The next day, about six in the morning, Lisa Lumby found her way to the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam, after riding an overnight bus back from Brussels. Dawn was breaking. Waiting a couple of doors over was Ruthie. She appeared to be toking a marijuana joint, but in fact the object she was smoking from was an herbal cigarette. Besides Ruthie was a hard cover suitcase, the kind with a retracting handle one might see for use in train stations or airports.
"Very cute, Ruthie," Lisa said sarcastically, when she approached Ruthie.
"What do you mean, Lisa?" asked Ruthie, pointedly continue to inhale. She finished the one cigarette then lit another. This was a rare guilty pleasure – she tried tobacco once and hated it, but didn't mind herbs; but it was rare for her because they were way more expensive.
"You know an uncensored version of Anne Frank's diary was published about ten years ago or so. So you'd know that she had at least a muted interest in women; possibly she was outright bisexual. And she knew about herself and her sexuality, even before she was holed up with the others in that house. That's why you wanted to meet me here. Because you want your 'adventure in excellence' with me to begin here as an inspiration. Clever. There's just one beef with that, that I have with you, though."
"Which is?"
"Ruthie, I don't think Shelby and Rod explained the rules of intelligence gathering to you carefully enough, or if they did, you weren't paying attention!" snapped Lisa. "When you agree to a meeting place or a rendezvous of any kind, you try to be subtle about where you're going to tell someone to meet him or her, especially on short notice. You offer hints known to each other, common points of reference that outsiders may not understand. And this is anything but that. What if the disk had fallen into the wrong hands? What if the bad guys got their hands on the One Time Pad? The emulator and pad we're all using is pretty tough to crack, but not impossible – not by any means."
"So you're calling it off?" Ruthie was perplexed.
"No," replied Lisa. "I asked you if you wanted to have sex with me. You said yes, that you don't mind or care about cheating on Peter. I said if you're game, then I am too and we're going to do this. I'm looking forward to it, really I am! All I'm saying is, just be more careful next time when you tell me or anyone else where you want to meet! Now, are you sure you weren't followed?"
"After arriving in Frankfurt, I have used several different aliases going between cities, including checking into all hotels. The only place I used my real name was at the Embassy in London." Ruthie shrugged. "I can't say a hundred percent for sure, but I at least followed that part of the suggestions made by Rod and Shelby. I have also created a couple more fake identities for both of us for our trip to Stockholm."
"Good. Are you ready?" asked Lisa.
"Let's rock!"
The women clasped each others' hands for the first time, and at Lisa's urging Ruthie agreed to dispense of her planned route around town. Instead they took a path to the airport via a chicane that Lisa had thought out and used various modes of public transit in Amsterdam – river boat, tram, subway and bus – even though there were several routes that were more direct. Now that Ruthie had come this far, Lisa wasn't taking any chances. They took a plane for the short hop to Copenhagen. After a late breakfast, they then took a taxi to the train station and took a train that put them directly into central Stockholm by about four thirty in the afternoon.
Ruthie and Lisa used more aliases to check into a high-class but not snotty hotel in the city. They then rented a car and took their time enjoying themselves. Both had long wanted to visit a city that called itself the Venice of the North (Amsterdam and Copenhagen oddly enough, among others, made that claim as well) and both wanted a totally different backdrop so they could focus on the rest of the task at hand, as well as each other.
For supper, the women enjoyed platters of locally harvested fish with all the trimmings along with a large chocolate and cream cheesecake (which they took turns feeding each other with, after sharing kisses between bites) and two bottles of wine, red and white, also from locally harvested grapes.
The women finally returned to their hotel room about nine at night. As they closed the door behind them, Ruthie made a dash for the balcony. The sun was midway through the sky although slowly declining. Night was falling and she was eager to get things going. There was a huge grin on her face as she turned around to face Lisa to say she was ready.
"Not yet, Ruthie," said Lisa. "Before we do, I want some answers, and I want truthful ones too. No one except a truly selfish person takes the decision to commit adultery lightly. So why have you decided to cheat on Peter, and why now?"
"That could take a while," said Ruthie.
"Take all the time you need, honey. I'm not going anywhere."
Ruthie took a chair on the round table and sat at about a sixty degree angle to the right of Lisa. She sat in deep thought for about two minutes. At last she spoke.
"I'm sure you remember, Lisa, back in the fall of 1998, three months before Sam and Dave were born, when Dad got shot."
"How can I forget?" replied Lisa. "I remember Luce and Mary. Their faces were like ghosts for more than a week. My chums and I, we avoided all of them because we were afraid they would lash out at us unexpectedly. I also remember seeing Simon and Deena walking home every day from middle school. She was crying uncontrollably, as if she felt if she had warned Blackstone about Johnny sooner, Eric wouldn't have been shot. And Matt...driving to and from Crawford. Spaced out. A couple days later, some friends of mine and I were at the Promenade, and I remember him having to swerve at the last second to avoid slamming into the plaza; totally uncharacteristic of him, he's usually a very cautious driver. "
"So you can understand, then, how my family's aversion to guns goes all the way back; actually even before because of The Colonel's experience with guns."
"Of course I do."
"And I'm you're aware about the nightmare the four of us in the church posse dealt with in Hawaii. I get Rod and Shelby, they have to use guns. Peter and I swore them off forever. I thought we did."
"But?" Lisa was waiting for Ruthie to explain.
"During the summer break, after our honeymoon and before our freshman year, I found out that Peter, behind my back, had taken up air rifle at UCLA's shooting range. By that time, the scholarships for that sport had already been doled out and of course he didn't need one because he, like I, got and maintained an academic scholarship. But he was good enough to make it onto the team, full-time. I was outraged, as you can imagine. I asked him why, given my family's and his family's history with guns, he wanted to play with something that clearly wasn't meant to be a game.
"He said, 'You want to know why? I'll show you.'
"And he took me to the shooting range, and loaded up seven clay pigeon shooting guns, set to fire the clay targets at random from any of the seven directions, anywhere from ten to sixty feet up. Thirty each. That's a total of two hundred ten; in most competitions it's one hundred clays. He was facing a thirty mile per hour headwind straight in his face. To my amazement, he got two hundred ten, out of two hundred ten."
"That is remarkable marksmanship!" said Lisa in shock. "And he had it all along in him, and you never even knew?"
"Apparently he didn't either. But he has incredibly steady hands, something I should have remembered from our making love so many times," laughed Ruthie. "Of course, I didn't want to be left out, so I tried out and within about a month I joined the team too. Which would have been fine, except for one tiny problem."
"Which is?" asked Lisa.
"In the NCAA, indeed in international sports, there are only two sports that are co-ed – that is, men and women compete on an equal level and in the same competitions. One is equestrian, which you know I also participated in in university. Didn't quite make the top twenty in the country so I couldn't qualify for the Olympic tryout. But I had a lot of fun with it. I still love riding horses, especially jumping."
"And the other co-ed sport is shooting...and you soon outclassed your husband."
"Well, yeah. In team competitions, Peter and I more than carried our teammates – well, not quite; of course they were really good too so we collectively won that part of the contest for UCLA. All four years. And Pete and I kept winning doubles competitions too. And national champions, again, all four years. But in each of the singles contests, we went head to head. During the season, win some lose some, each way. We kept making it to nationals because we finished top of the table during the regular season in our conference, the Pacific Twelve. In nationals, though, the first three years neither of us won but we were both in the top ten. But in the finals of the clay competition in the senior year, it was totally crazy. We got one hundred each, the only two to do so; then we went to a tie breaker. Fifty each. We alternated who went first in each round. Perfect scores, again. For eight overtime periods.
"Finally in the ninth, after I got fifty yet again some stupid photographer was changing film rolls – he still insisted on using film and not digital for aesthetic reasons – but while resetting he forgot to put the silencer back on for the mechanism. Sure enough, on clay thirty-two – CLICK. Peter totally lost his concentration, and ended up with a score of only thirty-nine."
"That's terrible – Peter must have been heartbroken," said Lisa.
"I wouldn't say heartbroken. Yes, it was a complete coincidence the paparazzo ran out of film between my turn and his. But Peter started yelled at the guy saying he did it on purpose to make sure I won since he preferred female athletes anyway. Peter then rushed at him and I tripped my husband just in time. Peter got disqualified, and the world governing body banned him from competitions anywhere in the world for two years."
"And that's not all there was to it."
"Nope," said Ruthie. "The funny thing is that Peter and I so much enjoyed guns by now we decided to get full hunting licenses along our competition credentials. It was no trouble getting a dual fishing and hunting license. We took a trip the following summer into the back country in one of the state forests, having earned a couple of tags to harvest game and birds. Despite my family's history with guns, I loved the sport and I still do – we hunters, at least those of us who play by the rules and that's the vast majority of us, truly believe the world's creation is God's and we have a special duty to help Him control the animal population, responsibly. And only taking what we're entitled to, too.
"But human nature being what it is, one day while we were loading our rifles for the daily hunt – well, he shot me in the foot. An accident, of course. But now I was the one lunging at him. And when I backed him into a corner, he hit his noggin sideways and got a concussion. He sent an urgent message by one of those belt-held emergency outbound pagers, showing our current coördinates. We got pulled out by medical helicopter. While we were in the hospital, it was nothing but screaming for the first three days, and finally to protect ourselves from each other, we got separate isolation units in the nut hut wing."
"Psychiatric?"
"Yeah," said Ruthie, in disbelief over that one. "And don't forget, our kids were only three at the time. And Lucy and Kevin did not like babysitting them under those circumstances, I can assure you. When we got back to base camp a few days later, Fish and Wildlife confiscated the tags and since we didn't have a ride back for the rest of the trip and we couldn't cancel because of the huge penalty we would have had for leaving early, we were isolated in our cabin; and notwithstanding the skin films we've all seen on the subject, we didn't have hot sex due to 'cabin fever', the fever meant we just kept screaming at each other even more."
"Is that it?" asked Lisa.
"Oh no. For the record, Peter and I still hunt, although we're a hell of a lot more careful these days, and we always travel with hunting parties. But after the incident – oh, sorry Lisa! - That's when we got our first charge as ministers, in Seattle. Then three more, in Denver, Nashville and Roanoke. Four cities, four time zones. And four churches who kept two sets of books! Naturally, he and I were yelling at each other about why the other didn't do the due diligence. Not to mention, since we had a joint ministry, who took turns looking after the children. Which could not have been good for them either. And we went through that in the course of twenty months. He and I actually contemplated quitting the ministry and going back to social work, to save our sanity as well as our marriage. Right after that, three interim moderator posts. Great congregations but they weren't permanent posts, which sucked.
"Finally, and it could only be a miracle, Rod and Shelby asked us to be their second stringers and it was great to be back with old friends again, as well as a church that was actually fun to be part of no matter how huge the congregation was. The ministry was good, the house was livable and we were so relieved of stress Pete and I started making love again – not just having sex. And for the next two years, our marriage was near perfection again. We actually thought above having another child and were trying. And a year ago, after a night of really wild sex, we finally conceived. Another set of twins. But..."
"You lost them?" Lisa put her hands forward on the table as Ruthie collapsed forward on the table, as she sobbed. Ruthie slapped both of her hands on the table, and Lisa placed her hands firmly but gently on top of her friend's.
"At nineteen weeks. I don't know how – Peter and I were so careful this time," Ruthie finally said. "Unlike the other kids, we didn't have any sex at all during the pregnancy. I was on a reduced workload, had several hours of bed rest every day and I even got Rod and Shelby, along with Peter, to do all the shopping. I know my babies - another boy and girl - are in Heaven, but it still hurts!
"Well nothing was the same again. Two months later, we started having sex again, but we just went through the motions. And like I said, it was still basic sex, for another four months, but he had gone totally cold. I don't know what happened for him to do that – maybe he liked my being yummy when I was pregnant but he didn't have that any longer. Or maybe he was still in shock. All I know is, our coupling totally stopped four months ago. No matter how sexy I dressed, no matter how many times I said I loved him, nothing. Finally, I pleaded with him to at least lick my tunnel of love – and yeah, he made me come but only because he had to. Then a month or so later, I asked him, politely, if I could blow him. He agreed, but he was so bitter I actually wanted to spit – that's how bad he tasted. Usually what comes out is way sweeter than honey. That never happened to me either, and I wondered what would happen next."
"Do Shelby and Rod know you two are having problems?"
"No. Or if they have, they haven't said anything. They have noticed Peter and I only hold hands for the after church 'hand of fellowship' line and we don't hold hands going into and out of our offices anymore, or for the monthly board meetings. But if they have seen anything, they just think we're going into a rough phase. They've had theirs, a few of them, but they always figure it out within a few days. And they absolutely love each other. They've never even been tempted to cheat - and they both tell us the sex is beyond terrific which in turn makes their daughters squeal with delight when they all have breakfast the next day and Rod and Shel keep kissing each other over and over again, so the kids know what happened the night before. Man, I wish Peter and I could have that again. Our kids deserve that kind of delight, too!"
Lisa went into the minibar, grabbed a bottle of Scotch rye for both, and poured out a shot for Ruthie. She signaled for two. Lisa obliged and poured a double dose for herself.
"So, I guess my next question is, why haven't you and Peter gone into counseling?" she asked.
"No reason to...I thought it was a phase, as well. But no, I haven't talked to him to patch things up. And he hasn't approached me. Even the kids, who usually know something is wrong if a couple at church is in trouble and let us know about that early on so Pete and I can intervene early on - usually with success - haven't had their radars on us. They haven't said anything either because they don't know or if they do they don't want to because they don't see it as their business since it's their parents. Which is very unusual."
"So, and I guess before the big question why you're here with me, I need to know how Felicity Foster Hunter fits into all of this. I'm Catholic and have been my whole life and I am absolutely devoted to the faith so I didn't hear much of her, until the death threat. Which by the way was so vague it could have applied to any woman preacher – which is probably why the cops have not investigated the preacher who uttered it."
Lisa had raised a reasonable point. It was non-specific.
But Ruthie knew who he meant.
"Peter's more into following online ministries more than I am," Ruthie said, "but he has always loved her music – and after I heard a couple of her albums I become a fan of hers, too. I have all of her albums on my mp3. But as far as I knew until yesterday, they had no contact with each other. Our church keeps track of every inbound and outbound letter. And because we use postage meters we don't have to go to the post office; although we do make sure personal letters stay personal and are accounted for accordingly. We get communications from other ministries. Not hers. Not official, not personal. And I keep track of the phone records too including his cell phone. Nothing."
"Maybe a pay phone with a phone card you can get from a convenience store?"
"No way. And why? Our personal phone service, like the church's, is through the cable company. And with it, free long distance anywhere in the States - including our colonies around the world - and Canada. No need to use a phone card or a pay phone. And we make calls all over because we have a huge virtual calling index of other ministers. So no reason to suspect anything there either.
"Then why do you think, suddenly, he'd just up and leave to help Felicity?" asked Lisa. "And what tipped you off it wasn't a hunting trip?"
"It wasn't a hunting trip, because as I've said, Peter never goes hunting without me, and we never go out except with a hunting party which we plan months in advance. The tag lotteries for the summer and fall hunts are held late winter or early spring, and we have to enter by phone or web before Christmas the previous year. And I help the group pick the zones where we should enter. As far as his wanting to help her – well, he's always been generous. Remember, even before we joined our current church, he was already a millionaire – from the insurance settlements from the murder-suicide of his parents. He has invested wisely and is already up to mid seven figures. And he always gives a cut of the interest each year to charity as well to help friends of his who need a bit of a hand-up. I get a cut of the payouts too and I also help out local charities with it. It's just human nature for both of us. I learned a lot about being charitable from my parents; and he from Paris."
"But surely, Ruthie, you can understand why I am wondering why he told you where he was, or at least the city. Most people having an affair hide that."
"We always tell each other where we are if we have to be in another place for a few days in case of an emergency. Including a phone number, even that of a go-between. So, in this case, Rod and Shelby got the number of another classmate from divinity school and now hunting buddy. He's always been a good friend."
"Why would Felicity be on Facebook, though? Isn't that just asking for trouble, especially for a celebrity?"
"A lot are, Lisa. But this isn't like us following an A-lister. Most celebrities have a policy of only accepting a friend request if he or she knows a 'friend in low places' firsthand. Only one degree of separation. Peter would have been two degrees, at least until now. I just did a search on a lark, putting in Enid as a city. When her name came up as a friend of the hunting friend, it was the only thing that made sense."
"But if she went missing," backtracked Lisa, "you'd think there'd be an APB on her."
"No parents, no siblings, no children of her own. No family. And since she's a hunter too, people thought she may have taken a trip just to be alone with nature and God. The police did a search of her place, according to both Kevin and Roxanne. Unless she had a secret safe room, with an access port only she knew about, they had to presume as had all the other cops, she was MIA."
"But Felicity is definitely alive. Peter would not go to Enid unless he had the friend of a friend get through to her. The friend would have been the only other person she could trust until this blows over."
"Yes."
"So why is he cheating on you? And with an older woman?"
"Why wouldn't he?" said Ruthie, resigned. "Our marriage is on the rocks. If it was me, I'd probably do the same. If you don't communicate, you don't have sex, you only do the absolute necessaries to raise your children – then of course you'll have an affair. Plus, Felicity's sexy, she's smart and oh can she sing – in no particular order."
"And so you've decided it's payback time."
"Yes."
"Okay, Ruthie," said Lisa, slowly, "now for the most important question. Why do you want to make love to me? Of all the men and women in the world, why me? And it's not just because I invited you to."
"Lisa," said Ruthie, "something sparked in me when you told me how you put your life back together after you were raped. Just taking Comp Lit with minors in French and German takes a lot of nerve. Living with your ex boyfriend and your kids, along with your brother, his ex and their kids? Most people would go crazy over that. Most women I know who went to higher education are stuck at call centres. Or meat factories. Or assembling wire harnesses at parts plants. None of them bad jobs at all – someone has to do them – but they've wasted their talents because they never used their ambition. You got yours back, and you used it. Big time.
"And asking your brother's ex to have sex with you? And getting to the point where you want to marry her, with the kids' and ex's blessings? Wow. That really is the ice cream on the apple pie! Lisa, you have it all going to you. Even if you hadn't propositioned me, I realize now, if I met you under different circumstances, I'd probably try to seduce you!"
Ruthie paused.
"Is there something else you wanted to say?" asked Lisa.
"You're right, Lisa. I was wrong to say I wouldn't consider it. I actually have. I lied to you when I said I haven't. I've never said what I am about to say, out loud. I have never said it to Peter or our kids. Not even to my sibs. Or my parents. But here goes...I'm bisexual. I actually have been, since a year before I first laid eyes on Peter. And I consider myself honored that you will be the first woman I ever make love with. I only ask for your patience. Because..."
The sun was rapidly approaching the horizon, and the red sky getting rapidly darker.
"Because I'm really new at this, a total fool. So please, be gentle with me, and let me know if I'm a little too hard with you."
Lisa smiled, and drew Ruthie to her feet.
"I will be gentle, honey," she said, "Just follow my lead."
Lisa brought Ruthie towards her. They faced each other, eyes locked, for fifteen seconds. Finally, Lisa pulled Ruthie closer and started kissing her. They kissed several times, then Ruthie let Lisa place her tongue inside of her mouth. After a few minutes, Ruthie had her turn with Lisa.
They pulled away slightly. Ruthie slowly unbuttoned Lisa's blouse and as she did so traced her tongue from Lisa's lips towards the top of her bosom. Lisa then had her turn and when she reached Ruthie's bra she unclasped it and let the breasts fall out. They were hanging slightly but Lisa observed with a smile they were slowly becoming larger with excitement. Ruthie was moaning as Lisa kissed her breasts, from the outside in, first the right which was slightly larger, while rubbing her hands on the other's peak; then she reversed. When Lisa sucked on the top of the mounds as as baby would getting breast milk, Ruthie was biting her lips to keep from screaming. She was so thrilled she pushed Lisa back and had her turn although she was a bit faster.
They then took off each other's skirts. Then the shoes, and stockings. The only things left on each woman were their respective pantyhose and the panties underneath them. Once the hoses came off. Ruthie reached into Lisa's panties and found her way to the sweet spot, where she started running her fingers up and down until it got moist and Ruthie even placed her finger inside. Now it was Lisa's turn to get excited with glee. She returned the favour to Ruthie, then finally pulled off her panties and started licking the sweet spot as the top also peaked and she started rubbing that as well.
Ruthie wasn't sure how much more she could take. She finally yanked off Lisa's panties, pulled her to the king sized bed, after ripping off all its covers, and licked her sideways and invited Lisa to do the same to her at the same time. Finally, after a long time of this, they finally crossed each other's legs as close as two women could be, and rubbed their crotches against each other until finally they had the climaxes of their entire lives. No man or woman had ever satisfied Lisa like this. And Peter had never made Ruthie this satisfied either.
While their total time together was close to an hour and a half, it felt like a lifetime had passed. And they were lying closer to each other than to another human being. So close, that when they woke up the next morning at eight in the morning, still in each other's arms and their crotches less than two inches from each other's, they wondered if they truly belonged in their now relationships or with each other.
Finally they had morning glory in the shower and got into their nightgowns. Lisa made breakfast. One hour later as she and Ruthie had even more foreplay and got ready for another round – they agreed to four more each day for that and the following two days – Ruthie's cell phone started buzzing in cycles of three short pulses each, which meant an e-mail or instant message.
"What the heck?" asked Ruthie.
"Do you think Peter knows about us?" asked Lisa.
"I don't know, and I don't care. Karma's a bitch."
Ruthie tapped the screen. There was one e-mail, which was from Peter. Wondering if Peter was going to fess up to something she already knew, she scrolled to the text but all it had was a URL shortened link. Ruthie tapped on that.
It was a link to Felicity's website. It was her new blog entry, the first one in 25 days. And Ruthie's eyes opened up, with an expression that expressed some shock and some joy.
"Harrison Anderson, I know why you were smirking. You thought I committed suicide. But I'm very much ALIVE. And later, at two hours Zulu at seven two one six point five one five kilohertz SSB, the war begins. With luck, you'll also see me on YouTube – live – hackers or no hackers!"
"Zulu is Greenwich Mean Time," said Lisa after reading the entry, too. "Most of Europe is GMT plus two in the summer, so that's four AM tomorrow morning here! Think Felicity'll fess up herself about her and Peter?"
"If she has any hope at all of saving her ministry, she's going to have to," replied Ruthie. "She has to tell the truth so she can call out Anderson for his lies."
"Say, Ruthie," asked Lisa, "is that frequency yours' and Peter's?"
"No," said Ruthie. "We have access to a fair band of frequencies as do all hams; other than the assigned frequencies to state broadcasters, if anyone else isn't using it, it's pretty much first come first serve, and the other guys and I can change frequencies – frequently – if we have to. That frequency Felicity and Peter referred to is in the forty meter band, which is really good for broadcasts after dark – they propagate a fair distance. Even a very low power transmitter. All of North America, the Caribbean, and Europe will be in the dark so it'll be crystal clear if you have a shortwave – and in this part of the world, as you know, those radios are more ubiquitous."
"Well, I have one in one of my suitcases. A windup one with a solar backup."
"Me too...I haven't even had a chance to listen to the BBC or the Voice of America since I came here."
"Don't listen to VOA!" pleaded Lisa. "Their sister station, Radio Free Europe, is way less biased!" She paused, then said, "We may need to get a better receiver though. I can hit one of the electronics shops here around lunchtime and get something with digital tuning that will tune in right to that frequency so we can listen just in case the video feed goes - which I suspect it might since millions are going to tune in."
"Swedish labels, though?"
"International symbols. The instruction manuals though, like everything else here, is in the twenty-three official languages of the EU - so we can set it up in minutes with the English directions. But I have something like it at home. Need to keep in touch with what goes on back home. State-run or otherwise."
"Boy, Anderson's going to be pissed!"
"Yeah, he will. But that's his problem. And that's something I'll drink to."
"Swedish vodka, I presume," said Ruthie, reaching into the minibar.
"Only if you'll have a shot with me, sweetheart."
The women drank, and kissed, and began their next round in bed.
A third of the way around the world and nine time zones away, in a gated compound somewhere in Anaheim, Harrison Anderson and his getting uglier by the day wife, Prudence, were getting ready for bed when he the phone started ringing. Prudence picked up the phone. It was their business manager, who told her what he had just seen on Felicity's website. Prudence hung up, her face turning whiter than a ghost – turning into something of a mirror image of a zombie. Not that she didn't already look like one in any case.
"What is it Prudence?" asked Harrison.
Prudence was so in shock she could barely reach over to her husband to whisper. Finally, she grabbed a sticky note, wrote the message and handed it to Harrison.
It took three seconds. Finally, Harrison screamed, at the top of his lungs, "JIMMY FLAGITIOUS CARTER!"
Or something like it.