Superf***er Vol. 04

"So, you may ask, if we're not talking about selective breeding, how do we intend to encourage greatness? Well, in our research we also found false positives... individuals whose genetics pointed towards unfulfilled greatness. We've learned that persons with unfulfilled greatness tended to be unhappy in low-level jobs, more intelligent than their coworkers but not better educated, lacked motivation, and gravitated towards substance abuse, especially of the hallucinogenic variety. And most of them came from disadvantaged backgrounds. We were reminded that genetics may be important, but it is not the only thing; environment plays an important role as well. Without the proper intellectual nourishment, greatness cannot blossom. These individuals go personally unfulfilled, drift towards lower classes, breed with other lower-class individuals, and thus the genes of greatness pass out of the gene pool, an opportunity lost forever."

I scanned the crowd. A lot of business-y, accountant types, like I'd imagined. Seven men, five women, two of whom appeared well over 40. I scoped out the three potentially attractive females as I continued to speak. "It was to address this issue that the Starr Child Foundation was formed. We believe that economic issues play a major role in the failure of greatness to develop in those predisposed. We cannot change human mating patterns—but we can maximize the likelihood that greatness develops in those that carry its genes by ensuring that they are raised with some basic standard of living. And because we believe individuals with greatness tend to reproduce with others that also carry the seeds of greatness, we hope to increase the incidence of these genes in the pool. And so the mission of the Starr Child Foundation is simple: to provide free economic assistance to children with the potential for greatness but whose social condition forms a barrier to their success."

The first one was acceptable; blonde, early thirties, prototypical MILF actually. The second was younger, but a tad heavy for my taste--females are trim and muscular on my planet, so I can't quite get excited about a girl that's overweight. "Thus, in the end the Starr Child Foundation is a philanthropic organization—but one that must remain in utmost secrecy. We have hundreds of doctors and scientists across the country looking for the genes of greatness, passing those children's names on to us—violating patient privacy laws in the process, all for the greater good of humankind. The knowledge we possess is powerful; it must not become known that we have identified genes of greatness until the time is right, lest it fall into the wrong hands. We wish the better world of the future to be democratic; do not doubt for a moment that China, for instance, can and would undertake a massive program of selective breeding if they knew it was possible. And our work is sensitive and controversial; not only would we risk being labeled as eugenicists if the true nature of our work became known, but we fear that the very knowledge that a child has the right genes may affect his or her upbringing and destroy the very delicate flower of greatness we wish to foster."

The third I could see mostly just red hair, and so she intrigued me. But I couldn't see her face; it struck me as odd, I would have thought that it wouldn't have been that difficult to move around the person in front of her and make eye contact. "The position of Director of the Starr Child Foundation is equal parts accounting and espionage. As Director, you will receive lists of individual children that are to be served by the Foundation. Every month, the necessary amount will be transferred into the Foundation's account." I started walking into the midst of the assembled applicants; I was going to get a look at that redhead, one way or another. But I kept shifting my gaze, not wanting to make it obvious that I was attending more to some of them than others. "It will be your responsibility to ensure that all payments are made, as well as the maintenance of the office and of course your own salary. The Foundation will have no assets of its own. You will work entirely on your own—you will have no staff, nor will you have a supervisor. Your only contact with me once the Foundation is operational will be via email. You will be the only public point of contact for the Foundation and its business."

I took a quick step sideways, looking right in the direction of the redhead. Oh my god, no wonder she was trying to hide--it was Amy! We made eye contact, and she gulped; she'd been hoping I didn't see her, but of course I had. I imagined this must be a lot more awkward for her than it was for me. "This position will pay a reasonable salary while, especially at first, probably requiring fewer than ten hours a week to perform. It would be a perfect job for someone who wants a lot of free time, perhaps for a second career or to spend time with family. But...we are also looking for someone to stay with this position for twenty years or more. We are first and foremost scientists; the Foundation will track the emergence of greatness in those we serve compared against a control group of children we will not serve. This is not fair, but it is necessary for science—yet another reason why our identities and our methods must be completely secret."

"And so...if after hearing what we're trying to accomplish, you are still interested in the job...I will begin interviewing in thirty minutes. If you don't, thank you for coming."

I turned and headed into the private office. I thought my story went well—a complete fabrication, of course. I heard shuffling about outside; I tried to guess how many would be there when I came back...and whether Amy would be among them. There were four--and she was not. There were two young men, one older one, and one of the over-40 women. Oh well, I wasn't here to pick my next sex partner; I drew randomly from a hat who went first.

The first guy immediately turned my off by his excessive, and therefore not trustworthy, interest in the supposed cause of my cover story. The second was very bland, but probably also very reliable. The third was the woman, and while she was kind of fun as a person there was something about her that made me think this wasn't a good job for her. As she was leaving, though, she said "Oh...I'm supposed to pass on a message. There was a girl here earlier...she said she was called away for a family emergency, but that she would come back later if she could. If you didn't want to interview her because she left, she would understand."

"Oh?" I asked with a little too much interest. "I wonder which one. What did she look like."

"Well, she had flaming red hair," she began. Yes! I thought. It was Amy.

"Ah...she was sitting in the back, I didn't get a good look at her. Well, if she comes back, I'll hear her out. thanks for passing on the message." Sure enough, when I came to call in the last candidate, Amy was back.

"Ah...we have one more brave soul, eh? I'll get to you next. And now..." I gestured the last male interviewee in, but he turned me off immediately by complaining that Amy shouldn't be allowed to interview because she had left. The whiner was trying to thin the field of competitors, but fuck him for trying to tell me how to run my business. He could have saved himself the trouble of saying anything else, because he was already done.

He glared at her as he left. Jerk. "Miss Amy," I smiled, "I'm glad you chose to come back."

She got up nervously, straightening the short skirt of her black interview suit. She wore a white blouse under it that showed a lot less cleavage than her dress the night before. "I...I don't think I'm the right person for this job, Mr. Starr, but I...I just wanted to explain myself," she said as I ushered her into the interview office.

"Explain yourself...how?"

"You must be wondering why I'd be a gathering of prospective mistresses one day, and then interviewing for Foundation Director the next."

"It had crossed my mind, yes." She settled into a chair while I went behind the desk.

"Well...it's exactly like you said in your speech...this job would be perfect for someone that needs a lot of free time, and that's ME. See, all I've ever wanted to be was a writer. Even since I was a kid, I worked hard in school, got good grade, and got accepted to the college with the best writing program in the country. I don't come from a wealthy family, but my entrance scores were so good I got almost a full ride. What I hadn't counted on was how expensive it would be to live in The City. I ended up having to take out student loans to be able to pay for food and rent. When my roommate got attacked one night, I took out more loans so we could move somewhere safer."

"And?" I interjected.

"I graduated at the top of my class...with $100,000 in student loans to pay back, so I had to get a job. So now I'm working 60 hours a week to pay my bills...and not writing a thing because of it. I've got manuscripts I'm working on, but by the time I get back into the frame of mind I was in when I put it down, it's time to stop again because I have to go to work in the morning..."

"So you were looking for something where you could work fewer hours," I concluded.

"Yes," she said excitedly, "this job sounded perfect. I swear, this was my first choice. That thing last night..."

"Why would this be your first choice?" I interrupted, "As a mistress, you wouldn't have to 'work' at all."

"No, but you'd never know when you'd be called upon to do something...doesn't matter, I don't know what I was thinking. I could never be a mistress anyway."

"No? Then why did you go to the party? Wasn't that the whole idea?" I persisted.

"I dunno...I was afraid I wouldn't be qualified enough to get this job, and I was probably right. One of the guys I work with always joked that I should be a mistress, because I'm pretty enough and I'd make a lot more money for a lot less work. I thought he was just kidding, but when he overheard the boss talking about this party where prospective hosts could meet prospective mistresses, he told me about it. I thought I could at least call the company that put them on. They were so low-key about it all on the phone...I guess I hadn't thought about what I was really getting into until the party last night."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I was just naive--in retrospect, its expensive to keep a mistress, of course a girl would have to demonstrate that she would be worthwhile to her sponsor before he would invest in her. Its funny, I'm at an event for prospective mistresses and I hadn't even given a thought to the sex part. I figured hey, I've done a few one-nighters, how different could it be?"

"So what happened?"

"When we got matched up and all the girls started dancing...I freaked out. I started trying to dance sexy-like, but with my clothes on. The guy started touching me all over, and it just felt... wrong. Yeah, I'd had one-night stands, but that was because I'd had the hots for some guy. Maybe that was because I was drunk at the time, but nonetheless, I slept with him because I wanted to. I didn't have the hots for this guy... in fact, he turned my stomach. The only reason I was there was because I was trying to sell myself like a commodity. I was being a whore, plain and simple. I couldn't do it."

"So what did you do?" I asked. Her story seemed so honest, so heartfelt. I liked her even more than I had last night.

"I apologized for wasting the guy's time and ran out of there," she sighed, "hoping that much harder that today would work out. My heart sank when I saw you come out. My plan B, which I hadn't even thought through, wiped out my plan A. Somehow, it feels like I got what I I deserved."

"Amy," I announced, "I think you made a good decision."

"What do you mean?"

"You wanted more time to write. You could have had lots of time to write as a mistress--but you weren't willing to throw away your self-respect to get it. You'd give up on writing altogether before you'd whore yourself for a meal ticket."

"You make it sound like I was noble, when really I was just dumb."

"Naive maybe, but not dumb. You saw right away that it wasn't what you thought it was going to be, and you were strong enough to leave when it would have been easier to play along. Those ARE noble qualities."

She smiled appreciatively. "Thanks, you make me feel a little bit better about last night's fiasco. But there's now a bunch of high-powered people in New York that hate me, and I'm obviously not qualified for this job either. Thanks for giving me the time to explain..."

"Can you use a spreadsheet?"

"What? Yes, of course, I do it every day," she answered, perplexed.

"I wasn't sure what kinds of tools you knew how to use, having been an English major. You must know word processing, of course. Can you do merges?"

"Of course," she nodded.

"Accounting? Databases?"

"Still new at it, but I've been learning at my job," she confessed.

"Its really not a hard job as far as technical skills," I explained. "You ARE qualified. No, the hard part is finding the right person. Someone who can handle inquiries, be organized, keep track of things. Someone who is self-motivated and who can work in an environment of total secrecy. And someone who is likely to be able to do the job for a long period of time."

"Oh, Mr. Starr, I'd want to do this job FOREVER. It would be PERFECT. I could pay my bills with this job, and I wouldn't have to be under pressure to publish to pay my rent. I could take my time and make sure my work was READY before I sent it to a publisher. I'm VERY organized. I can handle inquiries...my company has been sending me to a lot of trade shows because I'm good at engaging clients..."

"I agree," I said impulsively, "I think you would be very good for this job. When can you start?"

"Oh, Mr. Starr," she squeaked with great excitement, "thank you, thank you so much. I have to give two weeks notice, but I can work nights right away if things need to get done..."

"That won't be necessary," I replied calmly, "but I do have to attend to business out-of-town, and I'd like to get going as soon as possible. I can show you all you need to know in just a couple of hours, do you have somewhere you need to be tonight?"

"No sir," she replied excitedly, "if I had a boyfriend, I would have never been at that stupid party last night!"

I laughed, sensing that her comment was completely genuine. "Great, maybe I can even catch a plane out tonight. But...I've been interviewing all day, I haven't even had lunch, and I see the stampeding mob wiped out the snacks. Are you hungry? I could order us some Chinese, we can eat while I'm walking you through it."

"Actually, that would be great, sir," she replied, "I'm starving."

"All right, but rule number one: my name is Bill. Just Bill. Not Mr. Starr, definitely not Sir. You are an employee now, so I expect that we will relate to each other on a first-name basis. OK?"

"Yes S..., I mean, sure, Bill," she smiled.

I nodded. "Perfect."

I picked up the phone, ordered, and began giving her a list of things to take care of. "First, you'll need to fill out hiring and W2 papers on yourself. Do them electronically and email them to me to sign. Second, you'll need to send rejection letters to the other candidates..."

When the food came, we broke for dinner. We talked about her mostly, thankfully; she was easy to engage in talking about her writing, and it sounded like it might be pretty interesting. But we also talked a little about her family, politics, and life in the city. She was very engaging--beautiful women, I've decided, tend to be unapproachable (self-protection from the overwhelming interest men have in them), stuck up (because men always tell them how great they are) or both; Amy was neither. She was so young, but yet she was interesting; she had a fine eye for human foibles, which I thought boded well for her future as a writer. I just somehow...connected with her, and it wasn't because deep down I couldn't deny the fact that part of me still lusted for her.

After dinner I switched places with her; this was going to be her desk and her computer, I wanted her to "drive" and get the feel of it. I showed her where things were, then I started showing her some of the software she would need to use. She wasn't adept at all of them, but she was a quick study. She sat in the chair of her new office, I stood behind her, reaching over and using the mouse to show her how to do things. We worked like that for maybe a couple more hours, and things went great. But then I showed her something she'd never done before, and when I turned around to see if she was following me...uh oh, I shouldn't have done that. Standing over her, I was inadvertently looking straight down her blouse. I could see the trail of freckles leading all the way to the edge of her bra, and then? Just as I had the night before, all I could think of was imagining where that trail of freckles ended.

I turned my attention back to the screen, but I was now flustered. I was suddenly acutely aware that our hands were touching as we both worked together with the mouse; I withdrew mine hastily. She turned to see what was the matter—and found herself eye to eye with a bulge that ran halfway down my thigh. She pulled back a bit at the surprise of meeting the monster eye to eye, even if it was through a pair of slacks.

"Is something wrong?" she asked with concern.

"No, absolutely not..." I protested. She glanced at my bulge again, then at me with confusion. "I'm sorry...no, there's nothing wrong, if anything it's too right. I'm sorry about my, um, condition, it's just..." I sighed; the only way to explain my erratic behavior was to tell the truth. "I'm sorry, I'm not being very professional. I guess it's only fair for you to know that you were the first choice on my card last night."

She was stunned. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. "And maybe I shouldn't have told you that, because now you're probably wondering if that isn't the real reason I hired you. It's not, or at least I don't think it is. I hired you for two reasons: one, you had the best reason for wanting to work part-time, and thus I project you as the most likely to stay in this job for a long time. And second, by telling me the truth about what happened last night, I know that you're trustworthy, whereas with the others I don't know if they're feeding me a line or what. I mean, the fact that I find you attractive... as I told you, I won't be around anyway, so that really doesn't enter into the equation, ya know?" I flushed, since I sounded to myself like a stammering, smitten fool. "Um... well, I think I've done enough damage already, so I'm going to take my leave. Here are the keys to the office... you've got my email... I think you know now what you need to know. If there's anything else you need to learn and I can't show you via email, by all means sign up for a class at foundation expense." I put out my hand to shake hers; she shook it gingerly, flabbergasted by the sudden turn of events. "So welcome aboard, I am confident that the foundation's business operations are in good hands, Madam Director. You know how to reach me if you have any questions."

I turned and practically fled out the door. Behind me I heard Amy call out "Wait, Mr. Starr..." I didn't even pause to remind her to call me Bill.

-------------------

I sat on the bed in my hotel room. The TV was on, but I wasn't paying it any attention. I'd come back from the office, thrown off my monkey suit and jumped into a cold shower, trying to break my relentless ruminating about the trail of freckles leading down Amy's chest. Wearing just a bathrobe, I sat and stared, lost in thoughts. I did believe what I had told her about why I had hired her, and yet I'd be lying if I pretended I didn't lust for her desperately, and I would be foolish to think that didn't enter into my thought process at some level. My original plan had been to go out to the clubs to find another earth girl to mate with, then head out of town tomorrow—but I really wasn't in the mood to put forth all that effort. I hadn't taken a day off since I began on my mission—today seemed as good a day as any.