White and Black

"Okay," Seventeen admitted. "How bad could it be?"

Mountbatten-Seven squealed, and called out, "Every time!"

Mountbatten-Two leaned across the table, patted Seventeen's hand, and explained, "She said the same thing."

Mountbatten-Seven nodded in agreement, and explained, "Second cohort."

"We went six per month, like you all," said Mountbatten-Two. Mountbatten Mailgirl Number Seven, like Seventeen, had seen mailgirls in action before deciding to join up. And yet, despite that, both had talked themselves into it; after all, how bad could it really and truly be?

"What happened to the last Seventeen?" Mountbatten-Seven asked, and all eyes went to USF Mailgirl Number Seven.

Seven swallowed, looked to Seventeen, and then back to Mountbatten-Seven. "Actioneers," she gave in response.

The reaction around the table was mixed, and it was clear to Seventeen that -- whatever "Actioneers" meant -- there was some divide as to whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. She risked being seen as stupid, and asked, "Actioneers?"

"Whitestockings," Fourteen offered.

The term didn't do anything to clear up Seventeen's confusion.

"Whitestockings," Fourteen repeated. "As opposed to the Blackstockings."

Seventeen stared back at her blankly.

"Like the Bluestockings and Redstockings? Feminists?"

"Sorry," Seventeen responded with a shrug.

"Whitestockings are bad," Eighteen jumped in. "Blackstockings are good."

"Right," Mountbatten-Two agreed sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

"Whitestockings are bad," Fourteen repeated, agreeing with the girl to Seventeen's left, and shooting a look of derision at Mountbatten-Two. "Blackstockings are good. Whitestockings swoop in playing Mother Theresa, but you just get owned in a different way, and get treated like a victim. With the Blackstockings, at least, you are who you are."

None of this was making any sense to Seventeen, which was apparently clear to Seven.

"Actioneers," Seven explained. "The International Women's Action Committee. They're one of the 'whitestocking' groups fighting against mailgirl programs anywhere and everywhere. The American Association of Professional Women. Feminists For Equality. United American Women."

The mention of this last group induced a wince from Mountbatten-Two, and Seventeen suspected there was a story there.

"Anyway, they're the 'whitestockings.' On the other side are the 'blackstockings,' which are all the 'individual life, individual choice' groups," Seven continued.

"'I Lick'," Fourteen joked at the end of the table, pronouncing the "ILIC" acronym aloud.

Seven stuck her tongue out at Fourteen, and then went on. Her quick lesson to Seventeen was through, and so she went back to the previous Mailgirl Number Seventeen's story. "They got her on Wednesday morning. She got up and got dressed for work, but then ended up over in their picket line, instead."

"Why?" Mountbatten-Seven asked.

"She got pulled in as entertainment for the COO's birthday on Tuesday, after hours. Got helium balloons tied around her nipples. Some random executive assistant's panties shoved in her mouth. Hot wax from the birthday candles dripped on the inside of her thighs. And..." -- Seven hesitated -- "got the full ponygirl treatment as some sort of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey thing."

"Ugh," Mountbatten-Two grunted.

Mountbatten-Seven reacted similarly, and asked, "I thought that sort of thing didn't happen at USF?"

Seventeen was baffled as to what the "ponygirl treatment" was. "Sorry, what happened?"

Seven ignored her momentarily, and responded instead to her Mountbatten counterpart. "They're getting bolder," she answered. "Especially at the top."

"Sorry...?" Seventeen again.

"Butt plug with a pony tail," Fourteen said to Seventeen, almost as an aside. Seventeen cringed. To the table, Fourteen picked up Seven's story. "Eight was there, too. Same stuff. And when they left, Seventeen apparently seemed okay with it all. A little shaken, according to Eight, but a little turned on, too."

"She got herself off in the shower before she went home," Three interjected. "Seventeen, that is. Melissa."

"Eight, too," Fourteen chuckled.

"But Eight came back the next day," Seven continued. "Melissa went to Grace Burgmeier and the Actioneers."

Grace Burgmeier, Seventeen had heard of. She was the mailgirl phenomenon's answer to Gloria Allred, and had been fighting tooth-and-nail against the concept since it first kicked off in the States. So far, that fight had been largely one-sided, and Burgmeier's successes limited. But she'd won the attention of a popular, young Congresswoman from Illinois, and the so-called "Mailgirl Hearings" were scheduled to begin in January.

"She's going to use her," Eighteen lamented. "She's already got our original Twenty-Three with her face on pamphlets and her story -- our story -- thrown up all over the Internet."

"Yeah," Seven said, shaking her head. "Rumor has it she's going to trot Twenty-Three out in front of Congress."

"Heather," Fourteen spat. "Heather Harper." Heather Harper had broken ranks and deserted them. She was no longer allowed the anonymity of a number.

Seventeen interrupted again. "Sorry, I don't see what the issue is? Aren't we all rooting to be free again?"

The reaction around the table was mixed. Mountbatten-Two and Mountbatten-Seven both nodded. Eighteen said, "yes," but with hesitation. Three remained silent. And Seven and Fourteen shared a look.

"Not like this," Seven answered. "Heather will get up there and air all of our dirty laundry. Figuratively. Outside of USF, people know we're mailgirls -- parents and friends and so on. Naked delivery girls. Exhibitionists, maybe. But they don't really know the full extent of it. The sadism. The masochism. The masturbation. The punishments. Maybe some of them know some it, sure -- my mom keeps pumping me for details. But not all of it. Every time that Heather opens her mouth, she makes it all public."

"And we look like idiots for not walking out with her," Three said.

"Sluts," Eighteen added.

"Sluts," Seven agreed. "Idiots and morons for ever signing up, idiots and morons for continuing to affirm our participation every morning. Stooges for letting USF do to us exactly what they're doing to us. Laughingstocks."

"But..." Seventeen began.

"But we are idiots and morons," Fourteen jumped in. "We are stooges. We are laughingstocks. We are sluts." She shrugged. "But it was our decision. Individual life, individual choice. 'I lick.'"

"But we all got pressured," Seventeen argued. "Blackmailed. And we can't just walk out like she did. Those contracts would ruin us."

"They ruined Heather," Seven noted. "The Actioneers paid off her debt, but the company still ruined her credit, they took everything she owned, and they're still going after her for breach-of-contract. She's never going to work in finance again. And then Grace Burgmeier turned her into a celebrity: Heather Harper, famous nation-wide as an idiot, a stooge, a slut, a mailgirl."

Seventeen shook her head. "But if Congress..."

"If Congress sets us free --" Seven began.

"Mailgirl emancipation," Mountbatten-Two observed.

"If Congress sets us free," Seven started again, "then all of this is for nothing. No promotions. No bonuses. And, again, we all look like victims."

Seventeen certainly felt like a victim.

"Better to ride it out," Seven said.

"Keep your head down, take everything they throw at you, and get out the other side." This from Three.

There was a brief silence around the table; the other girls all reluctantly agreed.

"So, Seventeen?" Mountbatten-Seven asked, meaning the previous Mailgirl Number Seventeen.

"Melissa Schmidt," Fourteen corrected her.

"Melissa Schmidt," Mountbatten-Seven repeated dutifully.

"Melissa Schmidt will become another puppet for Grace Burgmeier. Another celebrity. And my mother will hear all about the time I got a butt plug with a ponytail shoved up my ass," Seven answered.