked round the table and helped Felicity rise from her chair. 

 

“I can’t breathe in this,” she gasped. She steadied herself with her left hand against the table edge. 

 

“Take short little breaths,” said Chelsea. “It helps.”

 

“How can any woman wear this,” she gasped. 

 

“You just need some air,” said Chelsea, as she led Felicity out of the dining room and on towards the front of the house. Granny followed them at a close distance, whether they wanted her to, or not. 

 

“So,” Dexter sat back in his chair and regarded me. “You sniffing around after Chelsea Frick, now, you old dog?”

 

“None of your business, Dexter, but no. We’re not a couple.”

 

“Could have fooled me. What are you doing here, then?" 

 

"I really have no idea.”

 

“If you think Chelsea Frick is rich, think again, buddy.” He leaned forward. “She has a dowry, yes, but old man Frick is never going to let her marry someone from your background. And until she marries she can only draw a little of her dowry each year. That’s why she has to keep running home all the time.” He made a running motion along the table surface with two of his fingers. “Daddy, daddy, puh-lease can I have a new car? I’ve been such a good girl.”

 

“I’m not after her money, and I’m not after her.” 

 

“Everyone is after money, Roland. You know, I did some digging on you. Very interesting, what I found.”

 

I gazed at him, with a look that warned him to back off.

 

“You get paid to accompany women, don’t you?” He laughed. “Hell, you’re practically a prostitute.”

 

“Do you want to step outside for a while?” I suggested.

 

“Why would I want to do that?” He surveyed the elegant dining room. “We haven’t had dessert yet. You some sort of male whore, Roland? Is that it? When I told Felicity what I found out about you, she admitted she was paying you to stand in as her companion for appearance’s sake. But then you had to try and actually fuck her, didn’t you? No wonder she hates you now, buddy.”

 

“I think you should shut your fucking mouth.”

 

“Big words coming from a Lady’s whore. Fuck, man, that’s one hell of a crazy way to make a living. Can one of your women tell you to do anything? I mean, anything, so long as the money is right?”

 

“Your last warning, Dexter.”

 

“What about Chelsea? She know what you do for a living? Hell, is she paying you, too?” He recognised the truth from my expression and laughed. “Oh! That’s grand. She doesn’t know, does she? Hell, she’s actually bought into your act? She actually likes you! Buddy, you’re running a good scam, here, I’ll give you that. Perhaps I should tell her? Perhaps I should tell her she’s developing feelings for a rent boy?”

 

I realised then that I didn’t want Chelsea to know the truth about me. I didn’t want her to look at me the way Dexter Bannon was now looking at me. 

 

I got up and began to walk around the table, my fists clenched. 

 

“You better back off, Roland,” said Dexter as he turned his chair round. “I know fucking jiu-jitsu, and I’ll fuck you up big time.” When I didn’t stop walking towards him, he rose quickly from his chair and took the first step back, with his hands raised. “You better not touch me! My family can do things you won’t believe. They’ll have you, man. You touch me and they’ll fucking destroy you! And I know the sheriff here; the county sheriff. He fucking likes me, man. He’ll do you!”

 

“I don’t think there’s a single person on this planet who actually likes you, Dexter.” And then I punched him in the face and he went down, like a sack of coal.  

 

“I’m going to fucking have you!” he cried as he laid there. “”You’re fucked, Roland Martell! You have no idea what I can do! What my family can do!”

 

“Shut up, you snivelling little shit.” I turned round and walked out of the dining room. I would find Chelsea and Felicity outside.

 

“Please Granny, you tied the laces too tightly. Please, please, just loosen them a little,” pleaded Felicity as she stood there, outside, beside a low wall that fenced in some dwarf fruit trees.

 

“Stuff and nonsense. You’re obviously a spoilt child who never experienced corset discipline in her finishing school,” remarked Granny as she finished her finger inspection of Felicity’s waist. “There’s nothing wrong with the ties. Your corset fits perfectly.”

 

“I can’t breathe!” she sobbed.

 

“This is a Lady’s corset. A Lady should be able to comport herself without snivelling,” said Granny as she produced her white handkerchief again and dabbed at Felicity’s tears. “What will your young man think?”

 

I loitered out of sight, having stopped when I heard their voices.

 

“You’ll get used to it,” said Chelsea, trying her best to help. “You will, Felicity. I’m sorry about all this.”

 

“I don’t want to get used to it! Please, Granny, please.”

 

“My word is final. Now I’ve checked you out, Felicity Emery, so you’re going to go back inside to the gentlemen and apologise for all this hysterical drama. They’re waiting for their dessert!” She made a disapproving clicking sound with her tongue. “And then there’s a cheese course.”

 

“I can’t even eat like this,” she sobbed.

 

“Young ladies eat too much as it is,” remarked Granny. “Take small delicate bites. Your problem, young Felicity Emery, is that your generation are so used to gobbling your food like wild monkeys.” 

 

I slipped away. This wasn’t a good time to talk to either of them, but I’d overplayed my hand now. As soon as they returned to the dining room, Dexter was sure to tell them what I’d done. And while I wasn’t really concerned about his family, or his supposed friendship with the county Sherriff (he couldn’t possibly care what happened to a man like Dexter Bannon) I was concerned that Dexter would now tell Chelsea all about my professional lifestyle.

 

I thought about this as I walked round the side of the house, wanting to clear my head. Why did it matter what Chelsea thought of me? I didn’t want her. We weren’t in a relationship. I mean, I didn’t want her? Obviously I didn’t? I wanted Felicity. And Felicity already knew. I could ignore what Dexter said. Felicity had obviously twisted the account to her favour, as it wouldn’t do to tell her fiancé that she had wanted to sleep with me. While I wasn’t happy about what she had said, I could at least understand the practical reasons for it. 

 

I walked some more and, after a while, had put some distance between me and the house. And then I saw that I was close to a number of plain looking out buildings with flat roofs. A flatbed truck was approaching with its headlights on, and I remembered what Chelsea had said before about the ranch hands not knowing me. I stepped to the side in the shadows and watched the truck come to a halt on some tarmac, surrounded by the outbuildings.

 

I heard voices; both male, and also a woman’s raised voice. She sounded scared.

 

“Shut your whining, missy,” said a man I recognised as Hawkins. He jumped down from the flat bed as another man stepped out from the passenger seat at the front. Together, both men hauled down a struggling woman. She wore cut off denim shorts, hiking boots, and a thick shirt. She had long chestnut brown hair, and I could see her wrists were tied with rope behind her back.

 

“Let me go!” she cried, as Hawkins easily lifted her and set her on the ground. To my surprise there was also a rope leash around her neck. “I wasn’t trespassing!”

 

“You were on our side of the fence. That’s trespassing. Now we’ve told you girls before to keep well away. We don’t like snooping little fillies on this ranch.”

 

“If you let me go I won’t say anything, I promise!”

 

“Promises don’t mean much from your kind,” said Hawkins. He spat some chewing tobacco onto the ground.

 

“I really won’t!” The girl was sobbing. 

 

Without warning, a third man emerged from one of the outbuildings. Arc lights suddenly snapped on with a series of loud clicks, illuminating the asphalt ground. I shrunk back further into shadow, as the newcomer walked to the side of the largest outbuilding and, after unlocking a padlock, slid back a wide door with a grinding scrape. Inside was what looked like a mostly empty lock up, holding just a few boxes an crates. I saw some chains hanging from the roof supports. There was also a long hose pipe wound like a snake along the cement floor, and some drainage grilles. 

 

“Get her inside,” said the third man. I saw now that he had a rifle over his shoulder, as did the man who had emerged from the passenger seat. “And strip her down to her underwear."