Having been out of work for over a year now I was becoming a little frantic. I did everything I had been advised to do by all of the organizations out there attempting to help stem the joblessness in our economy. I joined self-help groups, resume writing seminars, you name it. No one was hiring a city planner right now or in the near future. The ones who already had jobs were not leaving unless they had another a job in hand. The ones without were in the same boat that I was in.

It seemed to be a true blessing when I found a letter in my mailbox from a headhunting company that I had been in touch with. It was a firm offer to come to a town in the middle of the state of Kansas and apply to fill the position of city planner. It seems the town had been established by a man of great means to house his own labor force and all the people needed to give them the services they needed. I had never heard of such a thing.

One strange condition they stated was that one must have experience on the stage. It wasn't specific but I had been in several plays during college. I hadn't majored in the theater but I had a minor in English and had studied lots of theatrical plays. I hoped this would suffice. I really needed this job.

Now, I had heard of company towns, but they had gone out decades ago. This was an oddity indeed. A whole town founded by one multimillionaire just to produce his products and keep his labor force happy and well taken care of. I jumped at the offer. It was for all expenses in the town including a free place to live and all the other necessaries one would need to live happily. There was an extra stipend of several thousand dollars each year that one could just bank if one wished.

Another suspicious and rather astonishing thing I discovered was that the only way into the town was on the Amtrak. It made one stop per week just for the folks in this town early on Saturdays. It dropped off new arrivals to the growing population. I was one of them on a bright morning in June. Apparently another freight line picked up the products being manufactured and dropped off materials needed for the work done in the town's only factory.

As I dismounted from the train, with the help of a porter, I noted at the top of a hill above the town what appeared to be an open air theater. It must be used to put on plays during the warmer days of spring and summer. I was greeted by a gentleman clothed in a summer suit and a somber manner. He shook my hand with his left hand. His right hand had been lost somehow. He introduced himself as John Jennings, and I reminded him of my name, Peter Low. I didn't find it too strange that he was one-handed. I had grown up in a rural area and had sometimes seen such things due to accidents with farming implements.

He was gracious enough to take me to the hotel in a little electric car that seemed to represent the transportation means in the town. They were supplemented by a trolley system running on the few surface roads. While we slowly passed through town I noted several more handicapped persons on the streets. Some were limping and using canes while others had full head coverings or carried themselves as if they had lost parts of their bodies. It was strange, but perhaps the owner, Mr. Kocker, had hired people with handicaps as a philanthropic gesture.

As we were driving John pointed out the main features of the town. It had, in addition to the open-air theater, a downtown Opera House. It was very retro. I liked it. I liked the look of the whole town and was eager to begin my duties and perhaps put my own stamp on the city planning. Apparently I would be helping in the expansion of the town now that it had been established. John told me that I would not be starting work until I had seen some plays put on by the townsfolk during the coming week as well as the usual things one did upon being selected for employment.

This was another strange thing. What in the world did plays have to do with my work or this town itself? But, when I questioned John he waved it off, with his one hand, as an eccentricity of Mr. Kocker. It seems that the owner and patron was a great lover of Shakespeare, and all the townsfolk were required to see a certain number of plays each month or lose their jobs. I found a marvelous clue as to his devotion in the lobby of the hotel.

There, dislayed for all to see, was what was lableled as a First Folio of Shakespeare's works. I was rather astonished to see it right there in this rather small town in the middle of the Kansas prairie. I was certainly no expert but I happened to know that only some seven hundred or so copies of the Folio had been made in 1623. At present a little over two hundred were still in existence. I thought only one of them was in private hands. The rest were in institutions. I had seen the collection of eighty-two at the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington.

The book was worth millions of dollars. This Mr. Kocker was truly wealthy, it would seem. That fit in with some of the research I had done on him. According to the article I read in Time magazine he was noted for being philanthropic. His family had experienced some unfortunate bad luck, though. It was rumored that more than one of his siblings had been institutionalized. The reasons had been kept secret from even the most hard working journalists. And so he kept making more money and his business had thrived for decades now.  

I would be staying at the hotel until a house was ready for me. Not a problem, of course. The desk clerk limped up to the counter and checked me in. He did not smile. The porter who carried my luggage up to my room also had a limp. He was using both hands to carry my baggage. He refused a tip. He did not smile either.

I had been informed that I could eat at any restaurant in town for free. Just give my room number at the one hotel. So I went out to lunch and passed so many limping folks, or people just walking oddly with unusual postures. I arrived at a restaurant I had seen coming in and was seated immediately by a dour waitress. As I sat she leaned forward to place the menu and I could not help but see that one breast seemed to be missing. That was a pity for her but not too odd. Women did have breast cancer. She refused my tip at the end of the meal with a stoic look.

After lunch I decided to simply walk around the town and get a feel for it. You know what I mean. Take in the atmosphere, the ambience. What a strange place it was. I had yet to see anyone completely whole. I sat down on a bench in the park.

"Afternoon. New around here?" It was an older gentleman, a stranger. Of course, pretty much everyone was a stranger to me.

"Yes, yes I am. For the moment. I'm supposed to be applying for a job."

"Supposed to be? Having doubts, my friend.?" He smiled at me. The first smile I'd seen.

"Yes, I must say I am. Just a feeling, you know. Not sure I fit in here," I responded.

"Well, young fellow, you look like you'd fit in for sure.

Later, in my room at the hotel, I took stock. I had seen so many with disabilities or seeming deformities. Of course, not all had apparent bodily problems. But I could only guess what their clothing was hiding. I was beginning to think this man, Mr. Kocker, was a grand man. He seemed to have hired most of the disabled persons in Kansas. I wondered what that meant for me. I was perfectly healthy. I must be one of the exceptions.

I read the new employee welcoming literature I had received at the front desk. There were meetings to attend duriing the coming week and also some tests to take. I would find out about them as the week progressed. Everything I needed to become an employee was included. I was told that I could attend a different play every night. It was up to me. But I was required to attend the perfomance on Friday. That play was The Merchant of Venice. I was betting that it was a favorite of Mr. Kocker, him being the most famous merchant of sorts that I had ever met.

I showered and got ready to go out for dinner. As I was getting dressed there was a knock at the door. I slipped my feet into my shoes and opened the door. It was a younger woman, about my age, and she was smiling. Only the second actual smile I'd seen since arriving in town. I was happy to return it.

"Hello, Mr. Low. I'm Frieda. I'm just here to help in any way during your first week in town. Would it be alright if we dined together? I've already made reservations."

Well, how could I refuse. A charming young lady, quite lovely, wanted to dine with me. I grinned and responded in the affirmative. "Just let me get my coat. I'm ready to go." We walked out together and strolled to another restaurant on the next block over. The food was great and so was the company. But I did notice that a lot of my questions concerning the town were deflected, adeptly and subtly. I didn't mind. 

Anyway, we started my week of Shakespeare with Macbeth. I did not know if that was a good or bad sign. It was considered a bad luck play. The actor's didn't even name it. They called it the Scottish play. It was played in the open-air theater. No one needed tickets. It was always free to the town's employees. Frieda seemed happy to go along with me. We had perfect weather.

The play ended around 10:00 o'clock in the evening and Frieda walked me back to my hotel. Standing in the lobby I asked if she'd like to have a drink before calling it a night. She smiled and said, "Shall we have that drink in your room? Just tell the clerk what we want and it'll be brought up soon. If you don't mind, of course?" Would I mind. Not likely. She took my arm as we ascended to the second floor. 

Our drinks arrived shortly and we sat together on the small settee that the room provided. This was interesting, certainly. But I was beginning to have some second thoughts about the propriety. I mean, I was trying to get employed in a dream job. I had to wonder if her being here would impede my prospects at all. But she moved closer and her hand was caressing my thigh. She leaned in and her lips sought mine. I stood up abruptly.

"I really need to think about this, Frieda. You're employed here. Is it frowned upon to fraternize among employees? I'm not certain this is such a good idea." As I said it her hands were seeking my trousers belt and pulling down my zipper. Quickly her hand pulled me free and I groaned as her lips swiftly encompassed my hardness. Pushing my pants down I surged into her mouth, seeking the warmth of her moist tongue and lips.

Soon I was thrusting in and out as her mouth as she eagerly drooled. Her hand was stroking me and her hungry tongue licked me. I groaned again. She must have wanted me to fill her and I obliged, moaning with a urgent need. I came and she swallowed. It was good. We stripped down and she was able to keep me aroused enough that I was tastiing her sensuous pussy with my prick within minutes. 

We spent the rest of the night together in that queen size hotel bed.

For the rest of the week I saw a new play each night. Frieda was with me each night and I was completely pleased. Why had I ever shown any reluctance with her? After Macbeth was the historical play, Henry V. That was a favorite of mine. I always found it uplifting. And our love-making that night was memorable to me. 

Next was another tragedy, Hamlet. Again, we spent the night together. 

That was followed by The Merry Wives of Windsor. It was quite amusing and Frieda was laughing throughout the play and even later in bed together.  

Those were followed by Coriolanus and Romeo and Juliet. Those two nights Frieda said she was busy and I didn't see her. I was hoping we would be together the coming weeked. 

The last play on that Friday, as you recall, would be The Merchant of Venice. I went alone, without Frieda once again. The merchant in the play was named Antonio, but many mistook Shylock for the merchant. That was not true of course. However he was the most memorable character. It was with Antonio that Shylock made his contract. You remember it, don't you?

Go with me to a notary, seal me there
Your single bond; and, in a merry sport,
If you repay me not on such a day,
In such a place, such sum or sums as are
Express'd in the condition, let the forfeit
Be nominated for an equal pound
Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken
In what part of your body pleaseth me.

During that final play I could see many in the audience glancing surreptitiously at me. Some whispered behind a hand, if they had one. The play came to the famous scene where Shylock demanded his "pound of flesh" in payment for the money he had lent out. At this point the players all stopped their performances. They turned as one to gaze at me. Then the play continued until the end.

Onto the stage came a tall, thin man of around sixty. He introduced himself as Mr. Kocker and asked if his new city planner, Mr. Low, would please come up on the stage to be introduced. The crowd rose. They took hold of me with whatever appendages they still had and, with enthusiasm, escorted me to the stage steps. I was dragged up to center stage. I looked out and saw Frieda in the front row.

I glanced into the wings. The man who had played Shylock was approaching. He held in his hand a butcher knife and a surgeon's saw. I was almost in shock. I could not perceive what was occurring. But I was frightened out of my skull.

"Now, sir. It will be your choice. Please choose wisely. I must have my pound of flesh."

Thus spoke Mr. Kocker, and I realized, finally, what was happening. Oh god, I thought to myself.

"Mr. Kocker, sir, can I not just refuse this job. Please, let it pass me by. I'll leave tomorrow."

"Oh no, sir. It is either the pound of flesh or death. Now choose, sir!"  And he grinned. With the same grin as his daughter. That grin I had seen on Frieda's face.

What do you suppose I chose?