Season of Terror

by Tigger
© 2002, All Rights Reserved

 

Chapter 3: A Student Challenged - The Laced Gauntlet

Jane got out of her chair and walked over to the sideboard. She poured herself a glass of mineral water which she sipped contemplatively as she considered her student's intentionally inept heel-walking exercises.

They'd just returned from the Marisa Chalet where Caro and Sandy had outdone themselves. Parade-polished Marine Corps brass didn't gleam like that hair, and then there had been a trick or two to that manicure as well.

Jane had immediately started in with lessons as soon as they'd returned. As Jane had anticipated, the moment Victoria was back inside the house she had reverted to the obstreperous, obnoxious little snot she'd been since day one. Oh, she followed 'orders', to the letter, but that was all she'd do.

After several failed attempts to gain some measure of compliance with the meaningless exercise, Jane gave an exaggerated sigh.

"Victor," she began, intentionally addressing him by his real name for the first time in weeks, "this is not working, and it's because you're not trying to work with me - as you promised you would."

"I am SO trying, Ms. Jane," Victor rejoined, with obvious insincerity, "but, well, I'm just too much of a man to look like a convincing girl. It's not my fault."

Which was exactly the response Jane had anticipated from Marie's conversations with the student. "Oh? I think you do quite well if you'll just look in the mirror. It's only when you fail to put forth the necessary effort that your portrayal falls short of satisfactory."

"No, Ms. Jane. It is the standing still part that does it, in these clothes that are clearly girl's clothes.

"You're not going to give me that 'clothes do make the man' nonsense, are you?" Jane scoffed.

Victor grinned at that. "No, but let's be honest. First, people see what they expect to see. Somebody sees a skirt, and they figure, so long as it isn't something really draggy, that's a girl wearing the skirt, right? Second, you, Marie and those two bit. . errr. . women at the salon are experts at this stuff. I think you could make the Rock look like a girl, provided he didn't move or talk. That's what I do when we're out, because I just don't want to deal with that, but I can guarantee you this - as soon as I do anything active, or if I wore pants, then I'd be all man and you know it," he finished with a hard nod of his head in emphasis. "And so would anyone looking at me."

*An excellent analysis,* Jane thought. *And too close to the truth by half. Still, You've just offered me an opportunity if I play this correctly. "You think so?" Jane asked with heavy disbelief coloring her tones.

Her student turned to the mirror and gave the reflection a quick look. One hand went up to the now-shoulder-length hair and palmed the curls flat before he turned back to face Jane. "Sure," he replied confidently. "A little of that mousse-stuff to slick down this wavy hair, a shirt that buttons down the right side, throw in a pair of jeans and some flat shoes and I *WOULD* look like that model guy Sandy mentioned yesterday. Heck, if it was a little longer, I'd look like a younger, better looking version of that Fabio-guy all the girls are goofy over."

"Then how about a test?" Jane offered with studied nonchalance.

Now suspicion flared in the dark eyes, "What kind of test? And why should I even try one of YOUR tests?"

"Because you said you'd follow my program, and in fact, gave me your word on that score?" Jane replied off-handedly, "But perhaps being a MAN, you need more than that to give your best effort."

"My word, MIZZ Thompson," Victor hissed, "WHEN it is freely and fairly given, is solid. . . *gold*! You have NO call to say OTHERWISE!"

"So you say, young man. Forgive me if I believe you have given me cause to think otherwise. In any case, I am willing to accept your word, assuming we can reach an agreement."

"An agreement? What kind of agreement?" Victor demanded, suspicion dripping from every word.

"A very simple one, and one you should have no trouble at all winning - if you are correct and I am wrong, that is. You work with me for one day, tomorrow, that's Thursday, doing whatever I require to the very best of your abilities. On Friday, I will provide you with pants, a shirt and casual shoes and we'll go to a shopping mall. If you are sufficiently masculine, you will find the minor things I've had you do so far - plucking your eyebrows and so on - to be inconsequential. Surely, no fair and objective observer will see you in any way other than as you see yourself. In that case, I sign off on your release forms the moment we get back here, and you are on the next train back home - a free MAN. With me so far?"

"Sounds great to me, but I have figured you out a bit in the past weeks, Ms. Jane. Nothing you do is what it seems to be at first glance. What's the catch?"

"Well, if your appearance remains sufficiently feminine to be an issue, either for you or for the people we encounter at the mall, then will you agree that the problem is not your appearance, but your attitude? And agree to do your VERY best to comply not only with the letter of my program, but with what you very well know is the intent of that program."

"Hah! Fat chance. It won't be any skin off my nose, but sure as you're standing here, one or more of your bit. . .buddies will be there to make it look like I failed."

"My word of honor, Victor, that no one associated with me or my program will be involved except for you and me. We will even drive to a distant mall so that you can be assured no one associated with my program will be there." *And so that no one will recognize either of us and associate you with Victoria.* "So," Jane continued, direct challenge in her eyes, "Do you have the courage for such a public test? Do you have the personal honor to comply with my conditions, regardless of the outcome?"

The jibe hit him squarely in his overblown male ego, just as Jane had intended. "I can do ANYthing, Ms. Jane. Anything *I* WANT to do, that is," he snarled belligerently. "No one will mistake me for a girl, not in pants and, well, other reasonable clothes."

"Very well, then. Tomorrow we will redo the dressing exercises and you will show me what you have really learned."

"No weird clothes!" he put in quickly. "None of those tricky things that change color when you wear them or anything like that."

"What was it you said? Jeans, a shirt with buttons down the right side, by which I assume you mean not on the side a woman's blouse buttons? Oh yes, and some flat-heeled shoes? I can do that, but in return I expect you to be 'fair' with your voice."

"Fair? What do you mean by that?" Victor asked, obviously dropping his voice into an artificially deep register.

Jane smirked. "Just that," she retorted sardonically. "You need to speak with no attempt either to force a strongly masculine, deep voice, nor the feminine voice you have learned to use. That is not to be a factor in this challenge, since you have demonstrated an ability to speak either way and so it is not an unavoidable problem with a feminine portrayal. Agreed?"

"How do I do that? I'll have to speak to someone," he insisted, still affecting the gruffly bass voice.

"If it's required that you speak, you will use a normal tone of voice, but speak softly and politely. I will abide by the results of using your normal speaking voice, neither artificially deep and harsh, nor light and animated as a girl would use."

"That it?"

"I can't think of anything more just now. However, once you step out of my home, the game is on, and our agreement is in force, and regardless of the outcome, we agree to fairly and fully comply with the terms of the challenge, young man!"

"Oh really? Like how, Mizz Jane?"

"If you back out, or if you catch any grief at the mall, then you come back here, go straight into skirts and lose that idiotic macho-jerk attitude!"

"If you say so, Ms. Jane," was the flippant, self-satisfied reply. "But *when* I win, we come back here, I get my own clothes back, along with my freedom and a ticket on the next train home."

"Oh, I do say so, and you've agreed. As to the final outcome of our little wager, well, we'll just have to see, won't we? So, I will see you later at dinner. I need to tell Marie that for tomorrow, at least, you've graduated to . . . adult makeup products instead of the more youthful ones you've been exposed to thus far. She'll ensure that you have a complete assortment in addition to your more age-appropriate products. Perhaps the seemingly-overwhelming difficulty you have in behaving like an adult will be simplified if you can at least look the part," Jane paused to let the jibe sink in before continuing. "Yes, I think we'll try for that tomorrow, once we're certain you're complying with that part of our deal, as well."

Jane watched the skirted teen leave the room and took a deep cleansing breath. He'd taken the bait. If she could just get him out of the house on Friday, she had a better than fifty-fifty chance of winning their bet. If he wouldn't leave the house after he saw how he looked, maybe she could make that work, too. "So, pants AREN'T enough, eh?" It wouldn't be optimum because one thing Jane had come to respect about this student was the value he put on keeping his word - at least the letter of his word.

"I wonder if Marie knows who this Rock person is?"

~-----------~

The boy had done well, Jane admitted as she watched him stomp down the stairs from his room, given the tools she had provided him. *A bit TOO well!* "I think NOT, young man," Jane said sternly as she moved to block his way out the front door of Seasons House.

"Huh? What?" he asked, his head down and angled away from Jane's accusing glare.

"That!" Jane replied directly, running a finger down his cheek. "Using cosmetics to fake a beard you don't have falls outside of our agreement."

"Hey, guys have beards," Victor told her in as off-handed a tone as he could manage knowing he'd probably already lost.

"Some *men* do, but they are not created with dark makeup. This exercise is about the masculinity of your basic appearance. You will clean your face as thoroughly as you are able - an area, I might add, in which you seem not to have paid appropriate attention to your lessons. A *lady* always pays attention to the cleansing of her skin, and you *agreed* to follow those lessons completely. That *is* the agreed-upon basis for this test, correct?"

"But. . . a beard is legitimate. . ."

"Or, I am willing to put off our trip until tomorrow or even Sunday," Jane offered, all sweet reason in her voice, "Except that you will have to work just as hard for me today and up until the day of the trip as you did yesterday. Except I won't insist that you shave. Just to be fair, of course."

Jane could see just how little the thought of one or two more days like the intentionally hellish one she'd put him through yesterday pleased her student. *Heavens, I am surprised he can walk without a limp after all that walking in heels practice,* she thought.

Finally, his shoulders drooped and he turned back toward the stairs. "I'll go clean it off. I want to get out of this place as soon as possible," he mumbled before adding, "It was just a final 'make sure' thing anyway - the last straw."

"I'm sure," Jane replied, her face deadpan. Then a thought struck her. "Oh, and Victor?" The boy stopped mid-step up the stairs and turned to look down at her. "Use the other powder-room facilities while you're cleaning up? I would consider you slipping into the men's restroom at the mall a cheating trick to make people THINK you were a boy."

"But. . but, what if I *have* to go?"

"That's why I'm telling you to take care of that matter now. I don't imagine we will need to be there long, but if it becomes a REAL problem? Either find a unisex bathroom or concede our challenge."

Anger flashed momentarily in the boy's dark eyes, and for a moment, Jane thought she might have pushed too hard. Then, Victor nodded, stiffened his spine, and headed back up the stairs.

Only then did Jane think, "Oh lord, I hope Marie remembered to remove all those color-fast cosmetics last night. It would really make things difficult if he couldn't clean away that fake beard."

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Tigger. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.