Stephanie's Scheme

Alamo Preacher

  

Part Nineteen : .

The next morning, it seemed as though Mom's visit had been a dream. After she'd left I'd gone to bed, feeling pretty miserable but also oddly happy, though whether this was part of the after-effects of the strange fantasy I'd had or due to seeing my mother, I couldn't tell.

I hadn't heard Steph come home. I'd set my alarm clock and gone straight to sleep. Now, in the morning, all I could think about was getting ready to go to work. I showered, shaved carefully and did my hair. I applied a light make-up job, only what was necessary to conceal. I'd already got my clothes ready - knee-length black skirt, white blouse, tan pantyhose, the black buckle shoes. I added a simple barette to my hair and I was ready. I put my notebook, purse and a few other essentials into a handbag that Steph had lent me and went downstairs.

Steph was there before, slumped at the kitchen table. She looked terrible. Clearly she hadn't been to bed and had been drinking pretty heavily. She gave me a scowl.

"Well, aren't we the miss fancy-pants this morning." She slurred. "All spick and span for our new job."

She sounded bitter and nasty. I felt sorry for her, but also kind of pissed off. I hadn't done anything to deserve this.

"Good morning Steph." I said, trying to strike a balance that wouldn't rile her, but would also not sound too obsequious. "When did you get in?"

I busied myself with getting some breakfast for both of us. Toast and cereal for me. Black coffee for Steph.

"Two." She said.

I looked at the table. Mom's cigarette butt was still there in the otherwise pristine ashtray.

"You can see Mom was here last night." I said.

"Yes. What did dearest Mom want?" Said Steph. She sounded like she was trying to sound uninterested, but the booze betrayed her voice. She was dying to know. She must have sat up brooding with the vodka bottle all night and then stayed awake until I got up, just so she could ask me.

"She wanted to pick up her dresses and other clothes before they get back." I explained. Steph listened without interrupting as I explained all that had occoured the night before from when Mom had walked in to when she'd driven off. I left out only out final conversation, but I mentioned that she had said that she would see about talking to us again before the end of the week. When I'd finished, Steph rose, slightly unsteadily.

"I suppose I can't blame you for being caught dressed. I never imagined she would come back unnanounced either. I bet you gave her a fright."

"It's odd Steph, but I don't think I did, she was surprised, but not shocked."

"She's seen all sorts." Said Steph. "Right. I'm going to bed."

She stomped out and I heard her tread heavily up the stairs. I finished off my breakfast and fetched my coat. I was just about to leave when I heard her hurry back down the stairs again. I paused in the doorway, and she caught up with me. She looked kind of sheepish.

"Sorry." She said, and then, "You look nice. Very professional, and, well, kind of nice too. Good luck, but you won't need it."

I smiled at her. "We'll talk later tonight." I said, and then I was out of the door and on my way to work.

By the time the office clock ticked to 12:30 and Mrs. Clark told me that I could take my lunch, I had no time to think or worry. I'd arrived a half an hour early for work as a result of my mounting anxiousness about the whole affair. I walked past the glazed look of the security guard on the ground floor and taken the lift to the third floor where the firm of Allen, Jones and Field had their offices. I had intended to wait in the office waiting room and consider whether I ought to go on with this at all or just chicken out and go home, but as soon as the door pinged open onto the communal reception area, a frumpy middle aged woman in a tweed skirt and jacket grabbed me and dragged me into another office and thrust me behind a desk. "Ms. Canning. Fantastic! I had hoped you'd be the sort of girl who shows up early for work. Only half an hour, but still, that's more than one can expect these days. Now get your coat off and start collating these figures with me."

She pronounced "Girl" with an extra couple of fruity vowels in the most ridiculousless upper crust English accent possible. I was so nervous I had to stifle a laugh but there was no time for hilarity.

Mrs. Clark pointed me at a huge computer printout with thousands of names and columns of tiny figures printed beside them.

"We're billing!" She exclaimed when I looked blankly at her. I soon caught on though. Mrs. C. had a huge stacks of files on her desk, and spread over a few others in the open plan office too. She would call out a name, and as I searched for it in the unruly flapping sheets she would begin barking figures at me. I needed to check some, call others back to her and then add some more together, fumbling with a calculator as she shouted them accross the office. Then, she would put that file away in one of the dozens of filing cabinets hidden around the cramped office and start the process again. This would all have been confusing and stressful enough, but between files, Doris ("You may call me Mrs. Canning") would shrilly explain all the vital office procedures, do's and dont's and the details of the workings of a firm of solicitors. She leaped from subject to subject, interspersing vital-sounding information, like the combination of the alarm code on the door, with irrelevant drivel about the marital status of the three solicitors, four legal clerks and three admin "Girls" who populated the office.

During the morning, the other girls arrived. Miss Kay was in her early thirties. She stalked in at 9:00 precisely. Within one minute her body language had told me that she loathed Canning, and that I, as a temp, was beneath her notice. She sat at her desk, opened correspondance and made phone calls to clients all morning.

Jenny popped her head in at 9:30 to give everyone an excessively cheery "Good morning and how are we all today that's great hope you had a great weekend Oooooh here's the new girl Phyllis? that's lovely see you later ta ta." She made herself a cup of coffee and then vanished again to take up position in the reception area. She was in her early twenties, very made-up and looked like she could be quite bright but that she'd learned how to 'park' her brain during work hours. Despite giving me a once-over, she clearly also didn't seem to care less about a temp girl who wasn't going to upset her position in the office.

I looked longingly at her coffee mug. "There's no breaks until 12:30, my girl." Said Mrs. C. when she spied my glances, and we continued without a rest all the way through until lunch.

Neither Miss Kay nor Jenny seemed to take a break at that time, so Doris and I rode the lift together.

"Eh, where do you plan to have lunch?" Enquired Mrs. Canning as we descended.

I told her I had plans to meet a friend in town and she relaxed visibly.

"Oh, that's great." She said. " I go home. Edgar will have my soup ready. See you in fortyfive minutes." She called over her shoulder as she hurried off, leaving me on the pavement outside the office..

I took a few deep breaths. I'd imagined a ot of things about how this first day would be, but I'd totally discounted just how much hard work there would be. I was exhausted, but very relieved. I couldn't imagine getting caught by any of those three, they were entirely too wrapped up in their own worlds. I took one more breath and walked round the corner to Image.

Carol was delighted to see me. She'd seen me all dressed up before at the concert but she still exclaimed over how I looked, gushing with compliments and questions about my clothes and make-up. She took me to a local café where we each had lunch. She chatted away, asking me what the job was like and laughing at my descriptions of my new work-mates. She gossiped about the other staff at her work, and we both moaned about the imminent end of the good weather, unpleasant bosses and the difficulty of finding shoes that fitted. All too very soon, my time was up and I had to return to work. Carol insisted that I meet her agin the next day, and we decided that we'd all have to go out together, possibly with Ellen and Steph later that week or at the weekend.

I liked Carol. I found it odd that she seemed to be able to completely ignore the fact that I was a boy pretending to be a girl. During our entire conversation, she never metnioned this fact, she seemed just delighted to have someone to talk to. I couldn't have made a better friend.

As I rode the lift back to the third floor, I felt some mild anxiety about the whole situation again, but I needn't have worried, from the moment I steppedback into the office till five thirty, I was kept so busy I had no time to think of anything but work.

The afternoon seemed to be the time when most clients visited their solicitor's offices. I never had to enter their private offices, only the admin office where Doris and Miss Kay had their desks and the outer reception area where a lot of files were stored. Any business with the solicitors themselves was conducted by the two permanent admin. staff or by Jenny who seemed to run the solicitors appointments. In the solictor's offices were the three men themselves and their four clerks. I hadn't worked out yet who had two, but I suspected it was the senior partner, Clark who seemed to have the largest office. I hardly saw any of these other people at all during the day, just a few glances when someone came into the office to fetch something or leave in a package to be sent in the post or by courier. I received a few appraising glances from a couple of the clerks - geeky looking young men in ill-fitting suits, but none of them actually spoke to me all day. Of the solicitors themselves I saw nothing. They were barely-felt presences in the other offices, around which the others all danced atandance, but none came into the admin office all day, nor did I see any of them pass by our office door on their way in or out, though I could tell by change in the atmosphere in our office when one was on the move.

During the afternoon, I typed. Using the wordprocesor on the clunky old PC on my desk. This was mostly correspondance and covering letters for documents from longhand or shorthand notes. Miss Kay showed me the particular notation used by the office and helped with particular legal terms or to decipher particularly bad longhand scrawls. She seemed to warm to me a little, though we didn't strike up a friendship or anything like it. I would have been too busy to chat anyway, and in any case I had no wish to talk in the office any more than I needed to.

Working hard made the hours pass swiftly and the pile of completed, addressed envelopes grew and grew until five thirty when Peter, one of the clerks came in to our office with his jacket on and scooped all the letters and packets into a canvas bag.

"Time to go." Said Mrs. C. "Be here at nine sharp tomorrow. We still have more bills to collate and send before the end of the month."

Gladly, I powered down the PC, grabbed my coat and bag, and, pausing only to call a cheerio to Jenny, I sped from the building.

It was still a very fine day, so I decided to walk home again. There were a lot more people on the street than had been in the morning, and I noticed several young men and boys give me what I considered fairly open glances of appreciation as I strolled through town. This gave me an odd sensation. I felt pride in my appearance, but I felt no sexual thrill from their obvious attraction, only a kind of detached satisfaction in looking pretty. Suddenly, I saw three of my friends from school, slouching outside the town's video-game arcade. I felt a sudden spike of fear. These three had hung out with me, more or less, every day in school for three years. Kevin, closest of the three was giving me a very hard stare. I tried not to catch his eye, but I was now so close to them, and the traffic was so heavy, that I had no option but to walk straight past. Bill and Garreth noticed Kevin's stare and gave me glances too. I felt their eyes rake up and down my body, lingering on my legs and my chest as I passed, and then, I was past, free. They'd not spoken, not recognised me. Kevin's stare had only been appreciative, not curious or puzzled. They had not seen through my disguise. I was elated, and hurried home, delighted with myself.

Steph was in a much better mood. She'd clearly spent the day cleaning up around the house and doing some errands. From the aroma I could tell that she'd been cooking one of her trademark casseroles and when I entered the kitchen she greeted me with a big smile.

"Hi honey. How was your day?" She joked. She was wearing an apron over a new outfit - short skirt and lilac satiny top. I hadn't seen her look so feminine since the wedding.

"Tiring." I said. It was harder work than I expected. How was yours?"

I was famished. The long day and light lunch had left me with a monster appetite, but Steph wouldn't let me sit down. She shooed me upsatirs, telling me to get changed out of my clothes and come back down again. She said that Ellen had rung, she wouldn't be able to call over for dinner, but had suggested that we all go out in town for the evening. This sounded good to me,even if it did mean wearing my own clothes again.

I changed, feeling at least relieved to take off the warm padding and constricting clothing, though I couldn't help but be dissapointed at how I looked, back in boy's clothes, even if they were new. After taking off my makeup, I combed down my hair and put on my wig, checking my eyebrows and making sure I'd taken off all my jewelry. Ken looked back at me from the mirror, looking rueful but secretly happy. I went down to the kitchen, where Steph. extracted every detail of my day from me, probing with questions and making me go over everything at least twice. Of course, she was particularly interested in Simon Field, but I was unable to help her. I'd seen nothing interesting, beyond a lot of billing information and very boring correspondance - none of which had been from him. Steph didn't push me - she hadn't expected to find out anything interesting on the first day she said, but she was clearly dissapointed that I hadn't even seen him nonetheless. When she finally seemed to run out of questions, I tried one of my own.

"How do you know about this guy Steph? I mean, where did you get his name? Why do you think he's connected to Chérie?"

Steph wrinkled her lip and frowned at me, mulling over whether she would answer or not.

"Okay." She said. "I heard rumours."

She paused, before going on.

"Rumours in school that Chérie had been married before. I checked them out. It's possible to hide a divorce, but not a marriage. A fairly simple search proved that she has been married before, and when I found that out, I found that she has also been divorced too. Simon Field was her lawyer during the divorce and acted for her in the case she took against her ex husband. I looked for him , found that he'd moved. Moved right here in fact."

Steph. looked pretty pleased with the look of astonishment on my face. She'd found all this out herself? She was amazing. I realised how pathetic my own amateur detective work had been.

"Then, I simply spied on her. She's visited him in those offices in the Davies building at least three times...."

She paused again, then added triumphantly.

"...Even after her and Dad have become engaged. They've continued their affair even now."

She sat back in her chair. I suspected she'd revelaed more than she'd intended to when she began talking, but once she'd started she hadn't been able to hold back her pleasure in exposing what she knew, and her pride in her detective work. It was impressive, but something didn't add up for me.

"How do you know she's having an affair with him?" I asked.

Steph looked a little taken aback by the question.

"It's obvious - she's visited him in his office."

"But, if he's her lawyer, isn't that pretty normal? People are in and out of those offices all the time."

Steph's frown deepened.

"Yes, but you're missing the point. She used to live in London, where he had his practice, but then both of them moved here around the same time. There was already a connection - why else would they both move here, unless they had some sort of relationship?"

It was my turn to frown. She had a point, but still, it sounded rather ìncomplete.

"When did Field move here?" I asked.

Steph grew impatient.

"Look, just leave all that up to me, Ken. You just worry about getting me his list of clients and see about getting into his office. What I want to know is the details of the case he handled when Chérie took her previous husband to the cleaners."

She looked hard at me, waiting for some response. I nodded.

"The name she had then, was Burley. The case will be Burley vs. Burley or possibly Taylor vs. Burley - that's her maiden name."

I looked a little nervous at this. Now that I'd seen the setup in the office, the thought of sneaking into one of the lawyer's offices to peek into their files seemed impossible and very scary.

Steph noticed my look.

"Oh, come on Ken. No need to look so terrified. Just concentrate on not fucking up for the moment, and we'll see how you get on. Now, help me get all this cleared up and we'll get going."

We didn't talk about it any more that evening, but I couldn't help thinking about what she wanted me to do.

Later on, we met up with Ellen at a local pub. It seemed strange, being with her as a boy, but she was her usual self. She wanted to know all about my day's work at the office, and what it had been like. She was delighted that it had all gone so well so far, and squeeled with laughter at my caricatures and impersonations of the staff at the office. Unfortunately, she couldn't stay long, her mother was keeping her on a tight leash. She'd become more suspicous and concerend about the amount of time Ellen was spending at our house while our Dad was away. Ellen said she was insisting that I or Steph and I come round for dinner one evening that week.

"She wants to check you out, now that she knows we're going out."

I agreed it would be a good idea. In fact, I liked the idea, though Ellen seemed to dread the thought of it. Steph said she'd come if she could.

As we were discussing this, Gregg came in. Steph seemed not to be surprised to see him, and I suspected she'd told him that she'd be there that evening. We said hi, and, after getting himself a drink, he joined us. After only a few more minutes, Ellen had to go. To my surprise and delight, she kissed me goodbye, full on the lips. It was a fairly young crowd in the bar, and lots of people saw her as she went. I tried not to make my smug delight at this obvious confirmation of our status show, but I don't think I fooled anyone. Steph smirked.

"Ken, you dog." Joked Gregg once Ellen had left, giving me a mocking punch. "Where the fuck did you come from? What secret power do you have?"

I just grinned. Now with Ellen gone, I was the gooseberry, so I finished my drink and got up to go. Steph tried to pretend that she wanted me to stay, but I could tell she was pleased that I was making my own way home.

"See you after work." She called after me as I pushed open the door, and stepped out into the Summer evening.

I strolled home, pleased and tired, my mind a little fuzzy from the drink I'd had. In my bedroom, I pondered what to wear in bed. One of the peignoir's I'd acquired? My own PJs?

I decided that I'd have few enough opportunities to wear something as nice as the soft yellow one from the collection that Steph had given me and so I slipped into it's cool sensousness with a happy smile.

I wasn't quite ready to sleep, so I lay awake, letting my mind drift, trying not to think about anything at all. I luxuriated in the the satiny feel of the nightie caressing my body. I wondered if real girls appreciated how lucky they were to be able to feel like this all the time. I wondered if Ellen really knew how beautiful she was, if she ever imagined being a boy. As my mind slowed, drifted away, the strange feeling that I'd felt the day before slowly crept back. This time, my half-awake mind slowly settled on an image of myself, dressing myself, in a slip and little black dress. The scene was so vivid, the details so clear and bright that it felt more like hallucination than mere imagination. I could hear the soft hiss of the fabric of the dress as it slid up the slip. I could feel it's gentle tightness around my hips as I pulled it on. I could smell its delicate perfume, fabric softener mixed with lavender from the pot-pourri in the wardrobe where I'd hung it. The wardrobe in my my bedroom in the house I lived in, as a girl, in my college. The dress that I'd bought to wear on my date that evening. The sense of euphoria, fused with longing returned and I felt my heart beat stronger and faster as the imagined scene played itself out in slow motion in my mind. The sheer ordinariness of the scene, the natural calm which pervaded it and the simple acceptance of the fact of my life as a girl created such a powerful sense of serene joy that I simply drifted into sleep, already dreaming the most pleasant dream imaginable.

Work on Tuesday was much the same as Monday, only busier. Thankfully, I was allowed two breaks, one in the morning, and one in the afternoon. In the morning Kay and I chatted a little. She seemed to be checking me out a little, asking about where I lived, school, that kind of thing. I tried to answer as if I really were my cousin Phil. and her questions weren't too difficult to fend off. In return I got a little office gossip. Mrs. Clark was not well liked, as she was bossy and commanding - this wasn't news, but what was more interesting was that I had been hired not to assist her with the billing, but primarily to assist the office clerks with filing and correspondance. They were snowed under it seemed and some of the offices were in a bit of a state.

"Don't get too caught up with what Clark tells you. She's just getting you to do her job until Allen is ready to show you what to do." Said Miss Kay. "You'll not be working with her in here for much longer."

Sure enough, after my hurried lunch with Carol, Mrs. C. told me to report to Mr. Allen's office where John Furze - the senior clerk showed me the case and client filing systems. He was in his early forties, and looked a little haggard. I got the impression that much of the practicalities of keeping the practice going fell on him. My job was simple enough. A number of cases and client papers had been misfiled over the years. They were, presumably, somewhere in the dozen or so battered cabinets in Field's office. I was to find them. Mr. Furze explained in detail what I was looking for, and described the files and their likely contents and se me to it. For most of that afternoon I worked on my own in the dusty office. Every now and again, Mr. Furze or one of the other clerks would pop in or out to get something, but mostly I was alone. Field, the senior lawyer, was in court all day.

What was interesting was that I was learning how the legal filing system worked. It seemed complex at first, but I found that pretty quickly I could find my way around. The only drawback was the dust. I sneezed constantly, and worried about drying out my skin with all the paper and card. In the end, I found five of the six missing files by early afternoon, but the last eluded me. At five o clock I fetched Mr. Furze and explained that I couldn't find it.

"Perhaps it's not here. It could be lost, or misplaced somehwere else. Still, you've done well, Phyllis." He said. "Five out of six is a good strike rate. If you do as well in Mr. Jones's office you'll be doing very well indeed. It's a complete mess, and there's a lot more missing there. Plus, you'll need to reorganise the whole thing. He lead me into Mr. Jones's office. Jones himself - a balding ball of spreading waistline was therewith the other clerks. They were sharing some sort of joke at the end of the day, and all looked up when Furze brought me in. I blushed under the simultaneous gaze of so many men, all looking at me with a hint of a leer. I was concious of the length of my skirt, and the way my chest rose and fell under my blouse. Furze didn't notice anything, but started bemoaning the dismal stae of Jones's office filing and the general chaos in the room, detailing all that I ought to do the next day.

"Yeah, Jonesy needs some sorting out Phyllis." Joked one of the younger clerks.

"His whole system needs a woman's attention." Said another, taking up the theme. They all laughed in a coase way and I blushed again, furious with myself for letting them get to me.

"Yes. I could do with some relief." Added Jones himself, in a not particlualy subtle double-entendre. This made them all guffaw. I turned and glared at them all, surprising myself with the anger that flashed from my eyes.

"I don't expect that kind of language at work." I said, without a hint of humour. Their faces fell, realising they'd gone too far. My voice, despite the hint of menace had remained feminine. I realised that I'd imitated Steph's tone and voice and smiled wryly to myself, who had so often been on the receiveing end of her sharp tongue.

Jones stood. "Yes, errr. Sorry Phil. Long day and all that. That was a bit O.T.T. Come on lads, let's get that drink. Coming John?" He said, pulling on his coat.

"No, I'll catch up with you." He said, a slight smile playing around his face, and we stood aside as the men filed out, rather shame-facedly. None could meet my eyes.

"Well done. " He said, when they were gone. "They won't bother you again."

Before I could answer, he went back to detailing all that needed to be done the next day. I realised that this job would take several days.

"Er. Mr. Furze. Will I need to do the other office too before the end of the week?" I asked.

"Well, Mr. Field's office isn't so bad, you know, but it also needs some work. If you get finished here before the end of the week, then yes, it could do with being tidied too. He also has a couple of lost files."

It was nearly 5:30 before I managed to get away, and I walked home, my mind full of thoughts about how I might try to discover more about Field's relationship with Chérie. I would have access to his files, but probably for a very short period. If I could find any reference to her, perhaps the details of her divorce case, it was a great opportunity. But I was beset with doubts. Firstly, what if Field was there? I'd been left on my own today, but in all likelihood, Field would be working in his office while I collated and tidied. What if he noticed that I was taking a greater than normal interest in a file? I'd already been warned about issues of confidentiality by both Mrs. C. and Furze. I could get in a lot of trouble if they thought I were reading private client's material. Secondly, of course, I wasn't at all sure about whether I should be invading Chérie's privacy like this. She'd done nothing to me, or to my Dad, or to Stephanie for that matter. What right did I have to sneak about like this? What could justify it?

By the time I'd walked home I was less sure about the whole deal than I'd been since we started. When I walked in our front door it suddenly struck me that I had come home alone. Steph! She'd started work that day, in an office on the ground floor of the same building. I'd totally forgotten. We hadn't made any firm arrangement to meet, but I'd made no effort to meet her at all, at lunch or at the end of the day. I'd just walked out of the building on my own.

I quickly ran upsatirs and started to change. Steph came home as I was hurrying down again to start making some dinner.

She gave me a hurt look. "I thought you'd wait for me." She said. "And where were you at lunch?"

"Sorry Steph." I said. "I just didn't want to hang around. And at lunch, I'd forgotten that I'd arranged to meet Carol again. We'll go out together tomorrow."

"Oh that's okay." Huffed Steph. "You have your own life to lead Ken. Don't worry about me."

She threw herself onto the settee and flicked through the channels on the TV. I left her to it and prepared dinner.

Over the meal she cheered up a little. She chatted about her own job and asked me about my day too. Without meaning to, I found that I was making up stuff, avoiding telling her about the opportunity that I would soon have to snoop on Field. She didn't bring him up either or probe me for details about the work I was doing, so I just let it drop. I decided that I would see how things went before making any firm plans to spy on him or Chérie.

Steph told me that Ellen's Mum had rung that morning after I'd left, to invite us both to her house on Friday evening for a meal.

"She knows you have a job, and it's not that unlikely that she might talk to Dad at some point in the future, so we'd better start to be careful about what we say to Mrs. Purdue." Said Steph. "Let's not let things get too complicated, or else we'll end up with an even more elaborate cover than we need."

I agreed. Things were already rather too complicated, I felt.

When we'd finished eating, Steph. decided that she wanted a drink. She put on her coat and picked up her car keys. "Want anything from the off-license?" She asked.

"No." I said. I frowned. "Steph, are you sure you ought to drink so much? You had a fairly rough night last night already this week."

"Fuck off." She retorted. "Who do you think you are to lecture me? I've had a tough day working, and now I'm going to have some beers in front of the TV. I don't need criticism from anyone, expecially not my pansy little brother. Christ, how did you get to be such a drip? A few days in skirts and already you've become a big girl's blouse."

All her old fire had returned. She glared at me, as if she was going to go on, but she seemed to decide it wasn't worth the effort to put me down any more, and turned and left, slamming the back door as she went.

"Phew." I said to myself. "I need to tread more carefully."

I took the opportunity to call Ellen. She was bored at home, wondering about getting a job herself. "It's a pain not being able to see you and Steph. but I don't want to push it too much with my Mom. She's determined to check you out. Did Steph. tell you about Friday?" She asked.

I told her that she had and that we'd need to be very careful. Ellen downplayed my fears. "Don't worry, she's only concerned that I might be sleeping with you. She imagines you're very loose people, you Carters. She keeps asking about your Stepmom."

"What about her?" I asked, intrigued. "Oh she just wonders about your Dad, marrying a younger woman. She thinks Steph. is much too fast company for me, and imagines you're some sort of crazed, drug taking youth."

I blinked. This was so far wide of the mark that I was thought she must be imagining it. "No way. And what does she think about you?"

"Oh, that I'm sweet and innocent and virginal. Her good little girl."

"Well, that proves it. She must be going senile." I said, and we both laughed. We talked a bit more, but I wanted to be off the phone by the time Steph. got home, so we finished up. We'd see each other the next day anyway.

When I heard Steph's car return, I went upstairs. In a little while, I heard her turn on the TV and the familiar sound of a can popping. I put on my headphones to drown out the sound of the TV from downstairs, and lay down on my bed and opened the transcript of my Dad's interview with Dr. K.

I flicked on a few pages from where I'd been reading before. It seemed Dr. K. was particularly interested in how my Dad felt about my Mothers affairs. We'd moved on to how much he knew about her lovers, and whether he'd ever asked her not to see anyone.

They were talking about Vincent Delaney, who I'd seen in the home video that Mom had made.

"So you didn't like him?" asked Dr. K.

"No. No, I thought he was crude and boorish. I couldn't see what she saw in him."

"Well, I suppose you wouldn't have..."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing Mr. Carter. Did you challenge her about her affair with Delaney?"

"Challenge? No. I mean, I told her I didn't like him, that I thought he was, well, a bit of a pig."

"You told her to stop seeing him? To stop sleeping with him?"

"No. No, that would have been, I mean, you see ... Eh. This may sound a bit odd, but I couldn't tell her something like that. It was her business who she saw, if you see what I mean. I didn't like him, but she decided who she saw."

"Mr. Carter. You have repeatedly told me that your wife's affairs were part of your relationship with her. That you took sexual gratification from them, from hearing the intimate details of her extra marital sexual relatiosnhips, from the erotic nature of being cuckolded. That you encouraged her to do this, that you even actively helped her to carry on these affairs. You have just told me a moment ago, how you drove your wife to the hotel to meet this, this, Mr. Delaney. So how can you now contradict yourself and tell me that it wasn't your business who she saw. Didnt' you set her up with this man in the first place?"

"No. No I didn't that's twisting what I said."

"Mr. Carter. You said, and I'm quoting her from our earlier conversation. "I knew she might take a shine to him, I thought he would be her type .... that's why I thought of inviting him." You set them up together. How can you now say you didn't approve of him, that you would have preferred that she wasn't sleeping with him. It was yur choice Mr. Carter, not hers. She was just going along with what you wanted. Not the other way 'round. She was sleeping with Mr. Delaney because you wanted her to."

"Well, that's just oversimplifying. We both enjoyed her, her sleeping around. It was a mutual thing, but you asked for an example of when ..."

"Mr. Carter. You keep using the word "Mutual". I'm not sure you understand what it means. You were the one who was organising these liaisons, you were the one gaining sexual release from them, masturbating when she would relate the details..."

"It wasn't just me. It wasn't. You make it sound like I forced her. You keep saying that I initiated all this. I didn't I went along with it. I admit that. I enjoyed it, yes. But she was the one who would suggest these things. She was happy to do it. I swear. You ask her. You ask her."

"Mr. Carter, this isn't a cross examination. I'm trying to assess the nature of your marriage. I just want to get the facts. You are the one who is making judgements on your actions, not me. I am not condoning or condeming. I am simply trying to get the details, but you seem to repeatedly accuse me of making judgements that I am not making. You seem to have a lot of pent-up guilt and denial, but I am not trying to assess your mental condition any more than I am moralising. I simply want to understand the nature of your relationship with your wife."

"You bitch. You fucking bitch. That is not what you are doing at all. You constantly missinterpret what I say, and you constantly make veiled comments and insinuations that are not true. You are intending to report a totally biased and slanted version of my relationship with my wife. You don't understand anything of what we have. You are the twisted one. You think that anything a little out of the ordinary in a relationship is perverse. You cannot understand that we love each other. You don't understand that we have a wonderful. loving relationship."

"Mr. Carter. I cannot accept personal abuse and bad language. I remind you that I have been appointed by the court to prepare this report and not by your wife, though I have interviewed her too. Now you will apologise for your language and we will continue or ele I will have to report that you have become uncooperative."

<pause>

"I apologise. I shouldn't have lost my temper or called you a bitch. I am sorry."

"Very good. Mr. Carter. We will say no more about it. But if you and your wife have such a great relationship, then why is she divorcing you?"

That session ended there. I couldn't tell if he had ended it or if it was just a natural break. Maybe he'd leapt accross the room and throttled her, I wouldn't have been surprised. The whole thing was odd. Had this report ever been used? Why was this Dr. K. such a hardass with my Dad? I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, my mind swirling. How had the divorce gone? There had been acrimony. Rows. I remembered them shouting. I remembered frosty silences. But what had they argued over. I had no idea. I had blotted it all out. At the time, I had gone and hidden in my room rather than hear them argue. I'd hated them both for fighting, and so I'd refused to acknowledge that it was going on. Suddenly a thought struck me. I'd always assumed that my parents had agreed the custody arrangements. That's what they had told us at the time of the divorce, that they'd agreed together, for lots of reasons, and for our best interests that Mom would move out and we would stay with Dad, seeing Mom on holidays. Maybe that wasn't so. Maybe they'd fought over custody. That was the only way I could see a report like the one Dr. K. referred to being requested by the court. That had to be it. But then, how had we ended up with Dad? Surely it was unusual for a father to be given custody, and in these circumstances, it would seem even more unlikely. But what about Mom? Maybe the court wouldn't have liked her infidelity much either. I reeled a little at the thought of it. My and Steph's futures would have rested in that report, with all it's highly salacious details of my parent's unorthodox marriage. Still, I couldn't see it happening. I looked at the report again. There had to be a twin. A transcript of Dr. K. and my Mother's interview. I wondered if it was here, somewhere in the house. Probably not, maybe she'd never had a copy. I burned with curiosity. What had happened? Why did they break up, and why did we end up with Dad? Noone had ever explained it to me, and until now, I realised, I'd never felt I had a right to know. But I did. I had every right, and I wanted to understand.

I resolved to ask, my Mom or my Dad, whoever I saw first. I would demand to be told the full story, no glossing over it. I was sixteen. I had a right to know how my life had been decided. Of course, I could have asked Steph, but I doubted I'd be able to make her see how I had a right to know, and in any case, she probably only had a partial account anyway. I doubted she knew the contents of this report for a start.

I turned off my Walkman. It had been quiet downstairs for a while. I listened carefully. No sound. I got up and went slowly downstairs. From the hallway, I could see into the lounge. Mom was there, sitting on the couch beside Steph.. She was holding her in her arms as Steph sobbed quietly, her face buried in her neck. My Mom caught my gaze over my sisters shoulder. Our eyes met, and for a moment, a rare understanding passed between us. I crept back upstairs and lay down on my bed again. Sudddenly remembering, I pushed the report under my bed to conceal it. Out popped the lingerie catalog with Chérie's pert breasts, straining to be unleashed. I hastlily pushed it under too. I could hear steps on the stairs. There was a knock on the door.

"Ken, are you in there?" It was Mom.

"Yes, come in." I said, suddenly feeling five years younger again.

She came slowly into the room, beautiful and warm as ever. I longed to bury my face in her shoulder too, but somehow felt I had to behave like an adult, having seen Steph so bereft.

"I can't stay." She said. "I really only called to see Steph. like you asked."

I hadn't exactly asked her to call to see Steph. but I let it pass. I wanted her to stay. I gestured at the bed beside me, asking her to sit down, but she shook her head, remained standing. "I only have a minute." she said, although I couldn't see why she had to dash off.

"What's the mater with her?" I asked, surprising myself with the question.

"Nothing." She said. Then, realising how inadequate it sounded, she tried to elaborate. "Ken, listen. Your sister, and you too, need to move on, get on with your new lives without me. I shouldn't even be here. Your father is, well, he's trying hard to make a new life for you, for all of you, and well, I'm not part of that new life. You and Steph. you need to put away the past and concentrate on making the most of your new life with your Dad and Chérie."

"She hates her." I said.

Mom sighed. "No, no she doesn't. She just thinks she does. There's probably some name for it in psychologist's books, but she doesn't really hate Chérie, and you shouldn't encourage her to. Don't listen to her Ken. You have to try to understand that it was very difficult for Stephanie when your Dad and I, ... well, ... when we split up. You were too young to be really hurt, though I know you were hurt in your own way too, but Stephanie, she was ... she was just at an age when things like that can be very hurtful and she's been, well mixed up a bit ever since. But the only way she can get over all that is for her to try to move on. Do you understand?"

"No. Mom. What did happen between you and Dad?"

She recoiled. Tensed. Looked up at the ceiling as she composed herself.

"Ken, it won't help to go over all that. It's just that people sometimes fall out of love with each other. That's all there is to it. I know it's difficult when, when ... "

Another effort to control herself.

" ... when it happens to people you care about. But sometimes it's just better. Better. Better for some people to be apart from each other. Your Dad and I are never, never going to get back togther."

She looked me dead in the eyes. "Do you understand?"

"Yeah. Mom. I understand, I mean I didn't think you would, but I don't understand, and it's not fair. I ... I have .. Like a right. A right to know how ... I mean not all the details ... but how you broke up."

"You don't have that right Ken. It's personal. I'm your Mother but you don't have to know everything about me."

"But I mean, what about me? About us? Why do we have to live with Dad? Why not with you? Why are you never here? Why don't you visit us more. I mean, like, you see divorced fathers all the time. Picking their kids up on weekends.You know. We don't even see you that much."

"No. And it's better that way. Like I said, you need to move on. Not live in the past. It's not good for you. Some things are best forgotten, paved over. Those days are gone."

I hated her. This was so unfair.

"They're not gone. They're not. I won't forget. I can't and neither can Steph. You think you can just walk away from us, but you're leaving us here with our past. It's not paved over, and it's not best forgotten. I love you and Dad. We were happy then, no matter what you say. You can't just order us to forget, it's not fair ..."

My tears were flowing hotly down my cheeks. My rage and misery made all the worse by seeing how my words stuck her like a lash.

"Ken. Ken please. I came up here ... I didn't want to ... I mean, I wanted you to help, to understand. I thought you could help your sister. Please Ken. Help me. I have tried to saty away, not to meddle and now, now I've made things worse by beng here. You see why I said I couldn't come back. Please Ken. Just stop this and tell me you'll try. Try for me. Please. I don't know this woman, really, but you have to try to get on with her. For your Father's sake too. But mostly for Steph's please. Please say you'll try."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I said defiantly. "Of course we'll get on with her. Why wouldn't we? She'll be here won't she."

I had meant that to be hurtful but she either let it pass or didn't catch it.

"Thank you Ken. I know you're so much more mature now. You undertand that if your sister tries to bait her, to make things difficult. She, she has these notions and she's so secretive and and ... well, you know. Please. just do your best to calm things. In time, she'll come to accept things as they have to be. She'll get over this and so will you."

For a moment I felt like blurting out that not only would I not, but that I was actively helping Steph. But I held back. It would have been just too much to reveal. I couldn't imagine what my Mother would say or think or do if she knew all that I knew. Instead I just nodded, an act of dishonesty not only to her, but to Steph too, and myself. I was angry, angry and miserable, and filled with resentment for my mother, for her blindness, her absence, her own secretiveness. But, despite all, I felt a terrible pang when, at my nod, she rose to go, all her determination now resummoned, and her steely control back in place.

As she left she looked back for a moment. "Ken. Do me one other favor, please?"

Her look melted me again. A mother's hold is forever.

"Please Ken. No more dressing up. Will you?"

I hesitated. Of course to say yes was to make an admission, but I couldn't say no.

"I'll try." I said.

She smiled a terrible, sad smile.

"I'll try. Where have I heard that before?"

And she was gone.

For a while I just lay on my bed, trying to think of anything but my Mother. As usual when trying not to think about something or someone, they come to mind even more insistently. For some reason, what came to mind was one time when I had gone to see my mother dancing. She was partnered with Jim Hughes. It was a final of a regional dance competition and for some reason we all went along to support them. Steph was in a foul mood, and I was grumpy too since I didn't want to be dragged to a boring dance competition. Dad had insisted that we all go to give her support. For some reason they were expected to be in with a chance of a prize. It was probably the last time I'd seen my mother dancing. I remember watching her, so graceful, so beautiful, as they twirled and spun around the huge arena. It seemed that she could see us in the crowd, and as they would spin past she would smile and wink at us.

I wondered now if that had been some secret signal to my Dad, as she was gripped in her lover's arms. Was she teasing him? Was she saying "I'm going to fuck this guy later tonight, and here I am in his arms in front of you." Was that why he'd wanted to go along? To heighten the thrill of being cuckolded? The whole thing had been a sham. She was right to have left. Good riddance to the bitch. It wa best that we got on with our lives without her.

I rolled over. But what about Chérie? Was my Dad about to do the whole thing all over again, but this time with a woman who would take him to cleaners financially as well as emotionally? Maybe Steph. was right to try to stop her. But, Dad was a grown man, surely he could make his own mistakes. Was Steph really trying to save him from himself, or was she just looking to expose and punish him for failing to keep his marriage together the first time around? I tossed and turned. I knew I'd never be able to get to sleep like this, so I decided to face the music downstairs.

When I walked quietly into the kitchen, I was surprised to find Steph sitting at the table, reading something. She was facing away from me, and didn't look around.

"She's gone." She said, unnecessarily. I'd heard Mom's car leave soon after she'd gone back downstairs.

"Did she manage to persuade you to to pretend that everything's okay in the new Carter family order?"

She looked around over her shoulder. Her eyes were still red, but she looked just as in control as Mom had been when she left.

"Because I love her and she's gone forever Ken, and we're left with a nancy-boy father and his vampire bride." She said.

"You love her, but she was his vampire bride once too, you know. She was part of it."

"There's no comparison between them. How can you say that. She's our Mother. Chérie is just a predatory gold digger. She doesn't love him or us. Mom does love us, though she has a funny way of showing it. So that's why I was crying. Why were you?"

I realised that I must have a bit of red eye syndrome too. I shrugged. "Same reason I suppose." I said, then, "What are you reading?"

She looked at the pages spread out in front of her.

"Nothing much. They have internet access in my work, so I did a quick search for stuff about Chérie, but I didn't get anything conclusive."

I tried to cover my surprise. I glanced at the pages. She didn't seem to have found as much as I did. Most of it looked like stuff I'd quickly passed over. One piece did catch my eye though. It was a page from a UK fashion magazine's website. There was a picture, very recent looking, of Chérie in the background at some sort of awards ceremony, but standing beside her was a middle-aged man. The caption below named Chérie and her husband, Gordon Burley. The date was two years ago. He looked pretty ordinary. There was something about him though. Had I seen him before? Very concious of Stephanie's eyes on me, I examined it more carefully.

"What were you looking for?" I asked, not looking at her directly.

"Anything." She replied. Details of the divorce, I suppose - I couldn't find anything out about him. "What is it?"

I couldn't place him. I was almost sure I'd seen him before somewhere, but couldn't really be one hundred percent.

"Nothing. He doesn't look like much, I suppose."

"No. The only way we'll get real details is when you get a chance to look through Simon Field's case notes."

I put the sheet down. "Steph. You do realise that there will very likely be nothing. If he handled the divorce from another office, another practice he very likely won't have files in the Davies building. In any case, there may not be anything incriminating to find."

"There will be." Said Steph firmly, but she didn't sound convincing.

She gathered up the pages. "What would it take to convince you that she is a predator. That she intends to take Dad for a ride?"

I was surprised at the question, but thought I knew what was really behind it.

"Don't you mean, what it take for Mom to be convinced?"

She frowned at me. "No. Dummy. I mean what would it take for Dad."

Of course.

"I suppose it's impossible Steph. We don't know what he knows already. It may well be that he knows everrything about her anyway. She's hardly going to have written down somewhere - "My evil plan is to make Carter's life hell and then divorce him and take half his money." Even if that is her intention."

"But what if we can show him that she's done it before. That she took this guy to the cleaners with Field's help."

"Even if she did, what does that prove? That she intends to do it again? It'd be bad, of course, but not proof, and think of the upset it would cause. They're on their honeymoon for Christ's sake. He's besotted, and in any case, we already know that he, well, that he's not exaclty conventional."

Steph. frowned. "No.I suppose so. But I doubt he does know everything. She has him twisted around her little finger. She can't have told him everything.Why would she, when she has him in her spell?"

"Steph. Listen to yourself. Don't you think you're taking this too far? You're jumping to all sorts of conclusions just because you don't like Chérie. Breaking up this marriage isn't going to bring Mom back you know."

"Fuck Mom." Said Steph fiercely. "She's gone. It's Dad I care about. I won't stand for her fucking around while we all watch and then go through a divorce where he's made out to be the guilty party. Not, not ..."

"Not again?" I interrupted.

She glared at me.

"You've got a bit smart recently Ken." She said.

"But I'm right. Maybe that's what he wants. Not the divorce, but if he want's to be married to someone who sleeps around, what business is it of ours. She's not our Mom. She's his wife, that's all. Why make everything difficult and horrible if there's no point?"

"Jesus. You're just like him, aren't you. What is it with you men? You like being humiliated, is that it? Why are you so eager to dress up anyway? What is the matter with you? It's fucking weird. Have they twisted you so much that you think it's normal for people to enjoy being put down and humiliated and shamed?"

"No, Steph. But all I'm saying is that you don't know that these suspicions are true, or even that he would care, if they were. Are you sure it's not more to do with you than ...."

She cut me off with her glare.

"Just shut up Ken. I've just had a load of that from Mom and I don't need it from you, allright? Look, I'll make you a deal. If we can't find anything on her that is clearly incriminating by the time they come back then I'll stop, play nice and be sweetness and light until she makes her move, okay? But you've got to promise me that you will look. You will help me, and if you find something you'll bring it to me. Okay?"

I seemed to be making too many prominses. But I nodded all the same.

"I'll try." I said.

"Okay." She said, a little calmer. "Now. Will you join me for a drink?"

Later, when we'd both had a couple of beers, we talked more normally about Mom. It seemed she and Steph had made some sort of arrangement that we would all meet up at the end of the Summer for a short break. I didn't know how much pressure Steph. had put on her to agree to this, but I imagined that was what had lead to the tears. We talked about Ellen too, and what we would do that weekend before Dad and Chérie came back. Later still we cuddled and Steph apologised for being so harsh on me. I just held her. It was hard to reconcile her mood swings - sometimes fiery, sometimes kittenish, but I loved her all the same.

After another beer Steph said she was going to bed. I stayed up a bit longer. I went into the lounge and got out a phot album. An idea had come to me. I flicked past various family snaps until I found the photograph I was looking for. Mom and Jim Hughes had won third place in that competition. When they'd won, we'd joined them on the platform and someone had taken a picture. Mom had thrown her arms around Dad and was kissing him. In the photo their faces were a picture of pure joy. It brought back the scene. When we'd come down from the stands she'd pushed Hughes aside and ran to my Dad, her face alight with the simple pleasure of having won the prize and seeing him there to share the moment with her. They had been in love then, no matter what had happened later. I had no doubt of it. I pulled out the photo and brought it upstairs, pinning it to my little cork board in my room. I glanced at it now and again as I got into my nightie and as I lay down to sleep I was still thinking about that happy time.

Twenty minutes later I was back downstairs again, rummaging among the albums. As I'd drifted off to sleep, an image had suddenly come into my mind, making me sit bolt upright in the bed.. I scrambled through the pictures, flicking through them. I tossed album after album aside. I must have made enough noise to wake Steph, as I suddenly noticed her standing beside me in her pyjamas, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"What are you doing?" She mumbled.

"Looking for this." I said, and pulled the picture from the album, shoving it up to her grogy eyes.

"Gordon Burley. He worked in Dad's firm in the London office. That's a photo from his leaving drinks party in the East End. And look who's with him."

Steph stood and stared at the photo. In it Dad was raising a toast to Gordon. A younger Chérie was at his elbow and Mom by her side too. The picture was at least three years old.

"Suffering fuck Ken." Breathed Steph. "You are a marvel."

She sat down beside me, still staring at the photo.

"They knew each other. What does this mean? Could she and Dad have been having an affair before the divorce? Mom never said that she'd met Chérie before."

"One thing it does mean Steph, is that Dad knew she was married and divorced. He may have known all kinds of things about her before they began to go out together when she moved here."

"Possibly." Said Steph. slowly. I could see that her mind was churning. I was too tired to think about it though, and after saying goodnight a second time, I went back to bed, where I finally managed to sleep.

Dressing for work the next day was just as pleasant as the very first time. I lusxuriated in a satiny blouse and selected a knee-length skirt with a very modest slit over my freshly shaved and pantyhose clad legs. I tried a pair of earrings that Ellen had lent me and silver necklace that Steph had let me borrow. As I did my makeup, I found myself wondering what to wear when we visted Ellen that evening, and then realised that of course, that I would have to dress as a boy. I sank a little more when I counted the days that I would have left to be with Ellen as a girl. Dad and Chérie would be home in just a few days and then I would be back to my male self full time. Feeling glum, I finished my preparations and went downstairs.

I cheered a little over breakfast. Steph was already up and had cooked a fry-up. She was an unusually cheery mood, and we chatted about girlish things over our sausages and toast. We made arrangements for that evening and parted on the doorstep, her leaping into her jeep and me walking the short distance into town and work.

The walk was pleasant, and I arrived early. My good mood evaporated pretty quickly however as I got stuck into Mr. Jones's office. It was a mess, and soon I was dusty, tired and frustrated. There were more incorrectly filed cases and papers than even Mr. Furze had thought. Prettry quickly, I realised that it was going to take far longer than that day. Thankfully though, Jones himself was out and I was left to get on with my tidying on my own without interference. At lunchtime I parted from the other office women and met Steph in the lobby. She and I called on Carol and the three of us went for lunch at the deli. Steph and Carol talked through lunch, discovering mutual friends. I felt a little left out until Carol noticed and made me tell them both about how it felt to be fooling all the people I was working with into thinking I was a girl. I felt a little uncomfortable, talking about it, but I found it was good to talk about my doubts and soon I was babbling away. By the time I'd finished we had to hurry back to our respective workplaces, and I tripped up the steps to the Davies building, almost overbalancing,even in my low heels as I rushed back to work before anyone notciced my lateness.

I stepped into Jones' office to find Mr. Furze and Mr. Jones waiting for me.

"Sorry Phil, we're going to have to stall your work here. One of Mr. Jones' clients has come in with an urgent appointment and they'll be holding meetings in here all afternoon. Mr. Jones won't touch anything here while you're gone ..." He glared at Jones. Clearly he'd realised the state of Jones' filing from the amount of paperwork I'd partially sorted into piles around the room. "... and you can pick up again tomorrow. In the meantime, you can make a start on Mr. Field's office. He's here this afternoon, but he has no appointments so you can search for his missing paperwork without disturbing him.

Furze led me into Field's office. I was nervous. I hadn't expected to be confronted by Simon Fields so soon. He looked up as I came in, and I was immediately struck by how young he was. I'd been expecting someone of my Dad's age, but Field was probably only in his late twenties. He gave me a smile, very charming and I found myself blushing. Furze ignored our looks and started telling me the details of the missing paperwork that was probably somewhere in Field's office. It seemed that a lot of older files were stored in here, and indeed, all around the walls were many filing cabinets, many of which looked old and disused. As I listened, I was aware of Field's eyes on me, but I tried to ignore him and concentrate on what Furze was saying. One thing in particalur caught my attention.

"You can ignore this blue cabinet here." He said, indicating a slightly newer looking one. "That's Simon's own private files which he brought from his previosu practice in London, so you won't find anything relevant there."

I nodded. Furze seemed to have come to the end of his instructions.

"Right, I'll leave you to it. Sorry about this Simon, but Phil works pretty quietly, so she shouldn't disturb you too much."

"No problem., Dick" Said Field, smiling again. "I'm sure we'll get on fine."

"Right." Said Furze and he left the room.

I gave Field what I hoped was a businesslike smile and set to work. I was very concious of his eyes on me, especially my stockinged legs as I started to go through the cabinets, but thankfully he didn't say try to start conversation with me, and in a few minutes we were both working, me flicking though files, re-ordering and sorting, and him writing away on a legal pad in front of him. After an hour or so, I'd almost forgotten he was there, until he stood up, stretched and asked me if I'd like a cup of coffee.

I was going to say no, but quickly decided that I would like one.

"Yes please." I said, giving him another smile, not too shy, not too forward, and he nodded and went out to the little kitchenette.

I looked over at his 'Private' cabinet. If I was going to find anything, then it would be in there. Now wasn't the time to start hunting through it, but I decided to indulge my curiosity a little. I stepped over to it and tried the top drawer. It was open. Thak God. I had been dreading having to search through his desk drawers for a key. There were only three drawers, and the top one was marked "A-H" My heart pounding, I flicked along the top. No Carter of course, but yes, there was a "Burley" file in the B section. I didn't touch it, but slipped the drawer shut and tiptoed back to where I'd beenstanbding when he left and tried to look nonchalant and busy at the same time.

Thankfully, it was another five minutes before Field returned with the twomugs of coffee, which allowed me a little time to calm down and look normal again. I gave him a tight-lipped smile as he handed me my mug and sipped a little as he sat down again.

"It's hard to temp, isn't it?" Asked Field.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Alway's the new girl, given all the most boring jobs. Believe me, I've done my fair share as a junior in solicitor's offices."

I nodded knowingly, concentrating on my coffee.

"It's not so bad." I said. "The work is kind-of mindless so you can lose yourself in it."

"Hmmmm." He nodded. "Areyouy in college Phil?" He asked, changing the subject alarmingly.

"No." I smiled. "I'll be staring A-levels next year."

"Ah. Do you go to St. Martin's?" He asked.

I had to stop myself from saying yes, before remembering, that I was supposed to be from Birmingham. Why was he asking this? Was he going to ask if I knew Chérie?

"Eh, no. I live in Birmingham." I said. "I go to school there."

"Really? You don't have much of a Brummie accent." Said Field. "So what brings you to Cardiff?"

Damn! How had I ended up talking about this? I'd managed to get through to today without having anyone ask these questions, and now, after two minutes of conversation with Field, the last person I wanted to get curious about me, I was having to divulge all sorts of details.

"Oh, I'm just staying with some relatives for the Summer." I said, franctically trying to think up some sort of way to chnage the conversation. "What brings you to the border? Aren't you a Londoner?"

Field was not so easily deflected.

"No, actually I'm originally from around here. Cardiff town, in fact. I worked in London for a while, but I always wanted to move back."

I nodded and slurped my coffee, eager to end the conversation, and he seemed to have dried up. I put the coffee mug down and went back to work. He seemed to too, and after a moment I heard him power up his desktop PC and start to type. The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully.

As the time neared five o clock, Furze stuck his head 'round the door.

"So, Philly, how's it going?" He asked. "Finished?"

"Sorry no." I replied. I've found two, and I've almost finished re-sorting, but unless the last missing file is in the last cabinet, then it's not here."

"Right, well, if you don't finish this evening, then you can finish here tomorrow morning, and then go back to Jones's office when you're done. Those meetings have finished so it'll be free again tomorrow."

He turned to Field. "Going to the Pub, Simon?" He asked.

To my relief, Field powered down his computer and got up to leave.

"Be with you in a moment Dick." He said.

"Right, Phil." I suppose I'll see you in the morning."

"Maybe not." I replied. "I may stay to finish this while I'm in the middle of it."

"Okay." He said. "I suppose you don't want to come round the corner for a drink with all us old Fuddy-Duddies."

I gave him a small grin. "I'm far too young to drink in pubs Mr. Field."

He didn't reply but just laughed as he put on his coat and walked out the door.

I sighed. That had gone a lot better than it might have, and now I was free to pry. I couldn't believe my luck. I waited ten minutes, until they were definitely gone and then crossed to the blue cabinet.

I slid it open, extracted the Burley file and then waled back to the pile that was sorting out. I opened the manilla folder and scanned the first couple of documents. All legalese relating to divorce, lists of assets, meeting notes. I skipped through Field's handwriting. Notes of meetings, dates, litings of legal notices. A sense of dissapointment descending. What was I expecting to find? What was I looking for in any case? I fliked through the rest of the file. There was nothing that looked interesting.

"Aren't you finished Phil?"

I almost jumped out of my skin. It was Miss Kay, standing in the doorway. She had her coat on.

I didn't trust my voice, but just shrugged and gestured at the piles of files at my feet.

"Don't stay beyond six or the alarm will come on." She said, and she was gone.

"Fuck." I breathed to myself, suddenly very jumpy again.

I glanced at the file again. I steeled myself. I wouldn't get another chance like this. I stepped into the outer office. There was no-one there. I waled into the admin office. No-one there either. I crossed to the photocopier and opened the top. I stopped, listened. I could hear nothing. I put the first document on top and pressed the copy button. It hummed, seeming very load on the silent office, and a coipy swished into the tray. I replaced the original and put the next page on the plate. Whirr. Swish. I listyened again. Whirr. Swish. Again. Whirr Swish. It would take a couplke of minutes. I copied and copied. I had no idea what I would say if someone should come in and catch me. I just prayed that I was alone. Soon, I was at the last page, the whole file, back as it was. I gathered my copies. neatened the file and checked the copier. Nothing left on it, just as I'd found it. I walked slowly back to the office and stuffed the copy into my little bag.

My heart was pounding, and my mouth was dry. I replaced the original and stopped to think. Now that I'd done it, I was eager to just get out. Certainly I didn't want to finish my sorting, but if I didn't then I would have to face Fields again tomorrow. I forced myself back to the job. I quickly sorted the remaining files and opened the last cabinet.

Within ten minutes I had found the last missing file at the bottom of the last cabinet drawer. With relief, I put it with the other two on Field's desk and gathered my stuff. I glanced at Field's desk, the idea of snooping there, flicking accross my mind, but I decided that I'd pushed my luck enough for one day. I turned and left, feeling inordinately pleased with myself.

I found Steph waiting impatiently for me in the ground floor lobby.

"Well?" She hissed as I came up to her. She must have seen the others leave, and had guessed from my lateness that I'd been up to something.

I just smiled and walked on, forcing her to follow me.

"Well?" She asked again, eager for information.

I smiled, affecting a casual air. "I have a copy of the Burley divorce file in my bag." I said, simply.

"Woo Hoo." Said Steph. "Let me see."

I snatched my bag away.

"Not here on the street." I said. "Wait till we get home. And, I warn you Steph, you may be disspointed. I had a scan through it, and couldn't see anything interesting."

"Well, we'll see." She said, her eyes ablaze.

The file was a disappointment. As soon as we got home, Steph had insisted I give it to her. She sat down at the kitchen table immediately and began to read through it. I prepared dinner in silence. By the time it was ready, Steph had thrust the pile of copied pages away from her and slumped, disappointed on the table. There had been nothing, no hint of scandal, no viscous wrangling over assets, just the details of a fairly normal, mutual breakup, predicated by an affair on Chérie's part. As a result, and since there were no children, Chérie had only a very modest settlement and part of the mutual assets. Steph didn't try to hide the fact that she'd been expecting more. She was totally let down and deflated.

I felt sorry for her. Everything she'd done had been leading up to this moment. Dressing me, getting me the job, all the elaborate deceptions, and now her plan had borne fruit, but she had gained nothing.

I tried to reason with her. I told her that it was a good thing that she hadn't found anything bad about Chérie, that she should be pleased, but she wasn't in the mood to be cheered. She ate in near silence and then went upstairs, leaving me to clean up.

The next day was Friday, and also the day that we were to call over to Ellen's house for dinner with Ellen's Mother. Dad and Chérie would be back on Sunday evening, and I suspected that Uncle Jack would call over to check on us at some stage on Saturday, so tonight might be my last chance for a real dress-up session. I decided that I'd treat myself. I finished cleaning up and went upstairs. I met Steph on the upper landing. She was going out with Gregg.

"I'll be late." She said. "Don't forget that Uncle Jack will be here on Saturday and tomorrow we're going to Ellen's so you had probably make sure that from tonight on, there's nothing unusual to see in your room."

I sighed, and said that I'd be careful.

"And another thing." She added. "Tomorrow has to be your last day working at that place, so make sure you finish up on time. On Monday, Phil will have to go back to Birmingham, but my brother will be able to fill in for her with the rest of the placements that the agency has for her."

I was surprised. I had wondered how Steph was going to manage this.

"Have you already worked that out with the William's people?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Not really, but they'll have no choice at the last moment. Just be sure that you don't forget to be a boy next week."

She went out, leaving me alone in the house. Perfect.

I opened my closets and looked at what I had to wear. Everything looked great, but I couldn't decide. For the moment, I stripped off, and then pulled on a new pair of satin panties and a white 'body' that I'd got from Steph. I kneeled beside my bed and pulled out the catalog. I perused the pages, lingering over the delicious pictures. This time, I looked at other pictures besides the ones of Chérie. The other models, while beautiful, just weren't as gorgeous as she was, nor did they lock their gaze with the camera with the same smoldering look. As I browsed through the extensive bridal section, a thought struck me. The dress was still in the master bedroom. I wondered what it would be like to wear. Immediately my cock responded. The scalloped neckline would be a problem, but I could work something out. I worried for a moment about creasing or ruffling it, but then remembered what it had already been through - anything I would do it would be minor in comparison.

I popped the buttons on the body and selected a pair of nearly opaque white pantyhose from my stash. I pulled the silky fabric over my legs, once again marveling at how good it felt as it slid up my calves and thighs. Soon, my legs would be hairy again, with hard stubble, but for the moment, I luxuriated in their silky smoothness. I redid the body poppers and scampered across the landing to the master bedroom. After carefully noting the lie and position of the dress, I gathered it up and dashed back to my own room.

I laid it down on the bed. It was fantastic. Tight bodice, satin skirt, gathered at the bottom. I'd grabbed the long white satin gloves too, and laid them beside the sleeves. I turned to my makeup table. Soon, I had touched-up my lipstick and make-up, adding more glamorous eyeliner and shadow. I added a pair of Ellen's earrings and a string of pearls. I looked back at the bed.

I undid the bodice laces. They tied at the back, and then around to the front where they were hidden by a small white bow at the waist. I slipped the dress on, feeling it's coolness against my calves. I pulled on the laces and felt it cinch my waist tightly. Once it was tied, I turned to myself in the mirror. It felt fantastic, and looked great. I walked around a little and then, turning down the lights, lay down on my bed.

As I'd pulled on the dress, a fantasy had occurred to me. As was often the case, I couldn't say why it was so exciting, but as soon as it had come into my mind I'd been hooked.

In my mind, Chérie and I were on our honeymoon. We were in the honeymoon suite at our hotel. Chérie was wearing the dress, filling it's curves with her luscious body.

"Do you like it, love? You keep looking at it?"

"Your dress? Yes, of course, it's beautiful .... You're beautiful in it."

"It feels fantastic too. Soft and cool, just delicious. It's such a pity we only get to enjoy it for one day." She smiled, impishly. "And night."

"Yeah. Well, I suppose we could always...eh...."

She smiled, again, even more vampishly. "We could what? Double our fun?"

I nodded.

"You want to wear it too, honey? Would you like that."

"Eh, no, I meant. I meant that you could always wear it some other night, as well as tonight."

"You're blushing. Oh honey. I was only joking. Of course, that's what you meant. But, but..."

"Yes. I mean, it'd be a pity to only wear it once...."

"Or for only one of us to wear it..."

"No. No."

"Don't lie to me Ken. I can tell. It was clear in your voice, the way you said it. You would like to wear it, wouldn't you?"

I shook my head, but weakly.

"Oh honey, this is our wedding night. I want you to be happy. Now we're married, there shouldn't be any secrets between us, and what's more natural that to want to wear such a beautiful thing. If you want to, if you'd find it exciting, then why not? Would you like to? Would you?"

When I didn't answer, a smile of triumph came across her lovely face.

"Mmmmm. Of course you would."

She moved closer.

"I knew you would, when I saw you staring at it when you saw me wearing it this morning. I thought to myself. - "Hmmmm. Kenny likes my dress. Maybe a bit too much." I suspected you might."

As she spoke she moved closer and closer to me, gently moving me off my position on the bed, until I had to kneel on the floor, facing her as sat on the edge of the bed, she moved her legs apart and straddled them over my shoulders, the dress parted at it's slit, all the way up the front, cascading around me.

"You know what made me suspect?"

She was smiling down at me benignly. I could feel the heat of her inner thighs on my face, could feel the soft, nearly opaque white nylon stockings caress my cheeks.

"It's because you're such a leg man. You love my legs. You love looking at them, stroking them, putting your face between them. Leg men are the most loving, the most submissive. You do love me Ken, don't you?"

"Oh yes, honey."

"I know you do. I do make you happy, don't I Ken?"

"Oh yes, honey."

"Good, I want you to be happy. I want you to love me. I want you to enjoy me. Enjoy my body. Enjoy looking at it, feeling it, loving it."

She was so close, so beautiful, so exquisitely intoxicating. My heart pounded in my chest. I'd never imagined that my wedding night would be like this. So wonderful.

"Mmmmm. That's it honey, rest you face against my panties. Breathe me in. Does it feel good? Do you like it like this?"

My face was pressed firmly into the front panel of her panties, her thighs gently closed around my ears. The warm, comforting scent of her perfume suffused my whole being, calming and exciting me at the same time.

"You love this, don't you Ken?"

"Mmmf. Yes."

"Goooood. And would you like to wear my dress?"

"Mmmm. Yes, please."

"Good. And my lingerie?"

"Mmmmm. Yes, please."

"That's good too. You can. We can dress up together. Do you want to wear my panties?"

"Mmmmmm. Yes."

"Lovely. That's good, Ken. And would you like me to caress you while you're wearing it? Rub my satin gloves all over your body? Lift your dress and feel your panties, your legs, your ass through your lovely soft lingerie?"

"Mmmmmmmm"

"Good. I love you Ken."

"Mmmmm."

"And would you like to lick my pussy and suck on my titties Ken?"

"Mmmmmm. Oh yes."

"Goooooood. I want you to too. And you'll get to do all of these things Ken. It'll feel so good. And then, and then Ken, then the sex."

I felt the delicious dress around me, the feel of the fabric, the taut bodice, the clinging lingerie, the soft rasp of the nylon stockings, and the fantasy shifted.

Chérie's gloved hand was firmly stroking my penis, as I writhed on the honeymoon suite's bed. She loomed over me, her beautiful face inches from mine as she smiled wickedly. She had no idea what she was doing to me, how good it felt, for her this was all foreplay, but I was in heaven, all my buttons were being pushed, as she dominated me, controlled me, teased me.

"Oh, you love this, don't you my little sissy? You love me doing this to you. Is this all your fantasies come true?"

"Aaaaah"

"Now don't you dare come too fast, before your Chérie has had some pleasure too. Oh, we've a long way to go yet."

In my fantasy, I was coming. I took my hand from my cock and watched as pre-cum oozed from it's tip. In my mind though, I had come, gasping as Chérie smothered the end of my spasming penis in a bundle of white tissues.

"Oh no. Oh dear Honey, you've come too soon. What will we do now? Here I am, all ready to be fucked and you've already gone and come just from wearing my dress. Oh dear."

Where was this going?

"It's okay though Honey. We can just wait for you to get ready again. God I'm really horny though."

She giggled.

"I bet I know what you'd really like though."

"What?"

"No, it's too bad. You wouldn't like it."

"What? I'll do anything for you Chérie."

"No, you're only saying that, you wouldn't. I couldn't ask you."

"Anything. I'll do anything."

"Weellllll. You know my friend Bill from New York? Who was at our wedding reception? He's staying here at the hotel tonight. He told me his room number. It's just down the corridor. I could call him and get him to come over here and fuck me while we wait for you to recover."

"What?"

"See, I knew you wouldn't want to do it. It's okay, I understand. There's some things a wife just can't ask her husband to do. I only thought of him because we used to be an item. God, he can really fuck, and he can go for hours. It's like he has some problem reaching orgasm, but he can really keep an erection. I think it's because of all the bodybuilding that he does. He's really fit. And he's such a stud too. Even when we were going out, me and him? He used to have other girlfriends too, but I didn't mind, because there was no way I could keep up with him. He just wore me out, and I was so well fucked anyway, I didn't need to complain."

She shrugged, ruefully, looking at my still-limp penis.

"How are we doing there? Any signs of life yet?"

She smiled at me reassuringly.

"Don't worry honey. We don't have to do anything you don't want to. What would you like to do next?"

She stroked me, again, my cock beginning to harden under her touch

"Ah, we're awake again!" She cried.

"So, what do you want to do?"

"Could I watch?"

Her eyes flew open with delight.

"Watch?"

"Watch you and Bill?"

Her eyes smoldered with passion.

"Are you sure it wouldn't be too rough on you? I mean, we've never actually had sex, and here I am, your new bride, wearing my wedding dress, just aching to be fucked? Would you really rather watch me be fucked by some stud than try to fuck me yourself? Wouldn't it hurt to listen to me gasp and moan as his iron rod forces my breath from my body and makes me shudder in pleasure? What if I cry out as he pumps me? What if I shout that I love him? I might do that you know. His cock just takes me places that you've never seen me go to, and it might make me say things, do things that would be hurtful. He can be really mean and cruel. I mean, I love it, but what if he called you a sissy as he took your wife. What if he made me call you a sissy, even as the tears of pain and sweet pleasure are squeezed out of my eyes? Could you take that honey, just to give me the best honeymoon night a woman could have? Could you, honey? Could you?"

All the while she was talking, her hands were straying to her panties, rubbing herself through them right in front of me, and then pulling the wispy panel of soft fabric aside to rub herself again. I was transfixed, nodding all the while to each question, as the possibility of doing this thing became a probability and then a certainty and finally, an overpowering need.

"Are you sure Honey? Will you say it for me? I want to be sure. Say it out loud honey."

"Yes, yes, I will."

"Oh that's wonderful. I'm so pleased with you. Now, it's just down the hall. Room 432. You can be there and back in a minute."

Suddenly, I realised that she wanted me to go and get this man. I looked up at her, frightened and concerned.

"Oh, come on now. You want to. It'll only take a second. I can't go, either he wouldn't believe me, or he'd just grab me and fuck me there. Is that what you want?"

"No. No."

"You want him to come back here?"

"Yes."

"So you can watch while he fucks me?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so just skip down there and tell him, and I'll be waiting. Now hurry, I can't wait."

"But, but." I gestured at the dress.

"Oh don't worry about the dress. It's late, no-one but Bill will see you in it, and it's better this way, as he'll realise you're serious, and no threat to him. Don't you want to be wearing it while you watch anyway? It'd take ages for you to take it off, dress, go and get him, and then come back and change all over again. Oh please, honey, don't delay."

I hesitated again, but I was caught up in the spell that her words had woven. I got up and with one backward glance at her beautiful body lying on our wedding bed, and another encouraging smile from her, I went out the bedroom door.

Once outside in the corridor, I glanced up and down to make sure that no-one was coming and then scampered down the soft carpet, checking room numbers as I went, until I came to room 432. I knocked, my heart pounding in my chest, the sound of my knuckles against the wood sounding very loud in the quiet hotel. After a few heart-thumping seconds the door swung open and I went straight in to the darkened room. Bill was still dressed, and he peered at me, confused.

"What the...?" He started, and then slowly began to smile.

"Bill, I, eh, er, that is, we were wondering if you wanted to join us?" I blurted out, turning very red.

" "We" were wondering? I bet she was." He said, a confident sneer spreading over his face.

"This is new though. I can't imagine how she persuaded you to wear her fucking dress though. That's a new one on me. Very funny. And now she sends you over here to fetch me back to her bed. Hilarious. What's the problem, honey, can't get it up enough for Chérie? Was she disappointed? Not man enough for her?"

I burned brighter, my cheeks almost aflame with embarrassment and shame. I wished he'd just come with me, and stop taunting me like this. Having him laugh at me was worse than having him fuck my wife for me.

"What's the matter? Too embarked to speak. Well, you should be. Look at you, dressed up like this, and coming over here to beg another man to fuck your wife on your wedding night of all nights. For pity's sake, you should at least have tried for one night before giving in to her. At least then you could have claimed to have been a man for one night, rather than a pitiful excuse for a man. Well? What do you have to say for yourself.?"

I had nothing. I hung my head in shame.

"Well, I suppose I'd better come over to your room, we can't let your lovely wife disappointed on her wedding night now can we? And I suppose you'll be wanting to watch. That'll be her way, okay. Make you think you want to watch, but that's just the way she reels you in. After a while you won't be able to refuse her anything, won't even want to. Right, come on."

I still had nothing to say, but could only follow him as he left the room and went down the corridor to where my wife was waiting. I had to hurry to keep up with his strides, nearly stumbling over the hem of my dress in my pearly white high heels. I picked up the skirts to stop myself tripping and marveled at how the sight of my stockinged feet in the gorgeous shoes could still thrill me, even in this situation.

(continued)  

  

  

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