Tales of the Season - Ken's Barbie
By Tigger
Copyright 2002

Archiving and reposting of this story *unchanged* is permitted
provided that no fee be charged, either directly or indirectly
(this includes so-called "adult checks") *and* provided that
this disclaimer and attribution to the original author are
maintained. 

Based on the characters and situations presented in "Seasons
of Change" by Joel Lawrence, Copyright 1989. This story is
archived in its entirety here at Fictionmania (go to search by
authors and select Joel Lawrence)

Acknowledgments

My sincere thanks to Brandy Dewinter for the gifts of her
creativity, her vision, her eye for 'just the right word' (and
wrong one of mine) and her, ummm, persistence. Special thanks to
the 'Blue Pen of Sonora', Denise Em, for the many hours she put
into proofing this.  At some point, it becomes impossible for me
to read what I wrote, because I 'see' what I thought I wrote. 
Any remaining errors are mine, probably because I wrongly thought
my way was better than Deni's.

Introduction:

"Annie?" a harshly whispered voice hissed from the earpiece,
"It's me - Adrian." 

"Adrian?! What is this? You know you're not supposed to call me." 

"Anne, listen, I don't have much time. You gotta get me out of
here!" 

"I can't do that. We signed that order putting you in that
rehabilitative Outward Bound-type boot camp program." 

"Outward Bound?! Boot camp?!? Bullshit!! Only boots here have
Cuban heels! Dammit, Annie, I'm in some place called Kingston,
Rhode Island, and this crazy woman is trying to turn me into a
girl!" 

"A girl?" 

"Yeah. You gotta come get me." 

"I don't believe it." 

"Look, Anne, I wouldn't lie about this. Right now I'm a freakin'
blonde, wearin' a skirt and heels! Did you know I wear a 36A bra?
I didn't either. I don't want to know it now. It could have been
36B, because she showed me the silicone boobs in that size, too -
and Annie? They had fuckin' nipples! And I wear size 6 panties.
Panties, dammit! And a size 8 dress. How the fuck would I know
those sizes if I weren't telling the truth?" 

"I don't know, but this just doesn't make sense." 

"Believe me, Anne! Not only that, I'm calling from this damned
beauty shop we go to every Wednesday morning, and this blond
bitch of a beautician just said she was going to drag me to New
York so I could *entertain* some of her kinky friends down
there!. Goddamn it, Barbie, you gotta get me out of here!"

"Don't call me that!" 

"Sorry, Anne, really, but . . oh shit, someone's coming - I gotta
go. Come get me. Jane Thompson, Seasons House, Kingston, Rhode
Island. Hurry!" 
~-~

The phone connection clicked off. For a moment, Barbara Anne
Braithwaite could only stare blankly at the now-buzzing
instrument. Then she pressed the star key code for Caller ID.
Since the originating phone had been in a commercial
establishment, both it's name and phone number flashed on the
small LCD display. Anne wrote both on her desktop blotter and
then with a single phone call, turned several people's lives,
including her own, upside down.

Chapter 1: You Can Go Home Again

Kenneth Roberts spun about in his almost-new office chair with
child-like glee. He had made it! Stopping his spin, he looked up
at three impressively framed documents that hung from the wall
behind his almost-new, not-really-impressive desk. The first,
awarded by a major mid-western university, conferred upon Kenneth
Allen Roberts the degree of Master of Law in International
Business and Trade. The second, awarded by a prestigious
institution in the greater Boston area, conferred upon Kenneth
Allen Roberts, the degree of Juris Doctor. The third framed
document, granted to Kenneth Allen Roberts the privileges and
rights of the Bar Association of the State of Rhode Island.

*Not bad for an almost-twenty-four year old,* he thought with
pride.  Maybe the J.D. had been overkill on his part, but when
one had two such forceful, brilliant, determined women as Jane
Thompson and Her Honor, Judge Ruth Walinkiewicz vying for the
position of Kenneth Robert's 'first mother', one tended to grow
up as something of an over-achiever. 

And when one considered the self-discipline and control Kenneth
had been forced to learn to deal with and counter the sadistic
machinations of his birth-mother, it became easier to understand
how somebody so young could have already achieved so much in his
life.

Today marked his first day on the job as junior associate in the
law firm of Ellis, Ellis, and Carter. Life would be challenging
for the next couple of years while he made his name in the field
and paid his dues. There'd be long nights and a good deal of
grunt work on someone else's cases, but he was looking forward to
the challenge. *By the time I'm thirty,* he promised himself, *It
will be Ellis, Ellis, Carter and Roberts - and WE will be THE
agency to retain to close a sticky international business deal.*

"Admiring your new office, such as it is, son,?" Richard Ellis
said from the door. He was a fit man of fifty-five or so, with
the energy and vigor of a man fifteen years his junior. His
silver hair was still thick and he had the easy manner of the old
time country lawyer which hid the razor sharp mind and killer
instinct of the top corporate tax lawyer in the Northeast.
Kenneth liked and respected him. More importantly, Jane Thompson
liked and respected him, which said a great deal good about this
man and his ethics.

"Just got the sheepskins up," Kenneth grinned as he stood to
greet the older man. "I'd offer you a chair, but I don't have one
yet."

"Already ordered, but if you need one, borrow one from the
conference room. I'll clear it with Mrs. Stone." 

Mrs. Stone was Ellis' executive administrator, and it was
understood that she ran the office. The partners might be
nominally in charge, but even they listened VERY carefully when
Mrs. Stone spoke. Kenneth liked her as well, and couldn't wait to
introduce her to Momma Jane and Judge Ruth. The thought of those
three formidable women in one room was daunting, but some impish
streak he normally kept well under wraps could not let go of the
idea.

"Thanks, I'll take you up on that, but only if you are there to
protect me when I walk past her desk carrying the chair."

"I knew you were smart," Ellis said, grinning. "Anyway, the
reason I came looking for you is that I just got off the phone
with your Aunt, Jane Thompson. She'd like to speak to you as soon
as possible."

Kenneth smiled fondly. "Probably wants to remind me about the
wedding, again," he told the older man. "My foster brother is
getting married in a couple of weeks. Aunt Jane is hosting the
festivities out at Seasons House. I'm to be one of the ushers."

That was true and not true, Kenneth thought. There would indeed
be a wedding, joining in holy matrimony his foster brother,
Michael Nash, to his beloved Janice Davis. This was going to be a
full-up, very formal, society event joining two very prominent
families, the Nashes and the Davises. The actual wedding would
take place at St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York City with two
Archbishops officiating and celebrating the marital Mass. Gossip
columnists in the greater New York and Boston areas had been
following the wedding preparations for months and invitations
were highly prized by the members of the social upper crust.

There would also be another ceremony, celebrated the night
before, in Jane's private English Garden. That would be a very
private affair, attended only by a very few family members and
selected friends. In that ceremony, officiated by Judge Ruth,
Michael and Janice would affirm the commitment to one another.
Only, it would be Michelle and "Janson" affirming their
commitment. 

As with most Janice-plans, this one had made a whole lot more
sense while Janice was talking (Kenneth thought about selling ice
to Eskimos and decided that Janice would consider that too easy)
than later when one had time to reflect upon it, but now it was
too late. Also, as with most Janice-plans, this one had taken on
a life of its own. Michael was fond of pointing out that stopping
a Category 5 hurricane was simple, compared to deflecting Janice
from her chosen path. 

In this case, Janice had decided that she wanted to show her
husband that she loved, lusted for and treasured both sides of
the complex yin and yang equation that yielded Michael/Michelle
Nash. Her solution to this little problem was to hold this
second, rather unique wedding ceremony. 

In true Seasons House tradition, participating boys would be
dressed in girl clothing, while the girls would be dressed in boy
clothing - at least for the most part. Michelle had been fitted
with her own wedding gown ("I'm not having any possibility of bad
luck coming from you seeing MY gown before the wedding, and
besides, it would really tick me off if you looked better in it
that I do!" Janice had told her mate-to-be.) The brides-maids
would be former students of Jane's resuming their old roles -
Darla (Darryl) as 'matron of honor' with Beth (David) and Jessica
(Jesse) completing the "bride's" party. Diana (Art) would
admirably fill the role of "Mother of the Bride" while "Uncle
Jack Thompson" and "Father Barton Davis" would jointly give away
the "bride".

The 'groom' and her 'grooms-persons' would be wearing very sexily
cut feminine tuxedos and would consist of "Audie" (Audrey)
Thompson as best 'man' with Carroll (Carolyn) Beale and Sander
(Sandra) Madden completing the party. 

*Ought to be a hoot,* Kenneth thought with just a trace of
sadness. It wasn't often he regretted the growth spurt that had
put seven inches and fifty pounds on his tall, lithe frame, but
this was one of those times. At six feet three inches tall and
185 lbs, he just couldn't 'do' Kendra very well anymore. 

At least, not to HIS expectations in any case.

Actually, only a few years earlier, any such feelings of regret
would have surprised the boy he'd been. After he'd gone to live
with Judge Ruth following his final showdown with his
birth-mother, Kenneth had taken up bodybuilding in a big way.
After a while, he'd recognized that to be an over-reaction to
what his mother had planned to do to him. It would be hard to
feminize Mr. Universe, after all. In the end, he hadn't liked the
look, and with the help of a very good personal trainer, had
instead opted for his current build - much less bulked up, more
fitness-oriented. That regimen, combined with the aforementioned
growth spurt, had endowed him with the lean-muscled frame of the
endurance swimmer.

Which made the ability to transform himself into the cute, petite
Kendra a thing of Kenneth's past.

"No," Ellis said thoughtfully, his words interrupting his young
colleague's mental ruminations, "I don't think that was her
reason for calling. She asked me if there would be a problem with
her hiring your professional services, either from a company
policy or from an ethical perspective. I told her no - lawyers do
work for their families all the time and having a junior member
of the firm representing Jane Thompson in any capacity is a coup
to us. That's one hell of a lady."

"She is that. Okay, I'll call her. Thanks, Mr. Ellis."

"I believe that if I've told you oncest, I've told you thrice,
that anyone with a Harvard J.D. can call me Richard, son. Try to
remember that in the future, if you don't mind. See you later,
okay?"

Kenneth waited for Richard to leave before picking up the phone.
He dialed a number from memory and settled back down into his
almost-new chair. The phone was picked up halfway through the
second ring. A familiar voice said, "This is Jane Thompson."

"Hi Momma-Jane," he replied. "This is your son-the-lawyer. What
do you need?"

"A great deal, Kenneth. I'm sorry to intrude upon your privacy,
but are you free for dinner tonight? Semi-formal, I'm afraid -
suit and tie at the least - as I have junior student in
residence, but we'll be able to talk after the meal. I need your
help."

"Usual time?" he asked, his willingness to serve already clear to
them both.

"We'll sit down to table at seven sharp, dear."

"Tell Marie to set an extra plate and put another cup of water in
her spaghetti sauce. I'm on my way."

"Thank you, dear."


Chapter 2: The Other Side of the Table

Kenneth had never been a participant in a student's
rehabilitation at Seasons House in either the junior or senior
sister role. He did not count the few hellish days he spent under
Jane's program, when his birth-mother had forged court sentencing
papers in an attempt to trick Jane into feminizing her son.
Fortunately for Kenneth, it had only taken Jane about two days to
figure out that something about this unusually controlled and
composed young man was not consistent with the barely civilized
animal described in the records provided by the "court". Two days
later, Kenneth had been out of skirts and restored to his
masculine state while a furious Jane Thompson and Judge Ruth had
plotted the downfall of Sheila Roberts.

So he had never been at table when Jane was working on another
student's manners and deportment. It was an uncomfortable
experience, as it brought back memories of the meals he'd eaten
and later thrown up during his own blessedly-short time in the
Seasons House hot seat. 

He'd expected to be asked to play the 'flirting male who's not in
on the gag' role during the meal, much as Michael and Darryl had
described others doing. Jane had quickly disabused him of that
notion immediately upon his arrival at Seasons House. Basically,
she had wanted him to act like a casual business acquaintance of
hers, and to interact only very formally with either of the young
people. At first, he'd been a little disappointed, having spent
the better part of the afternoon after his phone-call with Jane
thinking about what he'd do and say with the junior boy-girl
student. Halfway through the fish course, however, any residual
disappointment had long-since evaporated to be replaced by a
growing sense of relief.

He'd met the senior student/big sister before and liked her
immediately. Jessica (Jesse) was now Jane's foster child, an
orphan who was now as much Jane Thompson's son as Kenneth, Darryl
or Michael. *She sure is cute,* Kenneth thought as he considered
the petite brunette in the robin's egg blue and cream dress.
*Hard to believe that Kendra was ever in her class, the pictures
in Aunt Jane's Rogues Gallery to the contrary.*

The junior student, however, was an unknown quantity to the young
attorney. Adrienne, formerly Adrian, Braithwaite was seated
directly opposite Jane so that she could watch every move and
correct every small error in manners or deportment.
Unfortunately, this student didn't bother to make small errors -
she seemed to delight in making colossal ones. 

*In fact,* Kenneth mused as he savored Marie's marvelous
maple-glazed baked ham, *It's as if she is doing her level best
to infuriate Jane. That's the third time she's been corrected for
the same screw-up. How many times do you have to be told to how
to use a napkin properly? How long has this kid been here? Long
enough to look pretty good as a girl . . . so why hasn't she
picked up on how to get through a meal without this kind of
heartburn. Is Jane being particularly demanding? I don't think
so. What the hell is going on here?*

As the meal progressed, tension around the table increased with
each passing dish until, just before the dessert course, Jane set
down her napkin with very great care and glared at her junior
student. "Adrienne, if you cannot dine in a civilized manner,
then you will not dine at all. In case it has escaped your
notice, we have a guest tonight and your boorish behavior is
beyond anything I can accept." Jane pressed a small button
beneath the table, summoning Marie.

"Yes, Ms. Thompson?" Marie said as she entered the dining room. 

"Please serve Mr. Roberts and Jessica their dessert. Adrienne and
I will retire to her room, as we have some pressing issues to
discuss. Please have coffee served in my apartment in half an
hour. Mr. Roberts, I would be gratified if you would join me for
coffee, assuming you are not so offended by this one's behavior
that you wish to call off our business together."

"I would be honored to take coffee with you, Ms. Thompson,"
Kenneth replied, keeping to the role Jane had assigned him in
this little drama. "I will await your pleasure."

Jane gave him a regal nod of her head and then rose from her
chair. "Come with me, Miss," she ordered her wayward pupil
sternly, "NOW!"

Kenneth was shocked when, making no effort to disguise her
distaste for the order or the woman giving it, Adrienne actually
seemed to consider whether she was going to obey. Finally, she
shrugged and rose gracelessly from her chair. "After you, Mizz
Thompson, Ma'am," she said in a voice that in no way sounded
feminine - not in tone, not in pitch and certainly not in
inflection.

Stunned by Adrienne's utter disinterest in protecting her
identity, Kenneth could only stare as Jane took the erring
student by her elbow and actually frog-walked her out of the
room. For several moments, he struggled to make sense of what he
had just seen. Then he looked over to where Marie stood behind
Jessica. "What the HELL was that all about?"

"If we knew that for certain, cher-Kenneth," Marie sighed, "We
might be able to fix it."

"Adrienne's been here for almost two months, Mr. Roberts,"
Jessica said softly. "She was doing very well - Jane was starting
to think about fishing around for a new little sister and I was
getting ready to move in with Michael and Janice so that Adrienne
could become the big sister. Then, all of a sudden, instant
throw-back."

"Throw-back?" Marie snorted. "That child was never THAT bad here
before, petite," she said before turning back to Kenneth, "One
morning, barely a week ago, she comes down to breakfast, all
sweetness and light - a lovely young person. I quite liked her,"
she added, and Kenneth could see how that upset the softhearted
little Frenchwoman. "Jane took her to the Chalet for her weekly
hair coloring, set and make up lessons - everything seemed fine
there, from what we can gather."

"Jane was afraid Sandy had stepped over the line again, and that
might have been the cause of her turnaround," Jessica put in,
"But Caro was the one who worked her that day - almost
exclusively, in fact, since Sandy was indisposed and, ah, a
little nauseous," she added, blushing just a little.

"Oui," Marie continued. "Anyway, the girl came home acting the
little bitch, eh? And she has gotten worse every day since."

"No idea why? None at all?" Kenneth was surprised. 

"I did not say that," Marie said emphatically. "We have no proof,
but we think Adrienne's guardian may be part of the problem. She
has begun pestering Jane in the past few days. Demanding progress
reports, calling at odd hours, insisting that she be allowed to
speak with her brother."

"Brother?"

"Adrienne is an orphan, like me," Jessica put in softly. "Unlike
me, she had an adult sister who took her in. Unfortunately,
sister has to work to support them both and she was too lenient
with her brother; couldn't supervise him closely enough. He got
in with a bad crowd and got into trouble with the law. Selling
pot, running numbers, shoplifting."

"I see," Kenneth replied.

"Getting him out of that permissive, unsupervised environment
seemed to help a great deal," Marie said, "as did the forced
petticoating. Jane is not lenient, nor is Adrienne unsupervised
any longer."

"No kidding," Kenneth smiled. "Any idea why I'm here?"

Marie shrugged. "Ideas, yes. Knowledge? No. I will let Jane tell
you what she wants you to know."

"All right, Tante Marie. One last question?"

"Oui, cheri?"

Kenneth tried his best to look pitiful. "Didn't Momma-Jane say
*I* could have dessert?"

"Oh, you," Marie said with smiling, maternal exasperation. "Be
right out with it. I made your favorite."

"Strawberry Pie with homemade vanilla ice cream?!?"

"Of course. What else would I make when one of my boys comes home
to visit?"

"Could we have it in the kitchen? Like old times? This place is
just a little, well, daunting - especially after what we just
went through."

"But of course, cheri. Join us, Jessica?"

~---------~

Forty-five minutes later, Jane walked into to her private parlor
to find Kenneth waiting for her in the semi-darkened room. She
flicked on the rest of the lights and headed over to a hidden
panel above the hearth. A few quick, deft manipulations had the
panel sliding away to reveal a large, closed circuit television
monitor. Jane turned it on and the scene of a bedroom, an
obviously nude young person, laying atop a very frilly bed.

"Letting the boys sleep in the buff these days because of the
heat, Momma-Jane?" Kenneth asked as he handed her a cup of the
strong black coffee she preferred to the tea she drank as part of
her role.

"Of course not," Jane said with trenchant disgust. "It's just
another way the child is defying me. You can see she's tossed her
lingerie and the nightgown on the floor in a heap."

"What's going on? I spoke with Marie and Jessica, so I know the
kid has had a major turn for the worse recently. What, if
anything, can I do to help?"
"I need you to put the fear of God into his sister," Jane said
intensely.

"The boy's guardian?"

"By court edict, *I* am that child's legal guardian until such
time as I deem him rehabilitated, or until the court or I
determine him to be incorrigible. His sister signed the court
order temporarily relinquishing guardianship to me. If she
rescinds that agreement, he goes to juvenile detention until he
turns eighteen."

"So he's a court-appointed case. I thought that gave you a good
deal more control and latitude than with a contract agreement
between just you and the student's parents?"

"And so it normally does. However, this one's sister has somehow
reached the conclusion that I am engaging in child abuse and has
begun systematically harassing me - by phone, by letter, even
confronting me in town the other day."

"Wow. What is she saying? What does she have to back up that
contention?"

"A fairly accurate, if skewed description of what I do here in my
program, and a couple of photographs taken from a distance using
a powerful zoom lens." Jane handed him a large manilla envelope.
"Look at that," she ordered quietly.

Inside the envelope were the two aforementioned black and white
photographs and a typed letter. The first of the two pictures
showed a full-face closeup of young teenaged girl with very curly
hair, huge eyes and a rather heavily made-up face. *Must have
been taken right after Caro and Sandy got done with her,* Kenneth
thought as he flipped to the second picture. This one showed a
full-length shot of the same girl, garbed in a skirt, blouse, and
fairly tall heels, looking up with what might be taken for a
fearful expression at a very stern-looking Jane Thompson. "These
do not show you to advantage, Momma-Jane."

"I know. She looks terrified, doesn't she? While I seem to be the
wicked witch of the east, west, north AND south."

"You can be rather formidable, you know. Is she uncertain of her
ability to carry off the masquerade? Is that why she has become,
well, difficult to deal with?"

"Nothing of the kind. In fact, she is good at it. She's more
agile in heels than Jessica. What she has been doing of late, is
to be very careful to ensure that she does nothing to break her
own masquerade publicly. However, once we are alone together, or
if there is a single visitor? Kenneth, the girl positively BAITS
me. It's as if she is trying to make me lose my temper with her.
It is all so, well, the only term I can come up with is
premeditated."

"So you think she wants you to step over the line in some manner
she can use in a court case?"

"At least threaten me with that. My best guess, based on how
careful she's been to protect her own identity in very public
situations, is that she is hoping either to blackmail me or
settle out of court with sealed records."

"That sounds. . . well, Machiavellian, Mom."

"Nothing else fits the fact, Kenneth. Read the letter."

Ms. Thompson

It has come to my attention just what your program entails, and I
am not just appalled, I am infuriated. That my brother is, at the
behest of the court, undergoing such a humiliating, dehumanizing
and emasculating experience at your hands is beyond anything.

My attorneys are at this very moment reviewing the court order
with the intent of appealing it and overturning it. I have been
given to understand that there is reason to hope that they will
be able to do so. 

However, should that prove to be a false hope, I will find a way
to stop you, even if it is too late for my brother. Clearly you
and that Judge are together in this, so that means you may be
able to perpetrate this crime against other boys who are sent to
you for help.

HELP? HAH! What utter garbage. 

So, I want you to understand this, you perverse bitch. You had
better PRAY that my lawyers can overturn this travesty of
justice, otherwise I will be forced to take other, more drastic
action to stop you! If the legally constituted courts cannot be
relied upon to protect children from animals like you, then the
court of public opinion will bring you down. Don't think my
brother's 'reputation' will protect you as I don't believe he
will have one in any case when you are through with him. If he
must suffer, I want it to be for a good cause and stopping you
will surely be the best such cause.

Oh, and if you think to avoid this by declaring my brother
'incorrigible' and packing him off to reform school, I will STILL
destroy you and your nasty little 'school'. As you can see from
the sample enclosed, I am developing the evidence I need.

B. A. Braithwaite

"Strong words," Kenneth said after finishing the letter, "And
these are just damning enough to support her case in the absence
of other evidence to the contrary. Didn't she know what you do
here?"

Jane sat down on the plushly cushioned Victorian 'Fainting
Couch', kicked off her heels and laid back against the rich
velvet upholstery. "Ruth handles that end of the arrangements
when it is a court settlement. Normally, she is very up-front
about what the parents can expect, especially after that one
mother took to showing up on my doorstep unannounced two or three
times a month," Jane said as she began to massage her temples
with the knuckles of her index fingers. "However, in this case,
she decided to deviate from that policy."

"Oh? And why did she do that? Aunt Ruth rarely flies in the face
of a working precedent."

"From what I gathered, Miss Braithwaite is very young - barely
twenty-two. She had only just come of age when her parents died
and she took responsibility for his upbringing. Ruth felt she
might not go along with the deal if she had the full disclosure
and made the decision to withhold a good deal of detail."

"Define a good deal of detail, please," Lawyer Roberts ordered
quietly.

"Don't badger the witness, dear," Jane admonished with a tired
smile. "Miss Braithwaite, after discussions with your
Aunt-the-Judge, concluded that my program was one of those
"Spirit Quest" things, a sort of Boys Town where young men in
trouble are sent to discover themselves and the true Dao to peace
and enlightenment. Ruth did not attempt to correct that
impression."

"You've got to be kidding me. Ruth Walinkiewicz KNOWS better than
to pull something like that."

"You can talk to her yourself, but that's precisely what she did
do. As I said, Ruth felt that the sister would not have signed
the plea bargain is she fully understood what I was doing, and
the last thing she wanted to do was send him to a juvenile
detention facility. Besides, she had decided that the boy was
going to be relatively easy anyway. All he really needed was some
shock therapy to get his attention, some structure and discipline
in his life, and time to reflect on what he'd been doing to
himself and his sister."

"Except she was wrong about the kid."

Jane sighed. "Hindsight is 20/20, Kenneth. However, up until a
week ago, Ruth's assessment of Adrienne was right on the mark.
Then, bang. Since the moment we left the beauty salon, I don't
think I have ever had a less responsive student in all my time
here at Seasons House."

"Okay, you said you wanted my help. Put the fear of God in her, I
think you said. How do I do that? And to what end?"

"Go to her. Use your lawyerly skills to intimidate her. Convince
her that public exposure is not a good idea for her or her
brother. I don't know, threaten to countersue."

"Why even bother with that, Mom? Ruth has the full power of her
office behind that order. Why not just go after her that way?
Ruth can threaten to vacate the suspension if she doesn't go
away."

"Two reasons," Jane said. "First, taking that course of action
could well mean the boy ends up out of my hands and in the
juvenile justice detention system, and I'm not ready to give up
on him!" Kenneth smiled, knowing full well that 'give up' were
only two words stuck together for Jane Thompson and not a concept
she either embraced or really understood. 

"You said there were two reasons," Kenneth prompted the quietly
fuming woman. 

"The sister, Barbara, signed the court order. There is a gag
order associated with any referrals to my program. If she does
what she threatens, she is in contempt and will join her brother
behind bars. Unfortunately, Ruth leaving her in ignorance about
what she signed really muddies that issue. Still, the possibility
of her facing jail time does not please me anymore than sending
that boy to juvie for the next four years of his life pleases
me."

"Mr. Ellis is a lot better lawyer than I am, Momma Jane, with a
lot more experience. I think he'd be better at this than I would
be."

"Richard is a delightful man, and as you say, one of the finest
lawyers in the country, but he's not the right man for this task.
After all, he is not among the 'in the know' about my activities
here at Seasons House. You are and you fully understand the need
to protect the rest of my boys."

"What does Art think? By the way, where is Art? I thought he was
coming back for the wedding?"

"He got in last night from Bosnia. Poor dear hasn't come out of
the bedroom except to use the bathroom and eat for almost
twenty-four hours. What he saw there . . .isn't pleasant."

"So you and Diana will be at the weddings?"

"Diana will be," Jane said quietly. "Right now, I don't think I
will be able to trust Adrienne sufficiently to allow her to
attend which means someone will have to watch her. I'm the School
Mistress here. That makes it my responsibility."

"But Michelle is counting on you," Kenneth blurted and instantly
regretted it when he saw the sheen of tears glitter in Jane
Thompson's tired eyes.

"I made a commitment," she said very softly. "Michelle. . .
Michael will simply have to understand. If you cannot get Barbara
Braithwaite to back off so that I can turn her brother around, I
simply won't be able to attend either ceremony."

"DAMN!"

"I quite agree."

Chapter 3: Calling in the Sisters. . . Brothers

Kenneth sat staring at the telephone, willing it to ring. He'd
spent the hour it had taken him to reach his apartment in Warwick
from Seasons House to conclude that he might need reinforcements
available when he went to face Ms. Barbara A. Braithwaite. 

When it came to covering a fellow's back, no one did it quite as
well as family.

The phone rang, and Kenneth had the receiver off the cradle
before the first echo ended. "Roberts, here," he said.

"Hey, bro'," a familiar voice answered him. "I've got D' here on
the extension. What's up?"

"Trouble, brothers, big trouble," Kenneth said by way of reply.
"Momma-Jane has a problem, and she needs us to help solve it." 

~-----------~

"Lord, Ken," Darryl said after listening quietly, "I have more
experience with Jane's students than anyone except Jane, and I've
never seen anyone act like. . . like. . "

"Like they were trying to force her to be abusive," Michael
finished, anger rippling in his tones. "As if she would!"

"One thing I've learned about the legal system, Mike?" Kenneth
put in, "Is that it isn't always the fact or the intent, but the
appearances that matter, and how those appearances are presented
to the judge and the jury."

"That's a pretty cynical viewpoint for a newly ordained
lawyer-man, Ken," Michael noted.

"I know, Mike, but look, they don't have to win to hurt Mom,
okay? We've always known that she is out there on the windy
corner with this program. If the gossip-sheets get wind of this,
the program dies. Not only that, but Mom will be hounded for the
rest of her life."

"Point taken," Darryl said. "So, what do we do?"

"First things first, I think," Kenneth said. "I need a reading on
the sister, and the only way to get that is to meet with her."

"You could always ask Aunt Ruth," Darryl argued. "I mean, she
must have thought well of the woman to recommend Momma-Jane to
her."

"Aunt Ruth is a court-judge. If I ask her, she will ask me why.
as an attorney, I can't lie to her. Once she knows, she'll be in
the position of having to decide whether or not to vacate the
suspension and whether to hold the sister in contempt. Neither of
those will do Mom or her program a lick of good."

"What do you hope to accomplish?"

"Figure out where she's coming from. Find a way to convince her
that her little brother just might be manipulating her a bit.
And, most importantly, that what Jane Thompson does is a GOOD
thing."

"You know, Ken, when I . . ., well, when I went off the deep end,
one of the things that really caught my attention? Was when Eric
showed up in my suicide-proofed room as Erica. Then he
transformed into Eric before my eyes. First male I'd ever seen in
Seasons House, you know? I was more inclined to listen to him
because, well, because he obviously knew what I was going
through. He had the t-shirt - or is it the teddy? - to prove he'd
been there, too."

"It's not like I can show up on her doorstep as Kendra, Mike. I
don't fit in those clothes anymore," Ken said disgustedly, "But
that was one reason I called you two. Presenting Darla and
Michelle to her, along with your exemplary bone fides, might be a
useful tactic, depending on how the initial interview goes."

"Might work," Darryl said. "Wish we had something to hold over
her head like we did with Steve's father, though."

"The file on her Jane showed me is squeaky clean, Bro'. By all
accounts, she's just a nice girl who loves her brother, works too
hard, and doesn't have the experience to deal with a boy going
through what her brother got caught in."

"Well, you know we'll do whatever we can, Ken," Mike put in. "I
will be on her doorstep in petti's and pinafores, with my
sheepskins in hand if that's what it takes."

"And I'll be with him, big brother, and I figure I can get
another dozen at least without even trying hard."

"If we need more than you two, I don't think a dozen will be
better."

"When do you go see her?"

"Tomorrow. Unofficially, at first. I don't want to announce my
presence as Jane's representative until I know what's going on in
her head."

"Be careful with those secret agendas, Kenneth," Darryl told him.
"I nearly lost Audrey that way."

"I'm going to negotiate with her, Darryl, not marry her!"

"All the same, nice girls don't like feeling that they've been
duped. Lawyers, in my experience, sometimes forget such social
niceties."

"Not lawyers trained by Aunt Ruth and Momma-Jane. We're gentlemen
- or else. See you later, guys."

Chapter 4: Ms. B. Anne Braithwaite

The small conference and meeting room he'd reserved at the
Marriott hotel was both simple and luxurious. *Nothing but the
best when you represent Jane Thompson,* he told himself with a
grin. *Besides, I am going to need all the ammunition I can get.
A little conspicuous display of Momma-Jane's considerable wealth
and power might help these negotiations in the long run.*

Kenneth set his attache case down behind the large desk. He
opened the case, removed his briefs and set them out where he
could get at them easily. He was as ready as he was going to be
for this encounter. There were several ways this could go down,
and most of them were not good in some manner. *Just keep
thinking those positive thoughts, Kenneth, my boy.*

He took off his suit coat and did some stretching exercises. He
felt stiff and tired, for he hadn't slept well the night before.
Part of that was stress, but another, equally significant aspect
of his restlessness had been guilt. He'd spent the previous night
with his 'other' foster mother, Judge Ruth, but had not told her
the nature of his business in her fine city. Kenneth had never
before hidden anything from either of the two women who had saved
him from Sheila, but telling Ruth would put her in the position
of having to ignore what was a violation of the court agreement
or putting the boy juvie while bringing his sister up on charges.
*You are caught,* he thought ruefully, *Between Jane's program
and Ruth's career. Talk about ye olde Rock and ye olde hard
place. They don't get any more comfortable with time.*

The phone on the desk rang and he answered it. It was the
concierge. "Yes, this is Mr. Roberts. Oh, she is? Please ask one
of the bellmen to escort her up to the conference room. Yes,
thank you."

Kenneth set the phone down and reached for his suit coat. 

~------------~

He answered the door on the first knock and was brought up short
by his first look at Ms. Barbara Anne Braithwaite. *Adrienne's
prettier,* was Kenneth's first reaction on meeting Jane's
adversary, and then his 'Marie-trained eye' caused him to
reconsider that statement. *She's not trying to be attractive.
Intentionally? Is she coming here garbed for combat and doesn't
want me to get any ideas?* 

B. Anne Braithwaite - for that was the way she had signed her
letter - wore minimal makeup, just a bit of pale lipstick and
mascara as though she wanted to avoid the statement absolutely no
cosmetics would make without making an actual statement of her
own. The grey suit she wore in no way showed her figure to any
advantage - which should not have been too difficult, Kenneth
realized, for the woman was slender and elegantly tall. She was
easily taller than her brother, in fact - perhaps five feet ten
or eleven inches in the unflattering flat-heeled loafers she
wore. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back in the kind of
unattractive, ruthless chignon that would look the same if her
hair were shoulder length or bun-length. 

And yet, there was something about her that appealed,
nonetheless. Her intelligently-alert brown eyes were her best
feature - large and filled with mysterious depths. Morever, she
had a mouth, Kenneth thought, that was meant to smile.

Only it wasn't smiling now. Kenneth forced himself to concentrate
on the task at hand. *No wondering what Marie could do with those
eyes, Roberts, at least not until the business is taken care of.
Something tells me dealing with this one will take every ounce of
smarts you've got.*

"Ms. Braithwaite," he said quickly, "Won't you come in and sit
down, please."

Wordlessly, she strode into the room and sat down in the chair
he'd indicated.

Kenneth moved to his own seat and tried to look 'lawyerly'.
"Thank you for coming to see me, Ms. Braithwaite."

She gave an unladylike snort. "As if I had a choice. The wording
in that summons your messenger brought to my apartment was rather
blunt. 'Show up or face charges' sums it up quite accurately."

"I apologize for that," he said, "It isn't my intent to threaten
you, only to impress upon you the gravity of our mutual situation
and the need for you to participate in the solution."

"Oh, I don't feel threatened, Mister, I feel pissed! And the only
one who is facing anything grave is that woman you claim to
represent!"

"I see. Just so that we both understand where we stand in this
situation, you did sign the court order remanding your brother to
Ms. Jane Thompson for rehabilitative training in exchange for the
judge agreeing to suspend his sentence to juvenile detention?"
Those incredible brown eyes narrowed momentarily, and then she
nodded once sharply. "And would this document be a signed copy of
that court order? I know it has the seal of the state court on
it, but I would like to confirm that this is the form and that
is, in fact, your signature."

She glanced at the proffered form for only a moment before
locking eyes with Kenneth again. "It's the form and that is my
signature."

"Thank you. Ms. Braithwaite. Now, you understand that by
communicating with Ms. Thompson as you did, by interposing
yourself into her program for your brother as you have, you stand
in violation, perhaps even in criminal violation of your
agreement with the court as described in that document?"

Raw fury flashed in the woman's eyes, making them almost black.
"And what she's doing to my brother is not a violation?!?" she
demanded in a low, husky voice that seemed to vibrate the very
air.

"No, it is not."

"THAT'S what's CRIMINAL, Mr. Roberts! My brother is clearly being
abused, and whether that has the blessing of that woman's COURT
or NOT is absolutely beside the point. My brother was threatened
with unspeakable acts by the women at that chalet-place and he's
being forced to act like a female and wear women's clothes in
PUBLIC! And you say that *I* am criminal? I think you need to
review your textbooks on child abuse law, Mr. Roberts!"

*Sandy and her stupid threats,* Kenneth thought. "Ms.
Braithwaite, the real problem here, as I understand it, is that
you were not fully apprized of Ms. Thompson's method when you
signed that agreement . ."

"Fully apprized? Fully apPRIZED? Mister, that woman LIED to me! I
was told that my brother would be out of the city - in the
country and fresh air - eating fresh food, learning new skills,
developing problem-solving skills. That is NOT what he's doing."

*Actually, that's precisely what he is doing,* Kenneth thought as
he recalled some of Jane's more challenging lessons, *but you are
no mood to hear that. Besides, simply saying that to you would
end up leading to just one more evasion because I'm not going to
tell you the specifics - yet.* 

"I see. Did the Judge tell you this was an Outward-Bound type
experience?"

"She didn't correct me when I asked her if that is what this was
all about! She deceived me!"

*Ruth, whether you intended to be vague but truthful or not, you
screwed this up, big time. And the only way any of us are coming
out this cleanly is to put the whole mess on the table. God, I
wish I had more experience at this!* 

"I'm sure that it was not Judge Walinkiewicz's intent to deceive
or mislead you," *Like hell it wasn't!* "but all the same, the
explanations were obviously not well done. Look, Ms. Braithwaite,
I am going to level with you and explain Ms. Thompson's program
to you in detail. Perhaps if you better understand what she is
really doing you can better see what she is trying to accomplish
with your brother."

"And why should I believe you anymore than I believed that Judge
Ruth Whatevertheheckhernamewas? YOU represent the woman who is
really doing the abuse."

"Because, after I have finished briefing you on Ms. Thompson's
program and its history, you will have all the ammunition you
need to hurt her badly, and at the same time, the nearly one
hundred young men who have completed her program and who have
gone on to live productive, happy lives."

"As what? Women?"

Kenneth allowed that question to hang in the air between them for
several tense moments, his own dark eyes never leaving hers. When
he spoke, the quiet intensity of his voice surprised even him.
"Do I look like a woman to you, Ms. Braithwaite?"

"YOU?!?"

"My name was Kendra when I was a student at Jane Thompson's
school," Kenneth told her with quiet dignity.

"I don't believe you. Why would you admit something like that to
me? A stranger? What man would EVER admit something like that?"

"It's the truth, and as to why I would admit it to you? I was
hoping my revelation might help establish my credentials, if you
will. I know from first hand experience what Jane Thompson and
her program are really all about. What I went through with her
did not hurt me in any way, and in the long run, did me a great
deal of good, as it has all her boys. My experiences there were
tough and at times unpleasant, but sometimes love has to be
tougher than the problems you are trying to solve."

"What possible good could come of forcing such a thing on a young
man? What POSSIBLE justification could there be?"

"Success is one justification," Kenneth said soberly. "As to the
good? Let me explain what Jane does and why she does it. Then
perhaps you'll understand better what is really happening to your
brother."

Chapter 5: Point-Counterpoint/Offer-Counter Offer

"So, the basic goal of all this is to put the boys in highly
stressful situations, situations where they would previously
resort to whatever inappropriate behaviors got them sent to Jane
in the first place, while dressed as girls. However, the very
fact that they ARE dressed as girls forces them to stop and think
before react inappropriately. At the same time, the concentration
on manners and deportment help socialize the student."

"It sounds like hogwash, Mr. Roberts. Your Ms. Thompson is
abusing my brother, and I will see her and you in court!"

"You're going to lose, Ms Braithwaite," Kenneth said quietly, "Or
at best, win a Pyrrhic victory."

"Oh, you really think so? This isn't San Francisco, Mr. Roberts,
nor is it Boston or New York. This is MidWestern America, and
here, folks think that making boys into girls against their will
is a sin and a crime. I can guarantee that any jury in this part
of the country will convict her."

"Perhaps, but in a criminal case, I'll easily win on appeal, if
it goes that far. I think it far more likely, however, that I
will be able to get the case thrown out before it even gets that
far. Look, Ms. Braithwaite, the fact is that what Ms. Thompson
does has been highly successful. I can call social workers,
judges, parents of her students, law enforcement officers - all
of whom have direct knowledge of what she does and how she goes
about it, and everyone of them will support her claim that she is
in no way abusive. And that is before I bring in the students
themselves to testify on her behalf."

"You simply can NOT believe any of that," the woman said, her
eyes wide with incredulity.

"Oh, but I do believe ALL of that. Ms. Braithwaite, suppose your
brother, instead of having been sent to Ms. Thompson, had been
sent to one of those boot-camp-styled youth rehabilitation
programs. At the boot camp, he'd have been immersed in the type
of macho oriented, group situation he's already shown he cannot
handle. In my view, all one of the bootcamps entails is a
gang-like mindset and dynamic, but with better leadership. 

On the other hand, Ms. Thompson isolates him from that type of
situation while forcing him to reexamine the unfortunate social
choices that have led him to this point. The rest, in other
words, the externals, are merely tools to effect that
reexamination. What's the real difference between curls, skirts
and heels, compared to skinheads, fatigues and army boondockers?
Both are artificial; both have a point. The real question we need
to address here should be - Which situation presents the solution
most likely to solve the problem that got Adrian sent to Jane in
the first place?"

"And you said that all with a straight face," Anne Braithwaite
said wonderingly. "No one in THIS part of the country is going to
believe that putting a boy in skirts is more likely to make a man
of him than going to bootcamp."

"As I said, Ms. Braithwaite, I have an overwhelming preponderance
of historical evidence and testimony to the contrary."

"All right, so you might win a criminal case. As O.J. Simpson has
discovered, that is not the only path to justice in this
country."

"You're referring to a civil lawsuit? Claiming what? Infringement
of Constitutional rights? Something along those lines?" When the
woman did not say anything, Kenneth nodded. "I'd say your chances
of winning any significant settlement there are, at best, 50/50.
Some of the people who are willing to act as testimonials to Ms.
Thompson's methods are rather important men and I believe that
their statements would carry great weight, even with the most
hidebound of juries. And then, there'd be appeals. I think it is
safe to say, Ms. Braithwaite, that when whatever lawyer has
offered to represent you pending the award sees my case, you
might find he wants to be paid up front with no guarantees."

"My brother will still be free of her."

"Your brother will still be in jail, Ms. Braithwaite. And without
a criminal case against my client, you will likely be facing
contempt of court charges yourself."

"So, why don't you just bring me up on those charges? The letter
I sent to that woman is all the proof you need!"

"Three reasons. First, my client doesn't want to hurt your
brother. She feels, quite strongly, that sending him to juvie for
the next four years might well do irreparable harm to him.
Second, she doesn't want to hurt you."

"I find that very difficult to believe," she interrupted
snappishly.

Kenneth shrugged. "As you will. And yet, your brother has not
been physically abused or disciplined in any way. He's been well
fed and his physical needs seen to at all times, and he's been
challenged physically, emotionally and mentally in ways that
force him to learn things about himself he'd never otherwise."

"Everything's wonderful except he's being turned into a girl!"

"He's being made to act like a girl. In three months to a year,
he'd be back in trousers, living as masculine an existance as I
am - except that he'll be doing it as a much nicer male to be
around."

"So YOU say. You'll forgive me if I feel you have failed to prove
your case to MY satisfaction. And what was the third reason, Mr.
Roberts? For this Thompson woman to want to keep this out of
court?"

"Although her students are more than willing to come forward for
her, to testify publicly in her behalf about their experiences in
her keeping, she does not want them to do so. As you have
indirectly pointed out, there are prejudices in this country that
affect how others perceive people. She'd rather that . . .
appearances in open court by her former students not be
necessary."

"So, what's the alternative, Mr. Roberts. Are you going to offer
me a deal? Some type of settlement?"

"Ms. Thompson regrets that you were not fully apprized of, and in
agreement with her proposed program for Adrian when you signed
the commitment papers. Therefore, provided that you meet certain
specific conditions, she is willing to release your brother to
your recognizance."

"Without the vacation of the suspended sentence?"

"If you agree to her conditions, and then, if you meet her
conditions, she will sign his release papers and return full
guardianship to you as if your brother had successfully completed
her program of studies."

"Sounds too good to be true."

"I don't believe you will think so. First, you and your brother
must sign legally binding non-disclosure agreements promising not
to reveal any part of Ms. Thompson's program until after her
death. As guardian, you will, of course, be responsible for your
brother's compliance with those agreements until such time as he
reaches his majority. Failure on either of your parts to comply
with those agreements not only opens you to legal action, but
voids the second, financial portion of the settlement."

"Financial? I don't understand. All I want is to get my brother
out of that hellhole!"

"As you will, but you should hear me out nonetheless, Ms.
Braithwaite. My client, Ms. Thompson, feels that you were
overwhelmed by your responsibilities as care-giver and provider.
You will agree to become an 'at-home' mother to Adrian so that he
will be adequately supervised until such time as he reaches his
eighteenth birthday."

"That's ridiculous! I need to work so that I can pay bills, buy
clothing . . food. . "

"That is the financial aspect we were just discussing. So long as
both you and your brother comply with the provisions of the
non-disclosure agreements, and you are an 'at-home' guardian, Ms.
Thompson agrees to underwrite your full living expenses, up to
and including five years of university for Adrian, which should
see him through an undergraduate degree. At that time, she will
entertain providing funds for graduate work, should his grades
and commitment warrant her continued support. Additionally,
should you wish to attend graduate school while you hold
guardianship, my client will also agree to pay those associated
costs so long as it does not distract from your supervision of
your brother."

"You have got to be kidding. That would be a great deal of money
- almost forty thousand dollars a year."

"That's probably a low number, given the cost of college these
days. However, Ms. Thompson has already established and fully
capitalized the necessary trust fund in your and your brother's
names, Ms. Braithwaite," Kenneth said, handing her a document.
"The final condition is the one you may find disagreeable, but it
is one about which Ms. Thompson is most emphatic."

"Oh?"

"Yes. You will agree to come to Kingston for a period of three
weeks and observe, covertly, your brother's training at Seasons
House. If, at the end of that period, you still feel that she is
abusing him, she will release him immediately to your care and
the other conditions of the agreement will take effect. If you
decide to allow her to continue the program, then she will still
turn the proceeds of the trust fund over to you. Either way, you
and your brother will have no financial worries for at least the
next seven years. This settlement contract," Kenneth passed a
thick document over to the stunned young woman, "details in
legalese what I just told you in plain language. You might wish
to have your own lawyer review it before you consider signing
it."

Anne Braithwaite could only stare at the stack of paper now in
front of her. She had never expected anything like this
settlement proposal to come of this meeting. *Now what do I do?*

She looked at the calm young attorney who was watching her with
strangely gentle eyes and then back down at the settlement
agreement. A question occurred to her. "Why?"

"Why is she making this offer? I already told you - because she
doesn't want anyone to be hurt by this."

"No, why are you doing this? You're defending her and it's more
than just your profession involved. Is it because you were her
student? Because you don't want it known that you were like my
brother and put into girls' clothing?"

"I am defending her because I believe in her and in what she does
for her boys," Kenneth said softly. "because I KNOW she helps
them."

Anne considered that as she scanned the document. "Your office?
It's in Providence?" Kenneth nodded, his eyes suddenly wary. "And
you say that you believe in her methods? That there is no
particular harm in a man or boy going out in public dressed as a
woman?" Again, Kenneth nodded.

"All right. Then prove it. Meet me in Providence in three days,
publicly dressed as a woman. Put your reputation where your mouth
is."

"Wha. a. . at?!?" Kenneth stuttered.

A wickedly self-satisfied smile curled Anne Braithwaite's mouth.
"I'll agree to your settlement, Mr. Lawyer-man, but, " she said
standing up and stuffing papers into her own briefcase. "You will
meet me at my hotel, in your feminine persona, and escort me to
your Ms. Thompson's house for my three week observation period."

"But, Ms. Braithwaite, I've. . . grown. . .I mean, I'm not . ."

"That's my deal, Mr. Roberts!" she cut him off. "You will meet me
and escort me in your feminine role. Fail in that, sir, and we
will meet again. In court. Good day, Mr. Roberts, or perhaps, I
should say, Good day, Miss Roberts."

The door closed behind her well before Kenneth could manage to
close the mouth that had gaped in shock.

Chapter 6 - Family Conference

He needed nearly half the trip to the airport just to get his
emotions under control. She wanted him to show up at her hotel,
en femme? As Kendra? *But I haven't been able to be Kendra since
I hit that growth spurt,* his mind railed. *Cripes, I'm six feet
three inches tall - even without heels I will stand out like a
sore thumb! And I don't want to look like a freak - don't want
Kendra to look like a freak - that's why I wouldn't agree to be a
'male-of-honor' at Janice's little reversed wedding ceremony.*

*But Momma-Jane's program, and more importantly, her entire
lifestyle might be at stake in all this,* he reminded himself
sternly.

It was just too much. "DAMN!" he exploded.

"Yo, somethin' wrong, Mister?" the cabbie asked, looking into his
rearview mirror and nearly rear-ending the Postal Service truck
he'd been tailgating.

Kenneth realized that he'd spoken aloud and grinned sheepishly.
"Sorry - bad meetings. Still a bit. . . annoyed."

"No prob, Mac. We'll be at the airport in a few minutes. You want
me to go to departures?"

"No, I'm on a charter flight." Kenneth gave him the name and
location of the private operator's facility and then pulled out
his satellite cell-phone. He punched the speed dial and listened
as the connection was made.

"Nash, here."

"Mike? Ken. Look, I'm on my way to the airport for the flight
back to Providence. I need to meet with you, Darryl, Jane, Marie
and Art as soon as I get back. Can you call around and set that
up?"

"No problem. When will you be back?"

"A few hours - no later than supper time."

"Okay. How do we get the word to you?"

"I'll call Momma Jane as soon as I'm on the ground in
Providence."

"Good enough. Anything else?"

"Yeah, I learned something that might be important, but I need to
check it out. Do you have the number for the Chalet handy?"

"Somewhere. . . " Michael's voice trailed away and Kenneth could
hear the sounds of papers rustling and drawers opening and
closing. "Here it is. Ready to copy?"

Kenneth entered the number into his digital pocket organizer,
thanked his 'Thompson-brother' and then broke the connection.
With practiced ease, he programmed the phone number of the Marisa
Chalet into his cell-phone's speed dial memory and then made the
call.

"Marisha Chalet, this is Caro."

"Carolyn, Hi! It's Kenneth. I need you to check something for me
and pass what you find to Jane, okay? And then I need to talk to
Sandy. Great. Here's what I need you to do. . ."

~------------~

They met in the old groom's apartment over the stables - the one
that Jane had converted into a combination exercise room for
Art/Diana and as a "home away from Seasons House" for members of
her family when a junior student's presence precluded them being
accommodated at the manor house. Jessica was at the house
watching over Adrienne's walking excursion with Mr. Webster.

"So, she's agreed to the visit?" Jane asked, after Kenneth had
given his slightly edited report. "She'll be here?"

"In three days, or so she tells me. She's still not convinced,
Jane," he warned her. "We're not out of the woods yet, and I
think we are, at best, 50/50 for staying out of court with this.
She strikes me as the 'do the right thing because it is the right
thing to do' type."

"Oh, god, not another idealist," Diana groaned, turning to stare
at her wife with comical disgust.

"Just like Momma-Jane, Daddy-Di," Kenneth assured her. "Two peas
out of the same pod."

"If we could PLEASE get back to the issue at hand," Jane said
sternly, and then watched as Darryl, Kenneth, Michael and Marie
dissolved into giggles. "Well, I'm glad that still works with the
new ones, anyway."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Kenneth replied, just a bit sheepishly. "Look,
I think she's smart enough and open enough that she'll see what
you do and come to appreciate the value in that. However, she
loves her brother and there seems to be some guilt there that she
couldn't keep him out of trouble, so she's inclined to come
charging to his rescue."

"What you are saying, son," Diana said in Art's voice, "Is that
if she doesn't see the good in what Jane does, she won't take the
rest of the deal?"

"I don't think so, Dad. If she thinks we're in the wrong here, my
guess is she will not accept the settlement and go to court. Not
to take us for more money, but to stop Momma Jane, once and for
all."

The room became very quiet, only to be broken by Darryl's soft,
"Damn!"

"Just so," Jane said with a sigh. She stood up and walked over to
the room's large picture window and looked at the late-evening
shadowed silhouette of Seasons House. "It is just possible that
is the correct solution, you know. Maybe it is time I retired as
the School Mistress of Seasons House. Lord knows that I have so
much else I could be doing with my time these days. I have a
husband now, children who are my own in everything except
genetically which hardly counts. It might be nice to pack up and
head off with Art and Marie the next time he's sent off to
someplace like Bosnia."

"Over my dead and bleeding body," Art snapped.

"Then don't go yourself, husband," Jane said steadily, still
staring out into the twilight-softened landscape. "Whither thou
goest, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera."

Michael stood up and came over to Jane. "Mom? If you really want
to retire, then that's what we want for you. If you're doing it
before you are ready, and if you think you've failed because
there are still kids you should be helping, then screw that
noise!"

"Michael!" Jane sputtered.

"Like you've never heard words like that?" Darryl replied. "I
agree with Mike. You really want to retire, great. Better than
great, in fact."

"Oh?" The famous "Thompson-brow" cocked up at her grinning,
adopted son. "And just WHY, pray-tell, would that be 'better than
great'?"

"Because Audrey could use some Motherly support and help just
now." Darryl paused to make sure he had everyone's full
attention. "We're expecting."

"Expecting what?" Kenneth asked without thinking and then gaped
at his brother. "As in. . ex-PECTING? Like in, BABIES?"

"Well, we hope it's just one right now, but yeah, that's what I
mean. So what do you think, Mom? Ready to be the prettiest,
doting-est, spoiling-est grandmother in Rhode Island?" Darryl
asked, grinning up at his Mother mischievously.

His answer was swirl of silk, a waft of Obsession, and a fiercely
loving hug that bid fair to rob him of his breath.

"I guess that's a yes?" Darryl squeaked.

There were joyful tears in Jane's eyes when she finally let go.
"Oh, god, yes, that's a yes! When?"

Darryl blushed. "Oh, about 6 and a half months from now. We
started trying on our first anniversary. Guess we needed the
practice."

The next several minutes were spent in the happy chatter of a
loving family discussing the impending birth of first of a new
generation, until Jane, being Jane, pulled herself back to the
issue that had brought them together. "So, you think she may
still go to court. What does that mean?"

"I think that any criminal case she tries can't win. Your
supporters are too well placed and if necessary, I will subpoena
them to prove our case. The civil case is chancier, but even
there, I think it's a given that we'd win on appeal. However,
your school would be dead - the media and the scandal sheets
would bury it."

"I've always known that was a possibility."

"I think," Kenneth went on, "That the real threat is to Judge
Ruth. Impeachment is done by politicians, and the trial
subsequent to a bill of impeachment is also done by politicians.
I don't know, but my guess is that the legislature is likely to
impeach and convict, regardless of the legal validity of our
arguments. It would become a media circus and there is no way she
could come out of it with anything like justice."

"You believe she'd be the real loser in all this?"

"Her, Adrienne and of course, the boys you won't be able to help
in the future."

"Hey, bro," Darryl put in, "Don't forget others like Gigi."

"There will never be another Audrey, dear," Jane said smiling,
"but I take your point. I suppose I should warn Ruth?"

Kenneth looked uncomfortable. "That may be a lose-lose idea, Mom.
If you did that, she might decide she had to vacate Adrienne's
suspended sentence. If that happens, I guarantee that Ms.
Braithwaite will take us to court."

Jane nodded. "I understand. I will talk to Ruth. If she decides
to press the issue, I will threaten to release him outright, as
is my right under the court order."

"How will that help, Mom?" Darryl asked. "I thought the whole
point was to get this woman to sign the non-disclosure agreements
and then watch you in action. If you release him, how does that
happen?"

"I don't tell him he's released, of course, nor will I tell Ms.
Braithwaite."

"That might make this a criminal case, Mom," Kenneth warned her.
"Without that court order, your authority to hold him against is
sister's will, and your guardianship of him both go away."

"Then I will simply have to bluff Ruth into thinking I will do
it, won't I?" Jane looked at her watch and frowned. "I really
should be getting back to the house, dear. Is there anything
more?"

"Yes. Where will she stay?"

"Here," Jane replied. "Since Jessica is living with me on and
off, I have had this apartment wired to receive the CCTV, much as
my own rooms are. That way, Jessica is able to help with the
observations while living here when she is not officially in
residence at Seasons House as big sister. I can also give her an
electronic 'all clear' signal when she wants to come 'visit'."

"Okay. Did Caro or Sandy call you? I asked them to check on
something for me."

"Oh, that's right. Yes, Caro did call. It is just as you thought.
Someone at the salon made a call to one of the numbers you gave
Caro. The week before our young miss started acting out and
before I started receiving letters from Ms. Braithwaite.
Evidently, Adrienne managed to sneak into the office and make the
call. How did you know?"

"A guess. The sister paraphrased some of their conversation, and
mentioned the Chalet specifically. Evidently Adrienne was getting
a highlight job and was very unhappy about it. That made the
Chalet a good possibility for how they made subsequent contact,
especially since you keep to a fairly regular salon schedule with
the boys early in their time with you."

"You think he saw her in the vicinity the following week?"

"And started acting up? Yes. That's my best guess. It also
explains the photos she sent you. She had to have some idea where
you would be, with Adrienne, and when the two of you would be
there. The most predictable thing you do, Mom, is go to the
beauty parlor."

"I see," Jane murmured. "Well, please excuse me, but I have to
get back to the house and check on Adrienne and Jessica. Then, I
will call Ruth."

"I'll go with you, dear," Diana said rising to her feet and
following her wife who was hurrying out the door.

"Tante Marie?" Kenneth put in. "Could I talk to you for a minute
before you go? Please?"

"Mais oui, mon petit brave," Marie replied, her eyes twinkling as
they always did when she used her pet name for her 'little boy'
who was no longer quite so 'petit'.

"I need some help from you on a . . .little project."

Chapter 7: Interludes - Jane and Diana

A furious "Would you PLEASE ACT YOUR AGE!?!?" greeted Jane and
Diana as they reentered Seasons House.

"Jessica?" Diana asked. Jane nodded, even as she sped toward the
front parlor.

The tableau that greeted Jane would have been comical except for
the seriousness of her mission. Jessica, barely five feet six in
her three inch heels was standing bare centimeters away from the
taller Adrienne, her fists on her slim hips and her eyes blazing.
"You aren't even trying!" the smaller girl accused furiously.

"What is going on here?" Jane demanded from the doorway.

"SHE THREATENED TO STRIKE ME!!" Adrienne shouted.

For the barest of moments, Jane felt a chill run down her spine
as she recalled the reason her foster child had come to Seasons
House. He tended to react violently to provocation - real or
imagined. *However, he never threatened,* she reminded herself,
*he simply struck without warning.*

"Did she indeed?" Jane asked, her tone indicating her disbelief.

Total disgust showed on Jessica's lovely face. "I told her that
if she was going to keep whining, I wished I could give her
something whine about. I never raised a hand in her direction."

"SHE MADE FISTS!" Adrienne screeched piteously. 

"And you have four inches and some twenty five pounds on her, and
we both know that you're a boy. I am sure you would be gravely
threatened by my niece's physical prowess," Jane replied, sarcasm
dripping from each syllable. "Go to your room, Adrienne. If this
is how you keep your word of honor, then I must conclude that you
either do not understand the meaning of the word, or that you
have no personal honor. I will deal with you no more this night.
Jessica? Go the kitchen and prepare a pot of tea, please. I need
a cup. Bring it to my office." Jane then returned her stern stare
to the gaping Adrienne. "I told YOU to go to your room! I meant
NOW, not LATER!"

Jane felt a guilty flutter of satisfaction at seeing her student
scurry from the room. Unfortunately, that satisfaction only
lasted until she remembered the phone call she had to place.

~-----------~

"Damn, Jane, I am sorry about this mess. I should not have kept
the girl in the dark and I knew it even when I was doing it,"
Ruth Walinkiewicz said after Jane had given her all the
particulars. As Kenneth had predicted, her first inclination had
been to send the boy off to the juvenile authorities, and it had
taken all of Jane's considerable persuasive skills to convince
her otherwise.

"May I know why you didn't tell her? I thought that Diana, or
rather Art, had convinced you as he did me that full disclosure
is the safest way to go, even with court-referred cases."

"I suppose it doesn't matter now, but to tell you the truth, I
wasn't going to refer this one to you. I had planned one of those
'scared-straight' weeks in a jail-situation, with the threat of
one of those boot camps if he didn't square away after that."

"What changed your mind?"

"An Amicus Curia brief - you know, a 'Friend of the Court'
briefing, from someone who knew the family, but wished to remain
anonymous. It strongly recommended that the boy be referred to
your program."

"To MY program? Someone anonymous knows about MY program? Oh my
God, Ruth, this just gets worse and worse!"

"Easy, Jane. The reason this person knows about you is because he
was one of your students. He wanted to be anonymous because he
didn't want to influence the girl or you, and because, well,"
Ruth's voice drifted off.

"He didn't want to admit to his own participation in my program?"
Jane finished sweetly. "Who was it, Ruth?"

"Pretty much, Jane," Ruth sighed. "As to who it was? Jane, it was
Donald Madden."

"Donald? DON-ald? How? WHY? I mean, heavens, Ruth, he was a
failure here. I mean, he was here a year or so ago, when Carl was
my student, but I haven't heard from him since. Why ever would he
recommend a student to my program?"

"He's the girl's employer, Jane. She's an assistant accounts
manager at his offices here in town - pretty good at it, too,
according to Donald - and he wanted her to have every chance to
get ahead. Which meant, in Donald's mind, taking care of the
distractions her brother was causing with is bad acting. He had
his lawyer file the Amicus Curia and then met with me privately.
I have to tell you, Jane, that having one of the ones that got
away come back and recommend the program, admitting that he was
in the wrong, went a long way towards convincing me to send
Adrian to you. The only glitch was that, in the interests of
protecting Donald, I didn't fully disclose the program to the
sister."

"Well, in the clarity of hindsight, I wish you had, but I can
understand your motives. Look, Ruth, I need to speak with Donald.
Do you have his phone number?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Let me see. . . ah, here it is!" 

Jane copied the number down and then signed off. For a long time,
she stared at the phone, wondering. Then, she picked up the
phone, and began to dial.

"Madden residence," a voice answered on the first ring.

"This is Jane Thompson of Kingston, Rhode Island. I'd like to
speak with Mr. Madden.

"Is he expecting your call?"

"No, but this is urgent. Please inform him of my call."

"Wait, please."

Jane listened to the thankfully muzak-less line and tried to
organize her thoughts more cogently.

"Madden here. Is that you, Ms. Jane?"

"Donna," Jane said and then caught herself, "I mean, Donald. I
need to speak with you about. . about a student you may have been
involved in referring to me."

"Oh, I see. Anne Braithwaite's brother?"

"Yes."

"All right. What can I do? What's the problem?"

"I need some information, Donald. There are some things I
desperately need to understand."

~----------~

Kenneth slid into his office chair, leaned back and closed his
eyes. Ellis had been damned understanding - more than he'd had
any right to expect or even hope for. "Whatever Jane Thompson
wants and needs, she gets from this partnership, Kenneth. If
that's your undivided attention for three weeks, than that's what
she gets. I've been after a piece of her business for years, but
she's always been very careful not to mix business and
friendship. Guess she's not so hesitant to mix business and
family."

"It's a . . . unique situation, Mr. Ellis," Kenneth had told the
senior partner, "And one she feels, rightly or wrongly, that I am
uniquely qualified to handle for her." *and she doesn't even know
the half of it,* he thought. *I just hope I am up to the
challenge.*

"Well," Ellis had said, "See that you are, and if there is
anything that the rest of the firm can do to assist you in this -
anything from research to filing a brief - you call me directly.
Like I said, I want Jane's name on a retainer contract."

Kenneth spun in his seat as he remembered. It probably wouldn't
be all that difficult. Jane would see that he was well taken care
of in her own way, and if that meant funneling her international
business deals through Kenneth to get him in good iwth the
partners, Jane Thompson would do just that. *All the while
expecting me to be letter perfect at all times. After all, I am
one of HER boys.*

He hoped he was ready for tonight. Marie had called the night
before to tell him she was finished with her part, and Sandy had
called him this morning to confirm she'd be there tonight. Lord,
but he was nervous about this - hadn't been able to eat in two
days.

His intercom buzzed and Kenneth picked up the handset. "Mr.
Roberts?" the receptionist asked. "You have a visitor. A Ms.
Braithwaite. She's on her way up to your office. " Then the
woman's voice became very low. "She seems, well, rather upset -
almost angry about something."

"Thanks, Becky," he replied before replacing the handset.

He had just gotten up to go greet her when his door slammed open
to admit an obviously furious B. Anne Braithwaite followed by a
shocked secretary. "You BASTARD!" she snarled.

"Mr. Roberts," the secretary quavered.

"It's all right, Mrs. McCarthy. I'll help Ms. Braithwaite,"
Kenneth said easing the door shut.

"Help me? HELP me? By threatening my JOB? You call that HELP?!?"

*My god, she's crying!* he realized. *She's not just angry.*

"Your job, Ms. Braithwaite? I'm sorry, but I don't know what
you're talking about."

"Oh, you don't, do you? Well, your client called my boss, and he
called ME. It seems that he questions whether someone who doesn't
understand when their well off is suitable for his organization."

"Look, Ms. Braithwaite, please sit down. I don't know what you
are talking about, but I assure you, I had nothing to do with
going to your boss. Let me make a quick call and then see what I
can do to straighten this out."

"Right," she said sarcastically. Ken offered her his handkerchief
and she accepted it after examining it closely.

He punched the speed dial on his cell-phone, waited and then
spoke. "Jane? Kenneth. Did you call Ms. Braithwaite's boss? You
did? For god's sake why? Oh. He's one of the two, eh? I see.
Well, I've got a real problem here and I need to speak with him.
Yeah, as your attorney, I *really* need to speak with him. You
have a number? Okay, give it to me."

Kenneth broke the connection and immediately dialed the new
number.  "This is Kenneth Roberts of the Providence, Rhode Island
law firm of Ellis, Ellis and Carter. I am representing Ms. Jane
Thompson and I need to speak with Mr. Madden immediately please.
Yes, it is that urgent. Thank you." Kenneth looked over at the
woman and found her regarding him intently. The tears had stopped
flowing, but her makeup was a mess. *Wonder if I should offer to
help her fix that?* he thought just as a gruff voice came on the
line. "Mr. Madden? Kenneth Roberts here, representing Jane
Thompson. Thank you for taking my call. Look, I have a situation
here. No, not about the boy, it's about the sister. She thinks
you intend to terminate her if she proceeds with her action
against Jane. No, sir, that is NOT what Jane wants. Ms.
Braithwaite is innocent in this. What I want you to do, sir, is
tell her that won't happen, and I want you to make her believe
it. All right, just a moment." 

Kenneth proffered the phone to the woman in his office and
watched as she put the phone to her ear. "This is Anne
Braithwaite. Yes, sir. I see. That's very good of you, Mr.
Madden. Thank you. No, I'll tell him. Thank you for clarifying
that. Good bye, sir."

With slow, deliberate movements, B. Anne Braithwaite broke the
connection and folded the phone before handing it back to
Kenneth. "Well," she said quietly. "That was a surprise."

"He is no longer threatening you with termination?"

"He claims I misunderstood him, and assures me that it was not
his intention to ever fire me."

"Do you believe him?"

"I believed I was going to be fired, Mr. Roberts, or I wouldn't
have come here as I did. Why did he back off?"

"It's entirely possible he never did mean to fire you. Men like
him tend to be, well, forceful in their language and sometimes
forget how others interpret that. In any event, I think we can go
on the assumption that your job is safe now."

"I. . I don't know what to say."

"How about some lunch? I'm suddenly very hungry and you look like
you could do with a bite yourself, or perhaps at least a cup of
hot tea."

"That would be very nice, Mr. Roberts."

"Um, since I'm going to be escorting you to Jane's tomorrow,
could we lose the 'Mr.'? It's going to be hard enough to pull
this off without you slipping up and letting the world know I'm a
Mister, when I show up to pick you up."

"You really are going to do that?" she sounded incredulous.

"As I said, Ms. Braithwaite, I believe in Jane Thompson and what
she does. If becoming a six-foot three inch incarnation of Kendra
is what it takes to get you to at least listen, then that's what
I'm going to do."

"I see. So, what should I call you? Kendra?" she asked with just
a hint of a smile.

"I think Ken will do for now, and I'll trust you to recall the
'dra' tomorrow. May I call you, what is your name? The settlement
says 'Barbara' but Madden called you 'Anne'."

"I prefer Anne and refuse to answer to Barbara or any derivative
of that name."

"Okay, Anne. How about lunch?"

"All right, Ken. I would enjoy something light."

Chapter 8: Interludes - Kenneth and Barbara

"So Mr. Madden is why that judge sent Adrian to this Thompson
woman? And he was one of her. . . her. . "

"Students?" Kenneth finished for Anne Braithwaite as they walked
though Roger Williams Park on the way to her hotel.

"I guess. It's just so hard to imagine Donald Madden. . .well, in
a dress. He's rather forceful, you know."

"So's Jane," Kenneth replied. "Anyway, Madden is one of the two
who did not graduate from Jane's program. One got sent back to
jail - really was incorrigible - and later died trying to evade
capture by the police. Madden didn't get to Jane soon enough. He
reached his eighteenth birthday, and unfortunately, came into an
inheritance, before Jane could reach him. She always mentions him
when someone tries to compliment her on her program."

"Well, he certainly speaks highly of her now. I felt like I had
to choose between my brother and my job, and without my job, I
won't be able to support him or pay for the lawsuit."

"Well, that's fixed now. Jane wouldn't have tolerated that
anyway."

"Why? It would have solved her problem. Surely any law firm I
could have afforded or that would have taken the case wouldn't
have been up to the task. Not against someone like your Ms.
Thompson, or like your firm. I don't know much about the law, but
from what I have learned, Ellis, Ellis and Carter are very good
at what they do."

"Why? Because Jane has never abused anyone. In the end, you won't
win even the civil suit because we can prove that."

"You really believe that, don't you?" Anne asked softly.

"I might lose to a jury, depending on how it's constituted, but I
really do believe that, on appeal, you will lose. Your evidence
is not substantiated by the history Jane's built with her
program. Unfortunately, Jane will lose, too. Not in the real
courts, but in the kangaroo court of the media. Once the case
goes public, she'll be out of business, and worse, she'll be
harassed the rest of her life, but she won't lose the court
case."

"Then why did you go to bat for me with Mr. Madden?"

"Jane again," Kenneth told her. "She wouldn't want you to suffer
for doing what you think is right and for caring about your
brother. In fact, she'd be furious that you were in any way
threatened."

"This doesn't make any sense."

"Hey, I tried to explain to you. Jane Thompson is one of the
world's good guys. . gals."

"You're still saying that. Are you going to show up at my hotel
tomorrow? As. . what did you call yourself? Kendra?"

"Unless you tell me you've changed your mind," Kenneth replied,
just a little grimly. "I don't mind telling you that I'm not
looking forward to it."

"Why? Because you'll be hurt by it? Because you'll be humiliated
to appear in women's clothing?"

"No, that's not it."

"Well, then, what is it?"

"You'll laugh," he told her, "And that will upset me."

"Ken, I am trying to understand, and I will do my best not to
laugh at you. Why aren't you looking forward to it?"

Ken sighed deeply, and stopped walking. He stared off into the
distance in silence for a time, and then shrugged. "I'm some
eight inches taller and fifty pounds heavier than the boy who
could pass as Kendra," he told her. "Kendra was actually rather
attractive. I guess what really bothers me is that I want to
remember her that way. I haven't tried to be her since the day I
realized I was taller in my bare feet than Kendra had been in
four inch heels."

"Four INCH heels?" Anne sputtered. "You could manage four inch
heels at what, five feet five?"

"Five-seven," Kenneth corrected, "or at least, the last time I
was Kendra."

"And what you're afraid of is that you'll remember her as
something less because of what I've asked you to do tomorrow?"

"Strange, isn't it?" Kenneth asked. "When boys first show up at
Jane's, the worst thing they are told is how 'cute' they are,
once she gets them into those first frillies. It is the first
attack on their overblown masculine hubris. Now, the thing that
bothers me is that I can no longer live up to what Kendra once
was."

Barbara Anne Braithwaite didn't know quite what to say to that
and so, said nothing. Ken gave her a lopsided grin that did funny
things to her insides. "C'mon, Anne, it's getting chilly out
here. Let me walk you to your hotel. I've got an appointment this
evening and I don't want to be late."

Chapter 9: A Difficult (Re)Birth

"Darnit, Tante Marie!" Kenneth's complaint came out on the end of
a wheeze, "I don't have to be at her hotel until tomorrow
morning. Why do I have to wear this. . this THING now!"

"Because, petit," Marie grunted, "I cannot finish fitting the
dress unless you are the. . <ummph> right shape. If I cannot
finish - Sandy, pull that lace for me, oui, that's it - fitting
the dress, you will look like the clown tomorrow, eh? Now, quit
whining. You're breathing too much!"

"I always wondered why you did the corsetting, Marie," Kenneth
gasped by way of a retort. "In my ignorance, I thought it was
because Jane didn't want to appear to sweat and strain. Now I
know better. YOU do it because you LIKE doing it."

"Aw, does mon pouvre petit chou not like his pretty satin
undies," Marie cooed in baby-talk just before she started working
down the laces yet again.

"It's a good thing I love you, or I might think you were a bit of
a sadist, Tante Marie." There was a loud smack and Kenneth yelped
as loudly as his diminished lung capacity permitted. Fire burned
on his satin clad fanny and he spun to see a grinning Sandy
rubbing the palm of her right hand with her left.

"*I'm* the sadist, Kenny," she smirked, "And you'd do well to
remember that. So, quit your bitching and take it like a man. Got
it?" she asked as she reached up to pat his other cheeks - the
blushing ones on his face.

"Got it, Sandy."

"Look here, Kenneth," Sandy said more seriously. "I know you're
worried about this, but you've got the two best in the business
here. Let us do what we have to do, and it will be all right.
Start thinking girlie, okay? That's your part of this deal, and
girls don't bitch about being made pretty."

"Okay, Sandy," he replied meekly, and then grabbed both women and
pulled them close for a hug and cheek kiss. "Thanks."

"Remember that when I finish putting on your face with Jane's
special long-lasting cosmetics. You don't have enough practice
recently to maintain the look on your own anymore, so Marie and I
figured the best bet would be to make it so you didn't have to
worry about that."

"But that stuff takes days to wear off!"

"So?" Marie shrugged. "You have three weeks, right?"

"Right."

~-------------~

"Bon matin!" Marie chirped as she opened the blinds in Kenneth's
room to admit the light of a New England dawn. "Vite, vite, ma
petite, levez! We have much to do this morning."

"Tante Marie, it's . . what. . " one bleary eye opened and
focused on the digital alarm clock, "5:bloody-45 in the morning.
I don't have to meet her until 9:30."

"And you must be beautiful, ma grande fille jolie, and that will
take time, eh?"

"As if I ever have to worry about that," was the sour reply, "And
don't you mean 'gross' instead of 'grande', Mademoiselle Marie?"

"Oh ye of little faith. You will be. . parfait, ma cherie. Trust
me. Now into the shower with you."

Kenneth struggled up out of bed - not an easy accomplishment
since the two women had insisted that he wear the corset all
night to . . .acclimate him to its iron-busked grip. "Can't
shower or I'll get the corset wet."

"Well, scrub where you can and I will have la petite dejeuner sur
la table when you come down."

Kenneth went to his bathroom to begin cleaning up. *It will have
to be a very petite breakfast with this damned corset compressing
my gut and other internal organs. Odd that Tante Marie's French
always pops up when she's having a really good time. What does
that say about what she's doing now, Ken m'boy?*

~-----------~

Kenneth held onto the top of the bedroom door with both hands and
let his body hang. "Excellent, Kendra," Sandy crowed as she and
Marie worked in unison to take up any slack that had developed
overnight in the corset strings.

"It won't do anyone any good if I faint from lack of oxygen
behind the wheel of my car," he protested - not that his opinion
counted for anything.

"You gonna cry and moan when I do your 'brows, Kendra?" Sandy
asked. "If you are I need to know so that I hold off on finishing
your eyes until last. Don't want that long-lasting mascara
running before it's dry, you know."

"You're all heart, Sandy."

"Blonde, brunette or redhead?" Marie asked, carrying in three wig
boxes from her little compact.

"Brunette, I think," Sandy said. "That way, I don't have to
bleach his eyebrows. Although I could thin them out more than I
planned and then they'd just look like a really dark eyebrow
penciling. I always did favor Kendra as a blonde - especially
after that haircut you gave yourself, sweetie."

"That was because Jane and Marie had slipped me that
peroxide-laced shampoo of theirs and it pissed me off. My mother
always wanted me to be a bleached blonde."

"Well, I don't want to piss you off - at least - not any more
than I have to," Sandy quipped. "Marie? You want to bring in the
clothes while I start on his face?"

"*Her* face, Sandy. Jane's first rule is that you can't think boy
and survive as a girl. Be right back!"

"She is enjoying herself too much," Ken muttered.

"You don't think she'd be in this with Jane all these years if
she didn't enjoy it, do you?" Sandy observed. "Just because she's
a sweetie doesn't mean she can't have fun turning a guy into a
girl."

"She never acted like yo. . I mean. . "

"Like I act? Don't cringe, Kendra, you'll make me smear. Okay, I
admit a certain kinky pleasure in what I do with Jane's boys and
I get off on having them terrified of me. Not as much as I used
to before Michael and before Benny, but it's still there. Marie
enjoys it, too, she just feels guilty about making them so
miserable, which tends to blunt her pleasure. Anyway, when she
gets to play with a guy who's even halfway willing - like you are
right now or like the guys who are coming for Michelle's secret
wedding - she has a ball." 

Sandy stepped back to look at the brows she'd just finished
shaping and thinning and then moved in for a few more minute
adjustments. "You aren't going to keep sniveling and ruin this
for her, because if you are, let's quit right now."

"I have no choice in this."

"Sure you do, but if you are really hating this all that much,
you're sure to screw it up with Adrienne's sister anyway, so we
might as well quit before I do something really long-term to
you."

Kenneth thought about that for a few moments and was surprised
when Sandy let the issue stand in silence. She just stood there,
watching him; waiting for him to come to a decision. Honesty, he
thought, was called for. "I guess I'm just really afraid of being
a freak. It didn't matter the first time - when you're fighting
for your life nothing much else matters, you know?"

Sandy nodded. "And this time, it does matter? Being a guy, that
is?"

Kenneth looked at her and shook his head. "Being a girl matters.
Truth to tell, that time when we went after my mother? With me as
Kendra?" Sandy nodded. "I was pretty hot." 

The blonde woman almost choked on her guffaw. "And now you're
afraid that you won't be? Is that really what this is all about?"

"A good deal of it," Kenneth admitted softly. "It's kind of hard
being the ugly duckling in Jane's brood. First Michelle, then
Darla and now even Jessica."

"All of whom would give thanks for just half the inches you have
on them."

"It makes me feel like the odd man out, Sandy. It's part of their
lives - hell, my life - that I can't share with them anymore."

"Well, hell, boy, if that's all that's bothering you. Watch and
learn, kiddo!"

"I thought I told you to use girl pronouns and names," Marie
called as she hustled past them, her arms laden with a suitcase,
hanging case and a jewelry case. "I will be back down to do her
nails momentarily."

"You sure we have to use Jane's magic face paint, Sandy,"
Kendra's voice wheedled as Marie disappeared up the stairs.

"Of course I'm sure, sweetie. Otherwise, you'll chew off your
lipstick in the first ten minutes. Now shut up and let me work."

~------------~

"Ah, ah, ah," Marie chided as she slipped two adhesive-backed
prosthetic breast forms into the cups of the strapless bra she
had fit over Kendra's chest. "No peeking until we're done. Now,
hold your bosom in place until the glue sets, please."

Feeling very much the fool, Kendra put her hands on the round
protuberances and pressed hard against them. They felt HUGE!
"Aren't those just a little, well, big?"

"You are a big girl, my sweet, yet a beautiful one. That is what
we must achieve, the image of a beautiful young woman. With
nothing to give scale, it must appear that you are perfectly
formed. In fact, when someone or something adds scale, it must
appear that other person is small, not that you are large. Or at
least, that is our goal. To do that, you must be proportional." 

"Proportional? With these boobs I'll be a spectacle!" 

"You'll be spectacular," Sandy corrected with a laugh from behind
Kendra. She was standing on a stool so she could reach her
only-slightly-whining client's coiffure. "Now, I'm weaving your
own hair through the wig's backing so that it won't come loose
accidently. In fact, if you try to pull this hairpiece off, your
barber won't need to thin your hair for at LEAST a month."

"How long is this glue good for?" he asked suspiciously as he
tested the adherence of his new bosom.

"About as long as that face paint," Sandy said breezily,
"although there is a solvent for that stuff, if not for the
cosmetics."

"Wonderful," he grumbled as Marie started to roll fine,
nude-colored stockings up his legs towards the garters hanging
from the corset.

"Don't put the shoes on her until I'm done here, Marie," Sandy
cautioned. "There's nothing taller for me to stand on."

"All right, Sandy."

"Why is that a problem?" Kenneth asked before the implications of
Sandy's warning hit him. "Heels! You brought me HEELS?"

"What else?" Marie asked as she presented a pair of red pumps
with at least three inch heels for his inspection.

"My god, Marie, I'm already six three. In those things I'll be
six and a half feet. . "

"Six feet, six and a half inches, dear," Sandy corrected with a
grin.

"Over six and a half feet tall. Everyone in the world is going to
stare! They'll see. . .see. . 

Sandy gave his hair a sharp tug and he subsided, although with
ill grace. "Kendra?" she said warningly.

"Sit down, cheri," Marie ordered gently. He did, and she saw the
uncertainty in his dark eyes. Sighing, she sat down opposite him.
"What do you think they will see, Kenneth?" she asked gently.

"A freak," he said quietly. "Something to gawk at, and the harder
they gawk, the more they will see, until . . ."

"Say it, mon chou," she ordered, her voice still very gentle.

"Until they see me as what I really am - a guy. I figured that
was going to happen anyway, and for Momma-Jane, I can handle
that. I *will* handle that, but I sort of hoped you two, being
the best, could somehow at least give me half a chance."

Marie looked at the distraught young man for several moments, her
eyes very thoughtful. Then, without warning, her smile blossomed
bright and true. "You love Jane very much, don't you, my boy? You
agreed to this challenge by Adrienne's sister, fully expecting to
fail in your masquerade, but you agreed to it anyway."

"It's Mom's only chance, Marie. If she can't turn that girl
around, it'll all come down around her ears. I wasn't kidding
about the court stuff - I'm sure I can win there, but she'll
still lose when the media gets wind of things. I had to try. . .
have to try."

Still smiling, Marie leaned over to kiss his forehead. "Trust us,
mon gallant. Sandy, are you done with her coiffure?"

"Sure am! Ready for dressing, I'd say!"

"Bien," Marie said as she pulled a white dress from the garment
bag. The dress was boldly patterned with red flowers. "Slip this
on, dear," she ordered as she set the other item aside. She knelt
down to help her charge slide the shoes onto his feet.
"Excellent. Good thing Jane bought that last set of outfits for
Jasmine before she left. That one - grew six inches in the four
months she was with us."

"No sleeves, Tante Marie?" Kendra asked, as Sandy zipped up the
closure in the back of the dress.

"It was a sundress, cherie. I removed the extra material from the
skirt, since I knew you would not be wearing petti's with it, eh?
Now, the jacket," she ordered, handing Kendra a woman's suit
jacket in matching red. "Ah, perfect. See? It hides most of your
bared shoulders. The pendant, si vous plait, Sandy, so that the
eye catches the tiniest hint of cleavage, oui? Ah, lovely. All
right, come with me to the mirror. Close your eyes. On three, you
may look. Une, deux, . . . "

"TANTE MARIE, I'M GOING CRAZY HERE!"

"TROIS" Marie shouted in unison with Sandy's "THREE!"

Then, there was silence. Kendra stared at the full length mirror,
unable to speak. A single hand, tipped in long, finely done red
nails snaked out to touch the mirror, as if testing the
reflection. "That's. . . that's me?"

"Who else would it be, Kendra?" Sandy asked sarcastically.

"My goodness, but I'm, well, umm, I sure am tall."

At that, all three women burst out laughing. "You most assuredly
are that, love," Marie told her creation, "You are also
strikingly lovely."

"Shoot, you turned out even better than I thought you would. Put
you in a gold satin bra and star-spangled panties and you're
Wonder Woman, kid."

"I never thought about trying to do anything like this," Kendra
murmured, still stunned by what she saw in the silvered depths of
her mirror. "I figured you'd sort of try to hide me."

"Love, Jane's second rule is that if people are going to look,
make sure they see what they expect," Marie told her. "No matter
what we did with you, a woman over six feet tall is going to draw
attention. It's what happens AFTER you have their attention that
will make or break your masquerade."

"I'm not sure I understand, Tante Marie," Kendra said as she did
a slow pirouette, her eyes never leaving the mirror.

"Kenny, the first time with Jane, when you went after that
thrice-damned bitch who was your mother?" Sandy interjected. "You
had all the advantages. You could take a second or a third look,
and be subtle enough to carry off the deception."

"Boy, has THAT ever changed," Kendra said with an almost
hysterical giggle.

"True, so we took a different path - we're hiding you in plain
sight, okay? Look at yourself - SEE for yourself. No one is going
to see you as anything but a very striking, if very tall, woman.
However, if you tried to hide your light under a bushel, all
you'll do is flash a red light at them."

"I'd need something bigger than a bushel, Sandy."

"Oh, stop. All anyone will see when they look at you is obvious,
blatant femininity, albeit, a LOT of it. They may look again,
too, cause, hell, girl, you're worth looking at, but trust me,
they sure as HELL ain't gonna see a man."

"Aw hell," Kendra muttered and then swept the two smaller women
up into a hug, one in each arm. "Thank you for helping, and. .
and. . .for giving me back Kendra."

They stood like that for several moments before Sandy began to
squirm. Kendra released her grip, and they stepped away, still
shaking with shared emotion. 

"Good thing we used that special makeup," Sandy quipped in a
quavery voice, "Your face would be a mess now."

Marie handed a woman's leather attache to Kendra. "One of Jane's,
but she has so many, she'll never miss it. There's a small clutch
purse inside with your money, license and credit cards inside."

"Just remember, keep your head up and look everyone right in
their damned eyes," Sandy ordered. "After all, they'd put THEIR
skirt on the same way you did and wouldn't look nearly as good."

"Yes, Ma'am," Kendra smiled. "Now, I've got to hurry or I will be
late."

"OH, and take it easy on the road! After our hard work, buster,
DON'T get caught by some US Route 1 speed-trap on your way back
to Seasons House, okay? It would really piss Jane off. Me, too."

"Me three," Marie piped in.

"Wouldn't do a helluva lot for my good temper, either," Kendra
finished before kissing each of the two women on the cheek.
"Thanks again. Now, if I can just manage to get around in these
ridiculous heels without killing myself or breaking something
important. See you in Kingston, ladies."

Chapter 10: (Boy)Girl Meets Girl

*So far, so good,* Kendra thought as she stepped carefully out of
the elevator onto the ceramic-tiled floor of the hotel's fourth
floor. *If I can just navigate this slippery floor in these
spikes without ending up on my corset-broadened butt.*

On arriving, she'd called Anne Braithwaite on one of the
house-phones in the main lobby to announce her presence and to
get the woman's room number. *Should have asked for it yesterday,
but I was too spun up by Madden's interference. Was that why she
didn't remember to tell me, or was she consciously making it
harder for me - forcing me to go where there was a house-phone,
and by extension, other people - to find her? Interesting
question, Roberts. Maybe you've been living with devious women
like Ruth and Jane too long.*

So far, Sandy's advice on how to deal with the staring masses had
been right on the money. Every passerby who had gawked at her had
gotten Kendra's best imitation of Jane Thompson's infamous 'The
Look'. And the question 'Wonder what HE'D look like in four inch
heels, two inch nails and corset?' had given 'The Look' enough
punch to make even the most persistent gawker look away in
embarrassment.

She checked the note she'd written at the phone and then knocked
on the door. "Just a minute," came the muffled reply from inside
the door.

The door opened. "Oh, you're here. . . "

There was something very satisfying, Kendra reflected, about
watching Anne Braithwaite's face go from polite greeting to
stunned disbelief in the course of three seconds. However, after
ten seconds of being stared at, Kendra decided that was more than
enough. "May I come in, Ms. Braithwaite?" she asked in the husky
alto Sandy had helped her develop the previous night.

"um. . .of course, come in, please," the shorter blonde said as
she stepped back to hold the door open. "You're, um, well, rather
tall."

"Is that all?" Kendra challenged softly, one brow quirked up in a
challenge that any Jane Thompson student would have recognized.
Then, some imp a younger Kendra would never have acknowledged had
her doing another pirouette, her arms held above her head like a
skater.

"That. . you. . .I mean, wow. I mean, I can tell you're you, that
is, Mr. Roberts, from your face, but the rest of you."

"Would it surprise you to know that the only person who
challenged me on my way here was some clown who wanted to buy me
breakfast?" 

Kendra covertly gave her host a quick once-over. Once again, her
smooth, high-cheek-boned face was virtually clean of any
artificial enhancement, and her clothes must have been un-altered
'off the rack' because their fit and color were all wrong for
her. *Wonder what she'd look like in a decently fitting dress, a
touch of Marie's cosmetic witchery, and for god's sake, a pair of
HEELS!* Kendra mused. *She's like a canvas prepared for the
artist - no blemishes, but that's all you can say. Well, at least
her hair is down today. A lighter, brighter blonde than I
thought, and full of body. Looks good falling down her back to
her shoulder blades.*

"I don't think that's all he wanted to do," Anne breathed softly,
and then blushed furiously. "My God, you look like a supermodel.
Or a superhero. What was that TV show? Wonder Woman? You look
like her, or the actress who played her anyway."

"You mean Linda Carter?"

"Right, that's it! You look just like her, only even taller, and
more, um, . . . shapely. I'm . . . impressed."

"Why, thank you, Anne. A girl tries to look her best, you know."
*You should try it,* Kendra thought. 

Anne blushed again, then looked away guiltily. "I'm, um, sorry if
I insulted you. I mean, making such a big deal of it an all." 
"No insult taken," Kendra replied easily, noting the very real
anxiety in Anne's face. "In fact, I'll take that as a compliment.
Are you ready to leave? Need any help with your luggage?"

"I just have an overnight bag," she replied, watching the taller
woman very warily, as if trying to decide why Kendra wasn't
reacting somehow. "I, ah, wasn't really expecting on staying."

"Figured I would wimp out, eh? That I wasn't man enough to be a
woman when necessary?"

"Man enough to be a woman?" Anne choked out a shocked giggle.
"I've never heard THAT before!"

Kendra shrugged and picked up the overnight bag in her free hand.
"You've never met Jane Thompson before, either. Let's go. I want
to get you to Seasons House around lunch time so that we can slip
you into your apartment without Adrienne seeing you."

"Adrienne? Don't you mean Adrian?" the woman challenged with a
dark frown on her face.

"Sorry," Kendra replied, not meaning it. "But we use the girl
names while a student is in residence with Jane. That's part of
the program. Heck, we graduates tend to use our jane-names among
ourselves whenever we get together. Kind of a 'lipstick-red badge
of courage' type of thing."

For several moments, Anne Braithwaite only stared, and then shook
herself. "Why," she asked rhetorically, as she led the way back
to the elevators, "Do I almost believe you?"

"Maybe because I am a very honest fellow. . .err, lady?"

"Yeah, right," was the sarcastic retort. "C'mon, let's go.
Where's your car?"

"In the parking garage. Do you have to check out first?" At her
nod, Kendra pressed the 'L' for Lobby button.

Anne was more than a little surprised when the very tall, very
striking brunette followed her into the main lobby and waited
while she finished her checking out. She had actually expected
her companion to offer to go fetch the car and thus avoid contact
with any crowds. 

When she turned from the cashier, she scanned the lobby, but did
not immediately find the tall, feminine person. She started
toward the entrance when a small voice caught her ear.

"I was really sad when you stopped wrestling on Monday nights.
You were my favorite. Could I please have your autograph?"

Anne turned to see a small girl, perhaps 9 years old, staring
adoringly at Kendra who was hunkered down in a perfect
'stewardess-crouch' so that the two of them could make
eye-contact. *Manages that short skirt pretty darn well,* she
thought with a grin. *Wonder how many times she showed her
panties before she learned that trick?*

THEN Anne realized she had mentally used the feminine pronoun for
Kendra.

"I'm not that person, sweetheart," Kendra said with a gentle
smile. "But I'm glad you think I'm that pretty."

"You sure you aren't? My mommy said you might be in. .inco. .
umm, wearing a disguise. I mean, you're so tall and everything."

"I'm just a girl who grew up tall, sweetie. I really can't sign
your book as someone I'm not. That wouldn't be honest of me or
fair to you."

A woman, obviously the child's mother walked up to take the
little girl's hand. Kendra stood back up and offered her hand to
the woman. *She even has the hand-gestures down. That was the way
a woman offers her hand to be shaken,* Anne realized. Kendra and
the mother exchanged a few words before Kendra reached down to
swoop the child up in her arms, eliciting a pleased squeal. She
planted a smacking kiss on the little one's cheek before setting
her back down.

Kendra caught sight of Anne as she picked her attache back up and
smiled. "All done?" At Anne's bemused smile, Kendra beckoned her
back to the elevators for the ride down to the garage. "I
normally take the stairs," she admitted as they departed the
elevator car, but in these heels, I'm not taking any chances I
don't have to take. It's been a while since I tried to move in
anything like these."

Chapter 11: Chicks and Ducks and Geese Better Scurry

Anne was thoughtfully silent as Kendra skillfully maneuvered the
sporty BMW through downtown Providence and onto Interstate 95.
She watched the person beside her do the simple, mundane acts
associated with driving and saw, for the first time, the
anomalies. His shifting, braking and acceleration wasn't always
smooth, primarily because with the heels on, he (she?) was
tentative on the clutch, brake and throttle pedals. Long
fingernails got jammed painfully into the automobile's console
when reaching to insert a CD into the car stereo. And while
Kendra had entered the car in a manner suited to both her modesty
and the hemline of her skirt, once she'd begun to relax and enjoy
the drive, her legs sprawled into a decidedly unladylike
position.

Clearly, while Kenneth Roberts was willing to assume a feminine
guise, and was able to carry it off when he was consciously
thinking about it, he wasn't so at home in the role that the
mannerisms were second nature. That meant, she realized, that
he'd dressed himself this way only in answer to her challenge. If
he'd ever been that deeply into the feminine role, it had been a
very long time ago.

By the time he took the car around a New England turning circle
that took them from US Route 1 to Route 138, Anne's curiosity was
near overwhelming.

"How much longer?" she asked by way of an opening.

"Not long," Kenneth's voice answered. "Another half hour or so."

"That's the first time you've really slipped up," she said
conversationally. "Only another woman, and one who was observing
you closely would have noticed your other slips." At his neck
snapping double-take, she grinned triumphantly. "Your voice,
silly."

"oh. . OH," and then Kendra was back - in all aspects. Anne
watched in fascination as that simple reminder straightened a
slouching back, brought sprawled knees together, put two hands
daintily on the steering wheel and loosened wrists. 

*It's like I just threw the sex-switch back to the 'girl'
position.* "Well done, Kendra," she said, unable to resist the
tease.

"It's been a while," the driver admitted.

"How long?"

"Six years." and there was a finality in the tone that told Anne
not to pursue that, but she had questions that needed answers. 

"Is that when you graduated?"

Kendra shot her passenger a dark look under her thickened lashes,
then sighed as she recalled the purpose of this entire outing.
"No. Jane asked me to help her with another project, and I
dressed for that," Kendra said, not wanting to tell Anne that the
project had involved trapping Sheila Roberts, Kenneth's mother,
in an actual case of child abuse. For some reason, he rebelled at
admitting to this woman that young Kenneth had been an abuse
victim.

"I'm surprised you carry it off as well as you do, then. Surely,
being a woman isn't THAT easy?"

"Easy? Are you kidding? This is the hardest thing I've had to do
in years. I was. . hell, I am . . . scared to death. I'm out
here, dressed in female clothes, alone with a woman who has
threatened to sue my mother, with a driver's license that
identifies me as a man."

"I did notice that you are being very careful to obey the speed
limit."

"Last warning from the two women who helped me get ready this
morning."

"They did well. You look, well, spectacular."

"Thanks. I wouldn't have tried this on my own and probably would
have gotten read, because I would have tried to hide instead of
stand out."

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what? Dress? Because you said that was the only way you'd go
see what Jane does."

"Your client is THAT important to you? That you'd, how did you
put it? dress in female clothes with a man's driver's license?"

"I also said she was my Mom," Kendra said quietly. "What I didn't
say before is that she saved my life. So, yes, my client, as you
put it, is THAT important to me."

"So, what happens to you when we get there? You jump into a
nearby phone booth and change back into Macho-man?"

"Is that how you see Kenneth?" Kendra asked, and was pleased to
see the blonde blush. "No, actually, I'm going to remain at
Seasons House as Kendra - for a while, anyway."

"Why ever would you do that? To keep an eye on me? Surely, MISTER
Roberts could do that."

"You won't need me to keep watch on you," Kendra said
confidently, "As to the other, well, Jane is planning on giving
you the full briefing on her program which you should have
received before signing the court order after we get you settled.
However, your brother doesn't know that there are other males in
residence in Seasons House - part of the pressure she applies is
that of an entirely female environment."

"Other males, but an entirely female environment. That doesn't
make sense, does it?"

Kendra slowed to turn onto a paved, two-lane country road before
answering. "I'm male," she replied. "And so is the 'girl' who is
fulfilling the role of big sister/spirit guide for Adrienne. His
Jane-name is Jessica, but he was born Jesse. Good kid -
hardworking and incredibly smart - and he makes a helluva
gorgeous girl. Probably could make a mint in Las Vegas as an
entertainer, but he wants to be a lawyer."

"That's . . . that's unbelievable."

"What, that there's another boy there besides Adrienne? Well,
I'll let Jane explain the whole thing to you. It'll still sound
like bad fiction from the Internet the first time you hear it,
but if you keep an open mind and really try to see what's going
on, I think it will start to make sense."

"Okay, I guess. So if you're not hanging around to keep an eye on
me, why are you staying?"

"You want the truth?" At her nod, Kendra sighed. "Your brother's
turnaround, after Jane thought he was on his way to
rehabilitation, has messed up a couple of really important events
for Momma-Jane. The main reason is that my foster brother is
getting married in a couple of weeks, and Jane was supposed to
give him away."

"Give HIM away?"

"Hey, Jane's boys are all liberated, okay? Anyway, she isn't
going to be able to attend now unless either your brother turns
around and flies right, or someone else takes the watch. I want
to be there myself, but I want Jane to be there more."

"So, Kendra relieves Jane for the wedding?"

"That's my plan. Now all I have to do is convince that damned
stubborn redhead." At Anne's confused look, Kendra laughed. "Jane
Thompson is the damned stubborn redhead. My brother thinks it's
because someone tore the word 'quit' out of her dictionary before
she learned to talk so she's never acknowledged the word exists,
let alone understood it."

"Sounds like a formidable woman."

"Oh, yeah," Kendra said as she turned into the driveway. "Ms.
Braithwaite? Welcome to Seasons House."

~-------------~

Jane saw the familiar BMW slip in behind the stable and smiled.
Kenneth had succeeded. Barbara Anne Braithwaite had at least been
interested enough to take the challenge and come here. That meant
that Jane would at least have the opportunity to talk to the
young woman, not to mention the opportunity to work with Adrienne
a little longer at least.

*I'll just check on the girls, make sure that everything is under
control, and then slip down to the stable and introduce myself.
Too bad I can't invite her to luncheon, but the last thing I need
just now is for Adrienne to know that her sister is here at
Seasons House.*

Chapter 12: The Return of the Not-Quite Prodigal Daughter

*One advantage to having Jessica around is that there is no way
that Adrienne is EVER going to put anything over on that sly-puss
of a big sister. Lord, but that child is sneaky-smart,* Jane
mused as she mounted the steps to the apartment above the
stables. Jessica had been drilling her little sister on the finer
points of English grammar and rhetoric when she'd left them in
the school room. *Adrienne won't be able to get into too much
trouble with her eyes crossing from Jessica's detailed critique's
of her writing.*

She caught herself just before walking into the apartment
unannounced and without knocking. *Maybe it is time to retire, if
you are prone to forget such basic courtesies,* she chided
herself.

~----------~

"I'll get it," Kendra called when someone knocked, requesting
entry into the snug little apartment. She opened the door and
was, for the second time that day, treated to the sight of a
woman staring at her in abject shock.

The recovered reaction, however, was somewhat different in this
case than it had been just that very morning.

"KENDRA?!?!" Jane Thompson exclaimed, "Just what in the name of
heaven are YOU doing here?"

Momentarily taken aback by the censure in Jane's voice, Kendra
replied, "You knew I was bringing Adrienne's sister down here,
today, Mom," she said. "That was one of your
settlement-condition, if you recall."

"As KENNETH," Jane enunciated very carefully, "NOT as KEN-DRA.
There is a difference."

"I, ah, noticed," Kendra replied, smiling sheepishly.

"Don't even try to make this a joke! Tell me, PLEASE, that you
didn't pick her up dressed this way, or worse, that you didn't
drive down here as Kendra."

"Can't do that, Momma-Jane," her foster child said quietly. "That
was her condition to get her to follow your condition."

Jane lost it completely and stormed into the room, her eyes never
leaving her foster child. "HAVE YOU TAKEN LEAVE OF YOUR BLOODY
SENSES!?!?" she shouted. "What were you THINKING? Hell, you
weren't thinking. What would have happened if you'd been stopped?
What if you'd been in an accident?"

"Nothing happened, Mom," Kendra soothed.

"Well, lucky you! God protects fools and drunks, I'm told. You're
the fool and you may just drive ME to drink! Didn't it occur to
you that something could have happened? And you would have been
up that well known creek without a paddle?"

"Mom, it was the only way to get her here and that was the most
important thing."

"NO IT WAS NOT! NO-THING is more important to me than YOU and
YOUR brothers! Don't you know you could be, for all intents and
purposes, BLACKBALLED over something like this? Your career is
what's important, Kenneth! Of all the stupid, irrational,
idiotic, macho things to do. . "

"Macho?" Kendra spluttered, dissolving into a fit of giggles.
"ME? Rigged out like this?"

Jane stared at her foster son for several moments, obviously
fighting the urge to join in his giggle fit, and then lost. With
a half-laugh of her own, she sat down. "Macho is as macho does,
young laddie. Aren't you playing at being my knight in shining
satin?" she asked. "Braving the dangers of the corporate dragons
to come to my rescue?"

"This is all very interesting, but I'm afraid I don't understand
what is going on here," a new voice said from the kitchen door.

Jane turned to see a tall, shapely blonde looking at her. She
immediately saw the strong, family resemblance to Adrienne,
particularly now that her student's darker hair had been bleached
blonde. "Ms. Braithwaite, I presume?" 

Kendra stepped in to make the necessary formal introductions, and
then Jane continued. "Don't understand what?"

"You're clearly upset by Mr. Roberts doing what you, from what
I've personally observed, insist that my brother do in your
program. Why are you so angry at this one, and yet, you blithely
endanger my brother in the same manner?"
"From your perspective, I can see how you might think that. Ms.
Braithwaite. . .may I call you Barbara?"

"I prefer Anne, Ms Thompson," was the instant and very cold
reply.

"As you wish. Please call me Jane. Anne, I go to extraordinary
lengths in my program to ensure that the chances of your brother
being found out as a boy in skirts are as close to zero as makes
no real difference. When he is out in public, I have selected
both the locations and the scenarios very carefully, and I have
trained him even more carefully. The owners of the shops and
salons I favor with his presence are part of my little
conspiracy. When a student is not yet skilled at the masquerade,
we go only to those selected shops at times when those not in on
the secret won't be around. Gradually, as his skills improve, we
up the ante, but always with someone watching to protect him and
to pull him out if something goes wrong."

"Really?" Anne asked, obvious skepticism in her voice.

"Really. Which is why I am so upset with Kenneth. . Kendra. He
had no one to protect him today. Obviously, he picked you up so
he must have gone to the hotel." Jane turned a gimlet eye on the
tall brunette. "I don't suppose you took the precaution of having
her meet you in the car garage, did you?"

Kendra shook her head. "No, Ma'am. Even as a lady, I've been
taught to be a gentleman, and a gentleman always calls for a lady
at her door, and gives her escort through dark and dangerous
places."

"Smartass," Jane snorted, but there was both humor and affection
in her voice now. Then she looked back to Anne. "Anne, you will,
I hope, over the next few weeks, see how I operate. I intend to
share with you both the planning and the objectives for each
activity I set for your brother. If it can be arranged without
revealing your presence, I will try to have you in position to
observe any public appearances I foist on her. . him. Hopefully,
you will see the safeguards that Kenneth lacked today."

"But you do admit that there is danger - to reputation at least -
with this absurd concept of yours?" the younger woman challenged.

Jane considered the question and decided not to rise to the
baiting. Instead, she chose to address only the direct question.
"If you are asking me if there is danger to someone caught
cross-dressing?" she reposited. "Of course there is danger -
nothing of value is completely without some risk. In the case of
my program, well, a large percentage of the general population,
perhaps even a majority, would consider that a perversion, and
believe that it somehow diminishes the individual. We can thank
our Anglo-American forebears for that bit of bias and bigotry."

"You don't consider forced cross-dressing perverse or
diminishing?"

"Are you perverse? Are you in some way diminished?" Jane asked,
her voice quietly stern. "After all, you're standing there
dressed in a man-tailored pants-suit, Ms. Braithwaite." 

"It's hardly the same thing, Ms. Thompson. Rightly or otherwise,
our culture accepts my wearing such clothes and does not accept a
man wearing skirts and dresses. There are no negative
connotations to what I wear, and you cannot say that for what you
have my brother doing."

"Just so, unfortunately," Jane answered coldly. "However, in the
context of my program and of what I do with my young men, the
answer to your question is no, what I do is not a perversity. My
goals for the boys have nothing to do with their sexuality or
their sexual orientation. I merely use the unspeakably terrible
threat of discovery to force them to stop and think before they
act inappropriately or misbehave. In some cases, that means
finding something other than violence, or bad language as outlets
for their repressed anger and emotion. When they've learned those
lessons in skirts, then I try to have them impart those same
lessons to another student to reinforce what they've learned.
After that, they are ready to go back into their trousers, a
better man for having had to live as a girl."

Totally bemused, Anne stared at Jane. "You really believe that?"

Jane gave a single regal nod in response. "I have the historical
evidence of almost one hundred fine young men to back up what I
say and what I do, Anne."

"So why was it so bad for Miss Tall Shanks here to strut her
stuff at the hotel and drive me here today?"

"Because of those biases and bigotries, Anne," Jane said, her
eyes intense. "As I said, my boys truly have very little to lose,
because I won't let them be caught out. They're never put in a
situation I don't think I can control in the event that something
doesn't go strictly according to plan. In short, I protect them,
even though it seems I am constantly pushing them into the
limelight. Who would have protected Kenneth if some drunk had
sideswiped him at the round-a-bout off Route 1? Suppose some
local cop had been cheating on the speed limit because he was
behind for his quota this month? Suppose Kenneth had been asked
for his license? Kenneth is not a boy anymore, he's a man trying
to build a career in one of the professions. I hope you can
understand just how great a risk he took today."

At that, the tall blonde cast a quizzical look at the very tall
brunette. "I was frankly surprised that he took me up on the
challenge."

"That," Kendra interrupted, "was because I do believe in Jane,
Anne. And because I believe, it was imperative that I get you
here to see what she really does to her students, and more
importantly, what she really does FOR her students."

"Kenneth," Jane said. "I think you should go change now. However
ill-advised I consider your decision with regards to dressing,
Ms. Braithwaite is now here so there's no longer any requirement
for Kendra."

"Umm, I, ah, can't, Mom. Not for a few days, anyway."

One fine brow lifted in imperious command. "And why not?!"

Chapter 13: Blondes Do Have More. . . Whatever

"What POSSIBLE reason could you have had to put the deep-dye
cosmetics on Kendra, Marie?" Jane demanded before she was even
through the kitchen door.

"And good day to you, Lady Jane," Marie replied grinning. "Lovely
weather we're having."

"Don't pull that with me, Marie! We go back too far. Why ever did
you do it? You had to know that will have him looking feminine
for at least a week. And he tells me you didn't give him any of
the solvent for those prosthetics."

"Looks good as Kendra, doesn't she?" Marie asked smugly.

"That's beside the point, Marie. Answer my question!"

"All right, Jane," Marie said seriously, drying her hands on a
towel and taking a seat on one of the kitchen stools. "Sandy and
I actually had two reasons, the first being that Kenneth isn't
used to wearing and repairing cosmetics anymore. Since he was
determined to do this, and was going to be in public, we didn't
want Kendra caught out by badly chewed lipstick or poorly applied
eyeliner." 

"I suppose that makes a certain kind of sense. That boy always
was the most determined of my students. You said you had two
reasons?"

"You may not like hearing it," the little maid warned.

"He's already here, Marie, and he's determined to remain Kendra
until the cosmetics wear off. The danger is mostly over so long
as I keep him here. Give me the rest of it, please."

"We wanted him to have to stay as Kendra for a while."

"WHAT?!"

"You know he's always felt left out when Michelle and Darla came
to visit. Ever since that growth spurt when he turned sixteen. As
much as he never wanted to be Kendra at first, he's missed her
since he decided she was lost to him. Sandy and I decided to show
him she doesn't have to stay lost."

"And if he'd come to grief because of your little object lesson?"
Jane asked tartly.

"He didn't," Marie said with a little Gallic shrug. "We knew he
wouldn't."  

Jane started to say something, but stopped herself. Marie grinned
at her little victory. "Now, tell me truth, Jane. Isn't she
lovely?"

"Harrumph," the Mistress of Seasons House responded. "My Kendra
was a blonde."

"That IS your Kendra, you ungrateful wretch!"

"Oh, I know, and you're right, she's fabulous. It's just, well, I
have a soft spot for boys as blondes."

"Oh HO!" Marie crowed as she saw the normally unflappable Jane
Thompson actually blush. "At last it comes out! So, it's not just
the stereotype of the 'dumb blonde' and its impact on the young
male psyche, eh? Cherchez la jeune fille blonde, eh?"

"All right, so now you know my dirty little secret."

"Tres bien. So, Kendra becomes blonde." Marie said in a matter of
fact voice totally belied by the mischievous grin lighting her
eyes.

"Huh? You've lost me."

"Then listen, cherie, and learn."

~------------~

Kendra sighed as he set the phone down.

"Problems?" Anne asked.

"That was Jane. I had dinner with her and Adrienne the night
before I flew out to meet with you. She's afraid that if your
brother gets a close look at me, he might see too close a
resemblance between the Amazon Lady and the Lawyer Laddie so I
can't stay up at the House. She doesn't want me just hanging
about and has made reservations for me at a small motel down the
road."

"Will you be able to come here and meet with me? Keep your
bargain to explain things as they go?"

"That's not a problem, I just need to keep a low profile when
Adrienne is out and about. Unfortunately, that means no living at
home for me."

~---------~

Kendra was surprised to hear a knock on her motel door and
checked through the view-piece. With a pleased exclamation, she
unchained the door and pulled it open. "Tante Marie!" she
cheered. "Did you bring me anything to eat?"

"Something better, cherie."

"Something better than your food? I have no idea what that could
be!"

"Clothes, you silly," Marie chided, reaching into the bag she
carried. "You cannot live in that oh-so-lovely dress until the
cosmetics fade. I brought you some more of Jasmine's old things
including a lovely pair of jeans."

"I hope they're a little bigger than this dress - I'd really like
to loosen my stays, if you don't mind."

"Oh, very well. If you insist. I also may have a solution to your
problem with living at home."

"How?"

"I have found another wig for you to try on. You'll have to wear
it all the time, but with a little work on your part, you should
be able to confuse the issue of your real identity. It is not as
if la petite Adrienne is all that observant or caring of those
around her. Yet."

"Eh? Another wig? I don't follow you, Marie. I'll still be tall
and very noticeable, regardless of how clueless Jane's problem
child is or is not."

"That one? Phaugh. Remember another of Jane's rules? People will
jump to their own conclusions. If you play your role well,
Adrienne will never see you for the so-very-proper male
attorney."

"What role are you talking about, Tante Marie?" Kendra asked
suspiciously. "As you and Sandy pointed out, I'm not very good at
the subtleties anymore."

"That's why this is so perfect, cherie. Remember last Halloween?
You, Michelle and Darla were playing in the front parlor between
trick or treaters, doing feminine impersonations?"

"I remember. So?"

"So, you did one they both could not match and told you so. Jane
and I were most impressed, too."

A feeling of dread ran down Kendra's spine, and she stared in
disbelief at the little housekeeper. "Oh, no - not that, Marie,"
she choked out through a throat suddenly dry and unresponsive.
"Besides, Jane would KILL me - AFTER she shredded my guts."

"Pooh. Stuff and nonsense. It might be just what she needs to put
some discipline into that little hoyden, Adrienne. Someone so
blatant might even prove to be an asset at this point. Perhaps
Jane can use such an example to encourage her own improvement."

"You don't really believe that," Kendra growled.

Marie became serious and shook her head. "We may not have much
time, dear, whether you are successful with Miss Braithwaite or
not. Something radical may be called for with this one. I have,"
Marie said offhandedly, "Discussed this plan with Jane and she is
in agreement - assuming that you intend to remain on the estate
until the makeup clears off your face."

"I see." Kenneth went very silent for a few moments and then cast
an uncertain eye on his little adopted aunt. "How blatant, Tante
Marie?"

"Oh, I think you should have a marvelous time, ma belle. Like the
sweet-natured woman who plays la chienne - the bitch on the
soaps."

"Uh huh," the tall cross-dressed man replied, "I guess I have to
hope that you are right about that. Tell me, Tante Marie, this
wig you've found. . ."

"Oui?"    

"It wouldn't be platinum blonde, would it?"

"Non, ma belle. It is most definitely NOT platinum blonde."

~------------~

It was a deep honey-blonde, extremely full and fluffy, and nearly
butt-length, even on the very tall Kendra, and it was
bloody-damned heavy, too boot!

And Kenneth, the man inside the woman, hated it with a deeply
felt passion that he could not rationalize, even to himself.
Because Jane felt it necessary if Kendra was to remain in the
area, he tried to accept it with good grace, but found it
difficult, if not impossible.

This was so different, he thought as he gazed at Kendra staring
back at him from the mirror, from playing 'dumb blonde' with his
brothers after a bit too much of Momma Jane's excellent brandy.
Michael and Darryl understood that it was a game - that whatever
else happened, that what they saw wasn't him, wasn't Kenneth
Roberts. The clothes, the makeup, the frou-frou were just window
dressing to them.

*It's like the old kid's jingle, 'Sticks and stones may break my
bones, but words will never hurt me'. Jane and Marie don't see
this as anything more than just another facet of the disguise. If
I've agreed to be Kendra, one Kendra is much the same as another,
right? Should be, but somehow, just like words do hurt, something
about THIS Kendra bothers me. I just can't seem to put my finger
on what or why.*

With conscious effort, Kenneth tried to slip back into Kendra's
role and mindset. Smiling sheepishly, she turned darkly-lashed
eyes to the expectantly waiting Marie. "I feel like a refugee
from a Darryl Hannah movie," she grumbled in tones she hoped
sounded at least somewhat good natured.

"More breathiness in your speech, if you please, ma belle," Marie
ordered, beaming happily. "And don't forget the grand hand
gestures."

Chapter 14: Old Ghosts

Kendra spent the next morning at the motel room practicing at
being female again. Marie had given her a list of 'things to
remember about being a girl' that included such things as
'walking in heels', sitting and standing properly, accessorizing
the outfits Marie had sent over from Seasons House and a myriad
of other 'little things'.

Unlike Darryl who had stayed on with Jane, Kenneth Roberts did
not have an abundance of experience in the nuances of
masquerading as a woman. And it was the little things, Kendra
knew, that would make or break her cover - particularly in the
company of real women.  Women noticed those little things, unlike
men who could, at best, be relied upon to see only the 'big
picture'.

So she practiced. Offering her hand, wrist bent. Smoothing her
skirt as she took a seat, taking care to keep her legs together.
Being aware of the hemline of her skirt when she bent or moved
her body. Reacquainting herself with Mr. Webster's escort, as she
walked about the room in heels. She even practiced when her room
service breakfast and lunch were served because a woman even
handles cutlery and table services differently than does a man.

*It's as though I am going through Aunt Jane's program, crash
study style, but without Aunt Jane or Tante Marie around to help.
Lord, I hope I'm doing some of this right.*

In the course of these 'exercises', Kendra took to using the
various mirrors in the motel room to evaluate her performance.
Soon, she began to find herself simply staring at the image
reflected there. A growing sense of some emotion akin to
discomfort began to niggle at her each time she caught herself so
involved. When she tried to analyze this feeling, she could not
precisely put her finger on what it was that bothered her - or
why. Certainly, the addition of a blonde hairstyle drastically
changed her looks - something that had been the cause of several
neck-snapping double-takes that morning, but whatever it was that
was bothering her was more than just the golden curls that now
framed her face and fell down her back.

*Maybe I'm reacting to Aunt Jane's not-at-all-subtle use of the
'dumb blonde' stereotype. Rationally, I know that she uses that
image precisely for the humiliation-factor it offers. Jane can,
after all, use her students' own prejudices to dig deeply into
their heads.  Am I reacting to those stereotypes or to the
negative baggage that Sheila saddled me? And yet, Michelle and
Darla are both blondes, as is Daddy-Di when she bothers with a
hair color other than silver. What the hell does that say about
my feelings?* she wondered. 

She was about to go just a bit insane when the phone on the
bedside table rang, providing her with a very welcome break from
her so-far fruitless self-examination and other 'studies.'.

"Kendra Roberts," she said into the receiver, pleased to have
remembered to use that name.

"Kendra? You're still en femme, brother-dear?" a familiar,
feminine voice responded. "I figured you'd be happily back in
grey pinstripes by now. Darla here, by the way."

"Hey, sis. It's a long story, but it's still sis, not brother.
The short version is that Sandy and Marie decided I needed the
long-lasting makeup as a hedge against being found out, so I'm
Kendra for at least another week or so."

"You okay with that, bro?" and this time, it was Darryl's voice
that asked.

"Like I said, it's only a week or so, and besides, Sandy and
Marie told me what they planned to do with the cosmetics along
with the 'why' before they did it to me. I agreed with their
logic, so now I have to live with the aftermath. It's not so bad,
I guess. What's up with you?"

"Mom wants Audrey and me - that is, Audrey and Darla - to be on
call to help with Adrienne. Particularly while Ms Braithwaite's
here."

"Okay. I guess that make sense. What do you need?"

"An introduction. After the wedding, Marie moved all my Darla
stuff down at the stable apartment for storage - since
'Tall-stuff' and I use it as our place when we come visiting now.
Unfortunately, Ms. Braithwaite is staying there right now and she
hasn't been properly or even improperly introduced to me or to
Tante Marie."

"Oh lord, I can just see it. You and Marie knocking on her door.
'Excuse us, but could we borrow your place to change this one
into a girl so she can help Jane pick on your brother?' Wouldn't
THAT go over well."

"It's not THAT bad, bro," Darryl responded, disgust evident in
his voice.

"You know that, D, and *I* know that. SHE doesn't know it or
believe it."

There was a loud sigh from the other end. "All the more reason to
play this as straight as possible, then. So, could you meet us
there, say about seven thirty or so, so that we can pick up some
stuff - maybe help talk her into letting me use the second
bedroom to get beautiful?"

"Fine with me, but why doesn't Momma-Jane simply call or
introduce you herself?"

"Marie needs to be there with me 'cause she knows where she's put
my stuff, so Mom needs to be at the house with Adrienne. Jess had
to go off to sit a couple of exams today and isn't available.
Besides, now that I've talked with you, I think it's pretty clear
that Mom is playing this one very tightly, too. Because of the
lawsuit thing. She wants witnesses to every contact, I guess."

"Makes good sense to me. Look, D, I will call Anne. If it's okay
with her, I'll meet you there at seven thirty. Where can I reach
you if there's a problem."

"Thanks, Kendra. You can reach me at Mike's place. See you
tonight."

Kendra started a bit at the easy acceptance and use of her
feminine name by her brother, then relaxed. Darla had a lot of
experience switching between names and genders for herself and
for others. *Just another little benefit - or is it another
little downside? Whatever - it's what comes of being raised as
Jane's duty 'big sister' at Seasons House. Wonder if Jess will
turn out the same way?*

And then another thought occurred to her. "Do I regret not having
stayed with Jane and learned those same skills and lessons?"

It was a question to which neither Kendra nor Kenneth could find
a wholly satisfactory answer.

~-------~

"Goodness, but you seem even taller than you did yesterday
morning," Anne Braithwaite blurted out when she opened her door
to admit Kendra later that day.

"Taller heels," Kendra muttered as she slipped inside the snug
apartment. "Jane sent me some additional outfits today - she once
had a very tall student - but unfortunately, most of the shoes
she had in my size all have at least a three inch heel."

"Those have to be more than three inches," Anne challenged as she
closed the door and followed her guest into the living area.

"They are, but unfortunately, they're the only pair that went
with this outfit, and the stores in this area are closed on
Sundays. Trust me - one way or another, I am getting some less
demanding shoes as soon as a I can, including some of those
running shoes women wear when they carry their dress shoes to
work."

Anne considered that, and nodded. "Sounds like a plan. It's not
just the shoes, though. That hair makes you look even taller, I
think. Another of those 'hiding in plain sight' things you
mentioned?"

Kendra started to explain that it was for Adrienne's 'benefit'
and reconsidered. *She may not like hearing that her darling
brother may get vamped by a six-three blonde amazon ditz.*
"That's certainly part of it. I think Mom is also worried that I
might be made as Kenneth if I stayed a brunette."

The natural-blonde shrugged at that. "Maybe. I made you, but I
was prepared to expect you to be a guy dressed as a woman, and
moreover, you called me just before coming up to my room. I'm not
sure someone who didn't already know you would have seen anything
to give away your disguise. Well, you look, um, pretty
spectacular. That hair. . . "

"I know," Kendra said sourly, the uneasy discomfort she'd dealt
with all day coming back on her in full measure under Anne's
close scrutiny. "I told Marie to find a wig that wouldn't give
Dolly Parton nightmares, and darned quick."

"It's not THAT bad," Anne said, suddenly unable to stifle a
giggle.

The unexpected laughter somehow lightened Kendra's mood, and she
teased back. "How about YOU wearing it to the grocery store and
see what you think then!"

"I don't think so. You're much cuter than I could ever be in it."

Kendra gave Anne a look of utter disbelief. *She REALLY can't
believe that,* the taller girl thought. 

"Well," Anne continued in a more serious tone, "You don't look in
the least bit masculine. You look like a Vegas showgirl."

"Thanks a lot!" Visions of sequins, even taller heels and
feathered headdresses filled Kendra's mind, and she cringed.

"Oh, you're quite welcome," Anne teased, only to stop short at
the truly unhappy look on taller blonde's face. "Oh, come on,
Kendra. What's the big deal? You're not likely to be caught out
as either, and if your mother thinks this will better help you
maintain your anonymity, well, I suspect she has a good deal of
experience with this type of deception. If what you told me
yesterday is the truth, that is."

"Oh, it's the truth, all right. Jane's orders - no more lies or
even half or hidden truths insofar as you are concerned. It's
just that I've felt, well, really uncomfortable today."

"So," Anne pounced, "You're not all that unaffected by the
masquerade, eh? Playing at being a girl isn't as harmless as you
tried to convince me?"

"It's not that," Kendra said slowly, still struggling with the
feeling of general unease that had been her companion most of the
day. "I didn't feel this way yesterday. I was nervous, even
anxious a couple of times there out in public, but this is
different."

Anne was considering that when a sharp rap sounded at the door.
"That must be Tante Marie and my brother," Kendra said. "I'll get
it and make the introductions."

~----------~

Mouth agape, Darryl could only stare at the tall expanse of
blonde, blatant femininity that held the door open for his and
Marie's entry. "Fermez la bouche, m'enfant," Marie ordered. "You
will catch flies!"

"Oh. . .Oh, yeah, umm, sure," Darryl mumbled and slipped inside,
stepping carefully around the now-glaring Kendra. Darryl had
always secretly envied his brother's growth spurt, even as he'd
been happy being able to be Darla at his or Jane's whim. Still,
he'd always wished he could have had just a few of Kenneth's
extra inches. *It would be nice to be able to look my wife
eye-to-eye without wearing high heels,* he thought wistfully.

A mischievous imp, one that Darryl/Darla usually managed to keep
firmly under control, slipped her leash. Gravely, Darryl walked
around his increasingly annoyed sibling, murmuring inarticulate
sounds of approval and disapproval.

When he came to a stop in front of Kendra, she growled, "Are you
THROUGH yet, smart ass?"

"Lord, sis, but when you go 'girl', you don't do it halfway, do
you? I haven't seen you looking this good since we all teamed up
with to go after Sheila." Darryl had turned to face his audience
of two, so he missed the telltale signs of a break in Kendra's
normally resolute self control. When he returned his attention to
his brother/sister, the momentary slip had been masked over.
"Geez, girl. Did you have to go quite that over-the-top doing the
Mattel-thing?"

"Darryl. . " Kendra warned.

"Mattel-thing?" Anne asked, her curiosity irresistibly piqued.

"Well, her guy name is Ken - just like the Mattel doll, right?
Well, if there was ever anyone more like a living breathing
Barbie-Doll than that GOR-geous specimen of blonde pulchritude
over there, I've never seen it. When you go blonde, Kendra, you
GO, girl! Heck, Barbie might even be a really useful name for you
while Adrienne is here."

"Stop right there!" Anne Braithwaite actually snarled.

"Huh?" Startled, the imp in Darryl found herself face-to-face
with a suddenly furious genetic girl who was even taller than his
beloved wife. "I beg your pardon?"

"As well you should for that insulting comment about blondes, but
it's your BROTHER who you really owe an apology! As I understand
it, he is IN this condition in order to help your MOTHER. Your
comments about that damned doll, and comparisons of him to her
are . . are. . ."

Darryl's temper was even less prominent than the imp, but it
flared in the face of the unexpected flanking attack. "BACK OFF,"
he snarled up into Anne's furious eyes, "It was a joke, o-KAY? It
doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that resemblance, and if
she can't take a joke from a friend, what's she gonna do when
some dude on the street starts hitting on her, or worse?"

"Easy, bro. . " Kendra warned, moving toward the eye-locked pair. 

Marie stepped in between Darryl and Anne as the tall blonde
struggled to find words. "Pardon, mademoiselle," the little
housekeeper said gently, "But this one plays the fool every so
often. It is one reason we both love him and often want to kill
him. And while he is correct in his assessment that a new name
for Kendra might be a good idea while your brother is in
residence at Seasons House, he expressed himself poorly. Darryl
truly meant no harm or insult. Is that not so, cheri?"

Darryl carefully kept Marie between himself and the Valkryie with
the green fire in her eyes. "I am very sorry, Ms. Braithwaite,"
he said before turning to face a brother clearly struggling with
his emotions. "God, Ken, I'm really. . .you know I wouldn't. . oh
hell. I'm sorry."

Kendra took a deep breath and tried to clear her head. "It's
okay, Darryl. Don't worry about it."

But he would, Darryl knew. He'd worry about it a lot until he
found out what was bothering his big brother, but that was for
another time when there wasn't a stranger around. A stranger, who
intended to bring everything Momma-Jane had worked for down
around their collective ears. "Tante Marie? My things?"

"I will get them, dear. You stay here with Kendra and Ms.
Braitwaite."

"I'm going to be staying at the same motel as you, Kendra."

"Oh?" Kendra replied noncommittally.

"Yeah. You wouldn't have a spare razor, would you? I forgot. ."

Darryl came up short as Kendra's eyes and mouth went open - first
in disbelief, then in shock and then in raw angry fury. 

"You goddamned well know I don't!" Kenneth's voice bellowed as he
ran toward the door as fast as the spiked heels permitted.

Chapter 15: In My Midnight Confessions, When I Tell All the World

Darryl, Marie and Anne stared in stunned silence at the vibrating
door. "Shit, I seem to be screwing up by the numbers tonight,"
the short young man said to Marie. "I can't BELIEVE I SAID that!"

"What set him off?" Anne asked, her eyes still fixed on the
now-silent door.

Marie and Darryl looked at each other uncertainly. "Ken. . .dra,"
the young man said carefully, "has a . . . a problem with
shaving, Ms. Braithwaite. We had, that's Jane, Marie and I, had
thought - hoped he'd gotten over it, but apparently he hasn't.
Marie? What do I do now? Go to him?"

"Let him be alone for a bit, cheri. There is more to this than
just. . .shaving."

"Well, he's upset!" Anne fumed. "First that damned blonde Barbie
crack and then whatever this is all about. Cripes, but I'm glad
you're not MY brother if this is how you treat him. You can stay
here if you want. Kendra said you wanted to use the spare bedroom
to change? Fine, go ahead. I'm going to find him," and she
stormed out, leaving Marie and Darryl once again staring at a
slammed shut door in utter confusion.

~----------~

She found him. . . her down in the stables. The tall, leggy
blonde was standing in front of a stall, her arms wrapped tightly
around the neck of a patient roan saddlebred, her forehead
pressed tightly against the horse's cheek.

"Kendra?" she called softly. Anne saw the arms wrapped about the 
horse tense momentarily and then relax. Kendra's entire body
seemed to shudder, and then she pushed herself erect and turned
to face the other girl.

Kendra's eyelashes were spiky from tears and there were shiny
tracks down her cheeks where the harsh incandescent lights
glinted off the remnants of recent crying. "Hi," she responded.

"I came down to see if you were all right. Is there something I
can do?" Kendra shook her head. "You want to talk about what
upset you so? Sometimes it helps to talk to someone, well,
someone who isn't involved."

"Didn't Darryl tell you?" Kendra asked snappishly. "Brother was
pretty free with his mouth tonight."

Anne walked over to put a comforting hand on Kendra's arm. "All
he said was that you have a problem with shaving, but that's all
he said. If it is any consolation, he's really upset that he hurt
you."

This time, thee shorter girl felt the shudder, and looked up to
see the pain on her companion's face. "I guess what upsets me the
most is that I was. . . hell, AM . . . upset at all."

"Well, that makes a lot of sense," Anne said with heavy irony.

Kendra gave a half laugh and smiled wearily. "Doesn't it. Look,
you want to take a walk? I, uh, need to get some air. . .clear my
head a bit."

"Sure. It's safe, isn't it? I mean, it's dark and awfully
isolated."

"City girl," Kendra chided. "We'll be perfectly safe. Jane has
the place wired with all kinds of surveillance stuff. No one gets
on these grounds without her knowing. Let me call upstairs and
tell them I'm all right and going out, first."

They met outside the stable and began walking down one of the
paved, moonlit trails. "Want to explain that bit about shaving?"
Anne asked after they'd walked a few hundred yards in
companionable silence.

"It's that I can't. . . or rather, don't have anything to shave.
No where on my face or body. Not a single living hair follicle
below my eyes."

"I've heard of medical conditions like that. A boy at my high
school had some kind of genetic thing."

"I used to have hair," Kendra told her. 

"You're not making much sense."

"My mother. . . ," Kendra started, and felt her throat tighten.
"I guess you'd have to say she is a sick person. Anyway, she. .
.she tried to turn me into a freak - sort of a half male/half
female slave - quite literally. One of her favorite tricks was to
dye my hair blonde whenever she could. Succeeded more times than
I care to admit. Then, when I was about to go through puberty,
she took me to this quack. The guy had stolen a developmental
laser hair removal technology. She dragged me into that guy's
shop every week for almost half a year. By the time he was
finished, I had nails, brows, lashes and hair on my head. The
rest of me is as hairless as a baby."

"Your MOTHER did that to you?" Anne flared, sudden white-hot fury
literally radiating off her in the darkness.

"Huh? Yeah, she did. And would have done a lot more."

"And THAT'S the kind of BITCH you believe should be in charge of
my BROTHER?!?!"

Emotional fatigue slowed Kendra's normally sharp mind. "What does
Sheila have to do with your brother?"

"Who's Sheila?" Anne demanded. "We're talking about your Mother -
Jane Thompson."

"Sheila Roberts is my Mother."

Now it was Anne's turn to be confused. "You said Jane Thompson
was your Mom. You've called her that in my presence."

Understanding finally made it through Ken's thickening skull.
"Sheila bore me, gave birth to me, but that is all she did. A
damned test tube could have done as much with less potential
harm. Jane saved my life when Sheila tried to destroy me with her
perverted games. Jane IS my Mother - at least in every way that
counts. Sheila's part of it was just an accident of birth - quite
literally."

"I don't understand."

"It's a long story," Kendra told her, "And one I'm not up to
telling right now. Suffice it to say that everything I am or hope
to be, I owe to Jane Thompson. I'd do anything for her."

"Including wearing women's clothing in public?"

"That's about the size of it. You know? Something has been
bothering me all day, and I just now figured out what it is."
Kendra thought aloud. "Going blonde - just like Sheila always
wanted - then having Dar' tease me like he did with that lame
blonde joke. After all that, the mere mention of shaving," Kendra
shook her head as it started to become clear in her mind, "It
brought the whole sorry mess back. Sort of like a major dose of
Sheila all at once. The thing of it is that I really AM Kendra
now, in a way I never was before. Not even when I was first with
Aunt Jane." 

"What do you mean? You said you hadn't done this in a very long
time, but it sounds like you mean something more significant than
that."

Kendra's reply was dreamily reflective, her words coming slowly
and thoughtfully. "Before, the things I did, the way I looked,
that was just . . . external. I looked cute, and I dressed nicely
and had good manners, but it . . .*I* was, well, sexless. I, um,
that Kendra was cute and she was VERY feminine, but she wasn't a
sex object, you know? This Kendra is all of that . . . more than
that." 

"I'll say, about a foot more, from what you've told me." 

"Darryl's not the only cute little blonde around here with a
smart mouth."

"LITTLE?!?!?"

"Try seeing things from my point of view, girl. But in response
to your comment, that's really not what I mean. Take this hair
for instance. It's just so. . so . . sensuous. No woman wears her
hair this long unless she really likes being a woman, really
*enjoys* what it means to be pretty, and sensual, and attractive,
as a woman. It's too much of a nuisance, otherwise. That's not,
or at least I didn't think it was . . . me." 

"That's why I don't like the Barbie reference," Anne replied.
"That image is so fake. Only plastic can be that perfect. Real
women are more than pretty clothes, impossible hair and pink
convertibles."

"Believe me, I know. That's the problem. When I look in the
mirror, I see, God, I see something out of a fantasy - something
that should have a staple in her navel - and yet, at the same
some, something that's very, very real. Only it's Sheila's
fantasy, in a way that the young girl Kendra never even
approached, much less wanted to approach."

The pair came upon an old-fashioned glider swing and sat on the
wooden seats facing each other. "I guess I can understand how
things can get blown out of proportion," Anne remarked as she
pushed off with her feet. "I suppose I have to apologize to your
brother, too. The name Barbie just. . ."

"We noticed," Kendra put in drily.

"Hard to miss, isn't it?"

"Mind sharing why? I mean, I'm sure you know you're very
attractive. Why does it bother you?"

"Me? Attractive? Look, don't you start, okay? I know I shouldn't
let it bother me, but it does, okay? It's just hard being so. .
.so obvious, and I ALWAYS have been. I was fourteen years old
before any boy in my class caught up with me, height-wise. Then,
the change hit me and all of the sudden not ONLY am I another
four inches taller, but I'm putting on weight in all the
strangest places so my balance is all screwed up, AGAIN, spoiling
whatever small amount of grace I might once have had."

"It's not easy being special."

"You don't have to pretend, Kendra, I know I'm not desirable to
men, not REALLY attractive. That's part of the reason that the
whole Barbie-thing bugs me. That damned doll is just so. . .so
unattainably perfect, and then there's my brother."

"What? He's unattainably perfect, too?"

"Not hardly," Anne said, almost growling. "It's just that he
knows how much the whole 'Barbie' thing bugs me. Calls me
'Barbie' every chance he gets just to get my goat because along
with being tall, blonde, and . . umm, buxom, Barbie is alone and
isolated, too. I mean, does SHE ever get laid?"

"Laid?" Kendra choked, not quite sure how to respond to that. 
Anne snorted disgustedly. "Well, she doesn't and neither do I,
but it's more than that. No one touches her in that special way
lovers touch  no one CAN touch her that way. She's a plastic
doll, not a living, sensual woman." 

*She really doesn't have any idea,* Kendra realized. *My God!
Does that mean she's a . . . whoa, Roberts - stop that thought
right there. This is not the time or the place for THAT kind of
thinking . . .unless she wants to say more?*

Kendra let the silence continue, but in vain. Anne had evidently
said all she intended to say - perhaps more than she'd wanted to
say, so the taller woman decided to return to the earlier issue
as a means of easing the tension. "He does it to get your goat,
you know. It's a power thing. You react and he's won."

"That's one of those stupid guy-things, right?" Anne demanded,
her eyes narrowed into slits. "One of those excuses for 'men
behaving badly' and getting away with it because 'boys will be
boys'?"

"Probably, but I suspect that it may be a gal-thang, too."

"Harrumph," was all she said in response. "You really going to
let them call you Barbie?"

"Not if it bothers you that much," Kendra replied. "It doesn't
bother me because the name has no negative emotional baggage for
me - not like the things I associate with Sheila have for me and
I am willing to endure those for Jane and the others. But if
hearing me called 'Barbie' will be difficult for you, then I'll
find another name to hide my identity. Muffy or something."

A giggle answered him. "Muffy? Why not Poopsie, for god's sake?"

"Hey, I have some standards. Barbie suits the persona Marie has
recommended, but I don't think your brother is sharp enough to be
aware of the subtlety of a name when faced with the stark reality
of six foot-seven inches of blonde-amazon-Marilyn-Monroe-wannabe
in killer stiletto spikes."

"GOD, what an image," Anne giggled before finishing, "Oh, go
ahead and be Barbie if you think that will help your
verisimilitude."

"If you say so," Kendra grinned. "I always just called it
'passing-in-public'."

"Well, at least one of us is smiling now. Feel better?" Anne
asked. "Ready to go back and deal with your brother?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Anne. I really appreciate your. . .your company,
and your caring."

"De nada, chela," she said, stepping off the swing and offering
Kendra her hand. "C'mon, Barbie, let's head back. I'm sure your
aunt and brother will be worrying about you."

Kendra - now Barbie - followed her back to the trail. "You know?
If you're going to be around, we ought to give you an alias, too.
That way, if we slip up and talk about you in Adrienne's hearing,
she won't put two and two together."

"Well, that DEFINITELY means you have to be the very obvious
Barbie, girl. No way little brother will think of me with you
running around - probably naked - in his short term memory."

Barbie choked on that image, eliciting another giggle from Anne.
"So, since that name is taken, what do you suggest for me?"

"Oh, I've got a great idea for you, shortie," Barbie said, taking
her companion's hand. "Darryl's little Ken and Barbie shtick
earlier reminded me of something. Riddle me this, Anne
Braithwaite. Who was Barbie's little friend?"

"Huh? I have NO idea what you are talking about, Barbie."

"Hi, Skipper."

"WhaaaAAAAT??!?!"

~---------~

"I really am sorry, Sis. I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay, Dar," Barbie-Kendra said with a hug. "I over-reacted.
We'll talk about it later, okay? A lot of old baggage came home
to roost all of a sudden. I wasn't ready for it, and you got
caught in the explosion. Probably a good thing it happened here
and not in public or around Adrienne."

Anne couldn't help staring at the . . . person so earnestly
talking to Barbie. In the time the two blondes had been gone,
Darryl had been working on his own transformation. He'd greeted
them at the door squeezed into a white, heavily boned merry
widow-style corset that gave him the illusion of girlish curves
that looked somehow incomplete thanks to the as-yet empty and
bagging bra cups.

*Wonder what he'll use to fill those?* Anne wondered, just as
something odd on the kitchen table caught her eye. Strolling over
to investigate, she picked up the jiggly little mound, testing
the weight of it in her hand. "Cute," she observed aloud as she
ran an inquisitive thumb over the tip of one perky nipple.
"Adrian told me about these. I thought he was exaggerating."

"He probably was," the small man-woman observed. "Those are
grown-up girl-sized boobs. Mom usually starts her girls out in
training bras without falsies, just to get their goat by making
them not just girls, but LITTLE girls to boot. Good for getting
their attention." 

"I see," Anne said, her tones still dubious.

Darryl/Darla grinned. "No you don't, but if you keep an open
mind, we'll try to fix that." His (her) face was subtly made-up,
but the subtlety was lost because of his masculine haircut, still
awaiting the donning of a suitable wig. One hand had false, if
yet unpolished, feminine nails installed while those of his other
hand were as yet still short and blunt; a manicure suited to a
man. Anne thought that looking at Darryl/Darla was like looking
at a computer morph stopped in mid-transformation.

"You are all right, now, ma gallante?" Marie asked Kendra, with a
hug of her own.

"Thanks to Anne. . .I mean, Skipper over there."

"Skipper?" the darkhaired housekeeper asked. "Who is Skipper? Ms.
Braithwaite?"

"Yep," Barbie grinned. "We decided that if I am going to be
Barbie, we needed a different alias for her - just to keep the
confusion to a minimum."

"YOU decided," Anne-Skipper muttered. "I don't think I was given
a choice in the matter."

"Ken, Barbie and Skipper," Almost-Darla said in wonder. "Kewl!"

"YOU, little sister, have spent entirely too much of your
formative years playing with dolls," Barbie accused.

"Mom's idea, and you know what that means."

"Yeah, I do. More likely to win an argument with an avalanche,"
the tallest blonde pronounced.

"So it is a good thing she is always right, eh, petite?" Marie
put in.

"Oui, Tante Marie," the two cross-dressed males agreed in
unision.

"Well trained," Skipper noted approvingly. "Perhaps there is
something to Ms. Thompson's training."

The imp reappeared in Darla's eyes and she snatched up the
pillows from the couch, tossing one to Barbie. "I think that
deserves a suitable response, sis."

The impromptu pillow fight surprised and pleased them all. In
five short minutes, a great deal of tension was relieved in the
hay-go-mad whirl of chasing each other about the room swinging
velvet-cased pillows at any nearby feminine form. The mock battle
ended when Barbie had to come to Darla's aid - Skipper had
cornered the diminutive blonde in a corner and was peppering her
small opponent with pillow-blows.

"Okay, okay, I surrender!" Darla squealed, holding her hands
above her head while Barbie playfully pulled away the victorious
Ms. Braithwaite. One look in the nearby mirror had Darla wincing.
"My mascara is RUINED!" she squealed to everyone else's laughing
amusement. "Look, I will finish getting myself beautiful and get
out of your way, Ms. Braithwaite. Kendra? I mean, Barbie? Can I
ride to the motel with you? We should both go see Sandy, first
thing tomorrow, anyway."

"Why do I need to go back to the Chalet tomorrow, Sis?"

"Your makeup. Those colors aren't quite right for a blonde. You
need to change your look, or you'll really stand out when you're
in public, and frankly, my dear, you aren't really good enough at
the masquerade anymore to stand THAT much scrutiny. So, you're
going to need Sandy because with that damned deep-dye stuff of
Mom's on your face, you'll need her expert help to fix it."

"I'm supposed to be obvious, Dar. Remember, this is Valley Girl
Bimbo-Bobbie mode, remember?"

"Nevertheless," Darla retorted, "you're someone Momma-Jane
supposedly knows and thinks enough of to have at Seasons House.
You can't be that much of a ditz. Right now, that particular
makeup job is just too dramatic for the blonde hairdo. I think it
could well become troublesome for you here and out in public."

"Unfortunately, sis, my own makeup skills won't be up to the task
of keeping up that kind of look, either. Particularly with these
other colors still lurking underneath just waiting to peek
through."

Darla shrugged her bare shoulders, and grinned mischievously.
"Then you'll have to use the deep-dye stuff again, Barbie. Which
is another reason why we need Sandy. You need the real experts
for this."

Kendra-Barbie considered that, and nodded. "Okay, I agree with
that. I assume you've already made appointments for tomorrow?"

"Caro and Sandy both, an hour before normal opening." Darla
confirmed.

"Right. Well, put some clothes on that skinny bod before you
embarrass my little friend, Skipper, and let's get on the road.
You need your beauty sleep."

"Excuse me?" she said, surprising herself as much as the two
cross-dressed young men. "But, I was wondering if I might go with
you tomorrow? I'd, well, I would like to meet the two women who
run that shop. Especially the one who threatened to take Adrienne
to New York to entertain her kinky friends."

"I told you that she threatens every boy with that,"
Kendra-Barbie sighed. "Hasn't happened yet. Won't ever happen.
It's Sandy's version of a 'two-by-four in the face' to get the
kid's attention."

"All the same, Barbie, I want to meet her, and if the shop is
opening early for just the two of you, then there won't be anyone
else to hear what I have to say to her, will there? Or, I could
go later, say, about lunchtime? But there might be a real rush
then. A lot of women with big ears and bigger mouths? That's the
way it is at the shop I patronize."

A sudden mischievous grin flitted across Barbie's face. Darla
caught it and sucked in a breath, having seen just such a look
all too often on her Mother's face, immediately before things
became just a little too interesting. "Pick you up at seven
thirty?" Kendra offered, smiling oh-so-very-sweetly.

"Make is seven and I'll have fresh coffee waiting for you."

Chapter 16: Caro and Sandy Play with Barbie, Ken and Skipper

"So now you're going be called 'Barbie'?" the zoftig blonde
beautician asked as she picked up yet another brush. Carolyn was
working on Darla in another cubicle while Anne watched the work
on Barbie.

"It, ah, seemed like a good idea at the time, Sandy. It would
help keep Anne's presence here a secret in the event someone
slipped up and said her name, and it suits the new look."

"Might have known only a damned male could hope to match the
looks of that damned doll. Do you know, Kendra, I mean, Barbie,
how much I used to DREAM of being built like that?"

"I'm sure Marie would love to lace you into one of Jane's killer
corsets, Sandy," Barbie offered in her best imitation of Darla's
catty tones.

"Dream on, bitch," Sandy replied grinning. 

"Gotta suffer for your beauty, doll!" her client shot back.

"Naw, I think this goose will leave that sauce for you goosed
ganders."

"You know?" Skipper-AKA-Anne put in from her perch on a nearby
stool, "I suspect every little girl dreams of being Barbie-the-
beautiful when she grows up. It's why the dolls have sold so well
to so many generations of girls."

"Probably," Sandy muttered, her eyes not five inches from
Barbie's as she stroked a fine eyeliner brush just above the tall
woman's right eyelash. "At least I have the satisfaction of
knowing all this life-sized doll's curves are all fake, too -
plastic just like that bloody doll."

"You're not the first woman to mention that characteristic I
share with my namesake," Barbie retorted, trying to glare at
Skipper over Sandy's shoulder.

"Don't move, dammit, unless you want really exotically slanted
eyes for the next week, okay? By the way, Ken, I mean Barbie,
remind me to put these special cosmetics of Jane's away when
we're through here, all right? Last thing I need is for one of
kids from out Wednesday afternoon makeup class getting into this
stuff."

Before Barbie could answer, Sandy abruptly drew back and gave her
client a considering look. "Never mind - I'll put 'em away now.
We're done here, I believe." She spun the salon chair so that
Barbie could at least see herself in the mirror. "Whatcha think,
kiddo?"

If the woman looking on was surprised, the man behind the
masquerade was stunned. "My god," she breathed, and then lifted
her right hand up to stroke her cheek.
"Is that a good 'My God' or an 'Oh-no-Mr.-Bill' kind of 'My
God'?" Sandy asked petulantly when the silence continued to
stretch out.

"I'm not sure," Barbie admitted. 

Frustrated and looking for the approbation she felt her effort
deserved, Sandy turned her eye to the other woman in the cubicle.
"What do you think - what is it you're going by? oh, yeah,
Skipper?"

"You're really very good at what you do. I watched you do
everything and I really cannot point to a single thing that is
really different, except that the whole look has changed."

"But is it GOOD?!" Sandy demanded.

"She's beautiful," Anne replied softly. "Like one of those
supposedly clean-faced, all natural types you see in the healthy
living magazines - you know, the ones who wear the two thousand
dollar blue jeans and the name-designer flannel shirts with five
hundred dollar ponytails. If I hadn't seen what she looked like
coming in here, I wouldn't have thought she was wearing any make
up, but I know what you covered up to make her look like that."

"At last, someone with taste and an eye for art," Sandy breathed.
"Might've known it would take a REAL woman to appreciate my skill
and subtlety."

"Sandy, you can't even SPELL subtlety," Barbie grinned as she got
out of the salon chair, "But you are definitely an artiste with
brush and pad, tube and pot. Thanks. At least now, Mom will let
me in the house with Adrienne around."

"Remarkable," Anne said again.

"Well, hell, girl, it isn't that hard. Get in the chair and let
me show you how it's done," Sandy challenged.

"Huh? Me? But I don't wear much more than a little lipstick,
maybe some mascara when I have time, but. ." 

"But NOTHING, girl. Looks like yours without makeup? Like
Rembrandt buying canvas and not painting on it. Using makeup well
doesn't have to take a lot of time."

Before the startled woman quite knew what was happening, Sandy
had her in the salon chair with a protective cape over her
clothing. "All right, now watch, listen and learn, girl friend,"
the stylist ordered, reaching for a nearby pot.
"What?" Sandy squawked when Barbie latched onto her wrist with an
iron grip.

"Not that stuff, Sandy," the tall blonde said, smiling sweetly.
"Unless you intend to use Jane's deep-dye stuff, and then you'd
better ask first."

"Oh shit! I almost forgot. Thanks, Kenny, I mean, Barbie."

"And do something that will be easy for her to do herself, okay?"

"Would you two quit talking about me as if I weren't here, or
worse, as if I were stupid," Anne snarled, starting to rise out
of the chair. Hands from two different women blocked her escape.
"What if I DON'T want to learn makeup?" she groused.

"A woman with eyes like yours who doesn't want to know how to use
makeup?" Sandy retorted. "Don't even TEASE about such blasphemy!"

"Besides, do you want Adrian to be able to chide you for not
knowing as much as he does?" Barbie offered.

~---------~

Via her CCTV, Jane was watching Marie's not-entirely-successful
attempt to teach Adrienne the finer points of cooking crepes when
the phone rang. *I'll have to select my crepe from the ones Marie
made while making sure that Adrienne eats her mistakes -
intentional or otherwise,* she thought as she tossed her head to
float her hair around the receiver. "Jane Thompson."

"Jane? It's Ruth. Is Kenneth still around there? At Seasons
House, with you? I tried to reach him at his office, but the
senior partner told me he was working on a special project for
you. I assume that is the Braithwaite issue?"

"Yes, Ruth. He's not here right now, but I expect him to return
this afternoon."

"All right. Look, Jane, he needs to come home. . here, as soon as
possible. The next plane would be good."

Jane heard a tone of concern bordering on fear in her old
friend's voice, and felt her own nerves tighten. "What is it,
Ruth? What's wrong?"

"It's Sheila, Jane, Kenneth's . . . Mother. She's dead -
murdered."

"Oh no," Jane breathed as her mind began developing a plan - and
came up hard against the reality of ". . .Barbie. Oh, DAMN!"

"Barbie? Who the hell is Barbie, Jane?"

~-~

Carolyn stepped into Sandy's cubicle to find her partner guiding
the woman she'd been told to call 'Skipper' through the process
of applying eye makeup. "Ken. . I mean, Barbie?" she said.

"Yes, Caro?"

"Jane just called for you and Darla. You're to haul it on back to
Seasons House as quick as you can. Right now, in fact. She says
it's really important. She said she was calling in Michael, too."

"Any word why?"

"She said she'd tell you when you got there, but. . "

"But what?"

"She did ask if Sandy or I knew of something that would clean off
those deep-dye cosmetics. Told me that it was serious and this
was not the time to hold back anything. As if I would," the
brunette sniffed.

"Sounds like she wants Kenneth back in a hurry. Well, I'm not
going to find out until I get home. You 'bout ready in there,
Skipper?"

"What do you think?" Sandy asked smugly as she spun Anne's chair
to face Caro and Barbie.

The techniques Sandy had taught the young woman were relatively
simple, but when combined with the proper cosmetics and Anne's
natural gifts, the results were lovely. Her incredible eyes were
even larger, and at the same time somehow catlike. An almost
invisible hint of color defined high cheekbones that focused the
viewer's attention on those incredibly vivid eyes. Her mouth
seemed somehow larger, more. . . smiling, but without the overt
coloration normally associated with lipstick.

"God, that's great," Barbie sighed in a voice that was much more
Ken than Kendra.

"And she did it all by herself," Sandy added.

"Put the stuff you used on Jane's tab, Sandy, and pack it up. We
have to get out of here. Darrrr-LA? You done YET?" Barbie
bellowed.

"Oh, stuff!" sniffed a petite, blonde pixie in a yellow and white
cotton sun dress. "I suppose, but my nails aren't quite dry so
YOU'LL have to drive, sister-dear." 

The tones were so over-the-top prissy that everyone in the room,
except Anne, cracked up immediately. She joined in, once she
understood the joke. "WELL, it's not MY fault Jane has decided to
inflict a junior version of Edith White on Skipper's sister,"
Darla groused.

"Who's Edith White?" Skipper asked ingenuously.

"YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW!" four voices yelling in unison assured
her.

Chapter 17: Sometimes, You HAVE to Go Home Again

There was something ominous about the tall redhead who was
literally waiting at the door of the huge mansion, Anne thought
as she walked up to the main entrance. Something sad, too but at
the same time, almost frightening. Whatever that 'something' was,
it instantly dissolved the aura of bonhomie that had pervaded the
car since the trio had departed Caro's and Sandy's place. Which
was too bad because Anne had, surprisingly to her, thoroughly
enjoyed herself during the trip back to Seasons House. The
girl-boy Darla had kept them in stitches the entire time, by
telling a hilarious improvisational story of "Janey-Locks and the
Three Blondes". Naturally, the three of them had starred in the
roles of 'Baby blonde', the 'Momma-blonde' and the 'Poppa-blonde'
given their relative sizes. Of course, 'Janey-Locks' had been a
bit more troublesome to the blondes than Goldilocks had ever been
to those hapless bears. Anne hadn't quite gotten that part of the
joke, but Barbie certainly had, nearly running off the road twice
during fits of laughter.

When they'd arrived at Seasons House, the intercom at the main
gate had directed them to go to the main house and not to the
stable apartment as planned. Once there, Jane had herded the
three of them inside the house and then into an ornately
decorated office just off the main foyer. 

*Not a very functional space,* Anne had thought immediately, for
other than an antique French-styled phone, the room had been
devoid of any of the electronic trappings of the modern-day
workplace. Not a fax, computer or printer to be seen anywhere.

Waiting for them inside the office had been Marie, a
distinguished older man with long silver hair, and a younger man
- perhaps a year or so older than Anne. TThe newcomers immediately
saw that everyone there shared Jane Thompson's grim mein.

Jane walked over to stand before the tall blonde and took both of
her hands in hers. "There's no easy way to do this, dear," the
auburn-tressed woman said with a gentleness that surprised Anne.
"Your Mother, Sheila Roberts, is dead."

~---------~

She felt like a voyeur - like an outsider peeking through an open
curtain at something intensely intimate and thoroughly private.
This was what family was all about, Barbara Anne Braithwaite
thought as she watched two women, two men and one cross-dressed
man encircle the stunned Kenneth, AKA Kendra, AKA Barbie,
offering unconditional support, sympathy and love. That the
leader of that care giving group was the woman Anne had come here
to fight was disconcerting to the pretty blonde, to say the
least.

*They simply love her. . him, and he loves them just as deeply,*
she thought, *It really is that simple and that complicated. Can
a woman who is as. . .evil, I guess is the only word, as I
believed Jane Thompson love that completely and unselfishly? I
don't think so, and yet, what does that say about my entire
premise for being here?*

"Darling," Jane Thompson said quietly, but firmly. "You need to
come upstairs with us to my apartment study. There are some. . .
things you need to take care of before we can begin to take
proper care of you."

"What about Adrienne?" Barbie asked quietly.

"Locked in her room," Jane replied, "A time out for childish
behavior, otherwise Marie would have taken her shopping or
something. Jessica has the safety watch on the closed circuit."

"Okay," the tall blonde replied tonelessly as she allowed herself
to be led down the hall and then into one of the side rooms.

"Safety watch?" Anne wondered aloud as she followed Jane and
Barbie out the door. *What the heck is THAT all about?*

The younger man, who had been introduced to Anne as Dr. Michael
Nash, took her arm to lead her to the main staircase. "Ever since
one of her students tried to commit suicide, they are monitored
continuously," he told her softly.

Fear flared in Anne's stomach. "Suicide?!?" The question came out
as a half shriek, drawing a sharp look from the woman helping her
child up the steps. Anne stifled her urge to yell and rounded on
the man at her elbow. "Are you telling me that this. . this
PROGRAM involves tormenting my brother enough that he might
actually kill himself?"

"Well, we don't really think so, but at times the stress can get
pretty tough." He paused to collect himself and Anne saw
something change in his eyes. "I know. I was the one who tried to
kill himself."

"You?!? And you're still here? With HER?"

"Yes," he said simply, and the smiled impishly. In that smile,
Anne could see the girl this man had obviously once been in Jane
Thompson's keeping. "But I like to think I'm 'a better man' for
it. And I'm the only one who ever got quite that far. One thing
about Momma-Jane. She learns from her mistakes and she NEVER
makes the same one twice. Kind of scary that way."

"In a lot of ways," Anne muttered under her breath.

~--------~

Jane settled her child in the large desk-chair and put a piece of
fax paper in front of her. "I want you to sign that, dear, and
then Art and I will sign as witnesses. We'll fax it back to Ruth
immediately and then Michael will drive the original into town
for overnight mailing."

"What is it?" Barbie asked, obviously forcing herself to focus on
the sheet.

"It's a power of attorney granting Judge Ruth Walinkiewicz
authority to act in your stead for all matters pertaining to your
Mother's internment and estate since it is obvious that you will
not be able to attend to those issues yourself."

For the first time since Jane had told her child of Sheila's
brutal death at the hands of an abused submissive and of that
submissive's subsequent suicide, a spark of life glowed in the
dark eyes. "She wasn't much, Momma-Jane, but she was blood of my
blood. I have to finish this if I'm ever to have closure with
that. . with that part of my life. I will see to her final
arrangements."

The Mistress of Seasons House heard the velvety steel in her
child's voice, and felt proud even as she recognized the danger
of her plan. She shook her head sternly. "Out of the question.
Have you looked in the mirror recently? Sheila was not the type
to have friends, but even her acquaintances would likely know
that she had a son, not a daughter. And those ARE the deep dye
cosmetics, are they not? Even if you tried to look masculine
right now - simply wearing male clothing and removing the wig
won't help. In fact, it will make things worse because you'll
look like someone - a MALE someone - who forgot to wash off HIS
makeup. That would have serious implications for your career."

"I'm going, Mom," was the quietly determined reply, "Even if it
means going as Kendra, or rather Barbie. Aunt Ruth can handle the
legal affairs with this," and she held up the power of attorney,
"but I'll still be there."

"That is DANGEROUS! How are you going to get there? You can't
take the chance of driving - suppose you get stopped for even a
random road-check? You don't have a license as Barbie, and in the
post-9-11 world, there's no way Barbie could get through airport
security. And we haven't begun to address the issues of being
alone and having to deal with the reality of living day-to-day as
a woman in public."

Barbie looked defiantly at Jane, never forgetting that Jane truly
was concerned about her, but determinedly. "I did it before."

Jane smiled sadly, memories of the pride she had in her one time
student warring with the also remembered tragic reasons Kendra
once had those skills. "That was a long time ago, dear. And you
weren't as . . . dramatic then. Your skills, I'm afraid, are
rusty at the very time you need them to be even more impeccable.
You've slipped up on your behaviors four times since you've
returned from Caro's. Before, when you were Kendra, I covered for
you, - shielded you - even as I kept you sharp. I'm sorry, but
you couldn't manage on your own. I won't have you ruining your
career because you tried to help me." 

"Mama Jane, isn't that my choice to make?"

"Not if it's my fault, my ineptitude, that has backed you into
that corner," Jane insisted. 

Jane knew, the moment she ran down, that none of her reasoned if
passionate argument had changed the tall lawyer's mind one iota.
*It's just like when he first came to me - all determination to
do what needs be done - what he THINKS needs be done,* she
amended to herself, *and devil take the consequences. Sometimes I
wish he wasn't so damned honorable!*

"I have to go, Mom," the femininely turned out young man said.
"I'll be okay. I'll drive carefully and slowly so that I don't
get pulled over. It's only about a twenty hour drive from here."

"And if an accident happens, despite your best efforts? What
then?"

"I'll just have to deal with that if it happens."

"I'm sorry, dear, but that is just not acceptable to me. You
leave me no other option but to release Adrienne and go with you
myself."

"You can't do that, Mom!" Kenneth's voice roared.

"Of course I can," Jane retorted with calm self assurance.
"According to the court order placing Adrian Braithwaite in my
keeping, I am the final authority in his case, until or unless I
remand him to the juvenile authorities as beyond my ability to
rehabilitate. If I say she's done, then she's done."

"Then I won't go. I can't go."

Anne rounded on the taller blonde. "You just said that you were
going, regardless of the risk, but now you're not? I don't
understand. WHY? Why is keeping my brother here in this. . this
frilly prison is more important than seeing to your mother's
final arrangements?"

"JANE is my mother," Barbie corrected firmly. "Sheila will have
Ruth to take care of her, but who will take care of your brother?
As much as I feel I have a duty to her and to myself to finish
this, the fact remains that she's dead. When I was the only one
placed at risk by my going, that was one thing, and I could
handle that. On the other hand, your brother's future is at risk
if Jane sets him loose before he's learned what she has to teach
him. He needs help, Anne  really needs help or he wouldn't have
been sent to Jane. Turning him loose before he's ready isn't
fair. Not to him, not to you and not to any of us who've been
even peripherally involved with Aunt Jane's program through the
years."

Anne stared up into Barbie's eyes for several long moments,
obviously trying to see the truth behind the words. Finally, she
asked "You really believe that?"

"With all my heart," was the simple answer. "Your brother
deserves the same chance to turn his life around that Jane's
given a hundred other guys. He only gets that chance if both of
them are here at Seasons House."

Darla stood up and walked over to stand by Barbie. "I believe
that, too, Ms Braithwaite. The only reason I *didn't* commit
suicide, or become a runaway who would have died soon after
anyway, is because of Mama Jane. I've been a willing participant
in her program ever since." Turning to the only mother she had
ever really known, Darla said, "And I've learned a lot along the
way. I can cover for her, Mom, and if I go as Darryl, there won't
be any trouble with cops and things." 

"I need you here, Darla, working with Adrienne, or I might as
well go myself," Jane declared, "Audrey and Marie as well." She
smiled to take any sting out her next words. "And though you are
insufferably cute, I'm not sure you have the . . . presence to
draw attention away from Kendra , ah, Barbie."

"You're saying I'm not man enough," Darryl's voice said bitterly.
 
"My son, you are more of a man than 99.9% of the world will ever
encounter, but we're not talking about your courage and inner
strength, we're talking about visual impact. As Darryl, you've
not been blessed with the particular characteristics that would
be an appropriate distraction from any faux pas that Barbie might
make. I'm sorry."

"Not half as sorry as I am," sighed Darla, but the truth of
Jane's observation couldn't be denied. 

"I believe Michelle could be fairly distracting," Michael said.
"And for reasons I never got around to telling you, I happen to
have all the ID Michelle would ever need. I could go."

"You can't do that," Barbie said.   

"You think I'm not pretty enough to draw eyes away from you?"
Michelle's soft voice challenged.

"Hell, brother mine, when you put your mind to it you're pretty
enough to draw attention away from *Jessica*, but that's not the
point. You're getting married."

"It can wait, if the only alternatives are abandoning Adrienne or
destroying Ken's career." 

"I'll go with him," Anne's voice suddenly interjected. Every head
in the room swivelled to face her, surprise in every eye.
Surprise that was only slightly less than what she herself was
feeling at that moment. "I can drive and MY face at least nearly
matches the picture on my license."

"That's very. . . kind of you, Ms. Braithwaite," Jane said
softly. "May I ask why you're making such an offer?"

The look on the girl's face told Jane very clearly that she
wasn't completely clear why she'd done it. "I guess it's because
I've come to respect Kenneth. . .um, Barbie. He cares about you
and about what you do a great deal. I still don't like what you
do, Ms. Thompson, but Kenneth is a good guy, and has been nothing
but fair in dealing with me, even after I threatened you with
legal action and public exposure. If he's determined to do this,
and if you think he needs someone with him, I'll go."

"I see," Jane murmured, considering the option. "Dear?"

Barbie looked at the other tall blonde. "If you're sure. This
won't be a pleasant trip."

"I'm sure. It will also give me another opportunity to talk with
the Judge. I have some questions for her that I'd like answered
before I make up my mind about this . . . program of your
Mother's."

"Fair enough. Momma Jane?"

"Marie will pack some things for you, dear," Jane said in quiet
surrender. "Why don't you and Ms. Braithwaite go down to the
apartment and pack for her. I will bring the car and your luggage
down once it's packed."

"Good idea," Anne said. "I really haven't unpacked all that much.
I just need to get my own stuff, clean this gunk off my face and
we can be off, Barbie."

Jane saw disappointment flash in Barbie's eyes at hearing Anne's
intention to cleanse away her makeup. *Oh, my,* she thought as
insight flared. "I'm afraid that won't work, Miss Braithwaite,"
she improvised quickly. 

"I beg your pardon? I thought it was decided that I would go.
Didn't you just agree not two minutes ago?"

"Not that. The makeup. I think you need to keep wearing it. I
think it is crucial to your purpose, in fact."

Anne stared at the older woman for several seconds, disbelief
evident in her eyes. "You'll have to explain that," she said
finally.

"As we have been discussing, part of your role in all this,
besides acting as chauffeur, is as camouflage. You have to draw
attention away from Barbie so that her inevitable slip ups won't
be as noticeable. Unless you can keep up. . . appearances, I am
afraid that some other arrangement will have to be made." 

"Mom!" Barbie yelped, giving Jane yet more proof of just how much
her child liked the idea of Miss Barbara Anne Braithwaite as
escort on this trip. *Even if it means he's in skirts, too.
Fascinating.*

"I was completely serious earlier, dear. You forget the
masquerade too easily. You will pass the first look, but alone
you're too likely to draw that second, third and fourth look. You
truly are that striking, but unfortunately, you just are not
ready for that level of public scrutiny."

"And you think having me along, made up to, how did you put it,
draw attention? You think that will help him pass in public?
Would that be YOUR strategy if you were escorting him?"

"I have infinitely more experience shepherding a cross-dressed
male about in public than you do, Anne," Jane said gently. "Not
only can I correct many errors before they happen, I see and can
avoid potentially dangerous situations before they actually have
the chance to get out of hand. You don't have that luxury, so you
will need to be as striking as Barbie, if not more so."

"You're kidding, right? Make up or no make up, there's no WAY I'm
close to being that. . . good looking."

"HAH," Darla snorted, only to receive a sharp slap on the arm
from a stern looking Marie. "I only wish I was as good looking. .
. or as tall."

Michael chimed in. "Boy howdy," he agreed. "If you only KNEW how
hard I have to work to look HALF as good as you look right now."
The young doctor suddenly gave a dismayed, feminine sniff and
stamped his foot. "It's just *so* not fair!" a disconcertingly
feminine voice finished in pure valley girl.

Jane could see that her quarry was starting to reel a bit under
the sudden assault by her two former students, and pressed the
advantage herself. "You would not need to be so . . .
flamboyantly attractive as Michelle would need to be for the same
benefit. Subtlety never was her strong point in any case." Jane
said lightly, drawing another outraged sniff and a giggle.
Pleased with the lightened mood, she then became serious.
"Believe me, Anne, I'm an expert in this. If you are willing to
take advantage of your natural gifts, you'll be causing traffic
pileups from here to Florida." 

"You really think so?" the tall girl asked in hesitant, longing
wonder.

"I am telling you that I *know* so!" Jane declared, a discreet
hand signal keeping the others from adding their own
endorsements. 

Only Barbie said anything, standing to move close to Anne, "It's
not fair to ask this of you, Skipper, but you really could help
me a lot here." 

*I really must introduce you to Audrey at some point,* Jane
thought with a suppressed smile as she looked at the two tall
women. "I would truly appreciate it, dear. If you do your best, I
won't have to worry nearly so much about the threat to Ken . . .
Barbie."

"This isn't just some game you're playing with me, is it?" the
girl asked, an audible hesitancy in her voice.

*She wants to be convinced. Well, there's one argument that might
work. I hope this isn't a mistake,* Jane thought. "No, it's
definitely NOT a game. This whole issue is very serious. Kenneth
is as much my son as if I had been the one who gave him birth and
this is about his future. Let me repeat, if you insist on going,
_Kenneth_," and Jane put heavy emphasis on the intentional use of
his male name, "Unless Ms Braithwaite agrees to my conditions, I
will have no other option but to release Adrienne and go with you
myself."

The look of abject horror on Barbie's face was perfect, Jane
realized  precisely the reaction she'd hoped for when she'd taken
this gamble. *Now, if Anne will just take the bait.*

"All right," Anne said, triggering a sigh of relief from so many
people it caused in turn a titter of giggling. "It's only for a
few more weeks, and I'll be here to watch over him once we get
back." 

"Ms. Braithwaite? Just so there is no misunderstanding? I still
get my full three weeks after you return. My program and I
deserve that much in return for what you've been offered."

A look of surprise flashed across the young woman's face to be
replaced by resignation, then she shrugged. "All right. Meet me
down at the stables with the car?" she asked Barbie.

Chapter 18: Plans of Mice, Men and Aunts

Jane Thompson sat enjoying a nightcap in her favorite shabby
overstuffed love seat; her long legs curled under her, her body
cuddled up to Art. Marie sat across from them sipping tea. "You
want to tell me what that little scene was all about, Jane?" the
petite housekeeper asked.

"Whatever do you mean?" Jane asked innocently.

"You know VERY well what I mean! Pushing Ms. Braithwaite like
that. The makeup and insisting that she spend the full three
weeks after returning. Suppose she'd told you to go visit the
devil in his hothouse and Kenneth still felt he had to go?"

"Our Janey'd have found a way out," Art said equably. "And
somehow convinced the girl it had been HER idea and not Jane's."

"I might have wanted to be shed of that one," Jane said saucily.
"Adrienne, the little sneak, has become quite the little
conniver."

"Pooh," Marie retorted. "That one, as you say, is now yours, just
like they all become yours. You'd no more give up on her than
you'd sprout wings and fly."

Jane had the grace to blush, then laughed. "You know me so well,
darling. However, my little ultimatum worked, and I got what I
wanted. It was a bluff, of course," she admitted finally. "One
I'd have been forced to eat and swallow whole if Kenneth hadn't
fallen in with it so perfectly that the girl truly believed I was
serious."

"You don't think that little ploy just a little risky given that
the girl is already planning on suing you? And you still haven't
explained what you really wanted out of this game you're playing
with her. Why force the make-up on her? AND why insist she still
be here at Seasons House all three weeks?"

A mischievous grin stole across Jane's features. "Kenneth is
smitten with her. He likes her a very great deal - more than he's
admitted yet even to himself, I think, and he especially likes
her when she's properly made-up," Jane said conspiratorially.
"And I think that SHE is more than just a little bit fascinated
by him. I think I rather like the idea of the two of them
together. They'll make lovely babies for me to spoil as the
doting grandmama."

"WHAT??! Is THAT what that was all about? You've decided to play
matchmaker?"

Jane sniffed at the implied reprimand. "You've had your chance to
play matchmaker, Marie, with Audrey and Darryl. It's my turn to
play interfering mater familias. Should be a good deal of fun."

"But there weren't any truly at-risk students involved when I
shepherded those two through the romantic rocks and shoals. What
about Adrienne? How are you going to handle her needs at the same
time you're throwing her big sister at your son, who
oh-by-the-way, is also stuck in a femme role right now?"

"Don't worry about her. I'm still here, and I have some new ideas
on that score. Besides, you're still here, aren't you? As are Art
and Jessica. Not only that, but we've brought in the really big
guns - Audrey and Darla. Now that we've rendered Barbara Anne, I
mean, Skipper, incommunicado to our dear student, we should have
a chance to turn things around here quite nicely."

"I just HATE it when she says things like that - all airy and
completely certain of herself," Art intoned, before putting his
hand over his eyes and groaning ostentatiously. "This could be
ugly," he warned solemnly.

Jane poked him hard in the solar plexis with her elbow and
laughed. "It'll be fine - you'll see."

"And do you mind telling this poor, ignorant male just why you
think those two are such a good match, Aunt Yenta?" Art asked.
"She's upset that her brother is in skirts and unless I missed
something, didn't she force the issue of Kenneth becoming Kendra
as a counterattack? Thinking he might refuse or that it might in
some way hurt our case?"

"Whatever her reasons were, I think she was very surprised by our
Kenneth, and in particular, by our Kenneth as Kendra." With a
sigh, Jane set down her brandy snifter and turned about to look
at her husband and saw the very real worry in his eyes. Glancing
over her shoulder, she saw the same emotion clouding Marie's
visage as well. "Have you noticed how my boys. . .our boys,
gravitate to women who love them, respect them for the softer
aspects of their personalities as much for their masculine
strength and character? Michael has Janice, Darryl has Audrey,
Bill has Carolyn. . "

"I have you," Art added, his words warm with love.

"Indeed. Kenneth has, because of that growth spurt, felt forced
to put Kendra aside, to leave her as something only from his
past, and while he hasn't been unhappy as a result, I've always
sensed that he somehow felt, I don't know, incomplete."

"You think that Barbara Anne Braithwaite is the woman who is
going to help him find what he's lost and left behind?"

"She got him into a dress again."

"He did that for you, sweetheart. Darla and Michelle do it as
much for themselves as for their chosen ones. I was Diana for me
before I was ever her for you, at least long term."
"You're the psychologist, dear, but I think Kenneth has mourned
the loss of Kendra. Part of his rejection was due to the baggage
he carried with him from Sheila, of course, but still he saw the
positive aspects in Darla and Michelle, and in our other boys as
well. In time, I think he would have come to achieve a balance
with both sides of his yin and yang."

"Except for that growth spurt. Lord, Janey, but Kendra . . . "

"Barbie," Jane interrupted. "Like I told them, we've all got to
get used to thinking in those terms for the duration."

"Barbie looks like a Vegas showgirl! Lord above, but those heels!
All she needs is some spandex, glitter and feathers! And that
figure!"

"Good corsetry works miracles," Marie put in smugly.

"Just so," Jane replied. "Anyway, thanks to Skipper, our Barbie
is back, and our Kenneth is dealing with that."

"Okay, I can see all that, but to come back to the question
-AGAIN - you still haven't explained the  matchmaking and the
makeup."

"The make-up is easy. Barbie looked disappointed when Skipper
said she was going to clean it off, so I stopped her for Barbie.
The excuse I gave her is valid enough, but my real reason was to
make her pretty for my boy."

"Huh," Marie snorted. "And you call Adrienne a conniver."

"Master strategist, please, I am far beyond mere connivance. As
for the match between the two of them? Well, that's a bit more
complicated. Have either of you seen Skipper be anything other
than, well, supportive of Barbie?" There was a noticeable pause
as the other two considered that and then shook their heads.
"Given what she thought of me, I would have expected her to have
other, far less pleasant reactions to our boy en femme, but she
is, as I said, fascinated by what she sees, and I believe that
she honestly likes Barbie, too. Now, thanks to Skipper's offering
to go to Indianapolis with Barbie, and to her agreement to serve
the full three weeks after they return, I have them together - in
close, companionable proximity, for almost a whole month."

"There are words for women like you," Art growled.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Sneaky, manipulative, underhanded. . . "

"And your point is?" Jane asked, one finely shaped brow arching
high into her still-smooth forehead. 

"I think you're great, and I'm going to have a lot of fun
watching you maneuver that pair down the aisle behind Michael and
Janice."

Jane picked up her brandy snifter and raised it into the air. "A
toast - to young love."

Art raised his glass of the Irish. "To old. . umm, middle-aged,
no, make that mature love," he offered.

"Nice try, Philips," Marie giggled as she lifted her wineglass,
"But let's just say, 'to love' and leave it at that."

"Hear, hear!" the other two chimed in and finished their drinks.

"DON'T YOU DARE THROW THAT WATERFORD GLASS AGAINST THE MANTLE,
ART!" Marie shrieked just in time. 

"Spoilsport," Art groused, before turning back to his grinning
wife. "Now, what are these ideas you have for Adrienne?"

Jane became serious again. "Well, that little concession I
wrangled from her sister before they left will hopefully give me
back some of the leverage I've lost. As to a strategy, I'm not
sure, but I have an idea. I went back and checked her records,
particularly the ones written by her school teachers? I think
there's something there."

"What?" Art asked, intrigued.

"No, I'd like you to read through what I've marked," and it was
the school teacher who answered. "I don't want you prejudiced by
my interpretations."

"Okay. When?"

Jane rose and stretched, and then offered her hand to her mate.
"Tomorrow is soon enough," she assured him. "Now, I think we
all," and her look included Marie, "need to get some rest. The
next few weeks are going to be demanding."

~-~

"How long a drive is it to Indianapolis?" Anne aka Skipper asked
as she accelerated Kenneth's BMW sports car onto the westbound
lanes of Interstate 95.

"It's about 900 miles," Barbie replied, leaning back in her seat
so that she wouldn't have to watch as someone else drove her
beloved little car. "Figure about sixteen, maybe seventeen hours
driving time. I told Aunt Ruth we'd arrive by dinnertime tomorrow
if we stop for the night someplace, before lunch if we drive
straight through."

"I don't think I can drive that far straight through," Skipper
replied.

"I can drive," Barbie told her. "Aunt Jane to the contrary, it's
hard to speed on the Pennsylvania Turnpike these days - too much
traffic, too much construction. Toss in a couple of pit-stops and
we're home-free. Besides, we'll just make sure you're driving
when we get to the end-of-the-line tollbooth."

"Sounds like a plan." The girl concentrated on her driving for a
while and sighed in pure pleasure. "This is a great car."

"Momma-Jane's graduation gift to me," Barbie said with a smile. 

"You really love her, don't you," Skipper observed.

"That surprises you," Barbie replied, "And bothers you."

"Yes. I mean, after the way she came to you when you needed her,
the way all of you seem to . . .I don't know, trust her, I guess,
I was all ready to see her in a different light. . "

"Different than what your brother's report had you expecting?"

"That's it," Skipper said quickly. "And then, she goes off on
that 'this time with Kenneth doesn't count' stuff. I just don't
understand that at all."

Barbie gave a deep throated chuckle of resignation. "With the
possible exception of Art and maybe Marie, I don't think any mere
mortal can fully understand the workings of Jane Thompson's mind.
Probably easier to understand the weather."

"So you have no idea what that was all about?"

"Oh, I have inklings, and while I am probably at least partially
right, I am probably missing the subtleties in her plan." At the
'come on, give' motion of the shorter girl's hand, Barbie
grinned. "I'd say that, at the very least, Aunt Jane has a new
strategy in mind for little Miss Adrienne, and is looking for
every possible moment in time to execute the plan. Thus, but not
counting your time with me, she gets upwards of another week to
work your brother, and believe me, she will."

"That sounds ominous."

"I guess I can understand why you might feel that way," Barbie
said reflectively, "But truly, what she does works. Boys come to
her on the road to a variety of bad ends. They leave her as
pretty good examples of the human species."

"You offer yourself as proof of that, eh?"

"Not really," Skipper's passenger said in a more serious vein.
"Momma-Jane figured out after a couple of days that something was
wrong with me, and stopped pressing her program until she figured
out what was wrong. I was only her student for about two and a
half days."

"And your mother was what was wrong?" Skipper asked more gently.

"She'd forged the court documents that referred me to Jane,
hoping she could succeed where Sheila herself had failed -
turning me into a girl."

"Looks to me like it worked."

"Not quite," Barbie said with noticeably more heat. "Physically,
I am still male under all this. . . camouflage. Had my Mother
won, I'd be an 'it' - a caricature of a woman - totally degraded
in every sense of the word."

"And Ms. Thompson's program isn't degrading?" she challenged
sharply. 

"No." The answer was spoken emphatically. 

"You sound so sure of that. I wish I could be - for my brother's
sake." 

Barbie sat quietly for a moment, clearly marshaling her thoughts.
Skipper watched her out of the corner of her eye - just as
quietly - and was impressed despite herself by the earnestness
with which Barbie considered this topic. In part, she realized,
the statuesque blonde was justifying herself, and not just Jane
Thompson. 

After that moment, Barbie asked, "You thought that Adrian was
getting into one of those Outward Bound programs, or maybe even
one of those boot camp types of thing, right?" 

"Yes, more the former than the latter. I wouldn't have agreed to
the boot camp thing." 

"Why not?" 

"With Adrian?" Skipper had to resist the urge to snort at that
image. Instead, she only said, "That would be, well, worse than
Jane Thompson's place." 

Barbie raised a hand to hide the grin. She wondered if Skipper
even realized she had just casually ranked Jane's program even
that high. She knew Skipper would not have done so when she had
first considered it so . . perverse. But the new lawyer knew when
to let her witness do most of the talking herself, so she just
prodded a little. 

"Why would it be worse?" 

"Adrian is not . . cut out for all that macho sh . . . stuff. If
he had to do a bunch of pushups, he'd, well, he wouldn't have
done very well. All that military style training is so focused on
strength, even the hikes with a pack are easier for bigger, ah,
men. It would have broken his heart - and his spirit. I want him
to better when he finally comes through this mess, not
diminished." 

"I think you're right," Barbie agreed quietly. "But you're
missing a key point. While the military does use Boot Camp and
Basic Training for physical conditioning, there is a more
important purpose." 

"Yeah, turning them into killers." 

"Not exactly, though there is an element of that, in a different
way than I think you mean." 

"How would you know?" Skipper asked, looking at the gorgeous
woman sitting next to her. 

Barbie grinned easily and said, "Actually, I don't, not first
hand, anyway, but one of Jane's ex students is now a Major in the
Marine Corps, and we've, ah, discussed some interesting
parallels." 

"Parallels to what?" asked Skipper. 

Instead of answering the question directly, Barbie asked one of
her own. "What's the biggest difference between the young men and
women who enter Boot Camp, and those who successfully complete
the course?" 

"I don't have any idea. Guns, haircuts and uniforms?" 

Barbie smiled at the riposte before answering her own question.
"Those who go in are individuals. Those who come out are part of
a team." 

"Nice little robots, you mean?" 

"I can see you haven't met many Marines," Barbie snapped, taking
insult for her absentee skirt-sib. 

Skipper shrugged, but ducked her head at a jab she knew was fair.
"No, not really. That swaggering macho thing has never . . .
interested me." 

Barbie let that go, returning to the key issue. "The Marines have
a deliberate, carefully worked out program for new recruits.
First, they have to show them that their civilian ways - the self
centered, 'I'll do it *my* way for *ME*' attitude won't work.
They apply a lot of stress, deliberate stress, tearing away at
every detail of the recruits' natural reactions so that they
question *every*thing about their own abilities. Then they
rebuild them as part of a team, showing them that the disciplined
team is stronger, more effective, more worthy of pride than
anything they could ever achieve on their own." 

The taller girl paused for a moment of reflection, then shrugged.
"And you're right, of course. Part of that is military
effectiveness, and they do indeed learn to kill. But only under
control, as part of a team effort, in compliance with lawful
orders. They learn self discipline from the success they achieve
through imposed discipline." 

"I suppose NOW you're going to tell me that Jane's program does
the same thing." There was a world of skepticism in Skipper's
acid tones. 

"In many ways," Barbie agreed equably. "The team element is less
significant of course, but the stress and the discipline are very
real. It's a teardown/buildup process that forces the student to
question every instinctive reaction on the way to learning
conscious control." 

Barbie smiled ruefully, and said, "In fact, that's what 'gave me
away' to Jane."

"Huh? 'Gave you away'? I don't understand."

"It's how Mom figured out I really didn't belong at Seasons House
- as her student, at least. I already hadd a lot of self control,
more than she'd ever seen. Or so she says. That wasn't consistent
with the lies my birth mother had placed in the forged records
she'd sent Jane."

"I STILL don't see what her program has to do with boot camp or
discipline for that matter." Skipper fumed, her frustration with
this line of incomprehensible logic growing rapidly.

"The feminine mannerisms Jane demands in he program are as
foreign to her typically short and slender students as the rigid
discipline of military orders is to the more, ah, 'macho' types
who are drawn to the Marines. Yet a smaller boy can do well at
Jane's program, even excel  something that only very rare
individuals of that body type can do in the primarily physical
stress of Boot Camp. In the end though, it takes the same sort of
self control and discipline to succeed. Once you have that  once
you *realize* that you have that  well, then you're ready to
succeed in just about anything you want to do." 

"You sound so certain," Skipper observed again, her tones almost
wistful.

"I've seen it work, Skipper," Barbie's quiet intensity drew a
surprised stare from her companion. "And although Mom admits to
two failures, I've never seen one, and I've been watching her for
more than five years now."

Lines furrowed the shorter woman's smooth brow as her eyes
narrowed in thought. "I'm just not sure I want. . . that I
believe being made to excel at being feminine . . " she paused,
then shook her head. "I have to think about all this a lot more,
I guess."

Barbie nodded, but didn't make any reply. Instead, she let the
silence stand for a few minutes, but then saw a sign. "Can we
pull off at the rest-stop ahead? Between breakfast and this
damned corset squeezing my bladder, I need the little girl's
room?"

That drew a surprised giggle from the driver. "You don't think
I'm going to go into the little boys room, do you?" she demanded,
all outraged dignity.

"Honey," Skipper chortled, "You don't qualify for a 'little'
anything! Let's see if we can find you a BIG girl's room."

A sniff that Skipper had not known Jane Thompson long enough to
recognize was her only answer.

Chapter 19: On the Road Again.

"God, the look on your face!" Skipper hooted when they were back
in safety of the car. "Got any spare change for the Tampex
machine, honey?" she growled in creditable mimicry of the woman
who'd just cornered the big blonde.

"Skipper," Barbie warned softly.

"Don't you just HATE it when it hits you miles from nowhere
without warning. Monthlies ought to BE monthly, right?"

"You're pushing your luck, cutie," an increasingly red-faced
amazon snarled.

"Oh, come on. It's over. Surely you can see how funny it was - at
least in hindsight."

"It is NOT the LEAST bit funny and not at all what I had
expected."

Skipper was doing her best not to howl with laughter now, and
almost succeeding, although she was starting to hiccup. "And what
did you expect?"

A trace of a smile softened the taller girl's features now.
"Well, according to my skirt-sibs, if you're really lucky,
sometimes you see cute girls, shall we say, en dishabille?"

"NOT in roadside bathrooms, girlfriend," Skipper retorted firmly.
"I try not to spend any more time in one of those places than
necessary." She gave an exaggerated shudder at the thought.

"Gee, I thought it was pretty good. Much better than the guy-side
would have been."

Now the other girl's shudder was real. "Yuck! You're kidding,
right? No civilized human being would tolerate such conditions."

"Who said men are civilized? Heck, some of us still like trees
when nature calls, you know?"

Skipper was still laughing as she started the car and headed back
for the open road.

~---------~

"The instructor hasn't had any of your students before," Art
pointed out as he read the flyer. "I agree it's intriguing,
particularly after having read Adrienne's school file again, but
that's a pretty physical art form. The instructor might pick up
on your girl's slip-ups."

"I'd be close by," Jane countered, "for the first few lessons, at
least. If only to make sure that Adrienne doesn't try anything
dangerous. Besides, she might even like it, once she gets past
the initial shock of being in public on her own."

"You sure this is what you want? It's not nearly as . . . blatant
as some of the things you've done with the children's theater."

"Wrong kind of play. They're all dressing up in animal costumes,
so even if I had Adrienne there in a boy role, putting him in a
girl chipmunk outfit wouldn't particularly stress him. As to the
degree of femininity, I think our young miss will draw. .
.attention. The costumes are typically rather form fitting and
Adrienne's will be more so than most."

Art hugged his wife. "I love it when you talk dirty," he
whispered.

"Down, boy!" Jane ordered, grinning. "So, what do you think?"

"As long as you think you can deal with the externals, it sounds
like a good idea. Should put her on the right road, at least."

"And besides, the kids at the clinic will love having a mime come
visiting," the Mistress of Seasons House said smugly.

~------~

"So, you had expectations for our little rest-stop? Based on,
what was it you called them? Skirt-subs?"

"Skirt-SIBS," Barbie corrected, "As in siblings. Fellow former
students of Jane Thompson's Winsome Girls' School for Wayward
Boys. It's kind of like being a blood brother, only less messy."

"Right. I take it these . . . persons have invaded a lady's
room?"

"Well, maybe I sort of have," Barbie admitted with a bit of a
blush before hurrying on with "but Michael and Darryl have, for
sure. They both have lived en femme for relatively long periods
of time. Darryl as Jane's big sister in residence for about six
years; Mike because," the tall blonde hesitated, "well, that's
his story to tell."

"He's the one who attempted suicide."

"Yeah. Part of the, well, therapy I guess you'd call it, was to
live as Michelle full time for quite a while - to sort of come to
grips with the things that had driven him that far."

The pair lapsed into silence as the powerful car ate up the miles
down the Connecticut Turnpike. "You want to put the top down
after we get through New York?" Barbie asked. "It's a gorgeous
day."

"My, but we are becoming comfortable with our girlishness,"
Skipper observed sweetly.

"Huh? What does that mean?"

"Feel like holding your wig on the whole trip, slick? The wind
will have it off you before you can spit. Or is that hairpiece
held on by more than a few hair hooked through the mat?"

"Shit!"

"Ah-ah-ah-ah," the shorter girl tutted sweetly. "Whatever would
your Mother say? Such language from a lady."

"You're really pushing your luck," Barbie observed.

Skipper said nothing in return, but inwardly smiled. He might be
miffed at her teasing, but at least he wasn't brooding about what
awaited them at their destination. 

"Where do you want to stop for lunch?" she asked instead.

"Anywhere EXCEPT one of those Pennsylvania Turnpike rest areas,"
was the emphatic answer. "I know a nice little family diner just
over the New York-Pennsylvania border. Real home cooking - much
better than Momma-Jane ever made, but then, Momma-Jane has
Marie."

~---------~

Jane watched the class with practiced eyes, knowing what to look
for - knowing what behaviors and situations would be safe for her
plans; and those that were simply too dangerous to her student's
masquerade. 

The instructor was a drama teacher at the local high school, but
working here at the youth club as a volunteer. The pre-adolescent
boys and girls in this group were learning the 'fine art' of
physical comedy. In other words, they were learning to be clowns.
Jane had laughed more than once at their exuberant antics, and
had even applauded when the teacher had been the practice dummy
for the 'pie-in-the-face' act. She wondered what the white foam
filling the paper-plates was, but it looked like great fun to
her.

*The problem is,* she reminded herself, *that all real acting is
at once physical, mental and emotional, and in correcting
physical interpretations, acting coaches often 'lay hands' on
their students.* Jane could not risk that. An experienced acting
teacher might well be all too likely to recognize the
'enhancements' she used with her boys for what they really were -
corsets, falsies and other types of padding. Such a recognition
might raise questions Jane could not afford to have aired.

So far, the male teacher had been very careful - correcting by
means of example and verbal directions only. Still, the only
male, other than a former student, Jane had ever involved in her
program had been Art, who was unique and special in many ways.
Could she take the risk? Certainly, having Adrienne in regular
and close contact with a male while in her feminine guise would
be very stressful on Jane's current problem-child. *Do I dare
risk it?* she asked herself.

The question was still bothering her as the last of the children
departed leaving her alone with the instructor. "Ms. Thompson?"
the smiling man asked as he walked up to her, vigorously rubbing
face and hair with a white towel. "I'm Ted Fredricks. I'd offer
you my hand, but I'm not sure I've got all the shaving foam off
me yet."

"Is that what that was?" she asked, brow cocked in query.

"Yep. It doesn't cost much, and the little ones aren't tempted to
clean the floor with their mouths when we're done. It can smart
if it gets in the eye, though, which is why I let them pop me
with the 'pie'. Can't be a proper clown without throwing a pie in
someone's face, you know. Anyway, you wanted to talk about the
class on mime, right? Oh, and could we walk as we talk? I have to
leave as soon as we're done."

"Yes, of course," she replied, following him down the hall toward
the parking lot door of the club. "I have a young girl living
with me, she's thirteen," Jane temporized. Actually, Adrian was
fifteen, but was small enough that Adrienne could pass as a
fairly tall thirteen year old girl which suited Jane's purposes.
"She saw Marcel Marceau on the Biography Channel and was
fascinated by the art. I thought she might like to learn
something of that first hand."

"I hear a 'but' in that, Ms. Thompson."

*Might as well tell part of the truth,* Jane thought. "I'm
concerned about a young girl being taught such a physical art by.
. by. . "

"by a MAN?" There was steel-hard ice in Fredricks' voice. "I
teach children, Ms. Thompson, I do NOT molest them, and god help
anyone I ever catch who does."

"I see," Jane murmured, pleased with the reaction. "I'm sorry for
the way that sounded, but one cannot be too careful with a child
these days."

He walked up to a late-model van and opened the side door,
tossing his duffel inside. "Perhaps, but being male, Ms.
Thompson, let me tell you that it gets wearing when everyone
expects me to be on the make for little girls. My wife will be
helping with the mime class, if that makes you feel any better,
and she can work directly with your girl. She usually does coach
the girls, in fact."

"Would it be all right if I watched, maybe the first couple or
three classes? Just to make sure she's okay with it? *And so I
can make sure she's not getting out of hand.*

"No problem, but I may just draft you to help, or make you do the
exercises. Ever try mime yourself, Ms. Thompson?"

Jane tried to imagine herself in white-facepaint, a bowler-hat, a
long-sleeved white pullover shirt and calf-length pants. Somehow,
it just didn't work for the intensely feminine Mistress of
Seasons House. She grinned at the thought. "No, can't say that I
have." Then something in the van caught her eye. "Those aren't
petticoats, are they?" she asked in surprise.

"Yep," Fredricks answered. "The faculty at the school is doing a
variety show next week, sort of as a fund raiser. I'm going to do
my Milton Burle routine for it. I got those as part of the
costuming."

*My goodness,* was all Jane could think.

~--------~

"Your car sucks gas, Blondie," Skipper said as they approached
Stamford, CT. "We should probably fill up before the City. With
any luck, we won't be down to fumes before we're safely into
Pennsylvania."

"I'd take offence for my trusted steed, except I need the
necessary."

"Told you you'd regret going to town on that water bottle,"
Skipper added with a smirk.

"Sheesh, never give a guy an even break, do you?" Barbie
responded cattily, and then stopped short when she felt rather
than saw her companion almost withdraw into herself.

"What?" the taller blonde demanded. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't
really mean. . "

She watched as the other girl gathered herself, forcing an
almost-smile onto her face. "No. . no, I know it wasn't meant as
anything other than playfully. It's just. . ." her voice trailed
off as her eyes became focused on something distant that only she
could see.

"Just what, Anne?" Kenneth's voice asked very gently.

She sighed deeply. "That's precisely what my brother has always
accused me of doing. Never giving him a break, I mean, always on
him. It's one of his best shots, and he knows it. I shouldn't
react to it . . ."

"But you care about him, so you worry that he might be right?" A
shaky nod answered the question. "Seems to me that if Adrian was
mature enough not to need such . . . oversight? If he didn't need
it, he wouldn't have gotten himself in court and wouldn't be at
Seasons House in buttons and bows, pettis and pinafores. Sounds
to me like little brother has your buttons pretty well figured
out, well tuned and tends to push them pretty hard."

Silence filled the car as Skipper considered that. They drove
another two miles before she finally spoke. "I guess he does, at
that. Most of our 'discussions'," and the word was said with
heavy sarcasm, "seem to end on his terms - usually with one of
his little parting shots to twist the knife. You know? I'd never
quite seen it in that light."

"Guy thing," Barbie observed, back in character. "In truth, one
of the things Jane wants the boys to learn is a more, feminine
isn't the right word, but a more 'woman's way' of interacting
with other folks, particularly folks who have apparent power.
Adrian was thinking in terms of winners and losers - his little
shots made him the winner, at least to him."

"But I wasn't trying to make him lose anything," Skipper
protested.

"I know that. Hopefully, after Jane is through with him, so will
he."

~---------~

"Caro? Hello, Jane here."

"Hi, Jane. What's up?"

Jane smiled flirtatiously at her husband over the curved
mouthpiece of the antique-styled phone. "Oh, I was wondering if
you had time to do a little job for me this afternoon?"

"How big a job?" Caro asked cautiously, "And on who? Kendra? I
thought Sandy and Marie went a little too far with her yesterday.
Tear down time?"

"No, no - nothing of the sort. It's Adrienne, and I have some
very specific. . . enhancements in mind for her."

"Jane, we've worked together a long time, now, right?"

"Yes we have, dear. So?"

"Well, when you start talking around things, I've learned to
start being careful. What do you want and why? What's going on in
that devious mind of yours? Tell me that, and then I'll tell you
if we can handle what you want this afternoon."

Jane stuck out her tongue and made a face at Art, who dissolved
into silent giggles at having won their private bet on Caro's
reaction. "Oh, all right. Look, there's a class in which I want
to enroll Adrienne - first few sessions have already met, but the
instructor has agreed to let her join since she won't be taking
the class for credit like the other students in the class."

"So?"

Sighing, Jane continued. "It's a class on mime, Caro, so Adrienne
is going to be dressed, at best, androgynously. The class is
mixed - boys and girls, mostly girls - however, I want there to
be no question in anyone's mind that this student is female. I
want the teacher and the other students reacting to Adrienne as a
female without conscious thought."

"Okay, so you want the first, second and at least third
impressions to scream 'girl', eh? I see. What have you got in
mind?"

"Oh, the parade float setup, only more so. Here's what I had in
mind. . . . "

~-~

"Just pull up to the full service pump," Barbie said, rummaging
in her purse for a credit card.

"Are you NUTS? That's fifteen cents more a gallon than
self-serve. Just to have someone stand there holding the gas
nozzle?!? I don't THINK so, buster. That's highway robbery -
LITERALLY."

"You'll have to go into the ladies room to wash your hands when
you're done. Sure you're willing to chance it?" the taller girl
teased. "Or is it the principle of the thing?"

"Screw principle, it's fifteen cents a gallon! Maybe that's not a
lot to you, but I'm just not used to being so. . .loose with
money."

"Well, take the card and do as you like. I need to go - like
RIGHT now!"

"Remember to use the ladies," Skipper laughed, "And be sure to
sit."

"As if I could forget, wearing this the bloody gaff Marie gave
me," Barbie growled as she opened the door and hurried off,
leaving behind a Skipper who now had just a bit more
understanding of her brother's little barbs.

~-------~

"Are you really going to shoot that particular bolt? Art asked,
his eyes grave as he watched Jane assume her
'businesswoman-in-command' persona for the now-scheduled salon
visit. "Once that one is loosed, you don't have much else in the
way of heavy artillery with this one."

"You're mixing your metaphors again, dear," the auburn-haired
teacher evaded, smiling up at his reflected image in her vanity's
mirror.

"Janey," Art warned.

"It's not like I have much more time with her in any case," she
admitted on a sigh. "What is that first rule of leadership? A
two-by-four in the face followed by 'Now that I have your
attention?" Jane rose from her stool and turned into her
husband's arms and clung for just a moment. "I haven't had this
one's attention since Barbara Anne became involved. Unless I get
it back, nothing good can come of any of this."

Art held her close, offering what comfort and support he could.
"Desperate times, desperate measures?"

"Close enough," she answered into his shoulder. "I know it's a
terrible risk, but at least there's a chance that something good
might come of trying it. The key to my program is that the
student has to care, has to try."

"And you're afraid that this one might try to wait you out?"

"Even though she doesn't know her time here is now limited, she
still is inclined to wait for some word from her sister. Every
moment is now precious."

Art considered that for a few more moments, even as he savored
the intimacy of their loving, fully clothed embrace. What was it
Heinlein said about love? 'Love is what you feel when you aren't
horny?' Something like that, anyway. *Well, Art, m'lad, you are
DEFINITELY in love with this woman. Too bad you can't think of a
better course of action than the one she's already decided to
follow with this one.* "Okay," he finally said. "Diana will be
here when you return, just in case you or Adrienne needs her."

Jane sighed and after one last cuddle, stepped back from the
protective circle of his arms. After checking her makeup one last
time, she waved and strode toward the hallway door - the Mistress
of Seasons House bravely going once more into the breech.

~--------~

*Wonder if real girls have that much trouble in those places?*
Barbie wondered as she strolled back to the car having finished
her business. *That was a near thing, thanks to all the effort
needed to get panties, pantie girdle, hose and the gaff out of
the line of fire. But then, real girls don't have the gaff, and
most modern girls don't wear girdles, either.*

She was just about to call out to Skipper when she realized that
the girl was not alone. A young man had come upon the scene while
Barbie had been answering Nature's call and was, from what the
tall blonde could tell, attempting to chat the shorter girl up.
*God, look at that body language, you idiot,* Barbie thought
angrily. *Her spine is rigid - she's staring at the fill nozzle
and her body is angled away from you. Short of telling you to
take a long walk across a crowded highway, she can't be much more
obvious.*

Barbie increased her pace to close the distance. Road noise made
it difficult to make anything intelligible out of what the man
was saying until she'd gotten almost to the car. What she heard
made her eyes narrow dangerously.

"C'mon. Let me buy you lunch. There's a nice place just off the
Turnpike up ahead."
"No thank you," was the clipped reply as she rose to her full
height to replace the nozzle on the pump. "I've already told you
I am not staying in the area, nor from the area."

"Hey, I'm in Rhode Island a lot on business. I could call you -
get together - have a few laughs."

"I'm not from Rhode Island. This is a friend's car."

"This isn't because you're taller than me, is it? Hey, I LIKE
tall chicks, and trust me, darlin', I'm really tall where it
counts, you dig?"

Barbie saw the look of confusion give way to what she could only
describe as horror as the meaning of the fool's allusion became
clear to her. *Time to do something,* she thought and moved in to
stand directly behind the three-piece-suited irritant.

"OWWWCH," he yelped and spun about as Barbie very firmly 'tapped'
his shoulder with the nail of her right index finger. "What the .
. . . o - my - god."

There was something satisfying as well as humorous as the
interloper's eyes started at bosom-level and then crept up slowly
until they locked with Barbie's own. Had she seen herself in the
mirror, she and any of Jane Thompson's boys would have
immediately recognized the look on her face - one eyebrow cocked
in sardonic amusement, head self confidently erect, her smile
both challenging and only mildly curious. *You're the disease,
sucker,* Barbie thought, *I'm the cure.*

"You're annoying my girlfriend, shortie," she said in a sultry
purr worthy of Darla. "So you like tall girls, eh? Why? So you
can prove you're man enough to handle a LOT of woman?" She
watched as his eyes went wide at her challenge, before he
recovered enough to nod - almost arrogantly. Barbie snorted
derisively. "I don't THINK so." She strode over to Skipper and
walked her to the passenger door and helped her in before
stepping to the driver's door. "Well, then maybe you should go
away and grow up some first, little boy, or maybe go and try that
crap on girls. Women," and there was heavy emphasis on the word,
"just aren't interested in such. . . childish come ons. Ciao,
loser."

Barbie got in the car and simply drove off, leaving the gaping
man behind her, breathing exhaust. "You okay?" she asked as she
headed for the acceleration lane back onto the turnpike.

"He wouldn't go away. He started pestering me right after you
left, telling me how great I looked, how tall I am, and he just
wouldn't go away!"

"We went away," Barbie replied gently. *She mentioned his tall
comments specifically. Curious. She gets hit on by a stranger and
yet she's bothered by the fact that he is attracted to her
height. Wish Mike or Darryl were here to explain THAT to me.*

"I should be driving," she said, a bit of a quaver in her voice.

"I'm fine. You should relax now anyway, since you'll need to do
the driving when we get into Pennsylvania. I'll drive to that
diner I mentioned, then you can get us onto the Pennsylvania
Turnpike. I'll spell you for a few hours in the middle, and then
give the wheel back to you at the end. Okay?" At her nod, Barbie
smiled. "Then why don't you put the seat back and relax - get
some rest. It's gonna be a long drive. OH DAMN!"

"What?" Skipper yelped as her head snapped toward the driver's
seat.

"I broke a NAIL on that asshole! DAMN! HEY, it's NOT FUNNY! STOP
THAT GIGGLING!" Barbie ordered, pleased when her companion could
not comply with the order.

~----------~

Jane pulled the big Lincoln up outside the storefront of the
Marisha Chalet and after stopping the car, turned the full force
of her stare on her student. "We need to get something very clear
between us, Adrienne," she began quietly.

"Yes, Ms. Thompson?" she answered without much interest, Jane
thought.

"I am aware that you've been in contact with your sister -
without my permission and therefore in violation of the court
order," Jane said in stern, measured tones. "I am also aware,
since I have been in contact with Ms. Braithwaite, that you have
told her you are being abused and that you expect her to take
action which will see you removed from my custody and control."

She watched the be-skirted boy's face as that revelation was
absorbed, considered and digested. With what Adrienne must have
thought a poker face, she looked up at Jane and replied, "So?"

"So, this, young lady. Your sister and I have discussed your
charges and her concerns - face to face, in fact. We have reached
an agreement on those fronts."

"An agreement? What kind of an agreement?" her student asked,
suspicion and concern now evident in her manner.

"Well, you are still here, aren't you? And still in skirts? I
would say that speaks volumes, wouldn't you?"

"I don't believe you. Barbie wouldn't do that, not after what I
told her about you. . .I mean, your program."

"Just so," Jane nodded. "What you told her about ME is what you
meant, young lady. Nothing like lying by almost telling the
truth, is there? And as I understand it, Ms. Braithwaite does not
like to be called 'Barbie'." The older woman smiled as she saw
that dart strike home.

"I DON'T believe you. I WON'T believe you until I hear it from
Barb. . I mean, Anne."

Her face expressionless, Jane pulled a sealed envelope from her
purse and handed it to her charge. A strong yet feminine hand had
addressed the missive 'To Adrienne'.

A suspicious look flitted across the girl-boy's face as she used
one long nail to part the adhesive holding the flap shut. Jane
knew the instant the full meaning of the short note came through
to Adrienne, for her hands fell to her lap and her shocked-wide
eyes snapped up to meet Jane's darker ones. "I believe," she said
confidently, "That you will recognize the handwriting."

For her part, Jane already knew the contents of the note, for she
had dictated it to Barbara Anne. It had taken all her
considerable skill and force of will, not to say the
uncompromising support of Doctors Philips and Nash, and Lawyer
Roberts, to convince the girl to do this, but in the end, she
did.

     Dear Adrienne,
     
     I have checked into the situation you described in your
     phone call, and I have to tell you, you almost got us
     both in an incredible amount of trouble. Let's remember
     that the only reason you're not in jail right now is
     because Ms. Thompson agreed to take you in as part of
     the suspended sentence agreement. By calling me, you
     almost got your suspension of sentence vacated. You
     would then go to jail - with me in the cell right next
     to you. 
     
     Look, Adrienne, if you are honest with yourself, you
     KNOW that I love you dearly. However, I do not intend
     to ruin my life with a jail sentence because you
     involved yourself in things when you knew better.
     
     You can avoid that fate, too, if you will do what Ms.
     Thompson tells you. As you promised. I won't accept any
     further contact with you until Ms. Thompson agrees to
     it. 
     
     Your loving sister,
     Anne
     
"This is not real," the teen hissed in a voice made harsh by
emotion. "This is another of your damned tricks! You've got
enough money go get someone to fake Barb. . Anne's handwriting."

"Watch your language!" Jane snapped. "I don't need to commit
forgery. Not when your sister did, indeed, write that letter.
Since you doubt me, why don't you try calling her?" Jane withdrew
a cell phone from her purse and handed it to the girl. She
watched her pupil hesitate. "Go ahead, Adrienne. You've already
proven you know your sister's work and home phone numbers.
However, I'm afraid you'll find that option no longer open to
you. Ms. Braithwaite will not answer your calls."

Without a word, the girl-boy punched in number. "Yes, this is
Adrian Braithwaite. I need to speak with my sister, Anne
Braithwaite. What do you mean she won't take my call? I don't
care what instructions you have, this is her brother and I want
to talk to her NOW! WAIT! Don't HANG. . . up."

Casting a furious look at Jane, Adrienne cleared the call and
punched in another call. For just a moment, the prettily made up
face cleared, but ONLY for a moment. *He heard the opening of the
answering machine message and thought he had his sister,* Jane
mused. *Now, he's hearing the really bad news,* she added
silently.

Jane had actually dictated the essence of the message and had
listened to it before leaving the house. "This is Anne
Braithwaite. If this is anyone other than my brother, I will be
away on business for the next few days to a week. Please leave a
message as I will check my machine periodically. If this is
Adrian, I will not return any call from you that does not
originate from Ms. Thompson. ::beeeep::"

"Damn her!" the young teen growled.

"I told you to watch your language! That means no profanity!"
Jane snapped, and then made a show of regaining her control. "So,
you are still under my program, and your choices remain the same
as they were the day you arrived - successfully complete my
program or face several years of juvenile detention. At this
point, Adrienne, I am inclined to wash my hands of you, since you
have already broken your word once. I'm going to be thinking
about that over the next few days. If you truly consider yourself
abused, then we can dissolve our association right now, and I
will return you to the courts for vacation of the suspension on
your sentence. IF I decide to let you stay on, then I will expect
your BEST efforts from this point forward. You've had your first
chance, young lady, and you blew it. If I decide to give you a
second one, that will be it for you. I will not be insulted by
those I am trying to help. Do we understand one another?"

Jane sat there, her eyes locked on the golden-haired creature
whose eyes were staring off into space. She let the silence
between them grow for almost a minute and then demanded
intensely, "Do. . . We . . .Understand . . .One Another?!"

Adrienne swallowed hard, obviously shaken, but finally nodded.
"Yes, ma'am," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Very well. You may consider yourself on probation until such
time as I tell you otherwise. One strike and you are out. Now, go
inside and find Mrs. Beale. She and Sandy are waiting for you.
I've already told them what I want done, in what I assumed would
be the very UNLIKELY event you showed up this afternoon. I'll
return in two hours. You MIGHT be done by then."

"Yes, Ms. Thompson," Adrienne answered, as she let herself out of
the car.

Jane watched the small figure make her way slowly up to the
storefront entrance. She waited until Adrienne had let herself
inside before restarting the car.

"Lord, but I hope that was right card to play with this one."

Chapter 20: Feeding the Inner Woman

"Skipper?" Barbie said, as she followed the exit down the hill.
When there was no response, she looked over to find the other
girl dozing. *So much for her being really bothered by that creep
coming on to her back in Connecticut.* "Anne?" she said more
loudly.

The sleek blonde stirred and then shifted her body into a
semi-stretch, moistened her lips and cracked open one eye at the
driver. "What?" she demanded, her voice softly menacing.

"Umm, do I take this as fair warning that you do not wake up with
a song in your heart and sunshine on your shoulder?"

Something that might have been 'no' but was closer to a feral
growl came out of her half-parted lips. She shifted in the
car-seat, stretched again and sat up. "Where are we?"

"Pennsylvania. It's about two - and I'm hungry, so - Hello,
Rabbit? How about lunch?"

Skipper grinned, "Sure, Pooh - lead me to the honey-jar."

A few minutes later, they were sliding onto the bench-seats of an
old-style diner-booth, complete with a push-button jukebox at the
head of the table. "Oh, I haven't seen one of those since I was a
little girl," Skipper gushed, happily reaching up to turn the
knob that flipped the cards containing the available selections.

"And Madame's musical preference is?" Barbie asked in the stiff,
starchy tones of a five-star maitre d'hotel all the while digging
in her purse for change.

"Old fashioned rock-and-roll," she sighed happily, "Like that
one!"

"Can't go wrong with "The Boss", can you?" her companion asked
approvingly as she fed coins into the machine. "You get to punch
in the buttons."

Seconds later, the whiskey-rough voice of Bruce Springsteen was
singing about his high school friend who could 'throw that
speedball by you' and then 'make you look like a fool'. By the
end of the first chorus, Skipper was tapping her nails to the
beat of E-street's hard driving rhythm. By the second
run-through, her head was moving in time to the music, making her
new curls dance and bounce. By the end of the song, she was
singing the chorus in a husky alto that did strange and wonderful
things in the pit of Barbie's corsetted gut.

"Oh, that was lovely," she breathed when the last guitar riff
signaled the end of the song.

"More where that came from," Barbie told her reaching for her
purse again. They were interrupted by the arrival of their
server. They ordered salads and tea. "Out of change, darnit!"

"That's okay. Maybe later."

"I've got some CD's in the car. Nice to know I'm riding with
someone who appreciates the classics."

"Oh, I do." She became silent for a moment and then looked up
into the other girl's eyes. "I wanted to thank you - should have
done it sooner - for chasing that guy off back at the gas
station. I just don't seem to know how to handle. . . situations
like that. Not well, anyway."

"You're so pretty, hell, so beautiful, that it must happen on a
fairly regular basis - unless you live in a world without men."

"Not hardly," she said with a half laugh, "But, well, I've just
never learned how to deal with. . .well, you know, . . .men."

"You may have men in that world of yours, Skip, but they must be
blind or stupid!"

"Easy, girl," Skipper warned. "Let's not slip out of character
here."

She watched as her table-mate seemed to visibly become. . .more
feminine somehow before asking, "Better?" At Skipper's slow,
surprised nod, Barbie continued. "Back to my question, though.
You must have a lot of practice with the horny male on the prowl
- you are that good looking."

"Hmmphh! Different, you mean, and a bloody challenge, until they
find out that I come with. . .responsibilities."

"Adrian, you mean?" At Skipper's nod, she continued. "Surely it
wasn't always that way, was it? Before your parents' accident?"

"Guys don't beg dates from girls that are taller than they are,
okay? When all my classmates were learning to deal with boys, I
was hunching over and wishing I could find Alice's shrinking 'eat
me' biscuit."

"You dealt pretty well with me so far - Ken, too."

"You're different," Skipper snorted as she stirred her tea. "And
with Kenneth, well, that was business, not personal."

"Felt personal to Kenneth, trust me."

She shrugged. "Maybe it was at that, but it felt like business to
begin with, and I'm good at that kind of stuff - the logic, the
give and take - and besides. . ."

"Besides?"

"Besides that, I was, well, pissed."

Barbie slapped her hands to her ears in exaggerated horror. "Oh,
my poor innocent ears - what YOU just said!"

"Your Ms. Thompson would have the soap out by now, eh? But I was
angry. Things were out of control and I couldn't figure out how
to fix them - with Adrian. Then he goes and gets into real
trouble, and there's an out - send him to this school where he'll
learn to be a real human being - fix the things I've messed up,
and then. . . "

Her voice hitched, and Barbie put a gentling hand onto the
shorter girl's arm. 

"And then, you get a phone call that tells you he's in worse
trouble, being abused, right?" A shaky nod was her only answer.
"And given what you found out, you were frightened for him -
worried that it might be sexual as well as emotional, right?"

"Because I screwed up," she whispered.

"HE screwed up," Barbie corrected, "And now you know that he's
all right, unless you consider wearing skirts damaging to him
sexually."

"Is it?" she asked before she could stop herself, and then was
horrified at what she'd asked. . .at WHO she'd asked.

"Only if the thong and gaff are too tight," Barbie answered in a
hushed whisper. "But that is a problem with jockey-shorts, too."

"Oh?" Skipper asked, the bit of silliness lightening her mood.

"Yeah," Barbie assured her, "if it gets too hot down there, all
the sperm die." and was immediately showered in a spray of icy
tea.

"WHAT did you SAY?" Skipper squeaked.

~--------~

"So, did you enjoy your afternoon off, Jessica?" Jane asked from
her perch on her older student's bed.

Looking at Aunt Jane's reflection, the petite blonde carefully
creamed off the eye-makeup she'd put on for the evening meal.
"Right, Aunt Jane. Six hours of research for that paper you
assigned yesterday. Five thousand words on the legal standing of
women in American Society and its effects on the women's suffrage
movement immediately prior to the turn of the Twentieth Century."

"We could make it ten thousand if you feel five thousand doesn't
give you sufficient scope for your arguments," Jane offered
sweetly.

Knowing better than to rise to Jane's little jibes, Jessica
instead smiled angelically at the older woman. "Thank you. I'll
keep that in mind as I gather my source data."

"Well done, dear," Jane approved. "Just the right blend of sweet
amiability and hidden cattiness. I could do better, but I have
years more experience. Now, tell me what you thought of Adrienne
tonight."

"Caro and Sandy did a real number on her. Those brows - wow. I
mean, something out of a fifties movie they're so fine. And I'd
swear her lashes are longer and thicker, but they don't look like
falsies. Real Betty Boop-stuff, only real."

"Waxing for the brows; individual hair by hair replacements for
the lashes. Very expensive, very time consuming."

"Thought I was seeing things. Then I assume that the subtle color
I saw is also their work? Around her eyes and lips, and her cheek
bones?"

"Very good, Jessica. Your observational skills are becoming
better everyday. Yes, those are Sandy and Caro - the deep-dye
cosmetics, too, so the colors are there for a while, and they'll
be refreshed each time we go back to the salon, for the time
being."

"Oh? why?"

"Because she's going to be in a public situation where she will
have to clean off makeup, and I don't want her feminine look to
be compromised."

"That means if she does leave in three weeks, she leaves looking
girlish," Jessica observed cautiously.

"I know that, but it simply can't be helped. We don't have time
to be careful with this one anymore, and she NEEDS help!" When
Jessica only nodded understanding, Jane sighed. "Did you find
anything else new about her. . .behaviorally, perhaps?"

Jessica considered that as she walked over to her armoire and
pulled out her nightgown. "You know? She was . . .I guess the
word is subdued at dinner. For the first time in a couple of
weeks, she just sort of sat there and took your shots - all of
them. I figured you'd found a way to put what Dar calls the "Fear
of Jane" back into her."

"Nothing else? Nothing she's said?"

"Not really. We didn't have much time together after you got back
from town. Then there was dinner, and she had KP. She say
anything to Tante Marie?"

"No. Look, I pushed a button very hard today, Jessica - very,
VERY hard. I don't know how she'll react, but then, she's been
difficult to read of late. I could have just made a huge mistake,
so try to keep an eye on her for me. If it looks even the least
out of the ordinary, call for me, all right?"

"You got it, Aunt Jane."

"Good night, dear."

"'night, Aunt Jane. See you in the morning."

Chapter 21: At Home with Judge Ruth

Barbara Anne watched as the short, plump white haired woman
reached up to hug the towering blonde in the killer heels. Her
Honor, Judge Ruth Walinkiewicz looked very different here, in
front of her neat little house with it's prettily gardened lawn
than she had the last time the Braithwaites had seen her. Then,
she'd looked so large and powerful seated there on her elevated
station, especially when she had pronounced sentence on her
brother - the vengeful harpy or so Adrian had named her. Now, she
looked, well, the only word that seemed to fit was softer - like
someone's grandmother - a person to whom you could cuddle up and
tell all your troubles. *Lord,* Skipper thought as the two women
softly cried together, *All that's missing is tea and homemade
cookies.*

At that moment, the pair broke apart, and Skipper could tell the
moment Ruth remembered she was there. "Ms. Braithwaite," she said
in cool tones that barely hinted at her Eastern European
heritage. "Welcome to my home. Won't you come in? I have a light
tea prepared. I will fill you both in on the plans while you
refresh yourselves."

"If you'll make yourselves comfortable," Ruth said as she ushered
them into her parlor, "I'll just be a moment."

Skipper was again surprised as she found the inside of the house
was as pretty (there was no other word for it) as the outside -
and just as eclectic. Judge Ruth obviously selected her furniture
for comfort, but did not feel wedded to any particular style or
decorative fad. Overstuffed, almost shabby chairs sat
side-by-side with antique tables and modern brass lamps. The
latest Apple laptop computer rested on a Chippendale desk,
surrounded by an lovely old-style Waterford crystal decanter and
Disney character statues. In spite of herself, Skipper smiled at
the wonderful chaos of the room.

She strolled over to the large brick hearth that dominated the
room to look at the multitude of framed photographs that lined
the slate shelf above the fireplace. Skipper smiled as she looked
at pictures - obviously family given the judge's strong
resemblance to the father in one photo and to the mother in
another. There was a graying group picture, of about twenty young
women huddled together in front of what appeared to be a college
dormitory, or perhaps a sorority house. It took the young blonde
a few moments to realize that a very young Ruth Walinkiewicz
stood in the front row giving a "Peace Sign" while another woman
held the two fingered 'rabbit' sign above her head. *MY GOD, is
that JANE THOMPSON?!?!*

Before that near shock of that recognition could quite pass, her
eyes locked on the double-framed picture set that held court at
the center of the hearth. The two facing photos were teenagers
barely into their adolescence - a sober-faced black-haired boy
and a blonde girl with laughing, mischievous eyes. *Such a solemn
young man,* Skipper thought to herself, *And such a contrast to
the girl - talk about a flirt. Brother and sister, perhaps? There
is a resemblance - rather pronounced when you look closely. The
boy looks, somehow familiar. . . *

And then shock hit her for the second time in moments. "That's
YOU!" she yelped, turning accusatory eyes on the quietly watching
Barbie. "BOTH of those are you."

"And you're the first to ever recognize that relationship, Miss
Braithwaite," Ruth put in, as she walked in carrying a laden
tray. "Few have ever met both my boy and his feminine alter-ego -
you're the first in over six years, in fact - so we've always
been able to pass Kendra off as a lost sister or cousin. It has
also helped explain why he lived with me and not his Mother
because we'd hint that he was an orphan." Ruth's face went white
as she realized what she'd just inferred, and that her boy was
now, in fact, an orphan. "Oh, Kenny, I'm sorry."

A sweet sad smile suffused Barbie's face as she hurried over to
embrace and comfort the suddenly distraught older woman.
"Momma-Ruth," she crooned down into the cap of steel-gray curls,
"I haven't been motherless since you and Momma-Jane took me on.
Heavens, how many guys OR girls can claim TWO mothers like that?
And I'm not even married!"

"But she's dead!" Ruth said on a half sob, half whisper.

"And I will always regret that she was as she was," was the firm
reply, "but I know who my Mothers were and are, and she's not in
that company."

The soft smile that lit the lovely face made Skipper's heart
rhythm syncopate. 

~---------~

"The time has come, the walrus said to speak of many things,"
Barbie quoted some time later, her dark eyes fixed on the older
woman. 

Ruth didn't so much as raise an eyebrow, simply stared back at
the tall blonde and said, "Which means, in this context, anyway?" 

"What happened, Momma Ruth?" Kenneth's voice sounded discordantly
on their ears, adding impact to the softly worded question. "You
have been conspicuously vague about the facts behind Sheila's
death while Momma Jane would, in her oh so subtle way, change the
subject whenever I asked her. Thus far, I've let it slide. Now, I
need to know so that I don't do something stupid." 

"What makes you think there's anything to know?" she evaded. 

"Because I know YOU  too well not to know when there's something
you don't want to tell me." 

Ruth gave Skipper a pointed look before facing Barbie. "We'll
discuss it later, dear."

"Momma-Ruth, if it's something like that, don't tell me, either
because I can't promise you I won't discuss it with her later.  I
know she's here for me, and I've already trusted her with a great
deal." 

"And of course, you'll trust her again, won't you?" Ruth sighed.  

Skipper saw the Judge's shoulders momentarily slump, but only
momentarily. When the older woman faced Barbie this time,
something in her eyes, something in her very posture reminded
Skipper of the woman who had been on the Bench at Adrian's trial.
The 'power', whatever that entailed, was back. "All right, then.
What I am about to tell you is not to be discussed anywhere but
here with me, or perhaps with Jane. I am technically abusing my
judicial privileges by disclosing information from what is
technically an open homicide investigation. Do you both agree to
those conditions?" 

Both blondes agreed, and Ruth took a deep, cleansing breath.
"After your Mother completed the terms of our agreement?
Following the showdown with you and Jane?" Barbie nodded. "Part
of that was transferring trusteeship of the legacy from your
father to me. That meant she no longer had access to your money
and had to live off the monthly allowance he'd provided for her
in his will." 

"That was not an insignificant amount of money. You made sure I
saw the will. Dad was more than generous." 

"It was insufficient to her perceived needs," Ruth refuted. "She
decided to . . . go into business." 

Skipper saw her tall friend's brows come together in
concentration. "You're talking about her dominatrix/dungeon
thing, aren't you?" 

"You know about that?" Ruth was surprised now. "I thought Jane
and I had kept that bit of nastiness from you." 

"Sheila made sure I knew. She even sent me copies of the ads she
ran in the alternative press." 

Surprised recognition nearly had Skipper dropping her teacup. *Oh
my God,* she thought, *He's. . she's, I mean, THAT'S Kenneth! He
still looks like some dynamite blonde fantasy come to life, but
that rigidity - that intense control - that is what I saw that
first time we met when he tried to talk me out of my lawsuit
against Jane.*

"I should have guessed. . . DAMN that Bitch!" Ruth shook her head
sadly. "In any case, she turned the sizable fetish wardrobe and
toy collection she'd acquired over the years into a business. Did
quite well by all accounts and for the most part, played fair
with her clients. She was known for hard edged sessions and for
forced feminizations." 

The older woman took a bracing sip of her tea and seemed to
gather herself. "Unfortunately for her, needing a paycheck . . .
cramped her style. Working with men - older men who could afford
her exorbitant fees  - did little to satisfy her own sick,
twisted needs." 

"Boys? Or unwilling victims? I can't believe she'd be satisfied
with an adult man who actually wanted what she had to offer,
especially not enough to be willing to pay for it." 

"Both, of course," Ruth sighed. "However, she had learned a thing
or two from her . . . confrontation with us all those years ago." 

"Us?" Skipper asked, unable to control her curiosity. 

"Jane, Kenneth - then as Kendra - and I," Ruth answered. 

"Don't forget Darryl. He was manning the recording equipment,"
Kenneth added, lifting one fine-boned, red-nailed hand to flick
errant curls from his face. 

Skipper couldn't help herself and simply gaped at Barbie. That
simple motion had been so completely and unthinkingly feminine
that it jarred her perceptions of the blonde before her.
Kenneth's voice and . . . intensity had been so compelling that
the visual image of a statuesque woman had become almost
irrelevant, but that graceful gesture had resurrected Barbie from
Kenneth for a shocking instant. *Of course,* Skipper thought to
herself, *Kenneth doesn't have a motion to sweep hair out of his
face - his is fashionably short for a male - so when that became
necessary, _Barbie_ did it FOR him. Lord, if it weren't for the
control he's showing, I'd worry about a split personality or
something. But it's clear she, um, he is just calling on skills
as needed while his mind wrestles with this problem.*

"Darryl, too, although Sheila never knew of his part in that
little drama." 

"What did she learn, Mom?" Kenneth demanded softly. 

"That she couldn't really play her damned games with minors,
dear, at least, she couldn't without unacceptable risk to her own
freedom and comfort. She also figured out that she didn't dare go
to the extremes that she wanted to go with you. So, she would
roam the alternative lifestyle clubs  find likely boys, excuse
me, not boys - young men barely over the age of consent who
LOOKED like boys - and test them. . . test them for what she
called 'compatibility'." 

"And when one passed?" 

"Do you really want to know all of this, Kenneth?" Ruth asked,
her eyes beginning to well up with tears. At his single
mechanical nod, she blew her nose into a paper napkin and forced
herself to continue. "She kept him as her. . .as her slave. She
called it 'pro boning' as a slam against our - yours and my -
profession, I suppose. In any case, the poor fool lived in a
feminized hell for as long as he could stand her sadism or as
long as Sheila wanted him - whichever was shorter. From what the
police have gathered from her diaries, it was almost always
Sheila who broke things off, but only after her slave performed
one last little task for her. She had him seduce his replacement.
Sheila would take videos of it to use as blackmail leverage if
she needed it. In the end, that led to her own death." 

"Her killer was one of her victims?" 

A cold frisson of dread ran down Anne's spine on hearing the
almost physical intensity with which her tall friend imbued the
words of that simple question. 

"Yes. This particular young man refused to be a party to her ploy
to ensnare a new consort. He simply wouldn't be a party to
blackmailing another as he himself had been blackmailed. He left
her, never intending to go back, calling her bluff of exposure.
It should have been a safe bet, but. . ." 

"But it wasn't." Kenneth finished for the judge. "I assume that
Sheila went into one of her rages?"

"Exactly. She lost it completely - sent copies of very . . .
well, nasty photos and videos of him to his family and to the
press. His father is a local politician - a state senator who
had, up until that point in time, had his eye on a Congressional
seat. Unfortunately, one of the photos got into the hands of a .
. . less than honorable person who unduly flatters herself to be
a journalist. The whole sordid mess made quite a splash in the
local tabloids and talk radio circuits. Needless to say, dear old
dad's political aspirations are a thing of the past. He blamed
his son and disowned him in a rather loud, public and
well-publicized confrontation. To make a short story even
shorter, twenty-four hours later, the boy used a key he'd stolen
from Sheila to sneak into her house. He shot her when she arrived
home, then turned the gun on himself." 

Skipper watched as the tall blonde simply sat there, eyes closed,
brows tightly knitted, her hands slowly clenching and
unclenching. Then she took a deep breath before turning, to face
the wall opposite from where Ruth sat. "DAMN HER! God DAMN her!"
she said with quiet vehemence, the words all the more powerful
for the utter lack of volume in her tone. "Sheila never knew when
to quit. NEVER knew when to back off. Always - ALWAYS - it was
what SHE wanted and if you didn't want the same thing? Well, that
was just too damned bad - for you." 

Barbie's fist clenched, cocked and lashed out at the wall, only
to suddenly stop just short of blasting a hand sized hole in the
drywall's surface. A glance at the taller girl's face showed her
pensively considering the still fisted hand - almost as if she
were trying to understand how it could possibly even consider
doing something so rash and uncontrolled.

Gathering herself, Ruth rose and moved to stand beside Barbie,
putting a comforting hand on the focused blonde's shoulder.
Dry-eyed, Barbie turned and put her arms around the older woman,
finally uncoiling sufficiently to rest her chin on the now
quietly crying Ruth's gray haired head. 

"I should have testified," she finally murmured. "At least then
Sheila'd have been out of circulation, locked up in a cage. Who
knows, maybe if she'd been forced to get treatment - undergo some
type of state-mandated rehabilitation program, none of this would
have happened." 

"Kenneth," Ruth chided gently, her hand coming up to bat away her
own tears. "That's water under the bridge. Besides, it was my
decision, not yours, and one to which Jane heartily agreed. You
were a minor, but old enough to have been called to the stand
which we couldn't afford to risk at that time. Had you given
evidence, your testimony would have been subject to a brutal
cross examination. There's no telling what would have happened.
We, and you, did the best that we could with what we had to work
with. Don't forget that we also wanted to protect Jane's other
boys at the same time." 

"So, another died, Momma Ruth. The woman couldn't even die
without it hurting someone else." 

"No, she couldn't, but that has nothing to do with you." 

Barbie broke the embrace. With a careful precision of movement
totally at odds with anything Anne had seen since first 'meeting'
Kendra, the statuesque woman reached for the light jacket she'd
been wearing when they'd arrived. "I'm going for a walk, Mom,"
she said over her shoulder. "I need to think - be alone." 

Warning alarms went to red alert in Skipper's brain, and she
moved quickly to intercept Barbie by interposing her own body
between her friend and the door. "Don't even think about going
outside, tall socks," she said sternly. "You're in no shape to
carry off that masquerade in public right now. You're slipping
between Kenneth and Barbie on almost every other word. You need
to get yourself under control again - decide which face you're
going to show the world before you try to face the world." 

"Do I really?" There was an almost amused quality to the question
that Skipper didn't understand, but she nodded and stood firm
anyway. 

"Kenneth?" Ruth said. "Your room downstairs - it's as you left
it. In fact, I had the local sporting goods store inspect it just
last month." 

For a moment, the tall blonde seemed intent on pushing past
Skipper and heading outdoors, but finally shrugged. "I'll see you
both later," something akin to Barbie's voice said. 

The other two women watched as she strode toward the kitchen,
only to slip through another door and head down into the cellar.
"I think," Ruth said sadly, "That control is going to be the
least of our problems, Ms. Braithwaite. Come along with me,
please. I will show you to your room. I'm sure you will want to
freshen up after your trip." 

~-~

Jane walked into her private apartment, where she found Art - now
Diana - staring intently at the closed circuit television monitor
above her desk.

"You could have stayed as Art until tomorrow, darling," Jane said
as she bent down to kiss her mate, "since I don't expect to need
Diana's help before then."

"Can't be too careful," Diana's husky alto replied. "You're
pushing this one hard and into unexplored country. I don't want
to be searching for my hair if something goes down tonight."

Jane came instantly alert, her head swiveling to watch the
screen. "You think something could go badly wrong tonight? Has
she been behaving strangely?"

Diana shook her head. "Pretty much what I'd have expected. She's
tried to clean her face, only to find that the stuff won't come
off. I think she's peeled about ten layers of skin off in the
attempt, too."

"Determined, eh?" the Mistress of Seasons House asked, as she
watched her pupil working at her vanity table. "What's she doing
now?"

"Trying to cover over the deep-dye makeup with less blatant
colors."

"Well, even if she succeeds, that will only suit my purposes
better, because that will come clean when she removes the grease
paint, making the long-duration cosmetics all the more obvious."

Diana watched Adrienne visibly shrug in defeat before ruthlessly
scrubbing her face clean of her own cosmetic efforts. Moments
later, she was in bed with the lights out. "You give her the bad
news tomorrow?"

"That's the plan, luv. Ready for bed?"

Diana's painted mouth split into an inviting smile. "Well that's
a silly question," she purred as she stood to pirouette for
Jane's delectation. "Do you think I get dolled up like this
without bed in mind?"

"There goes my beauty sleep," Jane pouted as she stepped into her
spouses arms.

Chapter 22: Kenneth's Retreat

"It's a bit of a climb," the older woman said by way of an
apology as they climbed up into the cottage's loft, "But, the
room's comfortable for all it's a bit cramped here under the
eaves. I converted it from an attic when Kenneth came to stay
with me as he needed some privacy and a place to study - sort of
a den if you take my meaning."

Wordlessly, Anne carried her bag into and set it down beside the
hide-a-bed sofa. The room was indeed cramped, she thought,
especially with that large glass-covered display table taking up
most of the center of the room.

Curiosity won out on two fronts. "Will she be all right?" she
asked as she made her way over to the table.

"Who? Kenneth? I mean, Kendra?" Ruth asked. At the younger
woman's nod, she continued "Nothing to worry about. She just
needs to burn off some of the emotion that is clogging her
insides just now."

"She was furious," Anne said thoughtfully. "You'd hardly know it
by simply looking at her, but somehow it was like I could almost
feel pure rage rolling off her like a wave."

"Oh?" was all Ruth said as her guest's eyes took in the
sand-table display beneath the glass top. Two armies of small
toy-soldiers - one gray within a fortified city, one blue laying
siege - faced each other across carefully sculpted terrain,
complete with very realistic trees and a river. Odd shapes,
almost like 'bumps' prowled the river, their large,
turret-mounted guns aimed in the direction of the gray army's
positions. Above the table, several large volumes, including
several volumes entitled "The Personal Memoirs of U.S. Grant",
shared shelf space with an old-fashioned red-yarn-haired
rag-doll.

Anne suddenly realized she was all but snooping about Kenneth's
private space and blushingly tore her eyes away from the image of
a young girl's doll guarding a president's war reminiscences.
"Well," she coughed, clearing her throat with an effort, "Barbie
has been, ah, well rather different about things. . . since I met
HER, that is. Just now, she was really upset, but instead of
dealing with that she stoppered it all up."

"You see a great deal, don't you?" Ruth asked, her voice soft yet
intense.

"I saw that," Skipper answered, noticing a cork-board above the
student desk on the other side of the room. "Is there anything we
can do to help?"

Ruth saw the moment Anne's eyes went wide. "As I said, you notice
a great deal, and you've unerringly found the things in this room
that most clearly speak to the complex person who is my Kenneth,
my Kendra."

Anne looked up sharply, only to find Ruth smiling at her gently.
The older woman strolled over to the desk and took down the
object that had caught the blonde girl's attention. "The
organization and mental discipline to perfectly recreate, right
down to using bonsai trees, the strategic and tactical layout of
the Battle of Vicksburg in that sand table, and this," she
offered Anne the white satin opera glove, "are both critical
elements of the person who is even now trying use exercise to
exorcize some very private and terrible demons."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Anne asked again.

The older woman shook her head. "No, at least, I've never found
anything. She'll work it out on her own - at least, she, or in
this case, he always has in the past."

"He? I know why _I_ keep losing track and shifting pronouns - I'm
still not used to these multiple identity games, but why aren't
you consistently using the feminine tense? I mean, she's here as
Barbie, as a female? Why the he - she thing? I mean, it's almost
like, oh, I don't know. . .almost like YOU think of Kenneth and
Barbie as two different people."

For several long moments, only silence and a cold stare filled
the space between the two women. She waved Anne to sit down on
the sofa. "I almost told you that it wasn't any of your business,
but then I reminded myself that you're here, voluntarily, to help
my child. And since you may be alone with him when something like
this happens again, perhaps if you understand. . .certain things
better, you might be better able to give that help. Look, Jane
told me that you know something of Kenneth's youth? About how
that bitch who birthed him made his life pure hell?"

"Yes."

Ruth nodded, and reached up to gather Raggeddy Annie down from
her perch. "Jane never does things by halves," she observed,
almost to herself. "Still, I suspect she simply told you, in
direct terms to be sure, what she felt you needed to know. Am I
right?"

Anne looked at the older woman with a growing curiosity, but
controlled herself. "She was rather passionate . . ."

"Jane is never anything other than passionate where her boys are
concerned, but I'm sure she simply stated the facts and left it
at that, regardless of how her eyes might have flashed when she
did it, right?"

A slight grin crossed Anne's face at the memory. "Ummm, just so,"
she said, mimicking Jane Thompson's favorite rejoinder, eliciting
a matching grin from Ruth.

"I am a lawyer, and more used to letting stories state my case.
Perhaps it would help if you understood how Raggedy Annie here,"
Ruth held the doll up for her guest's inspection, "and this glove
came to hold court in this room, alongside Civil War battle
fields and hand-carved chessmen."

"If it wouldn't upset Barbie. . .Ken. . . too much," Anne said
hesitantly, although she found herself very much wanting to hear
those stories.

Now Judge Ruth smiled broadly. "It's a mother's prerogative to
tell pretty girls stories that embarrass their sons, just a
little. Keeps the little darlings' egos in check and promotes
female solidarity. Besides, I don't think Kendra will mind my
telling you . . .some of her secrets." The smile became slyly
mysterious. "No, I don't think she'll mind at all."

~-~

"Emotions were a weakness - or maybe an opening - that bitch
would exploit in her campaign to subjugate that boy. So young Ken
learned, early in his life, to suppress any outward sign of what
he was really feeling. He controlled his reactions, his facial
expressions, hell, even his breathing."

"And that somehow saved him?"

"Sheila pounced whenever he gave the slightest indication one of
her nasty tricks had reached him, so he taught himself not to
ever give her what she wanted from him. Taught himself to always
at least appear to be calm and controlled."

"I still don't understand how that would have stopped the woman,
not if she was as. . . depraved as Ms. Thompson indicated."

"What she wanted to do to him was so far over the line that she
couldn't take the chance that the authorities might take him
seriously. She needed him to appear out of control, irrational,
an overly emotional adolescent that the police might ignore. He
never gave her that, but there was a price. Those behaviors
became second nature to Kenneth, and that control carried over
into the rest of his life."

"That's not an entirely bad thing, your honor," Skipper said
quietly, "As I have good reason to know."

"Adrian?" At the younger woman's nod, Ruth smiled. "I know, and
truth to tell, those behaviors went a long way towards making him
into the very formidable man he is today. Summa cum laude as an
undergraduate, top of his class in law school while finishing
each program in half the usual time."

"I suppose," Barbara Anne said speculatively, "But that still
doesn't explain that doll."

Ruth chuckled. "You know about the trap Darryl came up with? The
one that used Kendra as bait to set up Sheila once and for all?"

"Yes. . ."

"Kenneth fell for Jane and became best friends - brothers,
actually, with Darryl, and the feelings were mutual. Only problem
was Jane had a steady flow of students through her Winsome Girls'
School for Wayward Boys. The only way for Kenneth to visit was as
Kendra."

"And he agreed to that?"

"Quite readily. You see, Kendra could let go and have fun . . .
could be a kid, albeit a girl-kid."

"At THAT place? With students around?" Barbara Anne asked
skeptically.

"Oh, indeed. Trust me, a great deal is possible when one Miss
Darla Thompson-Phillips gets on a roll. She decided she wasn't
going to stand for the Great Stone Face routine and was
constantly on the lookout for ways to tease Kendra out of it.
Which leads me to the story of the great dolly tea party."

~-~

"Adrienne, one of the causes I support is the local children's
hospital. Every year, my students and I participate in a show as
part of a festival that not only entertains the children, but
raises money for research and to help poorer families with the
cost associated with treatment."

Still smarting from Anne refusing to speak on the phone, and
unnerved by being 'locked' into a feminine appearance by Mrs.
Beale's 'adult cosmetics', Adrienne decided to proceed with a bit
more caution than in recent days. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"I've decided that you will participate, and have arranged for
you to be trained as a mime. Are you familiar with the art?"

Jane watched her student concentrate, and was pleased. A few days
ago, this same student might have simply ignored her question.
"I'm not sure," the boy-girl said finally. "Is that the people
who wear the funny socks, suspender pants and paint their faces
white? Kind of like clowns only they don't talk?"

"A fair description. This book," and Jane handed her student a
small biography of Marcel Marceau, "Will give you a more complete
description. Now, you will start classes with other children at
the local Y tomorrow. It is a mixed class - boys and girls - so
you will not be out of place attending."

"I'm to attend as Adrienne?"

"I thought, young lady, that we had agreed that you were Adrienne
until I said otherwise," Jane said sternly. She saw the short
flare of resentment, but again was pleased as her pupil tamped
that back and nodded her agreement. "However, if you wish, you
may attend class as a male. You will, however, still be required
to fulfill your word to me and present a well groomed and
attractive feminine appearance and persona at all other times."

For a moment, Adrienne thought about her experiments with hiding
the adult cosmetics with the practice makeup Jane provided. It
might work. "Could I have some of the mime makeup? And maybe some
pictures of what they look like? That way, I could practice ahead
of time. I'll need the extra practice if I'm going to do this for
real in a show." 

"I will see what can be done. Just don't wear it for too long a
period at a time. Your young skin needs to breathe and that
greasepaint might clog your pores. Very bad for your complexion.
That is why you, and the other children, will be expected to
clean off the greasepaint at the end of every session. Can't have
you developing terminal acne, can we?"

The disappointed look on Adrienne's face told her precisely what
had occurred to her devious little student. *Blocked that one,
didn't I, dear?* Jane thought smugly. *You ride to and from class
dressed and made up as you decide, but you won't be wearing the
whiteface except at class itself. Now, let's see what you do.*

~-~

"They just walked into the women's locker room?!?"

"Smug as you please," Ruth smirked, mischievous pride twinkling
in her eyes.  "Showed up at the place rigged out in headbands,
exercise tights and leotards - then convinced the manager that
they were considering taking memberships at the club. He assigned
one of their female trainers to give the two of them a tour - of
ALL the facilities."

Skipper was wide-eyed.  "All? As in, um, everywhere?"

"You wouldn't ask that question if you knew Darla better.  I do
mean EVERYwhere.  The locker room, the tanning booths - including
those for ladies who do not want tanlines - the sauna and the
steam room.  Oh, and let us not forget the showers."

"My god. Did they get caught?  As boys, I mean? Is that why they
were punished?"

"Of course they weren't caught - not in the way you mean, in any
case.  They were caught, but only by Jane, and only because Darla
intended them to be caught."

"I'm sure that makes sense to you, but . . ."

"Again, dear, you have to know our Darla. She wanted Kendra to be
on the receiving ends of one of Jane's little disciplines, as
she'd concluded that her sister was getting a bit too serious. 
Darla filled out the membership application and used Jane's name
in the 'parent or guardian approval required' block. The club
called Jane, she figured out what happened, and confronted the
two miscreants.  Kendra caved instantly as she's as honest as
honest can be."

"And Darla planned it that way? Didn't she get punished, too?"

"Of course she did, but she intended it that way, since she
wanted to ensure that Kendra, ah, loosened up properly. The pair
of them were sentenced to a week in the nursery, dressed as good
little Victorian six-year olds at all times, playing like good
little Victorian six-year old girls."

"Oh, my. .. "

"As Darla tells it, her sister simply didn't know how to play
with the dollies, so Darla had to teach her."

A vision of the petite, prissy little boy-girl, patiently
teaching Kendra how to hold dolly, how to feed dolly and how to
change dolly flitted across the mind's eye of the tall blonde.

And she lost what little control she had, laughing out loud.  "Oh
God, I can just hear her - 'Now, Ken-dwa,'" she said, in a
pointed imitation of the Darla she knew, "'you have to support
her head pwopawly when you feed Dolly her bottle.'" and Skipper
laughed even harder.

"That's about right," a now-smiling Ruth agreed. "In fact, I
think Kendra's . . .inability? Yes, inability to get with the
program got their sentence extended twice. I think even Darla was
getting tired of the game at that point.  According to Jane, she
finally lost patience with Kendra and told her to 'just have fun,
sister! Now, play with the damn dolly!' An action which ALSO led
to an extension their sentence. Evidently, Kendra did just that."

There was something here, Skipper thought. "Don't leave me in the
dark, for goodness sake!"

Ruth feigned refusing, but then grinned. "It's too good a story
not to share.  According to Jane, after the second extension for
'non-cooperation' and Darla's outburst, our Kendra became. .
.quietly annoyed."

"She does that well," Skipper observed.

"Yes, indeed, and so. . ."

~-~

"Now, Kendwa, you have to play NICE, or Auntie Jane isn't going
to let us grow up!" It was a measure of just how annoyed the
little bleached blonde was, that she forgot to lisp. "You have to
feed and diaper Dolly! It's the rules!"

A glint lit in the other blonde's dark eyes, and her lips
twitched before her face relaxed. "It's YOUR fault," she
retaliated, "You teached me wrong!"

"No I DIDN'T!" Darla yelled back, getting into the spirit of the
'game'. A little venting was just what this situation required,
she thought.  Maybe then, Kendra would figure out Jane's plan and
go with the flow.  It was one thing to help her sister unwind,
but this was beginning to cut into her study time.  "You go fill
the bottle and I will show you - just one more time!" she
ordered.

"Oh, aw wight!" Kendra pouted dramatically, before flouncing off,
bottle in hand, to the bathroom.

~-~

Screeches of "THAT'S NOT RIGHT!" and "IS SO!" brought Jane
hurrying back to the nursery. She flung open the heavy oak door
to see the two petti'ed, pigtailed and pinafored blondes squaring
with a doll laying on the floor between them.

"GIRLS! What is the MEANING of this!"

"Dolly needs her diaper," Kendra fumed, "And Darla isn't teaching
me right.  Dolly's diaper keeps falling off!"

"I am so teaching right! You aren't PINNING her right!"

"AM SO!"

"ARE NOT!"

"AM. ."

"QUIET!" Jane bellowed, and was immediately embarrassed.  "I will
teach you, Kendra, and then we will have no MORE of this unseemly
behavior.  Is that UNDERSTOOD?!"

"Yes, Auntie Jane," the two now angelic blondes cooed.

Jane quickly and efficiently demonstrated the proper method of
diapering, including a couple of hints on how to keep the garment
tight.  "There.  See how it done, dear?"  

At the affirmative reply, Jane rose to leave.  "But, Auntie
Jane," Kendra protested, "you have to hold her.  It's the rule.
Babies get held after diapering. Isn't that right, Darley?"

"It's the rule," the other imp agreed.  "Auntie Marie said so."

"Oh, very well," Jane replied, happy to see the pair of them
getting into the spirit of the play for a change.  With that, she
scooped up the baby-sized bundle, settled it on her shoulder for
a burping. . . 

And found herself drenched from the waist down.

"What the hell?" Jane spluttered.

"Dolly went number one all over Auntie Jane, and she used a BAD
word!" Kendra crowed, giggling.

Before Jane could quite formulate a response to that, she
realized something else.  "What is that reek?!?" Another sniff
told her.  "ROSE WATER?"

"Smells nicer than Number One, Auntie Jane," a nearly hysterical
Darla put in.

"I'm SO glad you think so, dear, as you will be bathing in it
shortly," Jane said darkly, "As will you, Miss Smarty!"

~-~

"Hoist with her petard, eh?"

"Yes. Actually, I think what truly annoyed Jane was that they'd
gotten a curse word out of her. Anyway, after that particular
visit, Kenneth came home with that doll, and it has held court in
his room ever since.  I think it reminded him of . . . I don't
know . . . more relaxed times?" 

"So, despite the disciplines, Darla and Jane helped her let go of
that control?"

Ruth nodded.  "If only for a short time," she admitted with a
sigh, "And unfortunately, they only managed it when Kendra was in
Jane's girlish masquerade."

"That Darla must be something special, then," Skipper obsserved. 

"Oh, our Darla can be quite the minx, and she taught Kendra all
she knows. I gather that Jane had her hands full with that pair a
time or two, but through it all, they had fun together - Jane
most particularly, I think. And yet, whenever he came back here
afterwards, he reverted to being the Kenneth I knew. Then, he hit
that growth spurt. Sprouted a bunch of inches but didn't put on
pounds to match. Skinny as a rail. Being Kenneth, he studied up
on strength training and began a program to muscle up. Thought he
was going to be a body builder for a while, until he backed off
on that to what he is now. However, that put paid to his little
trips to Seasons House as Kendra."

"No more outlet?"

"Except for the exercise room," Ruth admitted sadly. 

~-~

Marie knocked on Adrienne's door, and then entered without
waiting for permission. She was surprised to see the student
seated at the vanity, the girl's attention fixed on the mirror
before her.

"And what are you up to, ma'amselle?" she asked, setting down her
laundry basket. She was further surprised when Adrienne jumped at
her greeting. "I did knock, petite," Marie pointed out, just a
hint of apology in her tone.

Sighing, the girl spun about to face the little housekeeper. "MON
Dieu! What have you DONE to your FACE? Has Jane given you some
type of experimental face-pack to try out? Your face, it is all
white! Tres white!!"

Of course, Marie had been told what to expect by Jane, but she'd
been dealing with Jane's girl-boys for nearly twenty years
herself, and she knew how to play a role.

"It's grease paint, Miss Marie," was the quiet response. "For the
class Miss Thompson has signed me up for."

"I believe, petite, that Miss Jane would prefer for you to say
'the class Miss Thompson has arranged for me to attend.' English
is such a strange language, but I seem to recall that the word
'for' is not for ending sentences. So, you are to attend the
clown school, eh?"

"Mime, like that French guy, Marcel something or other."

"Marcel Marseau, Adrienne. So, you are practicing with the make
up. Jane will, I'm sure, applaud such planning and commitment."

Marie would have sworn she could see the child blushing beneath
the white-painted mask. This was followed by a deep breath, a
foot shuffle, and a floor-stare before the student met Marie's
eyes. "That's not it - not really."

"Oh, and what is it, then?"

"Miss Thompson said I could attend as a boy, only. . . "

"Only what? Miss Jane does not make promises she is unwilling to
keep. Do you need clothing suited to a boy? We might have
something appropriate in storage."

"No, that's not it. It's these adult cosmetics Mrs. Beale put on
me. . .they're always there and I look. . .I look. . " for a
moment Marie thought she would have a crying child on her hands,
"Like a girl!"

"Ah, I see."

"Well, I thought that, I mean, if cosmetics can make me look like
a girl, maybe they can un-make me, you know? I thought I'd put a
little foundation over the cheeks to hide the color there and
around my eyes. Use a more naturally-colored lip cover to hide
the lipstick, maybe thicken my eyebrows with the eyebrow
pencils."

"A worthy plan," Marie said while thinking, *albeit hopeless.*
"And what have you learned?"


"Well, I haven't really tried it all the way, yet," Adrienne
said, choosing her words carefully. "I was afraid that the
greasepaint might react with the makeup in some strange way. Give
me green lips, or become impossible to get off. Part of the
agreement with Miss Thompson was that I'd continue as Adrienne
here at Seasons House."

Marie barely managed to contain a burble of laughter. "Ah, yes, I
see where you, having been raised a boy, would worry about such
things, but put it from you mind. You have nothing to worry
about."

"I don't?"

"Mais non, ma petite. The base of the modern greasepaint is like
cold cream - so that it easy to remove. As for the cosmetics you
wish to use beneath the paint, well, you know what other use we
have for cold cream, eh?"

"To remove makeup," Adrienne answered, shoulders drooping in
defeat.

"Oui."

"Shi. . . ummm, sugar!"

Chapter 23: Buried Emotions

Barbara Anne Braithwaite repressed the urge to shiver as she
stood over the rain-muddied grave of a woman she did not even
know. Not that she considered that any great loss. If a tenth of
what she'd been told about Sheila Roberts was only half-true,
knowing that woman could not have added anything positive to her
life.

Which probably explained why there were but four people braving
the unseasonably cold morning wet to attend her internment.
Barbie stood at the center of a black-garbed phalanx; Anne to her
left, the Judge to her right while the minister faced them from
the other side of the still open grave. 

The minister, also dressed in black, was of a Christian
Interdenominational Church. He was of a similar age to Judge
Ruth, and projected an almost palpable aura of serenity, much as
the Judge radiated power. According to Ruth, this man was also a
member of the small, select group of men and women who knew of
and support the work of one Jane Thompson. *Well, at least there
won't be any need to deceive a man of the cloth about Barbie's
little secret,* she mused to herself.

How different this ceremony, Skipper thought, to the one she'd
attended with her brother Adrian, when Caryn and Martin
Braithwaite had been buried. *There'd been people for Momma and
Poppa,* she thought, and felt the hot prickle of tears for the
first time that morning. *But then, Momma and Poppa had been
wonderful people who had friends and who loved their children.
God, but I miss them so much!*

The minister began the traditional readings, quickly reciting the
passages about ashes and dust and life everlasting. Skipper shot
a quick look up at Barbie's face and saw, well, hardly anything.
The perfectly made-up face stared fixedly on the plain wooden
casket that had already been lowered into place. The heavy mist
had saturated the thick blond curls into a sodden mass while
rivulets of rain ran down those lovely high cheeks.

*Rain, but no tears,* was all Skipper could think. *How awful not
to be able to cry for one's own mother.*

Suddenly, the minister snapped his bible shut, the sharp sound of
it making everyone but Barbie jump. He walked around the
grave-site, and came to stand beside Ruth who took his hand in
hers while reaching around to hug him with her free arm. She
whispered something in his ear, whereupon he nodded before moving
to Barbie.

"God Bless you, child," he said, putting a comforting hand on
Barbie's left arm. "Ruth has my number if you, well, if you need
to talk. Anytime, day or night, okay? I will be mightily annoyed
if you don't allow me to earn my keep."

The little joke seemed to reach the tall blonde as nothing else
had that morning, and the ghost of a half-smile curled her full
lips. "I live to roust people out of sound sleeps, padre," she
said softly. "Thank you. I appreciate your time, and . . . and
your discretion about. . .well, you know."

"Jane is a magnificent woman who, along with the Judge here, has
helped many young men. I am ever at her service, and at yours."

"I'll walk you to your car, Brian," Ruth said. "Barbie? You and
Anne meet me at my car when you're ready to leave, all right?" 

Anne wasn't sure what she should do. Offer condolences? Try to
hurry her friend out of here? What? As with most such situations,
no answer seemed best so she did none of them, and instead kept
close to Barbie in the off-chance the tall blonde needed
something from her.

An almost-silence fell upon the little glade, broken only by the
rustle of rain upon leaves. 

"I suppose," the unexpected sound of Barbie's voice again made
Anne jump, "that there's something almost appropriate about me
attending your final ceremony dressed this way, Mother. All those
years of trying, and here I am - blonde and buxom, perfumed and
made-up, wearing buttons, bows and heels. Doubly appropriate,
because - although I appear to be everything you in your twisted
dreams wanted to make of me - thanks to Ruth and Jane, Marie and
Darryl, I am in no way diminished by what I'm wearing, by how I
look, or by what you tried to do to me. In the end, it only looks
like you won, Mother. In the end, thanks to my friends, I'm the
winner. And I suppose, thanks to you, because without you, I'd
have never met Jane or Ruth. For that, regardless of what you
intended, I owe you. Rest in peace, Mother - the peace you could
never find in life."

With that, Barbie crouched down - almost losing her balance on
the slippery grass due to the tight skirt and heels - and picked
up a clump of the dripping earth. She stared at the sodden mass
for a few moments, before finally tossing it upon the top of the
casket. Anne wondered if where the dirt landed had any
significance, for it would have struck Sheila directly in the
face if not for the casket's cover. *A final parting shot?* she
wondered, and then had to hurry to catch up with the suddenly
departing Barbie.

~-~

"Let me be sure we both understand this, Adrienne. You have
decided to attend the mime class as a girl. After I offered you
the opportunity to attend as a male?"

Adrienne bowed her head, golden curls falling to hide her face as
she sat in the very uncomfortable chair Jane kept in her study
for just such interviews. "Yes, Ma'am."

"What did you say, child? I couldn't hear you."

"I said, yes, ma'am. I would prefer," and Jane saw her swallow
hard, "to attend as Adrienne."

Ever the Mistress of the dramatic moment, Jane let that admission
hang in the air between them for several long moments, her eyes
hard upon her student. "I am afraid, Miss Braithwaite, that I do
not understand. I thought you wanted nothing more than to be
immediately restored to your rightful status as a male. Why, you
wanted that so badly that you broke your word to me, placed
yourself in danger of being sent to a juvenile detention facility
for violating your post-trial agreement, and I might add,
endangering your sister at the same time. And now, after I make a
major concession to you, give you my blessing to do what you've
already lied and cheated to attain, NOW you tell me, 'thank you,
Miss Thompson, but no thank you'?

"I. . I can't go as a boy, Miss Thompson. No matter what I do, I
look like a girl. If I try to be a boy there, I'll get killed. At
least as Adrienne, I won't take that chance."

"Nonsense!" Jane snapped. "I told you that you would never be
physically harmed or at risk in my keeping, young lady. And I
have NEVER broken my word on that score. You almost tempt me to
ORDER you to attend as a male, for that insult alone!"

Adrienne's control snapped like a dry twig. "Oh, god, no,
please!" she sobbed out begging, "Don't do that to me! Don't
order me to do that. I don't think I can. Please, Miss Jane!" 

For a moment, Jane feared the child would hyperventilate and that
the culmination she'd planned for this interview would have to be
held until another, less advantageous time. Then, the girl seemed
to recover herself. Still crying, she looked up at Jane. "I.. .I
would prefer to go as Adrienne, ma'am. Please?!"

Relief washed through Jane, but she didn't let it show. Instead,
she turned her most stern displeased schoolmistress glare on her
student. "Very well, you may attend as Adrienne, but I want
something in return, young lady. From now on, you will not only
go through the motions of feminine deportment and dress as I
instruct, you will also give it your best, creative effort. You
will be a girl who enjoys being a girl, who laughs and has a good
time. You will look forward trying on pretty new clothes, and
take too long in the bathroom making your hair look just right.
You will be happy, or at least you will seem to be to anyone you
meet outside my home. Do you accept that condition? Else you will
be introduced as Adrian to the mime class."

Again, silence hung heavily between the two antagonists, until,
as had so many young men before her, Adrienne acquiesced. She
gave a single, jerky nod of her head, and said, "Yes, Ma'am. I
promise. You have my word on it and I'll keep it this time."

Jane managed to contain her smile of triumph until the door shut
behind the rapidly retreating Adrienne.

~-~

Ruth and Skipper shared a concerned look beneath their umbrellas
as they followed Barbie into the Judge's little cottage. The tall
blonde had been stonily silent since the trio had departed the
lonely, rain-gray cemetery. 

The moment they walked through the door, Barbie's sensual sway
sagged into a tired slump. "I think I'll go up and work at my
computer, if you don't mind, Anne," Ken's voice proposed from
that perfectly made up feminine face. 

*That's the first time that she, or 'he', has called me 'Anne' in
three days,* the other blonde realized. *I've been 'Skipper' ever
since he thought up that cute little play on words. He must be
really down right now. Should I really leave him alone right now?
Or should I make some excuse to be 'Barbie's little friend,
Skipper' so I can keep an eye on him?* 

But Barbara Anne didn't feel she could force the issue by pushing
herself on her troubled friend. "Of. . . of course," she
stuttered back, her heart oddly skipping for a moment. 

As it turned out, Ruth felt the same undesired distancing. The
older woman said, "I had thought he'd learned other, better ways
of dealing with emotional upset." 

"She's upset? How can you tell?"

Ruth snorted. "Don't give me that, young woman. You can't tell me
you don't feel it yourself. Right now, that child is fighting
demons, and won't let me in to help. God, but I wish Darla was
here."

"Darla could help? How?"

"Darla would find a way to take Barbie's mind off what's
upsetting her. The little minx has that pesky little sister
routine down pat." She sighed, then suddenly regarded Skipper
thoughtfully. "But maybe you. . ."

"Maybe me. . . what?"

"I just had a thought - a way for you to divert Barbie's mind
from today's events. Tell me, dear. Do you, perhaps, play chess?
Or at least, know the moves?"

"Actually, I do - I was city school champion my senior year in
high school. Why?"

"Come on. You need to get out of that black sack - you can use my
room while we plan this out. Are you a movie buff? Ever see 'The
Thomas Crowne Affair'?"

Baffled, the younger woman followed Ruth's lead. "Sure. Rene
Russo was fantastic - carried Pierce Brosnan the whole show."

"Not that one," was the disgusted retort.

"Oh, you mean the one with Steve Mcqueen and that. . what was her
name, . .. Bonnie something-woman?"

"Dear, we are going to have to do something about your woeful
knowledge of classic film. Faye Dunnaway."

"Okay, okay. I have seen it - on the late show one night I was
waiting up for Adrian. Why?"

"Remember the chess game between Steve and Faye?"

"Chess game? What are you talking about?" Skipper asked, and then
memory flashed. "Oh, my."

"Ah, yes. I see you do. Well, I don't mean for you to take quite
that tack here, but I do think we can use your looks and chess to
redirect my boy's. . . girl's thoughts."

*Looks?! What does she mean by that crack??!*

"By the way, dear," Ruth asked, a thoroughly female smile
crossing her round face, "In and among all that silk and satin
I'm sure Jane foisted off on you, she didn't happen to see her
way clear to pack something more, ah, shall we say in the way of
being 'girl next door'-chic, did she?"

"What?"

Chapter 24: Queen's Gambit - Skipper's Variation 

A barely audible "Enter!" answered Skipper's tentative knock on
the door to the attic apartment.

Hesitantly, she peeked around the door and saw Barbie sitting in
front of the computer, staring fixedly at what had to be some
type of screen saver while her hair soaked the back of her black
mourning dress. *That will get a lot of work done . . . NOT!*

"Umm, I need to get some different clothes which is something you
might consider yourself," she offered when Barbie turned a
disinterested eye toward the door. "These black things are
uncomfortable at the best of times and now they're wet on top of
it."

"Oh, sorry," her friend half-mumbled. "Should have thought of
that." and then turned back to stare at the wildly shifting lines
on the monitor again.

*Somehow, I don't think Judge Ruth's idea has a snowball's chance
in hell of accomplishing anything positive just now,* Skipper
mused as she opened the small closet to pull out a skirt and
blouse set. *Still, it can't be good for her to brood like that.
. . *

"What are those lumpy things in the river?" she asked, pointing
into the glass-topped sand-table. "They look like some type of
mutant broccoli plants." *That should make for a 'safe'
intellectual exercise to get her mind off. . .whatever.* "How'd
you get all those little bitty trees? They're real, aren't they?" 

There was a resigned air about Barbie as she pushed herself to
her feet and walked over to join Skipper. "Yes, they're bonsai
trees. Nothing mutated in there." 

"How utterly perfect for a battle scene," Skipper laughed - and
somehow managed not to sound forced while doing it, and then
squealed, "Banzai!! Charge that hill!" 

"Not banzai," her companion corrected without humor or heat,
"Bonsai. It's a Japanese art-form that trains small plants to
look like the full sized version."

Something caught Skipper's attention - a stiffness that was
unlike the control she'd already encountered dealing with all
three incarnations of the unique person before her. There was a
brittleness about Barbie that pulled at the shorter girl's heart
even as it frightened her. Without quite realizing she was doing
it, or even why she was doing it, Anne moved in and wrapped her
arms about Barbie, pulling her close.

And felt her friend shatter.

"OH, GOD! What's WRONG with me!?! Why can't I FEEL anything? Why
DIDN'T I feel anything, even there, at the ceremony?!?"

Uncertain whether answering or not was right, Anne only held on
tighter and felt Barbie's head rest on her shoulder. The tall,
powerful frame shook with each sob. "She was my MOTHER, damnit,
and I couldn't feel anything. . ." and then her voice cracked,
and became low and filled with a pain that brought tears to
Skipper's eyes. "Anything. . except. . "

"Say it," Skipper ordered when her friend hesitated. "Say it and
have it over and done with!"

"Except relief," came out on a half whisper. And then, they cried
together. Cried for the boy who needed love and found none -
worse, found warped desire fed by hatred. Cried for a soul lost
forever.

Cried for what might have been.

Sometime, during that purging, they ended up on the small sofa-
bed, Barbie on the inside, Skipper holding on to both the edge of
the cushion and to her friend. Eventually, the wave of emotion
crested and subsided, and at last physically spent, Barbie fell
deeply asleep.

For a while, Anne merely laid there, holding this strangely
appealing person who had become her friend in such a short time,
and watched her sleep. Finally, satisfied that she'd stay asleep
for a good length of time, Anne slipped out of Barbie's arms,
collected her dry clothes, and tiptoed from the room.

~-~

It was the clatter of dishes on the tray that started the
couch-bound sleeping beauty's slow return to wakefulness. Her
eyes resisted opening - *probably dried tears on Sandy's eyelash
extensions,* she thought as she reached up to rub at the crusty
residues. When her eyelids finally parted, an amazing sight
greeted her still barely focused eyes.

It was a skirted bottom.

An extremely shapely and feminine skirted bottom.

A few quick blinks cleared Barbie's vision enough to better
appreciate how beautifully presented that bottom was, since its
owner was bending over doing something, which in turn, caused the
skirt to ride higher and tighter.

Then, Barbie realized that the skirt was soft, stone washed
denim, faded to near white where it lovingly hugged every
enticing curve of that derriere . . . and she groaned audibly. 

~-~

Skipper heard the sound behind her and rose from setting out the
light tea she'd prepared to face Barbie. "Awake, at last, are
we?"

A strange look flitted across the lovely features. "You took a
nap, too?" the supine figure growled.

That elicited a giggle from the standing blonde. "Not really, and
you're evidently not one to wake up on the right side of the bed.
. .err, couch. C'mon and have something to eat. You skipped
breakfast and that Amazonian frame of yours needs feeding."

Muttering dark imprecations under her breath, Barbie pushed
herself into a sitting position and then indulged in a long,
muscle-loosening, joint-cracking stretch that made Skipper nearly
moan in sympathy. "So, what's on offer?"

"Tea, sandwiches, some of those killer cookies Judge Ruth has in
the cookie jar."

"She buys them at a local bakery. You don't want to try to eat
anything she or I bake. Even Aunt Jane and Tante Marie couldn't
teach me how to avoid incinerating anything that goes into an
oven."

The smile that lit Skipper's face at that moment almost took
Barbie's breath away. "Umm. . . nice skirt," she managed to get
out through the incipient lump in her throat. "And blouse," she
hurriedly added.

"Glad you think so," Skipper said, still smiling. "It's a
favorite of mine - comfortable, but still dressy in a laid-back
sort of way. Reminds me I'm a girl, you know? Now, come over here
and eat." When Barbie didn't immediately obey, Skipper put her
fists to her hips. "Well? What do I have to do? Invite that doll
up there? Okay, I can do that."

Words became deed as the venerable doll was quickly deposited at
a place of honor at the small food-laden coffee table. "Sit!" she
ordered, even as she filled a plate.

For a short, almost panicky moment, Skipper thought that the
taller girl might refuse, but then Barbie gave a sassy toss of
her unkempt, now-dry mane of blond hair and settled down in front
of the heaping plate.

"Now, do you feed dolly, or do I have to do that, too?" Skipper
asked in her very best 'whiny-brat-talk' voice.

She managed rather well at it, too, even if she did think so
herself. After all, Barbie hadn't quite been able to suppress the
wince Skipper had hoped for.

~-~

"Thanks, I really did need that," Barbie said after the pair of
them, with only minimal help from the doll, had demolished the
very generous tea Skipper had prepared.

"You're quite welcome. So, what shall we do now?" *In order to
keep you from starting to think about your Mother, again,*
Skipper thought but did not say.

"Do?"

"Sure. I feel the need to be entertained."

A cautious look came across Barbie's face. "I'm not really the
most entertaining person in the world, under the best of
circumstances. . "

"Oh, I'm not hard to please. Tell me, can you do anything with
those chessmen or are they just for show?"

"Do anything with them?"

"Well, can you play the game, or are you just one of those guys
who knows the moves, but couldn't tell an end game from an
opening gambit?"

"I do all right," Barbie retorted, all insulted hauteur.

"All right then. Pick a hand, then." Skipper extended her closed
fists toward Barbie. "White or black, tough-gal?"

"You're on, smartie," the taller girl tapped her friend's right
hand and saw the white pawn. "And you should be afraid - VERY
afraid."

"Oh, I'm shaking in my pumps - NOT!"

~-~

*Well, one thing is for sure, nobody THAT focused on a game of
chess can be thinking about anything other than the next fifteen
or twenty moves,* Skipper thought after watching Barbie
methodically build a strong, disciplined offensive from that
basic first move advantage. She was impressed.

However, she also absolutely hated to lose!

Unfortunately, her mind kept slipping to things more interesting
than the mini-war being played out in white and black before her.

Things like that long, tall blonde seated across from her, for
instance. *Such a fascinating bundle of contradictions and
confusions,* she thought to herself as she again found herself
stealing what she HOPED was a surreptitious glance at Barbie.
*Lord, look at her,* her mind growled, *just LOOK at her!*

Barbie sat staring with unblinking concentration at the board,
her gaze flicking rapidly to various squares, her eyes evidently
playing out various moves and strategies, countermoves and
counter-strategies. Her elbows were planted on the table, a
small, but growing collection of 'prisoner's of war' between
them, while her chin rested on her fists. Two long, finely
manicured thumbs ran up that elegant jaw-line, pointing their
blood-red tips at bejeweled earlobes. The hair, still unbrushed,
had been transformed into a shaggy, golden-curled explosion about
the perfect, yet expressionless face, thanks to the unconscious
finger combing that answered each of Skipper's feints or attacks.
A pink tongue slipped out to moisten crimson lips followed by a
momentary biting of the lower. *Here it comes,* Skipper thought
with a smile.

"Knight to Bishop Seven, Knight takes Pawn, check." Barbie
announced in a firm voice that was otherwise devoid of any
inflection, as she moved the selected warrior into place.

Only then did Skipper remember to look at the board again, and
what she saw infuriated her. The damned Knight had her castled
King in check, and the only way to save him was to move him.
Unfortunately, the same Knight had her Rook under attack. Saving
the King meant sacrificing one of her three most powerful
attacking pieces. She'd get the knight with her Bishop, but she'd
lost the exchange and in all likelihood, the game.

*That's what you get for letting yourself be distracted from the
task at hand, Barbara Anne Braithwaite. And wasn't Ruth's plan
that YOU were going to be the one doing the distracting?*

She moved her King and accepted, with ill grace, the loss of her
Rook. When the exchange of pieces was complete, and Barbie
settled back into her 'planning the next campaign' mode, Skipper
sat back only to have her eyes fall on the satin opera glove
thumb tacked to the cork-board. Inspiration flared, and before
she could think of reasons not to, she reached up and pulled down
the slick garment.

"Judge Ruth never did tell me the story behind this," she cooed,
almost fondling the glove. "Care to share the tale?"

Mild annoyance flashed in the taller blonde's eyes as she
reluctantly looked up from the board. *A predator denied her
prey,* Skipper thought, *Slightly vexed at being momentarily
thwarted from her goal, but still confident of dinner. Well,
we'll see about that.*

"Nothing much to tell," Barbie mumbled, her eyes dropping back to
the board.

Skipper fit her hand into the delicate glove, letting it float
above the chessmen toward her opponent as she slowly slid the
shiny tube over her elbow and up her arm. "Oh, that's hard to
believe," she refuted, letting her voice drop into a husky,
teasing tone that had Barbie's brows going up into her bangs.
"Surely, such a . . . unique item holding such a place of honor
in a young man's room must have a, well, unique story behind it.

"It was, well, a Darla-ism," Barbie said, obviously trying to
sound dismissive.

"Oh, you mean your brother had something to do with it? What, he
gave you the glove?" Skipper made a show of minutely examining
the glove on her hand, and was pleased to see her opponent's eyes
on her and not the board.

"Well, not quite, but sort of, I guess," the answer was so
uncharacteristic her usually precise friend that Anne almost
laughed.

"Come on, give. You can't tease me like that. It's not fair!"

A curious look on her face, Barbie seemed to consider that for a
moment, and then shrugged. "If you really want to hear it. . "

"Oh, I do, but it's still your move."

"Huh? Oh, okay." Barbie's reflex move, Skipper was pleased to
note, was not the best one available to her, which gave the
shorter girl some breathing space. "Umm, you know that Jane has
had many students. . . boys, like Adrian, right?" At Skipper's
nod, she continued, "Well, one of them, a fellow named Will
Decker, Jane-named Wilma, was getting married. He had two
problems, though. First, he'd tried to tell his bride about Jane
and she hadn't believed him. Pretty hard to believe in his case -
Will's a Marine now and to see him, it's not easy to imagine him
in corsets, petticoats and pinafores."

Skipper made a quick move on the board to firm her defensive
position and pressed on. "And the other problem?"

"His fiancee didn't have any female family of an age to be in the
wedding. Didn't have enough friends who could travel, either.
Anyway, Will wanted three of his buddies from Quantico to stand
up with him."

"Oh my, I think I can see where this is going. Darryl, that is
Darla, decides that the perfect way to convince the soon-to-be
Mrs. Wilma about her hubby's. . umm. . .  silky past is to, ah,
fill in the holes in the bridesmaid contingent?"

"Made a lot more sense when Darla presented the idea than it does
saying it out loud right now, let me tell you. So, anyway, we met
the fiancee for the first time as part of Jane's family at the
beginning of the wedding week, as boys," a rueful smile curled at
Barbie's mouth. "Lord, Darryl and I were barely fifteen, and it
was just before I had my growth spurt. Two days later, Darla and
Kendra 'arrived' on the scene, bridesmaid ensembles already in-
hand thanks to Aunt Jane's connections."

"Complete with shoulder-length opera gloves?"

"And sexy undies, silk stockings, dyed-to-match killer heels and
floppy sun-hats." Barbie made another move that gave Skipper hope
she might still pull out a draw at least. "We looked exactly the
way Jane wanted us to look - like two fourteen year old girls
trying too hard to look all grown up."

"Oh my, that sounds. . . interesting."

The taller girl snorted. "Darla couldn't resist playing the
teenie-bopper with over active glands. Teased the living hell out
of her Marine, and tried her damnedest to get me to do the same
with one escorting me."

"And you resisted that temptation manfully, I'm sure," Skipper
all but chortled.

Barbie drew herself up to her full height and looked down at her
opponent with an air of outraged aristocratic dignity that would
have befit a queen - or a Marx Brothers movie character. "I'll
have you know that *I*," she intoned loftily, "was the epitome of
mature, feminine grace, manners and breeding. A credit to my
teachers in ALL respects."

Skipper lost it and laughed heartily. "Oh sure, right - pull the
other leg while you're at it. Is that why there's only one glove
here? What happened to the other?"

A bright red blush suffused Barbie's complexion and, for a
moment, her eyes fell back to the board. "We don't need to
discuss that," she replied too quickly.

"Oh, c'mon, blondie, give. It's not fair to keep me hanging. If
you don't tell me, I'll have to imagine something really sexy
about it."

Thoroughly vexed, Barbie locked fiery eyes with Skipper. "Okay,
he took one, okay? Kind of like a knight taking a lady's favor."

"He what?"

Sighing, Barbie sat back in her chair. "He was going overseas,
and evidently, despite Kendra's best efforts, found her
attractive. He was only twenty one or twenty two, and thought she
might be worth, well, waiting for. At the end of the reception,
he cornered me, caught me unawares with a surprise kiss and stole
the other glove."

"Wow!"

"You think so? Well, to make things even worse, guess who saw us
and has NEVER let me live it down? Three guesses and the first
two don't count."

Somehow, Skipper managed not to laugh, but the effort cost her
and her next words were a squeak, "Not Darla?"

"Yup. She can be quite the little bitch when she puts her mind to
it. That's why I kept the glove - to remind me what happens when
I let myself get too carried away by one of darling Darla's
madcap enthusiasms."

The smile Skipper saw on the other girl's face said something
completely different, but she let that ride. It was sweet to see
how much her friend loved this Darryl/Darla. "So, you saved the
wedding by stepping into the nearest phone-booth and selflessly
standing in as Super-Bridesmaid. Did you help with the other
problem?"

"Wilma telling Patty about Jane's Winsome Girls' School for
Wayward Boys? Well, we did 'unmask' ourselves to her during the
preparation of the bride for the big getaway. Had to, you know?
Captain William Decker, United States Marine Corps is one
dangerous fellow, and he would have killed us if we'd seen his
lady in her bridal unmentionables. I'm not sure she still doesn't
think we were plants, but we tried."

"And lived to tell the tale, too."

"I don't tell it very often, and don't think I don't know what
you were trying to pull here, cutie."

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Skipper asked, her eyes wide with
innocense.

A sly grin lit Barbie's face. "I've been conned by Jane Thompson,
Darla Thompson-Smith and Her Honor, Judge Ruth Walinkiewicz in my
day. In other words, by the best con-artists in the civilized
world. I may be, well, male, but I recognize the devious female
mind at work as well as anyone, and better than most."

"And your point is?"

"My point, sexy-lady," Barbie cooed as she reached out to move
her Queen, "Is that your sneaky gambit didn't work. Queen to
Queen eight, Check and Mate."

Stunned, Skipper stared down at the board. It was Checkmate, sure
enough. Barbie had attacked with her Queen from the diagonal with
her Rook guarding the Queen so that Skipper's King could not
attack directly. There was no where to run nor was there any
other piece she could interpose to block or defend. "Damn, but I
hate to lose," she muttered as she tipped her King in surrender.

"Me, too, babe. Me, too."

~-~

"Let me do that," Diana said, as she sauntered up behind her wife
and took the silver-handled hairbrush from Jane. She loved the
way Jane's still-auburn locks turned to golden-red fire in her
hands when she slid the natural-bristled brush through them. She
was more than rewarded by the husky purr that answered each long,
slow stroke.

"That's mmmmarvelous," Jane sighed, leaning her head back.

"I gather, since you haven't pulled it out by the roots, that
your little interview with Adrienne went well?"

"She agreed to the bargain, if that's what you mean. I just hope
this idea of yours works. I've never asked a boy to pretend to be
happy before. Usually, they sort of have to figure that out for
themselves."

"Well," Diana answered in what Jane thought of as her mate's
'professorial mode', "There is a good deal of research and
anecdotal evidence to support the strategy. It is an interesting
aspect of the human condition that playing a part - simulating a
particular set of emotions - often gives rise to those very
emotions. Look at all the movie actors and actresses who convince
themselves they are in love when they play lovers on the movie
set."

"Then fall out of love as soon as they aren't playing lovers
anymore."

"True, but you don't want Adrienne to be a girl the rest of
Adrian's life, either. That works to your advantage, too.
Assuming this gives you the response you need, it just may take a
little longer to tear down Adrienne than it does with other
students."

"God help us if we end up with another Caitlyn, Philips," Jane
warned. "Barbara Anne will have our guts for garters."

"Adrienne is not Caitlyn," Diana said firmly. "Caitlyn was a girl
before she ever came to you. Adrian is male - a small male to be
sure, and one who is overcompensating for that lack of stature,
but male nonetheless."

"Well, it will be different."

"What's on the docket for tomorrow?"

"Shopping. We need some mime-clothes - nice feminine ones - and I
also want her to pick out a new dress. I suspect she will need. .
. practice enjoying that experience."

"Nasty," Diana laughed huskily, as Jane stood and turned into her
lover's arms.

"And you love it! Take me to bed, wench!" the Mistress of Seasons
House ordered.

Chapter 25: Impressions of the Past

Still in her robe, Ruth slid a steaming omelet onto a plate,
added large helpings of fat in the form of bacon and sausage,
plus a heaping side of buttery home-fried potatoes - and prepared
to enjoy watching her child eat. She set the plate in front of a
grinning Barbie and almost managed a disgusted frown. "You'll pay
for that when you're my age," she huffed as she spooned up
oatmeal for her own breakfast. "What's your cholesterol level?"

"One forty-five," Barbie answered as she savored the first bite
of cheese-dripping egg. "Not even Marie cooks like you do, Momma-
Ruth. Where's Skipper?"

"On the phone. Her office called just as she came down. Ah, and
here she comes now." Ruth watched Barbie and Skipper watching
each other and trying not to show it. *Guess Jane was right.
They're already intensely aware of each other, and that's not too
far from being in lust, at the very least. I sure hope Jane knows
what she's doing here. If Miss Braithwaite feels she has to take
Seasons House down, it could really hurt Kenneth. He loves Jane
and he's halfway in love with this girl.* "What can I get you for
breakfast? There's oatmeal, and I might still have an egg or two
after cooking for that one."

"Oh, the oatmeal sounds fine, if you don't mind."

"Who was on the phone?" Barbie asked.

An unhappy look clouded Anne's face. "My boss, Mr. Madden."

"Donald?" Ruth asked. "What did he want? Are you needed back at
work?"

Anne shook her head. "No, nothing like that. Adrian called him
yesterday, looking for me. Per my instructions, he was told I
wouldn't accept his call."

"I'd say that means Jane has given Adrienne your letter."

"The letter she dictated!" Anne flashed back and then just as
quickly subsided. "Sorry."

"Are you regretting doing that?" Barbie asked softly, putting out
a hand to rub Skipper's arm soothingly.

"Yes. . .no. . oh blast, maybe. Look, I know you trust Ms.
Thompson, and you believe in what she does, but. . ."

"But Adrian is your brother," Ruth said quietly. "What did you
write?" Quickly, Anne summarized the letter she'd written at
Jane's behest, and explained about the voicemail message she'd
recorded at the same time. "Well, I can see how you'd be
uncertain about that, given my error in not fully disclosing what
you were agreeing to when you signed those papers. You do
understand what Jane is trying to do with that letter, don't
you?"

"She's making him feel alone, isolated, without anyone to help
him," Anne said with some heat.

Ruth put a bowl of steaming oatmeal in front of Skipper, then sat
down. "No one to help him but himself," she corrected the girl. 
"At least, that's how she wants him to see things. What she's
really doing, Anne, is trying to restore the dynamics to the time
before Adrian called you. She needs him to feel that way, needs
him to see how that isolation would exacerbate any failure on his
part to play the role Jane has assigned to him. As long as he
thought he had an ally, he had no motivation to work at her
lessons, and without work, he cannot learn."

"It. . .it seems so cold."

"Sometimes it has to be that way. Military boot camps isolate
their recruits from the outside world, from their previous
experiences, even from their personal vision of themselves as
people. Jane does the same thing."

"I've heard that argument before," Anne muttered, casting a dire
look at Barbie.

"Then, I won't repeat those arguments. Instead, I shall merely
content myself by pointing out that, based on your agreement with
Jane, your brother need only suffer those conditions for three
more weeks following your return to Kingston. Assuming, of
course, that he is suffering, and that you still insist that he
leave Jane's keeping at the end of those weeks."

"What makes you think I won't?"

"My faith in Jane," Ruth said equably, "And my assessment of you,
as an intelligent young woman who will recognize the value of
what my friend does with boys such as your brother. Now, eat,
before your oatmeal gets cold. You two will need your fuel for
you have a difficult day before you."

"Oh?" Barbie asked, brows raised.

"I spoke with a colleague of mine - the judge who will sign the
probate papers on your mother's estate. He's agreed to let you go
through her place and see what's there while he expedites the
process. I can handle most of the legalities for you, but you
need to see if there's anything you really want, or if all of it
can be sold."

"Okay," Barbie replied, but in a tone that told Ruth it was
anything but okay for the tall blonde. "Are you going to be
there, too?" she asked, hopefully.

"Sorry, dear. Full docket, especially since I had to juggle cases
to be off the past couple of days. I might manage a couple of
hours, but you will need more time than that anyway."

"Damn."

~-~

Brenda ('Betty-to-my-Friends') Franson walked into her office, a
slight frown on her face as she walked over to sit down and face
the woman seated on the sofa. "Problems?" Jane asked before
Brenda could say anything. "Is Adrienne acting up again?"

"No," Betty replied thoughtfully, "But I'm not comfortable about
this, nonetheless. She's, well, she's trying TOO hard, Janey.
Everything - her responses, her giggles, even her smiles for
goodness sake - they're all just so exaggerated. It's almost like
watching one of those 1930's comedic movie shorts, except it's in
living color. My best shop-girl, you remember Sally, don't you?
She's starting to give Adrienne funny looks."

"Blast! Do you think it's intentional? A sort of malicious
compliance? 'You told me to be happy, and look how happy I can
be' type of thing?"

Betty shook her head firmly. "No way. I took a real close look at
that child, Jane. When Sally isn't looking, she practically
hyperventilates to calm herself. When I gave her a friendly pat,
she literally flinched. She knows I'm in on the game, but I've
told her often enough that I'd unmask her in a heartbeat if she
didn't do exactly as I ordered."

"So she's keeping her word, but. . ."

"No buts, Jane. She's doing the best she knows how, but just now?
That's not good enough for soloing."

"Then I'll have to pull her out of there. Give me a minute to
think of an excuse that will do the job, but won't ruin my image
as the school-mistress-from-hell."

"There might be another way, Jane. . . "

"Oh? What?"

"Well, you did say she was to act like she was having fun? Well,
suppose she didn't have to act?"

~-~

"What a strange setup," Skipper murmured as she drove Barbie's
car into the alleyway behind Sheila's townhouse. "She actually
owned two houses? On exactly opposite sides of this alley?"

"Momma-Ruth said that she used the one on the residential street
as her living space and the other, the one with the storefront,
as her. . .umm, place of business."

Skipper giggled at seeing her tall friend blush. "You mean her
dungeon, don't you? I'm actually rather excited. Nice girls from
Indiana don't usually get to see dungeons, you know."

"Right. Glad to help broaden your experiences. Come on, let's get
going. The sooner we start, the sooner we get done."

The first surprise was that the storefront was just that, a
front. They raised the grill and opened the door and found a
small reception area. The only other door in the room led to a
dark, narrow stairway to yet another door, this one opening onto
a second-story covered walkway connecting the two townhouses.

"How odd," Skipper observed as she looked out a window onto the
alley below. "Didn't she like walking outdoors?"

"Odder than that," Barbie said thoughtfully. "Did you notice that
there isn't any way into the rest of the storefront house? If you
go in the front door, you can only go back out that door, or end
up here."

"Maybe there's a back door in the alley?"

"Only door I saw when we drove through there was ten feet off the
ground without any stairs. Like one of those track houses
designed with a deck-option that the buyer decided not to
install. Come on, let's see what's on the other side of this."

There, they found their second surprise, in the form of a second
'reception area' nothing like the first one. Flickering wall
sconce lights, designed to look like gaslights, did little to
dispel the darkness of the small antechamber. Opposite where
they'd entered, heavy, velvet-like curtains hung from floor to
the cathedral ceiling, their weight almost swallowing what little
light might dare escape from whatever lay beyond them. The floor
was uncarpeted, a fact that escaped the pair until the sound of
their high heeled shoes clicking off the hard surface alerted
them.

Without thought, two hands reached out and found one another,
both seeking and offering comfort and mutual support. Then, they
pushed aside the curtain and entered the room beyond.

"Oh my god," Skipper breathed when she saw what awaited them.

~-~

All the pair could do was gape. The room was perfectly octagonal
in shape. More of the flickering wall sconces, one on each side
of the octagon, cast their disconcerting light on walls textured
to look as if they had been hewn from raw granite. Dark wood
doors occupied the center of each wall, except for the one
through which they'd entered. Other than that, the room was
devoid of furniture or furnishing. Only dancing shadows thrown by
the barely adequate lights decorated the empty space. "It's like
something out of a Saturday late night horror picture," Barbie
breathed.

"Isn't it GREAT?!" Skipper enthused, and then blushed at her
friend's shocked look. "Well, I always did love those old movies.
It's like the House of Horrors at the fair. Wonder what's on the
other side of those doors?"

"You're starting to scare me, Braithwaite," the taller blonde
teased. "Let's go find out."

~-~

"Sally?" Betty called to her assistant fashion consultant as she
entered The Style Shoppe's dressing area. 

"Yes, Ms. Franson?"

"You're overdue for your break, dear. I'll help Adrienne for a
bit. You've been on your feet since we opened. Go get some tea
and relax for a bit."

"It's no trouble to finish up here first, Ma'am," the pretty
young woman demurred, although Betty could tell that the thought
of a bit of rest greatly appealed. 

"Scoot!" the shop owner ordered with a teasing smile, "Before I
find something for you to do!"

The girl did not need to be told twice and was out the door
before Adrienne quite knew what was happening. Then, she realized
she was alone with 'one of them'. A frisson of near panic slid
down her spine, but she fought it back, and somehow managed to
force her lips back up into a visage that was, unfortunately,
more grimace than grin. A promise was a promise, and Adrienne had
decided that Adrian's word was about the only thing she had left
of him. "Isn't this dress marvelous, Ms. Franson," she offered
with a twirl, as she tried to sound cheery. Unfortunately, her
voice cracked on the final syllable.

If she had been distinctly uncomfortable being around the very
pretty Sally, and distressed to find herself suddenly alone with
Ms. Franson, Adrienne nearly lost control of herself when the
older woman put a gently firm hand on her upper arm and moved her
into a chair. "Sit down, child," Betty ordered softly. "Take a
deep breath - that's right, now another. Close your eyes for just
a moment."

Betty watched as a more normal color suffused Adrienne's chalk-
white cheeks. "Better, now?" she asked.

"Ye.. Yes, Ma'am. Umm, thank you."

"Good. Now, I know what you promised Jane, because she told me."

The fear came back into the lingerie-clad teen's eyes, and Betty
hastened to reassure her. "You've done fine. Don't worry about
it."

"I.. . I have? That girl, Sally? She was, well, looking at me
awfully closely there at the end."

"Well, perhaps you were trying a little too hard. Smiling when
the seamstress fitting you accidently sticks you in the fanny
with a pin is a bit much, but I give you full points for trying
to keep your word. Now, why don't you relax, and let's have a
little fun for a change."

"Fun?" Adrienne repeated, a wealth of suspicion dripping from the
word.

"Let's just try. All right, so there's no getting around the fact
that you do have to have a new dress to satisfy Jane, but the
search doesn't have to be quite so much of a trial. I know, let's
pretend you're looking for a costume. No one else will come in
here, and I already know your secret, so you're safe for the time
being. It'll have to be a girlish costume because - oh, I don't
know - it's for the Sadie Hawkins Day Ball and girls have to be
boys and boys have to be girls. How's that for a concept?"

"But. . .but, I'm not a girl," Adrienne whispered, "not really."

"And none of the other people wearing skirts to the Sadie Hawkins
Day Ball will be really girls, either," Betty said, a teasing
smile on her lips. "You wouldn't want to let any of those other
guys win the prize for prettiest outfit, would you?"

In spite of herself, Adrienne smiled back. "Depends on the prize,
I guess."

"How about a fifty dollar gift certificate at Milady's Closet?"

"That's your lingerie store," Adrienne snorted in obvious
disappointment.

"Oh, and a date with the cutest girl at your school, so you can
give her the certificate," Betty offered.

"You can't promise that."

"Ah, but we can pretend, can't we? And who knows, you might just
have the chance to go to that Sadie Hawkins Ball on your own
later, or date the cutest girl at school. Provided you continue
to do your best for Jane, that is." A sad look crossed the
girlish face which she tried to cover with a smile. "What's the
matter now?" she prodded the teen.

"Oh, nothing," Adrienne said, trying to sound cheerful, only to
stop at the sight of an imperiously demanding cocked-feminine
brow. "Oh, all right. It's just that, well, I've never had much
luck with girls before this. . . this . . . this place, you know?
And now, Ms. Thompson's making more me girly than THEY are - so
how am I going to appeal to a girl? IF I ever get out of here
without going to jail, that is."

The boy-girl was so sincere and so distressed that humor and
sympathy warred momentarily in Betty's breast, but somehow she
managed to keep the incipient laugh in check. "Tell me something.
If _you_ were trying to be friends with someone, who would you
rather hang with? Someone who didn't know or appreciate what you
had to deal with every day, or someone who understood you better
than the other guys around you?"

"Ummm. . . someone who understood?" Adrienne asked, wondering
where the trap was hidden.

"Right! So, assuming you learn how to behave like a girl,
appreciate what it is to live like a girl, don't you think you'll
maybe understand that really cute girl better than the big macho
guy? Maybe appreciate what she does to BE that cute just a little
better, too?" At the teen's quick nod, Betty smiled. "Exactly,
and you think that girl - that 'really nice-to-be-around' kind of
girl - isn't going to notice those things and like hanging with
you better than your less sensitive brethren?"

"Maybe. . ."

"Only one way to find out, cutie. So, what catches your eye?
Looks like Sally emptied a couple of racks from all the stuff in
here."

"My eye? You mean on me?"

This time Betty did laugh, but not unpleasantly. "Okay, Adrienne,
let's try it this way. Know any girls who look like Adrienne? A
really cute blonde whom Adrian would really like to impress?" She
watched the wheels turn inside that fluffy, blond head, and knew
the instant just such a girl came to mind. *Gotcha,* she thought
happily. "I can see that you do. So, suppose you were looking for
a present - a really nice dress - for this girl with your
coloring and, ah, attributes. Out of all this, which would you
pick out for her?"

For a moment, Adrienne still hesitated, afraid this was another
game, another trick at her expense, but then decided if it was,
she might as well, indeed, try to find some real fun in it. After
all, didn't the saying go something about laughing and letting
the world laugh with you? "I, well, I thought that red skirt with
the short black suit jacket was kinda. . .well, sort of pretty."

"Ah yes, the red peasant skirt with the black bolero jacket. An
excellent first choice, I think, and it can be worn with or
without the jacket depending on how dressy you want, I mean, your
very cute girlfriend-who-looks-like-Adrienne wants to be. All
right, then, let's see if we can find some accessories to go with
that ensemble, shall we?"

~-~

Giggling nervously, Anne and Barbie approached the next to the
last door. Neither of them had ever seen, in real life, anything
like the equipment installed in the five previous thematically
designed rooms. There'd been a doctor's office, a nursery, and an
elegant lady's sitting room, although in each case the furniture
had seemed to include an unusual and disproportionate number of
very heavy leather pieces. Then there'd been the space that could
only have been a stable; an assessment that had been difficult
for Skipper to accept, given that the complete complement of tack
and stalls were clearly sized with human-sized horses in mind.
The fifth door had revealed a dungeon that would have suited
Torquemada's Inquisition in all respects.

So, it was with a certain degree of caution mixed with excited
anticipation that they opened the sixth door.

"Well, I guess it's pretty obvious what she did here," Anne said,
striding into the richly appointed executive office. "Here's
where she kept track of her business. Funny, wonder why she kept
that chair?" she added reflectively.

Barbie looked at the chair, and saw that the minimal seat cushion
had a two-to-three inch diameter hole in its center. She put her
hands on the chair's back while she watched Anne slip around
behind the desk. She wasn't surprised when she couldn't move the
chair an inch. 

"Nice desk," Anne said running a finger along with deeply
polished wood before sitting down in the leather executive chair,
"Nicer seat."

"Comfie, is it?" Barbie asked, a strange smile curving her lips.

"Oh yeah. A little short-seated, though. Hey, you know what? I
bet you she kept her files here - you know, like her inventory
and insurance records." Skipper was already reaching for the
desk's file drawer. "Those would really save us a lot of time if
we could find them."

"Wait!" Barbie called out, but it was too late. Skipper's eyes
were wide again, her mouth hanging comically open. Slowly, she
reached down and brought out a long, cylindrical object about two
inches in diameter and nearly a foot long, at which point, the
taller blonde lost it and fell apart laughing. "Oh, god, Anne,
the look on your FACE!"

The sex toy barely missed Barbie's head as Anne pinned her nearly
hysterical companion with a steely glare. She reached down again
and brought out a leather-tipped riding crop which she slashed
loudly against the cherry-toned desktop. "I don't think it's THAT
funny," she retorted.

"Oh, but it is! As if MY Mother would ever bother with anything
so mundane as an office, or keeping re. . re . .records." At
Skipper's threatening growl, Barbie put her hands up in
surrender, but couldn't restrain the laughter. "I DID try to warn
you."

"I see," she responded, not quite seeing. "Then just what is this
place for? And THAT thing?" She pointed to the realistically
molded silicone dildo on the floor.

"What does it look like?" Barbie asked rhetorically. "And I'd say
the base of 'THAT thing' is designed to fit the hole in this
chair perfectly. Guess one of Sheila's customers had fantasies
about being teased and tormented by an evil lady boss."

"She had women customers, too?" Skipper voice cracked, too
astounded by that notion not to pry further.

"Sweetie," the tall blonde said in a very soft and gentle voice,
"I suspect the customers who came into this playroom were mostly
male."

"But, that thing on the floor? And that chair? MEN??!?"

"Anne, think about it for a minute," Barbie ordered.

She did, and Barbie knew the exact moment when her friend
realized precisely how such a chair and accessories would be used
with a male. Skipper blushed clear to the roots of her blond
hair. "Oh."

And then she stormed out of the room, her face flaming in a
combination of embarrassment and fury.

~-~

"Well, she came out of it with a great dress, Aunt Jane. I'm
almost jealous." Jessica sat with perfect Victorian posture, her
hands clasped in her lap, on one of Jane's almost painfully
uncomfortable period chairs.

"It is a lovely outfit, isn't it? Not the normal thing for one of
my students, but I think I rather like her as a blond Flamenco
dancer."

"I'm still having a hard time seeing Ms. Franson as a guardian
angel instead of a tormentress, Aunt Jane. I can't say it is
something that occurs to me when I think of that very formidable
lady."

"Well, she did it quite well - saved the day, actually, because
Adrienne evidently came as close to blowing the masquerade as any
student I've ever had."

"Because she was trying too hard to keep her promise. She was
working so hard at being happy-looking it was clear she was
miserable. Wow, talk about a backlash. Close call."

"Just so. I think either Darla, you or I will have to accompany
her from now on, or at least until she gets a better handle on
the subtleties of the game. Fortunately, no one can try THAT hard
for long."

"Darla did, as I understand it," Jessica teased.

"I don't think this one is a Darla, dear. Thank heavens."

"Well, I hope she gets out of this mode soon. I have to tell you,
Aunt Jane, that I think you're as close to cruel and unusual
punishment as anything I've seen or heard about here with this
one."

"Whaaat??!" Jane yelped.

"I mean, REEAAALLY," Jessica cooed in perfect mimicry of Edith
White at her absolute worst, "Smiling when she was told to clear
the table and do the dishes? Feigning to ENJOY such plebeian
tasks? Mean, Aunt Jane, very, very mean."

The Mistress of Seasons House permitted herself a small, tight
smile. "Just so, darling. Just so."

Chapter 26 - The Fight of the Valkyries

"I said I'm sorry, Anne," Barbie wheedled. 

"You laughed at me," the still furious blonde accused for the
fourth or fifth time, fire shooting from her narrowed eyes. She
stood in the center of the octagonal room, her arms crossed
beneath her breasts, her posture rigid. "I absolutely HATE it
when people laugh at me. I have had more than enough of that in
my life, thanks to my brother's adolescent sense of humor, thank-
you-very-much. I had thought better of you."

The hurt in that last sentence stopped Barbie in mid-
justification. Sighing, she stepped back, giving the angry young
woman some space. "You're right, I shouldn't have done it. I was
about to use that old saw about not laughing at you as much as
laughing with you, but you weren't laughing, were you? I am
sorry, and this time I not only mean it, but I understand better
why I'm apologizing."

Something in the taller girl's tone reached Anne, and she
softened a bit. "I guess you did try to warn me," she said,
offering up an olive branch. Then her brows furrowed, as the
significance of that warning came to her. "You KNEW," she accused
again. "How did you know?!?"

"I didn't know, not really, but it was a fair assumption, based
on the data to hand."

"Huh? How so? What data?"

Repressing a smile, Barbie began ticking off points on her
fingers. "One, we know what Sheila did for a living, and two,
it's pretty clear she did it here in this building - on this
floor. Three, all the other rooms on this floor are, well, shall
we call them designed for very specific and kinky types of games?
Four, that chair and it's hole in the seat, combined with the
fact that it is bolted to the floor. Apparently Sheila didn't
want her 'victim' able to move it around or perhaps fall over
while restrained in it. Finally, there wasn't a phone or any
other electronic office equipment in the place. If Sheila did
have a business office, I figure it will be somewhere else in one
of these two buildings."

"But you warned me about the drawers?" Anne persisted.

"That was a guess, too. Unlike the other rooms, this one had no
other obvious storage spaces. Don't know much about how a person
contracts a lady for those games, but I suspect Sheila got paid
by the hour. I really doubt that her customers would have liked
it much if she kept walking in and out of the room to get her
paraphernalia. She'd need her equipment close to hand regardless
of which room she was using at the time."

"Oh, I see," she said more softly now.

"Forgive me?" Barbie wheedled, earning a small smile.

"For the moment, but understand that payback is owed, Blondie.
Trust me on this one, okay?" The smile grew, larger and more
mischievous. "I will get mine back for this, and you won't see it
coming, either."

"Okay," Barbie agreed readily. "I'll live in fear till that
moment, but let's say we finish our reconnoitering, eh? We still
have door number seven, right?"

"Right. And this time? You go first."

"Just follow me."

~-~

They were almost disappointed when the final door opened onto a
corridor that led to two sets of stairs - one up and one down.
The down-stairway ended on the first floor which was laid out as
a social area, complete with kitchen, dining room, sitting room,
television room and an entry foyer for the townhouse's main
entrance. "I don't think she really used this space, except as a
blind," Barbie mused. "It's too perfect - cleaning service
perfect, and the fridge was empty."

"Maybe she used it as a place to meet and interview clients prior
to taking them. . . upstairs? Or maybe when she had to have, umm,
non-paying guests come to call?"

They agreed that those were possibilities, and headed back up the
stairs, this time climbing to the third floor. The top floor
mirrored the second floor's layout except for the dramatic
lighting and wall treatments were missing. And unlike the first
floor, this space had a lived in, almost used look to it. Not
quite untidy, but not neat either. 

The octagonal room was furnished as a lounge, with comfortable
furniture, a sophisticated entertainment center and a wet-bar.
The rooms off the main space were also somewhat different. The
first really was an office, complete with a multi-line telephone,
a fax machine and a basic-yet-functional computer. "There's where
your files would be, Anne," Barbie had teased, eliciting another
furious blush from the shorter girl.

One the same side of the building as the office, they found a
store room filled with cleaning equipment and various tools, all
jumbled in disarray indicating the haphazard nature of their use.
The final room was filled with racks of electronic equipment, a
fact that surprised Barbie. After some exploration, she realized
that "It's surveillance system."

"Whatever for?" Anne asked, perking up. "Was she worried about
break-ins? This is a pretty high class neighborhood. The police
patrol around here regularly."

"I think," Barbie replied, "that if we played with that TV out
there, we'd find that we could tune into each of the rooms on the
second floor. My guess is that Sheila might have left them alone
down there, from time-to-time, to play with their heads. She
liked doing that kind of crap," and there was suddenly a world of
bitterness in the tall blonde's tone, "but she had to make sure
they weren't panicking or worse, suffocating. Bad for business.
Tends to lose customers and involve cops. So, she'd slip up here,
pour herself a glass of the bubbly from her wet bar, and watch
her client squirm on the wide-screen TV."

"Oh. I can see it, in my mind's eye when you describe it that
way, but somehow, it would never occur to me that's how it would
be used. I mean, like having two separate houses."

"Security again. Gives her more control over what people knew and
didn't know. Gave her a place to hide if things went sour, too.
C'mon, let's check out the rooms on the other side of this
place."

~-~

"Oh . . . my. . . goodness," Skipper breathed, her eyes fixed on
the contents of the first room they opened. It was a large walk-
in closet, and it was filled with glossy leather garments in a
variety of bright colors. 

"What have you got?" the taller blonde asked. Coming up behind
her and seeing, she coughed out. "Oh." The scent was almost
overwhelming - leather oddly mingled with leather polish,
preservative and metallic pong of human sweat. "Guess she stored
her working clothes up here and dressed up here - the room next
door is a combination dressing room and bathroom. Guess even
bitch-goddesses have to pee at inconvenient times. Anyway, I
wondered about how she handled the costume-part of all this,
because I didn't remember her having much of a clothing fetish
when I lived with her. I suspect these were for business only."

Eyes wide, Anne reached in and pulled out a leather corset in
black with red highlights including laces. "Wow."

"That would look good on you," Barbie said without thinking.

"Dream on," she said, holding the garment up against her waist
and moving to a mirror. "No way that would fit me, anyway."

"Sure it would. I'll help you if you want to try it."

"I'm NOT undressing in front of you, Blondie, no matter how
feminine you look or behave, okay?"

Barbie shrugged. "So, put it on over your dress. Madonna used to
do that all the time. At least you'd see what it looks like, and
you'd get an appreciation of what it feels like for the next time
Adrienne calls to complain about Jane's treatment."

The look in Anne's reflected eyes were a mixture of curiosity and
wariness. Curiosity won out. "Okay, but if I do one, you do one,
too. And just to make sure you don't get any cute ideas? I'll
lace you up AFTER you lace me."

"But I'm already wearing a corset, and a damned stiff one at
that. It won't do anything for my shape." 

"Oh really?" Feeling brave - and perhaps just a bit wicked -
Skipper made a show of looking through the closet, but she
already knew what she wanted. With a flourish, she reached up and
pulled down another heavily-weighted hanger which she offered to
Barbie. "Okay, then, wear this," she challenged.

"Don't be silly. No dress that fit my mother would fit me." 

A mischievous smile brightened the shorter girl's face. "Sure it
would, see," she said, turning the dress around so that Barbie
could see the garment's back, "It laces like a corset, all the
way from the hem to the back of the neck. One size fits all -
even your size, Barbie."

"It won't fit over the dress I'm wearing." Barbie retorted
weakly. "And it won't cover my bottom because you won't be able
to close the laces far enough."

*Gotcha!* Skipper mentally gloated. "Then take your dress off.
We're all girls here, right? Besides, remember I saw those
darling little white-lace panties you're wearing when you got in
the car. Not very graceful, dear. Anyway, they'll, ahem, protect
your modesty. Sort of."

"I . . . don't know."

Skipper shrugged that off and started to put both hangers back
onto the closet bar. "Have it your way, then. Like I said,
Stretch, I will if you will, but I won't if you won't."

~-~

"HEY, take it ::grunt:: EASY, Skipper! That's tight E-nough!"

"Oh, quit whining. I needed to get a little more lacing to work
with. You ARE just a bit broader through the shoulders than your
mother was."

"Next time, cutie, I lace YOU ::ooomph:: last. And I still don't
know why I had to skin out of MY dress, when you put yours on
over your blouse and skirt!"

"Oh, come on, if you'd taken off the corset you were already
wearing, this wouldn't have been a problem at all. And don't give
me that modesty nonsense again. It's not like you don't wear far
less than that to the beach."

"Ken wears less. Barbie is more. . . ladylike. And this thing is,
well, drafty!"

"Wimp," Anne giggled. "Although next time you wear a dress that
leaves your fanny only half-covered, you should wear coordinating
panties. I can see the white through the lower laces. Now, stand
up and let me have a look at you - and me, since you wouldn't let
me use the mirror until you were outfitted."

~-~ 

"That's amazing," Anne murmured as she gazed at her own
reflection. The three-sided floor-to-ceiling mirrors in Sheila's
dressing room allowed her to see herself from any angle, and she
wasn't sure what she saw was really Barbara Anne Braithwaite. Her
eyes still fixed on the picture before her, she reached out
hesitant fingers to touch the woman looking back at her from the
silvered glass. 

After several lace-tightenings, the corset fit her like a
shimmering black-and-red second skin. The red edging around the
top of the bodice, above her hips, and up the center where front
catches were seemed to emphasize both her bosom and her bottom to
an unreal extent. She looked, well, positively wasp-waisted, yet
centerfold-voluptuous. "Was your mother vain enough to have trick
mirrors?" 

"What? Trick mirrors?" Barbie looked up from her attempt to tug
downward a critical few more millimeters of the drum-tight dress'
disconcertingly short skirt.

"Like in a circus fun house. . .so that she'd look, well, more
hour-glassed in it." 

The taller girl would have laughed if her double-corsetting would
have permitted, but on second consideration, she decided it was
probably just as well that she couldn't get that deep a breath.
"Skip? That's YOU in that mirror - what YOU look like. All
five-foot-ten of gorgeous, sexy-shaped woman. That's really what
you look like . . .from my unbiased perspective, at least." 

"Gorgeous?" she muttered, looking down in evident embarrassment.
Part of her wanted to believe her friend, wanted desperately to
believe her. She knew she was attractive, in a long, lanky sort
of way, but sexy? It was not how she thought of herself. "Help me
out of this thing, will you?" 

"Maybe I shouldn't," Barbie teased, trying to coax away the
sadness that had just come into Anne's eyes. When the other girl
simply stared at her, she huffed. "Oh, all right, if you insist.
But then you help me out of mine. Two corsets are at least one
too many!" 

~-~ 

Skipper returned the leather corset to the closet. She came out
to help Barbie out of her outfit, only to find her in the other
storage space. Curious, she walked to the door and saw what
appeared to be relatively ordinary if brightly colored clothing.
She was about to call Barbie to order, when something flashed at
her from the corner of her eye. Turning toward it, she looked at
the source for several moments before reaching up to take down
the hanger from which a narrow tube of electric blue latex
suspended. "What IS this?" 

"Off hand," Barbie said as she reached behind her to try to pull
the rear hem of the leather skirt down further, "I'd say it's a
dress. Latex, I think. Very expensive." 

"A dress? Good grief, Barbie, how big was your mother? I mean,
you did manage, if only barely, to get into that killer leather
dress you're wearing now." 

Barbie considered her reflection and the question for a moment.
"Hmmm, not as tall as you, but, well, a little bigger around in
the hips, bust and waist. Not unattractive, just voluptuous for
her height." 

"Then she must have had a height-challenged anorexic assistant.
No way could someone built like you say your mother was could
have worn this little number." 

"Wanna bet? Trust me, my mom would never allow someone ELSE'S
clothes to be in HER space." 

"You just want to see me try and get into that," Skipper
retorted. "I'd split out the seams on it and end up naked in
front of you." 

"The stuff is rugged, and it WILL fit you. No guts, Braithwaite."
The taller girl returned to the closet and returned with a
shorter garment. "Tell you what - if I can get this tube-top on
over this dress, you try on THAT dress." 

"There is no way you could get your left pinkie into that thing
so there's no point in the bet." 

"Chicken!" 

"I am not! Okay, smartie, what do I get when you CAN'T squeeze
into that rubber sausage casing?" 

"Whatever you want," Barbie offered magnanimously, "So long as it
is just between you and me - I can't make any promises for Aunt
Jane and Adrienne." 

"You don't mean that," the shorter girl snapped. 

"As long as it's legal, I do mean it," was the solemn reply. "And
my word is good - you should know that by now." 

A surprised look came across Anne's face. It was, she realized,
the first time she'd thought of her brother's fate at the hands
of Barbie's Aunt in a very long time. And she'd had to reminded
of it at that. "Anne?" Barbie called gently, her face now
concerned. 

"You really want to see me wearing that dress, don't you?"
Skipper said in soft wonder. Barbie's face turned a fiery red,
but she gave her shorter companion a single curt nod before
looking away embarrassed. Somehow, that little slip by her friend
helped. Skipper felt her inner imp come out of it's hiding place
and take charge. "You're on, Blondie. You're gonna look SO cute
walking to the car in that dress, too." 

"Car? THIS dress?!? NOW? In DAYlight? That's two blocks from the
doorway!" Barbie's voice cracked on each question, as she stared
at her friend in stunned disbelief. "But, Anne, My butt is
hanging out back there! I WILL be arrested!" 

"Not if you walk quickly enough, and besides, your panties have
you covered up well enough not to be really indecent. You did say
anything that's legal, didn't you?" 

"You sure you're not related to Aunt Jane? Hand me that talcum
powder over there in the closet, will you? I read somewhere that
getting into this stuff requires some dry lubricant - otherwise
perspiration makes it stick like glue." 

~-~ 

"There!" Barbie declared, her voice triumphant if a little
strained. 

"I don't believe it! Let me look and make sure you didn't split a
seam somewhere!" Skipper ordered as she strode back from the
electronic surveillance room where she'd been inspecting the
various components. 

"Oh. . my . . goodness," she stuttered when she laid eyes on the
taller girl, before dissolving into giggles for Barbie was indeed
a sight. 

The pink short-sleeved, low cut crop-top was so tightly stretched
that it was transparent. The extremely well-filled black leather
bodice of the corset dress clearly visible beneath the latex.
Twin shell-pink cannonballs threatened to explode at any second.
Additionally, there was talcum powder everywhere - on Barbie's
face, in her hair, on her arms and all over the black dress. 

"Goodness, Barbie. . .you look like you tried to bake bread and
fell in the flour bin," Skipper giggled. 

With dignified self-possession, Barbie drew herself up to her
full, imposing height and looked haughtily down her nose at the
laughing girl. "I look forward to being similarly amused," she
huffed and then slapped a latex-covered hanger into Skipper's
hands. "I believe we had a bet, cutie. Oh, and don't forget the
talc! I'm going to check out that last door while you're getting
into THAT!" 

With that, Barbie swept from the room leaving a goggle-eyed Anne,
the latex dress clutched in her hands. 

Chapter 27: Saucing the Goose - Steaming the Gander

"Damned. . . miserable ::OUCH!:: . . . zipper - BLAST IT - bit me
aGAIN!" Skipper fumed, as she tried to work the side-seamed
zipper up her torso with as little of her skin caught in their
shiny teeth as possible. Only the problem was that a good deal of
her hide was falling into the realm of 'possible'.

How had Barbie ever gotten into that pink-toned sausage casing?
Getting into this dress had nearly strangled Anne on no fewer
than three occasions. The first time she hadn't noticed the
zipper and had tried to pull it down over her head without
unzipping it. Only a great effort had kept her from having to
call to Barbie to save her. The second time was when she'd tried
getting the thing on over her sturdy, serviceable brassiere. The
latex had caught on the cups turning them inside out and twisted
them into a very painful knot that bid fair to pinch off her now-
very-tender bosoms while the bodice had again become nearly
choked her. At that point, she'd given serious consideration to
reneging on her bet, but in the end, her sense of fairness had
won out and her eighteen hour bra had ended up draped over the
hanger that had held this garment from hell. The third incidence
of near asphyxiation by dress came when she'd tried to pop her
head thorough the neck. Not only did Barbie's mother have
abominable taste in clothing, she compounded that failing by
possessing a pencil-thin neck.

The small dressing room's atmosphere was foggy with the talcum
powder Anne had used to finally get the thing over her body. She
didn't even want to think about what that stuff was doing to her
lungs and nasal passages, but all that paled in comparison to the
torment caused by that inhumanly evil device - the zipper.

Okay, so it wasn't just the zipper - stretching the latex and
compressing certain womanly parts of her body in order to have
any chance at all of closing the zipper had a great deal to do
with her problems. What she really needed another set of hands -
one set to hold the blasted sides together and another pull up on
the zipper-tab. But she'd be thrice damned before she'd call in
Barbie and ask HER help in this. She'd already helped more than
enough, thank-you-very-much. "Who would've thought she could get
into that damned halter."

With one last gargantuan effort, Skipper pulled the last three
inches of zipper closed, held the ends tightly in her near hand
and pulled up - hard - on the zipper.

It only bit a little, but it DID finally close. "Thank goodness,"
she breathed.

She rested for a few moments and wondered what to do next. She
had to show Barbie - that had been part of the deal. The only
thing was she wasn't all that sure just how much of what she
showed the tall girl would be dress and how much would be Anne.
She thought she just might end up showing way more of Anne than
she'd like. "'course, if I'd won, she'd be parading down the
street with her panties hanging out, but that's logic and I don't
feel real logically inclined just now! Well, guess I'll go out
and take a look in the mirror before she gets back from her
explorations - find out just how bad it is."

With a quick jerk to try to pull the hem down a little further
over her rear, Anne headed for the floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

The damned skirt snapped back up to catch her square on the bum.

"BLAST!"

~-~

It was even worse than she'd feared. The blue turned nearly as
transparent as the pink shirt had, except Barbie had kept that
dress underneath. There wasn't anything except Anne underneath
the bodice of this dress. The conservative neckline didn't mean a
thing when the rest of the dress looked like it have been painted
on instead of put on. "And you thought Barbie stuck out. Okay, no
way am I going through with this - uh uh - no way, no how."

She turned to hurry back to the safety of the dressing room.

Just in time to face the returning Barbie face on.

"Hey, Skipper, you won't believe what I found - my mother's
bedroom and talk about plush. . . oh . . .my . . . god!"

The stunned look on the taller girl's face would have been
comical had Anne not wanted nothing more than to melt into the
floorboards and disappear. She started to say something, but no
words came to mind - she could only stand there, rooted to the
spot, watching a myriad of emotions flash across her companion's
normally controlled face.

Barbie broke first, spinning on her heel and bending over, her
hands fisted against her abdomen. "Oh, God!" she said again,
almost a moan.

"Barbie?" Anne asked, suddenly concerned. She moved over to the
girl who had become her friend, "Are you all right? What's the
matter?"

"That. . that dress," a harsh voice answered, "YOU. . . in that
dress."

"Huh? I don't understand."

She watched Barbie's shoulders rise and fall as the taller girl
took several deep breaths. "S'okay," she finally answered,
although the words still seemed labored. "I think we could say
that . . . it's a guy thing."

"Oh," Anne replied, not really understanding. "Well, since you're
here, aren't you going to take a closer look?"

"Oh, I think I got a close enough look already!"

Biting her lip and feeling oddly just a little disappointed that
Barbie wouldn't look at her, Anne caught herself pulling down on
the skirt's hem again and forced herself to let go of it gently.
"Ummm, you're sure?"

"Annie, if you don't get away from me and out of that dress, this
*guy* is gonna explain to you what guys and girls do, because
there ain't no doubt you are 110% prime girl." With that, Barbie
Barbie stormed back out of the room the way she had come in.

"Well!" Anne said, staring at the vibrating door. And then she
smiled - a small, uncertain little smile to be sure - but
nonetheless a very feminine smile indeed.

~-~

Barbie was sitting on the edge of the large canopied bed, staring
out the window when Anne peaked around the corner of the walkway
door. The taller girl had her back to the door and didn't hear
Anne's arrival. "Barbie?" she asked, and cringed at the quavery
tone of her voice.

Her friend's back went stiff, but she made no effort to turn
around. "Yes?"

"I, ah, well that is, I need some help. The zipper is stuck.

Barbie spun about and nearly fell off the slippery, satin-
comforter-covered bed. "You're kidding!"

"Not kidding," was the sad reply. "And I can't see it well enough
to see what's caught in it. I'm sorry, and I'm not teasing, but
could you take a look?"

~-~

"It's not stuck."

"Of course it is. Otherwise I'd be out of this latex iron
maiden."

"It's not stuck," Barbie repeated. "It's locked. There's a
difference. One's an accident, the other's intentional."

"Locked?!? Tell me you're kidding, please!"

"Not kidding. My mother used this type of zipper on me several
times. They lock at the top with an itty-bitty deadbolt sort of
thing. With me she used them so I couldn't get out of her little
dress up games until she was ready to let me. Tight as this thing
is, I figure she must have used one on this dress to keep the
zipper from working loose during a session with one of her
clients."

"Fine. Great. Tell me you know how to unlock it."

"With my mother? I made it my business to learn how these things
worked - and how to get them open. Releasing that little deadbolt
thing takes a special tool - a key, really, even though it looks
like a pair of twisted needlenose pliers. I may be able to find
something similar." 

"Barbie?" Anne's voice was dangerously soft, and her eyes glinted
ominously.

"Yes, Skipper?"

"GET ME OUT OF THIS THING!!"

"Okay, okay. . calm down. Let me see if I can find some tools.
That latex will be tough to cut and the metal even tougher."

~-~

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T FIND ANY OF THE BLASTED TOOLS!?!"

"You don't have to scream - and just what I said - no tools.
There's not even a decent knife in the kitchen - although as
tight as that dress is on you - I'd be afraid of cutting you, if
I tried to use a knife on the latex itself. No, I think the
solution is going to be taking you back to Aunt Ruth's. I'm sure
I have something in my old toolkit that will jimmy open that
little deadbolt."

"And how, pray tell, do you expect me to get to the car? It's, as
you pointed out, two blocks from here no matter which house we
leave from. With a no-parking zone in front of the houses, to
boot. I WILL be arrested in this outfit and none of your mother's
things will fit me well enough to wear over it."

"I guess I shouldn't ask what happened to your bra?"

"Right, you shouldn't ask that - not if you want to father
children."

"Right - got it - no questions about bras."

"Good plan - and furthermore, a better one that deals with my . .
.OUR current situation would be appreciated, Blondie."

"Uhmm, sure. Say, you didn't think to bring your raincoat, did
you?"

"It's in the car, why? OH, I get it. Go get it for me!"

"As soon as you say please and undo the laces on this dress, so I
can go outside. There ought to be SOME benefit to winning the
bet."

"Turn around so I can get started. I have this sudden urge to get
out of this place!" When all Barbie did was stand and tilt up her
chin in challenge, Anne felt her face flame. "Umm, please."

"Guess now we know what part of the houses she actually lived in,
eh?" Barbie said, nonchalantly looking around to take in the
sumptuous bedroom-suite. Then, she turned around, grabbed hold of
the ornately carved bedpost with both hands and braced herself
for the unlacing.

~-~

"Don't dawdle, Adrienne," the tiny blonde commanded. Though this
'Ms. Darla Smith' did not possess Ms. Thompson's commanding
presence, she made up for it with twice the ascerbic sharpness.
Adrienne hurried as quickly as she could to her seat in the huge
Lincoln Towncar, wondering if Ms. Smith would magically produce
the booster seat she would need to see over the steering wheel. 

Of course, the powered seats in the fine motorcar adjusted enough
- barely enough - for the height-challengged woman to be street-
legal as a driver. By the time Adrienne had her own seat belt
adjusted, the small woman had the car in motion. 
 
*I wonder if she has to work to make her lips pucker quite that
way all the time?* Adrienne mused as she idly watched the New
England scenery flash by. *Or maybe she uses lemon juice as a
mouthwash?*

Ms. Smith had arrived earlier that morning and nothing had gone
right for or been right about the younger person since. Her
petti's were bunching; she'd creased the back of her skirts; her
hose were crooked; her cosmetics were unevenly applied and worse,
inappropriate for a girl her age; she ALMOST dribbled tea when
ordered to pour by Ms. Thompson.

It was like that first hellish two or three days all over again,
only this harpy wasn't one Adrienne could look up to - at least
not physically. And yet, the woman was nearly as perfect in her
own dress and deportment as Ms. Thompson. *How many perfect women
can there be in the world. I swear, if someone comes floating
down on an umbrella, wearing a weird hat and carrying a carpet
bag, I am really out of here.
Supercalifragilisticexpealladocious.*

"Pay attention, girl!" the fingernails-on-blackboard voice of Ms.
Smith snapped. "I asked you a question."

Swallowing, and knowing she'd been caught daydreaming, Adrienne
put as positive a look on her face as she could manage under the
circumstances. "I'm sorry, Ms. Smith. I was just thinking about
this class Ms. Thompson has arranged for me."

"THAT's what I was attempting to discuss with you, Miss. Whatever
has come over Jane? Sending a young lady to such a class?
Clowning, for goodness sake."

"It's mime, actually, ma'am."

"Same thing. And look at you! Those ... those unsuitably tight
pants and suspenders and those ridiculous striped socks. Why, the
trouser legs barely reach past your knees! And we won't even
discuss that. . .that bowler on your head. No self respecting
young woman could possibly want to wear such. . . such unfeminine
clothing."

For her part, all Adrienne could think was that she wished her
underwear matched her outerwear's lack of femininity. However,
once again, she knew better than to voice that particular
observation.

"Harrumph. Tell me something, Miss Braithwaite. Can you act?" Ms.
Smith asked.

"Act? You mean, like in a play?" and then added hastily, "Ma'am?"

"Precisely."

Carefully, Adrienne considered her answer. In the end, she
thought she could tell the truth without inadvertently
volunteering for something. That had been a hard-learned lesson
for the boy-girl since arriving at Seasons House. "I truly don't
know, Ma'am. I've never tried. Maybe I could."

"How about singing? Ever danced?"

"I sing. .. a little. . . but I never danced until I was sent
here - to Ms. Thompson's school."
 
"You likely would do well enough," Ms Smith said, reflectively
although Adrienne thought she heard a touch of doubt in her
tones, "Presuming, of course, that Jane has followed her usual
program. I happen to know that the children's theater is holding
auditions today. The Wizard of Oz. A lovely girl such as yourself
should be a shoe-in for the part of Dorothy."

*Only if you try out for the Wicked Witch, and while we're at it,
could we please arrange to drop a house on Ms. Thompson, too? And
I'd rather be Toto!* "I don't think that's what Ms. Thompson had
in mind, ma'am."

"Never know unless you try. I know, we'll go over and you can
audition. If you get the part, Jane will be pleased. She is a
patroness of that theater in case you were not aware of that
fact."

"Dorothy is a hard part," Adrienne averred, using whatever acting
skill she DID possess to hide any sign of the near-panic she felt
at that moment. "I really don't sing all that well, ma'am." *And
if my voice cracks, I am really in the soup. Even at audition.*

"Then you can be that lovely fairy. . ."

"Fairy?!?!" Adrienne squawked.

"or is it good witch? I forget. The one who gives Dorothy the
ruby slippers. Yes, I think that is an excellent notion. Much
more suitable than something so physical as clowning."

Adrienne bit back the full-blown panic that now assailed her
system. She couldn't face that. Going to this mime class, having
to pretend to be a girl there was bad enough, but acting? That
meant costume changes, didn't it? With real girls around who
would realize Adrienne didn't really know much about being a
girl. "No, ma'am, please. Ms. Thompson was most emphatic about
this mime experience."

"She'll change her mind once you get the part."

"I promised to do what she told me and she told me to go to the
mime class, ma'am," Adrienne said as firmly as she dared.

The short blonde cast a disgusted look at her passenger. "Don't
know what's wrong with Jane these days."

"Nothing, ma'am," Adrienne retorted sharply, surprising herself
more than she did her tormentor with her sudden defense of her
teacher. *At least Ms. Thompson listens,* she realized. *She may
ignore what you say, but she listens. This one only hears
herself!*

Darla squelched the urge to smile at her little victory and
managed an even more sour pursing of her lips. "Oh, very well,
we'll go to your silly class, but I must say that you disappoint
me, girl. You do indeed disappoint me."

Chapter 28: Ruth-ful Interludes

Barbie's Turn.

Ruth had watched the pair of them dancing around each other with
half-amused concern ever since Barbie had brought the very sweaty
Anne home the previous afternoon. The judge's first reaction had
been that her child must have taken that young woman 'parking',
as they'd called it in Judge Ruth's day, and that both of them
had a very good time doing it. Her second reaction had been
surprise that *Barbie* would do anything so risky (and risque) as
that, given that it had still been daylight when they'd returned.

Then Barbie had helped the other girl out of that heavy raincoat. 

*That dress,* she thought, still amazed, *That incredible dress.*
Thankfully, she had managed not to laugh when the problem had
been explained. Although precisely how Barbie had gotten Anne
into that dress, and Ruth had absolutely no doubt that her Jane-
Thompson-trained child had been instrumental in bringing that
about, had _not_ been explained. *A locking zipper. Amazing.
Sheila, you were truly devious.*

Once Barbie had located her old toolkit, releasing the tiny dead
bolt had been easy enough. On the other hand, since then, those
two young idiots had barely said more than four words to each
other. Not only that, except for the special en famille evening
meal Ruth had arranged, they had managed to steadfastly avoid
being in each other's company.

*Well, one advantage of being the proverbial interfering mater
familias is that I am allowed to interfere! It is my duty, after
all.* Ruth thought as she marched down the stairs toward
Kenneth's basement workout room.

"Does sweating like that help any better now than when you were a
teenager, dear?" she asked sweetly, mostly to announce her
presence.

With the focus that had always been basic to the soul of Kenneth
Roberts, Barbie completed the last set of curls before looking up
to meet Ruth's eyes. "Not really," was the honest answer. "The
problem is still there when I quit, but it does help burn the
adrenalin out of my system so I can at least think more clearly
about . .. things."

"Things like tall, pretty blondes in ::ahem:: very interesting
and unusual dresses?"

The vivid flush of exertion changed shade, becoming darker as
Barbie looked away momentarily. "I'm sorry she had to come back
here and face you dressed like that. It wasn't my intention."

"You didn't want her to put on the dress?"

"Hell yes, I wanted her in that dress!" was the immediate retort.
"Excuse me," she said softly.

"I've heard and used the word before, dear."

"Suppose you have, at that." Barbie set her hand-weights aside
and began to set up her flexing resistance machine. "She was
outrageously gorgeous in that outfit, wasn't she?"

"Outrageous works for me," Ruth quipped, and then regretted her
flippancy when she saw the anxiety in her child's eyes. "Well, it
certainly proved that those curves of hers are definitely all
her. She was very attractive. I take it she's upset with you for
winning your little wager?"

Barbie began a rowing machine motion on the resistance machine.
"I guess. She hasn't spoken to me since I sprung her from that
dress."

"I noticed. And I've noted that her silence bothers you, doesn't
it, son?" Ruth asked in that very special voice mothers reserve
for their sons.

The rowing motion stopped in mid-stroke, and Barbie momentarily
let her forehead rest on her knees. Then she released the hand-
grips and turned suspiciously moist eyes to Ruth. "I hate it,
Mom," was the soft reply. Silence grew between them, and quickly
became oppressive. Several times, Ruth almost said something -
anything, just to fill in that vacuum between them, but she
managed to restrain herself. She managed because she knew her
child; because she knew what she or he needed at that moment.

"I love her, Mom." The simple words were softly spoken, and there
just a touch of surprise coloring their tone.

"Took you long enough to figure that out," Ruth said with
motherly exasperation. "Or at least, to admit it out loud.
Thought I taught you to be more honest with yourself."

"You did, but I was . . . Well, I guess I was a little scared."

"A lot scared, you mean, and that's good in a way - if it makes
you think about her wants and needs at the same time as you worry
about your own. Are you?"

"I think so - now anyway. I wasn't when I manipulated her into
that dress. God, but I wanted to see her in that dress more than
I wanted to breathe."

"Do you regret getting her into it?"

"Only if it messes things up between us beyond fixing. Otherwise,
I'm gonna carry that memory of her squeezed into all that shiny
rubber to my grave. Maybe I'm as kinky as Sheila was in some
things, but lordie, Mom, Anne was, well, ummm," Barbie's voice
broke and the bright red color suffused her face once again.

Ruth grinned wickedly. "She was what, dear?"

"Beautiful," and the word was whispered with all the reverence of
a prayer. "Incredibly sexy and. . . "

"Finish it, dear," Ruth ordered.

"The woman I want to marry, Mom."

"Thought that might be the case."

"Problem is, am I the man she will want to marry? I mean, she
hasn't had a whole lot of time with Kenneth, and most of that
wasn't a very positive experience for her."

"Oh, but I think she has, dear. You're not like Darryl, son. When
Darryl puts on Darla, he becomes she and that she IS Darla. It's
not a split personality, but the yin and the yang, if you will,
of that Darryl/Darla are more clearly defined, more. . . I don't
know, distinct, I suppose . . . than anyone I've ever
encountered. You, on the other hand, whether in skirts or
trousers, are still basically the same person. Oh, you would let
go a little more in skirts, could have fun a little more easily
as Kendra, or now, as Barbie, but I think that has more to do
with the company you kept than with your apparent gender."

"I don't understand."

"Don't be dense! It doesn't work with your Mother. Of course you
understand. Darryl wouldn't let you get away with being old nose-
to-the-grindstone Kenneth Roberts, regardless of how either of
you are rigged out. Did you ever go out for a night on the town
as males together?"

"Well, sure. . ."

"And did you have fun? The kind of fun Kendra and Darla had
together?"

"Well, we didn't go shopping for new shoes or lingerie. That's
for sure!"

"Ken-NETH!" Ruth snapped out in her traditional two-syllable
reprimand for smart-mouthing.

"Yeah we did. Ball games, a movie now and then, some girl-
watching. Heck, he even dragged me into a strip club once."

"Have a good time?" Ruth asked, her wicked grin back in full
force. "Stick a few dollars in the ladies' garters? Buy a lap
dance?"

"MOM!!"

"Well, did you?"

Wondering how she still managed to reach him like that, even now
that he was a full adult, the man in the dress looked away in
bashful resignation. "Yes, Mother," he mumbled, barely managing
not to shuffle his feet.

"Good."

"GOOD?!?!" Shocked eyes snapped back up.

"Of course good, you lunkhead. If you did it every night, that's
one thing, but you don't. You did, however, enjoy yourself. So,
good. So, what's the plan for the grand courtship? I'm sure you
have one. Let's hear what you're thinking and I will give you
the, ah, feminine take on your plans. I think I rather fancy that
young woman as a daughter in law."

"Even if it means Adrian as a sort of son in law?"

"Jane will have him in hand soon enough. Now, quit stalling and
tell me what you've got in mind."

A relieved smile suffused the still-beautifully made-up face, as
for the first time since Anne's adventures in latex, hope flared
in Kenneth/Barbie's heart. Mother was here, and she would help
make it all right. "First, I need to get her speaking to me
again. . . "

~-~

Adrienne sat on the floor with the throng of other kids signed up
for this class. There were ten other girls and five guys. *Watch
your thinking, Braithwaite,* she chided herself. *OTHER girls? Oh
man, I am in trouble.*

She was trying to deal with the ramifications of that thought
when the man who had directed her to sit down here walked up to
the group. "Well, we're all here, so we'll get started. My name
is Ted Fredricks and I'll be your coach for this class. None of
you are scheduled to be in a class with me this coming year at
the high school, so you can call me Ted. Now, we've got several
things to do today. First, how many of you know what mime's look
like? How they dress and make themselves up?"

All of the kids raised their hands. "Good. Now, I have some books
and magazines with me that we'll use as references, so you can
study in a bit more detail the types of costumes. You'll be on
your own creating your own outfit. You should have stuff at home
that will do, so don't go spending your school clothing allowance
on this stuff. As if you would, anyway," he added slyly and was
rewarded by male guffaws and feminine giggles. 

Adrienne started to laugh herself but noticed one student who
didn't laugh. The boy inside the girlish makeup and hairdo found
this girl worth a second look. She of Asian decent with dark
hair, dark eyes and a golden complexion. She was also petite in
the extreme, shorter than Adrienne if she was any judge of the
matter. Intrigued, the boy-girl found her attention straying back
to the unsmiling girl over and over again.

"A word of advice," Ted continued, "Make those costumes tight but
flexible - you don't want any flapping sounds, but mime is about
telling stories with body motion, and you'll need freedom of
movement. Everybody got that?" Everyone, including the little
Asian girl, nodded their understanding. Ted Fredricks smiled and
pressed on. "Next week, come dressed in your outfit. Now, today,
we're going to break up in partners. Your partner will watch you
work, help you with your makeup, critique your movements. So, you
need to be friends, and to be friends, you need to know about
each other, right?" This was answered by a rumble of affirmative
sounds. "Good, so here's the plan. There's, what, sixteen of us?
Okay, we'll count off by eights, and then, go meet our partners.
You have three assignments. Uh, do you need to write this down,
or can you all remember three things?"

Adrienne could not help but laugh at the seriously concerned look
that clouded Ted Fredricks' face. The other kids did as well.
Even the little Asian girl managed an almost-smile. Somehow, that
did something for Adrienne and she felt herself relax. Maybe this
wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Okay, after you team up, I want you to design your faces and
then try putting it on each other. When you have your face the
way you want it, come up to me and I'll take a digital picture of
you. I'll give you a copy of the picture so you can take it home
and practice. While you're doing that, I expect you to pump each
other for all the information about the other you can so that you
can introduce your partner to the class next time, got it? Good.
The third thing is, after you have your faces on, I want you and
your partner to design a skit. I want you to open the
refrigerator door, take out and pour a glass of milk which you
will then give to your partner who will drink it. Be as messy as
you want, be as creative as you want, but sell whatever it is you
decide to do. Make me SEE the door, the glass, the drool coming
out of your mouths. You'll put your skits on next time, and at
the end? A friend of mine and I will do OUR skit. Got all that?"
A group 'yes' followed by a smattering's of 'sirs' answered him.
"Okay, when I point to you, I will count - remember your number.
One. . two. . .three. . ."

Moments later, Adrienne found herself paired off with the solemn
girl who had barely smiled at any of their teacher's quips. "My
name is Xhinea," she told Adrienne, her voice soft and delicately
accented.

~-~

Years of experience in similar situations was the only thing that
enabled Jane to hide her smile as she strode into the dining room
for the evening meal. Things had, by all of Darla's accounts,
gone well today and her latest stratagem for her troublesome
student showed promise. It hadn't flowered - it had not even
sprouted, but it had germinated. Now, as it had been with her
other boys, Jane had to tend that tiny seed of hope and help
Adrienne grow and bloom.

Jane seated herself and indicated that her two students should as
well. She smiled at both as she unfurled her napkin. Jessica
returned the smile, while Adrienne blushed and dropped her eyes
to her lap. *Perfect,* she thought.

For the first part of the meal, Jane followed her usual pattern,
quizzing each girl on current events. Jessica had missed the
latest development in the ongoing investigation of large
multinational's accounting practices and was assigned a twenty-
five hundred word paper summarizing and then analyzing the issues
involved. "Due immediately following the evening meal tomorrow,
Jessica. Be prepared to discuss and defend your positions,
please."

"Yes, Aunt Jane," the pretty strawberry blonde replied, with what
Adrienne thought to be admirable self possession.

"And do try to make your arguments logical instead of emotional,
please. Emotion only makes circumstances such as these worse,"
Jane ordered and then turned her gimlet eye on her other student.
"Miss Smith tells me you made a friend today, Adrienne."

Startled at the sudden switch from Jane's usual oral examination
mode, Adrienne nearly stuttered out a 'huh', but managed a "Yes,
Ma'am," followed by a deep breath and "Her name is Xhinea. . .
Xhinea Hearst."

"Xhinea?" Jane said as if tasting the word. "How odd. Are you
quite certain that's her name?"

Adrienne's brows momentarily knit together in concentration.
"That's how she introduced herself, Ms. Jane. She said her mother
named her Iphigenea, because it was like her Chinese name, but
she's called Xhinea."

"Chinese name?" Jane already knew all of this, but wanted to see
how much her student had found out.

"Yes, ma'am. She's adopted. Her mom, I think she's a doctor at
the hospital? She went to Mainland China - to the orphanage where
Xhinea lived until she was ten years old - and adopted her. She's
been in this country for almost four years now."

"A mainland Chinese orphanage, you say? I wonder if she really
was an orphan, then."

"Ma'am?" Adrienne asked, confused.

Jane waved the question away. "I understand that you have some
assignments for your next meeting, Adrienne."

"Two, Ms. Jane. I have to introduce Xhinea to the class, and we
have to do a skit. I was going to ask if we could maybe get
together, she and I, to practice. This weekend?"

Jane hadn't considered that. She'd have to think about it - find
out what she could about the girl's adoptive mother. "We'll see.
In the meantime, I have an assignment for you - Jessica? You'll
help her. I want you to research the Chinese laws concerning
population control. I want you to write a report summarizing the
laws and the social issues surrounding them. Take a personal
position and be prepared to defend your position. The report is
also due tomorrow after dinner. Jessica? You will supervise her
use of the computer and the Internet, and help her with the
searches. Then, Adrienne, after we have discussed your paper, you
will prepare your introduction of your friend. Jessica will role
play her part while Marie and I will act as the other members of
your class. We will do that following dinner day after tomorrow.
Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Adrienne said, in unison with Jessica's "Yes, Aunt
Jane."

"Excellent," the Mistress of Seasons House replied even as she
rung for desert.

~-~

Skipper's Turn with Ruth

A soft knock on the guest room door stopped Anne in mid-pace,
rousing her from her latest round of frustrated self-
examinations. "Just as well," she muttered in vexation. "I
haven't made any more progress this time." 

"Come in," she called, and saw Judge Ruth poke her gray-haired
head around the partially opened door.

"Hello, Anne," she said in a surprisingly warm voice. "May I come
in? I wanted to talk to you for a few moments, while Barbie. . .
I mean, Kenneth is otherwise occupied."

"It's hard not to think of, um, him as Barbie, isn't it?" Skipper
said wryly. "She is so tall, so, um, shapely, and so beautiful
that she could have been used as the model for the doll."

"She's not the only one," Ruth said gently. 

Skipper blushed fiercely and ducked her head, triggering waves of
her own blonde mane to flow over her shoulders. "I always hated
that name, you know? And that image. I'm not some plastic doll."

"Do you think my Barbie - my Kenneth - is?"

"No, of course not," Skipper replied sharply. Then she sagged a
little and said, "But I heard that so often from Adrian that,
well, there are some negative associations."

"Is that why you were so embarrassed about being seen in that
killer dress?" 

"Oh, God, that dress was . . . I mean, even if I'd never heard of
Barbie dolls, that was . . . "

"Gorgeous," Ruth completed for her, with a sigh. "Never in all my
life, even when I was your age, would I have looked as terrific
as you did. As you do." 

"It was the dress," Skipper protested. 

Ruth laughed. "Don't lie to yourself, dear, and don't even try
with me. I see through liars for a living. That dress is hanging
in your closet right now. But I'll bet the images in Kenneth's
mind as he beats that exercise equipment into submission are not
of what's in your closet."

"Yeah, well, you weren't there. You didn't see the way she, I
mean, he looked at me when . . ." 

"When . . . ?" Ruth prodded. 

Instead of answering, Skipper resumed her interrupted pacing
about the room. After a moment, she turned to Ruth and said, "I
think it *is* the clothes - not just that rubber dress, but . . "

Ruth didn't interrupt with words. Instead she settled into her
chair and wrapped herself in patience as though it were her
judicial robes. It encouraged without demanding, and promised
honest, open-minded attention.

"First," Skipper began, warming to her topic, "He teases me into
playing dress-up - I will if you will, Skipper. The sneak. So we
end up putting on these killer corsets - hers was a dress,
actually, that laced all the way down the back from neck to
hemline - couldn't quite get it closed over her bottom either."

"Sounds drafty," Ruth offered, "but sexy, too."

"Oh, yeah," Skipper sighed, eyes unfocusing for a moment as she
remembered. Ruth carefully noticed, and just as carefully didn't
show that she noticed, that Skipper's body was betraying what she
had really thought about how Barbie looked in that dress. "And I
got into this merry widow thing - lifted my boobs practically up
to my chin and took four inches off my waist."

"Your. . your boobs?"

"Oh, I put it on over my blouse," Anne said off-handedly. "That
was that Barbie's idea, too. Then, THEN we find the latex closet,
and she oh-so-sneakily manipulates me into trying on that dress
you saw. Made it into a bet - a dare, actually," and then added,
"I have a problem with dares - I can't seem to resist them."

"A definite disadvantage when a man knows that about you, dear,
but do go on. I'm fascinated."

"Okay, okay! So, I put this thing on, right? Practically drew
blood trying to get that blasted zipper closed, but when I come
out of the dressing room, Barbie's not around, so I go over to
look at myself in the mirror. I nearly fainted."

"You were, I believe the vernacular is, one hot babe in that
dress, Anne."

"I didn't know I could look like that. It frightened me and I
started back to the dressing room. I was going to concede the bet
- pretend I couldn't get it on, but Barbiie came in at just that
moment . . . "

After the torrent of sound from Anne's story, the sudden silence
was almost shocking. Ruth couldn't stand it. "And?!?" she
demanded. 


"He looked at me," she said softly. "And I don't care how he was
dressed, how much like a sleek and sensuous female he might have
appeared, that look was all male. First, it was like, well,
stunned, and then, it was pure heat, and something else . . . I
felt. . I felt wanted, I guess."

"Darling child, every woman should have a man look at her that
way, at least once in her life. The lucky ones get it more often
than that. Did you like it?"

"I wouldn't have thought that I would - before this - but with
her. . .him, I did." A shy grin came over her face. "I offered to
let him have a good look. AND THEN, the no-good stinker turned
and ran! Told me to change before he showed me what guys and
girls do together. As if I didn't already know," she snorted
angrily.

"Oh, my. Horrors!" Ruth allowed a bit of exaggerated drama into
her voice, "The FIEND, he must be stopped before he goes too far!
The sensitive male protecting delicate female sensibilities. It's
utterly despicable!"

"I didn't need protecting!" Anne flared back. "And then, when we
couldn't get the dress off? He made excuses why he couldn't just
cut it off me - like he couldn't bear to see me nude, and went
and got that damned raincoat to cover me up for the trip home."

"Could he have cut it off you? Without hurting you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe."

"Maybe isn't good enough for a man trying to avoid hurting a
woman he cares for, child."

"But. ."

"But nothing. Tell me, Anne. What's really upsetting you? That
Kenneth wanted to see your tall, leggy self in that killer dress?
Or that Barbie, or perhaps more correctly, Kendra, recognized and
empathized with your embarrassment enough to squelch Kenneth's
desires in favor of helping you? Good Lord, girl! Just how did
you WANT him to react?!?"

"I . . . don't know," the young woman finally replied in
confusion. 

"Is that part of this tension between the two of you? Feeling bad
about yourself for how you acted towards her?"

Ruth settled herself on the bed and smiled at her guest. "I'm
sure you've noticed that such things don't bother her. Believe me
when I tell you that no one could have survived growing up with
Sheila Roberts without developing a somewhat thick skin when it
comes to taunting. The bitch. . excuse me, the woman was a past
master of the art. So, if it isn't that, what is it? You've
hardly said ten words in a row since coming back from Sheila's
place."

Skipper started to pace again, then stopped herself. Taking a
deep breath, she turned to face Ruth directly. "This whole . . .
situation is bothering me. I started this to try and keep my
brother from being abused. Now . . . now I'm spending my time
with a guy who looks like the most gorgeous woman I've even seen,
and I like it. I've let myself be tricked into wearing an outfit
I'd never have imagined myself in . . and I liked the way I
looked in it. And the guy I'm, um, with saw me in it - and
reacted - and I liked that, too. I'm so far from taking care of
Adrian's problem that I can't even remember how I got here. What
sort of guardian does that make me?" 

"Nonsense. Don't even think about that. You're more than
suitable." 

Rising off the bed, she went over to embrace Anne in a motherly
hug. "Now, let me apologize for not telling you the full truth
about Jane and her program. You should have known the truth
before agreeing to my offer-sheet. If Jane cannot find a way to
help Adrian, I will not send him to the juvenile reform
institution. We'll find another way to help him."

"Thank you."

"However, I have to tell you that I don't regret anything that's
happened because of that error."

"Huh?"

"Oh, you'll do, girl. You will definitely do. Now, I need to tell
you that my son has asked me to see to the disposition of
Sheila's belongings and houses. I know some. . .special women who
might find her toys professionally useful."

"You?!? But you're a judge."

"So I am, and properly done, such. . . professional services do
not fall outside the law. In any case, tomorrow, he wants to
start back to Kingston."

"Oh. Ummm, all right. I'll, uh, pack."

"You do that, dear. And think about my question about why you
really were upset. By the way,"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Are there any outfits over at Sheila's you'd like me to hold
back? Just let me know." And then Judge Ruth slipped out of the
guest room before Anne could recover sufficiently to respond.

And smiled broadly all the way down to her study. This one would
lead her boy a merry chase. It would be fun to watch, even at a
distance.

Chapter 29: On the Road Again

Barbie _had_ a plan - after all, if Kenneth Roberts had learned
nothing else in those scary years of dealing with his mother, it
was the importance of being prepared. Being prepared meant having
a goal and an idea of how to get there. Kenneth Roberts - Barbie
- had both.

Only problem was, so far, over an hour into their trip home, Anne
had yet to give him an opening. Then, he saw a billboard, and
smiled. 

"Ever been to Nickerson Farms?" Barbie asked, with studied
nonchalance.

That earned Barbie a snort of laughter. "I'm a Hoosier-Girl,
tall-stuff. Of course I've been there. Matter of fact, there's
one just up the way here, isn't there?"

"Sure is. Up for lunch?"

"Sounds good."

~-~

They were barely ten feet from their car when the explosion of a
camera-flash had them both momentarily seeing stars. A grinning
young boy - a teenager, actually, no older than Adrian, stood
before them holding a high-tech digital camera in his hands.

"Man, I'm glad I got that shot. None of the guys back home would
ever believe that I saw two blondes as beautiful as you without
proof." Then he dashed away, as if afraid they might confiscate
his camera.

"Beautiful? Two?" Anne looked up at Barbie.

"The young one speaks truth, grasshopper," the taller blonde
intoned. Then she giggled and said, "It must be the new earrings.
I thought that bun might be a little severe for a day trip, but
the way it focuses attention on your ears and those little
shimmery waterfalls - shows off your face very nicely, indeed."

Barbie walked on towards the restaurant leaving Anne staring at
the taller girl's back, her mouth open in surprise.

~-~

Anne wasn't quite sure how Barbie had managed to get them what
passed for privacy in the rustic roadside eatery, but she had
managed. They were seated off in a corner, with the only traffic
being the servers rushing into and out of the kitchen. As the
restaurant was dealing with the noon-meal rush, none of these
were likely to be long within earshot, and no casual customer was
likely to linger nearby for fear of being run over by a
knockwurst-and-sauerkraut-carrying waitress with her head down.

Well, it was almost private. Midway through their main course, a
woman passing by in search of the restroom spied them and came
hurrying over. "Oh, I'm so glad I saw you!" she gushed, even as
she dug through her huge purse. She extracted a thick, leather
bound book, opened it to a page about halfway through and offered
it to Anne. "I watch you EVERY day on 'Modern Life/Modern Love'.
It's just my FAVORITE daytime drama. Could you please autograph
my book for me? The girls back home will be positively GREEN with
envy."

Stunned, Anne managed a "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, you make the most perfect bitch on the show - much better
than Susan Lucci if you ask me. Why, you're MUCH prettier than
she is. Oh, do tell me that Margery will be going to have an
affair with that dreamy Darren? The two of you in bed, even if
it's only pretend with the sheets over you just makes my heart go
pity-pat."

Baffled, Anne looked to Barbie, who grinned mischievously and
then took pity on her. "Well, ma'am, you know that actresses on
popular soaps have clauses in their contracts that preclude them
from discussing plans for new story lines. I'm sure you'll
understand. Now, darling," she cooed at Anne, "Sign your fan's
book and remember to use 'Margery' as it is in your contract."

"Oh. . of . . of course," Anne mumbled and then quickly slashed
out an unfamiliar - and she hoped, illegible - signature on the
heavy paper.

"Please keep this to yourself, ma'am," Barbie smiled to the avid
fan as she handed back the autograph book. "Otherwise we'll have
to leave without our lunch."

"What, share this with ANYone? You've got to be kidding! And
thanks ever so, Margery." The woman snatched up her book and
nearly tripped getting away.

"She thought I was an actress," Anne murmured, almost to herself.

"A house-wrecking man-stealer, by the sound of it," Barbie
teased. "Type-casting, you think?"

Anne only shot her companion a dark look under mascara-thickened
lashes.

If Barbie had hoped that interlude would loosen the shorter
blonde up, she was doomed to disappointment. For the remainder of
the main course, the silence that had become all too frequent
reasserted itself. Other than to talk to that autograph hound,
Anne ordered her meal, said three yes-es and three thank-yous to
the server, and very little else. When desert arrived, Barbie
decided that she'd had enough. It was time to take her plan and
go for it! "So, I've been meaning to ask. Would you mind a bit of
a detour on the way home, I mean, back to Kingston?"

Startled, Anne looked up from her hot fudge cake, her eyes
curious. "What for?"

"A little break, I guess," Barbie sighed. "It's been a tough few
days, and when we get back, you'll have to deal with the
situation surrounding your brother. I'll be involved, too, and,
well, I'd just like to decompress a bit first. Take a few days to
get my equilibrium back."

"I thought Ruth said you were anxious to get back."

"I was anxious to get away from. . . well, from what was left of
Sheila. I'm not anxious to run back into whatever is going on in
Kingston. I'm too tense. I might make a mistake and mess
something up for Jane and your brother, for you."

Barbie wasn't the only one who was on edge, Anne admitted to
herself. It might do her a world of good to unwind first, as
well. After all, whatever happened three weeks after they
returned would be on her head. She'd need to have a clear head to
make the correct decision. "What do you have in mind?"

"Nothing much. Maybe cut north and go home by way of Niagra
Falls. Take the ferry across Lake Champlain, and I want to stop
at a shop I know in New Haven - Tante Marie's birthday's coming
up soon, and I need to buy her a gift. How does that sound?"

It sounded marvelous, if she were to be honest about it. It was
also rather . . . scary, in a feminine sort of way. She looked at
her companion carefully. "That makeup stuff is starting to wear
off," she observed.

Barbie shrugged that off. "You can help me keep that from
becoming a problem. Besides, it is just as well if it were gone
by the time we got back to Kingston. I may be needed as Kenneth
again."

"Still, the sooner I get back, the sooner this is all over and
done."

"A couple more days won't make a difference, Skip. Haven't you
decided by now that Jane isn't out to emasculate your brother? Do
you really believe she isn't doing everything she can to help
him? REALLY help him turn himself around?"

"I think she is trying to do what she knows how to do, and what
has had success in the past," Anne replied carefully.

"Do you think she would or could do anything to hurt him?"
Kenneth's voice, intense but too low to be heard beyond their
table, suddenly demanded. "Because if you still do, after meeting
me, meeting my brothers, really meeting Ruth, then we need to
call Jane right now and tell her to stop and pull the plug."

"What, and my brother goes to jail?"

"Ruth already told you that won't happen - she told me that, too.
Besides, _I_ will tell Jane to end it. Adrian will be de-girled
and in trousers by the time we arrive in Kingston sometime
tomorrow morning."

The heat and emotion she felt coming from her companion took Anne
by surprise. She'd never seen the tall blonde like this, except
when Ruth had told them the facts of Sheila Robert's death, and
the fallout from that death. "I have a deal with your Aunt," she
temporized. "Three weeks, remember? I keep my deals."

"Do you believe that a few days, more or less, could harm your
brother?" Barbie demanded again. "This has to be what's best for
him AND for you. If you don't believe that Jane can help him -
WILL help him - and things go sour later on, you're going to
blame yourself for making the deal. I won't let that happen."

"I made a deal," she said again, her voice uneven as she strove
for control.

"Not the right answer," Barbie retorted and reached into her
purse to pull out a cell-phone. She punched in a preprogrammed
number and waited. "Hello," she said, "Momma-Jane? Ken. . .dra
here. Say, Mom? There's been a change of plan. . . .yes. I've
been talking with Anne, and. ."

Anne reached up to snatch the small phone from Barbie's hand.
"Ms. Jane? Anne here, yes. We're going to be a few more days
getting back, if that's all right with you. Kendra needs some
down time, away from stress.. . . . yes, it was a bit difficult
for her there, at least some of the time. . . . that's right.
With Adrian's disposition in the balance, we both felt it would
be better to come back a little more refreshed. . . . . what are
we going to do? Oh, sight-see a bit. Niagara Falls, Lake
Champlain, do a little shopping. . . . what's that? Oh. Yes,
she's still going to be, umm, shall we say in high color a few
more days. It should be near normal by the time we return, in the
event you need your attorney. . . .I will. Thanks. See you soon."
And with that, Anne broke the connection, refolded the phone and
handed it to a hard-eyed Barbie. 

"You're right," she said finally. "I just hope my brother isn't
one of the two she couldn't find a way to turn around.

With that, Barbie seemed to relax, and reached over to take both
the phone and Anne's hand in her own. "She will find a way. We
all will help. You'll see. Ready to leave?"

"Okay. Umm, how far is it to Niagara Falls?"

"Don't know, but I've got a GPS rig in my car. Let's try to make
it today if we can, and play tourist tomorrow."

"I want to go on the boat that goes under the falls," Anne
wheedled.

"And you think Jane is scary! You're on, girlfriend. Let's get
this show on the road."

~-~

"Margery?" Anne asked as she accelerated onto the interstate
highway. "I've never even watched a soap opera, let alone acted
in one. I probably committed a crime by signing that book for
her!"

"Only if she tries to sell it, and I don't think she will.
Besides, how would she find you?"

"I still can't believe she thought I was an actress."

"Must be that new nail color you're sporting, kiddo," Barbie
teased. "Nice claws, by the way. Dangerous."

Anne glanced down at her hands on the steering wheel. After Ruth
had left last night, she'd started packing and had run across
some of the cosmetics that Jane had given her for the trip. For
some reason, she'd paused long enough to read the label of one
bottle of particularly vivid nail polish - 'Hot Tropical Sunset'
- and had been literally unable to put itt down.

Her nails looked particularly striking against the steering
wheel's creamy leather. Impishly, she raked those blood-red claws
at Barbie and growled out, "Marrrrooowwrrrrrrrr."

The taller girl cowered nicely and then grinned. "I thought she
said 'bitch', not 'cat'."

Skipper grinned back, for some reason well pleased. "When you're
a femme fatale, you get called both - and both are just as
dangerous."

The low purr that followed that statement made something deep in
Barbie's gut clench.

~-~

"So, Jessica, if I were to ask you summarize your opinion on this
subject, having presented the facts and analysis?" Jane asked her
student.

A slightly self-satisfied smile lit the perfectly made-up young
face. With a definite flourish, she reached into her book bag and
extracted a book. Jane immediately recognized the ragged volume,
for it was one of three items Jessica - as Jesse - had cared
about when the teen had first arrived at Seasons House.

Jane watched as her student's fingers found slip of paper acting
as bookmark, and opened the tome. After glancing up to her
teacher for permission, Jessica began to read. ". . . the prince
must consider . . . how to avoid those things which will make him
hated or contemptible; and as often as he shall have succeeded he
will have fulfilled his part, and he need not fear any danger in
other reproaches."

Jessica then paged to another marked passage and continued, "It
makes him hated above all things . . . to be greedy, and to be a
violator of the property . . . of his subjects, from both of
which he must abstain."

When her student closed the book, Jane couldn't help the smile
the gentled her features. "All of which means?"

"It goes back to an earlier discussion of ours, Aunt Jane," the
strawberry blond student answered. "Ends justify the
means, as Machiavelli believed, but in this case, the end itself
was not justifiable. While I am not certain that there could be a
specific case in which such liberties with investors' life-
savings could be legitimate, in this case it's very clear that
these manipulations were not legitimate. Simply stated, the
individual officials became greedy and violated their investors.
As a result, they have come to be despised, and have lost their
kingdoms."

Jane sat back, her eyes steady on this young person who was
quickly becoming as much her child as Darryl, Michael or Kenneth.
Perhaps, to some extent, even more so for she'd never had a
student who seemed so much her image, albeit in a more petite
form. "Well argued," she finally said, "For once. Logically and
rationally presented, with just a touch of emotion, but not too
much. An 'A' on this one, my dear, and well earned."

"Thank you, Aunt Jane," Jessica beamed.

"How did the work with Adrienne go today?"

"We were successful in finding the information I think you wanted
her to find. Personally, I found the process of forced single
child families frightening, particularly the way they enforce it
with mandatory, if undocumented abortions."

"How did Adrienne react to those discoveries?"

"They made her curious to find out more, and I think that
surprised her. I don't think school has been all that interesting
for her back home. Then she saw the comparative survival
statistics on male/female children, and read about what several
expert observers think happens to many girl children there. Those
findings upset her. That surprised her, too."

"Did she say why?

"Not in so many words, but it's clear she's made the connection
to that girl at the mime class. I think she realized how lucky
that one is only to have been abandoned."

"So, the results of her research bothered her," Jane mused
reflectively. "A good sign, that. Well, I will be very interested
to read her report. The introduction she writes for her new
friend should also tell us a good deal about her current mindset.
Jessica? I think we may just have started on the breakthrough
with this one. Step one is that the student has to care. It
sounds like Adrienne is starting to care. Now, at least."

Chapter 30: Interchanges and Interludes

"Hello? Children's Hospital? Yes, this is Jane Thompson calling.
I'd like to speak to Head Nurse Nora Bedford, please."

The receptionist put Jane on hold and she suffered through nearly
72.4 seconds of awful elevator music before the line clicked and
"Nora Bedford speaking," saved her sanity.

"Nora, Jane Thompson here."

"Jane! There's no problem, is there? Did one of the students get
hurt?!?"

It was a sad commentary on their recent relationship, Jane mused,
especially since they were friends, that Nora's first reaction to
being called by Jane Thompson was that her professional services
might be required. Well, actually, they were, but fortunately not
in the way Nora supposed. "No, everyone's fine. Actually, I
needed some information and hoped you might know something."

"What do you need, Jane?"

"Do you happen to know a woman doctor by the name of Hearst? One
who has adopted a child of Chinese extraction?"

"Oh, sure," Nora said warmly. "Dr. Celia Hearst. Wonderful doc -
ophthalmic specialist. Good surgeon - the real kind, not the
LASIK stuff."

"What can you tell me about her, Nora? Let me explain. Her
daughter has become involved with my latest student. I need to
know more about the mother before I decide how far I should
attempt to go with this stratagem."

"Well, I like her - personally as well as professionally. She's
something of a feminist - tends to go her own way. She's never
married and evidently had to really go to the limit to get that
child because of that. She cares, Janey. I've seen her with
families. A lot of surgeons have the bedside manner of a half-
full bedpan, but she's different. Patients, and the families of
patients trust her. She could make a lot more money in Boston or
another of the bigger cities, too. I've heard that she's always
receiving offers, but she likes it here - especially for her
daughter."

"Sounds like good people, Nora. Now the tough question. How do
you think she'd react if Adrienne messed up and blew the
masquerade around her or her daughter?"

"You're right - that is a tough one." The phone line went silent
for just a moment. "I guess it would depend on how she
interpreted your intentions. If she decides you're abusing the
kid, she'll go for your throat. Kids are special to her. She does
a lot of charity work with them. I've heard she sometimes even
covers the cost of the operating room out of her own pocket when
parents can't afford it, if that's what it takes to save a
child's vision. If, however, she decides you're for real and what
you do helps? My take is she's quirky enough, and feminist
enough, to go along with it."

"I can't tell her up front what we do here, Nora. Not until I
have had a chance to take her measure for myself. Too many others
are involved."

"Then I suggest you be around whenever Adrienne has a chance of
running into her, Jane. I like her, but she reminds me a bit of
you when it comes to kids. I wouldn't want you OR her thinking
_I_ was endangering a child. It would not be good for my long-
term health."

Jane thought about that, and nodded to herself. "Got it. Thanks,
Nora. Say, are you free next Saturday? If you don't mind Seasons
House formal, I'd very much enjoy having you to dinner."

"Marie's Chicken Cordon Bleu?" Nora asked reverently.

"Just for you, dear."

"My waistline hates you, but is overruled. I'll be there."

"Six o'clock, dear. And thanks. I've got to make a few more
calls. You wouldn't have a phone number for Dr. Hearst would
you?"

"Sure, let me get it for you."

~-~

"That spray is COOOLLLLLDDD!" Anne squealed as the excursion boat
bobbed and swayed in the turbulence of the collection pool.
Anne's voice could barely be heard above the roar of the tons of
water crashing down.

If the water was cold, Barbie certainly was not - not with the
view Anne presented.

Barbie had never seen the girl like this. Her hair was held in a
flirty little ponytail that danced about her head as she laughed
with the sheer pleasure of the experience. She'd dressed for the
summer heat in a simple sun dress of white cotton highlighted by
red and yellow flowers - a dress that clung to her every curve.
*Guess I understand why British debutantes used to wear watered
muslin gowns to show off their figures,* Barbie thought. 

In the fine mist, her cheeks and lips were pink and moist,
shining vibrantly in the sun. She was gorgeous, and her beauty,
her joy, made the man inside Barbie ache for her.

Suddenly, Anne enveloped Barbie in a tight embrace, "Oh, isn't it
MARVELOUS?" she yelled. "Thank you for bringing me here. It's
just so LOVELY." and then she went up on tiptoe and planted a
kiss on her friend's lips.

Anne broke the embrace and rushed back to the railing so she
didn't see the stunned look on Barbie's face, or the hand that
came up to caress the place Anne's lips had touched.

~-~

"I thought Adrienne did rather well tonight, didn't you, Jane?"
Marie asked as she sipped her nightcap in Jane's private rooms.

"Yes, I must say that the depth of her analysis and the
completeness of her research surprised me. Her grades as Adrian
did not indicate that she possessed such talent. If Jessica had
not assured me that this was all Adrienne's own work, I might
have suspected my big sister of going a little soft on me."

Marie snorted. "As if that one would ever subvert one of your
plans that way. I think it's more likely that Adrienne, like some
others I could name, isn't suited to the classic classroom
environment. The individual attention you give them in their
studies has helped more than one find their way academically.
Michael for one. Still, I find the fact that she does possess a
good brain encouraging."

"Why is that, dear?" Jane smiled, too sweetly.

"Because it's the dumb ones who give us the most trouble - and
don't you grin at me like that, Jane Thompson! You know it as
well as I do!"

"Of course I do, Marie. I was just teasing. The smart ones figure
out the masquerade faster, so we can proceed more quickly with
them. They also are quicker to see the alternatives their
feminized state forces upon them, and to see how those changes in
behavior might actually be to their ultimate benefit. It takes a
flexible mind to accept many of those lessons, and usually, a
flexible mind is an intelligent mind, a creative mind. We already
knew that Adrian-the-boy was creatively inclined. Now we have
very good indication that there is a good intelligence there,
too. One we will prod a bit in the coming weeks."

"You could see how disturbing she found those Chinese population
control policies and practices," Marie murmured. 

"Mostly that was an emotional response, albeit a very good one
for our purposes. I was more pleased that she tried to examine
the genetic and diversity issues as well. That shows a
willingness to explore difficult concepts and to learn new
things. Which also bodes well for our student's future."

"So, what's next?"

"I've spoken with Dr. Hearst. She's more than happy to have
Adrienne and I come to visit so that the girls can work on their
skit. That will give me a chance to meet Dr. Hearst, and it will
give Adrienne a chance to solidify her friendship with Xhinea.

"What happens when Adrian comes back? If they truly become
friends?"

Jane sighed. "I don't know," she admitted. "At one time, I would
have avoided this type of complication, but I'm running out of
time, Marie. If Xhinea can help Adrienne, then I have to try and
hope I don't hurt either of them in the attempt."

"Well, I'm sure it will work out. You've incredible instincts in
these things."

Chapter 31: Breakthroughs

"Ms. Thompson, how good to meet you. I've heard wonderful things
about you from my colleagues in Pediatric Oncology." Jane took
the proffered hand and decided she liked the look of this woman.
Celia Hearst was a woman of in-between height and average build.
Her light brown hair was cut short, a factor which Jane
attributed to having to wear surgical scrubs because the 'style'
did little to enhance her looks. Her face was strongly featured,
but not pretty. She had a too-wide mouth, a Roman nose and a
stubborn chin. Her eyes were her best feature, Jane mused -
large, a bit widely spaced, but a deep, rich brown shot with
sparks of gold. However, her face also bore the unmistakable
lines of a woman who smiled and laughed easily. She was smiling
now.

"Jane, please, Dr. Hearst," Jane smiled back.

"Then I'm Celia. And this must be Adrienne. I must tell you both
that I have looked forward to this meeting, both because of your
reputation with my peers, Jane, but also because Xhenea has done
little else but talk about Adrienne since she attended class."
She offered her hand to blonde teen who blushed but accepted the
offering gracefully, Jane was pleased to note. Since giving her
word, Adrienne had been truly giving her best efforts.

"Thank you for having us, Dr. Hearst," Adrienne said shyly. "I've
been looking forward to seeing your daughter again."

"She's upstairs in her room, getting ready for your practice. I
see you're already dressed and ready to go," Celia Hearst said as
she gave Adrienne's classic mime's costume a once-over. "You'll
be practicing out back. We have a little gazebo that should suit
your needs. Will we get a preview tonight, I hope?"

Adrienne shot a quick glance to Jane who gave an almost
imperceptible nod. "Yes, Dr. Hearst, at least, a preview of
whatever we manage to get done."

"Wonderful. Ah, here's Xhinea, now."

Following Celia's quick introduction of her daughter and Jane,
the two young people hurried off to their practices, leaving the
two adults smiling after them. "Well," Celia said after a few
moments, "May I offer you something to drink, Jane? Iced tea? Or
perhaps some wine?"

"Iced tea would be lovely, Celia," Jane replied, and then
followed her hostess into the kitchen.

~-~

Silence was once again the order of the day, as Anne drove the
powerful car across New York State's Northern Tier towards the
resort area of Lake Champlain. 

Things had seemed to grow increasingly awkward between them ever
since Anne's impulsive kiss. And it was beginning to grate on
Barbie's nerves.

"I liked it, you know," she finally growled.

Startled out of her own thoughts, Skipper flicked a glance over
at her frowning companion. "Hmmm? What was that?"

"I _LIKED_ being kissed by you," Barbie answered, heat coloring
each word. "I LIKED it a LOT!"

Skipper's eyes went wide before they spun back to the road and
away from the intensely glaring blonde. A pink tongue slipped out
to moisten lips suddenly dry. "Oh."

"OH? That's all you have to say?!? OH?!?"

"Don't you yell at me, Blondie! I don't know why you're suddenly
angry," she flared back, her own emotions on a hair trigger.
"What do you WANT me to say?"

"I'm NOT yelling and I'm NOT angry," Barbie yelled back and then
caught herself. With an effort, she quieted her voice. "I'm
frustrated," she admitted softly. "And, well, I'd like to hear
you say that you. . well, liked it, too."

The gentle entreaty cooled Anne's own heated emotions, and she
sighed. With conscious effort, she focused her eyes on the road
ahead, and flexed her fingers on the steering wheel. Neither said
another word for several heartbeats. Then, she sighed again and
glanced over at Barbie. "I liked it, too," she admitted in a
husky whisper. "But I don't know what to do about it."

Something relaxed inside Barbie, and she managed a smile. "Guess
we'll have to find out together, because I've never been down
this path before, either."

~-~

"Come on, Xhinea, this is not just MY skit - we're both supposed
to be working on it," Adrienne complained. "What do you think so
far?"

"It's all right," she said in her softly inflected and accented
voice.

Reminding herself of her promise to at least seem to enjoy
everything, Adrienne forced a smile to her lips. "Surely there's
something we could be doing better."

Xhinea's eyes became very round, and Adrienne thought she saw
something there, saw her almost say something but then Xhinea
closed her eyes and shook her head. "Now, I don't believe that.
You had an idea and then decided not to say it. Why won't you
tell me?"

Adrienne watched her new friend struggle with something inside.
At least watching her wasn't at all difficult, the blonde student
decided. Xhinea was cute in that mime outfit of tight red
coveralls, barber-pole striped socks and a bright yellow
turtleneck. She had her fine, midnight-black hair in a braid that
ran practically all the way down her back. Adrienne decided that
long dark hair braided like that was really, really pretty, but
it was the petite Chinese girl's eyes drew a second, third and
fourth look. Almost black, and incredibly expressive. "I...I want
us to be friends," she finally stammered out. "I don't wish to
offend you."

So that was the problem, Adrienne thought. "Hey, we're supposed
to tell each other how to be better, right? That's not being
offensive - not unless you're nasty about it - and you don't know
how to be nasty. And we ARE friends. So, friend, tell me what you
think we should do."

For several more moments, Xhinea simply looked at Adrienne's
face, as if seeking truth there. Only Jane Thompson's recent
training helped the blond student avoid squirming under that
concentrated stare. "Okay," she said finally. "Umm, I think you
move too quickly. It's hard to tell what you're doing because it
is too soon done and you're doing something else."

Adrienne considered that and smiled for real. "You mean that the
audience wouldn't have enough time to figure out what a movement
was meant to be doing?" At the hesitant nod, Adrienne grinned.
"Good catch. Let's see if we can do it better this time. Now,
remember, the door is stuck, and it takes both of us to pull it
open. Ready?"

A hopeful smile came to the dark-haired girl's face, and she
reached up to put her hands beneath Adrienne's hands. "Ready."

~-~

Skipper waited in the car while Barbie went into the motel. It
was the fifth they'd stopped at, and the first one not to have
the "no" light in front of 'Vacancy' illuminated. They hadn't
considered the availability, or rather, the non-availability of
motel rooms during high tourist season when they'd embarked on
this little journey of discovery. And they'd already found out
that they'd missed the day's last ferry trip across the lake.
They either got a motel room here, slept in the car or headed
south toward Albany. The car was not built for sleeping and they
were both too tired to drive much further.

A frowning Barbie walked out of the motel lobby and slipped into
the passenger seat. "Well, they had one room left. Two full size
beds. I got it for you. We can make calls to other motels and see
if we can find another room for me."

~-~

"No luck?" Anne asked as Barbie put the phone down yet again.

"None. We were lucky someone canceled out of this one at the last
minute."

"Look, Barbie, there's two beds. You can sleep here tonight. I'll
change in the bathroom. I don't want you trying to sleep in that
car."

"You're sure? I mean, you know I'm not really one of the girls. .
."

Anne snorted. "Look, Roberts. One thing I'm sure of, okay? I am
in no danger of you doing anything against my will. So, stay here
tonight, and we'll catch the first ferry in the morning so we'll
still be able to make New Haven by noon."

The tall blonde gave Anne a telling look, but then shrugged. "I
really didn't want to spend the night in my car. Thanks, Skip."

~-~ 

Jane waited until they were on the road before saying anything to
her oddly quiet student. "You made progress today," she said. "I
think your skit will be well received tomorrow at your class."

Pleasantly tired, Adrienne smiled. "Yes. I think we'll do well.
Xhinea has a real eye for this type of thing. Once I convinced
her I wouldn't hate her for telling me what wasn't working,
things really improved, I think."

"It's hard for someone who never had anyone encourage them, care
for them, to take chances with friendships," Jane observed.

The blond head quirked up, and curious eyes considered Jane for a
moment. "She's okay."

Jane decided it was time to take a small gamble. "Her mother is
concerned about her, that she's so isolated because she has had a
difficult time fitting in, making friends. Things like her speech
and looks."

"But she's so pretty," Adrienne protested, "And I think her
accent is cool."

"She was evidently shy when she arrived here from Mainland China,
and her mother worries that she isn't growing out of that."

"She wasn't all that shy with me," Adrienne protested,
remembering how stubbornly Xhinea had pressed one point. Then she
remembered, "At least, toward the end of our session, anyway."

Jane rewarded her pupil with a smile - a real one, not one of her
famous 'gotcha' smiles. "Then you've done particularly well,
today, and not just on your class assignment."

Embarrassed and surprised by the praise, Adrienne lapsed into
thought for most of the ride home. As they pulled in through the
main gate of Seasons House, she reached a decision. "Ms. Jane?"

"Yes, Adrienne?"

"I may change my introduction of Xhinea. I need to think it
through, but if I do decide I want do it differently, do you want
me to practice it again? In front of you?"

A time to sow and a time to reap, Jane mused. Perhaps it was time
to see if the fruit was becoming ripe. "Oh, I think I can trust
your judgement in this, Adrienne." *Now,* she added mentally.

"Thank you. Oh, and do you think it would be all right to invite
Xhinea here? Say, on Sunday afternoon?"

"I think that could be arranged. I'll call Dr. Hearst when we get
home. Perhaps a picnic by the pool?"

"That would be very nice, ma'am."

"Then," and the patented Thompson smile was back, "We'll need to
take you to town tomorrow. You'll need a swimsuit, and Milady's
Closet has an excellent selection."

Swallowing hard, Adrienne managed to smile herself. "Thank you,"
she said again before adding, "I've missed swimming."

~-~

By unspoken agreement, Barbie had taken first use of the
bathroom. She's showered quickly, washed her hair and then
brushed her teeth. A careful inspection showed that the resilient
cosmetics were starting to fade quickly, and she made a mental
note to start using some of the normal make-up tomorrow. She also
saw that dark roots were beginning to creep into where she parted
her hair - not seriously, but enough that she'd have to make a
decision when they returned to Seasons House. Just then, she
thought it was time to go back to being a brunette so that she
could be Kenneth again if, or rather when necessary.

She slipped into a long cotton nightgown and then exited the
bathroom. "Your turn," she told Skipper as she slipped between
the covers of the bed nearest the door and furthest from the
bathroom. "Okay if I turn off the bedside light and try to get to
sleep while you're in there?"

"Sure. The nightlight is enough for me to find my way to bed.
Pleasant dreams, Barbie."

"Thanks. You, too."

But sleep did not come to the femininely-turned out young man.
Hormones he'd thought himself long in control of raged as images
of Skipper, wet from the shower and soapy-slick in living color ,
played over and over again before his very restless mind's eye.
He stifled a moan of near-pain as the gaff he still wore stifled
something else.

He rolled to his side, curling into a fetal position when the
bathroom door opened, flooding light into the back of the small
motel room. Unable to resist, he cracked open one eye as Anne
stepped out into that pool of light.

She might as well not bothered with the shortie nightgown as the
bathroom's glow backlit her, making her every curve clearly
visible through the almost transparent silk. Slamming shut his
eye, Kenneth/Kendra/Barbie Roberts began a long night of
fruitless sheep-counting as Anne extinguished the bathroom light
and slipped into her own bed.

Chapter 32: First Steps

Adrienne suppressed the urge to sigh as the Audi pulled away from
the curb. She'd just finished her second session at the class on
mime and things had gone well there at least. She and Xhinea had
done at least as good a job on their skit as any other pairing -
not as well as Mr. Fredricks and his partner had, but they were
experienced at this kind of acting. Now, she had another
assignment for the next class - another skit, in fact - one where
she and her partner would have a tea party. Well, she sure knew
more about tea parties now than she ever had in her life, thanks
to Ms. Jane and Miss Marie. She'd been a little surprised that
Mr. Fredricks hadn't changed the teams for this one. That was
okay with Adrienne - she liked Xhinea and Xhinea seemed to like
her, too. And besides, they could double up on Sunday and spend
some time working on their act, when Xhinea and her Mom came over
to Seasons House for the pool party.

Which reminded Adrienne why she was here, standing on the curb,
watching the receding Audi disappear around a corner. The heck of
it was, she couldn't even decide whether she was feeling relief
or resignation. On the plus side, she was now free from Ms. Darla
Smith's super-critical commentary for the next hour or two.
Unfortunately, that freedom wasn't really free, and in this case,
the cost was having to face the torments of Milady's Closet alone
and unaided.

"It's only a bathing suit," she muttered to herself. "How hard
can that be?"

With a more than wistful glance at a taxicab's receding tail
lights, she squared her shoulders, put her 'I'm happy to be here
just like I promised' smile on her face, and opened the door to
the shop. Whereupon she was met by the gorgeous salesgirl, Sally.
"Oh, hi there!" she bubbled. "Welcome back. Ms. Franson is
waiting for you in the back."

Pleased that she wasn't going to have to hide her special secret
from the girl who made the secret hard and thus hard to hide,
Adrienne thanked Sally and headed back toward the modeling room.

"Adrienne," Betty said pleasantly. "Jane tells me you're having a
pool party and need outfitting."

"Yes, Ma'am," the teen replied cautiously. "I need a bathing suit
- just in case."

"You need that, all right, Missy, but I said you need
'outfitting'. A young lady at the pool requires more in the way
of attire than merely a bathing suit. After all, she can't just
pull on a ratty old t-shirt like boys do, can she?" Adrienne
paled at that, and looked rapidly around her. "There's no one
else to hear us, sweetie," Betty said more gently. Obviously,
this one was going to be easier now, and Betty decided that she
would continue her earlier role of friendly fellow-adventurer.
"Now, come on, this will be fun. You do swim, don't you?"

"I love to swim," Adrienne said wistfully, "or at least I did
before I came here."

"Then we'll find you a suit and accessories so you can enjoy
swimming again. Jane has a LOVELY pool. Tell you what, you pick
out some suits that catch your eye and we'll have a private
fashion show. Once you've made your selection, I will help you
with the accessories."

"M. . me? Pick it out?"

"Oh, it will be easy," Betty laughed and then put her mouth to
the teen's ear. "Remember that pretty girl who looks like
Adrienne, dear," she whispered. "The one you want to take to the
beach."

~-~

Later, Betty had cause to wonder if that might not have been the
best image to put in the mind of someone who was, all visual
evidence aside, a horny young teenaged male. *Well, at least she
had the sense, or the modesty, to leave the thongs on the rack.
Jane would have killed me. How best to handle this without losing
too much ground? Maybe . . . * 

"Well, what do you think, Adrienne?" she asked noncommittally. 

A totally unexpected giggle bubbled up from inside the young
blonde. Then she hastily looked around Betty to see if anyone was
nearby before looking up at the older woman. "I think," she said
in earnest if hushed tones, "that I don't look anything like that
girl we were talking about earlier, Ms. Franson. She wouldn't be
caught dead in any of these."

This time it was Betty Franson who almost giggled, but she
instead managed a Vulcanic brow-lift. "Oh, and why ever not."

Adrienne could not contain her mirth as she pirouetted in front
of the three sided mirror. "Because she's got boo. . .I mean, she
has a real figure." The girl-boy ran her hand down her bikini-
clad body with all the drama of a car-show model. "Without my. .
umm, under-things, I don't. Have a figure, that is."

Betty couldn't help it this time, she laughed. "No, dear, you
don't have boobs, but then, neither do many of our customers your
age. Why don't we try another style and see if we can't help you
as we do them, eh?"

~-~

Jane would be pleased, Betty thought thirty minutes later as she
watched her young customer examine herself in the mirror. The
single piece suit was actually a racing suit but with some
special, added design features - such as two small, but visible,
silicon inserts in the suit's bodice. "Well?"

"I look good," Adrienne said softly, holding up the mass of
honey-blond hair in a gesture so unconsciously feminine, that
Betty smiled. "You said something about accessories."

"Yes. A cover-up, maybe a sun-hat, a beach bag and some flip-flop
sandals - I have some lovely ones with thick soles that the girls
love because it adds an inch or two to their height."

"Damn," Adrienne groaned, wilting for the first time since she'd
arrived.

Concerned, Betty moved over to put a comforting hand on the
girl's shoulder. "What's the matter, child?"

The face that looked up to her was, despite the cosmetic
artistry, somehow not quite so feminine as it had been but
moments ago. "Even as a girl, I'm not tall enough. Do you know, I
used to get mad at my mother for giving me the short genes and my
sister the tall genes? Mad at my sister for being taller than
me."

"That's not the only measure of a person, you know," Betty said
gently. "In this day and age, it's not even really a very
important one."

The snort that answered her was not at all feminine nor mannerly.
"How many short guys get the cutest girls, Ms. Franson? They all
want guys that will still be taller than they are when they wear
their heels. You know how many girls are shorter than I am when
they wear FLATS? Over the age of nine years old, that is?"

There was a world of pain there, and Betty felt momentarily
helpless in the face of it. Jane would know, she thought
frantically, but Jane wasn't here. "Well, off hand, I can think
of two young men, both. . ummm, not gifted height-wise, who have
done very well for themselves," images of Michael Nash and Darryl
Smith floated through Betty's mind. "One's married and the other
is affianced, both to young lovely women who are several inches
taller than they are."

"The exception that proves the rule," Adrienne said sadly.

"The case that proves there is always hope, if one is willing to
work for opportunities and do what is necessary to earn them."

"You mean, like being nice and knowing what girls like? Stuff
like that?"

"It's a start. Being a good provider and a caring person helps,
too."

"Annie got the 'nice genes', too."

"Oh, I don't know about that. I've had rather a good time this
morning. You're fun to be with, when you aren't working at being
a little snot."

"That was just me keeping my promise to Ms. Jane. You know,
acting like I enjoy being a girl and all that."

"Well, if it's an act, it makes you very nice to be around, but
let me ask you to think about this. How much of it was really
acting? Oh, I know the clothes and the girlishness are, but were
you really only pretending to have fun? Don't answer - not yet.
Think about it and then decide. Now, c'mon. Let's get you rigged
out and checked out. Darla will be here soon and we still have a
great deal to do."

"More?" Adrienne whined, more for form than anything else. "I
have to try on more stuff?"

"Of course. The accessories have to go with the outfit and with
your coloring, but look on the bright side."

"There is one?"

"Sure is," Betty Franson said with a wicked and mischievous grin.
"Just think of Jane Thompson's face when she gets the bill for
this little expedition." *That will teach her to leave me alone
with a child who's about to go through his crisis point. And I
won't even give her the usual volume discount!*

~-~

The late afternoon sun was warm on Anne's back as she and Barbie
stood on the top deck of the ferry they'd boarded in Port Kent,
New York. Leaning onto the safety rail, she felt the wind rushing
through her hair and felt marvelous. "Isn't it great?!" she
asked, turning to look at her taller friend.

"Great," Barbie agreed without anything resembling enthusiasm.
"Just wonderful."

"Oh, you," Anne grinned. "You've been grumpy all day, ever since
you got of bed on the wron . . "

"If you say wrong side of the bed, you going to have to swim to
Burlington," Barbie growled.

"What IS the matter with you? The sun's shining, the lake is
positively BeeeYOUtiful and all you can do is snarl." She tossed
her hair and sniffed at such behavior.

"We've driven 800 miles in two days, sight seen, and in between,
I've slept maybe two hours, okay? So, I'm just a little bit
testy."

"I don't know why you didn't sleep. I slept great!" Barbie
mumbled something that Anne thought sounded like "You wouldn't
understand." "What was that?" she demanded.

Something seemed to snap inside the tall blonde and Anne suddenly
found herself nose-to-nose with fire-eyed Amazon. "I SHOULD have
said," Barbie hissed out in slow, measured tones, "that the
problem I had, YOU aren't equipped to experience." The memory of
Anne's innocent light show of the previous night, of her sleek,
curvy body outlined in a halo of incandescent silk, brought back
in full force the physiological proof of Barbie's true nature.
She groaned in discomfort before locking eyes with Anne once
again. "You might as well have been naked last night when you
came out of the bathroom - that nightie hid nothing and enhanced,
god, EVERYthing. I wanted nothing more than to pull you down into
my bed and . . .and. . "

A vivid blush colored Anne's cheeks, but she didn't look away.
Barbie saw the hurt look in her eyes before an artificial sneer
appeared on lips barely a breath away from Barbie's own. "You'd
have what, Blondie? Had your way with me?" she asked bitterly.

All the color fled from Barbie's face and she spun away, heading
for the stern of the ship as fast as her heels would permit.
Fortunately, Anne was not so hampered, having worn deck shoes in
anticipation of the ferry ride. She caught Barbie before she'd
reached the crowd and all but pushed her bodily into an
athwartships passageway. "Hold it right there, Barbie!" she
ordered.

Furious still, the tall blonde turned to face the shorter girl.
"I never thought that you'd be such a. . . such a damned tease!"
she hissed out.

"I'm NOT a tease!" Anne snapped back, her own temper flaring.

"No? Well, what do YOU call that . . . that little display you
put on last night?"

"You idiot! It's only teasing if I didn't mean to follow
through!"

"Follow through?"

Anne sighed, her anger melting away. "I had to screw my courage
up for ten solid minutes in the bathroom before I could come out
in that little bit of froth. I didn't know if you'd laugh, or,
well, Hell, I don't even know what I WANTED you to do. Except the
one thing you did! You ignored me! Do you think I throw myself at
all the guys I meet, parading around like some cheap hooker? I
was ready to offer you . . . whatever you wanted, and you didn't
want . . . me!"

Anne burst into tears and started to turn away, to be caught by
Barbie before she could make a single step. She heard what could
only be Kenneth Roberts' voice sigh, "Aw shit!" 

And then she was wrapped in a full body embrace while her mouth
was being ravaged by an incredibly tender lipstick-flavored kiss.

For Barbie, it was a race to see which aspect of her nature would
win out in this battle of confused sensibilities - her primitive
need to lay physical claim to THE WOMAN right then and there, or
her rational mind that said this was neither the time nor the
place. At least, it wasn't while she was Barbie and Anne was
Skipper, and in public, no less. 

With one last shuddering effort of will, Barbie broke the
embrace. Even then, however, she wasn't quite able to completely
let go, holding Anne's hands in her own. "At some point, Margery,
there'll come a time and a place where we'll alone when this
happens," she said with a wicked smile, "And when that FINALLY
comes to pass? then, WATCH OUT!"

The soft, sultry heat in Anne's eyes almost had Barbie deciding
not to wait, but then she smiled back at the taller woman. "We'll
have to wait and see, won't we?"

Hand-in-hand, the pair returned to their car as the boat
approached the Burlington, Vermont dock. With a sigh, Barbie
opened the door and slid into the passenger's seat before
exploding, "DAMN!"

Surprised, Anne hurried around the car. "What? What's wrong?"

"I don't believe it," Barbie sighed. "I just don't believe it."

"What IS it?" Anne demanded.

Shaking her head, and then beginning to laugh, Barbie pulled one
of Anne's hands to her right bosom. "One of my boobs just came
loose," she hissed, and watched as Anne's face first went blank,
and then dissolved into gut-deep laughter. 

~-~

"Goodness, she's part fish," Jane murmured as she and Marie
enjoyed a glass of iced mint tea. "She makes me tired just
watching her."

"Trying to outrace the devils, you think?"

"Perhaps. Betty made a point of speaking with me on the phone
today, after Darla picked Adrienne up at the shop. Seems our girl
has a inferiority complex due to lack of stature."

The little brunette housekeeper snorted. "And that's a surprise?
Jane, most of our girls have that to some extent or other. One of
the things that makes them well suited to your program is that
they are usually, shall we say, on the petite side? You could
hardly take in one who is completely unsuited to la grande
masquerade."

"True enough," Jane smiled. "Come to think of it, Audrey was the
tallest student I've taught here and she was really a girl. Isn't
that a strange one? However, back to Adrienne. I think the
important part of this revelation is that SHE'S the one who
reached that conclusion about herself. She even admitted that
part of her resentment of Anne is because she's so much taller
than Adrian."

"And how do we use this insight, eh?"

"I really don't know - not yet. I think I'm going to let it
simmer in her brain for a while. She's certainly been quiet since
she returned - more thoughtful, somehow." Jane watched her
student execute a picture-perfect flip turn and sighed.
"Adrienne!" she called out in her school-mistress voice. "I won't
accept muscle stiffness as an excuse for poor performance in your
lessons and deportment tomorrow. I think you've had enough for
now."

The rapidly swimming figure slowed, and treading water with one
hand, used the other to push wet, clingy strands of blond hair
from her face. "Yes, Ms. Thompson. May I do a couple more slower
laps as a cooldown, please?"

Jane waved her student on and sat back down. "She hasn't
exercised like that since she arrived her months ago. Silly
widgeon will hurt herself."

"And then Aunt Jane would feel guilty," Marie teased. "Being a
bitch with a heart of gold is so difficult."

"Quiet, Marie!" Jane ordered, unable to refrain from grinning.

"Then YOU can be the one to help her get that mop properly
cleaned and set tonight. God, look at her hair!"

"Hmmmm, yes. We wouldn't happen to have any old style bathing
caps in storage? Something. . .wicked, you know, pure 1950's
Donna Reed with a big yellow rubber daisy on the side?"

"And just when you thought it was safe to go back into the
water," Marie murmured with a grin. "If we don't, I'll see what I
can do about making one up."


Chapter 33: Night Dreams

Rooms had been easier to come by in Rutland, Vermont, than they
had the night before in Lake Champlain. Barbie had managed to
obtain two rooms at the Holiday Inn with interior interconnecting
doors. She had unlocked hers, but that is as far as she'd go
without encouragement. She'd unwittingly hurt Anne the other
night, and she didn't want to do it again. They'd made a new
start with their little confrontation - had hardly been able to
stand not being in contact with each other the whole drive from
Burlington to the hotel - and she really did not want to blow
that by moving too fast.

But they hadn't talked - nary a word passing between them the
entire drove south from Burlington, and not much more than that
during their shared dinner at the hotel restaurant. One lesson
well learned at the feet of both Jane Thompson and Judge Ruth is
that talking, especially about problems, helped. It was something
Barbie definitely wanted to do, too, because she had questions
that she desperately wanted answered; questions only Barbara Anne
Braithwaite could answer. At least three times since dinner,
she'd walked up to that infernal door and raised her hand to
knock, only to pull it back at the last second. It wasn't fair,
she realized. Given Anne's revelations earlier on the ferry,
she'd already been the one to make an overture - one that Barbie
had, in ignorance, rebuffed. Still, some instinct told the tall
blonde that the next move had to be Anne's, too. She just hoped
the girl would move sooner rather than later.

She'd just finished her evening ablutions, and pulled on her robe
when a soft, almost tentative knock sounded on the door to Anne's
room. "It's not locked," Barbie called out, her heart suddenly
pounding.

Slowly, the door opened and a blank-faced Anne, her tall frame
swathed from neck to toe in a shapeless cotton grannie-gown,
stepped in. "Hi," she said as the door closed behind her.

"Hi, yourself," Barbie replied, trying to smile, a smile that
went unanswered as Anne simply stared at her companion. "What's
the matter, Anne?" Barbie asked.

Sighing, the girl took a seat on the other side of the room. "I
guess that's what I wanted to know. After this afternoon, with
that. . .that kiss, and then the hand-holding, and then the rooms
with a connecting door, I sort of thought, I mean, I figured you
would expect. . oh, hell. . "

"I can guess what you thought. I was certainly thinking in that
direction, too, when I got the rooms, that is. Trouble is,
though, that I got worried you might think I was rushing you too
fast, particularly after. . .after this afternoon. So I sort of
decided to back off - to give you a little space."

"I see. I was getting mixed messages, you know? Like a street
light that is turning its lights on and off at random in all
directions. I don't know whether to stop or go just now."

Barbie winced. "I guess I've spent too much time with women. I'm
trying too hard to second guess myself - to second guess what
you're feeling. Look, just let me say this once and for all. I
wanted. . WANT to be with you tonight. I just don't want it to be
for any other reason than that's what YOU want just as much."

"Oh, but I do," she blurted, before visibly hesitating, ". . .
want that. . to be with you, I mean, . . . "

"I hear a 'but' there, Skipper," Barbie said as gently as she
could manage under the circumstances.

"It's not really a 'but' so much as. . . as. .," her voice
trailed off and a fiery blush colored her face.

Tongue firmly and obviously planted in one cheek, Barbie strove
to look innocent. "Maidenly anxiety? Virginal reflection? Cold
feet?"

Anne's eyes went wide and for a moment her mouth went open and
closed, as she tried to form a cogent response. Finally, she
choked on a half laugh. "Bitch." and then began to giggle.

Barbie let the laughter cleanse the tension from her friend
before answering. "Yeah, you're right. Good training from both my
adoptive moms, I guess." Then her face softened. "Better now?"

Anne nodded, her face still bright with the relieved mirth of the
moment.

"Good. . .then, can I ask a question? You don't have to answer,
but I'd really like to know." The other girl nodded slowly. "Why
were you so bloody cheerful this morning, if you felt, um,
rejected over last night?" 

Skipper blushed, and looked away. She curled her feet beneath her
in the chair and for just a moment she looked like a little girl
caught with her hand in a cookie jar. Her voice was light and
soft, not quite whispering when she finally said, "I guess it's
because I realized that I wasn't as, um, ready for, well,
whatever would have happened last night as I thought." 

Her head came up and she looked Barbie directly in the eyes. "I'd
have, um, followed through, if you'd have . . . pushed - or
pulled. I'm NOT a cruel tease. But part of me was grateful that
we, um, didn't - do anything, that is. I guess I felt like I'd
been given a reprieve." 

Then Skipper blushed again, even brighter than before. She looked
away, her eyes seeing memories instead of the scene before them,
and this time her voice did drop to a faint whisper. "Though,
after that kiss I'm not sure the, um, 'reprieve' was the better
deal." 

Barbie sat back and thoughtfully regarded the nervous blonde,
then she grinned. "C'mere, cutie," she ordered, beckoning with
one finely manicured nail.

For a moment, Anne looked uncertain. Barbie only smiled and
beckoned again. Then, the granny-gowned girl seemed to square her
shoulders before rising to her feet to stride across the motel
bedroom to stand before Barbie. She yelped in surprise when she
was suddenly swept off her feet into the taller girl's lap. . .
and held - simply held. Barbie was gently cuddling her - almost
as she might a child, except Anne wasn't a child.

Still, it felt good, and it felt right. With a sigh of
contentment, Anne let herself relax in Barbie's arms.

And fell asleep.

For time unmeasured, Barbie simply sat there, savoring the
feeling of holding Anne, breathing in the scent of her herbal
shampoo on her still damp hair. So she was surprised when a
glance at the bedside clock told her how late it was getting.

Her heart rebelled at waking Anne and losing the delicious peace
of having her so close, and yet, if she tried to carry her to the
bed, she might awaken anyway.

Carefully, barely moving so as not to jostle her precious burden,
Barbie lifted her legs to prop them on the nearby bed, and then
slouched down into the almost comfortable chair.

She carefully settled Anne against her body, trying to make them
both as comfortable as possible. The lightly snoring woman didn't
even murmur, and moments later, Barbie joined her in sleep.

~-~

Something was tickling her nose. Unwilling to wake up, she
scrunched her eyes more tightly shut and batted at the irritant
with her hand. The tickling stopped, but only momentarily, and
then it was back. Determined not to lose the wonderful fuzzy
warmth of near-sleep, she batted again.

And struck something hard.

Anne's eyes shot open, but took a moment or two to focus and
adjust to the morning-lit room. When they did, she found herself
practically eye-to-eye with a grinning Barbie - a grinning Barbie
who had a lock of Anne's own hair wrapped around her index
finger. Hair, that she had been using so. . . annoyingly on
Anne's nose.

"I don't know about you, gorgeous, but as lovely as this feels, I
really need to go the bathroom."

Full consciousness hit Anne, and with it, the realization that
her bottom half was practically bare for the oh-so-modest granny-
gown had hiked itself up all the way to her hips while she'd
slept.

While she'd slept using Barbie as a warm-bodied mattress!

With a squeal, she jumped off the taller girl. "I'm so sorry! I
didn't mean to, that is, I mean. . Oh blast! I am sorry."

"I'm sure as hell not," Barbie grinned, as she carefully
untangled herself from the odd position in which she'd passed the
night. "Except for a bit of a twinge in my back from that chair,
I can't remember a night I enjoyed more."

"En-JOYED? But we didn't do anything but SLEEP!"

Barbie brushed a tender kiss on Anne's still wide-open mouth and
headed toward the bathroom, "And just sleeping with you is the
most intimate experience I've ever shared with a woman. Boggles
the mind what it will be like when we finally make love, doesn't
it?"

The bathroom door was already shut before Anne's befuddled mind
cleared sufficiently to make heads or tails of what Barbie had
said. Then it hit her. "WHEN we make love? WHEN?!?!" she demanded
of the blank portal.

The door swung open, "When, darlin' - we're way past if," Barbie
promised. "Better go get dressed. I'm hungry, aren't you?" and
then reclosed the door.

~-~

Jane watched the three bathing-suited figures frolic in her pool
- one blonde, one strawberry blonde, and  one with the pure black
hair of Asia. Jessica had been reluctant to participate, she
thought with an indulgent grin. Apparently, even someone with
Jesse's unusual knowledge and experience with the masquerade got
a bit apprehensive about appearing only in a swimsuit.

Marie was supervising at the pool, and catering the teens' party
at the same time. They were evidently having a very good time,
despite Jessica and Adrienne having to keep their secret, and
despite Xhinea's shyness.

"I want to thank you for what you and your students, especially
Adrienne have done for my daughter, Jane."

Surprised, because in her reveries, Jane had all but forgotten
the presence of the other woman. "Pardon me?"

Celia smiled at her new friend. "Xhinea has been terribly lonely
since she came here - first because of her lack of English, and
then because she's, well, not the most outgoing child. Adrienne
has been very good for her. I'm glad she's finally made a
friend."

Warning bells went off in Jane's head as she considered the full
impact of the doctor's words. "I'm . . . glad, too," she finally
managed to get out with some semblance of good feeling. *DAMN!*

~-~

As the BMW sped down the interstate toward New Haven, the two
statuesque blondes retreated into their prior silence. It was
more Skipper's choice than Barbie's. The taller blonde's
lighthearted comments on casual topics had led nowhere, polite
responses from her companion almost worse than no response at
all. Finally, Barbie decided to take the issue head on, pushing
to find out what was bothering Skipper. 

"Penny for your thoughts," she offered hopefully. 

"Hmmm? What?" Skipper replied, her attention wrenched back from a
distance not measured by the car's odometer. 

"Why the silent treatment?" Barbie asked. "I didn't offend you,
did I?" 

The shy look came into Skipper's eyes again, and she looked away
to stare down the highway. Then she took a deep breath. "I guess
it's because I don't know what to say. What I'm feeling - it's so
big and so different from anything I've ever felt before. . . I
just don't know what to say or do, and I don't want to mess it
up!" 

"Damn."

"DAMN?!?" Anne squeaked. "Why 'damn'?"

Barbie let out a pent up breath of frustration. "'Damn' because
for the first time, I wish this damned car had bench front seats
so I could slide across and cuddle up to you."

"Oh," Anne said weakly, and then added more strongly, "Oh." A
shaky giggle escaped and she turned to glance at Barbie with a
look that was at once shy and mischievous. "Well, I don't think
that would be a good idea, Blondie. With that gear shift console
there, you might just hurt something. . ummm, vital."

Instinctively, Barbie clamped her thighs together protectively,
and then blushed furiously. "Uh, right. Oh look, only another
fifty miles to New Haven. You'll like Tia Judith."

"Tia_ Judith?"

"Would you believe that her maiden name was Duarte?"

"And you call her 'Tia'? Isn't that Spanish for 'Aunt'?"

"Yep. Another one of Momma Ruth and Momma Jane's Sorority
Sisters."

"Oh my."

~-~

Adrienne felt more than a bit of anxiety as she waited to be
admitted to Jane Thompson's study. Her presence had been
commanded during dinner, following cleanup. Some of her worst
experiences had been in that room, usually following some failure
on her part to follow the rules. She could only wonder what she'd
done THIS time.

"Enter," was the firm, but not stern command.

With one final deep, cleansing breath, Adrienne Braithwaite
opened the door and stepped inside to face whatever had to be
faced, and in keeping with her promise, as cheerfully as
possible.

Chapter 34: New Acquaintances, New Friends 

Whatever images Anne had conceived of Barbie's 'Tia Judith', none
of them came close to the reality of the woman.

Judith Duarte Cranston was a perfect pixie of a woman with the
odd combination of auburn hair and olive skin that is unique to
women of Hispanic heritage. Her shocking blue eyes smiled even
when her lips didn't, which was in and of itself rare. And she
wore the persona of madcap art dealer/entrepreneur with a panache
Anne could not help but envy. How many women, she wondered, could
wear a bright red gypsy headcloth combined with a floor-length
gown of tie-dyed green, yellow and blue silk while wearing a pair
of red ice-pick heels, and still look chic?

Barbie's Tia Judith was the first in Anne's experience.

The little college-town art shop was empty when they arrived, so
Judith had come up to them with a smile of greeting. "Hello,"
she'd said in a smoky alto that had Anne thinking of 1940 film
noire femme-fatales. "May I help you?"

"Sure can, Tia Judith," Kenneth's voice replied. "Tante Marie's
birthday's coming up, and I need a special gift?"

The look on the older woman's face was priceless, Anne thought,
absolutely priceless. *At least I'm not the only one
Barbie/Kenneth/Kendra does that to,* she mused, oddly pleased
with the thought.

"Oh, God, KENDRA!" the gypsy squealed and then threw herself into
the tall blonde's arms. "It's so GOOD to see YOU again! I know
how Kenneth has missed you, even if he didn't admit it."

Then it hit Anne. "You know!" she said in wonder. "You know
about. . . Kendra."

Releasing her death-grip, but not letting go completely. "Of
course. In fact, my nephew is one of Jane's graduates."

"How is Guillermo?" Barbie asked, her voice now back in 'girl'
mode.

"Fine. He's still at seminary. He should complete his studies
next spring. Then he'll have to decide whether he's going to
actually take holy orders and be ordained."

"A PRIEST?!?" Anne demanded. "A Jane Thompson graduate is
entering the priesthood?"

"That's the current plan," Judith replied. "We're all very proud
of Georgie. Wait here." Judith went to the front door and locked
it, putting up a 'Back Soon' sign in the window. "Come on back
and have some tea. I can't wait to find out what's going on here.
Oh, Tamara is going to be so upset she missed you, dear. She's at
camp in New Hampshire this week. You'll stay the night?"

Dazed by the seemingly disconnected jumps in Judith's monologue,
Anne could only follow, wondering what this incredible woman
would say or do next.

~-~ 

Adrienne Braithwaite sat quietly in front of the satin-decorated
vanity, brushing her hair almost mindlessly as her eyes stared at
pictures beyond her mirror. The memories of the day's events
played across the theater of her mind with stark clarity.

She'd had fun today - for the first time since she'd arrived in
Jane Thompson's frilly prison. Only that wasn't quite true -
today was the first time she'd had fun - real fun - in longer
than she cared to remember. The so-called good times in recent
years had all too often been at the expense of someone else. It
wasn't having fun, she realized, so much as making fun - of
someone who couldn't, or in the case of Anne, wouldn't defend
themselves.

That wasn't fun - that was cruelty.

And that was why she was here, wasn't it? Adrian had run with a
pack, safe within its numbers and had hurt people whose only
crime was to be unable to defend themselves. It was a wonder that
the Judge had given Adrian anything other than a one-way ticket
to juvie.

Which made her current situation even more difficult. Just when
she'd recognized how cruel Adrian had been, THIS had to happen.

"Oh, god, what am I going to do?" she asked the tear-stained face
staring back at her from the mirror's silvery depths. "What AM I
going to DO?!?!"

~-~

"How long have you known about Ms. Thompson's program, Ms.
Cranston?" Anne asked as she waited for Barbie to bring in their
bags.

"Please, call me Tia Judith, dear. Oh, I've known just about
forever, I think. Jane and I were roommates as freshmen. When she
found out what was going on at Eastmore, she had to tell someone,
and since I lived close by, she called me."

"And you had no problem with your nephew. . . going to her?
Knowing as you did what she does to those boys?"

"Dear, I know Jane and so of course I had no worries sending him
there. In fact, I was the one who contacted Jane when Guillermo
was in all that trouble - to see if she thought she could help.
Poor Georgie," Judith reminisced, a fond smile on her attractive
face, "I am afraid the poor dear did not make a very attractive
girl - at least in the beginning because he was a bit, well,
chubby, so the program was doubly tough on him. A side benefit of
Jane's program is that he learned good eating habits and lost
about fifty pounds in the bargain during the six months he spent
with Jane and Marie."

"But you weren't worried that it might, well, change him?"

"That was the whole idea!"

"But he's decided to be a priest - giving up. .. " Anne blushed
as she realized what she almost said.

Judith laughed merrily. "You mean sex, dear? Put him off women?
Make the vow of chastity all the easier for him to escape our
evil clutches?" 

There was a wicked twinkle in those startling blue eyes that made
Anne relax somehow. "Well, yes, wouldn't he? Didn't he?"

"Oh, lord no! In all honesty, dear, I don't think he'll take
final vows because he likes women too much. In fact, with what he
learned at Jane's, he became quite, um, popular with the ladies.
I mean, wouldn't you like a guy who *really* knew what a woman
liked and disliked, how much time it took to get ready to go
somewhere, who could choose presents for you that were stylish
instead of sluttish?" 

That wicked grin flashed again, and Anne felt herself blushing
again. What WAS it about these Jane Thompson friends that made
her color up like an over-ripe tomato at the drop of a comment?

"Oops, silly me," Judith laughed gaily. "Of course you do, don't
you? Anyway, back to Georgie - it's just possible he was
considering becoming a priest because he felt he needed a little
. . . extra incentive to keep his zipper up, if you know what I
mean. I don't think that's a good enough reason to be a priest,
of course, and if he decides that's really his motivation, he
won't either. But in the end, that doesn't matter. We'll love him
anyway. And he'll find another way to help people. That's just
too important to him. If he does, it will be because he has a
tremendous need to . . . to help and because, well, he wants to
be a model of what is good in the priesthood."

"You're so proud of him, and that's wonderful."

"Thanks in large part to Jane, Anne. This is really about your
brother, isn't it? You're afraid his sexuality will be adversely
affected by the discipline she enforces on her students. Well,
you can put that out of your mind right now. Jane would cut her
own throat before she did anything to harm a child. ANY child."

"You sound so certain of that," Anne said.

Just then, Barbie walked through the doors, cases in hand. "Usual
room, Tia?"

"Yes, dear," the tiny redhead beamed. "And put Anne's things in
Tamara's room, please." Judith then paused, obviously waiting for
the tall blonde disappear up the stairs. "There's your answer,
child," she continued. "As the French might say, 'Cherchez la
feminized' or something like that. Jane knew something was wrong
with Kenneth's case in the first two days, and she stopped what
she was doing, even though every piece of documented evidence
indicated he was a hard case bad kid. Rather than make a mistake,
she stopped. If she's still working with your brother, then trust
me, she's helping him."

When the blonde did not reply, only stared off reflectively, the
petite Latina kissed her on the cheek. "Everything will work out,
dear. Now, c'mon. You can help with dinner. I'm fixing paella for
Barbie. She needs a break from Marie's French cuisine."

~-~

Jessica watched her little sister carefully, her brow furrowing
in concentration. Something didn't quite fit. There was something
. . . odd about the way Adrienne had been behaving ever since
breakfast. Oh, she'd done her exercises without complaint,
cleaned up both breakfast and lunch dishes with a smile on her
face, for goodness sake - she'd even thanked Aunt Jane for the
critique of her outfit and make-up.

Yes, indeed, something was wrong here. She'd spoken with Tante
Marie about it after breakfast, and the little housekeeper had
assured her that students going through 'the crisis' sometimes
behaved a little strangely until they worked things out. They
just bore a little extra watching is all.

Which Jessica had done, and she was more convinced something was
wrong. Problem was, if Jane and Marie didn't see it, why didn't
they see it? Maybe she should try to sound Adrienne out a bit.
Maybe she'd talk to her 'big sister' about something she wouldn't
talk to the two older women.

Chapter 35: Night Moods

She was SO tired, and yet sleep would not come. The glowing alarm
digital clock had malevolently shown 2:45 A.M. when Adrienne had
finally given up and turned on the feminine Tiffany lamp on her
night table. Her desk, and the paper that rested there had drawn
her in spite of her best efforts to resist.

She reread the twenty five hundred word essay, even though the
text was familiar. With a sigh, she went back to her bed and for
the first time since she'd been transformed, cuddled up to the
large stuffed bear Marie insisted belonged there as much as
Adrienne did. In the little halo of colored light thrown by the
small lamp, her mind drifted back to what she thought of as the
'good old days', when Adrian's parents were still alive. Adrian
had never, not even for a moment, needed to worry about whether
his parents had wanted him - about whether he was loved and
valued. Then, in a moment of rare self-honesty, she admitted that
Barbara Anne had never given her cause to doubt her care and love
either. Maybe that was why Adrian had felt safe in lashing out at
her - he knew she'd never leave him, never give up on him.

Which made Adrian pretty much a louse, didn't it?

When she thought of what Adrian had, and not valued, and compared
that to what Xhinea, and so many other girls like her in her
homeland, DIDN'T have, it made her feel very ashamed. That girl
had overcome so much - a new country, a new language, but at the
same time, it was clear that she was lonely here. She'd seemed
surprised when Adrienne had preferred spending time with her over
Jessica.

God, but she was cute in that golden swimsuit at the swim party
the day before. Definitely 'ask-to-go-out' cute, and yet, Xhinea
was a friend, too. Somehow, in a way that Adrian had never
considered about a pretty girl, that was more important.

Talking to Jessica hadn't helped. Maybe because Adrienne hadn't
been willing to open up to her. After all, Jessica called Ms.
Jane 'AUNT Jane' and Adrienne had never been too sure of that
one's protestations of friendship. After all, hadn't she been the
one who stuck Adrian with the name Adrienne?

God, but she wished she knew where to turn - who to trust. Class
was tomorrow. . no, today - this afternoon, in fact, and she
still had no idea what to do.

She rolled her head over to look at the alarm clock. 3:22 AM. No
wonder she was exhausted, and Ms. Jane would expect her at the
breakfast table precisely at 7:45 AM - bright eyed and
appropriately made up.

Thinking of Ms. Jane reminded the boy-girl yet again of their
little discussion after the pool-party. Grimly fighting against
the loneliness those thoughts evoked, she ruthlessly pounded her
pillow and flicked off the light.

And closed her eyes tightly against the tears that burned their
way down her cheeks.

~-~

The Westminster chime of the Grandfather clock in the main hall
rang four bells. Giving up on sleeping, the tall blonde turned on
the bedside light and got to her feet. With fatigue weighing
heavily upon her, she strolled over to the vanity where she sat
down, her eyes fixed on the reflection of herself.

She'd been hoping that Anne would find her way to this room after
Tia Judith had retired for the night, but evidently she'd decided
to stay in her own room. Probably didn't want to impose on Tia's
hospitality that way knowing the very polite Anne.

Lord, but she hoped that was the reason. In one night, Barbie had
become rather addicted to having that long, shapely body cuddled
up to her own as they slept.

She, no, check that, HE wanted to sleep that way for the rest of
their lives. "You're in love with her, Roberts," the femininely
attired young man admitted aloud to the mirror's reflection.
"Now, what the hell are you going to do about it?"

Well, that was certainly a no-brainer. He wanted to marry her!
Tomorrow wouldn't be too soon, would it? The laugh that answered
that question was both self-deprecating and sardonic. The answer
Momma Jane would give that question didn't bear thinking about.
He didn't think she could still order him into Raggedy Annie
outfits, but he didn't want to test that theory, either.

No, their wedding WHEN, not if, it happened would take even the
very formidable Jane Thompson and Tante Marie several weeks to
plan - at the very least. Probably several months, Ken/Barbie
thought glumly.

"Aren't we putting the horse before the marriage-carriage here,
young Jedi?" he asked the mirror. A woman like Anne deserved a
wedding like that - something she could remember with joy her
entire life - the only one she'd have her entire life because
Kenneth Roberts intended to be the ONLY man she'd ever call
'husband'. Well, that meant an Aunt Jane extravaganza - once she
agreed to marry him, that was.

And shouldn't the proposal be just as memorable? Kenneth's
brothers, although both had finally won the women of their
dreams, had not done the proposal thing as well as they might
have wished. Michael had gotten Janice to do the proposing, which
knowing Janice had probably been the best thing to do. And Audrey
had basically ordered Darryl to propose. Well, that wasn't going
to happen this time - THIS one of Jane's boys was going to do the
proposal thing right.

"I need a plan!" he said, racing for Barbie's luggage where the
current volume of the daily journal Kenneth Roberts had kept
since childhood was packed.

"Let's see. Romance, gotta be romantic," he said aloud as he
returned to the vanity and began to write. "Dinner - very swanky.
Have Jane take her shopping - Marie, too. Dream dress, lingerie,
everything - for HER, not ME! Ken Roberts does his proposing in a
tux with all the trimmings! Hmmmm. Have to ask Caro and Sandy to
do a makeover for her. Flowers and candy -can't have a romance
without flowers and candy. Petunias and orchids, I think. Midwest
cute with exotic sexiness. Dancing. . . there has to be dancing.
Wonder what her favorite love song is? Note to self - find out
and have the band play it so I can go down on bended knee on the
dance floor to offer her the ring. OMIGOD, I've got to get a
RING? DAMN! What kind of stone?!? A diamond? Too cold for her.
She needs something with heat to match what she tries to hide. I
think maybe a colored stone. . . . an emerald, maybe. Note to
self - ask Tante Marie - she's the romantic expert in the
family."

The tall blonde filled whole pages of the journal making notes
and plans until well after the sun had crept above the eastern
horizon, but by the time Kenneth Roberts crawled back into bed,
he was sure he now had the perfect plan for Operation Marry
Skipper.

Chapter 36: The Best Laid Schemes

"You're still upset." Jessica said to Adrienne, as she helped the
junior student set the table for breakfast. "You're sure you
won't talk to me about whatever it is?"

"I told you it's nothing!" Adrienne snapped, and then closed her
eyes at least partly in shame. "Sorry - I didn't sleep well. I
shouldn't have snapped at you."

"If it's costing you sleep, it's more than nothing," the
strawberry-curled teen offered gently. "It might help to talk
about it."

Fatigue-fired anger started to flicker inside Adrienne's breast,
but this time she tamped it back. "I don't think so, but thank
you, Jessica," she said with stiff formality.

"You're afraid I'll go to Jane with it before you've worked out
whatever it is that's bothering you." It wasn't a question.

"You are part of this, Jessica," the junior student said flatly.
"How much, I don't know, but it's become clear to me that you've
been involved on several of the setups Ms. Jane has pulled on
me."

She could have refuted that charge, Jessica thought, but that
would have simply supported Adrienne's unstated assumption that
she could not trust the older girl with her secrets. What to do,
she wondered. If she went to Jane and simply said 'Adrienne is
having real problems' and Jane reacted, wouldn't the girl decide
that, too, justified her opinion? "You need to talk to someone."

"Who?" Adrienne asked. "I won't go to anyone in this house or in
town, and who else could I talk to who would understand . . .
understand. . "

"That you're really Adrian under that nightgown, peignoir and
makeup?" Jessica finished.

"Right. Someone who wouldn't think less of me, for having let her
do this to me, and might still help me. . . figure this out."

Jessica thought for a moment, trying to figure out who the child
could ask. "How about your sister?"

"She won't talk to me."

"She will if Aunt Jane tells her it's okay."

Hope sparked in the weary eyes, but only for a second. "Ms. Jane
will listen in, and until I know in my heart what the right
answer is, I don't want her involved."

"Are you planning on escaping, or trying to hurt anyone here?"

"OF COURSE NOT!" the answer was firm, the tone utterly outraged.

Perfect, Jessica thought. "I'll talk to Aunt Jane for you. If you
like, I'll take you to the convenience store down the road and
you can call from there. That way Jane can't listen in. Your
sister might still talk to her about it, though," she added in
bit of honesty.

"I'll only do it if Annie promises not to talk to Ms. Thompson
before I give her the go ahead. Tell your Aunt that, so she'll
know before she agrees. I'm not trying to play unfair here,
Jessica, but this is something I need to work out without Ms.
Jane telling me what to do."

"Fair enough. Look, you finish setting the table and I'll go find
Aunt Jane, okay?"

"Okay, and Jessica? Thanks."

~-~

"Anne?" Judith called, even as she gently shook the tall girl's
shoulder to help her wake up.

"Mmmm hmmm?"

"Wake up, Anne," Judith ordered.

"Wha. . .Tia Judith? What is it?"

"You have a phone call - Jane needs to speak with you.

~-~ 

Jessica watched her little sister approach the outdoor phone
cubicle, Jane's phone card clutched in her hand - almost like a
weapon. *Well,* she thought, *if I am wrong about this, then it
might very well have much the same effect for Jane's program. I
almost can't believe Aunt Jane bought into this wild hair of
mine.* 

In fact, it had taken some heavy duty . . . debate to get Jane to
agree to this, but in the end, it was her own conviction that
Adrienne was about to turn the corner that convinced her to go
along with Jessica's plan.

Now, all Jessica could do was hope she wasn't badly wrong about
this plan.

~-~

Adrienne stifled the urge to yawn as she picked out the phone
number Jane had given her and then entered the phone card data.

"Hello?" a cautious feminine voice answered.

"Annie?" Adrienne asked. "It's me. . Adrienne. . I mean, Adrian,
oh, hell, I don't even know myself anymore."

"Jane told me you would call, and that you would be using a
public phone," Anne said, her voice warming just a bit. "Why
don't you use Adrienne, so that you don't draw attention to
yourself."

"O. . .okay. Anne? I need some advice. I have a problem, and I
don't know what to do, okay?"

Actually, that wasn't quite true, either. As she'd concluded
during her long sleepless night, there were solutions available
to her that would effectively solve her problem - at least two of
them, in fact. The real problem with which she was struggling was
that either solution had the potential to hurt someone. She just
didn't know who would get hurt worse, or whether that mattered in
the long run. She wondered if this was what Ms. Jane would call
an ethical dilemma.

"Annie? May. .. May I ask you a question? . .. .Please? It's sort
of personal."

"Sure," Anne said before adding quickly, "but if it's too
personal, the answer might be just that."

"It's not that kind of question!" the boy-girl spluttered in
surprise.

Anne couldn't help it and laughed gently at her sibling's
outrage. "That's okay, then. What's the question?"

"Umm, it's kind of hard, but have you ever had to make a
decision, where if you make it one way, you're sure of what will
happen - at least you think you are. It will be, well, pretty
uncomfortable for you. On the other hand, if you go the other
way, it won't hurt you at all, but might bother someone else -
how badly, you don't know."

The voice at the other end of the phone connection didn't answer
immediately, and Adrienne found herself sincerely wishing she
could see her sister, could see if that normally smooth brow
furrowed for just a moment, or if her lips curled into a bit of a
grimace. "That's a very broad question, um, Adrienne, and as you
said, quite personal."

~-~

Anne thought about the decision she'd made when her parents died
to take on her brother at the cost of finishing her own college
education, or the ones she'd recently been confronted with - to
leave her brother in the hands of Ms. Thompson, or the one she'd
made to accompany Kenneth, as Barbie, to his Mother's funeral.
Both had hidden costs and potential hurts involved, to herself
and to others. Oh yes, she thought, she knew about Catch 22
situations, but they weren't the type of situation she wanted to
discuss with the brother who was still rigged out as a girl
because of those decisions.

"Yes," Anne sighed into the phone. "I did, but I won't discuss
them with you just now."

~-~

"Oh, that's not what I meant. What I was hoping you might tell me
is, well, what things you considered when you made the decision
you made. You probably would have thought of things. . .well,
types of things I haven't."

"I don't suppose you'll tell me the problem," Anne asked
cautiously.

"It's something Ms. Jane has given me to . . .to think about, and
. . and. . Look, Annie, you know why I was sent to Ms. Thompson,
right?"

"Of course I do," she replied. "What has that to do with this
conversation?"

Adrienne wondered at the touch of sharp asperity in her sister's
voice - it was a tone she hadn't heard very often from the soft-
hearted Barbara Anne. She wondered what had caused that? "Look,
Sis, we both know that I don't have a whole lot of experience
thinking about someone other than myself. Left on my own, I'll
probably miss something important."

*Damn!* Anne thought. *I WISH I knew more about what was going on
behind the scenes at Seasons House just now, and yet, would that
make a difference to me? Would my answers to her change?* The
tall blonde thought about that for all of maybe two seconds and
shook her head. *Whatever else, my brother deserves my best shot
and complete honesty. When in doubt, Braithwaite, tell the truth.
It may not help, but it will be better than the alternative.*

~-~

"I can only tell you that, besides the obvious, there were two
things I had to consider that ultimately made the decision for
me," her older sister finally said.

"Yes, Sis?" Adrienne asked eagerly.

"First, I asked myself if what would happen to me was really as
bad as I thought it was. In other words, was I making the
potential risk to myself seem larger in my mind that it would be
in fact."

Adrienne frowned as she considered that and tried to put it in
the context of her current situation. Her fatigue-dulled brain
rebelled so she filed it for future consideration and returned
her full attention to the phone. Perhaps her second point would
be easier to apply, and would make struggling with the first
point unnecessary. "And the other thing, Anne?"

"I asked myself how bad it would be FOR me if the potentially bad
thing happened to the other person." The phone line went
momentarily silent and Anne wondered if the connection had been
lost. "I cared . . . cared a great deal for that person, Adri . .
ah, Adrienne. Had yo . . had that person been hurt, it would have
hurt me just as badly, if not more so."

Adrienne had never thought of such a thing, and it frightened her
to think that, regardless of what she did, she could be hurt. 

They both lapsed into silence for several moments, both siblings
lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Adrienne had to ask. "Annie?
Please, how did you decide?"

For another space of time, nothing passed between them across the
distance. Finally, a long, drawn-out sigh signaled her sister's
decision to answer. "I elected to take the heat myself," she said
in what Adrienne thought was a very odd turn of phrase from
Annie. "Hurting that other person carried too high a price. In
trying to protect myself, I'd have only hurt both of us more in
the long run."

"Oh."

~-~

Anne stared at the buzzing phone set for several moments before
slowing returning it to the cradle. She was suddenly terrified
she might have done the wrong thing. How would her . . . sister-
brother react to that discussion? She should have insisted on
knowing the problem, but she didn't, and now, she didn't know
what to do. Who could she talk to?

And then, the answer was there. Thought became deed as she strode
swiftly from the room and practically ran up the stairs to the
guest room.

She didn't even bother to knock. She simply opened the door and
entered. "Barbie?" she called to the blanket covered lump curled
in the center of the large bed. "I need to talk to Kenneth -
NOW!"

Fortunately, Barbie/Kenneth Roberts was, as she already knew, one
of those disgusting people who woke up instantly, fully alert.
She could almost hate him for that - almost, but not now.

~-~

Jane's antennae were quivering - every instinct developed over
thirty years of working with over one hundred troubled boys told
her this one was teetering on the edge of the transition. Because
of that knowledge, she'd almost refused permission for Adrienne
to speak with her sister. In the end, it had seemed she was
damned if she did and damned if she didn't. She really wished she
knew what was going on inside the bleached blond head, but this
was the moment at which she could least anticipate what her
student was thinking or what she might do. *Which is precisely
why it's a crisis,* she reminded herself. She'd decided to allow
the contact because, at some point, she had to trust her
instincts and they all told her this child was ready to make her,
or rather his own good decisions.

That did not, however, mean that the ultimate control freak of
Seasons House could completely let go. Jane now wished that she
had called Darla and told her that she'd accompany Adrienne to
mime class that afternoon. *Those instincts, again,* she thought,
laughing wryly at herself. *I should be there this time. Just
wish I knew why.*

Just then, her private line rang. Picking it up, she was
surprised when the voice on the other end was Kenneth's tenor.
"Hi, Momma Jane. Anne needs to talk to you."

~-~

"So, that's what happened. What do we do now?"

Kenneth sat on the bed, outwardly still Barbie, but acting and
speaking like himself now because Anne had requested that. "Have
you spoken with Jane since you talked with your sister . . I
mean, your brother?"

Anne choked back a half laugh, half sob. "I could hardly keep it
straight either. He called himself by his male name, but the
voice and intonation were feminine throughout. To answer your
question, though, no. I guess I should have."

Kenneth reached for the bedside phone and slipped the receiver
beneath Barbie's blond curls while he punched in a number from
memory. Anne watched him listen for a few moments and then heard
his voice say, "Hi, Momma Jane. Anne needs to talk to you."

He handed the receiver to her. "Tell her what you told me. I'll
tell Tia Judith we need a quick breakfast before we head out.
Tell Jane we can be in Kingston by about two pm this afternoon."

"Ms. Thompson? I. . . I wanted to tell you about the call from
Adrian. . I mean, Adrienne."

Chapter 37: Breakthrough

After the mime tea-party skits, Adrienne foolishly let herself
get trapped by 'I'm gonna be head cheerleader someday' Lori
Hathaway and her clique of curvy chicklets. 

"Hey, Adrienne, what was all that bit about using two hands on
everything? Were you trying to say the teapot was heavy or
something?"

"It was a formal oriental tea-ceremony, Lori," explained
Adrienne. "Cradling the teacup in both hands, and offering it
gracefully with your whole attention, is supposed to imply you
are offering yourself as well - as a gesture of commitment and
friendship." 

Lori's partner, Naomi Rand, said, "Yeah, that's what it looked
like all right. If 'Skinny Shinny' had held your hand for about
two more seconds when you offered her 'yourself', I was gonna
call the cops on you perv's."

Her giggle triggered the clique into smoochy air kisses with each
other, but at least it provided a distraction from Adrienne's
more-than-reasonable embarrassment at the taunt. She was also
saved from having to defend herself by the arrival of her own
partner, Xhinea, carrying cups of punch for herself and Adrienne.

Seeing Xhinea offer a cup to Adrienne triggered another round of
giggles, stifled by Lori as she slowly and carefully, as though
speaking to a small child, said "So, um, Shin . ., uh, Zinnia,
um, how do you, like, um, like America?"

"I've been here for five years," Xhinea replied evenly, "And I
like it very well, thank you. And my name is Xhinea, not Zinnia.
Zinnias are flowers. Excuse me for interrupting." 

Horrified and furious, Adrienne watched her friend stride away,
her back very straight and very stiff. "That was really dumb,
Lori," she fumed and then ran after Xhinea.

She caught up with her just as the dark-haired girl was slipping
into the ladies restroom. Before Xhinea could close and lock the
door, Adrienne was in there with her. "Leave me alone!" the
little Asian ordered, her voice now choked with tears.

"I can't do that," Adrienne said, feeling her own tears start.
"You're my friend, and you're hurting." With that declaration,
Xhinea found herself being hugged. Surprised, she resisted, but
only for a moment, and then returned the embrace.

"I'm sorry that happened," Adrienne said, when they finally
relaxed their mutual deathgrip on each other.

With a deep breath, Xhinea forced a smile. "I should be used to
that by now. Either they ignore me, or they go out of their way
to be 'nice' to the ignorant little foreigner. Usually, I don't
let it bother me, but after having someone treat me like . . a
friend, it was just too much."

"Better now?"

"Yes. You reminded me that you truly are my friend - when you
wouldn't let me hide away and cry alone. You have no idea what
that means to me. You're really sweet, Adrienne. Special."

Adrienne felt a freezing chill slide down her spine, and then her
own tears returned. "You wouldn't feel that way if you knew the
real story. I'm. . .I'm not a very nice person, Xhinea."

To Adrienne's utter shock, the girl laughed. 

"No," she reiterated, "it's true. In fact, the only reason I'm
here right now? It's because the alternative was jail."

"Why," Xhinea asked, her eyes widening in surprise.

Adrienne paused, then took a deep breath and said, "I just got in
a lot of trouble. Little things, maybe, but a whole lot of them.
Shoplifting, some vandalism, bullying other kids - generally
running around with a bad crowd and doing what they did to be
accepted. One of the guys in my group had some marijuana with
him, the last time we got picked up, and . . . I ended up here."

Xhinea's eyes momentarily went wide and then narrowed
speculatively. "So what?" she retorted. "You're not that way
anymore, are you?" Before the blonde could even shake her head,
the dark-haired girl asked, "Will you go back to being what you
WERE before? What you were that led to you being here? I think
not."

"But. . ."

"But, but, but, but, but. . .Adrienne, you sound like a cartoon
motor boat. All I know is that since I've come here, I've been
too different for any of the other girls to bother with. Do you
know, I've NEVER had a girlfriend before in my life? I'm not
about to get rid of the only one I've got."

"A girlfriend?" the petite blonde nearly gawked, then all of the
sudden she remembered she had her arms around a beautiful girl
with dramatically accented lips, so close, so full . . . 

That focus was shattered when the Asian girl slumped back. "Well,
unless you don't want to be my friend?" Xhinea's voice faltered
and nearly broke again.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Adrienne hastened to reassure, "but I guess I
hadn't really ever thought of you as, um, 'a girlfriend.', umm,
before you just said it, that is." 

Xhinea grinned, mischief dancing her dark eyes. "Hellooo, what
else am I going to be? Your boyfriend? Do I look like a boy to
you after Miss Wave-Them-Around and her friends in there?"

"No way," she squeaked. "*You* don't look like a boy. My
goodness, Xhinea, don't you know you're beautiful?!?! But . . ."

"But what?"

"God, I don't know how to deal with this."

"Something's bothering you. You helped me, let me help you."

"What's bothering me is how unfair this all is - especially to
you!" Adrienne snapped out. Here it was, she realized. The
problem Jane had discussed with her, warned her about - the one
she had done nothing about. So now, she was going to hurt or be
hurt.

"I don't think so," was the soft reply. A gentle hand reached out
to stroke a wayward lock from Adrienne's eyes. "You're my friend,
Adrienne. We'll work it out."


"But that's JUST IT!" Adrienne cried, her own voice too loud now.
"Look, I told you that I'm here on a sort of . . . probation or
alternative to being in jail. Well, one of these days I'm going
to be released and I'll go back to . . . where I was before." 

Suddenly still, Xhinea stared at her friend. "Does that mean you
cannot ever come back? Call me? Write to me? Explain this to me!
Just because you are free of this school, you will just disappear
from my life? Just like that?"

The hurt was back in Xhinea's eyes and voice, and Adrienne just
couldn't stand it. In that moment, she understood what Annie had
meant when she'd said that the pain from hurting someone
important was the worst of all. In that moment, she, like her
sister, elected to take the heat herself. "I have been, am now,
and will keep on being your friend, Xhinea, if you want me for
one," she choked out, struggling to control the tears that again
threatened. "But . . . I can't be your . . . GIRL-friend."

For the first time in her life, Xhinea understood the linguistic
necessity for that odd three-letter word so many of the students
in her school used so very often. "Huh?"

With another deep breath, Adrienne regained some measure of
composure and forced herself to smile. "Ummm, it might be easier
if I try to tell it like it was about somebody else? You know,
kind of like telling you a story, okay?"

More confused than ever, Xhinea returned to the commode and sat
down, but her eyes never left Adrienne's. "Okay."

"Once upon a time, there was a boy whose name was, umm, Adrian.
For the first thirteen years of his life, he was a pretty happy
kid - oh, he was kind of short and a lot scrawny for a boy, but
all in all, his life was pretty good because he was loved and
knew it. Then came the day a drunk driver crashed into his
parents' car. . . "

~-~

"YOU'RE a BOYYYY?!?!?" Xhinea squealed.

"QUIET!" Adrienne hissed, looking nervously at the bathroom door
and hoping the outer hall was empty.

"NO WAY!"

~-~

"And so, when you. . .I guess, graduate? You put away your
dresses and curls, and leave forever?

Now it was Adrienne who sat shaken and spent on the commode seat.
"No, I wouldn't - COULDN'T do that to you. Or to me. You're my
friend, and trust me on this, I don't have any more friends than
you do. In all honesty, though, going away is what Ms. Thompson
wanted - what she expects of me. Something about the more people
who know a secret the less likely it is to stay one, and this one
needs to stay secret."

"America, like China, puts great importance on being and acting
male," Xhinea observed, "So I understand the need for secrecy. I
will keep yours. Friends do that for each other."

Adrienne laughed weakly. "Thanks."

"What is the name of my girlfriend, when she isn't being a girl?
Is it really Adrian?"

The blonde nodded sheepishly.

"Well, then I am doubly fortunate in having you for my friend,"
she said, the hint of mischief back in her eyes.

"Oh? How so?" 

"I told you I've never had a girl friend, right? Well I've never
had a boy friend, either. Now I have both."

The blond teen's smile grew broader. "I'd like that, too. It
might take some doing, though. First, there's my sister. I have
some work ahead of me to get to where she trusts me, and she'd
have to trust me if I'm going to come back here from time to time
to be with you."

"You will win her over," Xhinea said. "As I said, you are a very
nice person. You said your sister was first. Does that imply a
second?"

"Your Mom."

"Momma likes you," Xhinea answered quickly and then stopped, her
eyes going wide. "Oh, my."

"As Ms. Thompson would say, 'just so'. Your Mom likes Adrienne.
She doesn't know I'm a boy and she also doesn't know the trouble
I was in to get sent here. She might not care for you to
associate with me, even if my . . . unusual clothes don't bother
her. I'm not really good boyfriend material from a Mother's
viewpoint."

"I think my Mother will be fine," Xhinea defended. "Eventually.
Maybe if your Ms. Jane spoke to her?"

Adrienne considered that. "Maybe, but I think I need to be a man
about this and tell her the truth first. After that, well, we'll
have to see, won't we?"

"But we're still friends, right? And no matter what, we stay that
way?"

"You bet. Come on, let's get out of here. Ms. Smith will be
looking for me and I don't want her any more annoyed with me than
she already is."

But it wasn't Darla who awaited them in the main entrance. It was
"Ms. Jane? What are you doing here?"

Chapter 38: Gang Aft Agley

Silence, Anne decided as they passed through Bridgeport on their
way to Kingston, was all well and good, but it made it too easy
to brood. Since there wasn't anything she could do until they
arrived at Jane Thompson's house, the brooding didn't help.
Unfortunately, her companion wasn't doing much in the way of
talking, either. Well, she wanted distraction and entertainment
just then, and decided that her would-be lover was nominated.
*Start as you mean to go,* she told herself.

"You're awfully quiet," she observed and nearly winced at the
inanity of the comment.

Startled, Barbie jolted at the sudden intrusion of sound
eliciting a giggle from Anne. Smiling also, the tall blonde asked
"And just who are you laughing at, my good woman?"

"Gotcha. Now, answer my question - why are you so quiet?"

Knowing better than to admit to being immersed in a lovely little
fantasy in which Anne, Kenneth, an expensive bottle of champagne
and a large sapphire engagement ring played prominent roles,
Barbie tried a little Thompsonian strategy. "You were quiet," she
answered without answering and then shifted subjects, "Worried
about Adrian?"

Sighing, Anne nodded. "I'd feel better if your Ms. Thompson had
prepared me better for that phone call. After talking to her
again, I'm worried I said the wrong things."

"Did you tell the truth?" 

"Well, yes, but what if that wasn't the right thing to do?"

Barbie considered that and shrugged.

"Jane didn't tell you what to expect or what to say when she
called the first time, right?" Barbie already knew the answer,
but allowed Anne to nod before continuing. "Okay, here's a hard
truth about my beloved Momma-Jane. She never lies, or asks others
to lie - at least by her definition."

"By HER definition? What does that mean?"

Anne heard her friend laugh. "My Momma-Jane has a very lawyerly
attitude and outlook on the subject of the truth. In other words,
it's only a lie if it is complete falsehood. She does, however,
use the time honored strategies of misleading by how she tells
the truth, when she tells the truth or by how much of the truth
she tells. Winston Spencer Churchill could have taken lessons
from Jane Thompson on the creative use of truth in deception."

"So?"

"So, if she didn't tell you what to say to Adrian, or suggest how
you might talk to him, then she wanted you to answer his
questions as honestly as you could."

"You're sure about that?"

"Mom is never subtle about giving direction where, in her view,
direction is needed."

"I see," Anne said, her mind churning to make sense of all that
Barbie had just told her, and what Jane Thompson had and had not
said in their two phone conversations. Which was why she caught
on that "Do you realize you just referred to my brother in the
masculine tense again?"

Barbie nodded. "Yeah, guess I did. Probably because if Jane is
allowing, even encouraging you to talk to him, without her
telling you more than she did, it's because she thinks he's
turned the corner."

"So quickly?"

"According to Darryl, when it happens? It's sudden."

"Oh, I hope so. Now, answer my question."

"Pardon me?"

"Don't think I missed that slick-attorney maneuver of changing
the subject to one I'd be likely to talk about. What were YOU
brooding about before?"

"I wasn't brooding."

"Oh, yes you were, tall-stuff. Trust me, I know brooding when I
see it. You WERE brooding. What about?"

~-~

Damn, Barbie/Kenneth thought as she/he stared at the lovely
blonde in the BMW's driver's seat, but she was so beautiful when
she grinned like that. Almost like a little girl caught playing a
mischievous trick on the boy next door. Kenneth would give
anything to have her grin at him like that again - at least once
a day for the rest of their lives.

"Ummm, us," he answered. "I was thinking about us."

~-~

Anne felt her breath catch in her throat, but managed what she
hoped was a flirtatious smile. "That sounds interesting," she
replied, and cursed silently when her voice cracked. "Care to
share a little more detail?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched a vivid red hue suffuse
the femininely made up face that had nothing to do with
cosmetics. *More interesting by the second,* she thought.


~-~

*No, I don't!* Kenneth's mind yelled, but he knew that wasn't
going to cut it. "Um, I was thinking about a. . a. . well, a
date."

"A date?" Anne asked, her voice suddenly cautious.

"Yeah, a date. You know, dinner, dancing, you and me. That kind
of thing."

That mischievous glint flashed in Anne's eyes again. "Oh, are
there alternative nightspots near Kingston? I don't think two
six-foot tall-plus, blonde Barbie-wannabes on a date would sit
too well with the nice people there. Besides, your 'Momma-Jane'
might not like having you draw attention to yourself like that."

~-~

Anne could literally hear his teeth grinding. "I meant," Kenneth
said very slowly, "You and Kenneth - on the date - not you and
Barbie."

"Oh," she replied, struggling to control her mirth, and failing.
She hooted with laughter, glanced over at the stony glare she was
getting from the no-longer-so-feminine-looking blonde seated next
to her, and laughed even harder. "Oh, god," she giggled, "the
LOOK on your FACE!!"

~-~

Kenneth literally felt his blood pressure rise. He didn't get
angry. He didn't LET himself become angry. A person ceased to be
in control of situations, and he NEEDED to be in control.
Striving to squelch the emotional firestorm building in his gut,
Kenneth glowered at Anne with stony dignity. "I fail to see what
is so funny."

Which only made Anne laugh harder. So much harder, in fact, that
she pulled off the road and came to a stop. "You FAIL to see what
is SO funny?!" she parroted, stoking the fires yet again. "You
call THAT asking for a DATE?!? I wish I had a recorder so I could
listen to this routine again when I need a pick-me-up!"

However that last comment had been intended, it was the camel-
that-broke-the-straw. It snapped, and so did Kenneth's temper.
"Funny, is it?" he roared. "You think asking you to go out with
me on a DATE is FUNNY?!? Well, then you'll probably die LAUGHING
when I ask you to MARRY me!"

~-~

Anne's laughter stopped like someone had thrown a switch.
Suddenly, there was no air in her lungs and no way to get any
into them. "Marry?" she squeaked, her eyes wide. "You want to
marry me?"

"Hell, woman!" the now-very-masculine Barbie growled. "If you
could manage to stop laughing long enough to take a hard look,
you'd see I'm head over heels in LOVE with you! Of COURSE I want
to marry you!"

~-~

Kenneth felt himself go icy-cold as what he'd just done sank in.
No woman wanted to have intentions of marriage bellowed at them.
It wasn't romantic or sensitive. Jane was going to KILL him.

"When did you decide that?" Anne asked, now very solemn.

Kenneth slumped back in the bucket seats leather cushions and
closed his eyes. "Probably since the moment you walked into that
hotel-room office the first time we met. Fully decided? I started
planning the "Grand Proposal" last night." He laughed wryly.
"Want to see the thirty pages of notes on how to do it? Legal
sized pages, by the way, and I write pretty small."

~-~

"Sounds. . . detailed," Anne said softly.

"Oh, it is," Kenneth's voice agreed. "I picked the restaurant,
the flowers, the wine, the dressmaker - for you, not me -my suit.
I made plans to find out your favorite lovesong so I could have
the band playing it when I popped the question."

"I see," she replied. "Silly Love Songs."

"Huh? You don't like love songs?"

"No, silly, that's my favorite. 'Silly Love Songs' by Paul
McCartney."

"Oh."

"And the answer is 'yes'."

Kenneth's eyes snapped open and his head spun to face Anne's
radiantly smiling face. "Huh?"

Instead of answering, Anne reached out to cup Kenneth's chin in
her right hand, and leaned over to thoroughly kiss him.

~-~

No one had EVER kissed him like that. Soft yet demanding,
sensuous yet friendly, and thoroughly arousing. Kenneth found
himself leaning into the kiss, even as she drew back. Only her
hand, still on his chin, held him back. She stopped when there
was barely enough distance between them that they could each see
the other's entire face.

"Yes, Kenneth," she said softly. "I will marry you."

~-~

"Take care, Xhinea," Adrienne called as her friend entered Celia
Hurst's car. "I'll be in touch soon."

Jane stood watching from the Lincoln's driver-side door, her
stern demeanor not betraying her inner concern and anxiety. *Not
if I have anything to say about it, child,* she thought.

Once she had the car out of the parking lot and on the way back
to Seasons House, Jane finally gave in to the emotions swirling
inside her. "I thought we had discussed the inadvisability of
getting too close to one of the students," she began. "And now I
find that you are in the ladies room with a girl - and apparently
there was an emotional scene. Both of you had obviously been
crying.

"I'm sorry, Miss Jane," her student responded, but Jane wasn't
certain she heard much in the way of remorse in Adrienne's voice.
"Xhinea needed me. Some of the other girls were really . . .
harsh to her - she was really, really upset and, well, I just
couldn't leave her all alone."

*Damn,* Jane thought, *Doesn't that put me between the proverbial
rock and a hard place. Either way I play this, I'm wearing the
black hat. Still, she needs to be more cautious and there's no
other way for her - not if she's going to come out of her time
here with Adrian's reputation intact.* "Well, your compassion for
another is commendable, but what if she finds out your, ah, true
nature? That's a risk you really shouldn't take."

Out of the corner of her eye, Jane saw a very odd look flit
across the petite blonde's face. "Ah, well, ummm, Ms. Jane? I'm
afraid it's too late to worry about that just now."

A cold chill ran down Jane's spine as her eyes snapped from the
road to her student. "What?!?" 

"I, um, told her," Adrienne said, her voice very low. "About. .
about Adrian."

*Close your mouth and drive, Jane Thompson!* she ordered herself
and then promptly disobeyed. "My god, child! Why would you do
such a thing?!"

Adrienne didn't immediately answer. "Well," she began, her voice
quietly introspective, "It was like this, Ms. Jane. She sort of
asked me to, um, be her girlfriend, and, well, I mean, I couldn't
do that, right? But she IS my friend - already - and I couldn't,
like, turn her down, either, so . . . "

*Double-damn!* Jane thought resigned. "So you had to explain,"
she finished with a breathy sigh. "Well, this certainly
complicates things."

"That's not all of it," Adrienne put in. "I have to explain to
her mother, too."

*Oh no you don't! Not in THIS lifetime!* "Leave that to me," Jane
ordered. *Once I figure out just how I'm going to do that with a
woman I don't know, don't trust and have met, thus far, only
twice.*

"No, Miss Jane," Adrienne retorted firmly. "I'm sorry, but it's
something that I have to do myself. For Xhinea's sake. I can't
let her mother think Xhinea is . . . well, that she's not as
sweet and, um, good as she really is.  This is all my fault, and
I have to set it right."

*Break-through,* Jane recognized, but with none of the elation
she normally felt when a student completed their critical
transition. *But now, how do I help you safely become Adrian
again when you're determined to expose yourself as Adrienne to an
outsider?*


Chapter 39: Repercussions 

"Dam. . DARNit, Aunt Jane, I'm so sorry," Jessica said, tears
glittering on her lashes. "I never should have told her to call
her sister. I never should have asked YOU to let her. I really,
really messed this up."

Jane moved quickly to sit beside this child who was rapidly
becoming so precious to her, and pulled her into her arms. "No
fault, Jessica, certainly not for you. I could have said 'no',
but I thought you were correct. For this student, in fact, you
were correct. I think Adrienne is over the hump, darling."

"You think so?"

"I'm positive of it. Her reasons for what she did are so at odds
with the behaviors that led her here, there's no doubt in my mind
that she's made the big step in turning herself around."

"But what do we do now, Jane?" Marie asked. "Heavens, none of our
boys have ever done this before."

Jane shrugged and then leaned her chin on Jessica's strawberry
blond head. "I don't know, Marie. A great deal will depend on
Anne's reaction, I think. Adrienne's already told us what she
intends to do, and while I applaud her motives, I could wish she
was more like my other students in that regard."

"You're going to let her do it, then?"

"I don't see how I can stop her, short of sending Adrian to the
Juvenile Detention, and I can't do that. He's ready to be a big
sister now. Actually, I don't think he even needs that part of
the program thanks to Xhinea."

"As Adrian or Adrienne?" Marie asked.

"That's up to Adrian and his sister," Jane replied. "I've already
called Sandy and asked her to be ready."

"What happens next?" Jessica asked, unconsciously cuddling closer
into Jane's embrace.

"We wait for our two wanderers to return. I have Darla down at
the stable apartment waiting for them. She'll send them up here
and we'll see what develops."

~-~

It was already obvious that she had lost this battle, Anne told
herself as she drove through the gates of Seasons House, but
sometimes you've got to fight when you're a woman. Besides, she
wasn't ready to give up yet. "I really don't think a wedding of
that magnitude is necessary," Anne reiterated, trying to sound
more forceful this time than she had on the previous dozen or so
occasions she'd broached this particular subject.

"Sorry," her fianc� assured her, visions of Anne - glorious in
the kind of wedding gown Jane would insist upon - dancing before
half lidded eyes, "But it is. There's no way you're getting out
of it, either."

Anne groaned - literally groaned - but didn't particularly care
at that moment. The simple fact of the matter was that the mere
thought of a society wedding like the one Ken had described after
she'd accepted his badly botched almost-proposal had her scared
spitless. It was one thing to dream, as a little girl, of being
Cinderella whisked off to the ball. It was another thing,
entirely, to find out it wasn't going to be a fairy tale anymore,
by way of having some guy jam your foot into a hard, unrelenting
glass slipper. Lord above, she could really mess this up! Like
maybe trip on the hem of her gown as she tried to glide down the
aisle. Or something equally unforgivable. No, a nice, quiet and
very PRIVATE wedding was called for. "I mean, it's not like
either of us have parents or large families to placate."

And realized how dumb that statement was, even before Barbie's
hoot of laughter. "Have you forgotten Momma Ruth, who has, by the
way, just about claimed you? Not to mention my beloved and iron-
willed Momma Jane? That's more family that most people are ever
going to have. I love you, woman, and there isn't much I wouldn't
do for you, but high on that very, very short list is pissing off
either of those two women."

"We could sneak off to Vegas, and come back with it already
done," Anne counter-offered. "Tell them afterwards?" she added
hopefully.

"Wouldn't work," the taller blonde assured her with a smile. "In
fact, Jane might take that as a challenge and really go to town
with the planning. Just to show us, for future reference, of
course, how these things SHOULD be done. It'll be easier on all
of us if you just buck up, Annie, and take this like a woman. Or
like one of Aunt Jane's boys."

"But something that big will draw attention, and didn't you say
Jane knows important people in Boston and Providence? We could
end up being in the papers! I don't want to be a damned virgin
centerfold on the Boston Herald's society pages! I'm too tall . .
.too . . . too. . "

"Gorgeous," Barbie interrupted. "I agree, but I'm man enough to
handle being envied by 95% of the men and at least two thirds of
the women in the greater New England area." Anne opened her mouth
to protest again, "Shhh, it'll be okay. Look, you can talk to
Audrey. She even enjoyed it and she was even less pleased with
the idea than you are."

"She couldn't have been."

"Well, talk to her. She might have some advice on getting around
some of Jane's ideas. Hey. . .there's D standing at the door to
the stable apartment. Hmmm, wonder why he's still Darla?"

Exasperated at having had the subject changed before she'd won
her point, Anne slapped the steering wheel with both palms. "Do
you have any idea how WEIRD that sounded? 'Why HE'S still
DARLA?!?'"

With a grin, Barbie depressed the button to open the passenger
side window. "Welcome to Family Thompson, love, where men are
often women and the women are glad of it. Hey, D? What's up,
Sis?"

Darla hurried up to the car. "Here, let me help you get your bags
inside, then we need to head up to the main house. You, too, Sk .
. um, Anne." 

Surprised by Darla's unusually brusque tones, Barbie asked, "Why,
what's wrong?" 

"Nothing critically bad, but we do have a situation. Look, I got
sent down here to wait for you and only have the basic outline -
which is confusing enough, without my being wrong on some
essential point. Let's wait and have Mom give us all the straight
story."

~-~

"My brother did WHAT?!?!" Anne demanded, her eyes hard on Jane,
Darla, Jessica and Marie.

"Easy, Annie," Kendra ordered gently, moving closer to lend
physical support to her fiancee.

"As I just said, Miss Braithwaite, your brother revealed his true
nature to someone outside my cadre - to a young girl who is not
in on the secret of the masquerade or of my program. If you will
let me finish, please, I will give you the facts as I now know
them."

Quickly, Jane told the story as Adrienne had given it to her.
"And now, she, or rather he, fully intends to tell Xhinea's
mother."

"For goodness sake, why?"

"Because Xhinea has become Adrian's friend - he cares about her a
great deal, and he doesn't want to lose that friendship when I
let him out of skirts."

"The girl's friendship is important to my brother?" Anne asked,
skeptically.

"It is now," Jane replied firmly.

"So why doesn't he just wait until you do let him out of skirts,
and then introduce himself as Adrian when he's in boy clothes
again?"

"He's concerned that, unless Dr. Hurst knows the entire story,
she will not let him continue to associate with her adopted
daughter. 


"I don't understand," Anne said, beginning to pace. "I thought
you told me that this couldn't happen, that you would ensure she.
. I mean, he wasn't in a position for this TO happen."

Kendra lightly gripped Anne upper arms. "Anne." The tone was
soft, but firm and broke through the emotional whirlpool that was
starting to envelope the tall blonde. "What happened, Mom?"

"I am, as you have pointed out, fully responsible," Jane said
with quiet dignity. "I allowed myself to assume Adrian was
similar to other students I have had. In fact, he is unique and I
should never have forgotten that, Miss Braithwaite." 

"Oh, call me Anne, please. I'm just surprised, is all. After all
. . . Ken has had to say about you, I had you built up in my mind
as being some unstoppable and all-knowing force of nature."

"I'm not omniscient, . . Anne. And I must say that I was taken
completely by surprise by Adrian's actions. I've never had a boy
break cover this before - at least not to someone of his own age
group - and I thought that had arranged this . . this learning
experience such that a revelation of this type was completely out
of the question for him."

"How so, Ms. Thompson?"

Jane's forehead wrinkled as she concentrated. "First, this was a
group activity involving other teenagers. My experience is that
one of my cross-dressed boys forced to attend such a group
isolates himself as much as possible in order to protect his true
identity. At the staged public scenes my partners and I
orchestrate for my students, such as trips to the beauty salon,
we don't permit that isolation because the entire point is for
the boy to be afraid of discovery. However, Caro, Sandy and
Brenda know the signs of danger in those situations as well as I
do and quickly intervene when necessary to protect my student. In
this specific case, I anticipated that Adrian would simply keep
to himself - hide as well as he could in his feminine personna
and not interact with the other students.

"But it was an acting class," Anne objected. "Doesn't that mean
they had to get close to one another?"

"Actually, it was mime which is highly stylized. That made those
interactions inherently artificial due to the white face makeup
and the nature of art form. I didn't see that it should have
posed a problem for your brother protecting the secret of his
true nature."

"In other words," Jessica put in, "All the kids there were
already acting sort of strange, so Adrienne shouldn't have
appeared all that unusual in their company."

"Just so," Jane continued, but patted her newest big sister's
shoulder in approval. "Secondly, this class was only a short-term
program - just three weeks and six meetings. Insufficient time
for Adrienne to relax and be comfortable that she could pass -
again, factors that should have tended to isolate her from the
group. I expected those factors would have Adrienne very wary,
and constantly on edge to protect the secret of her true gender."

"That's how it's always been with every one of the students I've
worked with here," Darla put in. "What happened this time that it
was different?"

"The unexpected, dear. Two unexpecteds, in fact," Jane sighed and
began to tick her points off with her fingers. "One? Xhinea was a
particularly needy child. She needed - wanted friendship, and for
some reason, sought it from Anne's brother who, and this is the
second surprise, turned out to be unexpectedly sensitive and
responsive to that need. If you'd asked me before the class how
she'd have responded in that situation, I'd have said with 100%
assurance that she'd have run the other way, but to her credit, I
think, she didn't run. Instead, they became close - very close -
in spite of their short acquaintance." Jane shook her head. "One
moment, Adrienne is my usual student - mouse-quiet and afraid to
say boo, lest someone hear a boy's voice from those girlish lips.
The next? Adrian is telling me that Xhinea needs him, that he
cannot abandon his friend and that meant he'd had to tell her the
truth about him."

"He voluntarily told on himself," Darla said, wonder in her
voice. "From what you'd told me in passing, I'd thought he'd
blown the masquerade."

"Well, hasn't HE?" Anne demanded.

Jane nodded. "Yes, he has - for laudable reasons - but his fate
and reputation are no longer only in my hands. What I can do, I
will do, Anne. Adrian has great faith in Xhinea keeping the
secret, but . . " 

"But, indeed," Anne replied. 

"We'll take care of it, Anne," Kendra said behind her.
"Together."

"Together?" Jane demanded, hearing the gentle support in her
child's words and voice.

"Together, Mom," Kendra said, standing to face Jane with a
protective arm about Anne's shoulders and grinning mischievously.
"Anne has agreed to make an honest woman of me. We're getting
married."

"She WHAT?!?" Jane, Marie, Darla and Jessica squealed in perfect
unison. 

Chapter 40: The Sister and Child Reunion

Adrienne was sitting on the cushioned window seat, looking out at
the gardens of Seasons House, when a soft knock brought her mind
back to the present. "Yes? Come in, please."

The door opened to admit Anne. She took a tentative step inside
the girlishly feminine room and shut the door behind her before
she spoke. "Hello, uh, . . "

Her sibling smiled and rose to greet her visitor. "Adrian will
do, sis. Regardless of my appearance, one thing I've learned here
is who and what I am."

There was a quiet assurance there that pleased Anne, so different
from the cock-sure braggadocio that had been her brother's
earlier mein. "Have you?" she asked.

"Better than I did before here."

"I'm glad," Anne said before adding, "You don't seem surprised to
see me."

"Ms. Thompson told me you were coming today. She also told me
that you'd gone after her - threatened her, after I called you."

Anne nodded. "You're my brother," she answered simply. "I thought
you were being abused. I had to protect you."

Adrian returned to the window seat and sat down, unconsciously
smoothing the skirts of the dressy Laura Ashley outfit in the
process. "Thank you," he replied quietly. "I wasn't - being
abused, that is. I just thought I had a way to mess with the
system and did it. I'm sorry about that. I didn't consider the
trouble you could get into because of that. I was being forced to
do things I didn't like and that's all I thought about."

"Well, in the end, some good came of it," Anne said. "I
understand you made a friend, and your school work has improved,
too. Ms. Thompson showed me that paper you wrote about population
control in the People's Republic of China."

"Xhinea's great. That's what finally did it for me, you know,"
Adrian added conversationally.

"It?"

"Made me see how wrong I'd been - how much growing up I had to
do. Being friends with her made me understand what *real*
friendship is all about. None of the guys I ran with . . . before
here, were my friends. They were guys I pretended to like, and be
like, because it felt, well, powerful. That's not friendship."
There was certainty in those words. "I didn't have friends back
then."

The young voice faded away for a moment, and then, "That's not
true, either. I did have one friend."

"Oh?" Anne replied, uncertain in her hope.

"I learned that from Xhinea, too - and Ms. Jane. When Xhinea's
parents abandoned her, she really didn't have any friends - just
a big agency that made sure she was clothed, fed and educated,
but not loved." Suddenly water-bright eyes, the same color as
Anne's own, turned to face the tall blonde. "You were always
there, always my friend - especially since. . .since Mom and Dad
were killed. You could have let the state take me on - you were
barely of age yourself, but you didn't."

"Damn straight I didn't," Anne snorted. "You were my BROTHER! ARE
my brother."

"And you're my sister, but you are also my friend. At least you
were. I hope I haven't messed that up, too."

"Never!" Anne sobbed, and then the two met each other half way in
a fierce hug.

The two stood there for several moments, the tall blond woman and
the short, bleach-blond, cross-dressed boy, sharing a
reaffirmation of family, friendship and love.

When they broke apart, both needed to fix their faces, as happy
tears had demolished their make-up. "Well," Anne said as she
watched Adrian skillfully use various pots, tubes and brushes to
repair the damage done by their emotions, "You won't need to do
that much longer. Jane tells me you're about done here."

"Oh?" Adrian said, looking up from under his mascara brush at his
sister's reflected face. 

"Yes. She said she'd arrange for that female from the beauty shop
to come here tomorrow for what she calls a 'tear-down'.

Adrian went very still for several moments, and then spoke. "Umm,
that's okay, sis, but there's something I need to do first."

~-~

"You're sure you want to do this?" Anne asked for what she was
certain had to be the thousandth time.

"I have to do it, sis. Part of it is that I made a promise - to
Xhinea. More important is that I don't want anything coming
between our friendship - like her having to keep secrets from her
Mom."

Again Anne was struck by the change in her brother's demeanor.
There was definitely something, well, manly about Adrian now.
*And yet, is that more to do with how he's dressed now than
anything else?* she asked herself. *Is it just that I've gotten
so used to being around Barbie in her ultra-femme mode that
anything less that total girly-girl seems masculine to me?*

Certainly some of that was probably the contrast between her
brother's current outfit and the very frou-frou feminine garb
he'd been wearing when she'd observed him in those days 'Before
Barbie'. And yet, the look was not really all that UN-feminine. 

For this errand, and with Jane Thompson's approval and
assistance, Adrian had donned loose jeans, an oversized t-shirt
and tennis shoes. After careful consideration, the teen had put
those blond locks up high on the head, in a bouncy ponytail, much
like one might see on any young woman out for a casual day.
Without any cosmetic enhancement except for the finely shaped and
arched brows, the total picture was rather androgynous - until
Adrian began to move. 

And Anne was still flabbergasted at how . . .gracefully Adrian
moved now. There was none of the foot-dragging, slouch-backed
diffident male in this new sibling of hers. When they'd left
Seasons House earlier, Adrian had walked with fluid grace to the
car, head held high. Perhaps the hips DID swing just a bit, Anne
mused, and the hands were carried above the waist rather than
swinging freely down, but those were subtle things. Things Anne
saw only because she was looking closely at this marvelous
stranger who was her brother. On the other hand, if a casual
observer expected to see a girl, that person would likely
perceive Adrian to be a girl, whereas someone expecting a young
male would see one - albeit a slight and perhaps undersized one.

Anne drew back from her reflections and saw her brother gather
himself. "I'll go with you, if you like," she offered. "I might
be able to help."

For just a moment, Anne thought he'd say yes, but then he shook
his head sharply making the pony tail dance about his shoulders.
"Just wait for me, okay?"

"Okay," she answered, and then bent over to kiss his cheek. "Good
luck, brother."

"Thanks, sis," he replied after kissing her back. Then, he opened
the passenger side door and headed up the walk leading to the
front door.

~-~

"Adrienne!" Dr. Celia Hurst exclaimed in evident pleasure. "What
a nice surprise. Xhinea didn't mention that you were coming to
visit."

"It was a. . . spur of the moment thing," Adrian replied, Dr.
Hurst's greeting having reminded him which voice to use.

"Well, I have her running an errand to the store for me, but she
should be back in a few minutes. Would you like to come in and
wait for her?"

"Well, I was sort of hoping to talk to you a bit, too. . . that
is, if you don't mind?"

The Doctor smiled and stepped aside to let Adrian enter. "Of
course. I've wanted to talk to you, too. Would you like
something? I have Pepsi."

"That would be nice, thank you."

Celia led the way to her kitchen and began to get out glasses and
ice. "Have a seat," she ordered, indicating the kitchen table and
chairs.

The older woman came to the table with two glasses, offering one
to Adrian. "You wanted to talk, but I think I will go first. I
wanted to thank you for being so welcoming to Xhinea. The past
few years haven't been as easy for her as I'd wished. Part of
that is my fault - my job kept me busier than planned, but the
result is that she hasn't made many friends and has been too much
alone."

"It has been mutual, Dr. Hurst. I haven't had many friends either
- none recently, and being with Xhinea haas shown me what
friendship really means. I like her. . . a lot."

"I'm glad," Celia responded and then seemed to look closely her
guest. "You know? Except for your mime costume, I've never seen
you so casually dressed. Dress-down Saturday at Ms. Thompson's
school?"

The blond teen smiled. "I have a make-over scheduled for later
today, so Ms. Jane permitted me to dress this way so nothing
nicer got messed up."

"You know," Celia said with a laugh, "I was a bit worried about
the standard you set, though. You were always so nicely dressed
that I was worried Xhinea might feel . . . inadequate. She's, um,
she's a bit concerned about her figure and sometimes doesn't feel
very feminine."

"WHAT?!?" Adrian yelped, surprise making his voice crack. 

"It's true. But I think seeing you dressed so casually will
actually a good thing. It's clear you don't look down on her
appearance, that you're not, oh, obsessed with looking pretty or
anything."

With a laugh of his own, Adrian reached up and pulled the
ponytail free of the rubber band before gathering the hair up and
restoring it, only lower on the back of his head. "Ms. Jane is
the one obsessed, Dr. Hurst," he replied grinning. "She has this
thing about grooming, dress and deportment. And she has ways of
enforcing that outlook that works really well!"

"Tough, is she?" 

"The toughest," Adrian agreed, beginning to relax. "And I needed
that toughness, that discipline. Ma'am?"

"Please, anything but Ma'am, okay? Ma'am is this dragon of a head
nurse at the hospital where I did my internship. I'm not that old
and crusty yet. If you can't call me Celia, call me Dr. C. It's
what my kid-patients call me."

"Thanks, Ma'am, I mean, Dr. C. This is going to be hard for me,
and if it wasn't for the way I feel about Xhinea, I wouldn't do
it."

"Sounds serous," Celia replied, suddenly alert and focused on her
guest.

"It is," Adrian agreed, staring at the glass held caged by both
his finely manicured hands. "Dr. C? Kids get sent to Ms. Thompson
because they've messed up their lives, and need some discipline
in their lives to help them turn things around."

"That's not the reputation her school has," Celia replied gently.
"Most people think of it as an old fashioned finishing school for
young ladies."

"That's what she wants people to think, and getting the kids to
that point probably helps them with the turnaround. It did in my
case, anyway."

"Why were you sent here, Adrienne?"

"That's the part I would rather not tell you, Ma'am, but I have
to because if you found out on your own it would . . might. . ."
the teen closed his eyes as teeth worried at his lower lip. Celia
watched the blonde take a deep breath and open both eyes to meet
hers directly. "A judge gave me the choice of completing Ms.
Jane's course to her satisfaction, or spending the rest of my
teenaged years in a juvenile detention facility."

Now it was Celia's turn to squawk out, "WHAT??!?"

"After my Mom and Dad were killed, I developed an attitude, got
involved with a rough crowd. Got into trouble by following the
pack. It was stupid, but before I figured that out for myself, we
broke into the school, vandalized some teacher's rooms and got
caught."

Celia was now listening hard, and despite the oddly husky tone
the emotion-ridden teen used, the Doctor heard more than was
said. "And?" she asked, wanting to offer closure.

"I took Jane," was the simple answer. "Or, rather, she took me. I
figured I'd gut it out and be out in a few months. Boy, did I
give her a hard time, but she didn't give up on me - kept pushing
me - until. . ."

"Until?"

"Until I broke through that false armor of invincibility I
pretended I had - and. . . and stopped seeing things the way I
thought I wanted them to be and started seeing reality. You said
you were grateful for me being nice to Xhinea? You're not half as
grateful as I am for what she gave me. I don't know that I'd have
made it without her, and she's told me that she needs me as her
friend. Which is why I'm going to tell you my biggest secret so
that you won't. . .won't be. . oh hell." The teen colored and
looked up with horror-stricken eyes. "Pardon me, ma'am. That
slipped out."

"I've heard it before and it doesn't annoy me nearly as much as
ma'am!"

"Oh, sorry, ma. . .Dr. C. The thing is. . .well, I'm not. . that
is. . "

"Adrienne?" DOCTOR Hurst's voice commanded, "Spit it out!"

"I'm-really-a-boy!" it came out as a single sound. When Dr. Hurst
didn't say anything, Adrian slumped into a defeated slouch and
forced himself to reaffirm what he'd just said, using his real,
'Adrian' voice. "I'm not a girl. I'm a boy."

Celia Hurst stared for several heart-beat-thudding moments, her
eyes wide. When she spoke, her words stunned Adrian. "How did I
EVER think you were a girl?!?" Then her eyes narrowed. "But WHY?"

~-~ 

"So you were small and thin, but overly aggressive?" Celia asked.
"That's why she elected to use this rather unusual method with
you?"

A disgusted look crossed Adrian's face. "She had to bulk me up -
ummm, above and below, to make me look older than ten years old
as a girl, so I was well suited to it." Then the almost-feminine
face grinned. "And it worked just like she said it would. I had
to think before I reacted or the whole world would know I was a
sissy in girly clothes."

"Sounds effective. And I've seen nothing of that aggression. Too
bad the same trick wouldn't work with most delinquents."

"I don't think even Ms. Jane could make some six foot bruiser
look feminine enough to pass muster. I guess that's why she
mostly works with girls. Like my big sister. Jessica told me she
had rage issues before coming to Seasons House and Ms. Jane
helped her the same way as she helped me."

"Well, I won't tell anyone," Celia assured him.

"And it's okay if I keep seeing Xhinea?"

"I don't mind. I think having a boy friend will be good for her,"
she added, and grinned when the boy blushed furiously. "Just
don't fib to me anymore like you did earlier."

"Fib? I didn't! Ms. Jane would have my guts for garters!"

"Oh? What about that make-over, young man?"

Relief flooded Adrian. "Oh, but I am getting one. I'm getting
turned back into a boy. A haircut to start, and then my normal
hair color restored. A more masculine manicure - heck, according
to Ms. Jane, they even have a way of filling out my eyebrows
until my own grow back."

"Sounds like a plan." A door opening and shutting announced the
arrival of Xhinea. "Well, I will leave you two alone to sort out
things between you."

"Dr. C? Xhinea didn't know about me being a boy until yesterday.
I asked her to let me tell you. She wasn't hiding it from you."

"I sort of figured that out, Adrian." Then the doctor bent down
and kissed him on the cheek before greeting her daughter.
"Xhinea? About time you got back, girl. Being a little late is
one thing, but leaving your boy friend at the mercy of your
mother THAT long is almost cruel. And speaking of cruel, I'll go
invite Adrian's sister in for a drink.  The very idea - leaving
the poor girl out there stuck in the car. . ."

With that accusation, Celia left the room, but could still hear
Xhinea's surprised "BOY friend?!?!"

Chapter 41: Decisions, Decisions

"Does he know the truth about your program?" the restored Kenneth
asked Jane as they watched Sandy and Adrian on her office closed
circuit television monitor. The 'tear down' was nearly complete,
and Sandy was now instructing her victim on how to apply the
temporary eyebrows until his own grew back. Ken put a careful
finger to his own brow to smooth out the gummed-on appliance. It
felt good to be himself again. It felt GREAT to be able to
breathe again.

Fascinated, as always, with the process that turned one of her
'girls' back into a young man, Jane did not look away from the
monitor. "That he's not the only boy-student who has passed his
time with me in skirts?" she asked. "No. Usually that's something
the junior student learns when the big sister graduates."

"And Adrian isn't going to be a big sister." It wasn't a
question. 

"No, he isn't," Jane agreed. "First, because I have Jesse, and
second, because of my deal with Barbara Anne."

"I think she agree, if you asked. Now, anyway."

"Perhaps," Jane replied. "In truth, because of Xhinea, I don't
think Adrian needs the experience of being a big sister. Whether
Adrian realizes it or not, he's already proven everything he
needs to prove - to himself - this morning with Celia and
Xhinea."

"And because he believes he's unique, he was able to convince the
good Dr. Hurst that he was, eh?"

"Yes, although. . . " Jane's eyes were speculative. "I think
Celia has. . . potential. I'm going to cultivate a relationship
with her with an eye towards recruiting her. Nora is very good,
but she's not a doctor."

"Well, since I'm going to be Adrian's big brother, and Xhinea's
going to be his girlfriend, I'd say you have an 'in' with her
already. However, that wasn't my point in this conversation."

"You have a point, counselor?" Jane cocked an eyebrow.

"Adrian needs to know the whole story, Mom. For his own self
image."

Jane's eyes went hard. "Explain that, please."

"Mom, it's about being a guy. One of the things that a big
sister's revelation does is show the little sister that she, umm,
he isn't really at that wimpy a character. Others have fallen in
with your nefarious little games - not just his big sister, but
the big sister's big sister, and that one's big sister before
him, ad infinitum."

"You're saying that recognizing the shared experience of being
feminized helps him feel more masculine?" It was something that
Jane had never really thought about consciously before. In her
mind, the revelation had always been a way to help her junior
student 'mark' the transition to senior status, and to reveal her
new role in the household. Now that she thought about it in those
terms, she acknowledged that the concept had some validity.

"Well, I'm not sure that knowing he can look like a pretty girl
makes anyone 'feel more masculine', Mom, but that's not the real
issue. Man or woman, strength of character is important. Someone
who is weak enough to be . . . molded like a lump of clay can
feel he is . . . lacking in ways that have nothing to do with
clothes. Knowing that he's not any weaker than others - lots of
others - helps with that. I guess that, in the end, the fact that
the student's time at Seasons House - the education a student
receives here - it's sort of a shared experience - one that eases
the hit on his self perception."

"A shared experience?" Jane savored the idea, and found that she
liked it.

"Yep. I guess you could say that Graduates of Jane Thompson's
Winsome Girls' School for Wayward Boys are kind of like members
of a fraternity if not a sorority. There's strength in knowing
you're not uniquely flawed in some way, that you're not the only
one who went through your petticoated boot camp. More
importantly, he deserves to know that the ones who made it
through your program have, almost to a man, had happy and
successful lives."

"How would you know, young man?" Jane demanded archly. "You were
in my program barely two days."

"But because of my part in the plan to neutralize Sheila, I spent
several weeks dressed and under your tutelage, not to mention my
visits while a student was in residence. So, I'm an honorary
member, Mom. You know it's true. Your boys rely on each other,
support each other. How many times has one of your students
called his departed big sister for advice or help? How many have
taken on younger graduates and mentored them - often at your
behest? Adrian needs to know that he can do that, too, and to do
that, he needs to know he'll be talking to Jesse, not Jessica."

"I know, dear. And just as importantly, he's going to be close
family now, and will need to know what goes on around here in
some detail so that he doesn't give away the game inadvertently."

"Hah!" Kenneth snorted. "Frankly, I think he's to the point where
that happening would be very unlikely. He's one of yours, now,
Mom. I think the real issue is how to let him in on the secret."

"Granted, and if you're correct about the self image issue, you
might not be the best one to tell him about it." 

"Why not me?"

"I said, 'might not', dear. What I meant is that while it's
possible he might have a Kendrian growth spurt - his family has
the genes for it, obviously - right now, he is, as you say, not
very imposing physically as a male. You will, of course,
eventually introduce him to Kendra, but I think someone else
should tell him the truth about the program first."

"What do you mean? Introduce him to Kendra?"

"Well, part of Adrian's problem is that he's so small - short and
slender. Kendra isn't, but she is as feminine as you are
masculine. I don't think Adrian will miss that dichotomy because
he notices stature in others. Physically, Adrian is more like
Jessica as Jesse, or Darla as Darryl. Very much like Darryl when
you come down to it . . .," Jane's voice trailed away
speculatively. "I have an idea, dear, but we should discuss it
with Darryl, first."

"Ummm. .. Okay, . . .I guess. When does. . .should he, um, meet
Kendra?" asked Kenneth cautiously. 

"When you think the time is right, dear. After all, I don't think
Kendra will be gone so long this time, will she?"

"No," was the quietly assured answer. "Anne enjoyed her time with
me in that role - more than she believed she could. She'd miss my
feminine alter ego."

"And you, dear?"

"So would I. Actually, one thing I learned during this adventure
is just how much I've missed her - Kendra, that is - and the fun
of being her."

Jane went very still at that. Then, she turned piercingly blue
eyes on her son. "Kenneth? The first reasons? Those are
acceptable, but if you're seeing Kendra as a crutch? The identity
you don so you can have some fun in your life? I'll want you to
have a talk with Art."

"Mom. . ."

"I'm serious, love," Jane moved over stand before the seated
Kenneth. Her face serious, she took his face in her hands and
looked into his eyes. "The masquerade ISN'T meant to be an
alternative to real life. It isn't an escape. It's a means to an
end, first and foremost. Sometimes, it can be fun, but don't ever
compartmentalize yourself. Kenneth is allowed to have fun, too,
dear."

"I think I figured that out, Mom - I said I missed the fun. I let
myself work too hard in the past few years. I think it would have
been a grind had I been Ken or Kendra, but the past few days with
Anne? That was fun, and maybe the Barbie thing opened me up to
it, but it was Anne that was really the center of it all."

"I'm going to talk to her," Jane warned him. "It's a Mother's
right to counsel her daughter-in-law."

"Ganging up on me already?"

"Only in your best interests, dear," Jane said with a perfectly
straight face.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Mom. So, how and when are we
going to tell Adrian the facts of life at Seasons House?"

"Trying to change the subject, are we?" Jane smiled sardonically
at her son's unsuccessful ploy, but then softened. "Oh, very well
- I'll permit you to get away with it THIIS time, anyway. Let's
see if we can find your brother and get his take on my idea. As
you said, Darla truly does understand the feelings of the boys
better than anyone else."

~-~  

"Oh, this is going to be such great fun," Marie gushed as she
pressed an armful of fashion and wedding magazines into a wide-
eyed Anne's arms. "I simply love planning weddings, and you're
going to be the most gorgeous bride."

When Sandy had taken Adrian off to Adrienne's room for the tear
down, the motherly little brunette had hauled Anne off to her
third floor apartment with a promise of a 'lovely surprise'. Now
that her intent was clear, Anne most definitely was surprised.

"Fun? You've got to be kidding? Kenneth told me we're going to
have a big, formal wedding."

"Well, of course," Marie responded, "Of course you will."

"I asked him to fly us to Vegas," Anne muttered.

"Hah! We brought that boy up better than that. A girl's wedding
should be special, memorable - especially when she knows it's the
only one she's going to get."

"The only one?"

Marie snorted. "Can you imagine that boy, with his focus, doing
anything to make you want another?"

"He'll smother me with love first," Anne grumbled.

"Oui. L'amour, l'amour. C'est merveilleux, eh?"

Anne gave the little French Canadian housekeeper a thoroughly
disgusted look, before giggling. "Okay, it is, and I would make
his life hell if he didn't."

"Bien sur! Good for you. Jane's boys tend to grow up somewhat
strong willed, so they need similarly strong women to keep them
in line. My Kenneth particularly so."

"Will . . .will Adrian be like that - strong willed, I mean - you
think?"

Marie heard the uncertainty in the girl's voice and took back the
magazines. "Asseyez-vous, ma fille." When Anne did not
immediately respond, Marie gave her a gentle push and ordered,
"Sit down, girl."

She sat down across the anxious young woman and took her hands in
hers. "I would say, Anne, that Adrian has already well proved
himself that way just this morning. I have been with Jane nigh on
to twenty years, and have participated in the rehabilitation of
nearly one hundred boys. Not one of them did what your young
brother did this day. And why did he do this thing? Why did he
put himself so at risk? Because he'd made a promise and because
it was important to someone else. That shows determination, and a
good heart. You should be proud of him, cherie."

"I am, but . . . well, I still worry about him, about his future,
about his . . . social life. He's really special, but he's still
pretty . . . . small - not what society would call 'very manly'." 

"Many of Jane's boys are on the small side, dear. Don't worry
so."

"You're sure?"

"You spent time in New Haven with Judith, did you not? Surely she
bragged to you about her nephew, and his, ah, reputation with the
ladies?"

"Well, yes, she did, but Adrian. . "

Marie interrupted her with a laugh, and leaned just a bit closer
to Anne as though sharing a secret. "I don't suppose Judith told
you Georgia's . . . oh, I suppose I *should* call him by his boy
name. Anyway, Judith didn't happen to mention to you what
'Guillermo's' nickname was in high school, did she?" 

Anne shook her head and Marie continued, her dark eyes twinkling
merrily. "The other teens - this may have been part of Georgia's
problem - were very cruel since sh . . um, he was . . . not in
very good shape - physically, that is. They called him 'Snowball'
since he was round, small, and had a snowball's chance in, um,
well, you know - of ever getting a date. Believe me, Adrian's
'manliness' is more than adequate for his future, ah, social
activities."

Anne sighed, wanting to be convinced, but her sisterly worry
still showed through.
 
"Anne, think!" the dark-haired Frenchwoman ordered sharply,
causing Anne's head to snap up in surprise. Marie grinned at the
success of her ploy. "Does not our Adrian already have la jolie
juene fille from class as his girl friend?" Anne nodded slowly,
and Marie's grin broadened. "Then, I think he will be fine. Does
he know about you and Kenneth?"

"That we're getting married? Yes, I told him on the way home from
Dr. Hurst's house. Kenneth is going to speak with him after his,
what does Jane call it? His breakdown?"

"Tear down, cherie."

"Okay. Anyway, they're going for a walk and talk after Adrian
looks like a boy again. I hope it goes well."

"Trust our Kenneth, dear. That boy has a gift for convincing
argument."

Chapter 42: Revelations

Adrian Braithwaite was, much to his own amusement, rather
uncomfortable at that particular moment. The cotton jockey shorts
he'd all but lusted for, over the course of the past few months,
were chafing skin more used to the slick feel of satin. Legs that
had gotten used to being bare, save for nylon and silk, felt
positively weighted down by the blue jeans Marie had given him.
Not to mention the odd hitch wearing flat-heeled sneakers put in
his gait.

And his hair was missing! His head felt so. .so light! Taken as a
whole, he felt nearly as strange now as he had those first
hellish days here at Seasons House.

It had been quite a day, so far, with many surprises - Dr.
Hurst's response to his - that is, Adrienne's - secret, the tear
down by a much more pleasant-to-know Sandy, and Ms. Thompson all
but ordering him to call her 'Aunt Jane'. Wasn't THAT a shock?
And she'd actually SMILED when she said it - not one of her 'I've
got you right where I want you' smiles, either. One that actually
looked, well, nice.

Of course, the biggest surprise was Barbie. . .Anne announcing
she was getting married, and meeting that Ken-guy. Again,
Actually, Adrian admitted to himself - it wasn't really the first
time he'd met the guy - the first time had been when he was
Adrienne. With any luck, the new Adrian would be so different
from the nasty little witch that Kenneth had met before that his
sister's intended would not make the connection between them.
Lord above, the guy might decide Anne wasn't such a bargain,
after all, not with a snot like that coming as part of the deal.
And Annie had assured him she still loved him.

Just one more surprise, the boy thought as he made his way down
toward the stables. He certainly had gone out of his way to make
himself as unlovable as possible. He was really glad he'd failed
at that, at least.

~-~

Adrian was just walking out of the stable, having fed apples to
Teddi and Garters - he'd miss those two when he and Annie went
back to Indianapolis, or rather, to Providence to live with her
new husband - when a some guy came running up the lane towards
the stable.

Besides Kenneth, this was the first non-female he'd seen at
Seasons House. For a while, Adrian had wondered if there was some
kind of curse on the place - any male coming through the gates
was turned into a girl. 

He was, well. . . the only word for it was short - with blond
hair somewhat on the long side slicked back from his face and
held by a sweatband. For a moment, Adrian thought he was just a
kid - a teen about his own age, but discarded that notion as the
runner came closer. There was just something about him that said
'mature'. Adrian continued to observe the newcomer, and noted
that he ran with a fluid grace that Adrian envied, for running
had never been something at which he'd excelled. He ran in
through the fence gate and slowed to a walk, moving about the
mounting area, breathing deeply. "Hi there," the young man called
as he finished his cool-out. "Want to toss me that towel behind
you?"

Adrian looked behind him and sure enough, found a white towel
hanging from the doorlatch. He picked it up and handed it over.
"I'm Adrian Braithwaite."

"Darryl," the runner answered, still breathing deeply. 

"You run far?" 

"Only five miles, but don't noise that about. My wife can't run
right now, and she'd be mightily annoyed if she thought I was
slacking off just because she's not allowed to train for the next
few months."

"Train? Is she some sort of athlete? And if it's not prying, why
can't she train now?" 

The blond fellow preened a bit, and grinned. "She's a world-class
athlete. She may be the first woman to compete head-to-head with
men in the pentathlon. But right now, she's quite thoroughly
pregnant."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

Adrian found himself having to think about not staring at this
Darryl person. There was something familiar about him. Something
about the way he carried his head, or the way he moved -
definitely familiar and yet, Adrian was equally sure that he'd
never met this guy before.

"You know," Darryl said, a funny, higher tone in his voice, "if
one is going to move about the horse stalls, one should REALLY
learn to watch where one steps. That . . . matter on your shoe is
simply disgusting." The sniff that accompanied that statement had
little to do with absorbing the . . . aroma that filled the air.
It was a gesture of disdain that Adrian had seen before, from . .
. . 

Adrian felt his mouth drop open in recognition. It COULDN'T be!

Could it?

A familiar smirking smile twisted the mouth of the suddenly
almost-feminine face, and Adrian knew. "Ms. SMITH?!?!" he yelped.

"Took you long enough to figure it out, kid," Ms. Darla Smith's
caustic tones said, just before Darryl's laugh broke through.
"Welcome to the family, Adrian."

"I . . I don't understand. You? I mean, you too?"

Darryl smiled and put a companionable if somewhat sweaty arm
about Adrian's shoulder. "C'mon upstairs with me, and I'll tell
you the whole story while I get cleaned up."

"O. . . okay. . "

"But remember to wipe your filthy shoes!" Ms. Smith snapped.

"Yes, Ma'am!" Adrienne's voice answered instantly.

~-~

"It went well, mon brave?" Marie asked as she poured the herbal
tea she'd substituted for Jane's preferred Darjeelung. After all,
La Belle Audrey was en ciente, and caffeine was not good for
l'enfante.

"Mostly - although I wish I'd had a camera the moment he figured
out who I am. . . was, that is."

Jane looked up from suspiciously eyeing the flowery-scented tea.
"Mostly? Are there still issues?"

Darryl sighed and cuddled closer to Audrey, happy that this
conversation was taking place in Jane's worn but comfortably
furnished private apartment. His pregnant lady didn't need to be
seated on those torture devices masquerading as chairs in the
main rooms of Seasons House. Not that she was REALLY so delicate.
Heck, she'd clout him one for even hinting that she might be.
Still, he WAS an expectant father and pampering the Mother of his
child was his right and privilege. Besides, what Audrey didn't
know wouldn't hurt him. 

"Even with me as an example, and showing him the picture of this
beauty here, he's not convinced that there's any hope for him.
Size and sexual identity are still too tightly tied together in
his mind."  

"But that cute little Xhinea is his girl friend. . ." Marie
argued.

"Adrian's not so sure of that yet. She's told him she is - her
MOM's told him she is, but he's still holding back."

"He's been disappointed before," Jane murmured. "We put such a
burden on young people, telling them they have to be perfect and
beautiful to be happy. Now what do we do?"

"Well, I did have a thought on that, but it would take, shall we
say, more talent for strategic and tactical misdirection than I
possess," Darryl said with exaggerated self-deprecation.

"And just was does that mean, smartie?" Jane demanded while
fighting a smile.

"What my little hubbie is trying to intimate, and what he will
pay for later when I get him home, is that he doesn't have your
ability to turn people and events to your will," Audrey put in,
after digging an elbow into Darryl's ribs.

"Ah, my favorite role, eh? So, who do I maneuver this time,
Darryl?"

"Well, it's kind of complicated," he warned.

"So what else is new? I haven't had an uncomplicated student
since before Michael."

"Okay, here's the basic idea. . "

Chapter 43: Queen's Gambit - The Thompson Variation

Standing patiently in the music room, Jane held the dial-tone-
buzzing phone to her ear, ready for the next act of Darryl's
little play. She didn't have long to wait for at that moment,
Adrian and Barbara Anne arrived in response to her summons.
*Showtime, m'girl,* she thought. "Well, I'm sorry for that, dear,
but it sounds like there's nothing else you can do." she paused,
and gave every indication of attentive listening before replying.
"I know - we'll be sad you couldn't come, too. Yes, yes, love
you, too, dear. Call when you can, or if there's anything we can
do for you here."

With a sad little sigh, Jane placed the phone back in its cradle
before looking up to acknowledge her visitors. "Ah, Anne and
Adrian - thank you for coming."

"What's wrong, Miss Thompson?"

Jane winced slightly at that, her first real reaction of the past
few moments. "Anne, dear, if you're going to be part of the
family, I think we'll have to do better than that."
 
"Call her 'Aunt Jane', sis," Adrian ordered with just a touch of
bossy little brother in his tone, "Or no one will know who you're
talking to."

"'To whom you're speaking', Adrian," the school mistress
automatically corrected, then added, "You know better than that." 

Anne, focused on what Adrian had just said, looked at Jane.
"Would that be, um, okay with you, um, 'Aunt Jane'?"

"Yes, dear. I would like that very much."

"Thank you. So would I."

"So, what were you unhappy about, Aunt Jane?" Adrian repeated
Anne's question.

*So like a man,* Jane thought amused. *No beating around the bush
when there's a question to be answered. All that time in skirts
and he still lacks subtlety. "Oh, nothing that really concerns
you. It's just that one of the hostesses at Michelle's wedding
isn't going to be able to make it." 

"Michelle's wedding?" the tall blonde girl repeated in confusion.

"One of my former students is getting married. H . . um, she has
a rather . . . restricted circle of friends, and one of them has
had to cancel out. Family issues." 

"I'll be glad to help, if I can."

Somehow, Jane managed to look just a little embarrassed as she
demurred. "Thank you, Anne, but the, ah, conditions for the
wedding are a little unusual." 

Anne had to gawk at that "'Unusual'?" she repeated. "Around this
place? The mind boggles."

"Well, not *that* unusual," the older woman laughed. "It's just .
. . . well, Michelle has already married _his_ wife - as Michael.
This ceremony will be an affirmation that his Janice truly loves
*all* of Michael. At her request, everyone else in attendance
will be, ah, affirming that as well. 

Anne looked more confused, but then the teenager burst into
laughter. "Meaning everyone will be dressed as girls, right?"

"Not *every* one, pardner," Jane replied in her best 'John Wayne'
imitation. 

"Oh my!"

"Just so."

Brow furrowed, Adrian looked up at the two taller women. "So,
what does a, um, 'hostess' do at one of these things?"

"Angela was going to serve at the groom's table, though in this
case, of course, that would be Janice's . . . wait. Were you
volunteering to take her place?"

"Why not? It could be fun. I can't wait to see you in, um,
guy-drag."

"Young man," Jane intoned loftily, "I'll have you know that I
make a quite presentable 'father of the bride'." 

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure you do. But . . . I still can't wait to see
you do it."

A familiar smile crossed Jane's face, and Adrian barely managed
not to swallow hard. "Hmmm," she mused, "just how much do you . .
. desire to participate? We still need a flower girl, too. You
look just darling in Shirley Temple curls."

Barbara Anne snickered and said, "Now *that* is something I'd pay
to see!"

Adrian managed a demure response, the perfect tones of a little
girl politely telling her parent, 'no.' "Thank you, no, ma'am. My
Shirley Temple curls and Raggedy Anne look left with Sandy."

"Oh, bother - and you'd have been so cute, too."

"True, all too true," was the smug reply, "but not in the cards,
I'm afraid. Hostess or nothing, take your pick, Aunt Jane."

"I can't believe you'd want to do that, Adrian," Anne put in.

"I don't think it will, um, corrupt me, sis. I mean . . " 

"No, that's not what I meant. It's just that after all you've
been through here, and now you're offering to go back?"

Jane was pleased to see Adrian consider his response to that.
Anne was obviously still somewhat concerned about how her
brother's time at Seasons House would affect his future outlook. 

"Look, sis. The clothes I wear don't define me. Thanks to Aunt
Jane, I know who I am now, and I'm comfortable with that. Can't
you be, too?"

"Of course," she said softly. There was a pause as Anne simply
looked at her brother, a warmth in her eyes that greatly pleased
Jane Thompson. "Oh, Adrian, I wish I could tell you how proud I
am of you."

Adrian laughed, but there was pride in his smile as well.
"Because I'll wear girl clothes and serve cake at a, um,
'affirmation' ceremony?" 

"You know what I mean, you . . . brat."

"Children, please. Very well, ah, Adrienne. I accept your offer,
and thank you." Then, Jane turned to face Anne. "I'm afraid,
Anne, that will leave you . . . at liberty for a rather long
while. I'm sorry."

"Is, um, Kendra going to be there?" Anne asked carefully.

"She wasn't going to be, but thanks to her time with you at
Ruth's, she's regained her confidence. Yes, she'll be there,
too.". 

"Who's Kendra?" Adrian put in, catching the undercurrent between
the two women.

Jane became serious as she recalled that Adrian and Kendra had
not yet been introduced - properly or otherwise. Deciding that
the question had to be answered, she replied, "You have met
Darryl, Adrian, and thus know about Darla?" At the boy's nod,
Jane continued. "Kenneth came to me under what I thought to be
similar circumstances requiring similar treatment.  Kendra is
Kenneth's girl-name from his time in my program."

Adrian's eyes went wide. "Oh, my - Xena Warrior Princess
Material," he breathed in obvious awe.

"Not quite, but more on that later," Jane told the boy. "So,
Anne, I hope you don't mind Adrian participating? We'll save you
some cake and such."

A mischievous grin lit up the lovely young woman's face. "Oh, I
have no problem with Adrienne going to the wedding, but I don't
think I want to stay at home. No, I think you need to call your
experts in so that we can all meet, um, Bartholomew Andre.
Perhaps your party needs, what is it men do at weddings?"

Hugely pleased by the idea, Jane grinned. "Hide, usually."

"No. . no. . .oh, I know, they usher. Need another usher, Aunt
Jane?"

"Oh, I think we can find use for one, but are you sure?"

"Oh, absolutely," Anne's voice rang with determination. "But you
have to make me a promise. Both of you?"

"Yes?" the other two said, almost in unison.

"Don't breathe a *word* of this to Kenneth."

Jane's eyes danced in merriment as she anticipated Kenneth's
reaction to the unexpected appearance of 'Kendra's boyfriend' at
Michelle and Janice's wedding. "Oh my!" Jane breathed. "No,
indeed, we shall NOT!"

~-~

"You've gotten awfully quiet, little brother," Anne observed
after Jane had left them alone in the music room.

The smile that answered her was bemused. "You know? You'd think
I'd have learned to see that coming, wouldn't you?"

Now it was Anne's turn to look confused. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't - you've only had a passing acquaintance
with Aunt Jane. Me? I've been here for months now, and I should
have at least made it harder for her. I mean, I'm mere hours out
of skirts and pettis, and bang - here I go again." The teen
laughed gently and shook his head. "She *always* does that -
makes it seem like you're choosing freely to do the only
reasonable thing, yet it turns out to be just exactly what she
wanted you to do all along. I wish I knew how she did that." 

Anne spoke very carefully, trying to offer an opening rather than
an accusation. "Maybe, um, it wasn't that . . . difficult?"

Adrian laughed. "Look, sis, you don't need to dance around the
fact I've learned some, um, unusual skills while I've been here,
and learned them well. But you also don't need to worry. I
haven't been turned into some kinky freak. At least," and here
Adrian looked his tall sister up and down with grinning
appraisal, "at least no more so than, say, my dear old brother
Bart!"

"Oh my God," Anne gasped, then joined her brother's laugh. "She
did it to me, too, didn't she?"

"Yep," Adrian said. "I'm not the one who's gonna get stuffed into
a monkey suit and play usher. Goodness, I may have gotten the
better deal. I hate wearing neckties - and those tuxes will
probably require starched collars."

"Oh my."

"As our dear Aunt Jane Thompson would say, Anne - Just so."

Chapter 44: 'They're Gettin' Married in the Mornin'. . Ding Dong' 

"Tante Marieeeee," the last syllable was a squeak, "It's too
tight!"

"Non, non, non, it is perfect! Tres parfait! Now, stop this
whining, while I tie off the last lace - There! Tres bien! Now,
la piece de resistance," she smiled as she reached for the dress
bag she'd earlier hung from the hook in the armoire. "Close your
eyes, cherie."

Adrian, or rather, almost-Adrienne, pouted mutinously, even as
she tried to remember the trick of breathing after one of Marie's
infamous corsetings. However, Marie refused to so much as touch
the garment bag zipper until her subject closed her eyes, which
Adrienne finally did, if with a very put-upon sigh to indicate
her disfavor.

"Raise your arms above your head, cherie," Marie ordered.

~-~

"Tante Marieeeee," the last syllable was a squeak, "It's too
tight!"

"Non, non, non, it is perfect! Tres parfait! Now, stop this
whining, while I adjust the bow - There! Tres bien!"

"I . . . can't. . . breathe. . " Anne gasped as she tried to work
a finger in between the heavily starched old-style shirt-collar
and her throat.

"Oh, pooh, and call me 'Marcel', Bartholomew. At least while I am
dressed like this." The pair both wore black slacks, socks and
shoes, white ruffled shirts that fastened, insofar as Anne was
concerned, up the wrong side with metal studs instead of buttons,
red silk cummerbunds and suspenders which Marie. . .MarCEL had
called braces.

"It is SO too tight! Why can't we just use the clip-on kind and
pretend we didn't."

The little housekeeper actually looked horrified. "In THIS house?
Mais NON! Never! Why, that would be like permitting the students
to wear pantihose. Now, be quiet. I swear, you complain more than
la jolie Adrienne when I laced her into her corset," Marcel
added, just a bit mendaciously. "Now, the jacket, eh?" 

~-~

Anne, and then she corrected herself - better start thinking of
herself as Bartholomew - was standing just off the foyer awaiting
the first guests to arrive. Ushering, she thought, sounded easy
enough in the abstract, but wondered what could go wrong. She
turned toward the stairs when the sound of heels on the ceramic
tiles caught her attention.

A brunette vision in a very tight red silk dress approached her,
a wide smile on lips dyed to match her gown. Her first reaction
was that the gold-embroidered sheath, which covered the girl from
just under her chin to just above her sandaled toes would be an
absolute bitch to wear. How did the girl breathe without
splitting a seam? 

Then, something about the finely shaped eyes clicked in her mind.
"My god! Adri. .. enne?"

Adrienne bobbed a quick curtsy, as deeply as the deadly heels and
her inflexible waist would permit, and replied "An. . . dy?"

"Bart," the tall tuxedo-clad blonde corrected before giving her.
. his sibling a thorough 'once-over'. "Wow, Adrienne, that is
some outfit, and I love the hair."

Grinning mischievously, the teen ran her fingers slowly through
the silken waterfall of straight black hair before adding a
dramatically exaggerated pirouette to give her sibling the full
benefit of Marie's artistry. 

"What is that?" Bart asked indicating the autumn maple-hued silk
dress. "How do you MOVE in something that. . .well, that tight?"

A shapely calf, swathed in what could only have been a for-real
silk stocking, teasingly peaked out through a knee-high split on
the side of the dress. "It's a cheongsam," Adrienne said, "And
these side splits help - a little, anyway."

"Well, You look like the heroine from one of those English-dubbed
Kung Fu movies you're always watching. I almost expect you to do
a backflip screaming 'hi-yah' or something."

"Not in these heels!" was the disgusted retort. "My feet are
already KILLING me."

Bartholomew was prevented from complaining about the necktie when
a mustachioed figure, also in a tuxedo, hurried up to them.

"Adrienne, let me look at you!" Jane Thompson's voice ordered.
"Yes, you'll do. Look, I have a mission for you - for both of
you, actually."

"Yes, Aunt Jane?" the red-garbed teen asked.

"Uncle Ian, just this moment, dear. The problem is that the
blasted caterer tried to foist inferior champagne off on us. We
rejected it, of course."

"Oh, of course," Adrienne agreed, grinning at her sibling.

"Just so," 'Ian' retorted, scowling at her former pupil. "They
were supposed to be here two hours ago with the proper vintage,
but they had trouble acquiring sufficient quantities. They're on
their way now. The problem is that . . .everyone is ready for the
wedding. Normally, Marie would handle this, but she's Marcel now,
and well. . . "

"Marcel doesn't look anymore like a guy than this tall, skinny
string-bean, right?"

Bartholomew yelped, but subsided at 'Ian's' nod. "She'd have to
change back which means she'd miss the ceremony. I have other
former students here who are still passable enough en femme to
pull off meeting the caterers at the back door, but they're
supposed to be in the wedding ceremony."

"You want me to meet the caterers and take delivery of the wine,
Aun. . Uncle Ian?"

A look of relief and then gratitude flashed in 'Ian's' dark eyes.
"And then . . Bart, here, could help you get the wine to the
reception area set up in the rose garden. The buckets are already
there since those fools had the other champagne set up before I
caught them at their little game of switch."

"No problem," the two Braithwaites assured their host.

"Just make sure Bart stays out of sight while they're here," Ian
ordered. "As Adrienne pointed out, dear, you do not look in the
least masculine."

"And you do?" Bartholomew asked archly.

"Point taken. True femininity will always show through, eh,
Adrienne?"

"Aunt JANE!" the teen squawked, indignantly stamping a spike-
heeled foot.

~-~

To the tall blonde's amazement, things actually went fairly
smoothly with the caterers. Bart had spent the waiting time
imagining all sorts of disasters that could befall the cross-
dressed pair in the presence of . . .what? Normals? No, that
wasn't the right description - she'd already concluded that there
was nothing abnormal about the goings on at Seasons House. Non-
believers? Closer, she decided.

What surprised the older Braithwaite the most was how easily and
effectively her. . his. . brother/sister dealt with the erring
tradesman. "It's like watching a miniature version of Jane
Thompson," she murmured, looking on from her hidey-hole, "Even in
those killer spikes, that caterer has five inches and fifty
pounds on Adrienne, and yet, he's almost cowering. Heavens, she
didn't even raise her voice."

Part of that had to be reaction to a very pretty girl being
confidently authoritative - something else to thank Jane Thompson
for. If anything, Adrienne was better looking now, than when
she'd been fully inculcated in the Seasons House program. Maybe
it was the coiffure - it was much nearer her natural color than
that bleached platinum blond color, although it was certainly
longer and straighter than Adrian had ever worn his hair.

Then again, that cheongsam was something else, too. A point that
Bart mentioned later, when they were hurriedly stuffing green
glass bottles into ice-filled silver wine buckets. "That is
really some dress, sis," Bart said, envy patently evident in
every syllable.

"Wanna share clothes, Bart?" Adrienne asked impishly.

Bart gave a sigh of regret. "Not much point, Twiggy. It takes
slim hips to wear that style, and mine, well . . ."

Adrienne snickered. "Well gee, *Bart* why would you *want* to
wear a dress? Big, tall, manly fellow that you are." And then
just barely avoided the handful of crushed ice lobbed in her
general direction.

"No! STOP!" Bart ordered, even as Adrienne reached into a nearby
ice bucket for retaliatory ammunition. "Aunt Jane would have
kittens if we messed up her party. I yield!"

"Wimp," the brunette sniffed, and then began giggling. "But
you're right, and I have no desire to spend the next six months
as Raggedy Annie or Little Lady Fauntleroy. But tell me, sis,
where did YOU learn to react like that??!?"

"From Ken. . .dra," Bart replied, casting a longing look in the
direction of the wedding ceremony.

Adrienne followed her sibling's direction and saw the object of
her attention. "That tall, stacked brunette who can't seem to pay
attention to the ceremony for wanting to look at you?"

"Yes."

"I like him. . .her," Adrienne said carefully.

"I'm glad." 

They worked together in companionable silence, quickly finishing
their assigned task. So they had time on their hands before the
ravening hordes descended on them. "Have you thought about what
happens next?" Bart asked Adrienne. "I mean, after you leave Aunt
Jane's? 

"Well, you're still my guardian - for which I am very grateful -
what do you think I should do?" 

"Finish school, obviously. Precisely where you do that is
something we need to think about, but you're pretty well grown
up, now, br.., um, sibling of mine. I expect whatever you decide
will show a lot of wisdom. I just hope we can help. 

A proud smile flashed across the little brunette's face at her
brother/sister's praise. Then she realized that 'we' didn't mean
quite what it had always meant in the past. "We? As in, you and
Ken?

Blushing, Bart nodded. "You know you'll always be my *favorite*
brother. I love Ken . . dra, but that doesn't mean I don't love
you, too. He does live in this area, though. Whither he goest, I
will go, and all that, you know? That's what I meant about
'where'. If you want to go back to Indianapolis to finish school,
we will find a way, but it might take some doing." 

"I know, sis," and it was somehow Adrian who said that. "And I'm
happy for you. Frankly, it wouldn't bother me a bit to spend more
time around the part of the country anyway." 

"Oh, you've suddenly decided you like wearing those ankle-
tangling heels? 

"Not hardly!" was the nearly guffawed response. "But, well,
there's this girl . . . "

"Ahh, um, Just so. Uh, oh, here comes the herd, rice at the
ready. Be careful where you stand, kid. Getting those hard little
grains down your dress is a bitch!"

Chapter 45: Reflections on a Wedding

A pair of revelers strolled hand-in-hand amidst the moonlight-
soft shadows of Jane's garden. "So," the tall brunette asked the
tuxedoed blonde at her side. "What did you think of the
affirmation?"

"I don't think we'll need one," 'Bartholomew' replied, leaning
her head against her love's shoulder. "It was nice, and fun, but
one full blown wedding will be more than enough for me, thank you
very much."

"Marie will be devastated. She loves parties."

"Sorry. I also decided that I never want to wear one of these,
well, Adrian calls them 'monkey suits', again. And I really,
really *hate* this bloody tie!"

"Oh, sorry," Kendra turned and reached for the thick velvet bow.
"Let me undo it for you."

To Kendra's surprise, Anne caught the hand. "Not yet," she said
firmly. "I have something to do, and I should be, umm, properly
improperly attired for that."

"Huh?" Kendra questioned, as Anne, taking Kendra's left hand in
hers, went down on one knee before her beloved.

~-~

"Well, Jane," Marie said as she loosened the black velvet bow tie
about her throat, "That was great fun, and everything went off
without a hitch."

"Yes, thanks to Adrienne and, ah, Bart. But I don't think we'll
be using those caterers again.

"Oh, I know," Marie's face fell, just a little, at the reminder.
"I'm so sorry about that."

"Don't be," Jane ordered as she carefully peeled away the false
mustache from her upper lip. "Ouch! Anyway. No battle plan ever
survives first contact with the enemy. The sign of real genius is
the ability to overcome those little . . obstacles, and once
again we managed. Your plan was a good one - just as I knew it
would be." 

That made Marie blush. "Well, Michelle and Janos are off for
their honeymoon."

"Do you think that was the REAL purpose of this whole ceremony,
Marie? So that pair could have a second honeymoon?"

Marie giggled at that. "I wouldn't put it past that scamp, or his
sneaky little helpmate, but if you are serious, then no, I don't
think so. That pair? They will still be on their honeymoon on
their seventy-fifth wedding anniversary. Janice won't tolerate
anything less."

"True, very true," Jane sighed, very pleased with the
observation.
 
"It was lovely seeing our girls again," Marie sighed happily, "As
girls again, that is."

"Yes, Beth made a beautiful Maid of Honor, didn't she?"

"All of them were tres jolie, Jane, and the girls were very
handsome, eh?" Another giggle bubbled up. "Lord, did you catch
Adrienne's face when she first caught sight of our Kendra?"

"Indeed I did. I think we have reason to hope that stratagem will
work, but I suspect, dear, that wasn't the biggest surprise of
the evening."

The little housekeeper grinned at her long time friend,
resplendent in her own tuxedo. "Kendra?" 

"Yes, indeed. I rather think 'Bart' put my little gift to
excellent use after the reception."

~-~

As soon as the bedroom door closed behind her, the pleasantly
fatigued teen took as deep a breath as her stiff, unyielding
foundation garments would allow. Holding that precious bit of air
in tightly compressed lungs, the silk-clad figure strained to
bend over against the resistance of her corset. With one last
surge, her manicured nails were able to flick open the catches
that held the ice-pick heels on her silk-shod and sore feet. 

That task done, the soft caress of the rich deep pile carpet on
near cramped toes elicited a groan of pleasure as the youngster
moved to the vanity. The bed looked SO inviting, but lessons hard
learned over the past months came first. Sighing, she reached out
for the first of many cotton balls - and found nothing.

Adrienne's eyes snapped wide open and immediately realized the
problem - things weren't where they belonged because Adrian had
not had time to rearrange everything, when Tante Marie had
bustled in earlier. Nor had Adrienne had time to see to things
because by the time the 'temporary' transformation had been
completed, it had been time to go down to the wedding.

It was then that she looked in the mirror and caught her breath
in surprise. "Not used to seeing a brunette stare back at me from
that mirror," she mused. Then she realized that she looked, well,
sort of familiar, but it wasn't like a brunette Adrienne - not
quite. "Something. . .something about the eyes," she told
herself, "And the mouth. . . ."

Then it hit her - "MY GOD, I look like Xhinea!" Marie had done
something. . .some THINGS to her to make her brows finer, and to
make her eyes nearly Oriental in shape. The lipliner bowed her
mouth, making it seem both smaller and somehow fuller. Even the
foundation was part of it, imparting an almost golden tone to her
skin.

Slowly, the teen stood and went over to the three-sided floor-to-
ceiling mirrors that had been so much a part of her life at
Seasons House and gave herself a good look, finally pirouetting
to take in the full effect of the classic Chinese silk brocade
garment. "Well, that explains the cheongsam," she said, now
amused. "Lord, but what would Xhi look like in this thing?" she
asked, and then answered. "Dumb question, Braithwaite. I think
it's fair to say that Aunt Jane and Tante Marie have already
answered that one for you. The question is why."

A yawn reminded the teen just how tired she was at that moment,
and she returned to the vanity where she pulled off the below
shoulder-length wig, setting it on the stand, and removed the
clip-on earrings - an act that brought blood rushing back to
starved tissue and nearly made her eyes cross. Another yawn had
her reaching for the cotton and cold cream.

The last touches of color had barely been transferred from face
to cotton when a knock sounded on the door. "Yes?" she called,
only afterwards realizing it had been Adrienne's lighter tones
that had answered. The door opened to admit Kendra. .. or rather,
Kenneth. The tall man was dressed in a plush calf-length robe of
white terrycloth.

"Hi kid," he called. "Thought you might need some help."

"Huh?" Adrienne asked, her sleepy mind confused.

"The dress has a rear zip, right?"

"But I can handle. . "

"Yeah, I know. Any Jane student can handle those, but not easily,
I suspect, in the kind of corset Tante Marie loves to lace up as
tight as she can?"

A quick reach behind proved the truth of Kenneth's assessment.
"Guess I could use some help at that. Maybe with the corset,
too?"

"Trade you, pal - I undo you, you undo me. Ummm, Tante Marie AND
Aunt Jane ganged up on me." Ken reached for the zipper at the
very top of the Chinese-style high collar.

"How hard do you think it would be to alter this thing, Ken? Just
a bit? Thanks to my schooling here, I'm a pretty dab hand with a
needle now."

"Why? Looked like it fit just fine to me."

"Not for me," trenchant disgust rang in every word, until Ken
grinned. "Score one for you, big brother. You know who I want it
for."

"Momma Jane and Tante Marie must have felt rushed on this one,
because it isn't at all subtle. You want to fit it for Xhinea,
right?"

"Yeah." It was Adrian who answered.

"Let's talk to Tante Marie, kid. She got you into this, she can
help you get Xhinea into it."

"Good plan. How do we do it?"

"We fall back upon a time honored male strategy when dealing with
women, m'boy."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"We beg."

~-~

"It went well?" Jane asked, when her tall son let himself back
into her apartment.

"You didn't watch?" he asked teasingly, indicating the dark
closed circuit television monitor.

"Of course not!" Jane snorted. "He's no longer my student, and
therefore entitled to his privacy."

"Right, and that's why you turned Adrienne into a clone of
Xhinea, right?"

Jane sniffed. "He's also family, and it is the duty of the, um,
family Matriarch to see to the well being and happiness of each
member of the family. Manipulation does have its place in a well
ordered household."

"Still, as manipulation goes, that one was rather obvious. Even
Adrian caught it."

"I have found, in my years of dealing with the adolescent male,
that even the most. . .open-minded of your species often
requires, shall we say, substantial direction?" Then the Mistress
of Seasons House chuckled. "I didn't want him to miss _that_
point."

"There was another?"

"Of course," Jane retorted. "I had hoped he'd see Kendra and
realize that size has nothing to do with either how feminine or
masculine a person is or carries oneself. He didn't raise that
issue with you at all?"

"Nope. Too interested in how much work it would be to fit that
dress you selected for Xhinea. Oh, and one other thing. . "

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Actually, we messed up - just a little."

Jane waited with what she felt was admirable patience for Kenneth
to continue, but when he only grinned fatuously at her, she
growled out, "Well, tell me, you devious. . . *lawyer*!"

"We forgot to introduce him to Jesse."

"What?"

"Until the Affirmation Ceremony, where Adrienne once again met
Jessica . . " Kenneth let his voice trail off.

"Adrian still didn't know that Jessica is actually another cross-
dressed male?!?"

"Not until Jessica got into the procession as one of the bride's
attendants."

"Oh, my. And what did Adrian say about that revelation?"

"Only that he never would have guessed. Oh, and that Jessica was
even smaller than Adrienne."

"I had better warn Jessica, so she won't be surprised if Adrian
approaches her."

"New student coming soon?"

"Next week," Jane affirmed. "Jesse decided it would be easier to
stay in role. Says that all that changing about disrupts his
study schedule."

"You're kidding."

"No indeed. That young man understands the importance of
discipline in achieving great things - like someone *else* I
could mention just now. Kenneth?"

"Well, we won't discuss that."

"Oh, then how about we discuss that ring you're sporting," Jane
ordered snatching at her son's left hand. "Nice rock."

"Don't think I don't know where Bart got it, Mom."

"It was my Grandfather's, and thus your Great-Grandfather's" Jane
said simply, "And would have been yours eventually."

"My. . . my Great-Grandfather?" Kenneth asked, his voice suddenly
hoarse.

Jane nodded, her smile as loving as he'd ever seen it. "Of course
he is, silly. Because of Sheila, I wasn't allowed to legally
adopt you as I did Darryl, and as I am doing with Jesse, but that
makes you no less my son - so that ring was your Great-
Grandfather's, and it is now yours. This was is much better than
as a bequest."

Happy tears traced down two sets of cheeks. "Tante Marie DID
manage to get some pictures of that little scene, didn't she?"

"No," Jane replied, "but I did."

~-~

Adrian found Jessica precisely where he expected that he would -
in the back corner of Jane Thompson's library, nose-down in some
thick, musty, leather-bound book. She didn't look up as Adrian
approached, even though the boy made special effort to noisily
announce his arrival in her presence.

In the end, he had to call her name three times before her
concentration finally broke. "Oh, hi." the pretty teen said,
smiling.

"I'd like to talk to you, if you have time, that is."

Carefully, Jessica marked her place and set the book aside. "For
my little sister? Always."

"You're. . . you're really a boy, aren't you?"

Jessica nodded, sending strawberry blond curls bouncing. "Yes, I
am. Aunt Jane told me that you hadn't tumbled to that until last
night. I'm sorry about that. I just figured that after your talk
with Darryl, that my. . .secret identity would have already come
out."

"That's okay, it's just that, well, I have a question. You can
tell me to take a long walk off of a short pier, but I'd really
like to know the answer."

"Ask away."

"Do you, umm, like being a girl?"

Angelic lips turned up into a knowing smile. "Oh, not
particularly, but then again, it's no big deal either." Then the
smile turned devilish and Jessica's voice dropped very low.
"Anymore that is - although, when I first got here I used to
dream up the most *inventive* tortures I'd someday inflict on
Jane - but now it's just clothes and a role. Neckties are worse
for guys. Heels, if you have to spend a long time in them, are
worse for girls - even though I like being just a bit taller. I
just do whatever works for the situation I'm in."

"You're not wearing heels now." 

The laugh that answered that observation was hardly feminine.
"No, indeed! I got plenty of that yesterday in my bridesmaid
ensemble."

"So, why ARE you still Jessica? Doesn't Jane let you have
knocking around clothes?"

"She does, and I wear them when I can, but Jane has a new student
coming next week, and it's not worth the trouble to glue on false
eyebrows and whatever in the interim. Why the questions?"

"I was just wondering, is all. I mean, you don't have to be a
girl anymore - not for my sake, anyway. Why not go back to being
a guy - unless you don't like being a guy - you being so small
and everything."

"Oh, so that's what's behind this oh-so-careful interrogation,"
Jessica giggled again before becoming serious, and somehow,
Adrian thought, very much like a smaller version of Aunt Jane. 
"Better to be a petite girl than a runty guy? Is that what you're
asking?" At Adrian's affirmative answer, Jessica nodded somberly.
"I'm a man, Adrian. I wear these clothes so that I can help other
guys learn what I've learned here with Aunt Jane - what YOU'VE
learned with Aunt Jane, okay? I can take these clothes or leave
them, as the situation calls for. In a week, when the new student
arrives, I'll need to be Jessica for him, so I thought it would
be easier all around to stay Jessica."

"But when you. . .leave here, get out on your own?"

"I will be Jesse, little sister," was the gentle, yet sure,
reply. "I want to marry a girl, not be the girl."

"But your size?"

"Has nothing to do with it. Big girls can be feminine, small guys
can be masculine."

"Kendra was sure pretty last night," Adrian mused aloud.

"And Kenneth is a very masculine guy. I suspect your Xhinea
thinks you're quite the guy, too. In the end, that's probably
what really matters, right? How the people who are important to
us think? How WE think?" 

When Adrian didn't respond, Jessica was content to let the
silence stand between them, a trick she had learned from Jane
Thompson. She knew that her companion would speak when he was
ready.

It took almost five minutes, but she was right. "What you said -
that's not how the rest of the world sees things. Little guys are
always the first ones picked on, and. . ." Adrian hesitated, but
realized that he'd crossed the line and only complete honesty was
acceptable. "And big girls get made the brunt of jokes."

"So, 'the rest of the world' is always right? Small guys are weak
and big girls are ugly?" When Adrian didn't answer immediately,
the devil's glint returned to Jessica's dark eyes. "Oh my! Call
CNN! Jackie Chan is a wimp because he's not tall. Hold a press
conference! Elle McPherson is not feminine because she IS tall.
We have GOT to straighten the world out on these critical
issues!"

"Jes-si-ca!" Adrian groaned, emphasizing each syllable.

"A-dri-an!" the petite strawberry blonde mimicked. "C'mon, sis,
use that brain Jane is so proud of and just look at the FACTS,
okay? Does your Xhinea think you're . . . unmanly because you're
short?" 

"No! At least," and the boy's voice trailed off for a moment, "I
don't think so. 

"From what I hear, you're right," Jessica affirmed staunchly,
"and I'm proud of you, bro. That is one fine foxy lady you've got
there. If I were you, I'd concentrate on keepin' the one you got
rather than worryin' about the opinion of those you don't got. Or
don't want?"

"Xhinea's special."

A smug grin lit the feminine face. "So she is, but then, my
friend, so are you. Jane said you were ready to graduate. That
means you're already better in difficult situations than 90% of
the world. A little work, a little education, a little training,
and a lot of determination puts you in the top one percent. You
can BE anything you want to be - DO anything YOU want to do."

"Once you've been one of Jane's girls, everything else is easy?" 

Jessica smiled. "Just about. So, Adrian, what do you want to be
when you grow up?"

The question had been intended to tease, but from the suddenly
blank look on the boy's face, Jessica could tell it hadn't been
taken that way. "You won't laugh?" Adrian finally asked.

"I'd never laugh at anyone's dream, sis," was the soft reply.

"You know about Xhinea? In China? What. . . what might have
happened to her over there?"

"I did help you research that paper for Jane, Adrian," Jessica
replied quietly, but there was a cold anger in her eyes, that
children could be so easily and callously discarded on such a
scale.

"Okay, then. What I want. . .what I'd like to do. . is find ways
to help girls like Xhinea - find them homes where they'll be
loved all their lives instead of growing up in one of those
state-run kid farms in China - or worse. Dumb, huh?"

Jessica felt a lump growing in her throat as she looked into wary
yet earnest eyes. "No," she rasped out, fully understanding the
goal from her own experiences, "Not dumb at all. In fact, I think
it's a grand dream - one well worth working for, and Jane will
help, you know. She's got all sorts of contacts in really strange
places."

"I'll bet."

"Really. You'll see if you tell her about your dream. Trust her,
Adrian, she'll help you like she's helping me with my dream."

"All those dry books on history and political science?"

A wistful look crossed Jessica's face, but only for a moment
before she nodded vigorously. "I'm going to go to Yale Law and be
one of the top men in my field before I turn thirty. Aunt Jane is
making sure I have all the knowledge and education needed to
achieve that goal. Think about it, okay?"

"Okay, and Jess? Thanks. I'm gonna go see if I can get Tante
Marie to help me with a little project."

"Later, sis."

~-~

"I don't care about that, Ken, I'm the one getting married and I
want to do it the way I want to do it!"

"But, Skipper. . ."

"Don't Skipper me, mister," the tall blonde retorted. "Look, I
saw that three ring circus your family organized last night, and
that is NOT what I want."

"You don't have to have anything that. . . ummm. . . adventurous.
I mean, you could even be the one to wear the gown."

"Wear the dress, pal, and mine is going to be a lot less dramatic
as that thing Michelle wore, okay? I'm just a simple Mid-Western
girl with simple Mid-Western tastes, and I'll have the wedding
that I've always dreamed about."

Ken was about to argue, was about to press for the big, fancy
affair he knew Jane and Marie would want, but something caught at
him. "What have you planned?" It might have been a question, but
there was no doubt in his mind that she had planned something.

"A small affair, Labor Day Weekend Saturday, in that little
church in downtown Kingston. I've already talked to the minister
and he's penciled us in."

"That place won't hold more than a hundred or so folks," Ken
warned.

"Then it will easily hold the thirty or so I want there," Anne
replied firmly. "It's my wedding."

"Can we at least let Momma Jane and Tante Marie plan the
reception? Here at Seasons House?"

Momentarily, Anne's shoulders drooped and then she cast a
suspicious eye on her fianc�. "It will be huge, won't it?"

"Over the top," he agreed easily. "Might even get to meet the
President's mom and dad if you're lucky."

"WHAT?!?!" she yelped, and then gave him a hard look. "You're
teasing me, right? Tell me you're teasing me."

"You never know when Jane Thompson is involved."

She thought about it, and sighed. "Okay, but we escape as soon as
we possibly can."

"I'll make plane reservations that will ensure we have to leave
after no more than a couple of hours."

"An hour and a half!"

"Don't push your luck, dear. And remember, some of that time will
include changing out of your wedding finery."

"Oh, well, umm, okay."

Chapter 46: Gifts Given and Received

"And so, mon brave, you are ready?"

Adrian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Ready as I'm
likely to be, Tante Marie. I just wish. . ."

Marie let that unstated wish stand as long as her soft heart
would permit -which wasn't very long. "Wish what, Adrian?"

"I wish I was as certain as I was when I came up with this idea.
Suppose she doesn't like it? Suppose it . . . it reminds her of,
well, stuff?"

"Pooh," Marie scoffed. "She is female, isn't she? La petite jolie
femme? What woman in her right mind wouldn't treasure such a
gift? From a man who treasures her? Besides, that style is not
something one sees in the People's Republic of China, so it
should not have any unfortunate associations for her."

"You're sure? I mean, it's sort of a hand-me-down."

"Adrian," Marie said, her patience slipping. "I, Marie, would NOT
have helped you, had I not been sure. Eh bien?" She saw the
relief in his eyes and relented, just a bit. "So, are you going
in or not? I DO have shopping to do today."

Smiling now, the teen leaned over to plant a kiss on the French
Canadian's cheek. "Thanks, I mean, merci, Tante Marie."

"You're welcome, my lad. Now, I'll be back for you in about two
hours. Out you go."

~-~

It was funny, Adrian mused as he waited for the door to open in
answer to his knock, how many memories could flood through your
mind in so short a time.

So much had happened since the last time he'd been at this
doorstop. Both his sister and her guy were sporting engagement
rings for a wedding that would take place just before school
started. He'd be living with Darryl and Audrey while the
lovebirds went on their honeymoon. 

Of course, Aunt Jane had offered to let him stay with her - as
Adrienne, actually, since there was now a newly petticoated
student in residence at Seasons House.

As much as he'd learned to respect, and yes, love Aunt Jane, that
solution was distinctly unappealing. First of all, Ms Thompson
the School Mistress was daunting to say the least. She wouldn't
let him slack off on ANYthing, and a guy needed to goof off a
little bit now and then. Of course, there was NO way he could use
that argument, because it was a tossup who'd have him back in
Seasons House and skirts faster - Jane or Barbara Anne. So he'd
based his case on his other primary objection to being home-
schooled - not being able to attend the same school as Xhinea. 

And that had carried the day, since it had gotten Marie on his
side.

The metal-on-metal clicking of the door lock snapped the teen out
of his reveries. Without realizing it, he went ramrod straight
and clutched the silver-wrapped packages closer to his chest.

"Hi, Dr. C," he rasped when the woman of the house smiled at him
from the doorway. "Umm. . I, uh, brought a gift for Xhinea. May I
come in? Please?"

~-~

"Did you see the look on his face, when you offered to let
Adrienne stay with you while Ken and I are honeymooning in
Paris?" Anne giggled.

Jane's answering smile was devilish. "Actually, my dear, what
really terrified the poor dear was when I pointed out that would
entail home-schooling with me as teacher."

"Are you really such a demanding task-mistress, then?"

"Just so. However, since I have excellent contacts with the local
school, I've taken steps to ensure that Adrian's teachers will .
. . see that his developing intellect is suitably challenged."

"Well, truth to tell, Jane, I would prefer that he learn to deal
with the outside world beyond Seasons House, anyway."

"My goal also, dear, which is precisely why I allowed him to
believe he'd won that round. We can always use my little school
as incentive to excel at his preferred educational venue, eh?"

"Straight A's or A-line skirts?" Anne giggled.

"Well, one or two B's MIGHT be allowed," Jane intoned, and then
grinned. "As long as he does his best, Anne, which I'm sure he
will. He's really is a special young man," she added, recalling
the boy who'd valued a friend more than he did his secret
identity as one of Jane's 'girls'. "Do you know he volunteered to
stand in as big sister, if Jesse ever needs to be elsewhere when
I have a junior student in residence?"

"He did?!?" Anne was flabbergasted.
 
~-~

Celia Hurst watched as her daughter carefully unwrapped the
larger of the two boxes Adrian had brought with him, much to her
impatient young swain's distress. He was even more excited than
her daughter.

Or perhaps, Celia thought, the correct word was anxious.

"Oh, my. . ." Xhinea breathed reverently as she reached into the
opened box. Standing up, Xhinea pulled out a long, shiny red
dress that she held to herself. "It's gorgeous!"

"You like it?"

"I love it! I want to try it on right now!" she enthused,
gathering up the dress to leave.

"Wait!" Adrian ordered, laughing. "Open the other box, first.
They, ah, go together."

This time, Celia noted, her daughter tore into the wrapping with
all the enthusiasm a suitor might wish, and withdrew a pair of
delicate high heeled sandals, their red straps matching the color
of the dress. She was surprised, however, when the teenaged girl
suddenly became less certain.

Adrian saw it, too. "What's the matter? Don't you like the shoes?
You don't have to wear them. . ."

Xhinea looked up at the young man, her eyes cautious. "No,
they're lovely, and. . .and I've wanted shoes like them. It's
just that, well, I'll be taller than you."

"Yeah," Adrian growled low in his throat.

"That's okay? With you?"

"I knew it when I chose the shoes for you, Xhi. It's WAY more
than okay with me."

The pleasure came back in Xhinea's face. "Okay. . . I'll be right
back. Don't go away." she ordered as she dashed from the room.

Pleasure at her daughter's obvious delight suffused Celia, and
she smiled at Adrian. "Well, young man, if any other boy gave my
daughter such a dress and heels, I'd be concerned. You, however,
have a well-trained eye for fashion. She'll look exotic, but very
attractive."

"She won't be able to blend into the woodwork in that ensemble,"
Adrian added in evident satisfaction.

"I find I almost envy her."

"Huh. . I mean, pardon me, Ma'am?"

"It must be nice to have a young man who so well understands what
looks good on a woman, and what a woman goes through to look
good. You will never take her for granted that way, will you?"

Adrian heard what Dr. C didn't say. Someone had obviously taken
her efforts in that line for granted, and it had hurt the gentle
doctor. 

"No, Dr. C. At least, I promise you I'll try very hard not to do
that." Then he added, "I think anyone who has, um, experienced
Aunt Jane would never again take a woman for granted. Maybe you
should ask her if she, um, knows anyone who could, um, help you
with that?"

"I'M READY!" Xhinea's excited voice called from the next room
before Celia could find out what Adrian had meant. "HERE I COME!"

Anything else she might have thought flew out of Celia Hurst's
head, as a vision in gold-embroidered red silk brocade glided
into the room. "Oh my goodness - my little girl is growing up,
and I haven't had her near long enough yet!"

"Wow, Xhi, you look great!" Adrian gushed, his eyes wide.

~-~

Celia went to the kitchen to give the young people a bit of
privacy. "Thank you, Adrian. This is just SO lovely."

"I knew it would look great on you - the moment I realized. . ." 

His sudden silence surprised Xhinea and she looked at him
closely. "When you realized - what?" she asked.

The boy colored vividly, and Xhinea put that reaction together
with what she knew about Adrienne. "You wore this?"

"Adrienne did Aunt Jane a favor, and wore that dress."

"It fit you?"

"Sort of. Tante Marie and I modified it a bit for you - even
without a corset, you're more slender in the waist than
Adrienne." Adrian stood up and walked over to Xhinea. "See these
buttons here and here?" He pointed to two spots in the back of
the dress, just above her hips. "Those take about three inches
out of the waist. We also raised the hem an inch and a half.

"But you, I mean, Adrienne could still wear it?"

"Well, yeah. . ."

"Good. I like her, too," she said simply. "I would miss her
friendship and the little things we'd shared together.

For a moment, Adrian couldn't speak. He hadn't, before that
moment, realized that he'd wanted to continue sharing those
little things, too. "If it's okay with your Mom."

"Oh, she's cool with it. We've talked about you. . .and
Adrienne."

"It doesn't bother you? That I've worn that dress?"

With the shy stiffness of first times, Xhinea moved over and
embraced Adrian. "Silly man," she said, kissing his cheek. "That
just makes it all the more special to me."

Slowly, Adrian put his own arms around his girl's silk-swathed
waist. "Then, you will wear it, won't you? At my sister's
wedding? I really want you to come. Your Mom, too."

"I'd love to come, and I think my Mom will want to attend, too."

"She's invited, too. Anne said I could ask you both."

"I bet you're really handsome in a tuxedo," Xhinea said
wistfully. 

Adrian wasn't sure, but if Xhinea wanted to see him in a monkey
suit . . . well, it might not be the most challenging thing she'd
ever have him wear. 

Chapter 47: Conclusions and other Beginnings.

In the warm darkness of her private apartment, Jane offered a
flute of bubbling champagne to Art, a happy smile lighting her
face. "I'm so glad you're home."

"For Ken's wedding? Nothing could have kept me away, darling. I
must say, however, that I'm surprised you allowed that mere snip
of a girl to have her way in the matter of YOUR son's wedding."

"Oh, don't kid yourself, darling," Jane said smugly. "There's
still going to be a big wedding."

"Oh? When?"

Jane grinned into her wineglass. "Oh, a year from now, on their
first anniversary. She wouldn't have enjoyed that big an event
just now, and I firmly believe that a bride should be happy on
her wedding night. So I didn't argue."

"But all that will change in a year?"

"Of course. For all she's accepted what I did for Adrian, she is
still uncertain about me and my little school. She'll have a year
to get used to . . .things, and perhaps, to learn to trust me
just a little more."

"And then, - POW -, big wedding - Jane style - right in the
kisser, eh?"

"Oh, I wouldn't put it like that," Jane replied, obviously well
pleased, "but in any case, Barbara Anne should know by now that I
will host the ceremony I think worthy of my son and new
daughter's union. Who knows? By then, she might actually look
forward to the party."

"Still, I'm very impressed that she was willing to stand up to
you to get what she wanted."

"As am I, Art, as am I," Jane said in apparent agreement.

Art grinned at her and said, "Don't give me that sadly-resigned-
to-my-fate-look, wife. You know as well as I do that Anne's
wedding was charming in a way your big bash could never have
matched."

Jane matched his grin and said, "So it was, not that I will ever
admit that to Anne. At least, not until after I get my party for
her. I suppose I should have realized a girl who has. . .issues
with her height as Anne has would want something, shall we say,
more delicate than the, ah, 'big bash' I would have arranged. At
least for now. Once our Kenneth has had a little time to convince
her she has nothing to be shy about, she'll come around." 

The serene Mistress of Seasons Manor raised her glass in a toast.
"To true love, my love. Another of my boys well matched."


Art touched his glass to hers. "Not the last, I'd say. Did you
happen to notice that ring Donald Madden's young lady was
sporting?"

"I saw it, but even so, I couldn't help but notice her being
joined to him at the hip the entire afternoon, either. I think we
can expect a wedding invitation to show up in our mailbox very
soon."

~-~

The main living area of the honeymoon suite was quiet when
Kenneth, belting his dressing robe, stepped out of the groom's
dressing room. He'd needed the shower for it had been a long day,
and not to put too fine a point on the matter, he'd long since
overwhelmed his twenty-four hour deodorant. 

"You only get one chance to make a first impression," he reminded
himself only a little facetiously as he walked over to the door
to the luxurious bedroom that was the suite's centerpiece. He was
about to knock when he saw it - a note taped to the doorknob with
is name written on the envelope.

With suddenly shaky hands, he tore it open and removed the single
sheet of perfumed stationery.

          My Darling Ken, 
          
          Your Barbie awaits inside. Be careful with
          her. She's fragile, but for the right guy,
          she can be a living doll. 
          
          Barbara Anne 
          
Ken slowly opened the door and found the room lighted and scented
by the flame of a dozen candles - and there she was, seated in
front of the mirrored vanity - her body covered from neck to toe
in pure white silk that hinted teasingly at each lovely curve.
Her honey-blond hair cascaded down her back, much as her wedding
veil had but mere hours earlier. 

She rose, and moved to meet him halfway, the shy smile that
curled her lips holding all the welcome and promise a man could
ever want.

With a laugh of pure unadulterated joy, Ken scooped her up in his
arms and carried off HIS Barbie into their future.