The Filly

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

Fate sometimes curses people with ironic surnames. Morgan once knew a dwarf named Tallman, and a fat girl named Slimmer.

Mr. Frisk stood up to greet her when she entered the room, but he did it slowly, with the assistance of a pair of aluminum canes. As he shook her hand, one of the canes dangled from a nylon strap buckled to his wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong, apparently his infirmity only affected his legs.

Morgan smiled at him tightly, suppressing her first impulse to commiserate or question. It wouldn’t do to begin the interview by embarrassing him or opening old wounds. He motioned her into a chair, and waited until she was seated before he lowered himself back into his own, sparing her the dilemma of standing idly by while he struggled. He looked up at the secretary who had entered behind Morgan to present her.

“I could use another cup of coffee, if you would.” He looked at Morgan. “Ms. Mayfield?”

She was going to decline but realized that having something in her hand might keep her from fidgeting. “Black for me, thanks.”

His presence was intimidating. Size and age were only a part of it. He had the thousand yard stare of ex military or law enforcement, the bearing of a man comfortable with wealth and power.

The music didn’t help. It was piped in from discreet speakers overhead, something soothing and classical she couldn’t identify. Mr. Frisk would know it though, the number of the symphony and the name of the composer. It wasn’t the sort of ubiquitous muzak she had come to expect in public spaces. He had selected it personally, or it had been mixed for him by someone who understood his tastes. Everything about this place; the massive arch above the street entrance, the condescending smirk on the doorman’s face, the stainless steel and mahogany elevator that swept her up and up—all were signs that this was not a world where she belonged. This center of wealth and culture was no place for an ignorant small town girl. She felt as though she were a trespasser and a fraud, who would be exposed as unworthy and ejected at any moment.

“I understand that you arrive burdened with a bit of reluctance.” His strong baritone came from somewhere below the Mason Dixon Line. Over a telephone it would provide no clue to his frailty. She was painfully aware that the effort of rising from his chair had cost him. This gesture of simple courtesy, long forgotten by younger generations, had left a sheen of sweat on his pale brow.

“I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for my brother.” She tried to keep any trace of bitterness out of her voice. This was only a business transaction, not a hostage negotiation. She had already rejected charity. What other choices did she have?

Back at the motel, Brian hadn’t put it to her that way, not at all. He had spoken of other things, a lifestyle simple and pure, the joy of competition and striving for perfection, of being well rewarded for doing something she enjoyed.

“How is your brother?” asked Mr. Frisk. His concern seemed genuine enough, though she was sure that he already knew the answer to that question. She had barely finished her long distance conversation with Robby when the phone rang again. It had been a crisp, businesslike female voice, confirming Morgan’s seat assignment on a weekend flight that she had never reserved. A promise had been kept. p*****t was due.

“The word miracle may be too strong,” she allowed herself a tight smile. “But it appears that Robby is on his way to a complete recovery.”

“I’m glad that we could be of assistance.” Looking into his eyes, she could see that Mr. Frisk actually was pleased, and not just because Morgan was now obligated to him.

She saw something else too, the trace of regret that his own condition was beyond help. He acknowledged her insight with a sad smile and a shrug.

“I have my diversions,” he said, addressing her unspoken question. “The races allow me a bit of vicarious enjoyment.” He dismissed the subject by clearing his throat.

The secretary came in, smiling apologetically at the necessity of interruption as she served coffee from a silver tray. Morgan noticed that she was young and attractive, and wondered if she was just one more ornament in an office filled with fine art objects and mementoes gathered from far away places. Mr. Frisk was a collector, Morgan realized, a man with an aesthetic mind in a twisted body, surrounding himself with beauty.

“To business then. Your brother’s trip to the clinic was in the nature of a recruiting bonus, not revocable obviously,” he smirked at his bit of dark humor. “What I propose is that you spend a month at a private training facility. Your stay will be in the nature of an audition. There will be other candidates there, only a few will make the grade. The work is hard, and you will give up many of the rights and luxuries to which you are accustomed. It would be best if you considered it a sort of boot camp, designed to teach you to obey commands without question or argument and reject any prudish preconceptions you might now have. Trust that no lasting harm will come to you there. Listen to your trainers. Their methods may seem rather bizarre, occasionally cruel, and even a bit silly, but they get results.

“An escrow account will be kept in your name. If you stay with the program for a month, you will be paid fifty thousand dollars. If you quit or wash out, you will be compensated at the rate of one thousand dollars per diem. If you do measure up and are willing to continue, you will be offered a one year contract and a consideration of one million dollars.”

He observed her reaction with mild amusement, knowing what he would see on her face.

After a long pause, she closed her mouth and cleared her throat.

“Maybe we should talk more about my prudish preconceptions,” she said. “Mr. Boison hinted that there might be some…exposure involved. I suppose my ideas about human ponies have been contaminated by the sort of cheap pornographic images and stories that are all over the web, but if this so-called sport isn’t broadcast on ESPN, I can only conclude that there is more to it than a simple footrace.”

He chuckled a bit. “Forgive me, Ms. Mayfield. I have interviewed many young ladies. Usually they were the ones who initiated contact. Their personal motives were many—fetishism, masochism, exhibitionism, even simple greed. They were all extremely eager; so I am out of practice at persuasion. I will be direct. I was looking for someone different, someone who would look beyond the s****l fetishism and silly pageantry and run for the simple joy of running. I wanted a real competitor, someone who might see this not as a sport but a sort of calling. Have I found that woman?”

“I don’t know,” she confessed.

“The truth!” he crowed, “from a lady with a million reasons to lie. I like you already, and I’m weakening my bargaining position by telling you that!”

“I am flattered that you sought me out,” Morgan spoke carefully, “but I’m not entirely sure that I am the woman you are looking for. What sort of deal am I being offered here?”

“You have concerns,” he said sympathetically. “This is understandable. What must you do to earn your pay? There is a uniform to wear, and it is revealing. The methods of the trainers are rather extreme, I sometimes think unnecessarily so, but I can’t argue with their results. If you agree to undergo training, it will mean submitting to their will. The discipline is strict, and you will be required to abandon any notions you have about your rights to personal privacy and s****l entitlement, but those who finish the program are stronger and more self assured than they were before.”

“s****l entitlement?” she asked dryly. “I’m sorry, but I don’t speak euphemism very well. Could you be a bit more specific?”

He smiled gently. “You are a mature and attractive woman,” he said. “I assume that you are sexually active?”

“I have had a few boyfriends, but I didn’t exactly play around. Mom died before I finished high school. Then my brother got married, and shortly after that he got sick. My Aunt took me in for awhile, until I was old enough to be on my own. It meant moving, losing old friends, giving up a lot of dreams, and accepting the fact that I was looking at a lifetime of hard work and low pay, earning my way without a degree. After that there was never enough time and energy for any kind of a real social life.”

She watched his face to see if he was aware that she was dissembling. Brian had sent in a report of some sort, but she didn’t know how much detail he had provided his employer. It had obviously been enough information to lead to this interview. Had Brian been sent just to rate her qualities on the track, or in the bedroom as well? Perhaps he had reported their encounter in his motel room, not to betray her, but only because he considered it relevant information.

If Mr. Frisk knew anything about their night together, he didn’t let it show.

“Sometimes the world is too much with us,” he agreed. “I suppose that is why we need to escape into a world of fantasy from time to time. Did any of your s****l partners play games in the bedroom?”

Morgan squirmed a bit. She had asked him to be blunt, now she was finding herself uncomfortable with the personal turn the conversation was taking. She looked up and smiled shyly. “There was one boy who liked to play at being a pirate with a captive princess. I thought it was rather silly, but it seemed to turn him on.”

He nodded. “Exactly—sports, hobbies, all amusements are frivolous. Yet there are those who take them seriously, establish rituals, hierarchies, and protocols that are strictly observed by any who wish to participate. If a football player took the field without his helmet, he would be ejected from the game.”

A perplexed frown wrinkled Morgan’s brow. “I thought we were talking about sex.”

“We are talking about your job description,” he said. “The trainers insist that the women under their tutelage submit themselves in all ways. Naturally, there are safeguards against unintended consequences and serious physical harm, but as long as you are a participant, you will surrender the right to refuse their s****l demands as well. The requirements of this sport are unusual in many ways, that’s why the rewards are so great. You must decide if the prerequisites are too extreme for you before you enter the program. Personally, I hope they aren’t. It would be a tremendous waste of natural talent.”

An old joke was nagging in the back of Morgan’s mind. A man asked a woman if she would have s*x with a stranger for a million dollars. When she confessed that she probably would, he offered her ten dollars. Outraged, the woman said:

“What sort of girl do you think I am!?”

“We have already established that,” he answered. “Now we are haggling over the price.”

What was Morgan Mayfield’s price?

She realized that she was biting off one of her fingernails, a habit she thought that she had overcome as a school girl. Disgusted with herself, she dropped her hands into her lap.

“I know this isn’t an easy decision,” he said. “There have been too many disappointments in your life, and trust comes hard. Things that sound too good to be true usually are. You had a brief moment of glory in high school, collecting newspaper clipping for your scrap books and talking to college recruiters. All of that was snatched away through no fault of your own. I’m saying that you can hear the crowd cheer again, Morgan. You can still be someone special, with all of the rewards that you rightly deserve.”

“How much time do I have to think about this?” she asked.

“The next training session begins in two weeks,” he said. “You will be given a copy of the contract to review at your leisure.”

She realized that the interview was at an end. A thousand thoughts clamored for attention, things that she would need to sort out before she made any decisions, but one question was uppermost in her mind.

“What’s in it for you?” she asked.

Mr. Frisk smiled sadly and raised one of his metal canes as though it explained everything.

“I need to watch you run.”