The glassed-in shower enclosure for the bathroom attached to the master bedroom, or, as Gwen promptly informed Bailey and Jennifer, “Billy’s Room,” was huge; the four of us fit in it comfortably, with no crowding. The only ‘crowding,’ quite voluntary, found us rubbing together in slippery enjoyment.

I finally exerted my infinitesimal self-control, calling a halt to our fun. With only the cutest good natured grumbling, we rinsed off, dried each other, and dressed, finally meeting in the kitchen, clustering around the breakfast bar. Gwen served breakfast with Bailey and Jennifer’s help, spooning double portions of scrambled eggs, bacon and hash browns on a plate for me while they ate a bit less. Quite a bit less! All the while giggling at my rapacious appetite.

When my hunger was sated and we were all sipping our after meal drinks, I dug out a cigarette. While Bailey lit it for me, Gwen walked over to the stack of newspapers in the corner saved for recycling. She dug through several days’ editions until she found what she was looking for. Folding the paper carefully, she set it in front of me, pointing to the several column wide picture. I looked and my jaw dropped. My cigarette dropped from nerveless fingers as I gaped at Gwen, saying incredulously, “That’s Rusty fucking Carlyle. What the fuck are you talking about?”

*****
I sat in utter consternation, reviewing my knowledge of Rutherford Forrestal ‘call me Rusty’ Carlyle. I took a swig of coffee and looked into their rapt expressions as I continued, “Senator Rutherford Forrestal ‘call me Rusty’ Carlyle, has become a contender in the presidential horse races. A Multi Hundred Millionaire, highly decorated Vietnam Veteran and Born Again fanatic, Rusty is a formidable candidate and a prodigious fundraiser. Senator Carlyle always scared me, by calling for religious fundamentalist involvement in setting ALL government policy. A scientist, he championed Intelligent Design. An Internet pioneer, he called for censorship of the Net with draconian penalties. Endorsed by NRA, VFW and various religious and family value groups. Rutherford Carlyle might be our next president.”

Jennifer Angel suddenly moved to hug me, saying softly, “Billy, are you all right with this Rusty person being your daddy?”

I shook my head, suddenly angry, saying sharply, “He ain’t my daddy. Fucking sperm donor. He was and is nothing. Gwen is my mother and father. Auntie Grace and my cousins with Gwen, they mean every goddamn thing to me. This asshole means NOTHING.”

I looked into their concerned faces after my tirade. I took a deep breath, calming myself, then said contritely, “I’m truly sorry. What I should have said was that Jennifer, Bailey, and Diana are also now part of my family and also mean a great deal to me. I can only say this is so new to me, I don’t always say the right things. Can you forgive me?”

With that said I had three bodies pressed against me, six arms holding me and it seemed a hundred lips kissing me as they were trying to hug, kiss and comfort me.

After things settled and Bailey had refreshed beverages, Gwen began relating her story with a very pained expression on her face. Jennifer and Bailey were quickly holding Gwen’s hands as she whispered in a halting voice, slowly gaining volume, “The Bar C connected is a vast spread west of the Missouri River overlapping the North and South Dakota border. There was no such border when Clan Carlyle came to the Dakota frontier, and bought the original one hundred-section land grant from the tribes. Dakota weren’t a territory. It wasn’t even part of the United States. Our Rocking H, right next door was tiny by comparison, eight hundred acres of mighty poor grazing but it was our home.”
She paused looking out the window, deep in recollection. With a wistful smile, she went on, “Grace and I were going to school in Bullhead, SD. Grace dropped out, pregnant. She married the Masterson fuckwit, who promptly got her pregnant again. Their relationship ended abruptly when he got drunk and beat her up. Once. We retaliated with me holding him at gunpoint, while Grace branded his ass with a red hot Rocking H iron. We moved her and the girls back to the Hadley Ranch.”

She took a deep breath pushing the rest out slowly, “Poppa died that spring, in a riding accident. It was left to Grace and I to run the place. Momma was pining, just wasting away. We soon found out it was Pancreatic Cancer. That’s when Rusty came into my life. We needed cash to tide us over — desperately. He saw the problem. Hired me to clean and help out in the kitchen and around the Bar C homestead. I thought it was charity. It was. But with that needed charity was lust.”

Now Gwen was getting the rhythm as she continued, her voice stronger. “I was young, real young with my long legs, just growing into my boobs, and oh so cute. Mrs. Carlyle hated the ranch, so she always stayed in Washington or New York. Rusty seduced me. To tell the truth, I didn’t struggle too damn hard preserving my virginity. I became an apt pupil in the sexual arts for Rusty. We played out his kinks and twists. He’d snort coke off my belly then I’d fuck him with a strap on …”

She looked at our shocked faces and giggled, saying with a big grin, “…Then it just got really fucking depraved.”

We were shaking our heads as Gwen picked up the thread. “Rusty admitted that it was my age, combined with a young looking face, that was the attraction. He’d come to like the young stuff during his time in South East Asia. The very young stuff if you get my drift. He’d travel to Bangkok for his fun. Millionaire Rusty always found a veritable sexual smorgasbord.”

Now she smirked at us. “If you watch coverage of his arrivals at the airport, you’ll nearly always see a young, diminutive Asian girl attached to his entourage.”

Gwen’s expression shifted. Angry now. She almost snarled, “We’d been together and did everything. Of course he told me he loved me. So I had no problem telling him that somehow our protection had failed and I was pregnant. He stared at me for a moment, picked up his phone calling his business manager, turned and walked out of the room. I never met or spoke to him again. Rusty didn’t kiss me, hug me, or even say goodbye.”

*****

Gwen broke down crying. I held her awkwardly, while Bailey and Angel stroked and patted, soothing both of us. We ended up with Gwen sitting on my lap, her head on my shoulder. She lifted it as she spat out bitterly, “They were very efficient. I can never go back, even to visit the graves.”

As I continued to hold her Gwen calmly finished her story, saying, “By this time the cancer had taken momma. The Carlyle family relocated Grace and her girls here, then I followed. The cattle ranch is still in our name; we get a rent check each year.
We finished my schooling here, going on with our lives under this shadow. They are buying our silence. All this, our life, houses, cars, and money are the result of our signing non-disclosure agreements and severing all ties back home.”

Gwen smiled thinly as she added, “Rusty did forget to tell his family ‘one little thing’. He was an exhibitionist and voyeur. We videotaped and photographed our trysts then watched them while we fucked, and recorded that. We kept all those at the Rocking H for fear of his wife’s infrequent visits. I have them all.”

I was flabbergasted, processing her last revelation. Finally I asked contemplatively, “But Mom, I mean Gwen. Why is he still paying — he can’t really still be worried about this? Not after all these years.”

Bailey and Jennifer just looked thunderstruck at my question; Gwen was equally stunned. Finally she gathered her voice to say softly, “Do the math, William. Rusty is fifty-eight. He was 42 then, long married, already a senator. Our affair was no youthful indiscretion for him. I was not even fourteen when you were born, Billy. My videos and your DNA would be a ‘career ending’ scandal. Your existence and true identity must never be revealedif Rutherford Carlyle covets the presidency.”

*****

My mouth was an ‘O’ of surprise as my brain finally caught up! I must have looked like the home alone kid. Ah, FUCK!!! Every bit of repressed paranoia surged back into my psyche. Gwen, Jennifer and Bailey patted me gently while I tried to calm the mental maelstrom.

I looked up, to see only Gwen’s loving expression filling my vision. She leaned in, kissing me with an infinite tenderness, as if apologizing for the dreadful news. That brought me out of my funk as I asked coolly, “Gwen, do we own any guns?”

Gwen giggled as she replied, “Billy, my loving master, your mommy was born and raised on a western cattle ranch. She could ride and shoot with the best of them. Grace and I still go to the range every week.”

That little nugget shocked me as I said in wonder, “I never knew.”

Gwen shook her head, smiling. “Well, you never asked before. You seemed to have no interest in firearms, hunting, or the outdoors for that matter, Billy.”

I nodded. It was only true. I wasn’t opposed to firearms. I just never expected to be ‘exposed’ to them. Well, I needed to be ‘up to speed’ big time. Like yesterday! How in the fuck do you cram for a test like this? I asked tentatively, “So we own guns?”

Gwen was nodding her head in amusement a she answered, “We have a 336 Marlin in 30.30, a 444 Marlin, a Ruger 22 auto, Dad’s Model 70 Winchester in 30.06, my Remington 742 in .243 and several shotguns.’

I nodded; for some reason, I seemed to understand what she was talking about as she continued, “Handguns, we have Dad’s Ruger .44 Mag., my Colt Python .357, a Ruger .22 Auto, and my Smith & Wesson Chiefs Special hideout. “

The she added, “Oh yeah, Dad also had a Colt .45 auto, Walther PPK, and German Luger he brought home from the war. I’ve got those here as well.”

I nodded, as Gwen suddenly looked contrite, saying apologetically, “Master Billy, I’m so very sorry that we never took you along to the range. You should have learned to shoot.”
I shook my head, now emphatically, as I said, “No, Gwen, not your fault. I probably wouldn’t have gone even if you offered, without first knowing what I know now. And you couldn’t tell me before. Not without Otto’s treatment.”

*****

I’m really not that stupid. Just sheltered and more than a little na�ve. Quite a shock with my coffee! To unexpectedly find out I’m the bastard son of a ruthless gazillionaire political candidate who doubtless ain’t exactly overjoyed that I’m around. Fuck!

We’re riding in the 600 on our way to the fairgrounds with Jennifer driving with me next to her Gwen and Bailey in the back seat Gwen is dressed in very short cut off jeans with my dress shirt, this time buttoned. Well, some of the buttons anyway. I’m wearing my faded jeans, a sweatshirt from Lake County Regional Aviation, gray polarized Ray Ban aviators, and my running shoes.

Gwen was also wearing trim leather “fanny pack” slung around on her hip, this a constant fashion accessory I was used to seeing. I was certainly not used to the petite snub nosed pistol she tucked in it. Between her feet was a gym bag, holding her rather larger Colt Python with extra ammunition. She smirked at me, saying, “Someone has to protect you, Master.”

The worst of it was the immediate enthusiastic agreement from Bailey and Jennifer. Luckily Angel pulling up to the main gate at the fairgrounds saved me from further embarrassment. The gate guard took one look at the Benz with its gorgeous driver and Mega Chem Labs placard that Jennifer tossed up on the dash. He pointed, gesturing, speaking in a rush. “Straight ahead on Dan Patch, second right turn on Cooper, can’t miss it.”

He waved us through as Jennifer turned to look over at me. I shrugged. We turned the corner. I heard indrawn breath and loud gasps. It was semis and flatbeds and bobcats and workers, OH MY!! I managed to blurt, “Fuck me. Diana is in so much shit.”

My Angel was weaving between vehicles and clots of workmen asking anxiously, “Where do I go Billy?”

From the backseat Gwen said firmly, “Look for a pickup with a group of angry men standing around it.”

Then she poked me in the shoulder saying in the same resolute tone, “Try to remember everything Big Leo taught you.”

Made me laugh. My best buddy at school is Leo. Leo is a ‘junior’ but he’s little Leo with his dad being Big Leo or, as I think of him, BIG LEO.

Little Leo is an undersized nerd totally focused on his music to the exclusion of all else while Big Leo is a contractor spending his day immersed in construction, building, machinery and testosterone.

But Big Leo loves his son, supporting him in all possible ways. Big Leo always makes us welcome in his home, telling us hilarious obscene stories of the latest fuckup on his job site.

I was lost in a pleasant reverie remembering last Fourth of July when Big Leo brought home a dump truck filled with quite illegal and enormously powerful fireworks, deputizing little Leo and I as assistants. The display was marvelous, filling the night sky with explosive light, lasting over an hour, spreading clouds of gun smoke for blocks. It took a couple heavy rainstorms for the gunpowder smell to finally dissipate. We never saw a police car until long after the display was over. That’s when it dawned on me that Leo Vaccaro, Sr. might have something besides his enormous size going on.

Angel rolled to a stop next to the Guy Kersten Construction Company pickup. The angry, gesticulating men clustered around the hood woke me from my pleasant memories. It was well before noon, and the Mega Chem project was already sinking fast.

The street behind us was chaotic, crammed with huge Mega Chem semi trailers followed by big flatbed semis with what looked like travel trailers on them. All surrounded by workers and more trucks with lumber and building equipment. No wonder the guard knew where Mega Chem was.

I expected a difficult time getting people’s attention but the ‘distraction factor’ suddenly began to work in my favor as the four of us stepped out of the Benz. The voices lost volume trailing off as we approached until it was silent when I reached the ring of construction workers.

A broad shouldered giant in a white hard hat that said Kersten Construction was wearing a blue shirt that helpfully said “Guy” above the pocket. He reached out a huge hand to shake. My hand disappeared to the wrist but his grip was merely firm without any macho theatrics.

The bass rumble seemed to come from somewhere around his ankles. “Morning, Guy from Kersten.”

He looked expectantly down into my eyes, his gaze steady not distracted right or left as he waited. My hanging with the Leos, big and little with their large friends had prepared me for this as I responded more calmly then I felt, “Morning. Hadley from Mega Chem for Swane.”

There was an immediate loud uproar behind him. Guy didn’t release my hand standing almost peacefully waiting it out. He finally nodded as he asked briskly, “You make decisions?”

Guy cut right to the chase. This was the crux of it. Before she left for the office I was finally able to get Diana to put aside my master personae long enough to ask her if this State Fair exhibit was my call. She was completely at sea with this whole fair thing. She readily agreed with the proviso that I call in regularly and let her know what was happening.

I nodded at Guy as I said, “Yes.”

Behind him a reedy voice said, “Bullshit, you don’t look old enough to be a fucking intern. How the fuck can I spend money based on your say so? Fuck this; I’m out of here.”

Guy had by now released my hand as he turned and spoke with that deep growl. “Darryl, that ain’t an intern’s car.”

That slowed things down as the group pondered my car and assorted eye candy. While this was going on, Guy said, “Darryl Champeau from Complete Services. He’s your plumbing and electrical contractor.”

Darryl, a tall, thin, seemingly hyperactive sort, relented, sticking out his hand. That broke the ice as Lonnie Hullet from Coast to Coast Trucking, Allan Mahurin from Lake County Exhibit Services, and Clayton Odegard from Premier Fencing shook hands, then waited expectantly for Guy to start the discussion. His resonant voice took center stage as he held up a single sheet of paper. “Each of us received a fax from Swane’s office with the layout of the exhibit. We were told not to deviate from this design.”

He paused and I waited for the punch line. Five sheets of paper appeared. One held by each contractor. It was obvious even to my untrained eye that each layout was grossly different. Someone was seriously out to get Diana. This project was going nowhere until we sorted this out.

Before we even started, Lonnie said, “I don’t know why we even fucking bother. I’ve got semis plus motor homes, travel trailers and shipping containers. This fucking tiny space won’t hold half this shit no matter how it’s arranged.”

Suddenly an elderly figure limped into our circle leaning on a stockman’s cane. His State Fair uniform displayed the name Cody. He calmly observed, “I got tired of waiting for someone to ask. Now I’m gonna tell.”

His hand lightly rested on my arm while he pointed to the corner lot with his cane, saying, “Those papers are wrong, wrong, wrong.”

Talk about getting some attention. We were rapt as Cody continued, “Your lot runs back almost to Cosgrove, just enough space there for that food booth then from the corner here all the way over to that tin shed. You have 400 amp electrical service, water and sewer for your trailers as well as a driveway back there for your staff parking.”

He took a breath and kept right on. “Your company has already paid the resodding fee. You may park anywhere on the site and build any type of structure needed for your guests or staff. That includes placing posts and fencing.”

Cody subsided into silence lowering his cane with a satisfied smirk looking around into the stunned faces of the contractors whose practiced eyes were comparing the actual lot with their drawings dimensions. Guy’s head came around first as he waved the paper toward me. He was verging on pissed off and I sure as hell didn’t want to see this big bastard mad. I quickly said, “Okay, here’s the deal, gentlemen.”