Christmas had come and gone, as well as the new year and all the warmth family could bring in that season. Now in mid-January, I was settled back in my apartment, editing the galleys for my first book; based on the drawings I had done for Dr. Jones in Athens the previous summer. Despite the newness of my job at the museum center, I was on a temporary leave while I edited. I was hoping to finish by the following Friday, so I could be free to oversee the newest exhibit on Central American Indians starting in February. The work I was currently doing though, was largely tedious. I was making certain the captions matched the drawings, and that the engraver had gotten the colors right for the pull out sheets. Daisy was curled up nearby on the couch, absorbing the warmth of the only sunbeam to filter in through the sun porch. The wood burning fire was lit, however, providing warmth and a comfortable feeling as I worked. Deeply absorbed in thought, I jumped slightly when my phone rang, bringing me back to the Saturday afternoon in Queen City."Hello?" I asked as I picked up the receiver. "Oh hi Alex! No you didn't interrupt anything."In excited tones, my older brother told me he was the subject of a business profile in a prominent magazine. "And we're having a celebration after church tomorrow, Athena. Can you join Papa and me for diner?""I'd be glad too--that's one less meal I have to cook," I said with a smile. "What magazine is it?"Alex paused and I knew he was considering how to tell me. "Why don't we leave that for tomorrow, and you can see," he said. We chatted for a while longer, about business and family, then I went back to work. But my mind was mulling over Alex's avoidance of the question, and I was afraid I wouldn't like the answer.Sunday morning arrived and I slipped into the pew with Papa just before the prelude started. St George's was a formal worship service, but it brought a sense of order to my life like no other place could. The church was clothed in green, being the epiphany season, though it would be changing soon for the Lenten time. As I squeezed in beside Papa, I asked him about Alexander's good news. "What magazine is it Papa?" He shrugged his broad shoulders."I'm only glad your mother isnt' around to see it Athena. I was hoping it waas Queen City Merchant or Business Digest. But Alex is beaming about his write up." Befor he could say any more, the chancel filled and the choir began the service. We sat silently worshipping together, but I could see Papa was filled with a soft sadness.Papa drove me back to the family home, and I could smell the roast lamb from outside the door. Alex had stayed home with his fiance, Beth to prepare the meal and I smiled when I walked in. The house was cleaner than it had been in the months since both Diana and I had moved out, and I nodded approvingly. I handed Alex a bottle of red wine, and he took it graciously."You shouldn't have," he began. But I cut him off."It's not every day a sister gets to celebrate her family's success," I said. Alex nodded and put the wine out to be served with dinner.As we sat down to eat, Alex stood and said, "Here's to our family. And here's to Chateau magazine, for the publicity they're giving to us."I nearly dropped my wineglass. "Chateau? Isn't that the one with nude women in it? The ones they call Kittens?"Papa nodded solemnly. Alex held up one hand. "Whoa, wait a minute, Theena. Yes it's a mens magazine with nude women. But it's also published very important interviews, good reviews for restaurants and some wonderful fiction. I didn't have to pose nude for it, anyway," he said with a grin.I suddenly saw what Papa had meant, but Father Timothy's words echoed in my head too. Even if it killed me, I was determined to be gracious to Alex. "I'm sorry I exploded Alex," I said. "I may not agree with the publisher, but he has a right to publish. And if he wrote something good about your or Goldline, then I'm all for it.""Oh it's a fantastic article, Theena," said Beth. "Alex, why don't your get it for her?"Sheepishly, Alex disappeared into the study, and returned a moment later with a glossy magazine in hand. I caught a glimpse of the cover and my jaw dropped. There was a photo of a woman dressed like White Owl on the cover and large print promising that she would be fully exposed inside. Alex quickly thumbed past the cover and turned to the article--a two page interview, with limited pictures. I scanned it quickly. The article was flattering but now I was curious about the cover art. Maintaining my composure though, I handed the article back to Alex without turning amy more pages."Quite good Alex. He did a good job writing. I just wish it had been in another venue.""Well, I didn't know where it was going when he did the interview. And I think he's trying to do reprint rights too. Hopefully we will see it reprinted in a more trade oriented magazine.After supper, Papa and Alex saw me to the door, after both of them offered to drive me home. I declined though, knowing they were eager to see the Cobras match up against Hub City that afternoon. "I can take the bus Papa, it's not that long a ride." I said.I rode along through the city to Fountain Square, where I had to change busses for Victory Park. In the cold, no one wanted to wait for the bus, and I had a twenty minute "layover." Across from the bus plaza, though, was a news stand. I went inside and bought a Sunday paper and ordered a hot coffee. On a whim, I threw a copy of Chateau into the mix, intending to find out more about the model. The clerk gave me a second look and tucked my purchases into a neat bag. I grabbed my coffee and made the bus in time.
Back at home I pored over the magazine, dismayed at what I saw. The model certainly bore only a passing resemblance to me, and the costume was less than perfect. Still she certainly would have passed muster with the courts, or even Lt. Winslow, provided she didn't have to speak. But as I looked through the photoshoot, I grew more disgusted. The first few pictures showed her in what would be called heroic poses, fighting a criminal. Then she began revealing bits and pieces of her anatomy that my parents had taught me not to show to the world. But it was the four page fold out, the centerfold, that made me the angriest. She posed in a "come and get me" kind of way, wearing nothing but boots and mask. I kept looking for a disclaimer that this wasn't the real White Owl, but couldn't find any. But the cover indicated it was a Queen City publication, and the masthead inside revealed a downtown address.
I stroked Daisy, making her back arch and causing her purrs to become louder as I contemplated my next move.
Monday morning was filled with the usual tedium; with the rewrites and edits going well. Still my ind was struggling with my other life. Around noon, I finally decided I needed some advice. I slipped into the NuSilk outfit, complete with warm pantyhose and slipped out into the cold. I found Winslow coming out of a Goldline near the District Two stationhouse and smiled inwardly. I landed next to his car and waited for him to finish crossing.
"White Owl!" he said. "Hey how's it going? Geez you must be cold, why don't you get into my car?"
"I'll bet you use that line all the time lieutenant." I quipped. His face flushed, but his smile never broke.
"Nahh just for pretty vigilantes like yourself," he said. "What can I do for you?"
"What can you tell me about Chateau?"
His face got even deeper red. "I wondered if you'd seen that yet," he said. "But they're protected by first amendment rights, Owl. You're a public figure and can have photos of you published without permission. Even if it's not you, they can still publish something and SAY it's you. And since they left the mask on, who's to say it's not you?"
"What do you mean, even if it's not me? It ISN'T me!" I was furious.
"Hey whoa!" he said. "I know it's not you, but the guys at the precinct aren't so sure."
I gave him a withering glare and got out of the car. Before shutting the door, I said, "Thank you anyway, lieutenant. I guess I'll have to deal with this some other way then."
"Just be careful, Owl. Don't get yourself into any legal problems, OK?" I barely heard him, as I turned to fly back uptown.
De Sales Publications was located on 9th and Main, near the courthouse. I landed in front of the building and rode an elevator to the fifth floor; where the publication's headquarters were located. Without a look to the receptionist, I breezed through the office door and headed for the managing editor's office. I stopped long enough to read the name Jon Bhodi on the door before barging in.
"Mr Bhodi, I demand you print a retraction and recall all the issues you can," I demanded. Bhodi looked up long enough to stare at me. I felt my skin crawl as though he were undressing me with his eyes.
Bhodi's cigar shifted in his mouth. "Sorry babe, The White Owl shoot was two months ago. We rushed it into production, where were you then? You look a lot more like the Owl than the chick we finally used."
I slammed my fist on his desk and had the satisfaction of hearing it crack beneath my hand. The objects on his desk jumped and a bottle of water spilled on the photos. Bhodi scrambled to gather them up. "You don't seem to understand Mr Bhodi. I AM White Owl, and I don't approve the way you're marketing my image."
"Well, you may be White Owl, but it ain't like you're trademarked," he said. "Legal checked. You can threaten all you want, but the sad fact is, you can't do anything about it." He waved his hand at me, dismissively. "Now if you'll excuse me, I got a deadline to meet."
I stood there in fury, not knowing what to do when an older man stepped into the office. "Oh I'm sorry Jon, I didn't realize you had a guest," he said.
"It's all right Mr Brimfield. White Owl was just letting us know how much she appreciated our efforts on her behalf. And she was just leaving, weren't you?"
Brimfield looked at me with an appraising eye. "You're White Owl? Oh this is fantastic. I'm a big fan." I looked at him and shook my head in disbelief. Brimfield addressed Bhodi once more. "I'll be back--it wasn't that important."
Taking my arm in his Brimfield said,"I'm so glad you stopped in. Could I take you to my office? There's something there I want to show you."
"Well, I really shouldn't," I said. "I'm not really pleased with your portrayal of me."
"Oh come on, it's only a floor up. You'll be in and out in no time. And it's a chance for me to have a picture taken with one of my new idols." The longer he worked his flattery, the more I fell for it, and in a short space of time I wasstanding in the office of Craig Brimfield, publisher.
As we stepped into the room, a man with several cameras came up behind. "Ah thanks Bill, I knew I could count on you," said Brimfield. We stepped into Brimfield's office and I was struck by the vast gallery of photos. Brimfield had posed with the mayor, several presidents, major CEO's and sports idols and of course dozens of women.
"Stand over here, White Owl," said Brimfield. He pointed at another cover, one that was roughly twenty five years old. The cover showed a new heroine in town again, this one was Patriette. I remembered her from my childhood. She had disappeared shortly after 1988, and rumors abounded .
"Patriette was such a great heroine," intoned Brimfield. "Those legs were something else. She came to give me a piece of her mind too," he said.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Oh she and I made up. I gave her a check for the women's shelters she always supported, and we had a picture taken." He showed me a glossy photo from that date, and sure enough, Patriette was wearing what looked to be a real smile.
"So what's your price, White Owl?" he asked.
I was taken aback. The man was trying to bribe me into accepting this scandal. "I don't want your money, Brimfield. I want you to pull the magazines back and print a retraction."
Brimfield crossed over to his minifridge, frowning. "I don't think I can do that, darlin'. Oh sure maybe locally, or even nationally. But Internationally? Think of the cost!"
I smiled. "You were willing to pay me off earlier. This is my payoff."
"Well if that's what it's going to take, then all right." He held his hand out to me. I smiled and shook it. At that moment, Bill's bright phosphorus flash went off and my vision left me. I felt Brimfield's strong right hand pulling at mine, then felt a heavy fist slam into my chin. I reeled back into the wall of photos and staggered trying to get my balance. I felt someone slam into my stomach and another set of hands press a thick cloth of some foul substance against my face.
My eyes fluttered and I felt a fist into my stomach, forcing me to breathe. In a moment, I was unconscious on Brimfield's thick carpet.
When my eyes finally opened, I found myself in a windowless room; apparently a photostudio. I was hanging from heavy shackles, my toes barely touching the ground. I groaned as my head cleared, though it still felt like someone had hit me with a sledgehammer.
"Are you with us again, White Owl?" asked the now familiar voice of Craig Brimfield. "It would be a pity for you to miss your farewell party."
"Wha...what are you talking about?" I asked.
"Well love, earlier, I mentioned international editions. You're going to be one. But first Bill here, is going to take some pictures before we bundle you off to some exotic loclae, where you'll never be heard from again." He pinched my cheek and smiled.
"You should be glad White Owl, they asked for you personally."
"Who did?" I asked.
"Oh you'll find out soon enough." He smiled once more. "And you're far from the first. I've sent several models on location shoots from which they've never returned. What's one more, eh?"
Brimfield turned and told Bill to start shooting. The cameraman kept a reasonable distance and I heard the incessant snap, whirrr of his lens. I hung listlessly, trying to draw him in even more. It worked, and Bill drew near. Finally he stopped and looked at Brimfield. "Hey boss, do you want to see her boobs too?"
"Yes yes," said Brimfield. He crossed to me, and put his hand on my shoulder strap to lower my top and I exploded with frantic and furious energy. My foot swung up and kicked brimfield dead between the legs. His eyes rolled up and he slumped to the floor. Bob tried to grab at me, but I managed to get my legs around him in a scissors lock, and fling him into a nearby desk. Dropping my feet to the floor, I pushed up and felt myself begin to fly.
I quickly managed to free the shackles from the nail supporting them and dropped down onto Brimfield's back, driving my knee into his spine and arching his neck back with the chain.
"AGGG!!" he choked out. I let enough air in for him to breathe.
"I don't expect anything from you but the truth." I hissed. "Where are those missing models?"
"Go to He...AAAAAWP!" he choked.
"That wasn't very wise Mr Brimfield," I said. "Care to try again?"
He pointed to a locked fire safe. I pounded his head on the floor, knocking him out, then used the chain to bind Bill and Brimfield together. I gathered the evidence from the fire safe, including pictures and the location of the girl who had portrayed me, then put in a call to Lieutenant Winslow.
"I was a bit cross with you earlier today, Lieutenant. But could you see your way to dispatching some men to Brimfield publications, and to Mr Brimfield's estate? I think you'll find some very incriminating evidence. I waited until the police showed up, then took to the air and returned home.
That night as I finidhed my notes, I turned on the television. Daisy meowed at me as I settled back into my easy chair to watch the local reports. The top news story that Monday was all about Brimfield's arrest and the end of a white slavery ring in Queen City. "Interpol will assist in locating as many of the women as possible," said Lieutenant Winslow. He made sure the Vice Squad got all the credit, though. I felt White Owl had received enough press for one month.
The End
Back at home I pored over the magazine, dismayed at what I saw. The model certainly bore only a passing resemblance to me, and the costume was less than perfect. Still she certainly would have passed muster with the courts, or even Lt. Winslow, provided she didn't have to speak. But as I looked through the photoshoot, I grew more disgusted. The first few pictures showed her in what would be called heroic poses, fighting a criminal. Then she began revealing bits and pieces of her anatomy that my parents had taught me not to show to the world. But it was the four page fold out, the centerfold, that made me the angriest. She posed in a "come and get me" kind of way, wearing nothing but boots and mask. I kept looking for a disclaimer that this wasn't the real White Owl, but couldn't find any. But the cover indicated it was a Queen City publication, and the masthead inside revealed a downtown address.
I stroked Daisy, making her back arch and causing her purrs to become louder as I contemplated my next move.
Monday morning was filled with the usual tedium; with the rewrites and edits going well. Still my ind was struggling with my other life. Around noon, I finally decided I needed some advice. I slipped into the NuSilk outfit, complete with warm pantyhose and slipped out into the cold. I found Winslow coming out of a Goldline near the District Two stationhouse and smiled inwardly. I landed next to his car and waited for him to finish crossing.
"White Owl!" he said. "Hey how's it going? Geez you must be cold, why don't you get into my car?"
"I'll bet you use that line all the time lieutenant." I quipped. His face flushed, but his smile never broke.
"Nahh just for pretty vigilantes like yourself," he said. "What can I do for you?"
"What can you tell me about Chateau?"
His face got even deeper red. "I wondered if you'd seen that yet," he said. "But they're protected by first amendment rights, Owl. You're a public figure and can have photos of you published without permission. Even if it's not you, they can still publish something and SAY it's you. And since they left the mask on, who's to say it's not you?"
"What do you mean, even if it's not me? It ISN'T me!" I was furious.
"Hey whoa!" he said. "I know it's not you, but the guys at the precinct aren't so sure."
I gave him a withering glare and got out of the car. Before shutting the door, I said, "Thank you anyway, lieutenant. I guess I'll have to deal with this some other way then."
"Just be careful, Owl. Don't get yourself into any legal problems, OK?" I barely heard him, as I turned to fly back uptown.
De Sales Publications was located on 9th and Main, near the courthouse. I landed in front of the building and rode an elevator to the fifth floor; where the publication's headquarters were located. Without a look to the receptionist, I breezed through the office door and headed for the managing editor's office. I stopped long enough to read the name Jon Bhodi on the door before barging in.
"Mr Bhodi, I demand you print a retraction and recall all the issues you can," I demanded. Bhodi looked up long enough to stare at me. I felt my skin crawl as though he were undressing me with his eyes.
Bhodi's cigar shifted in his mouth. "Sorry babe, The White Owl shoot was two months ago. We rushed it into production, where were you then? You look a lot more like the Owl than the chick we finally used."
I slammed my fist on his desk and had the satisfaction of hearing it crack beneath my hand. The objects on his desk jumped and a bottle of water spilled on the photos. Bhodi scrambled to gather them up. "You don't seem to understand Mr Bhodi. I AM White Owl, and I don't approve the way you're marketing my image."
"Well, you may be White Owl, but it ain't like you're trademarked," he said. "Legal checked. You can threaten all you want, but the sad fact is, you can't do anything about it." He waved his hand at me, dismissively. "Now if you'll excuse me, I got a deadline to meet."
I stood there in fury, not knowing what to do when an older man stepped into the office. "Oh I'm sorry Jon, I didn't realize you had a guest," he said.
"It's all right Mr Brimfield. White Owl was just letting us know how much she appreciated our efforts on her behalf. And she was just leaving, weren't you?"
Brimfield looked at me with an appraising eye. "You're White Owl? Oh this is fantastic. I'm a big fan." I looked at him and shook my head in disbelief. Brimfield addressed Bhodi once more. "I'll be back--it wasn't that important."
Taking my arm in his Brimfield said,"I'm so glad you stopped in. Could I take you to my office? There's something there I want to show you."
"Well, I really shouldn't," I said. "I'm not really pleased with your portrayal of me."
"Oh come on, it's only a floor up. You'll be in and out in no time. And it's a chance for me to have a picture taken with one of my new idols." The longer he worked his flattery, the more I fell for it, and in a short space of time I wasstanding in the office of Craig Brimfield, publisher.
As we stepped into the room, a man with several cameras came up behind. "Ah thanks Bill, I knew I could count on you," said Brimfield. We stepped into Brimfield's office and I was struck by the vast gallery of photos. Brimfield had posed with the mayor, several presidents, major CEO's and sports idols and of course dozens of women.
"Stand over here, White Owl," said Brimfield. He pointed at another cover, one that was roughly twenty five years old. The cover showed a new heroine in town again, this one was Patriette. I remembered her from my childhood. She had disappeared shortly after 1988, and rumors abounded .
"Patriette was such a great heroine," intoned Brimfield. "Those legs were something else. She came to give me a piece of her mind too," he said.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Oh she and I made up. I gave her a check for the women's shelters she always supported, and we had a picture taken." He showed me a glossy photo from that date, and sure enough, Patriette was wearing what looked to be a real smile.
"So what's your price, White Owl?" he asked.
I was taken aback. The man was trying to bribe me into accepting this scandal. "I don't want your money, Brimfield. I want you to pull the magazines back and print a retraction."
Brimfield crossed over to his minifridge, frowning. "I don't think I can do that, darlin'. Oh sure maybe locally, or even nationally. But Internationally? Think of the cost!"
I smiled. "You were willing to pay me off earlier. This is my payoff."
"Well if that's what it's going to take, then all right." He held his hand out to me. I smiled and shook it. At that moment, Bill's bright phosphorus flash went off and my vision left me. I felt Brimfield's strong right hand pulling at mine, then felt a heavy fist slam into my chin. I reeled back into the wall of photos and staggered trying to get my balance. I felt someone slam into my stomach and another set of hands press a thick cloth of some foul substance against my face.
My eyes fluttered and I felt a fist into my stomach, forcing me to breathe. In a moment, I was unconscious on Brimfield's thick carpet.
When my eyes finally opened, I found myself in a windowless room; apparently a photostudio. I was hanging from heavy shackles, my toes barely touching the ground. I groaned as my head cleared, though it still felt like someone had hit me with a sledgehammer.
"Are you with us again, White Owl?" asked the now familiar voice of Craig Brimfield. "It would be a pity for you to miss your farewell party."
"Wha...what are you talking about?" I asked.
"Well love, earlier, I mentioned international editions. You're going to be one. But first Bill here, is going to take some pictures before we bundle you off to some exotic loclae, where you'll never be heard from again." He pinched my cheek and smiled.
"You should be glad White Owl, they asked for you personally."
"Who did?" I asked.
"Oh you'll find out soon enough." He smiled once more. "And you're far from the first. I've sent several models on location shoots from which they've never returned. What's one more, eh?"
Brimfield turned and told Bill to start shooting. The cameraman kept a reasonable distance and I heard the incessant snap, whirrr of his lens. I hung listlessly, trying to draw him in even more. It worked, and Bill drew near. Finally he stopped and looked at Brimfield. "Hey boss, do you want to see her boobs too?"
"Yes yes," said Brimfield. He crossed to me, and put his hand on my shoulder strap to lower my top and I exploded with frantic and furious energy. My foot swung up and kicked brimfield dead between the legs. His eyes rolled up and he slumped to the floor. Bob tried to grab at me, but I managed to get my legs around him in a scissors lock, and fling him into a nearby desk. Dropping my feet to the floor, I pushed up and felt myself begin to fly.
I quickly managed to free the shackles from the nail supporting them and dropped down onto Brimfield's back, driving my knee into his spine and arching his neck back with the chain.
"AGGG!!" he choked out. I let enough air in for him to breathe.
"I don't expect anything from you but the truth." I hissed. "Where are those missing models?"
"Go to He...AAAAAWP!" he choked.
"That wasn't very wise Mr Brimfield," I said. "Care to try again?"
He pointed to a locked fire safe. I pounded his head on the floor, knocking him out, then used the chain to bind Bill and Brimfield together. I gathered the evidence from the fire safe, including pictures and the location of the girl who had portrayed me, then put in a call to Lieutenant Winslow.
"I was a bit cross with you earlier today, Lieutenant. But could you see your way to dispatching some men to Brimfield publications, and to Mr Brimfield's estate? I think you'll find some very incriminating evidence. I waited until the police showed up, then took to the air and returned home.
That night as I finidhed my notes, I turned on the television. Daisy meowed at me as I settled back into my easy chair to watch the local reports. The top news story that Monday was all about Brimfield's arrest and the end of a white slavery ring in Queen City. "Interpol will assist in locating as many of the women as possible," said Lieutenant Winslow. He made sure the Vice Squad got all the credit, though. I felt White Owl had received enough press for one month.
The End
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