FRENCHY

by George Olney

  "I cannot tell you more, as Custom has laid a geas on my lips that they cannot speak plain on the circumstances. Such enlightenment must come only from him whose right it is to give it." Grete stood and looked at Frenchy with an almost pleading expression in her eyes. "Carry on as you are, daughter, and know that you are in the right doing so. Grasp your fate boldly, and mayhap you will grasp a mother's happiness in the process."

  She swept Frenchy up into her arms again, hugging her fiercely for a few moments. Then she broke contact and quickly left the room. Grete also left behind a puzzled and troubled woman. Frenchy sat there thinking for a long time, trying to make sense of her whole encounter with Grae's mother. Her reverie was finally interrupted by a familiar dry voice.

  "I see you met my mother."

  She looked up to find Grae leaning in the doorway. "Do I look overwhelmed?"

  "Totally. Mother has that effect on people." Grae strolled in and dumped a set of saddlebags unceremoniously at the foot of the bed.

  "In fact," he said, grinning at her, "Father likens her to a force of nature. I don't know anyone that will argue the point."

  "It sounds like not too many people argue with him, period," she replied wryly. "What planet is she from?"

  "You know it. It's your world. Father was there a good while back, working for a Galactic Survey expedition. Someplace called Germany is where she came from, I think."

  "That's amazing! She doesn't look anything like a European to me!"

  "Frenchy, a lot can happen in almost four centuries and that's how long ago it was in your time."

  She digested that fact silently. Then she noticed Grae taking her personal kit bag from the saddlebags. "Hey! I thought Maev was going for our things?"

  "She was. She found me and gave me your personal bag. She has hers with her."

  "Huh?"

  Grae explained patiently, but with a quick grin. "Maev, dear girl, has plans for our stay. Those don't include spending the night with us."

  Frenchy looked at him blankly. He continued, "There's a celebration tonight, since it's Seventhnight. She asked and got my permission to go out and enjoy herself. She plans on doing a bit of man hunting, so I doubt we'll see her or know where she spends the night unless she decides to tell us. Pure Maev."

  "She belongs to you and you let her go alleycatting off to go lay some guy you don't even know?" Despite herself, Frenchy was mildly outraged.

  Grae shrugged, grinning slightly. "Why not? She's bound to me, but I don't own her soul. That sort of thing is perfectly normal for Maev and I saw no reason not to let her go." His expression changed to one she knew well. "I wouldn't be so freely permissive with you. I have plans for later."

  Despite herself, she had to smile back at him. His words gave her a tingly sensation. Then she realized what he really meant. She was the important one in his life, the one he wanted. He couldn't care less what Maev did. She jumped up, hugged him, and kissed him with a fervor she hadn't felt in a while. "You know," she said when they came up for air, "there's nothing says we have to wait for later."

  She ran her fingers along his bare chest. "I mean, we're mostly undressed for it anyhow."

  Grae's agreement with her idea wasn't very verbal, but extremely enthusiastic.

  Later, lying in the relaxed afterglow of sex and pillowed in the crook of his arm, she let her mind wander. As usual, several unrelated topics bubbled up and resolved themselves as questions. "Grae?"

  "Um?"

  "You said there's a celebration tonight because it's Seventhnight. What's Seventhnight?"

  He rolled on his side and looked at her. "Questions again? Well, Seventhnight in the early days was a Tribal festival, a sing-sing held every week. Now it's a weekly party that's held in every Freehold on the night of the Seventh Day. Music. Entertainment. Sort of ends the week and lets off some steam."

  "What kind of entertainment? Do you have regular acts?"

  He shook his head. "Not as you mean it, with professional entertainers. Those who play music will provide it and anyone who would like to dance will perform on the stage. Later, everyone participates in the communal dancing.

  "You might enjoy the stage dancing. That's where the best dancers get their chance to display their abilities. There are no prizes, but a good dancer has status in his or her tribe. Maev is very good, so we ought to see her on the stage."

  Frenchy's mind was already on another tack. "Your mother did something today I'm not sure I can believe."

  "You sound like Father." He'd relaxed again, just lying and staring at the ceiling like her.

  Another question jumped up and she changed the subject again. "Why did you take us here? You said I was going to meet another blonde. You wanted me to meet your mother? Why?"

  He chuckled. "It was the hair color. I know yours isn't original, but it put me in mind of her and made me realize something. You're both the same kind of large scale explosive charge. You think alike, act alike, and you're both a hell of a handful." He squeezed her with a quick, gentle motion. "Once I realized that, it was a wrongness to keep you apart. You could be related."

  Frenchy snuggled closer. One question answered. It was that Tribal concept of "rightness" and "wrongness" again. She continued, "She said I could be her daughter. Then she said I had to be, so she adopted me."

  "SHE DID WHAT??!!" Grae sat bolt upright in bed, staring at her in astonishment.

  Frenchy looked at him in surprise. She said in a squeaky voice, "You mean she meant it? That was for real?"

  Grae flopped back in bed, arms flung wide. "Oh, Mother, Mother, Mother, what in the HELL have you done NOW?!"

  She rolled over, straddled him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and shook him none too gently. "What does that mean? We didn't just commit incest, did we?"

  He lay there and laughed at her panicky expression. "No, mistress, we certainly did not. But you have something else you always wanted. You now have a home and a family."

  She braced herself on his chest and looked him in the eye with frank suspicion. "You're serious?"

  "Very. You are now a Yellow Knife and Mother's heir. You will now always have a home and a place in the Tribe. That doesn't change our relationship at the moment, but if Mother died you would be honorably unbound, no matter where you were. There are a lot of other subtleties to this, but I can't explain them right now. They're mostly understood."

  Frenchy flopped back in the bed next to him. "Honorably unbound? Free? I want to be free but I don't want it at that price. And a real home and family?"

  "Weykhaz is as much your protector now as I am. You're not his daughter, you're Mother's, but your safety is his responsibility as well as mine."

  "Comforting." Oddly enough, she realized she was serious when she said it. "Something to think about."

  Next to her, Grae was also thinking. By now, he knew Frenchy's attitude towards bondage. He could have kicked himself. He'd unconsciously been treating her like she was Tribal, but she certainly was not and he wasn't realizing that little fact until lately. He'd created a number of problems with that boneheaded lack of vision, too. Something he had to fix. She needed to be honorably unbound as soon as possible, something he had to find a way to do soon. Bondage was a wrongness for this particular woman. Maybe he could find a way to follow Custom and still let him follow his own path. His mind shied away from examining the end to that path. It was preordained and something he didn't want to examine too closely. Better to enjoy the moment. The future had little enough pleasure in it.

  #####

  Seated on a night stool Frenchy applied a dab of make-up, made one last check in the mirror above the elaborately carved dresser, and she was ready to face the crowd at Seventhnight. Her new family, Frenchy thought, making a wry face at herself. Another thought caused her to sigh briefly.

  "Why the sigh?" Grae was lying on the bed, sitting up against the headboard, hands behind his head and the picture of complete relaxation. He was watching her get ready and from the natural way he
did it, Frenchy briefly wondered if it was a common male pastime. In the past, she was never with one man long enough to know.

  "Oh... wishing I could really dress up and show off for your people. Back home there was this little frock..."

  He snorted. "Which would be wasted. Nobody cares about dressing up. It's considered a Galactic affectation.

  "Besides," he grinned, "you're already wearing your best outfit. Some of Nature's finest handiwork."

  She heard a laugh from the now open doorway. "That line is as old as the hills, daughter. His father has oft used it to woo me these many years."

  From behind her, Frenchy heard Grae's calm voice. "Hello, Mother. Just because Father uses it doesn't mean it's still not true. In both cases, I might add."

  Frenchy turned to greet the woman she still had a problem thinking of as her adopted mother and stopped dead, her mouth slightly agape. Grete was as nude as she was.

  Grete breezed into the room and plopped to a seat at the edge of the bed. She rested her hands primly on her clasped knees and regarded her new daughter with a twinkle in her eye. "Here, lass, such a shocked expression? Wouldst think you'd never seen the female form undraped. Or is't my advanced age renders such exposure unseemly?"

  Frenchy was fast on the recovery. "Considering what I've done in my life, I've seen more than my share of nude women. No, by the way, you certainly are perfectly suited to what you aren't wearing. I just didn't think anyone would do it if they didn't have to."

  Grete, literally in the flesh, was in as excellent shape, as spectacularly Junoesque as Frenchy, and completely unconcerned at her lack of clothing. "Child, I but make a pair of chick and hen. Should we not go to our first party together in identical appearance?"

  Frenchy found herself blushing.

  Grae, meanwhile, was looking at both women with a slightly puzzled expression. Then the light dawned. "Oh... Mother, she still thinks like a Galactic."

  Grete reached over and patted her son's leather clad knee. "Not a Galactic, boyo, but as a good woman of our faraway Earth should think. Clothing there has a vastly preeminent place in the doings of folk."

  Grae leaned back against the headboard, placed his hands back behind his head and resumed his prior occupation of loafing. "We were just discussing an aspect of that fact, now that you remind me," he commented dryly.

  Frenchy shot him a deadly look. "How could such a fine woman," she asked Grete, "produce such a bum?"

  "His father's genes," Grete relied calmly. "Now come, the both of you. A bit of food and drink will refresh you after the exercise this place shows you've indulged in."

  Frenchy blushed as they left. Grae just grinned.

  #####

  The gathering area reminded Frenchy very much of the pictures she'd seen of western barbecues. There was an empty stage at one end of the large room and a serving line on one wall. Those that weren't in the feeding line were sitting in clumps on mats on the floor, talking and eating. She felt a resurgence of her old nervousness and embarrassment at being nude in such a large group, but the large degree of unconcerned nudity, male and female, in the room helped the feeling recede. Even the facial patterns painted on many of the people began to feel familiar.

  She noticed Grete had the attitude of a matron entering a ball, completely oblivious to her own state of undress. That brought up another surge of nervousness. She suddenly felt uncomfortable in a group where people were so well known to each other. A round of introductions consisting of hearty greetings and firm hugs helped dispel that discomfort, with the exception of her first hug by a woman as nude as she was. Every time, Grete introduced her as her new daughter and that seemed to surprise nobody including Weykhaz, who took a philosophical attitude to everything his bondsmate did. Grae, of course, was known to everybody.

  As they moved through the room and down the feeding line, Frenchy, to her surprise, found herself in a variety of lively conversations with people, none of which involved Grete or Grae. The warm feeling returned when she realized she was accepted as an equal and a person in her own right. It was a new experience to her.

  She decided the food was just what she'd expect at a Texas barbecue. It was seasoned roast, complimented by both hot and cold vegetable dishes. It tasted so good, she decided to wonder about what she was eating some other time.

  They seated themselves on carpets scattered on the floor, picnic style. The lively conversation that followed among the four of them completed her enjoyment of the meal. Grae was as relaxed and hearty as he'd been around her at any time in their relationship. Weykhaz and Grete were thoroughly enjoying themselves, indulging in a little good natured bickering. It really seemed more like a group of friends on an outing than anything else.

  Weykhaz, now that she got a closer look at him, was the original of his son, with a few differences, such as still having both eyes. He was as tough and dangerous as Grae, but animated where Grae was calmer. That set her to thinking about what Grae's son would be like. Probably a carbon of Dad and Granddad, but as strong willed as his Grandmother. Independent as hell, too, if she was the mother.

  Now that was an interesting thought... having Grae's child.

  Grae noticed Frenchy eyeing him speculatively. For some unknown reason, it made him nervous.

  Soon, the music began. She studied the band for a while, looking at the strange instruments. She decided they worked pretty much as the ones on earth did. The music was certainly similar. It would be easy to dance to, not that she had any such intention. Still, she thought, she used to be a dancer and a dancer thinks that way.

  The first of the Tribal dancers was male, doing an athletic, posturing, stamping sort of sequence that suited the music perfectly and fascinated her. The music changed to a more fluid sound, and the man was replaced by a woman. Off and on, she watched as a succession of performers danced. All of them danced in the nude, but by now she barely noticed. She was paying more attention to the conversation than the performances when Maev took the stage.

  She glanced up and caught a flash of movement that riveted her attention when she realized who it was. Maev's slow strut and pose style matched both the music and her personality. Frenchy noticed she had the attention of a good many unaccompanied men in the room.

  Grae remarked indulgently, "Sometimes Maev's a little on the bold side. Off hand, I'd say she'll have tonight's man about five minutes after she gets off the stage." He looked at Frenchy and grinned. "Notice she's painted both eyes? That tells everybody she's looking for a companion."

  Grete studied the girl's performance critically for a moment then commented to Frenchy, "Did you not say you were once a dancer, daughter? I'd wager a pretty penny that you've the skills and abilities to far outstrip such movements as yon mantrap attempts for our entertainment."

  Frenchy winced slightly at the term "outstrip'", thankful she'd never actually told Grete just what kind of dancer she was when Grae found her. Then she noticed the nervous expression on Grae's face and realized he was afraid she was going to accept Grete's challenge. Now that was irritating. She was still a trained dancer. A little rusty, perhaps, but not the show's star by accident. Most strippers just wiggled around on stage. He thought all the dancing she could do was what he'd seen the other girls do, or what she did when she was drunk. That was far inferior to Tribal standards and embarrassing if she tried it.

  Grae was starting to look relieved, apparently thinking she wasn't going to try anything. Wrong, bucko! The boy was due for a little education and now was just the time for him to get it. Besides, this could be fun.

  She answered Grete, "It's been a while, Mom, but just watch this!"

  She thoroughly enjoyed Grae's panicky expression as she stood up. Grete, on the other hand, looked like the cat that ate the canary. Weykhaz was following the whole scene with a great deal of interest.

  As she walked towards the stage, she was concentrating hard. The music was a little strange to her, but good dancing depended on beat and interpretation. She was going t
o have to improvise but she didn't think anyone would notice if she missed a step. When she reached the steps to the stage, she slipped off her shoes. Bare feet were better when she didn't have flexible dancing shoes. She climbed the steps with a graceful, swaying motion, already picking up the beat with her body.

  She suddenly remembered an Arabian dance from a movie bit part she'd done. Okay, that was what she'd do. She made her initial presentation with feet together and hands clasped over her head, rotating her hips gracefully. A quick whirl, and she was into the music and totally into the fluid movements of the dance. Her limbs swept in graceful arcs and every muscle in her body rippled.

  Her entire being became a living expression of the beat and the sound of the music. Her eyes were half closed. Her face bore the serene smile of one meditating on Nirvana. She was totally out of the real world. The stage and room no longer existed. There was only her and the audience. She played the music with her body and the audience absorbed it. Somehow, she was pulling the music out of the air a measure before the band played it. Her body responded perfectly and she knew she had full control of the room and all in it. Every eye was on her. She had the totally absorbed attention of everyone in the place.

  She was at once the graceful personification of Woman and, at the same time, a distant goddess with a sensual dignity in her movements that proclaimed her status. Even through her concentration, she could see herself through the eyes of the people watching and responded, driving herself to greater heights.

  The music changed to a happy, active little tune and she responded with a broad smile. Her movements, still graceful, were now more athletic and merry.

  Grete tore herself away from Frenchy's dance for a moment to assess its effect on her men. Smiling, she reached out and gently shut the half open mouths of her bondsmate and son.