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- - - beauty-en-touch - - - Prolog Transsexualism: Transsexualism is a condition in which a person identifies with a physical sex different from the one that they were born with or assigned in cases where ambiguity of the child's sex organs led to assigning them a physical sex. Transsexualism is considered a taboo subject in many parts of the world and has become more widely known in Western nations in the late 20th century due to the sexual revolution, but remains a highly controversial topic. Negativism and discrimination about transsexualism may stem from religious beliefs or cultural norms. However, many cultures around the world and throughout time have not only held a place for transsexuals within their societies but even culturally sanction them, for example, ... From Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia "beauty-en-touch" is a story a long time in the making, over seven years off and on. The story is fictional though many of the principal characters and the story's setting exist or nearly so, and some of the lead character's life is autobiographical with enough literary license taken to protect the innocent, should any such souls exist. With this said the background for the story may be of interest, and briefly I offer it for your fuller reading enjoyment. My own experience with Gender Identification Disorder (GID) suggests it is an enigma for the masses, but to a few such as myself it is a uniquely beautiful expression of humanity. This perception runs counter to the conventional wisdom that GID is some sort of complex and puzzling psychiatric condition to be found in the bowels of the DSM, even considered prurient by some. Of course it is not prurient; rather it is a largely misunderstood condition that remains under-researched and often much maligned; though it is now widely recognized how important counseling and other treatments are as may be prescribed by competent professionals. But these ministrations only deal with the obvious medical and peculiar social manifestations of gender variance. For those who might genuinely inquire, they would find there is so much more that is eternally wholesome and mysteriously natural about transsexualism. This makes it one of nature's most amazing gifts, especially when one has the courage to reach out across the multitude of divisions that separate us in our often fractious and cynical world. This sense of opportunity, of a mysterious gift, occurs throughout the story here much as it did for me across decades of wispy, odd and reoccurring feelings. Fortunately for many trans-people these seemingly strange feelings, feelings that can be nettlesome to the core, eventually occur palpably and comfortably as the essence of who 'we' are on a daily basis. They provide an emotional and spiritual context for celebrating life as it is, even if it causes one to awaken to some of the most profoundly challenging mysteries in life. And yes, these mysteries create uncomfortableness on the part of the gifted individual and those in his or her life, but it is this discomfort that unlocks the power and grace of the gift. Such were my circumstances beginning at about age three and continuing for over five decades, decades of intense denial including a particularly dark moment in life when the 'final' solution seemed the only solution. In the weeks following that moment while seeking to ensure such despair never occurred again, I searched the Internet and in a matter of a few hours found so many different expressions of transgender life, love, and circumstance - yielding the realization that I wasn't alone. Further, I found that any thought, feeling, or fantasy I harbored had already been experienced in the lives of other transgender folks. This helped me reconcile that my life, lived in complete denial despite a persistent but repressed desire to find my true self-expression, wasn't all that uncommon. There in the cyberspace were thousands, no millions of lives and stories about those who had found their true self-expression. In that moment, I instantly benefitted from one of the fundamental tenants of Internet's realm of transgender lore: A sense of community, awareness, and an inkling of who I was and who I was to become. Of course, one of my most amazing discoveries was Fictionmania, and though the stories were fictional that didn't detract from their appeal, what with fiction being largely an expression of reality freed from the constraints of the past. In fact, literally and literarily Fictionmania gave me a safe way to take my first secretive and scary steps into a life I was born to live but had not yet found the courage or path to walk upon. These small steps were hugely enabling in the face of my overall conservative life style, a highly successful corporate career, and being a revered patriarch of a large expanded family. As part of my early journey into womanhood, Fictionmania motivated me to write pieces of the story that follows until finally there was something around 15,000 words written. Then the tectonic shift called 'transitioning' occurred, and crossing over became my entire life for three years culminating in reassignment surgery. As time passed I returned to transgender literature simply for the fun of it, and I found it was just as much fun upon return as it was on that quiet evening when I first searched for 'transgender' on the Internet. And to continue the theme noted earlier, the story you are about to read is not true, but that's fine since fact and fiction are nothing more than two different perceptions of a moment in time and a preconceived notion of 'what is' verses 'what we say it is.' Why you may ask is this important? Because what we say matters at least as much, if not more, than anything we might actually experience. For example, consider what Kate Bornstein famously said in response to a off handed question, "Are you a man or a woman?" She replied, "Sometimes." In this story it is that "sometimes" way of being combined with the submission of one's will to another that created the dominant theme driving the story line, a theme combining gender blending and submission within a framework of a matriarchal culture and belief system. Interestingly enough, if one searches they will find numerous examples where powerful contribution and leadership have been achieved through selfless service and complete submission of one's will to another, particularly in deference to feminine domination. Further, it is noteworthy that being such a subject has often been a highly valued and revered place in many social hierarchies, enhanced in many cultures by the subject being a gender- variant submissive/slave. beauty-en-touch is such a story, and I can personally confirm that many aspects of the story exist in the world today on a scale and frequency that might surprise some, highlighting that life is often more interesting and exotic than fiction. With this in mind, I wrote the story for your enjoyment and my fulfillment therein, so if this genre interests you by all means please do enjoy it. Let your imagination soar as you journey with Russell Stamford down a path that is seldom traveled, one that has ancient and mythical origins found within the genesis of what we know as self. Part I 1. Abruptly as ever the dream evaporated, interrupted by a jostling touch down at Reagan National ending a nap occurring somewhere in that dream space between reality and insanity. Looking out the window Russ could see a cold, gray sky held half of the Washington skyline with a fresh breeze flowing down the Potomac, while the other half of the sky danced in the blue-white light of a spring yet to come. It made a perfect backdrop for the conference on America's competitiveness, for which Russell Stamford was the featured speaker and to which he likened forecasting the weather similar to the challenge of getting it right in business. The trick wasn't always knowing what the weather was going to be; it was knowing more about what it might be and being better prepared for the possibilities than anyone else: rain or shine, flood or drought. Believing that form followed function in all things, Russ firmly held that the same was true for life in general, though there had been occasion to wonder. Russ had got it right professionally several times in his relatively short career, and his last position as president and CEO of American General Aviation (AGA), which he had assumed at age 34, was now a well- known case study in many tier one b-schools. It was a study of how to muscle into a crowded market, change the rules, and ultimately assume a dominant position in a highly competitive market, in this case the airframe fabrication and sub-assembly industry. It was his success at changing a loss leader into a long-term, high performer that originally brought him to Washington, D.C. Nearly a decade later, Russ was on his way to the exclusive Merritt Conference Center in Virginia to share his insights with other business leaders. As he settled into the limo sent to pick him up, the agenda for the next day paged through his mind including a cocktail party that night, continental breakfast the next morning, the opening address and facilitating a leadership and change discussion built around equity markets followed by the flight home late that day. After a few minutes he closed his eyes, breathing deeply and becoming meditative, a relaxation aid he had picked up while flying freight out of LA to the Far East years ago as a young pilot, remembering always to relax and recoup while you can. A lingering fragment from the now faded dream flashed across his subconsciousness and Russ twitched. When the limo approached the luxurious Merritt campus, Russ mentally began preparing for the evening cocktail party that included 80 or so of the Fortune 1,000 CEOs. It would be an upscale and gracious evening though pretentious might have been closer to the mark. It wouldn't be hard to feel the tension in the room either, there being too much testosterone for any one enclosed structure, but more women would be at the meeting than when Russ first attended over 11 years ago. Russ understood the power dynamics of business' upper class and appreciated how much attention was put on appearances and individual decorum or lack thereof in some cases. Even a silly conversational gaff could cause a stock to tank on the next trading day. But since leaving AGA, which included joining the jet setting-consulting crowd, Russ had begun to question the conventional wisdom about these folks' ministrations concerning their stock prices. The market could be irrational and needed to be dealt with accordingly for sure, but never dogmatically for very long on the same subject. Perhaps, just perhaps, being able to see the matter standing a little off to the side allowed one, at least Russ hoped so, to gain an understanding that many leaders never grasped about the dynamics and interrelatedness of business, life, and love... including the equity markets. He knew it was so easy to compartmentalize, often expedient to do so, but the world seemed bent on its own way and those convenient compartments had a messy way of merging at the most inopportune time. Russ' first and only marriage was testimony to that sad truth. The Merritt Center was a few miles from Langley, Virginia in a wooded and hilly area. Russ remembered the ever present if not so obvious security, which was necessary for this kind of clientele. From the roadway the Merritt campus wasn't very impressive; all that could be seen were the tops of a few buildings above the trees several hundred yards inside a non-descript compound. But once you entered the exit to Merritt, it was obvious this was not your usual conference center or a run of the mill hotel. Indeed, the security there always seemed over the top to Russ, though he was sure not many visitors were aware of how secure it was. The President had Camp David; the upper echelons of American businesses had Merritt. Of course, the President also used Merritt when he wanted to, and many high-level cabinet and presidential gatherings had been held here, though seldom reported in the media. The campus could handle well over 400 visitors in three separate conference settings and all in total privacy if necessary. As Russ exited the limo into the last vestiges of a misty rain that fell through the waning light of the evening, an eager and very polite Merritt assistant greeted Russ, "Good evening Mr. Stamford, welcome back to Merritt. Let me show you to your suite while we check you in and bring your belongings along. We have put you in the Jefferson on the third floor overlooking the lake. If we hurry a little you should be treated to a beautiful sunset - what with the showers and clouds and all. I'm assuming this meets with your approval." Russ nodded his consent and followed the assistant into a rich and elegant residential lobby. There was no front desk; rather there was a large antique French provincial table discretely set in an alcove just off the grand greeting room and lobby with four smartly dressed aides, each with a cell phone, and a miniaturized comm. system plugged into one of their ears. This amid an eloquent setting of American colonial and French provincial surroundings in a room that could easily handle 150 people with much space to spare. It seemed large and small at the same time with a quintessential old money, privileged class d?cor. Russ would not, nor would any of the other guests, see a statement or register for their stay. A statement would be mailed or emailed to a confidential address on file and that was the extent of administrative functions guests suffered. Either you were expected and your administrative needs were handled before hand, or a private secretary would make an appointment and help with the tiresome details. Of course, most visitors had staff to handle that. In Russ' case, he was on Merritt's preferred houseguest list; the efficient staff at Merritt had handled these matters for Russ just prior to his leaving AGA, anticipating he would be a frequent visitor, which he had become. The young and eager assistant was right; the sunset was spectacular. The assistant lingered just long enough to ensure that Russ had no special needs. Russ knew his luggage and business-traveling case would be up to his room momentarily, and that a personal maid would soon call asking if she could help unpack and assist Russ prepare for the party. At first he had said no to this service, but a friendly chat with Ms. Cummings, the Residential Supervisor, had helped him understand that the staff was worried they had somehow failed him. She tactfully suggested it would be better for all if he accepted the service and enjoyed it. He had agreed and now looked forward to seeing Hanna again. Russ arrived at Merritt as a high profile advisor to the business captains and mavens of the world; he was a fit 41 year old standing just under six feet tall, rather lithe, not overly handsome but with welcoming features; he made his home in Corona del Mar overlooking the Pacific in the OC. Wall Street's assessment of Russ: A brilliant strategist who cared for people in a warm and wholesome way but who could assume a cold and detached persona in a blink of the moment. In short, a compelling and compassionate leader, who was also a cold- blooded, reptilian-like competitor. When the switch occurred, the only tip off was in the eyes. They no longer sparkled; rather, they appeared as blank windows into a bottomless void. Hanna and the luggage arrived simultaneously. The porter quickly placed the luggage on the bench at the foot of the poster bed upon Hanna's request and he departed with a nod, quietly closing the door as he left - without a tip as none was expected nor would have been accepted. Hanna was a tallish woman with smooth chocolate skin, short hair, a friendly and wholesome face with slight smile wrinkles and a somewhat matronly appearance. The simple but stylish uniform complemented and encouraged this impression. Russ wondered two things: How old was she, 30 or 50, and what might she look like if she chose to dress and complement her obviously beautiful black heritage and graceful lines? Hanna spoke first, "Welcome back, sir. It's been over four months, hopefully, an enjoyable and profitable absence from Merritt. I'm pleased to serve you again." Russ flushed, "Hanna, please call me Russ and, yes, I'm glad to return but please... call me Russ this time." "Yes, Mr. Stamford," came a gentle but slightly condescending tone from Hanna. Russ smiled and shook his head. He just couldn't seem to get used to having a personal servant. One so apparently comfortable in the servant's role, but one who controlled and directed many things through her complete dedication to a job flawlessly performed and consequently having immense power without ever apparently dispensing it. Russ was beginning to understand the power that such service could exert over their principals through a total and servile commitment to serve flawlessly. He paused in thought, "If business leaders could only grasp this, they would be able to turn their workforces into competitive powerhouses through service to the customer. The more flawlessly they served the more power they exerted." Hanna was clearly world-class in this regard, and he was satisfied to follow her lead. "Mr. Stamford, Mr. Stamford... Russell!" Russ quickly returned to the matters at hand as the sunset darkened into nighttime's haunting glow that silently tugged at him to stay and peer into the beckoning void. "So you can call me Russ, ahhh, Russell at least," he chuckled. Hanna patiently looked at him, nodded slightly and replied, "We only have an hour and a half to unpack and freshen you before you join the others, and you did seem to be pretty deep off in your thoughts, Sir. Will we be dressing black tie or just business formal?" Without hesitating, "May I suggest black tie? We will have 23 ladies this evening and they all brought DC, dressy evening cocktail wear and there will be a string quartet. You'll possibly be somewhat over dressed, but it will be a nice counterpoint as most if not all of the men will be business formal. You are their leader so to speak; lead by example as you always say." Russ nodded and headed for the shower; he didn't question Hanna's judgment. Experience told him Hanna was giving him every edge possible as she served him, which obviously went far beyond her role as his personal servant. While Russ was in the shower, Hanna began unpacking in the same order and placement that she always did; this was amazing, just the way Russ would have done it. Russ wondered how Hanna could sense or know so much about his preferences. Was flawless service a skill or magic? As the two heads from the warm shower splashed across his travel weary body, Russ wished he had a few hours so he could nap. The curse of the west coast business traveler is the east coast cocktail party following a late afternoon arrival. It seems OK until you realize that you will typically be up at 3:00AM by your diurnal clock the next day, creating the need to be like the Eveready Bunny who kept on going and going in order to complete the next day. This extended energy drain would usually occur on top of a long day traveling, unless you owned an accommodating corporate jet with transcontinental legs. Without the comfort of a private jet to flex time and offer true enroute rest as needed, there was no easy way to power through that first full day. Russ preferred to go on to London or Paris from California and do business immediately, than to do the power meeting/travel shtick from the west coast to the east coast. But the compensations were outstanding, and Merritt had few equals when it came to top cabin class and service. He had endured this time crunch hundreds of times before, and he knew he would many more times to come. Two fluffy, warm towels greeted Russ as he stepped out of the shower, and once he toweled off he slipped into a rich and fluffy bathrobe that reached below his knees. Hanna was waiting to give him a fresh shave. Slightly uncomfortable with the attention to come, Russ sat in the chair and Hanna reclined it. Sensing his uneasiness she wrapped a warm, damp towel around his face. She then massaged his shoulders and neck; the tension began to melt easing him into his preparation for the evening. Quietly and at the same time a manicurist deftly shaped and buffed his fingernails. By the time Hanna was done massaging and shaving Russ, the manicurist had left. Hanna commented wryly, "Well, I see you were able to get through that without frightening the manicurist away this time." Russ groaned and Hanna had a twinkle in her eye; wheedling and needling were just two of her favorite activities, and she dearly loved both with a client so obviously vulnerable to them. Earlier that day, an executive 737 gracefully lifted off from Charleston, South Carolina headed for D.C. A crew of three accompanied Maggie Phillips and Justine Cedars. Maggie was the enigmatic and highly visible CEO of beauty-en-touch, branded as bet, an $28.4 billion a year women's fashion, media, boutique and spa empire that was considered the leading 'woman's world' conglomerate - not just in style but also in financial performance. The company was publicly traded with an enviable P/E ratio over a 38-year period, but curiously nearly 68 percent of the stock remained internally held including a considerable preferred stock investment in a charitable trust supporting a $750 million endowed foundation, simply called Ella. Justine was the 34-year old bet Executive VP of Marketing and Business Development. Although Maggie clearly had over a decade or more in front of her, Justine had become everyone's odds-on-favorite to succeed Maggie, just as Maggie had been some 22 years ago. Bet used a succession model patterned somewhat after GE. In the business world of serving women, Maggie had clearly become the Jack Welch of her industry and she had gracefully admitted he was her role model during a Harvard lecture series more than a decade before hosted by the NYSE, adding in jest that it was his business acumen she admired not his haute couture. Justine had been recruited by bet while a sophomore at Yale. From that moment on all of Justine's time was spent at school or at bet. bet had provided a full ride plus a generous living allowance. She was of Middle Eastern heritage with golden olive skin, a tall and supple body with perfect modeling structure, long raven black hair, and dark eyes that were so beautifully mysterious that it was difficult to hold her direct gaze for long. Because of Justine's beauty, she had frequented the pages of and was once on the cover of a woman's bet, bet's upscale magazine that covered all things of potential interest to the beautiful, desirable and powerful woman of the world. a woman's bet was elegantly created and attuned to a woman's world and its ways, being of women, by women and for women. Sandy and Colette taxied the 737 to a stop in front of Merritt's executive airport lounge, taking its place with 18 other executive aircraft, Reggie quickly opened the door and ensured all arrangements were as anticipated while Maggie and Justine collected their personal belongings they intended to carry themselves. Reggie athletically ran back up the jet stairs just as Maggie smiled and asked, "All is ready?" "Everything is ready ma'am. May I assist you with anything?" answered Reggie. Maggie nodded slightly handing over a large travel bag and indicated she was now prepared to deplane with Justine close behind. Maggie appreciated a crisply run organization that seemed to do everything effortlessly; of course, that sense of effortlessness was part of the feminine image bet went to extreme lengths to foster. Maggie's demand for effortless perfection was legendary and there had been hell to pay during her tenure at times when others seemed less committed than she to 'effortless elegance,' as she called it. This was just as Reggie had expected. She was used to this as head of bet executive security and accompanied Maggie on all of her travels. No matter where it was or for what reason, Reggie was always within close range of Maggie, and no one was more committed than Reggie. At the residence, Maggie and Justine were met by a Merritt staff person and quickly lead to a suite of rooms for the entire bet group, including the crew, which was invited to attend the conference, both Sandy and Collette being newly appointed SVPs of Flight Ops. Like Russ, Maggie and Justine had each been provided a personal servant, which the ladies took in stride as part of the service as it was intended. Since it was early, Maggie asked Justine to join her for a glass of wine and some conversation. Justine knew what Maggie was going to talk about, and she assumed her best, "I'll-get-through-this-experience-if- it-kills-me," persona. She entered the common room shared between their suites, and Maggie asked Justine how she was coping with taking on a personal mentor, as Maggie had many years ago. In response to Maggie's inquiry in the face of Justine's ambivalent excitement over the affairs to follow, she half-heartedly began, "I can make this work and prosper from it, but I still think it unnecessary since I work so much in direct contact with you. Who better to be a mentor than you?" Justine smiled faintly but did not expect the statement to be taken seriously. Maggie took Justine's hand and smiled, "I know dear, it seems redundant and adds another person into our already fully packed agenda. Trust me on this. Mildred has been unbelievably helpful to me, helping create a strategy for bet over the years to become the unchallenged leader in our industry. Maggie was looking away wistfully. She then looked Justine directly in the eyes, "You need this kind of support as well, and it cannot come from me. You, we both need a fresh look at things from someone who doesn't give a damn about our past successes. Someone, who once they are onboard, can tactfully but unwaveringly tell us we have smelled our own rose garden too long - flowers, compost, fertilizer and all!" Justine had heard this before. She knew the decision was fiat accompli, and now they had to complete the recruitment process for her mentor. She wondered if Maggie could really pull this off, as Maggie's CEO had when she recruited Mildred while Mildred was at the top of her game. Justine knew this trip had been taken primarily to complete the recruiting process and secondarily to begin positioning her more publicly among the world's business leaders. In fact, Justine wished Mildred were here and she would have been if had not been for a nagging chest cold that had caused Maggie to finally tell Mildred to go to bed and stay there until the doctor released her. At 61, Mildred was a powerful woman to reckon with, focuses and brilliant but occasionally needing the gentle but firm handling that only Maggie could provide. Justine marveled at how well those two got along, engaging each other with such grace and respect, even affection. Mildred served Maggie as a trusted and, well, loved was the only way Justine could put it, advisor. She noted that servant almost seemed to fit Mildred better though few really understood this as well as Justine did. Mildred always put Maggie before everything and provided advice, support, and a caring shoulder for Maggie to lean on whenever she needed it. Justine knew it had not always been that way, and this worried her more than anything about accepting a subject in-service along the traditions of Maggie and Mildred. Would she be able to develop such a trusting and deep relationship with her subject? If she wanted to be CEO of bet, Justine knew there was no alternative but to succeed here; it was the CEO office model and that was that. This was one of many tests she would have to pass before the Board handed the scepter over to her. As Justine mused this over and looked at Maggie, she felt that there was still something she didn't yet grasp in this endeavor. The evening's cocktail party was held in one of the large third story clubrooms. It was large enough for 170 people and the 80 plus attending did so in a relaxed setting even if the atmosphere was tingling with high energy. A string quartet played soft chamber music and the food and drink was wonderfully prepared and presented. It was a posh scene of mostly Nuevo-riche, upper-crust working class accompanied by old world manners. Altogether a charming gathering if you forgot for the most part that these often competitive, egocentric, maniacal people were some of the world's most ruthless and cunning business leaders. A world-class shark tank inhabited by dark suits and understated cocktail dresses elegantly worn with real personas barely visible. Medford Palmer, Director of the Conference Board, welcomed everyone and briefly outlined the following day including an introduction of Russell Stamford. Under Secretary Wayland from Commerce gave a short speech. With this brief interruption over, everyone carried on again. Russ engaged nearly everyone in at least a handshake and personally delivered his gratitude to each of them for taking time from their grinding schedules to spend a day at Merritt with him and the Conference Board. As he worked the crowd he smiled that Hanna had been on point concerning the tux. Russ approached two female executives engaged in a lighthearted discussion with a small group of tech execs, he watched the two ladies turn and flank him, clearly intending that he should meet them first. Russ turned to them and extended his hand to Maggie Phillips. "I don't believe I have had the pleasure, though my hunch is you are Maggie Phillips from bet. Your wonderful reputation precedes you as well as your obvious style and beauty. You make old hacks like me look like rough necks just out of the woods." Of course, Russ knew who she was; Merritt had supplied him with a one-page dossier of everybody attending including a recent color photograph. Maggie smiled and took Russ' hand, squeezing it momentarily with her best air of southern familiarity. She turned to Justine and announced in a flurry of Charleston charm and mock Scarlet affectation, "Justine, we must simply watch our manners this evening or this poor gentleman, who is obviously the class of the show will humble himself into a state of permanent groveling. My dear, we don't want our featured speaker and the cover of last March's Fortune Magazine to feel such depreciation. Do we?" Russ flushed a little and both Maggie and Justine looked at him obviously enjoying the exchange and Russ' reaction. Russ had met only a few power players like Maggie in his career: Beautiful, scary smart, articulate, and charmingly ruthless. Woe to the competitor who mistook her easy manner and familiarity for anything but what it was. If you succumbed to it, you deserved everything you got, including the thank you note for the shirt off your back. Russ did not mind the attention or her well-earned reputation at all; business was tough enough and often tougher for women. The ability to use whatever gifts you had in the fray was fine by him. In fact, Russ found top-drawer female executives, as a group, were frequently more holistic in their leadership styles, permitting them to organize and integrate more effectively than their male counterparts. It was their ability to organically process that often produced better long-term results at the end of the day. He knew Maggie was at the top of her class in this regard. Justine acknowledged Russ but said nothing. He was sure this was out of character but assumed she was making sure Maggie remained the center of attention, a good strategy this evening if you were in training for the number one spot, which she obviously was. The one thing Russ did notice other than the absolute beauty of this youngish woman, were her eyes. Unlike most people who were intimidated by her beauty and especially her intense eyes, he felt he could see into another world through those eyes and he continued gazing. He looked away just before the moment became awkward. This one deserved watching he noted, being unsure why but totally sure of the impression. He had never been wrong about these matters. Russ shook everyone's hand and moved on with the evening passing without further event. Before long he was back at his suite and Hanna was skillfully guiding him through messages, reviewing tomorrow's schedule before the meeting, and then sending him off to bed. Russ concluded that having a personal servant could become habit forming, especially one so capable as Hanna. Next morning the conference started well and proceeded with some excellent sharing between the featured panel of speakers and attendees. At the first break, Russ helped a new CEO of a sporting goods conglomerate make a couple of networking contacts. These contacts were sure to be interested in the sporting good chains' delivery channels. A good first 75 minutes for any conference thought Russ, but when Russ began his breakout session, he was sure he could palpitate an edgy air of hostility between three real estate development executives. As the session progressed the edginess broke out into a not so veiled set of barbs exchanged between the three CEOs. Finally, Russ could take it no more. During a particularly pointed exchange, Russ interrupted coldly. "You lads know there isn't a dammed thing you can do about the fact that the Street has your stocks undervalued right now. Playing spear catch here won't change a thing. You'd do your stockholders a favor if you went out on the course today and put an industry-wide strategy together to turn financial opinions around on the Street. Your problem isn't your competitiveness or the market you're all in; it's about the structural way the market is evaluating your assets and return on capital." The three execs looked at Russ with revulsion and recoiled like snakes preparing to strike. For those who noticed, Russ' eyes no longer sparkled, and two women attendees did notice, making a mental note. Russ quietly waited; the silence filled the room and everyone uncomfortably watched to see how the drama would play out. After nearly 10 seconds Russ smiled warmly and offered the services of the Carl Stone PR firm from Chicago with an invitation for Carl to play golf with the three somewhat stunned execs. A surprised Carl quickly nodded his agreement to the three seeking their willingness to do so. Russ relaxed and snorted to the nearest of the three put off execs, "Come on Bert, you know you would enjoy the chump change these guys will donate to your celebration at the 19th hole from playing golf with you." Slowly, everyone smiled and the room sighed in agreement that a round of golf might be just the ticket, particularly if Carl were willing to listen to their problem. Of course Carl would listen, this could easily become an eight-figure gig in the making. The morning proceeded on in a lighter vain, and Russ spoke again before lunch in the brief and final plenary session. As he was collecting his notes and searching for his laser pointer, Maggie and Justine neared the dais. Approaching obliquely, Maggie held out the laser pointer he had misplaced and gently took Russ' elbow in her hand. Surprised, Russ turned and flushed at being caught slightly off balance twice in less then 24 hours by the same lady. Maggie was dressed in more feminine attire that her peers, a look that effortlessly crossed between business and social environs. The dress was of medium weight silk in pale and soft beige with a tasteful but provocative drape and a Chinese collar piped in green. It had a matching jacket without a collar cut to just above the waist. The dress buttoned down the front, stopped just above the knee, and was belted with a thin gold chain. The dress' material was highlighted with a cool green and blue pattern woven throughout the cloth creating an almost invisible compliment of oriental flowers that mirrored a spring that would soon blossom. The look begged hope and expectation. The dress contoured to her lovely shape, perfectly accenting her curves and full breasts in understated elegance. Maggie's jade jewelry was perfectly matched, as were the three-inch heels and purse complementing the jade- green jewelry. The entire ensemble was a bet original, and Russ knew that Maggie was wearing it as part of her very public image for bet, an organization attuned to the feminine wiles. He thought quietly, "God, do they ever have their branding down pat," noting that she wasn't just wearing the cloths: no, she was using them, owning them and everything they represented. It was quintessential elegance and branding at the personal level, but there was more here to Russ' eye though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. "You took a big personal risk in your breakout this morning. Those three will remember you for a long time. You really seemed to care about their schoolyard behavior getting in the way of intelligent analysis and decision-making. I'm surprised you bothered." She was giving a matter of fact review of Russ' impromptu intervention, "If that's what you would call it," said Maggie ending her comment ambiguously, perhaps suggesting that she was testing Russ' decision. Russ wasn't used to being called on the carpet no matter how charmingly it was done. The twinkle was still in his eyes but they narrowed, and his breath hissed a little while preparing to rejoinder this silkily offered but prickly critique. His response was never vocalized. Justine fluidly moved between them and caught his eyes with hers as Maggie smiled and stepped aside for her. "I thought those prigs were never going stop. I loved seeing them get cut off at the genitalia, figuratively speaking of course," still looking directly into Russ' eyes. Russ couldn't believe what he had just heard and Maggie chuckled at the blunt metaphor at odds with the staid atmosphere of the conference. Russ started to chuckle too and then all three laughed heartily. "So you think I meddled in the affairs of three schoolboys today and am apparently none the better for the experience." Maggie feigned ignorance; Justine snickered. As they were leaving the dais Maggie slipped her arm through Russ' and they strolled towards the door with Maggie returning to the conversation. "Not at all, though I thought you had listened better to what I just said, but perhaps just emerging from the woods excuses you somewhat, even if y'all cleen up nicely." Justine smiled at this and noted the pink nap of Russ' neck. "Now Ms. Phillips, I dooo listen juss fine and this is the third time in less than18 hours I've been sweetly skewered by y'alls southern charm. I juss can't imagine what it would be like to be y'alls friend, why I'd probably be in some state of southern triage constantly." Russ had stopped walking making a point with his overly accentuated, poorly imitated southern drawl while showing his obvious pleasure with his company. Maggie seized the moment, "Would you consider having lunch with two ladies from Charleston so we might discuss business more comfortably." She had come directly to the point, and she knew Russ would understand something significant was afoot. While he considered her invitation, Maggie cut to the chase, "Russ, bet is widely successful. The market loves us, women around the world worship us, and we set the trends for much of what you might consider 'all things feme.' But there are clouds on every horizon and the 21st century makes it perfectly clear that the future ain't what it used to be, to quote Yogi Berra." "Have lunch with me, please, and let's explore some possibilities." This was the most unusual solicitation Russ had received since he began consulting; he was interested but also concerned. He knew nothing about the bet's value propositions and how they were managed through what had to be a complex set of channels with many alliances and collaborators. Fashion? This had to be a huge stretch for an old airborne trash hauler turned airframe fabricator and now consultant. These thoughts raced through Russ' mind as he prepared to answer, "I cannot imagine lunch with nicer company, but truly Maggie, how could I help you and your company? It seems like a colossal miss-match to me. I'd love the business, but I do believe disappointing clients is a poor way to run one." Without missing a beat, "I'll take that as a yes and it's all settled then. Reggie, my aide, will meet you at about 12:05. Don't worry, Reggie will find you with no trouble at all; just be ready. We will eat in the Potomac House. Hanna has all the details." Maggie smiled, gracefully turned and left while she and Justine immediately began a whispered conversation that Russ could not hear, but knew instantly it was a continuing topic of keen interest to both. In addition, it now occurred to Russ that Maggie had planned lunch well in advance. Of course she had on second thought! He reflected on how he would be sure the shirt on his back stayed there. When Russ returned to his suite, Hanna greeted him kindly. Once he was seated, Hanna brought a folder over to him and smiled, "You made an impression on someone this morning, plus lunch with two of the world's leading fashion moguls and quite beautiful too. Well done; this could be another terrific opportunity and I hope it pleases you." Hanna seemed to know everything and as he expected, she was well prepared to help him with the luncheon meeting. "The folder here, sir, there are some summary level financial data including growth and returns forecasts for the next three years. I think you will find them quite impressive, but margin pressures are showing up everywhere," Hanna explained this like she was discussing an old family receipt as she laid out the key documents for Russ' orderly review. "In addition, I took the liberty of ordering your favorite crab cakes for lunch with an endive salad and sorbet between courses. You will choose wine at the table." Russ was no longer surprised at anything involving Hanna and was pleased but far enough into the documents that he affectionately patted Hanna's arm and nodded. It was several seconds before he realized how familiar he had just become with his hand still touching Hanna and he looked up with apprehension. She caught his glance and smiled, squeezed his shoulder in a most feminine way, as if his acknowledgement had been the most natural thing in the world. Hanna returned to selecting a clean shirt for lunch with a matching tie. Right at 12:05 the door chime rang softly and Hanna answered it. "Hello Reggie, it is so nice to see you again. It's been months. You look wonderful as always." Russ put on his wool-cashmere, sport jacket over a fresh shirt and tie and entered the alcove at the entrance to the suite. Nothing could have prepared him. There in front him was a trim, six-foot, four-inch tall woman of Caribbean decent. She was clearly in world-class physical condition and appeared almost severe in her well-tailored pants suit and low-heeled shoes. She wasn't beautiful by most standards but what standard did one use for a woman of such stature. After a split second, which unsettled Russ because he was so obvious in his amazement, he returned the offered handshake. On second assessment, Russ realized this Amazon was truly beautiful in her own strong and muscular way. Four mysterious and exotic women in less than 24 hours, that didn't happen often. "Good afternoon Mr. Stamford, I'm Reggie and I will accompany you to the Potomac House for lunch with Madam and Ms. Justine." Her voice sang through her Caribbean accent. As they headed down the hall, she asked Russ a question, "It seems likely you will accompany us to Charleston this afternoon. May I ask for some vital information from Hanna for the aircraft's manifest while you lunch?" This put Russ off completely but he responded monosyllabically, "Ya," followed by, " I'm sure Hanna can provide everything." Reggie nodded and immediately followed this question discretely with another, "I make no judgment whatsoever but is there anything at all I should know concerning what you may be carrying onboard the aircraft or will have in your possession while a guest of bet? Please understand I need to know as you will be flying with Madam and be her personal guest." Monosyllabically again, "No." But this time Russ had his own question to ask, "Are you from bet security?" Reggie smiled a tight smile and leaned down to whisper in Russ' ear as they entered the elevator for the main lobby; he caught just a hint of one of bet's signature perfumes, ?lan, "Not exactly, I'm head of Doing What Has To Be Done and therefore my questions sir. I work directly for Madam." Russ did not need to know more; he understood perfectly. Reggie, or Eugenia as her passport indicated, led Russ out of the lobby and down a path to a hidden, 3,000 square foot house completely separate from the residence and conference facilities. This was the VIP bungalow intended for utmost privacy and reserved for only the highest-profile business guests and senior government officials. Russ had stayed at the Potomac House once before to meet with the Under Secretary of State prior to a trip State had asked him to unofficially undertake in Eastern Europe concerning a GATT matter. A butler greeted Reggie and Russ and announced their arrival. Reggie immediately peeled off to a side room and Maggie swept into the anteroom to greet Russ. Russ did his best to not be dazed by the events of the last hour, but he felt like back peddling now and again. He was going to the West Coast to meet a potential client tomorrow and planned an evening ride on his bicycle along the beach tomorrow evening. Charleston was out of the question. Maggie reached him, took his hand lightly and indicated he should follow her into the dining room. Well, he thought, "I can at least be polite and listen." Lunch was simple but elegantly served and wine was foregone for sparkling mineral water. The table was set for three with sterling and linens appropriate for a light lunch. Two chairs were closer together on one side of the table and Maggie on the other. Russ greeted Justine warmly and seated her before taking his place. The headwaiter had already seated Maggie across from Russ and Justine, and it appeared they knew each other. The staff immediately began to serve lunch. Talk was light and easy while Justine chronicled how she had manipulated headquarters in Charleston time-after-time while she ran the Paris office and later European ops, including her extracurricular activities while getting a masters in marketing from Insead, a top tier business grad school based in Fontainebleau, near Paris. Maggie frequently smiled and laughed once when Justine told how Maggie had blatantly caught her redirecting work into the Paris operation that had no reason to be done there. Maggie also quickly pointed out that Justine's margins were always better than everyone else's, so she couldn't be too upset. Russ noted that these two were a team of unmatched skill and capability and played off one another perfectly. "What do they want?" He asked himself silently. As lunch wound down it had been Justine's moment and she was beautifully impressive; she now switched into her number two-role effortlessly and ran a 15-minute PowerPoint to give Russ a macro view of bet and the industry. She was now more than impressive; numbers seemed her passion only outdone by her apparent zest for making deals. Maggie had apparently chosen well. The fundamental business dynamic causing concern was the rapid globalization of bet markets while still needing to operate locally in at least 80 different venues worldwide. Plus, there was always someplace in the world where a market could be served more cost effectively, but this didn't last more than eight to twelve years before it changed. In terms of cach?, it was now an obvious tenant of the global marketplace that a high value product or service could no longer avoid side-by-side, local price comparisons. While value was still the differentiator, it was increasingly more difficult to keep products and services from becoming commodities with huge margin impacts. Because of bet's intended social and cultural impact, local demographic and socio/economic changes were battering bet's global branding efforts to stand as the leading feminine trendsetter worldwide. Russ was surprised how succinctly Justine had wrapped up the issues and how universally common these issues were to many global companies. Maggie summarized, being focused and to the point, "Russ, you can see what I can. It is challenging beyond belief, but it's the only world we can compete in. My staff does not yet see what you and I do; they constantly hector Justine for planning more locally and then try to force our managers to operate with unreasonably centralized policies. The Board and I have made it plain to everyone that Justine is going to increasingly lead our efforts to address this critical dynamic that will define us in the not so distant future. She and I need someone to come in and tactfully give us a dose of cold, hard reality. Otherwise, we won't be leading or number two in all our markets in five years. That's the chinning bar, and I'll be damned if I'm going to lower it for the next generation of bet leaders." That was clear enough for Russ. He got it and then expressed his underlying concern, "Maggie, I worry about my lack of credentials in your industry. Plus, how will your culture take to a friendly, successful but no non-sense male preaching from the CEO's pulpit into a woman's world? I don't mind being hectored as you put it, but I'd eat the first overzealous female's heart that tries to play games with me." At this he seemed to pause and almost as an after thought said, "I have no tolerance either way for business or life being impacted by bloated egos or privileged circumstances including sexual or gender games and their nuance... I ahhh... well, you know what I mean; it's mmmm... the workplace is special you know." Russ had completed this last comment in a quiet and uncharacteristically awkward and venerable way. Maggie immediately picked up on the momentary shift and for the first time she completely softened and fully connected with Russ offering compassionate, non-verbal feedback indicating that indeed she did really understand what he was saying and more. It was the most profound communication they had to date. It wasn't sexual; it wasn't social; it wasn't business - it was pure empathic, maternal understanding. After a long pause, she took his hand tenderly, lovingly, and nodded her acknowledgement, "Yes, Russ, believe me; I do know." Instantly, Russ knew he was going to Charleston and so did Maggie, Reggie and Justine. As they all rose from the table, Reggie reappeared and handed Russ a gold embossed envelope. "Everything you need to know is there for you and Hanna. We'll pick you up at 3:00 PM sharp in your suite." Once again Russ was caught unawares, "What do you mean by Hanna and me?" Without the slightest change in demeanor Reggie answered, "Hanna will be accompanying us to Charleston as your personal aide. Madam believes she will be invaluable to you as you come on board with your newest client. It's all arranged and Hanna is now preparing for your departure." This was a bit much for Russ, "Wait a minute!" He said slightly frustrated and turned to let Maggie know he was a one-man show. He found that he and Reggie were now alone in the Potomac House. "Reggie, where is Ms. Phillips? We need to talk and soon," trying not to sound frustrated. Reggie paused and gave Russ a professional but steely look, "She is meeting with our largest South American investor and will join you on the aircraft at departure. Madam's instructions were clear, and I can see no problem departing Merritt on time. Do you?" "If I didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation. I know you are preparing for an afternoon and evening that your boss expects to happen without a hitch. In this case the proceedings involve me, and I have not been consulted on details that are important, at least to me. This kind of relationship... " Reggie raised her hands, palm out, signaling that she no longer was taking input on the matter. "My experience in over six years working directly with Madam is that it's better to let these details go and focus on the big picture with her. She is never wrong in handling these details, and opposing them or revisiting them will only delay your ultimate purpose here." "Then perhaps it is delayed permanently," Russ murmured firmly and flatly. "That is not an option now Mr. Stamford. You have a contract with Ms Phillips, even if it is verbal without definitive deliverables, and she will hold you to it. May I suggest we return to your suite, so Hanna can make the final departure preparations for both of you?" Russ was now digging in. Reggie remained non-pulsed, waiting quietly for Russ to accompany her back to his residence. "Thank you Reggie. I won't need your services for the remainder of the day, and please inform Ms. Phillips that I regret I cannot join her in Charleston." At this, Reggie laughed and her voice fully carried the lilt of her Caribbean heritage. "You forget; I am the Head Of What Must Be Done. Let us enjoy this afternoon and put this silly discussion aside. You are a captain of men among men, sir. You suddenly have the resources of the world's most capable staff and institution at your full disposal. Is it not time that you began to understand how to use them to their full advantage?" Continuing as if a mother superior kindly rebuking one of her favorite charges, "The world you are entering is far more complex and ruthless than you can imagine. Ms. Phillips is doing what she knows must be done so that you can become a force to be reckoned with quickly. Leave the details to her, they are more important than you can imagine at this time. Later, when you can appreciate them better, Madam and her staff will include you in deciding them. For now focus on your primary purpose, for you are incapable of doing otherwise without looking a fool to those for whom you are not even aware." Even when thoroughly ticked off, and by now totally pissed, Russ maintained a level of detached engagement that allowed him to listen and calculate. He thought, "This Amazon has as much as said I'm going to Charleston one way or the other, and she can probably back it up. Is this screwed up or what? However, I have publicly admitted I do not understand the culture or environment I've been asked to step into. It is possible that, because this matter is largely outside my range of experiences, Maggie is looking much further forward than I am? Could it be these unsettling events of the afternoon are perhaps symptomatic of my lack of understanding?" There was no sparkle in his eyes as he calculated his options and ultimate decision. Reggie had opened the door and put a beautiful smile upon her face, observing Russ's quiet deliberations knowing that here was an individual who once committed would be nearly impossible to dissuade from his intention. It was becoming quite interesting thought Reggie just as Russ relaxed his expression. Reggie broke into song, "Be happy, don't worry,..." again with her Caribbean lilt accentuated. Russ joined her and commented wryly, "You are very good." "Be happy, mon, don't worry," trailed off across the grounds as Reggie and Russ walked back to the residence. The subject of Hanna accompanying Russ to Charleston had not come up yet, and Russ doubted Hanna would ever bring it up. She was so comfortable and dedicated in her role that the events of the day had no visible effect upon her other than the obvious preparation for what was now in the offering. How did she do it wondered Russ? Having Hanna involved did indeed help Russ focus on the flight down to Charleston and related matters such as key business questions he would want answers to and a personal assessment of the players. Russ was considering all this when Hanna politely interrupted him, "There will be a dinner tonight at the bet facilities with the editor-in-chief from Harpers as Ms. Phillips' guest. A feature editor from Fortune will be there as well. In addition, you will stay at one of the executive apartments at bet for the next few days, making it most convenient for you to work and socialize with the headquarters' staff." At this, Russ again flushed but made no comment; he hadn't made any such a commitments. The ever-vigilant Hanna immediately picked up on Russ' bottled up frustration. Quietly she approached him and touched his sleeve ever so slightly, "I should like to address you as Russell for a moment" and began to do so immediately. "Russell, you can trust me completely, I mean completely. This afternoon has been a bit strange and, in fact, it is strange but you cannot understand why yet. But let me assure you, bet is not like any other organization in the world and if Ms. Phillips did not have complete confidence in you, this seemly crazy afternoon and the evening to follow would have never happened." Russ looked a little bewildered as he listened and took Hanna's glance up in an almost child-like expression. He smiled faintly as they looked at one another. Then ever so carefully Hanna nodded and continued, "Russell, be assured I know bet and Ms. Phillips as well as anyone does who does not work directly for her, and you are being prepared and positioned for the most extraordinary assignment you have ever undertaken. Relax, she is taking exceptional measures to prepare, position, and cater to you." Again Russ seemed slightly puzzled but he now was gathering information, and he knew there was much, much more to his encounter with Maggie than he could fathom at this time. He needed more information, and clearly, Hanna was emerging as a lot more than a personal servant assigned to him out of convenience and circumstance; now he would listen and intently. Hanna continued, "Ahhh, always gathering, analyzing and considering even when you are bewildered. Please, Russell, relax and let us prepare for the trip to bet headquarters. We shall enjoy world-class service as only bet can provide; you will soon begin to appreciate why bet is a cult among the great and powerful women of the world." Russ freshened himself while Hanna busied herself packing and arranging a briefcase of new bet information. When Russ joined Hanna he noticed an unfamiliar set of garments hanging on the walk-in closet door. "Hanna, what are these?" Hanna continued with her preparation without hesitation and replied, "Maggie and Justine sent these over for you to wear on the flight down. Perhaps, a peace offering," smiling demurely. It was getting on towards 2:40 PM when Hanna suggested he should change as she automatically prepared to assist him. The new outfit was now lying neatly on the bed and Russ saw for the first time it was part leisure suit and part sport wear, appearing to him a cross between the very high style of a woman's wrinkle free travel suit and casual but highly tailored unisex sport wear; Russ seemed to recall reading something about metro-sexual and wondered if this was what that meant. He guffawed, "Hanna, what do you expect me to do with this?" Completely non-pulsed, Hanna approached and suggested that he needed to remove his cloths so he could change, and then said, "This is a bet original and part of their line of comfort wear targeted for men and woman who are confident of themselves and familiar with bet's style and cach?. It was a smash at bet's Paris runway show last month. I'm certain Maggie had an original made especially for you. An honor and very, very stylish I must say." "If it's informal on the way down, I'm wearing a pair of my golfing slacks and the grey stripped cashmere, sweater vest pullover with my pink French cuffed shirt underneath, thanks." Hanna said nothing and continued preparations without moving the stylish if androgynous and comfortable looking outfit. As they were taking a last scan around the bedroom, Russ inquired, "Aren't you packing that thing on the bed?" "Mr. Stamford, if you do not wish to accept Ms. Phillips's gift, then I am unprepared to be involved in the matter." This was said flatly and with finality. And she began to move the luggage to the portico. Now Russ was truly flustered, "You can't be serious; I mean absolutely this is a personal intrusion and meddling of the first order and I don't give a damn who is behind it! It is what it is." No reaction from Hanna; she remained still and then coolly captured Russ's glare. "I told you that you could trust me. I told you that you couldn't possibly understand, and now you punctuate that fact by preparing to offend Ms. Phillips. She spared no expense in creating this lovely outfit for you; it's not a one-off; it is a bet original by Vincenzo himself. Incredible, just incredible!" Russ couldn't believe his ears and had been taken aback at Hanna's blunt rejoinder. "W-T-F," was all Russ could mutter. He slowly prepared to articulate further. "No, please listen!" Russ looked up and paused somewhat startled. "bet is quintessentially a matriarchal driven organization, much like an ancient city-state led by a powerful matriarch. Maggie, Ms. Phillips, is the chief matriarch and she and her entire realm tolerate no slights of the matriarch, none. In addition, the inner circle of matriarchs that runs bet will be considering your every nuance, every word, every gesture... 'Eat their hearts out,' oh, is that what you were thinking my poor man. You will be emasculated before you even get started. These she-wolves are smart, calculating, and many hold men in contempt. If you cannot project a personal decorum of total comfort and confidence on their turf and on their terms, you will fail. And Ms. Phillips takes failure rather poorly. But do what you will." Continuing, "Mr. Stamford, if you are not ready to leave when Reggie arrives, there will be nothing I can do. Dress as you must and let's be ready." Hanna had been sharp and edgy in her last comments, but she turned quickly again to being the personal servant and Russ had only moments before he had to commit. More softly than ever Russ continued, "Hanna, please, what is going on. I feel almost as if I'm being cleverly herded like some animal and find that ever more slightly my personal matter of choice is being stripped away. This is too much. I'm a leader and a man of free will, not someone's chattel. I make my own choices." Hanna softened as well and replied again, "You can trust me, completely trust me. Give me your trust and I will provide you every possible opportunity and advantage to successfully serve Ms. Phillips' and her purposes... and yours. As for your free will, are you sure it isn't just rebellious male ego distracting you from your task in the face of a powerful and ultra-feminine force?" This last comment seemed to cut and Russ winced just perceptively as Hanna thought he might. She noted his reaction and knew he was a wonderfully sensitive man, but she also knew there was much before him and he would be challenged as never before. She was actually being gentle. The VIP coach stopped at the discreetly marked 737, where Sandy opened the door of the van and welcomed Hanna and Russ to the aircraft's jet- stair. Russ climbed the stairs and entered the cabin where the trim and quite lovely second officer, Colette, offered her greetings and directed Russ to the rear conference room.