The Mighty Marvel Weights Woman Ð Part One By Merz Door to Door Selling in Dangerous Times I. INTRODUCTION: MORNING WITH THE MIGHTY MARVEL WEIGHTS WOMAN The war was over and the men were back home, but new shadows threatened America. Margaret Andersen woke with her alarm at five thirty and quickly switched it off to allow her husband Herbert another half hour of sleep. That half hour she devoted to her first exercise session of the day, before she made breakfast for Herbert and the kids. This would be an arms morning. Slipping into her housecoat, she passed through the kitchen and loaded the coffee percolator, switched on the radio to hear if world events had taken a bad turn over night, then moved quickly down to the cold basement. Her prized pair of deluxe, chrome plated Mighty Marvel dumbbells gleamed in the dim basement, like devoted pets greeting their mistress. Reassured to see them safe, Margaret picked them up and looked closely for scratches on the mirror-like surfaces of the plates before starting her first set of alternating curls, bringing each fifty pound weight in turn up to her shoulder for another close look. As the exercise filled her arms with warm, pulsing blood, the familiar sight and feel of such expensive objects filled her with pride. These were the finest quality weights her company manufactured, and they had been entrusted to her as sales tools. As her biceps swelled from her efforts, she felt as if the shadows were retreating. Without pausing for rest, Margaret moved quickly to her bench and began working her triceps to assure balance in the appearance of her muscular arms. After a dozen repetitions on each side she was warm enough to set aside her housecoat and adjust the weights for lateral raises. On her third lateral raise Herbert's arms slipped around her body and his hands cupped her breasts through the flimsy material of her nightgown. Mornings were Herbert's best part of the day. At night he dreamt of manipulating a dazzling array of switches and knobs, controlling the flow of power to run a city or routing a thousand messages to link far flung towns across the country. He would awaken feeling in control and often would seek out his wife for sex so he could demonstrate to her his mastery. For Herbert, the war years had been the happiest of his life. The Army Air Corps had lifted him from tinkering with crystal radios in a shed behind his dilapidated farmhouse and trained him to operate a globe-spanning web of electronic communications. He had ridden a tidal wave of technology that catapulted radar and radio farther forward in four years than normal enterprise would have permitted in a generation. But now he was a civilian again and had been scrambling since his discharge to translate his technical knowledge into a job that would save him from ever having to do a farm chore again. Nothing seemed to work out as he went from one job to another trying to bring electronics to a country still looking backward to simpler, more innocent times. Margaret accepted his embrace and put down her weights. While her morning schedule was tight, there was always time for Herbert. She pulled his hands apart from where he had locked them around her waist, not noticing he had attempted to keep her trapped in his grip, and turned to hug and kiss him. Then she pulled him down on top of her on her narrow weight bench. He eagerly pulled up her nightie and opened his pajamas. She balanced the two of them on the bench by keeping her feet flat on the floor. When Herbert stretched himself over her she gripped him at the hips and lifted most of his weight. She allowed him to enter her, and manipulated his body on top of hers to control the pace and depth of his thrusts. For his part, Herbert licked and fondled her breasts, covered her face with his kisses, and avoided touching the fine, round biceps that bulged in her arms as she shifted his weight this way and that. Under the command of her powerful, practiced arms Herbert came quickly and decisively, and then collapsed limply against her. Margaret held his boney hundred and forty pounds against herself for a few minutes more, then sat up and lifted Herbert back to his feet. "Just like Rhett Butler, my darling. You always sweep me off my feet. Now hurry and get ready for work. I have a bit more to do here." A parting kiss and he marched off to get dressed, feeling himself more than a match for whatever challenge the day held for him. Margaret waited until the door at the top of the stairs closed before seizing the steel Crescent wrench she kept near her weights partly for the purpose. She masturbated frantically with the smooth, rounded end, rubbing and thrilling at the muscles of her own arm as it pleasured her into a bench rocking orgasm. To honor the principle of a balanced workout, she changed hands and repeated the performance with her other arm. Then she redressed and dismantled her dumbbells, placing all the pieces into the sample case constructed specifically for the purpose. Into the other case went one of each size iron plate for a larger barbell, each slipping into the proper pocket and weighing a total of nearly 120 pounds. Squaring her shoulders she carried her samples upstairs. In a flurry of activity she roused her nine year old twins, prepared breakfast for the family and packed lunches for her husband and children. She grabbed her own meal while preparing food for the others and then washed and dressed for her day. In front of her full-length mirror Margaret repeated the daily ritual of pulling on her Mighty Marvel Weights leotard. Today she wore the precious royal blue one. "I am ready," she told her sleek reflection. "I am worthy. I will do my duty to my uniform and my country. I will keep the name of the Mighty Marvel Weights Company pure and strong. So long as I wear it, I pledge to do nothing to dishonor my uniform or the company it stands for." She spoke the daily oath slowly and sincerely. She accepted the trust placed in her by her company and the system that made it possible. It wasn't just the weight of her family's bills. The weight of the free world rested on her brawny shoulders and those of women like her. She sold door-to-door to give freedom its best chance of standing up against the brutal power of International Communism. Only a population of strong women could prop up their men in uniform for the struggle ahead. Spiritually armed for her battle she finished dressing in a skirt and her well-worn tweed jacket rather than the sweater with the patched elbows. "Off you go, children. John Henry, you study hard today, especially your arithmetic and science. We need smart men to build bigger rockets and bombs before the Communists do. And Emily, you work hard too. You can't be too strong in the fight for freedom." The twins promised to do as she said, then ran off to catch the bus for school. As Margaret loaded her sample cases and sales notebook into the car, Herbert grabbed his lunch pail and trotted to catch the street car for the ride to his television store. Margaret watched him go, at once hoping he would make a success of the business while at the same time fearing what television might do to life as she knew it. II. MRS. FOSTER AND HER SWEET WILLIAM Margaret had a busy day ahead of her. She had new product samples and sales brochures to pick up, a reliable client had called the previous evening asking her to stop by for a special consultation, and she had a new neighborhood she wanted to begin covering, going door to door to present her product line. Her stop at the freight office went smoothly. She looked through new sales materials the company had sent her, and filed those she thought fit her style of selling into her notebook. She checked out the sample of a new model chest exerciser with its five coiled springs connecting wooden handles. It was similar to the previous model, but the springs were shinier and the handles more carefully finished. She stretched the device to the full expanse of her arms a couple of times, testing its resistance and thinking approvingly that these springs might even be tougher than the older model. Her wool jacket protested as a seam in the lining gave way, and she groaned inwardly. Half the purpose of a salesperson wearing the stretchy Mighty Marvel leotard was to give her muscles room to expand when she demonstrated her product line rather than risk ruining her street clothes. The other purpose, of course, was to create a recognizable image the public would associate with the company: a corps of powerful American women at the forefront of the battle against weakness and Socialism. Now her faithful outer garment was a step closer to the discard heap, but there was no room in the family budget for a replacement. She tucked the chest expander into the bulging sample case with the disassembled dumbbells, stuffed some literature into the other case along with the sample plates and began her rounds. The neighborhood she targeted for a morning of knocking on doors huddled near the industrial part of town. It had sprung up to house workers at the airplane plant and the ship yard nearby. Margaret and her children had rented an apartment not far away when she and Herbert had sold their hardscrabble farm in the early days of the war, when he enlisted and she presented herself for war work. Now the plants were closing or converting to smaller peacetime products and the area was seeing its population change. After three unsuccessful presentations to incredulous housewives, Margaret was walking down the sidewalk when an astonishing sight stopped in her tracks. She stared over a back fence as a Negro woman emerged from a small house cradling a large black barbell such as Margaret had not seen in years. "Come on, Sweet William, do you feel like dancing? Spring's coming and soon the garden will start to sprout." The solidly built woman placed one end of the large iron weight on the ground and went through spirited dance moves, leaning it this way and that, lifting it off the ground and twirling and then setting the end back on the ground. . "Would you like to go up and see the sky this morning before I go change? Wouldn't that feel like flying again? Here we go, my Sweet William." She eased the bar downward to waist level, then with a lurch she lifted the bar up to her chest, paused, then heaved it straight overhead. Margaret gasped audibly when she saw the faded paint on the great black balls at the ends of the thick bar read 200 pounds. Looking over and noticing Margaret for the first time, the woman quickly set down the bar and put on a challenging expression. "What are you looking at, woman? Don't you have business of your own to keep you from poking into mine?" While some had worked in the same factory as Margaret during the war, she had never actually talked with a Negro, nor had one ever directly addressed her. "Forgive me for intruding. I didn't mean to stare or to seem rude. Actually in a way this is my business. I represent the Mighty Marvel Weights Company. I haven't seen an antique barbell like that since I went to the circus as a girl. And I'm very impressed that you have the strength to lift it. Do you mind if I come into your yard to talk about weights and weightlifting?" Many houses in this neighborhood were being sold to Negroes. Margaret resolved to see if her sales techniques could cross the color line. "Might as well come ahead. You think you can sign me up for a freak show or something? Just because I can manage more than some white girl, don't go thinking I'm going to the circus for you. I inherited this from my granddaddy who toured with a minstrel show. Strongest man in Mississippi, white or black, and I'm just about as strong as he was. But I don't need to show it off. I have a real job nursing nights at Mercy Hospital. The gate's right over there." Margaret lifted her sample cases again and pushed through the gate. The backyard she entered was well-tended with a victory garden neatly laid out in one corner. "I assure you, I think you're a model for American women of all colors and creeds. We must all be strong to protect our freedoms from enemies foreign and domestic. I was just struck by your barbell. I haven't seen anything like it in so long. Let me show you some of my samples. We have much more modern types now." "You must think I'm crazy having such an ugly thing, and calling him my Sweet William and carrying him around the house and yard like I do." "Not at all. I can see it Ð or he if you prefer Ð has done phenomenal things for your strength and figure. Your strength is a great gift and I'm sure you're using it at the hospital for the good of the patients there. I just want to show you that more modern, convenient products are available." "Great gift? Do you know why I named this thing William? It weighs the same as my husband did. He went off two hundred pounds of beautiful black muscles so he could fly in the war. They sent him back in '45 broken and dying with a little medal saying how he almost got his shot up airplane back safe. It took him two years to die, and during that time I carried him around because he couldn't get around for himself anymore. That's where the great gift came from." She flexed her right arm to show its thick mass straining her white sleeve. "I had muscles from before, of course, but now look at them. Built from my nursing out in the Pacific and then having to replace my man William's strength when we both came home. No white woman could know what it feels like to be strong enough to pick up two hundred pounds, but this is what it takes to do it. I'm proud I could, and every time I pick up that big old iron I think about him and how proud carrying him made me feel." The Negro woman crossed her arms and massaged them as she looked defiantly at Margaret. "This isn't the kind of gift any white woman would be looking for. More like something to wish on the farm animals in the pen." "May I? You're quite wrong about that." Margaret set down her cases and slipped off her jacket to reveal the Mighty Marvel leotard, as well as her broad shoulders and well muscled arms. She approached the barbell, fussed a bit with her grip on the unusually thick bar, then cleaned it from the ground and duplicated the feat of pressing it overhead. "Well, aren't you a big white pile of muscles! What have you been doing to yourself, honeygirl? You got time to come in for a cup? My name's Leonetta Foster." When Margaret returned the black iron to earth the two women exchanged a powerful handshake, Margaret falling back on her sales training to anticipate that Leonetta's vise-like grip would be a test and a sign of respect. Inside, Margaret set down her sample cases and began pulling out product literature. "Would you mind if I removed my skirt as well? I can demonstrate my products more comfortably that way." "Suit yourself. Coffee will be ready in a minute. Now that's a look I haven't seen on any white woman. I didn't think one of you would dare look so strong, but I think it looks good. Nice, solid, healthy like something ruling the jungle instead of healthy like a plow horse. Makes me want to lose a few pounds, especially off my butt. That little dancer outfit keeps you looking like a woman even if you got those arms and those thighs that could pop a nosey man's skull." "Well, thank you." Margaret was unusually self-conscious in her Mighty Marvel leotard as Leonetta scrutinized her. "This is the company uniform. It lets a client see and feel the results a woman can get from proper use of our products." Like a wild animal ruling the jungle? It was a comparison that had never occurred to Margaret. She thought about the image for a moment and decided she liked it. "Feel? We're going to get to feeling? Let me get rid of this uniform then and let's go to it." Leonetta reached around and unzipped her white dress and folded it on a chair. While surprised by Leonetta's disrobing, Margaret was a professional who automatically assessed the strong black body now revealed wearing only bra and panties: thick arms, broad shoulders, heavy thighs. The beginnings of a roll around the middle and more softness overall than Margaret liked to see. At the same time Leonetta was critically scrutinizing herself. "With no man around I haven't been watching what I eat like I should. My bootie is twice what it ought to be, like hams that belong in the smokehouse. Damn me if I'm not going to make myself look like you, get my thighs back to where a man knows if he goes for my jellyroll he does it with permission or gets his business crushed flat for him." Margaret didn't exactly understand these references, but she pulled out a sampling of literature as well as the plates and bars of her chrome plated deluxe dumbbells, then expertly assembled the set. Sizing up Leonetta she loaded forty pounds on each. She was confident Leonetta would not be intimidated by that much weight. "Aren't those the cutest little things? All sparkling and small, just like a silver baby of my Sweet William. They're meant for using just one hand? Oh, I see it in the picture here. Look at that Ð another white woman with enough muscle to be proud of. This one looks like a proud old wolf, still dangerous." "Exactly, dumbbells allow for a great variety of workouts, using many more muscle groups than you could with a single heavy barbell like you have. The woman demonstrating in the brochure is our founder, Miss Marilyn Marvel. Can you believe she was over fifty when that picture was taken? See, Leonetta. If you hold them at your sides you can bring each of your new babies up and give it a little kiss. That focuses the work on your biceps." She matched her action to her words, doing alternate curls of the gleaming weights. After a few repetitions with the natural result of making Margaret's biceps roll into distinct balls at the top of each circuit Leonetta boldly put her hand on top of the muscle to feel it tense and relax, coil and stretch. Margaret forced herself not to flinch at the unexpected contact. "If you love them like you love your Sweet William, they'll pay you back by making you even stronger. And you can share that strength with William when you dance or go for your walks. There is hardly a muscle group you can't work with dumbbells. Give them a try." Margaret handed over her prizes with only a slight nervousness lest they somehow get scratched. Leonetta hefted the bars a couple of times, then copied Margaret's curls. "You made it look so easy. I guess you're used to this." She did a few more, with a noticeable amount of body swing to get the weights up to her shoulders before handing them back to Margaret and admiring the results swelling her upper arms. Tensing her arms she made a growling sound in her throat. "I like what these do. You got something that will help this butt? It's getting too damn fat and soft back there. Since William passed Ð the real William Ð I just haven't cared about my looks. Now I might change that." "Yes, your Sweet William is too heavy for you to easily concentrate on specific groups or do repetitions. But with modern equipment you can adjust the weight to your precise need and add more as you improve, plus you work through a greater range of motion. With your excellent base level of fitness you'll be up to fifty pounds in a matter of weeks, in perfect form." Margaret deftly reduced the weight of each dumbbell by half in a matter of moments. "For your gluteals Ð those are the muscles you refer to as your butt or your bootie Ð try some lunges. Step backward a couple of feet and lower your knee to the floor, then come up again. See where it's working?" "Oh honey, I don't have to look at it." Leonetta shocked her by quickly stepping directly behind Margaret and cupping her ass in strong, curious hands while matching the lunge steps. "Damn, girl, like rock. And trust me, I know my anatomy. Glutes are what are doing the work and butt is what goes out walking behind you for everyone to see. You must have quite a man at home to share all these gorgeous muscles with. I know feeling my man William's when we did the nasty was half the pleasure. You and your man match up when the clothes come off? Damn, woman, you even have real stomach muscles. I gotta get some of those." Leonetta's hands wandered further, probing and stroking. Margaret heard a feral growl escape from deep in herself, an answer to Leonetta's, and she stopped her exercise and began to tremble at the unexpected reaction. Leonetta immediately froze. "This isn't new for you, is it? But you aren't ready for it to come out. I'm sorry." It was all Margaret could do to keep herself from tearing off the Mighty Marvel leotard and displaying her wildness. "No it isn't new - and it's been too long Ð there was a war on - but I can't - I mustn't Ð I took a vow." Margaret felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair. Leonetta suddenly realized the vow she meant was one to honor her uniform rather than her wedding vow to Herbert. "Okay, sugar, for now we'll go back to Mrs. Andersen and Mrs. Foster and be all genteel and civilized. But I don't think we're done. So, saleswoman, sell me." Leonetta stepped back and wrung her hands that wanted to feel more of the powerful form in front of her. Margaret nervously began a standard sales talk, but grew more animated as she relaxed. "If you are willing to consider a modern barbell plus some dumbbells," she concluded, "you'll be amazed at the flexibility the interchangeable plates provide and the range of exercises that will be available. And the Mighty Marvel Weights Company has an easy-pay plan so you can buy your equipment on time, just like with a car or a Kelvinator." Leonetta studied her thoughtfully for a moment. "You talk about women needing our strength to get our freedom. That makes some sense to me, especially if strong folks stick together, like a pack. Some of the ladies in the neighborhood could do with some strengthening so they could claim a little freedom about where they can eat, what they can say without getting in trouble, whether they can vote on Election Day. You willing to help me get some of them together around this weightlifting? Getting them to stand up on their own feet might be the heaviest lifting you'll ever see, but I think I want to try. You might get a reputation in some circles if you're seen down here with my sort of women, doing the things I have in mind. Especially if you come along when we go into some nice restaurant as a pack and sit wherever we please." "I certainly think a weight lifting circle of your friends is a splendid idea. Sharing equipment is sensible and economical, as well as a way for you all to encourage each other. I would be happy to help you get started, and I could come by on occasion to instruct your friends and keep you up to date on the latest products and techniques." Margaret reached impulsively to put her hand on Leonetta's forearm, started to withdraw it, then left it. "We thought we might be getting some freedom after fighting that damn war, but my man William told me he had to watch his back against the crackers in the Air Corps as much as the Nazis in the air. Nursing in the Pacific, four of us colored nurses had to take over building our own field hospitals when the CB's melted in the heat about ten o'clock, working in the sun till those poor boys could finish things off in the evening. One island after another, using the muscles you say I need for freedom. When the sun went down those same sailors thought they could get what they wanted from us, but we found out if stood by each other they didn't dare take us on. You really going to help with this?" "We're all together in the fight to defend freedom." Impetuously Margaret handed over one of her prized chrome dumbbells along with fifty pounds of gleaming plates. "Here, until I can deliver your order, please take this. To get you started. I believe you, that you will work hard enough to make yourself proud just in the two weeks until the shipment." She hesitated a moment further, then pulled out her special copy of Marilyn Marvel's illustrated book, "Inner Happiness Through Iron Muscles", autographed the same day in 1944 that she had proclaimed Margaret's physique Top Rate and deserving of a rare, royal blue company leotard. Visiting the nearby shipyard for a war bond drive, Miss Marilyn Marvel had reviewed the company's exercise program for its workers, and singled out Margaret for special praise. After demonstrating her strength for an audience of workers and local celebrities, she pledged its use in the fight for freedom, and then invited a blushing twenty- four year old Margaret on stage to share the spotlight. Afterwards, she invited Margaret to visit her dressing room at the end of the workday for a private interview. The words were largely forgotten now, but the image of Miss Marilyn Marvel regally removing her floor length robe to reveal her bare physique underneath was forever imprinted on her memory. Margaret was invited to remove her overalls, and to feel and test the muscles of the founder, then fifty-two years old but still rock hard, gloriously veined along her powerful arms, her freckled skin taut across her abdominals and over her proudly out-thrust chest. Miss Marilyn Marvel satisfied herself that first impressions of size, symmetry and density were accurate so Margaret was quite late picking up the twins from the plant childcare center. The awarding of the blue leotard had taken two hours and several orgasms, during which Margaret learned sexual exercises that were unavailable to women even as strong as those she worked with in the shipyard, available only when two women could truly claim to be Top Rate. Nervously, she opened the book on the table so Leonetta could see the author demonstrating proper form in dozens of exercises. Her mature body rippled with strength as, quite naked, she strained with her own chromed barbells and dumbbells. "I'll deliver your weights personally and we can review your progress along the path." She paged through to some of her favorite photos and ran her fingers over them. Like a proud old wolf, Leonetta had described Marilyn Marvel's photo. Still dangerous. Margaret thought back to how true those words were. "This is freedom, all right. You be ready to show me how some of these are done when you come back, and I'll show you that you aren't wasting your time, getting me on the way to looking like this. Tell you what. By the time you come back in two weeks I'll do ten of those bicep exercises with each arm just as smooth as you did with the same weight, and sweat off five pounds of this lard. That's my promise." III. YOUNG MRS. FREDERICKSON AND HER TV IV. Her head was spinning as Margaret crossed the wide boulevard dividing Leonetta's neighborhood of laborers and minorities from a more upscale area. A weight lifting circle! A neighborhood group that could meet regularly so women could share their weights and support each other as they strengthened their country! A small amount could be charged as dues at each meeting to pay for more equipment and educational material. These groups could have sponsors from the company such as Margaret herself to give them the latest news on product developments and exercise techniques. They could invite guest speakers or demonstrators such as athletes to provide inspiration. Margaret knew she was on to something, that this idea would quickly sweep the country and become the centerpiece of every housewife's day: the hour or two she spent lifting weights with five or six neighbors. Margaret approached the first house on the block and rang the bell. "Come in, the door's open," she heard a voice call from inside. A young woman sat in the living room, a box of chocolates sharing the couch with her, a vacuum cleaner leaning against the wall, and a television set blaring from its cabinet in the corner. The woman's eyes remained glued to the round picture tube as Margaret entered. "Good afternoon. I'm Margaret Andersen with the Mighty Marvel Weights Company. I wonder if I might have a little of your time to talk about our product line." Margaret felt as if she were intruding on some private conversation. "I'm Clarissa Frederickson. Sorry for the mess, I'm in the middle of my cleaning." Still the eyes never moved from the pictures. "I'd like to get behind the couch here, but it's too heavy to move so I guess I have to take a break, but I'm pretty busy today. No time to talk about brushes or whatever it is." "That's just the sort of problem I can help with! We can't always count on having the men around when there's lifting to be done. If you'll get up I'll have it moved out in a jiffy." "It's very heavy. It has a metal foldout bed frame inside, so of course I can't move it. Perhaps I'll remember tomorrow to have Jack help me slide it out from the wall, but then it will be sitting in the middle of the floor interfering with my chores all day until he gets home and the two of us can move it back." Margaret quickly set down her sample cases. "No need to put the job off," she assured the housewife. Clarissa's eyes remained fixed on the flickering picture on the television in the corner, just as Margaret felt her own being drawn in that direction. Wrenching her attention back to the situation at hand, Margaret unbuttoned her jacket and set it aside along with her skirt. "We're American women. We can't be distracted from our duty. I'll give you a hand and then we can talk about a secret that will save you from being in this situation again." With a hand on Clarissa's elbow she guided the mesmerized woman to an easy chair facing the TV. The fixed gaze never wavered. The drama on the screen took a twist to the sound of electronic organ chords. A commercial came on, freeing Clarissa from her trance in time to see Margaret position herself between the back of the couch and the wall. She pushed the heavy piece forward a foot, then stooped behind it so only her head and one arm were visible. With a grunt Margaret tipped it back so much of the weight was balanced on her shoulder, then slowly rose to her feet and carried it into the middle of the room. "I can't believe it! That thing must weigh hundreds! This isn't possible!" Clarissa leaped up and took her first look at the Mighty Marvel Weights Woman. "I'd guess maybe two hundred pounds. I'd be happy if you'd like to get a good look at my muscles, or feel them so you can appreciate what the Mighty Marvel Weights system can do for American women. Or possibly you could hurry and vacuum under it now and we'll talk more afterwards. It is rather awkward to hold." As a professional sales representative Margaret was using the opportunity to spotlight the effects of the company program by crouching a bit so her thighs bulged, to alternately flex her arms as they strained under her load, to bend her back to make her lats more prominent. At the same time that she emphasized the physical strength needed to hold the weight, she concealed how much of a strain it actually was by controlling her breathing and choking back any gasps of pain or exertion while Clarissa plugged in the vacuum and stole glances at her. "Feel your muscles? Eeeuw. I mean, thank you for your help, I'll just be a moment." Clarissa switched on her machine and hoovered the carpet Margaret had exposed. When she was done, Margaret carefully lowered the couch to the floor again and maneuvered it exactly to its original position. She came back to stand in front of Clarissa who cowered behind her vacuum. "Thank you," Clarissa ventured to say. "Um, what do you normally charge for this sort of thing? I'll get my purse." She now was staring openly as Margaret stood in front of her with pumped arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes darted around the room, toward the front door that Margaret blocked, up and down the powerful figure in front of her, toward the doorway into the kitchen, back to the thick arms folded across the broad chest. She fought the panic rising within her. Margaret remembered the sales seminar about sometimes presenting oneself like a hero from the comic strips or serials to catch a prospective client's interest. "That's quite alright, Mrs. Frederickson. The Mighty Marvel Weights Company is happy to be of service. But let me tell you how you, too, can claim the strength the modern woman needs to keep a proper home for her family and support our country during these perilous times." Margaret turned quickly to her sample cases and pulled out some of the introductory literature the company had used for decades. She gestured for Clarissa to lead the way into the kitchen where she could spread out her brochures and diagrams away from the distracting television. "Really, we don't need to sign up for regular furniture moving. It was just this one time. But I would be willing to pay whatever your normal rate might be." Clarissa's eye fell on the grainy photograph of Miss Marilyn Marvel pulling a 1932 Ford down a street lined with cheering spectators. "Oh my god! You're one of them! You're a Marvelite!" "Exactly, and this is your lucky day. We're offering a special promotion for groups of women who want to go together to form a weight lifting circle. We can make a deluxe set of barbells and dumbbells available below our normal reasonable price, and we'll throw in absolutely free a complete set of introductory exercise plans." She looked closely to see if this offer she had just invented to promote the idea of the weight lifting circles had impressed Clarissa. She couldn't tell. "And I would attend your first three meetings absolutely free to supervise your selection of the proper weight and use of the proper form to exercise every muscle in your bodies." Clarissa paled as she tried to control her trembling. She found herself trapped in her own home with a woman whose powerful arms could easily tear her limb from limb, who could clearly overpower her husband or any man she had ever known. "You think more women should have big muscles so they can go around bullying 97 pound weaklings? I think that idea is ghastly! I think we need better bras and girdles to look feminine and soft, the way we were meant to be." Margaret persisted. She had encountered sales resistance before. "When the men march off again to be radio operators and adjutants and . . . and . . . quartermasters and navigators and what all, they have to know the women are ready. We'll have to take their places turning the wheels of industry just as we did the last time." Margaret set up her remaining dumbbell with ten pounds of weight and extended it toward Clarissa, who stared at it as she were afraid it might bite her. "Just experience how healthy your arms feel after even light exercise, and imagine what you'll be able to do once you start progressing to heavier bars." "With my new bra my tits are wired so they stick straight out like Jane Russell. You think I want to make myself look like a man, all muscley and bulgy?" She stopped herself before saying something that might cause this colossus to crush her. "There are women with Top Rate physiques in the very highest levels of society. When I leave here I will be paying a call on a member of our city's elite. I assure you, she will be most amused to hear that wire and plastic can do anything to improve her bust. She has a trick she does with walnuts . . . but just try holding my dumbbell. Many women were skeptical before they gave their muscles to chance to burst out in defense of freedom when we have to live without men." "Stay back. My Jack isn't going anywhere. He says all this scare talk about Communists is foolish. He has a very important position in advertising for the Playtex Company, so he didn't go away last time and he certainly won't be called to go anywhere even if there is another war. He's working on a top secret project that will revolutionize brassieres and girdles. Thanks to his company's work with wire and elastic, women will never look the same. We'll look like civilized people, not some wild tribe out of the jungles." Clarissa's voice rose in pitch and volume until she was shrieking hysterically at Margaret. The sharp words affected Margaret like a slap in the face. A wild tribe from the jungle? Did she mean Africans like Leonetta? Margaret suddenly saw herself belonging to the same strong tribe as Leonetta, and this little bit of fluff was insulting them both. Furious, she dropped the flashing chrome dumbbell back into her sample case, for once not caring if it got scratched or chipped from her casual treatment. "That's enough. I'm going to flex my arm and I want you to put your hand on it," Margaret spoke in a slow, even hiss, her eyes locked on Clarissa's until the younger woman slowly reached forward and laid her thin hand on top of the cleft biceps. "That's it. Now take a deep breath and I'm going to ask you to think about the future. We know the Communists are in Hollywood as well as in Berlin, and they are overrunning China. We know the Communists in Russia want the A-Bomb, just like we have. None of that can change the fact of my muscles, and because of them I can say what I want, when I want and where I want. Squeeze it. Harder. That is freedom's foundation, and you should be grateful some of us have already done our part." She pumped her arm twice and was only slightly surprised that Clarissa sank to the floor in a faint. As she dressed and prepared to leave, Margaret kept hearing over and over a phrase Clarissa had used: 97 pound weakling. She knew where that came from and she suddenly had the answer to a challenge she had avoided for months. A challenge she would confront once and for all after her next call.