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On the Fence

Many years ago...

New York City's Central Park is the rectangular oasis of grass and structures situated in the heart of Manhattan. Created in 1857, it boasts 843 acres of preserved open spaces, restaurants, visitor attractions, a zoo, sculptures, and even bridges and lakes. Millions of people visit the park every year for almost as many reasons. And yet, the single most defining thing about Central Park in the 21st century is that it happens to be located across the street from the now famous Bering-Wells Townhouse, located at 1866 Central Park West.

The multi-story building was commissioned long before the tall apartment buildings on either side were even dreamed of. A young woman, visiting from England, arrived armed with blueprints and hired the architectural firm to begin construction in 1889. She chose the area of land because of its location across from the large greenery space that reminded her of her homeland. The entire project was paid for in advance and no detail was overlooked. The first architect complained that he was taking orders from a woman and was summarily dismissed. Realizing the mistake, the wealthy woman was more careful in her second choice and hired Louise Blanchard Bethune – the first American woman to work as an architect professionally.

The building took ten years to complete because of the nuances that the Designer insisted upon. Many of the details the Brit wanted were to accommodate things that hadn't even been invented yet! She knew the structure had to be solidly built in the present, yet flexibly suited for the future. Louise and her team worked diligently to make everything just so.

Finally, the day arrived when the Townhouse was completed. Louise and her team gathered for the unveiling of the structure, but sadly, the Owner did not show. She cabled Mrs. Bethune to say that due to a death in the family, she would be unable to be present and that she was going away for an extended period of time. However, the Heiress left instructions for the house to be looked after in the interim with funds set up in a special account. Although maintained, the home lay dormant for more than one hundred and ten years. The landscape of the renowned avenue changed over that time; large buildings were erected up and down the stretch of expensive real estate outside the park. Hundreds of families occupied the apartments and with the advancement of the automobile, traffic increased. Even the famed park went through an evolution into the modern era. But even with these changes, the landscape remained the constant outside the prime addresses. And that is why the wealthy heiress had chosen the location. Unsure of when she would return, she wanted something to be the same.

For many years, the large Townhouse stood still in time – aware of life going on all around it, but unable to join in.

Much like its Owner.

It would take years, but the woman finally emerged from the dark domain that had encased her. The release eventually brought life back into her world, but her presence in the Townhouse was still disenchanted. She didn't realize it at the time, but because she had built the structure specifically to be a home, it wouldn't come alive until the Owner resided there with her One. Resigned to the fact that she would never feel comfortable there, she took up residence across town, in a Penthouse apartment more suited to her needs and lifestyle.

Eventually, things were set in motion and a stranger, who would change everything, entered the Owner's life. Only in hindsight, would the woman who had designed the house understand why on impulse, she had taken the guest to the barely lived in Townhouse…instead of the Penthouse that night so long ago. Neither knew it at the time, but it was exactly where the visitor belonged. Almost immediately, the Designer knew there was something different about her guest. It was the first time she had felt so content in the abode on Central Park West.

She didn't know how, but she was certain even then that this new woman had to remain in her life. Afraid and unaccustomed to letting someone behind the emotional barriers she built, the Owner eventually learned to let her One in. And in letting down those walls, the Townhouse walls became their home. The house rejoiced to be serving its lifelong purpose, radiating proudly to be the household of such love.

The days of quiet solitude for the structure were over.

Present day Manhattan ...

Leena looked up at the clock, counting the minutes to when she knew the house would be quiet again and she could get some work done. The door to the basement was opened and there had been the constant sound of metal clinking against metal and buzzers going off amidst the laughter of the two women.

"You're cheating!" the Brit accused her opponent.

"You're whining," came the official response as Myka took off her wired mesh mask.

Helena took hers off and dropped it on the floor until she was met with an arched eyebrow. She picked it up and placed it on the table where the weapons lay.

"I simply do not understand it," the student said with sincerity.

"You're not as experienced," the teacher said as delicately as possible.

"Yes, but my sheer intellect should make up for that deficit," the student said – and meant it.

"Imagine!" Myka said mockingly. She wasn't insulted; she knew Helena was truly puzzled by this.

Helena looked at her foil and then at the metal strip upon which they had just engaged in the back and forth of fencing movements. She mumbled as she replayed Myka's move, then her own counter move. Myka shook her head and smiled.

Helena had begged Myka to partake in the sport with her. Before relenting, Myka took into account the various possibilities multiplied by the probabilities of each, calculated the potential outcomes - and none of them were good. The complexity of the situation - simply stated – was that while teaching her wife a new skill was a wonderful idea; having said wife lose each test of her skill - was not.

This was not the first time Helena had dabbled in fencing. Once, she dressed up as brother's 'cousin' and was allowed to partake in the fencing lessons that Charles had been entitled to. But that was a long time ago. And even then, the fencing instruction dismissed her believing the new student was too hot tempered for the disciplined sport.

More recently, Myka had shown Helena how to spar electrically with the wired swords that set lights off when they came into contact with the metal wire jacket called a lame. Helena felt restrained by the cables even though it allowed her to move down the length of the piste or the metal playing area that the two fencers moved back and forth on.

Helena simply didn't like anything that restrained her in any way.

Life got busy for the two women and Helena's fencing lessens were put on hold. But Helena never let go of the idea of improving the equipment and now months later, she insisted they try out her new inventions. Myka agreed reminding her that fencing was about good sportsmanship. For Myka, it was a test of which Helena would lose first – her patience or the bouts. The lawyer saw the bigger picture – Helena was very inexperienced at losing when she set her mind to something. Today her mind was set at beating the more experienced Myka.

"Face it, Wells," Myka taunted. "…You're good, just not good enough." She chose her words on purpose. Nothing challenged Helena more than telling her she wasn't good at something. Myka also knew that without the taunting, her wife could waste hours trying to figure out the phenomenon of – losing.

Helena's dark eyes grew wide, her lips pursed. "You'll eat those words," she said, trying to remain stern looking.

"Yes, but I'll be in the Old Age Home eating them," Myka goaded and then screamed as she ran up the stairs – Helena close at her heels.

"You see," Helena said, catching her wife and pulling her back when they emerged into the hallway. She gently pushed Myka against the wall. "…you're not that fast."

"Oh, Helena," Myka said, pushing her hand up under Helena's shirt and letting her fingers graze the small of her wife's back. Myka watched as Helena's eyes slowly glazed over from the soft touches. Myka leaned into her ear. With only twenty minutes before they had to get ready for work, there was only enough time for one thing. Myka pushed Helena's hands down at her side. "…You're wrong again!" With those words, Myka dashed past Helena, laughing and taking the steps two at a time to beat her wife to the bedroom.

Taking the bait, Helena followed, trying to catch up.

Leena could hear the noise move upstairs and once again, she looked up at the clock. "Thirty more minutes," she said softly as she prepared breakfast.

Twenty something minutes later, the couple appeared in the kitchen. Myka because she was hungry; Helena because Myka was there.

"Should I even offer to make tea or should I forego the charade this morning," Leena asked politely, her hand on her hip, waiting. She and Helena knew each other well enough now and both accepted the fact that Leena was never going to make a satisfactory cup.

"Thank you, Leena. Let's not. I simply do not have the energy to be that polite," Helena remarked and didn't mean it to be rude. Leena was past Helena's comments bothering her.

Myka shoved a small piece of pastry in her mouth, took a quick sip of coffee, and thanked Leena. Then the couple walked into the black and white tiled entry way to gather their belongings.

"Any requests for dinner?" Leena asked, following them.

"Oh yes!" Helena said enthusiastically. "Myka will have a large helping of humble pie," she teased.

"So not going to happen," Myka said in a sing-song voice as they descended the steps of the townhouse.

Myka took in a deep breath. All this time after the wedding now, it was nice to be able to walk to the car without the paparazzi lined up on the sidewalk. Most of the time, it was only at social events that they were sought by the press. The occasional tourist still snapped from across the street and wave.

The Brit had come a long way in that she didn't overreact when people approached Myka or called out things to her. That didn't mean she didn't react. Just last week, someone had wanted to ask Myka a question as the women made their way to a gala affair at the Museum of Modern Art. Trying to get through the crowd, the inquisitor reached out and grabbed Myka's arm. Helena's hand was on his a second later and he was instructed, in a hushed tone near his ear, never to touch her again. Helena hadn't curtailed her temper as much as she had learned to smile while exacting her warning.

As they rode to work, Helena busied herself with emails and directives. She would soon have exciting news for Myka and she was having trouble keeping inside. Biting her bottom lip, she tried to distract herself.

"Mr. Lattimer, you played sports," Helena began.

"Me?" Pete said, happy to be drawn into a conversation. "Sure. Wrestling, football, lacrosse…" he said from the front seat of the car.

"Fencing?" Helena asked.

Pete let out a laugh that burst from his mouth and then he remembered Myka was All American in college in the sport. He coughed in a pathetic attempt to cover up his gaff. "Fumes," he said, waving his hand in front of him. "No, I was never …eh….good enough…," he tried.

"But you know about sportsmanship, don't you, Pete," Myka said, smiling while she read the paper. She could fee Helena's eyes on her.

"Sportsman? Oh yeah, you mean sucking it up when you lose or not stealing the other team's mascot," Pete said.

"Something like that," Myka said, her smile getting bigger.

"Sure," Pete said, knee deep in the topic. "But you can still trash talk. That's not un-sportsman-like," he said as he tried to recall.

"Traassssh taaaalk?" the Brit asked, her accent thick when she didn't understand an idiom. Myka and she were getting out of the car now. "You mean….. talking dirty? I know a thing or two about that, don't I, Myka?" The grin on Helena's face said she would demonstrate if necessary.

Pete had to admire how when the ball was in Helena's court, she made the most of it.

"Hel….," Myka started as she pulled her wife close to her so they could walk into the building. Myka did not want Helena proving how proficient she was in that activity.

Alone in the elevator, Helena moved into Myka's space and gently pushed her knee between Myka's legs. "You're blushing and I didn't even tell him how dirty I can speak," Helena teased as she played with a loose curl of Myka's hair that hung off her shoulder.

"All of that…..," Myka said, blushing harder, "…is very private."

The ding of the elevator made Myka jump and she kissed Helena goodbye before getting out. "I will see you later," she said as she exited.

"Save room for dessert," Helena said, waving as the door closed.

When Helena reached the 17th floor, she went to the front desk where her android administrative assistant was seated. Dressed in the appropriate fencing uniform, Sui Generis stood up when his boss arrived.

"Good, good, now let's get to work," Helena said, as they went into her office. Within minutes, Helena had changed back into a new outfit and was checking to make sure the android had accessed his fencing program. Having texted him the instructions, she was ready to begin her practice session.

Helena simply wanted Sui to come at her with any move so that she could practice hers. "En garde," Sui called and they began. Doing as he was instructed, he lunged at Helena and got her with this blade. "I believe that was my point," the android stated, unaware of Helena's lacking in sportsmanship.

"Again," she said, adjusting her blade and trying to watch his moves instead of just calculating hers. Helena watched, Sui fenced, and finally she caught on. She matched his moves, moved him across the room as she countered his attack, and hit him. But Sui could process faster than the Brit and was pushing her back now.

Twenty minutes later, as the lesson continued, Irene Frederic walked off the elevator to find Morgan Styles waiting outside Helena's office. The pharmaceutical executive, impeccably dressed and looking like he belonged on the cover of GQ magazine, explained that he had been summoned to Helena's office for an early meeting. He cast his eyes towards her door and said he thought it best to wait until the chaos subsided. Irene stopped and listened to the racket coming from inside her boss' office. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that Helena was hitting something from atop the conference table.

"Yes! That's it, Ms. Wells. Don't stop. You're almost there. Watch how I move, yes, that's it. I am totally exposed here!" Sui called out from behind his mask.

Irene's eyes grew wider, unable to figure out what was going on. She looked back at Morgan and smiled and then knocked. No answer. She leaned in closer.

"Don't go soft on me, Mr. Generis," she heard Helena instruct. "Come at me full force."

"You're not taking into account the length of it," Sui reminded Helena.

Irene coughed and swallowed. Then, she heard the scream that propelled her to open the door and rush in. There was Sui on top of the conference table. Helena was tittering on the edge, her arms flailing, about to make a crash landing on top of the chairs. Morgan moved like lightening past Irene to catch Helena before she fell. Irene grabbed her chest thinking Helena's head was going to hit the floor, but fortunately, she landed in Morgan's arms.

"Oh! Hello, Morgan," Helena said, taking off her mask.

"Are you okay, Ms. Wells?" Sui asked, rushing to the end of the conference table and bending down on one knee.

"Thanks to Mr. Styles, I am," Helena said, as Morgan gracefully stood Helena up on her feet.

"I am most grateful for your quick footing," Sui said to the guest.

"Since when do you fence?" Morgan asked as Helena grabbed a bottle of water and gulped it down.

"On tables," Irene added because she didn't understand how they decided to use the long rectangular table as their arena.

"Oh, that?" Helena said, looking over at the object. "Mr. Generis backed me to the proverbial corner, but I escaped by climbing up on it."

"Of course," Irene said, as if that was a perfect explanation.

"Thank you, Mr. Generis. You were a most worthy opponent," Helena saluted him. The android climbed down from the table and saluted her back with his sword.

"Do you do everything she tells you?" Irene asked the android in an attempt to see if that program could be overridden.

"Yes," Sui answered honestly before he left.

"Could you give me a minute?" Helena asked Morgan as she waved to Irene to help her in the adjoining room.

Morgan nodded and took a seat in front of Helena's desk. Having known Helena for so long, very little surprised him anymore. However, fencing on the conference table was, even by her standards, unusual. He shook his head and smiled as Helena and Irene went inside.

Helena was stripping out of the knickers and jacket and throwing them behind her as she rushed into the bathroom where she turned on the shower. Irene looked at the clothing on the floor, rolled her eyes, and picked them up. Someone would have to.

"Nice of Mr. Styles to be prompt for his meeting," Irene commented as Helena screamed from the cold shower.

"This water is cold!" the Brit complained through the opened door.

"Yes, that happens when you rarely use it," Irene pointed out. "It takes a minute." Irene gathered Helena's dress and shoes and placed them where she could easily access them when she was done.

Irene looked around at the apartment that was adjacent to Helena's office. Helena had spent so much time in the early years at work that it seemed practical to have it. Now it was nothing more than a changing room. The water shut off and Helena grabbed a towel, rushing to reapply what little make-up show wore. "He's always prompt," she finally answered, getting back to her guest who sat patiently in her office.

"Helena, why were you fencing on top of the table?" Irene asked, unable to figure it out.

"I told you, he backed me….," Helena said, blowing out her hair that fell perfectly into place. She donned a wine colored lipstick and smacked her lips.

"Why were you fencing …at all?" Irene tried, handing Helena her dress.

"Oh! Well, Myka is very good at it and beats me every time," Helena explained.

"Oh yes, that concept of losing that you don't understand. Do you fence on the table at home?" Irene asked, trying to point out the danger – subtlety.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Helena huffed. "Myka would never get up on a …Ooh, I see where this is going. You still think you're clever. I thought we agreed you would give that fantasy up," Helena said, smirking at the woman. "Less disappointing that way," Helena grinned.

"Oh, touché," Irene said. "What will Myka say when she finds out?"

"Pffft. How would…?" Then Helena looked at her. She hated when Irene was out of retorts and used her final, yet most powerful, weapon – the Myka card.

"Well, I have a meeting," Helena said as if she just remembered.

"I'll go get you some ice," Irene said as they made their way back into the CEO's office.

"Whatever for? I didn't hit my head, thanks to Mr. Styles here," Helena scoffed.

"It's not for your head," Irene assured her. "When Myka tries to talk some sense into you, I'm thinking she might choose an area a little softer than that thick skull of yours," Irene said smiling.

"Don't be….she wouldn't…..are you done?" Helena asked, her jumbled speech announcing her concern.

Irene's grin conveyed her victory.

"Are you in need of an HR Director by any chance," Helena asked Morgan, but Irene was not to be discouraged as she closed the door behind her as she left.

"You would sooner give up your right arm than lose her," Morgan stated plainly knowing the truth.

"Make me an offer," Helena said sitting down in her leather chair behind her desk. "Speaking of offers, Morgan," she continued as if she remembered why she asked the man to come to her office.

"Yes?" Morgan said, thinking Helena was about to announce a new product.

"I'm going to make you one that you won't be able to refuse," the CEO announced assuredly.

Morgan opened the buttons on his jacket and sat back in the chair.

He wasn't sure he liked the sound of this.

Thanks for reading along.

Please check out what Wells Corp and the Townhouse 'might' look like on Pinterest

at ManhattaniteNYC.

Thanks to Henrietta McArdle for her artistic skills in transforming Wells Corp.
Such a talent!