After the Bighorn Chapter Five: ‘Battle is Joined’, by Tracker

 

(A reminder that the story takes place in 2016 in the early days of New Feminism)

 

The Frick building, the Marriot Downtown, where my lawyers were to be housed and headquartered, and the Federal Courthouse form a triangle within a block of each other in downtown Pittsburgh.  There is a sort of park between the Marriot and the Courthouse, with a Plaza connecting to the Frick Building.  The Hilton, where VanRijn’s minions lurked, was across the street from the Marriot.

 

Wyandotte Frick proved competent enough at Administrative chores, though I was still unsure if enough strength lay hidden under his bland exterior. He assigned me Zach Frick, who is a lawyer, though exceedingly young.  He should be able to understand my requirements though.  We first toured the Marriot Downtown.  It was Wyandotte’s idea that my team of lawyers should work and live there while he wanted me to stay at the Frick Mansion where I could be close for consultations.  I was not at all adverse to the idea of staying where there were so many curvy distractions, hot in their collars.  

 

I wanted to observe the running of a headquarters of an acquisition operation just in case the chance to operate one for myself should occur.  I truly miss Juli, I treasure her so much.  I know she has much to learn; she is eager but needs instruction.  But still, semi-trained as she is, I would not trade her for any of the hot lovelies in the Frick Mansion.  I would like, though, to have that Chelsea Frick at my feet, begging for mercy, begging for love and use in a collar.

 

Last night she was permitted to eat again with the Family.  She is very manipulative and seems to be worming her way back into Wyandotte’s favour.  Not by flirting, but by pretending to be all properly chastened and submitting to male authority.  She did not stamp her pretty little foot once during her appearance last night.  In a mirror, when she thought she was not observed, I saw the mask drop, just for an instant. Part fury, part calculation, all needing a spanking.  When Wyandotte, Woodrow, Zach, and I joined the ladies following our after-dinner brandies she was all honey.  I don’t think that Mrs Wyandotte Frick, or Mrs Magruder were fooled.

Chelsea maneuvered to have me help her distribute the coffee, which she poured daintily.  It was in no way blatantly sexual, not at all the gracious servings ritual performed by the collared girls when I had first arrived.  She seemed to follow a Victorian ladies ritual; I don’t think I would have been fooled, even if I had not caught that glimpse of malice earlier in the mirror.

 

“Do you live in a house or an apartment in San Francisco,” Mr Masters.

 

“I have just purchased a house, Miss Frick, an old Victorian, built just following the Civil War by a banker.  It is, I think, about the same vintage as this house, built by your illustrious ancestors.”  After that thrust, reminding her that she did not own the house of her ancestors, the house in which she grew up, I went on to describe the glories of Drysdale House.

 

“It is French Second Empire in architecture, a grand main floor, bedrooms above, and more on an additional floor under the Mansard roof.  A lovely grand ballroom, with dining room.  Because it is on a slope, the level below walks out into the gardens.  There is a swimming pool on that level, and below that cellars with all the room, space, storerooms and accessories one could desire.”

 

She was rocked a bit by the veiled reference to her not being the Mistress of Frick House, but did not show it.  That was not part of her plan, whatever her plan was.

 

“You must have me out to visit some time, Mr Masters, I would truly be excited to visit you there.”

 

“And I would be happy of your visit.  I hope I can accommodate you as you deserve; as is fitting for one of your qualities.”

 

She went on, “Of course here at Frick Mansion, we have some land and can keep horses, with stabling and forges for horseshoes, and for branding beasts.  And cages to keep dogs and other animals.”

 

I was not fooled by her smiling allusions.  She wanted her slaves back.  Fliss and the other handmaiden that had been repossessed as the property of the Mansion.  I could not remember the other girl’s name.

 

I smiled blandly as she politely and, in all deference, poured me more coffee, then offered some to the other ladies and the men of the House, Wyandotte, Woodrow and Zach.  She was gracious enough, but a little stiff in her pampered freedom, not at all like the supple grace of Angela, the collared slave.  With only a little experience of slaves though, I could, I thought, discern the raw materials, the potentialities of the Chelsea Frick.  Or maybe it was from my imagination, born of desire? 

 

“We still have at Drysdale House the old stables, mostly converted to parking now, that were there in the old days.  The forge is still there though. I suppose we would have the capacity to mark such beasts as we might find necessary or desirable.  And the old kennels are still there in the basement.  There are rumours of the former owners’ involvement in the shanghaiing of sailors and other cargos in the old days of the Barbary Coast.”

 

Sadly, even if Miss Chelsea Frick did visit San Francisco, out of deference to her family, she would be unlikely to occupy a kennel next to my darling Juli.

 

We chatted after that, she trying to find out my financial circumstances, me deflecting with interesting cases and instances in patent law, which sadly, so many people do not find fascinating at all.

 

Janey’s Narrative.

 

I am so scared.  Ever since I was grabbed at the exit area of the Festival I have been disoriented and frightened.  

 

I keep going back over my last hours before being grabbed.

 

After the last night of the Festival, I went back to my tent to sleep. My plan for the morning was to grab one of the shuttle buses to the nearest town, and then take the commuter train back to Ann Arbor.  I go to the University of Michigan there and was fortunate to find an intern’s job in the Art Department for the summer, although I declined the extra money that would come with being a Life Model.  I have standards.

 

I didn’t want to travel by car with the friends I came to the Festival with, because it was a mixed company of men and women without a chaperone.  A single woman has to be so careful about her reputation these days. Not that that bothers me, I approve of the New Feminism that is starting to make headway in advanced circles like Universities and Colleges.  I expect it will soon start to spread into wider Society.  I am proud to be innocent of congress with men and believe my innocence and demureness attracts men to protect me.

 

My tent was in the Women’s Protected Area of the Festival. This innovation provides a safe place for women to camp.  The portable sections of crossing wire keep us safe, even though they seem to have been borrowed from a cattle handling ranch.  Soon, I expect, as our New Feminist Movement Spreads, there will be companies dedicated to making fences for keeping women safe.  Perhaps the Frick Company Lazy F Ranch division that made these Livestock fences will branch out?

 

Just before going to sleep I got a text from Amanda Sloan telling me that she had secured me a ticket on the first Woman’s Safe Shuttle to leave in the morning.  This shuttle would get me back to Ann Arbor earlier than any other method.  I was very touched.  Amanda and I had been tussling for two years over the leadership of our New Feminist Chapter.  We were rivals in a way.  I had helpfully pointed out to her that sometimes her pursuit of Jimmy Klein had been a little too blatant, her skirts a little too short.  She had not responded well at the time to my kind suggestions, or to losing the leadership of the group to me, but I was very touched by her gesture.

I set my phone alarm to wake me at 6:00 AM and blissfully awoke to “It’s a great day to be Pure,” by the Veiled Ladies.  I quickly washed, packed and got ready to leave for the Exit Area.  I contrasted the order and neatness inside our area (I nearly said cage, how silly), and the disorder outside. Things were so much better when arranged the New Feminist Way.  The Safe Watching areas at the Festival were so much nicer than the free for all areas of those caged outside.  We were protected from the men leering at women from outside the enclosure, safe inside our steel wired walls  Some silly women said they felt caged in, but they were just not used to being protected.  Of course some women were not modestly dressed, wearing short shorts and skimpy bikini tops to encourage the beastly men outside.  One or two even pulled up their shirts!  I wrote in the suggestion box that a dress code would be appropriate next year.

 

As I approached the departure gate, I saw about 15 or 20 women already gathered. I joined them under the watchful eyes of three large burly men.  I was glad of their protection, but happy they kept their distance.  Just as I walked up, one stood up on a green and white picnic table and started speaking.  He had to start a few times before he could get all the women to be quiet and listen.  It was a bit funny to see him go red in the face waiting for the women to let him talk.

“Ladies, ladies, please.  The bus is a little delayed, but there will be a free breakfast while you wait.  In that grove behind those trees, the Nutri-Girl people are having a free tasting of one of their new flavours.  Please move there in an orderly way.”

 

Rudely, some of the ladies, laughed and shouted at him.  Many were not really dressed as ladies should be, nor behaving as they should towards a helpful, protective man.

 

I felt that in my position as Leader of the Ann Arbor New Feminists, a position I meant to keep from Amanda Sloan, I should set I good example.  

 

“Thank you, sir, for your consideration.  This way Ladies, to the free breakfast.”

 

Sometimes a cheerful disposition and Innocent Manner are not appreciated, especially in the morning.  Some of the Ladies, especially a blonde who was not only dressed inappropriately, but in a way I can only describe as Modern Slut, told me to stuff it and stuff the Nutri-Girl.  Other joined her.  However armoured in my knowledge of my virtuous state, I led the way.  Some others followed saying, “free food is a good hangover cure.”

 

In the grove, nicely hidden from the views of curious gawkers, thus suitable for a group of Ladies to eat, was a small booth reading Nutri-Girl and a delicious smell.  There were wooden bowls ready to be filled, spoons and blessedly, hot coffee.

 

I asked the women serving, what flavour was being tried.  

 

“It is a variation on our Apple and Cinnamon flavour.  This is Apple, Cinnamon, and Tassa.”

 

I tried to look like I knew all about Tassa, but really it is hard to keep up with all the new foods, the Quinoas and bubble teas and such.  An immodestly dressed woman behind me, with lovely long black curly hair didn’t try to hide her ignorance, “What is Tassa?”

 

The older women putting Nutri-girl into the bowls laughed, “Why bless you honey, you will never forget your first taste of Tassa.  Or rather, you won’t taste it, but you will remember its effects.  It is odourless and tasteless, it is macrobiotic, and organic, and it promotes deep healthful sleep.”

 

Well, I love my Nutri-girl in the morning, so easy to prepare and so healthful.  And I had been having dreams lately that kept me up.  Dreams of strong men taking away Amanda Sloan as a slut and putting me in undisputed charge of our New Feminist Chapter.  Strong men putting her at their feet.  So I eagerly took a full bowl of the Nutri-girl.

 

I took my bowl and coffee a little distance from the rest of the group.  Some were too immodestly dressed and behaved for my liking and I kept my distance so it would not be thought I was with them or like them.

 

After three spoonful’s, I stopped eating.  Something about the taste was off.  One of the special things about me, besides my purity, was that I am a supertaster.  We are a small minority of the population who can taste minute amounts of flavours that others do not notice. We know the exact amount of pepper in a dish; we can detect the smallest dash of a spice.  Something was a little off.  I emptied the bowl of Nutri-girl out, but secretly and behind a bush.  I did not want to hurt the feelings of the Nutri-girl people or the nice Lady who so kindly served me the food.  A Lady is always considerate, even when pointing out the faults of others.

 

I must have dozed off a little.  I woke with a start when two men grabbed me.  A hood was pulled over my head, a smelly leather hood.  As it was being laced behind my head, an attached leather gag forced its way into my mouth.  I could feel it had interior pads over my ears and eyes.

 

I should not have wandered away from the group.  But what a shock these men will get.  Inside of one of the slutty girls, they got one of the few modest women in the grove!  The joke will be on them, as I am a certified Innocent, my wholesomeness will shine through and they will be prompted to let me go with apologies, as men do when they make a mistake with a virtuous woman.  I will let them beg for my forgiveness, maybe on their knees.  If and when they grovel enough, I will graciously grant them pardon.  I am a Lady, and a certified Innocent.

 

Then I was grabbed, my wrists were tied behind me.  I was too tired and ill to fight; I just went limp.

 

Now I think I am in the back of truck being taken who knows where to what I am sure is a terrible fate.  My Grandmother was right about men, they are such beasts.

 

****************

 

Zach Frick and I crossed over to the Frick Corporation Building after settling matters at the Marriot Downtown.  It was a strong masonry building, but seemed also light and airy and beautiful.  Zach, almost reading my mind, said, “Goreans respect strength but revere beauty.  The building went up in 1912, it was designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, he did the annex too, in 1937.  The annex has our consumer products division now, well, the shipping and testing, the manufacturing we do in one of our factories.  We still manufacture here in the States.”

 

“Really, not offshore?”

 

“Home manufacturing keeps pesky customs officials out of our business, and it is convenient to have access to a supply of Factory Girls.  They come and go. Girls come, and Girls go.”

 

The offices of the Frick Legal Department were on the third floor.  The patents department was pushed up against an engineering section that shared the floor.  Beyond the engineers, mostly men, there was a portal to the annex, a sign said Product Batch Testing and Quality Control.

 

“The engineers would like to move to a blank space on the Fifth Floor, they find the lawyers boring and the girls in testing flighty and distracting.  They are very, very serious men, obsessed with tensile strength and breaking points and the qualities of specialty steels.  We manufacture those in the US too.  The Chinese can make them too, but we have some secrets we want to keep secret, so we don’t manufacture there.  Besides, if we did they would keep the best stuff for themselves and we would get the rest.”

 

I looked around at the engineers’ section; it seemed like something out of an early 60s NASA photo.  All those serious men with very short hair, and wearing white short-sleeved shirts and ties.  The computers sitting on the wooden desks seemed the only modern things in front of me.  There didn’t seem to be any women in the department at all.  Not surprising, I guessed, with the way the Fricks ran their business.  The hard-working  men barely looked up as Zach led me to the Frick legal department.

 

Zach and I approached the Frick Corporation Legal Department, I noticed the carpet was thicker, the panelling on the walls became real wood.  

 

“Some of the original furnishings here; the distinctive Frank Lloyd Wright touches and decorations.  Wyandotte wanted to restore the building, but Willard Frick was not interested.  What he wanted to get done, got done, what did not interest him, did not get done.  He didn’t delegate well.”

 

Zach’s voice had dropped a little.  Even in death, Willard dominated the Fricks.

 

We stopped outside a door that read J. Augustus Frick IV, esq.  Zach knocked and entered.  A puckish man, cheerful looking, bald on top, white hair around the sides and back, came out from behind a huge desk.

 

“Patrick Masters?  A great honour, a great honour, sir.  So pleased to meet you.”  We sat down around a mahogany table, round and intricately carved.

 

“It doesn’t go with the FLW stuff, but I like it, I like it.”  The little man in the old fashioned but immaculate three piece suit could have come out of a play by Agatha Christie by way of Charles Dickens. He opened a file and took out his papers.

 

“Now, let’s get ready to tear these bastards a new one.”

 

In the next hour, I learned that Augie Frick had a keen legal mind. He wanted to go for the jugular against the Vincent VanRijn Patent Aggregators Corp.  

 

“Unfortunately we have been starved of resources here.  Cousin Willard believed in going hard and violently at any problem.  We only did basic work here, no defensive patent aggregation.  Not enough lawyers and not enough smart lawyers.  I hope Wyandotte will give us what we need here in the future. We will see what he is made of in the next few months.”

 

He went on, “One of the main problems is documentation, some of our most important patents don’t have a lot of work product behind them, to outsiders it might look as though they dropped into our hands from a clear blue sky.”

 

He looked at me to make sure I understood.  I nodded. I continued, “so the most important alloys and processes will be the hardest to defend?  Will I like a good challenge.”

 

“I want to have two teams of my people, one working here with your people, and one in San Francisco, sifting information and discovery and putting together exhibits.”

Zach Frick and J Augustus Frick IV, esq, nodded.  “Can we move the engineers to another location so my people can move there and be in direct contact with the in house legal staff?”

 

The two Fricks looked at each other. Evidently it might be a problem.

 

J Augustus Frick looked at Zach, “talk to Wyandotte tonight.”

 

Apparently previously everything of any consequence had gone through Willard the Strong.  Now it was up to Wyandotte to either step up or delegate.  I wondered if he could do either.

 

But now it was time for Court.  A short appearance for formality’s sake.