F Campbell - Margo

The two girls laughed over Bea's inability to carry her captive to the car. Instead, the captive obligingly hopped to the car and pleaded.

"Please don't put me in the trunk, it's hateful in the trunk. Let me sit beside you. If you want to cover me up, it only takes a little hit of anything handy."

"All right." It was a very doubtful affirmative. "I'd rather have you with me – someone to talk to. And if you still think I'm enjoying this adventure, well, you're wrong. I'm not. I'm worried stiff about Bernie. Something's gone wrong for sure." Bea drew a deep breath and emitted a hearty exclamation of disgust. "Oh, shit!"

For Margo it was a delightful ride. Whether she got to their destination or not no longer mattered. The handcuffs did not hurt, and she was not disposed to chafe her wrists trying to get out of them. She felt an immense affinity for this girl who was undoubtedly vexed, worried, and afraid. But Margo could see no problem. All Bea had to do was deliver her to Henry Ross. If there was a reward, she could claim it. Margo had already made up her mind to hold Bea innocent. She would make no accusations, no charges. She was tremendously grateflul to the girl for keeping her inviolate in the mercenary captivity.

She even obligingly opened her mouth for the gag when they were ready to leave the car. It might have been daylight outside, but underground us garages are gloomy places, and had she not been gagged, she might well have laughed at the way she hopped her way to the elevator. The whole kidnapping was taking on the atmosphere of a farce. Neither of the two girls felt enmity, only self-interest. Suppose she was actually delivered to Henry Ross – would she then be free? Margo examined the premise doubtfully. For her, freedom had become abstract, something that might apply to others but not to her. At this moment, it appeared that she would be a prisoner in one of two places: Bea's apartment or Ross' penthouse. She suspected the latter. Her captivity there might be more comfortable. With Bea, she had an unhappy vision of dark closets and gags. But she obediently hopped her way into it with her captor in close attendance. It proved to be a pleasant apartment, although not large. Its living room was delightful, and contained an obviously comfortable couch. On it, quietly sipping a double scotch, sat Henry Ross.

"Figured you'd show up here sooner or later," he said pleasantly.

"Helped myself to a drink. I'm sure you don't mind, do you, Bea? And by the way, we picked up your boyfriend while he was buying cigarettes at the store. It took us a little time to get the facts out of him. When we got to the shanty, you had already left. Bea, I'm grateful you took such good care of my little girl."

"Henry Ross, you bastard!" Bea's exclamation was almost without volition. "You always win! Damn you! You always get the best of everybody, except maybe Norma Boulter. I suppose I'm in for the high jump?"

"Indeed you are. But let us be polite to your best. You may seat her beside me on the couch and provide us both with a potable. I'm sure you both need one."

Bea sniffed unhappily, but she obeyed. It was quite probable she knew he was right. She was facing difficulties and voiced this fact.

"All right, what happens to me now?"

"I am thinking in terms of a well-thrashed bottom, my dear." Henry Ross' voice was urbane. He had matters well in hand. There followed a silence. Beas mind was busy with possibilities. She voiced them.

"You mean you'll let me go back to my secretarial job? Is a thrashed bottom all you'll do to me?"

"Come, come, dear girl, you know better than that. You're quality material. You are one of us. You may be placed that I have been viewing you for some time as a potential Rossland student. You have now elevated yourself to this much desired position."

"What you're really saying is you're going to put me in your own private prison."

Henry Ross playfully chocked his indignant secretary under her chin. "Why not? It may do you a world of good, and at the very least, it will enable you to pay your debut to me for this ridiculous kidnapping fiasco. There is also the matter of the bump on my head."

"You won't send me to prison?"

"I have only to look at you tow girls to realize neither one of you will testify against the other. No, I won't be sending you to prison. But I am sure you realize you may wish I had."

"Oh, all right. You and your justifications! Do you want to handcuff me or something?"

"Dear Margo is wearing my entire stock." Henry Ross beamed al them impartially. "But I suppose you could share them. But first I wish you naked."

Margo had listened in silent appreciation of the exchange, but her hands remained behind her back. Her drink stood unattended on the end table. Forlornly, she spoke.

"If someone would change my hands from back to front, I might rejoin the human race."

It was immediately done. Bea performed the act as though in a hurry from an oversight. She hastily bestowed upon the freed prisoner the abandoned drink and bert to Margo's feet to use the key which was testimony to her own guilt. She stood erect and asked, "This business of being naked – do I really have to?" She searched for humor. "Who in the hell wants a naked secretary?"

"Your position is temporarily suspended, dear girl." Henry Ross' voice was silk. "When you return to it, I'm sure you will be a much wiser young woman."

"Oh, sure! And I'll have a sore bottom and back, and I'll be relieved of all my shames and inhibitions. But, Henry, please don't make me strip naked in front of Margo. Please?"

"Why not? I haven't noticed you offering Margo any covering. She's as bare are can be, and you kept her bare throughout her captivity with you." The male voice became sternly demanding. "Bea, stop being silly – take off your clothes."

Bea was lovely. She would grace Rossland as did all the other inmates. Her figured needed no apologies. Admiringly, Margo wondered at her hesitation. Margo reproved herself for her own lack of shame in being nude. She had become so accustomed to it that she was no longer aware.

She realized what she witnessed now was a heart-searching, shattering of pride. Bea Maxwell would divest herself of not only her clothes but her dignity arid her pride and self-respect. It was almost awesome to watch the lovely girl part with one garment after another until she stood as shamefully naked as Margo herself. She cupped her breasts in protective hands, but then, realizing the absurdity, allowed her arms to fall to her sides, revealing herself in total frontal nakedness. To the man, who had seen this before but never in the present context, Bea Maxwell was the epitome of femininity.

"The handcuffs, girl!" Henry Ross sounded impatient. "Damn it, you're dawdling, girl. Put them on." Bea retrieved both cuffs and key from the rug. She gazed at them with infinite distaste, then offered them to the man.

"Henry. I don't know what to do with them. They're beastly things and I don't like them at all. Here, you put them on me, please."

It was quickly done. Margo suspected that Bea's quibbling had earned her one extra notch of tightness in the metal bands. The girl stood, examining her chained hands in wonder, almost in disbelief. She twisted and clinked them in hopeless exploration of restraint never previously worn, Bea looked at the watching man and sarcastically asked. "What now, master?"

Henry Ross laughed at his former secretary's dolor. "Rossland what else? You're going to be taught a lesson or two. The first of which is a ride in the trunk of my car. I'm told it's most disagreeable. Margo can sit beside me as I drive."

"Oh, Henry, don't be such a pig! If you're going to be so mean, I think I'd sooner go to prison."

"Look here. Bea. I'm being patient." The master's voice sounded weary. "I can understand this is a transition for you but as of now, let's stop these exclamations and questions. You simply must go and you will." He chuckled, "Look upon yourself as a little girl going back to school."