April 14, 1960.
Abigail and Anne spent the morning listening to the radio. Cornish Armed Forces, operating under the control of the Wehrmacht command, had carried out the planned air strike on the airbase of the West African Confederation in Canaan.
"That's what happened. The old congressman tried to rape me."
"Earnestly?"
"Yes, and then he threatened me. He said that if I didn't cooperate, he would have me declared mentally ill and my family arrested."
The sight was dreadful and a faint smell pervaded the room. Anne, who had crossed her arms after listening to Abigail's account, became cold instead, unlike Abigail's preimage. "I have a couple frains, Why did you go to his house? Why would he know you?"
"Henry...Sir Pomeroy is my godfather. He and my parents are old friends."
"Are you truly going to do as he says? It is a fewsome opening for a young women to have a luck to learn at Oxford or Cambridge. Honestly, Abigail, I thought we were friends, But look at you; You think i'm one of those blindly cringing paupers?"
"I know, and I wasn't sure myself. So, Ann, Please advise me."
"Okay, I'll advise you: go back, don't think too much, and do it." Anne sat on the couch re-reading a book, "Your parents can afford your tuition and still let you buy the color TV? Sir Henry funded it?"
"Well, it's nothing."
Anne frowned. "His promise? Do you believe it?"
"I don't know. Besides, I can't stand that sort of thing, and I'm not a bitch." Abigail bites her tongue, not regretting the words, and thinks of saying more, but Anne picks up the point.
"Do you think you are saintly? Yes, he is doing such things, and some women, yes, accept it. I'm not doubting that you accepted the deal, I'm hating the fact that you're manipulating me with lies; that you've been funded by him for years, accepting the benefits openly when you receive them, and refusing to accept them when you pay the price."
Abigail fell silent. She knew Anne was right, and she felt ashamed of her actions.
"Anyway, thanks for telling me, Abby. I won't tell others, and I hope you understand and find a way to pull through. I'll help you brainstorm."
Abigail slowly opened her eyes. "Thank you, Ann. I'm sorry to bother you."
"That's okay, I'm glad you came to me first because you were worried about what would happen if you went to him." Anne put the book down, got up and walked over to the portrait of Francis Bertram Cargeeg, the Head of Cornwall, on the wall and picked up the coffee pot. "What is to drink?"
"Mimosa." The new god replaces the old god.
"Oh, a cocktail made with orange juice and champagne." Anne approached Abigail, holding a glass of pink lemonade. "Do you want to go to the police to report?"
Abigail took the glass, pondering. "Do you know where the phone is?"
"That old man Henry is a retired old councilman with some power in his hands." Anne lit a cigarette and handed it to Abigail. Abigail took the cigarette and felt Anne's fingertips brush against her lips.
Abigail held the cigarette, letting the smoke roll in her mouth before spitting it out in an explosion of anger. "What should I do? Should I turn him in?"
"Abby, you are already his prey. Just bear it and survive." The mood dampened. "This kind of thing happens sometimes, when old retired MPs sponsor rural girls and then ask for something in return."
"He told me that the boys gave him sexual services, and when I said no, he said that I would be declared mentally ill and my family would be arrested." Abigail choked back a sob. The reality of her situation was crushing, and she didn't know what to do.
Anne regarded Abigail with pity. "Go to the police, I will try to find a lawyer for you. Don't worry, my father's a congressman too. We'll talk."
Abigail took a long drag on her cigarette. "Why can't I just have sex? Sir Henry can't control my body. But why does a man force a woman?"
"Because they have the ability to." Annie drew out one of her own cigarettes. "How's the old jazz rocket? Cigarettes or elephants?"
Abigail stifled a smile, her spirits lifted by Anne's mirth. "Never trust the old fuck."
"No kidding, I'll get my father to help, how about you move into my house for a while?"
"It's okay, can I think about it, Ann?"
"Okay, let's go watch TV. Let's hope for good news. We should celebrate and do something fun, I'm going to bake a cake. My granny taught me to make a delicious orange-ginger cake." Anne led the way into the living room.
Abigail sat on the sofa, Anne's words weighing heavily on her mind. Should she go to the police? Or should she just take advantage of her situation? Would they be able to help her? The doubts ran through her head, but she couldn't make a decision. Suddenly, the red light on the telephone shone. She walked over and picked it up.
Abigail wiped away her tears. "Heck, Ann, It's for you."
Anne put down the cutlery and walked over to answer the phone. The conversation was brief and urgent, and within a minute, Anne had come over to pull at Abigail's hand. "Hey, Abby, Calling us to go to your house. Tell me, Let's pick up and eat some real food."
"What's going on? Your father's call?" Abigail shrugged off the remark.
"Uh, yes. That's the case. My father told me to go to your place with you. Why not go?" Anne played dumb.
Abigail stood up, brushing her hands on her skirt. "Alright, Let's go."