The following story may be copied for private reading, but not sold or distributed without permission from the author. All characters and situations are fictional.

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From the celestial morass
of dust and gas
the harmony of the heavens are spun.
In the singular mind
of science design
where all hands of creation are one.
But eyes as mine
savor a more earthly wine
and wonder if so singular a song is sung.
Might a ravens shrill
cupids bow or poets quill
be the harmony the heavens are strung?

josie

 

Studio of Dreams

by josie

Chapter I

Simon Gray

 

Simon walked quietly past the stickball game and the mayhem that passed for play in the street. He made his way unnoticed to the steps of his tenement, then ran up the stairs happy to be home. With a sigh he entered his apartment, again safe from the contrary world outside.

After hanging his sweater and cap upon the entrance clothes tree he paused a moment to consider his reflection in the hallway mirror. He waited for the burden of his worry to ease and the lines on his face to regain its softer, more delicate symmetry. Then reaching up behind his head to undo the elastic, he smiled as the sweep of his long auburn hair fell unbound from behind. There was a comfort in his mirrored reflection, just as he felt a comfort in his detachment from the kids in the street. It wasn't that he thought the kids who lived in his East Side neighborhood any less likable or more injurious than any other kids in New York. It was that he knew he was different.

Simon found his kitchen smock hanging from the pantry door beside that of his mother's. Pulling the lavender smock of ruffles and lace over his clothes, he let the dress-like affair drape evenly down over his trousers. For a moment he thought how he'd like to wear the smock without them on, but remembering his mother's warning about such things, he didn't. Instead, with a gentle inflection of his wrist he swept the length of his hair neatly behind his ear and out of his way as he began gathering the clothes to be ironed.

With a sigh of resignation Simon went about his chores. It was just as you'd expect of a fifteen year old still in need of a mother's love and affection. After all, he had little else to compensate for the alienation he felt, and his mother's validation was important to him. Nothing mattered more to him than his mother's approval, so it fit that he would be so eager to please her and she so willing to accommodate him.

As a single parent, it wasn't difficult for Eunice to oblige her son. He was gentle, kind and obedient like the good kid he was. It didn't trouble her that he wasn't all rough and tumble like the neighborhood kids, nor that he found more comfort in keeping himself neat, and their apartment spotless, than in playing ball in the street. Oh, she might have thought of him as a bit of a dreamer, and worried that he might be tied too closely to her apron. As any mother would, she worried about such things. Then too, she knew him to be a conscientious and upright young man despite his shortcomings, and couldn't have been any prouder of him.

In truth, Simon was the pride of her life. You could see it in the way she carried herself walking down the street, her Simon proudly in hand. Dressed in his hand knit, powder blue cardigan and matching beret, no one could deny Eunice the pride she felt. Then when the stiff morning breeze added to the flush of Simon's cheeks and stirred the lengths of his hair, Eunice couldn't help but marvel at her blessing. True, he was a bit slight for his age, and at 5'-5", 115 pounds he wasn't someone you'd likely singled out in a crowd. There just wasn't that much of him to notice, unless you stopped to considered his captivating blue eyes and a face so fair even Eunice had to wonder how she'd been blessed with such a beautifully handsome son.

Not that Eunice thought of herself as an unappealing woman. There had been times past when she weighed less, was more shapely. Then with the proper blend of makeup and clothes, there were those who had found her appealing enough. Of course that was long ago, when it mattered to her. That was when she had hopes of finding a husband, and before the error in judgment that led to Simon's unintended conception. It was also before the years and the hard work wrote their signature across her brow.

You'd expect a boy raised by a mother so loving would come to share much in common with her. The flower motif and lace doilies that decorated his bedroom gave ample evidence to that. Not that Eunice thought there was any harm in this. Indeed, she felt it her duty to provide a clean, cultured environment. It was no less her duty to pass on her lifetime of knowledge then to teach her son the need for propriety. As such, she saw nothing errant in her parenting, and she felt equally comfortable with his gentle nature as she was in preaching her gospel of civility and manners.

Eunice also understood the need for male role models in her son's life, and did her best to encourage his forming male attachments in everything from Boy Scouting to Boys Club. This wasn't an easy proposition for a woman who worked the long hours she did. Nevertheless she tried her best to make it happen, always hopeful that someone would impart in her son a taste for the pleasures other boys his aged enjoyed. Unfortunately, all her efforts ended with the same unpromising results. Simon just could not bond with other boys, each occasion ending tearfully, with him plaintively begging his mother not to "make me go there again."

Then she'd relent and comfort her melancholy son. Could anyone blame her? She'd look upon him sitting at the table, his gaze dreamily distant, his fingers intertwined below his chin in languid repose. Her heart filled with sympathy, she'd promise him that she would find something more to his liking, and try again. Such was the nature of things in the Gray household up to the day that Simon discovered Tae Kwon Do.

It was through an announcement sent to his school that he learned about the Tae Kwon Do class. Overjoyed that he had found something he wanted to do outside the house, Eunice shared his excitement and encouraged him to go the required three afternoons a week. In so doing, she was always ready to hear his telling of the moves he learned, and the fun he had. It did seem to her a very unusual marriage of interests, however. Some days he would return from Tae Kwon Do class bruised, with tears in his eyes. On other days he virtually danced through the door on tiptoes, light as air, his cheeks flushed rose with exultation.

It didn't matter though. Eunice never spoke to him about any misgivings she might have had. She dare not ask him why, after two years, he still had not earned even the basic Yellow Belt, or why Tae Kwon Do would require its youthful warriors to wear their hair and nails so distressingly long. Although she might have had her suspicions, she said nothing. Instead she listened to his tales of how he fared, or didn't fare against his arch rival, "Wicked Willie," and grateful he was becoming a man on his own terms.

For Simon, there was never any solace in keeping his secret from his mother. It wasn't something he wanted to do and wished it were otherwise. Surely if he told her the truth about what he was really doing after school, she would be angry. Perhaps long ago she might have forgiven him but now, that time had passed. He could no longer tell her that Tae Kwon Do was just something he endured. Nor could he tell her that the dreaded class was just a cover for the unmanly thing he did, and what she would surely see as his shame.

 

Chapter II

Wilhelmina Mann

Of course Simon wasn't the only kid in New York with secrets. Nor was he the only child at risk of traumatizing a mother. Consider the case of Wilhelmina Mann, a child prodigy by anyone's definition. She was the daughter of Katherine Mann, a fiery and impassioned artisan who had earned her renown with the Metropolitan Ballet. Agile, beautiful, and graced with her mother's wild untamed hair, Wilhelmina was her spitting image, with a passion for dance to match. She was most certainly the pride of her mother's life, and the envy of all who knew her.

Many believe that one does not inherit talent. According to the adage, talent is earned through hard work, dedication and practice. For Wilhelmina, this was more than a simple adage. It was the ethic she lived by. It showed in all her hard work and countless hours in training, rehearsing and refining her innate skills. Still, it would be hard to imagine how practice and hard work alone could account for her eloquent performances. This is, unless you considered it a gift.

Indeed, so inspiring was her dancing that she achieved Prima Ballerina status for the City Youth Ballet by the age of thirteen. Another star on her resume, the lead in Alice in Wonderland and Nutcracker, both publicly televised productions from the MET, receiving national attention. With so promising a future, it could be expected that she would also attend the most influential school in the world of ballet: The Dupré Conservatory of Dance. To all who knew her she was talented and beautiful; her star so bright, her future filled with great promise. That is, until the day adolescence came to take its bloody toll.

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The year was 1972, and Katherine lived with her lovely daughter in the fashionable Regency Towers complex in lower Manhattan. Katherine chose this address because it was close to her work, Wilhelmina's school and had a wonderful view of the East River from the twelfth story balcony. It was a luxurious, new complex that towered above the long neglected neighborhood below; the first step in a redevelopment project to revitalize a once enterprising waterfront. The complex provided sanctuary for the well heeled behind it's guarded front gate, while two blocks in any direction flourished the multitude of inner city problems.

Katherine knew there were dangers living in this part of the city, but as location is the mother of necessity in a place like Manhattan, the sacrifice was a choice she was willing to make. Besides, she believed that living behind a guarded front gate would keep them safe, while exercising a bit of caution would be enough to keep her daughter safe from the dangers lurking outside in the street. She hadn't reason to believe otherwise until an innocent sleepover by Abigail Foxworth, the daughter of a first floor tenant, proved her wrong. She quickly discovered there was another kind of danger facing her beautiful and talented daughter, just as she knew it would take more than a few words of caution to protect her daughter from it. As Katherine saw it, the matter called for fire and brimstone - nothing less. So she summoned the spirit with a scream, and their apartment walls echoed her curse after finding the two twelve-year olds on the sofa, ardently kissing, and intimately entwined.

Now, I know what you're thinking. It's just another case of an overly protective, reactive mother elevating her misplaced fears. All of us have seen enough of this sort of thing to have already formed our opinion of Katherine's response. On the other hand, from Katherine's perspective what else was a single mother to do? Was she to simply shrug it off as childhood exploration when it was her responsibility to see to the safety of her child? Besides, how could she be sure that Wilhelmina's "Abigail made me do it" would be enough to insure that it would never happen again?

As could be expected, Katherine began preaching about the all-pervasive evils of homosexuality as she believed was her duty. She sermonized her canon of evil until the very thought of "girls like Abigail" filled Wilhelmina with loathing, and her dreams haunted by fear of those "wretched homos." Katherine did this to ensure that a young Wilhelmina would grow up safe from the evils lurking out in the streets of the city. Unfortunately, it also ensured that a grown up Wilhelmina would forever have to suppress the dark demons of her mother's making.

However, there were still darker demons that tormented the soul of our very beautiful, and talented child prodigy. We should expect as much when we ask a child to shoulder the burden of such extravagant expectations. Children know so little of the world, and even less about themselves. Can we expect even the exceptional and the gifted to shoulder such burdens without crisis and conflict? As we shall see, for Wilhelmina, crisis and conflict enough soon became evident to all, including her ballet instructor, Dame Dupré.

The Dupré Conservatory of Dance was undeniably the finest school for the arts in New York. An acclaimed artist, Fredricka Dupré had created and performed masterworks celebrated as classics the world over, and it was under her tutelage that Wilhelmina's talents flourished. Clearly, Fredricka held her young prodigy in high regard, and though she was unbending in all she demanded of her pupil, Wilhelmina thought no less of her than she did her own mother. Whatever was demanded of her, Wilhelmina bravely met the relentless pressure to finely hone her skills. Her youthful exuberance pushed her through the hard work, her spirit overflowing with enthusiasm despite the intensity or the strain. Of course her efforts didn't go unnoticed by Fredricka. She lavished praise and encouragement upon her, bolstering her bravado. The more encouragement she gave, the loftier her swagger became.

Predictably, Wilhelmina's successes, and her overstated bravado soon produced an alarmingly grandiose image of herself. In truth, she acquired such an exaggerated notion of her abilities that she believed herself the best of the best, and without peer. This is how it was when she came to face a momentous turning point in her life. It seemed so inconsequential to all at the time, and if she had been better prepared, it might have passed with no consequence at all. But this tale isn't about a girl without fault of character. Rather, it's about the unforeseen consequences of Wilhelmina's calamitous bravado and how it came to change her life forever.

It was a rather trivial matter in all honesty. It was just one of many competitions for Wilhelmina to show the world her potential and her promise. At such moments her star was always the brightest. Primed with success, and full to overflowing with self-confidence she entered the City Youth Ballet competition for the "Best Original Composition." Although the competition assured that the finest talent from the finest dance schools would be making a presentation, Wilhelmina felt the award hers from the onset.

How could she lose? It was not only a great opportunity, but dancing a work of her own creation was a dream come true. There could be no denying Wilhelmina this opportunity. She was intent upon creating the opus of her youthful dreams, and devoted countless hours and all her energy trying to create a piece that voiced her vision of the world.

Unfortunately, she still hadn't the maturity, nor the experience to create what lay beyond the providence of her youthful vision. Then came the announcement of the winner and another student's work was chosen, denying Wilhelmina her dream. In aspiring to do what life had not yet intended, failure was the price she paid - and failure was not something she knew how to handle with grace.

With such a lofty opinion of herself, we could expect that she would defensively scoff at her failure to protect her damaged pride. When Wilhelmina began referring to her dance as just a "childish pursuit not worth my effort," her mother should have known that trouble was just around the corner. Instead she chose not to intervene, believing Wilhelmina would soon grow out of it. That didn't happen, and Wilhelmina grew increasingly detached from the "childish pursuit" ballet had become, choosing instead to pursue more adult ambitions elsewhere.

It was unfortunate that Katharine couldn't find enough for Wilhelmina to do with her free time. In truth, it had always been a challenge to find something for her active adolescent to do outside the everyday drudgery of dance and school. This was especially true in the late afternoons, after dance and before Katherine returned from the theater. Further aggravating Katherine's problem was the lack of suitable recreational opportunities available in that part of New York. From those that were available close enough to home and school, Wilhelmina only expressed interest in one: a Tae Kwon Do school located near to their apartment.

Wilhelmina thought the idea fun and pressed Katherine for her approval. She said she needed something new to break the boredom of dance, dance, dance all the time. But Katherine disagreed. She argued that Wilhelmina could get hurt in the martial arts class. In time, however, she grew tired of hearing her daughter complain about her boredom and agreed to let Wilhelmina attend the class. Thus, the stage was set for Wilhelmina to begin her most remarkable adventure. Like Alice's spiral down the rabbit hole, she was soon in free fall, careening down a path of self-discovery - a course that would test the very limits of reality for both Wilhelmina, and Simon Gray.

 

Chapter III

Willie and the Warlords

Wilhelmina found Jo-Wong's Tae Kwon Do class in an auxiliary room located in the rear of the 82nd Avenue Gym. The gym was a worn and much used place that had long since seen its better days. It did have its following among the local boxing and body building enthusiasts however. Rich in tradition and a relic of the glory days of boxing, it was one of few original independents still around, and highly regarded.

Naturally the gym was a very tough place, and with the Harleys parked out front "24/7", it seemed a most unlikely place to house Tae Kwon Do classes for school age kids. However, as the famed Tae Kwon Do Olympian, Jo-Wong owned the complex, the association was more expedient than one would think. Not only was the facility certified by the Parks and Recreation Department, but Jo-Wong and his respected employees personally guaranteed the gym was a safe place for kids to congregate. Fact is, Jo-Wong's intolerance of any wrongdoing had even earned the endorsement of the city's Police Commissioner - also an avid martial arts enthusiast. His endorsement was in itself reason enough for Katherine to put aside her fears, then sign the enrollment form so Wilhelmina could attend the class.

All the same, there was no reason to worry about whether any harm would come to Wilhelmina at the gym. No one was stupid enough to annoy any of Jo-Wong's young students - Commissioner's endorsement or not. Then again, it was a very manly place, and the smells, sounds and raw emotion inside the gym spoke to just that. In truth, it was a veritable fortress of virility and toughness, and from the start, Wilhelmina found the place electrifying!

From the first moment she walked past the boxers in the ring and the bodybuilders on the bench presses she felt a new emotion come alive in her. Her adrenaline surged and pulse quickened, but not from an emotion you would suppose - not at all! She didn't linger over the thought of all those handsome young men. Indeed, she had absolutely no interest in boys at all. It was the challenge heralded in the grunting, sweaty, iron clanking cacophony that stirred her. The clash of leather, iron and flesh played like some great symphonic score resonating through to her core, beckoning her in.

She was so captivated by what she saw that when Jo-Wong promoted Tae Kwon Do as a "complete conditioning program for both body and mind," we could expect Wilhelmina to eagerly embrace the idea. Likewise, when he opened up the gym for all his Tae Kwon Do students to use, Wilhelmina was first to step up to the curling irons and the barbells. She was also the first to the "Mr. Universe Neu-Body Supplements" counter to buy her daily regiments of compounds.

Before each class Wilhelmina would spend an hour in the weight room right along side the boys equally committed. In fully embracing Jo-Wong's "complete body conditioning" philosophy, she quickly built upon the finely tuned musculature that had its genesis in years of ballet training. In truth, she found Jo-Wong's approach to the master of Tae Kwon Do a well suited extension of all she had learned in ballet. It was a wonderful marriage of agility, assertiveness and exceptional body conditioning which all came to her so naturally. Being a quick learner, she soon got quite good at it. Wilhelmina became so good so quickly that her tall, well conditioned and muscular frame, her agile quickness and aggressive spirit earned her a Black Belt before her first year was over. By age 15, Wilhelmina could drop her "Sah-bum-nim" instructor with a jump kick, open palm punch combination more often than not.

As time passed and adolescence progressed, the "complete body conditioning" program gave rise to a powerful and explosive figure, while her skills grew increasingly more lethal. By sixteen, she was a solid 6’1" with long and powerfully sculpted legs and forearms. She had the form of a cunning predator, a warrior-like presence that no boy, nor man in class wished to trifle with. It was this extraordinary combination of her powerful body, agility and utter fearlessness that earned her the nickname "Wicked Willie."

It was a misfit boy named Simon who first christened her with the name. This conspicuously frail and docile boy considered it a fitting testament of Wilhelmina's ruthless treatment of him, and that she seemed to him more like a boy than a girl. Privately, Wilhelmina coveted the respect implied by the reputation she had earned. Publicly, she served a steady diet of retribution to the boy with manicured nails and effeminately long auburn hair who called her names. Then again, no matter what she did to poor Simon it was impossible to dispel the notion that she looked more like a boy than a girl..

Clearly, all the years of rigorous conditioning in ballet and Tae Kwon Do had helped to sculpt her physique into something extraordinary and, with the help of all those testosterone laden "Neu-Body Supplements," every known muscle group rippled and swelled in man-like proportions. Of course none of this helped to improve her feminine attributes. She was still narrow in the hips with a scarcely noticeable bust. Couple this with the sudden flourish of her facial and body hair, and there was an androgynous air about her that confused everyone, including herself.

You'd have thought all this would be a problem for her, but neither pubescent breasts, fledgling mustache nor her boyishly narrow hips mattered once she wrapped her third degree Black Belt around them. That's why she loved Tae Kwon Do. This was no childish fancy as ballet had become for her. This was a serious affair that demanded respect, and as it was the respect she coveted, her black belted warrior's grab became her clothing of choice wherever she went. "Wicked Willie" or not, she demanded respect from everyone, including Simon Gray.

With an air of confidence that only a third degree Black Belt can engender, she again became the dominant virtuoso: an unqualified success! In Tae Kwon Do, as in ballet, she was master of her dominion. The difference was that in ballet her creative vision had reached an impasse. In Tae Kwon Do, there were no limits. Truly she loved playing the warrior, but as much as she loved going to class to dish out the punishment, much more emerged from her daily pilgrimage to the gym than the classes themselves.

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Katherine had little choice but to allow Wilhelmina to walk to her Tae Kwon Do class on her own. She didn't like the idea, but her work schedule would not allow otherwise. She reasoned that since the gym was only four blocks away, what harm could come to a girl well inculcated on the evils lurking in the streets - especially one dressed in a Do-bok Gi. This gave Wilhelmina her first chance to walk the surrounding neighborhoods on her own for a taste of the life she hardly knew.

Unknown to her mother she would wander about, looking into the shops and watching the people in the street. What Wilhelmina saw amazed and excited her. From the everyday life on the streets, to the seedy aspects of life along the path she traveled, she found it all alluring to her blossoming adolescence. After all, she was not a little girl anymore. She was feeling the new pulse of her sexual being, and her sensitivities were becoming aroused by something besides childish fancy. What she saw in the streets was telling her something about herself that she didn't quite know, and as yet didn't quite understand.

Wilhelmina never spoke to her mother about what she did. This was her secret world, and all she saw was hers to covet and hold secret from Katherine. She was growing up fast, and now, with her adolescence in bloom she found herself the inhabitant of two distinctly different worlds. In one she was a privately schooled child prodigy. In the other, she was a hunter on the prowl for an as yet undefined truth about herself.

It's impossible to say how things come about, or where the origin of something first takes root. I could point to that day when the police knocked on Katherine's door, a warrant for Wilhelmina's arrest in their hands. In truth however, the trouble had its origins much before this. It might be more defining to set the time back, about a year before, when she first met Alyssa and the rest of the gang on the corner of 85th and 2nd.

Alyssa was a member of a gang of girls calling themselves the Banshees, and she was quite different from any girl Wilhelmina had ever met. Alyssa was as dimwitted as she was gorgeous. She was an eye turning teenage bombshell, thoroughly covered with flesh piercing rings, spiked fluorescent orange hair and wore the most riotously provocative clothes. While there were many ways to describe the 36DD cannon shells that bolted out of the skimpy halters she wore, only one term described the beauty's mental acuity - dimwit.

However, there was a lot more to Alyssa than her aptitude. Wilhelmina found her complex and unpredictable, and what she saw in her unfettered spirit filled her with passion. She adored everything about this streetwise, femme fatale artisan, who could be a teasing temptress one moment and ruthlessly tough-as-nails the next. In truth, Wilhelmina found Alyssa erotically appealing and she hungered at the very sight of her.

Again, this was no child's fancy. This was a serious matter that aroused very adult passions altogether new to her. Of course, Wilhelmina could not admit to herself the nature of these passions, nor could we expect otherwise. That is, not after all the years of hearing her mother sermonize about the evils of homosexuality.

It would have been difficult for Wilhelmina's adoration of Alyssa to go unnoticed in the Banshee sisterhood. Their shared affection wasn't exactly normal fare even in this neighborhood. The gang might have even thought to tease them about it, if any dared evoke Wilhelmina's ire. However, few in the sisterhood considered themselves to be that brave. They had an amicable understanding to leave well enough alone; a lesson learned when first they met Wilhelmina.

It all started during one of Wilhelmina's daily excursions, as she was admiring still again the "Devil or Angel" tattoo displaced on the wall of Frank's Tattoo Parlor. She passed the shop along the circuitous route she took to the gym - on a murky street laden with pawn shops and bars. She loved milling around this wickedly forbidden world, especially Frank's. Inside, she'd wistfully dream about having that tattoo engraved on her shoulder, while Frank, seedy as a pomegranate ranted on about how he'd like to emblazon that tattoo on her ass. He was showing her still another tattoo he'd like to put elsewhere on her anatomy when he first saw the girls enter the shop, sizing up Wilhelmina. He pointed to the gang standing behind her, then chuckled.

"Girlie, unless you want ya lil'ass tat-tooed by a Banshee boot, ya' best come put ya' hands n' big Frank's paw-kets to git a handle on some pro- tec- shun!"

When it was clear Frank was not going to help, Margarita Lopez took the initiative, stepping forward to "put the hit" on her for her cash. She grabbed hold of Wilhelmina's handbag while the others taunted her, and Frank stood to the side laughing his ass off. The raven-haired, Puerto Rican should have thought twice before trying something as foolhearted on our muscle-bound, amazon warrior, wearing her black belted, Do-bok Gi - but she didn't! Like Alyssa, Margarita wasn't bright enough to think twice about anything.

An instant later, the girl gang watched Wilhelmina's smooth pivot and the sweep of her right leg, waist high, around toward Margarita's midsection. The sudden and irrevocable move proceeded a window shattering "Aaaaaaaaaaah" as her booted foot struck its target square, just milliseconds before the following fist to the nose that was inescapably decisive.

"Whoa! Freeeak'n bad newz!" Frank chuckled. "Guess Frank was speak'in’ when he should'a bin think'in!"

Wilhelmina had earned her stripes fast and, after helping Margarita back up, it was a bloody, and chastened Margarita who gave her the respect due. From that moment on the newly christened "Willie" led, while Alyssa, Margarita and the rest of the Banshees followed.

With Alyssa at her side, hand in hand, Willie and the Banshee sisterhood prowled the streets of the hood day after day. They walked to the tempo heard in the streets, where more than a few onlookers glanced at the sway of Alyssa's imposing chest and Willie's equally imposing, masculine stride. It was a well subscribed to ritual, affording each girl the opportunity to work her favorite block. They slowly walked the select route, allowing the girls to take care of their affairs, then return to the flock, their mission done.

This was true for each girl in the group, as it was for Alyssa. Like the others, she too would leave, then return, falling into Willie's warm embrace. As it was her nature to flaunt and to tease, she'd press in close and pierce Willie to the heart with her torpedo like breasts. Then she'd look up with a certain gleam in her eye and toy with the makings of Willie's fledgling mustache.

The girls never told Willie what they did when they were away, and she knew enough not to ask too many questions. There was nothing in the darkness nor the danger that enticed her, as it did with the others. Surely there could be nothing as enticing as her Alyssa was to her. Besides, if she asked no questions she'd have no lies to tell. With her beautiful and dimwitted little temptress beside her, Willie blissfully ruled like a tomcat over the pack. Each day her swagger grew with the respect she garnered, her passions aroused by the sultry Alyssa at her side.

Most days, their junket through the hood ended as Willie and the Banshees approached Jo-Wong's gym. It was the stop off point for Willie to begin her workout and to say goodbye to all in her brood. That is, all but her Alyssa who she would coax into sitting close by to watch her curling iron "reps." Rolling her sleeves up over the rippling shoulder muscles, Willie would flex and pose in her best impersonation of the statuesque Atlas himself. With her biceps and triceps bulging to the encouragement of Alyssa's oooo and aaah's, Willie would beam with the bravado of a most virile peacock. To Wilhelmina, this was street theater at its best, and she played it like the great artist she was.

Now, I know you think all this a bit much to believe. You're saying to yourself that two girls behaving like this should have been the focus of a lot of unwanted attention. You'd be right to think so, but in this part of the city no one cared to take notice of anything as they passed through to somewhere else in a hurry! This principle held true to all who had to abide by the rules of the street. No matter how unusual the sight, or specific the crime, few were willing to bear witness and far too many were willing to say: "live and let live so long as no one bothers me!" This was also true at the gym where the rules of the street assured no one would say anything to these two unusual girls in their midst.

Of course this suggestive sidewalk theater that went on between Willie and Alyssa wasn't as effortless as it seemed. In truth, the emotion laden drama in which both found themselves entangled was a source of conflict for them both. From early childhood, both had it ingrained that homosexuality was a forbidden taboo. It was an inane fear that haunted them, like the dark demons of a child's dreams that no one cares to face. Still, both had reason to sustain the relationship and to find accommodation in the distinct roles they played. What emerged was a relationship that touched both girls in surprisingly unexpected ways.

Alyssa had only one serious problem with the relationship, she was a self proclaimed slut - not gay. Couple that with her ingrained fear of "homos," and you'd think that Willie's overtures would have been a problem for her. However, like any opportunist worth her salt, Alyssa wasn't above doing anything if she thought there was something in it for her - and being Willie's "squeeze" definitely qualified. It didn't take a genius to see the reward in holding hands with Willie. For Alyssa this was not a weighty issue. In submitting to Willie's coddling everyone gave her the elevated respect that only a matriarch would enjoy, and as few dared to risk drawing Willie's ire, no one ever questioned her privilege. There was no moral dilemma here, nor was she concerned about what others thought. The accommodation was hers to make. If at some point something more would be expected of her, that too would simply become a matter of "what was in it for her".

Wilhelmina's problem was that she couldn't admit to herself that her affections for Alyssa were inherently gay. The very thought that she might be that way was enough to cause her to deny her feelings - which she did. She cloaked the truth beneath the belief that she "got off" only in the respect she received as Willie. As Willie she could disguise her feelings by detaching herself from the truth and embracing her male persona. In that way, Willie she was free to savor her dominance over Alyssa. It fit together very nicely, and when an unabashed Willie reached for Alyssa's hand, both found profit in the accommodations they made. The roles they forged served them both without having to confront the questions the nature of their relationship implied.

A match made in heaven? You might think so watching them walk hand in hand down the streets of Manhattan. They clearly were a match, and Willie certainly had heavenly affection for Alyssa. You would think all this would be enough to contain Willie's restless spirit, but it wasn't. It was the brotherhood in whose wake the Banshees followed that truly captured her imagination. Until now, our little angel only played at the gates of hell, but it was the lure of this un-saintly brotherhood that led her in.

Calling themselves the "Warlords - Eastside," Wilhelmina saw them as the absolute pinnacle of social Darwinism. They wore black leather and slicked back 50's style pompadour hair, with a cool indifference to all but themselves. For Willie there could be no better pretense then to emulate their manly persona. There was nothing they couldn't do, nothing they couldn't get with just a snap of their fingers. That privilege included Alyssa and the Banshees. In truth, the Banshee's were their "Bitches," and Banshee allegiance to the Warlord gang assured that they would always willingly submit to their tribal brethren.

Together, the two groups held turf outside an alley on First avenue. It was an uncontested sanctuary on a waterfront street laden with abandoned buildings and the abandoned souls of the winos and the junkies. It was on that turf that the newly christened "Willie" had to earn their respect, or Wilhelmina would become a Banshee bitch, Third Degree Black Belt or not!

The battlefield was set the first day, when Willie had to prove she belonged to no one and Bosco had to learn the hard way to respect her right to be left alone. Unfamiliar with the gangland mating ritual, she had unwittingly returned his wanton glance. She didn't know that the return of his gaze would set the green light flashing in Bosco's Cro-Magnon brain, and when he grabbed her by the arm to pull her back into the darkened alley, her kick nearly disemboweled him on the spot. What remained of that whimpering thug crouched in pain, she finished off with the rapid fire, rib-shattering, jaw-breaking kicks that followed. Along with her decisive victory, "Willie" had won respect, and Wilhelmina the right to be left alone.

As you'd expect, the Warlords would curse Wilhelmina and good-naturedly tease her about the "thumpin'" she gave Bosco. They'd call her Butch-Willie, Clam Smacker, No-nuts, Willie-da'Man and occasionally they asked whether she wanted a piece of the "girlie-action" too. Some were even so venturesome as to suggestively thrust a pocketed finger out front of their jeans to obscenely mock her. Clearly she wasn't a threat to this ruthless gang of thugs, no matter how tough or beligerent her bravado. Then again, few cared to risk a swift and decisive kick to the groin for making the same mistake Bosco did. While no one was certain why she wouldn't follow her Banshee sisters into the dark of the alley, everyone knew that "Willie" would never be anybody's bitch. Everyone simply left well enough alone.

Often "Butch-Willie" would stand beside the Warlords, emulating their macho persona and cool indifference to everything but themselves. Besides the occasional high five for the respect she had earned, or the prerequisite grabbing of the crotch to flauntingly tease her, few took notice of Willie in their midst. Unemotionally aloof, the Warlords stood about religiously primping their slicked back pompadours, and smoking their Camels. In their midst, the girl "bitches" stood about anxious, but subdued, fearing the worst but bound by allegiance to stay. They mingled among themselves, trying not to send any message as an opening, while avoiding any "glances" the Warlords tossed their way. This courtesy they even extended to Willie, whose glances they were never quite sure of and didn't want to chance.

Yet, as effective as her super macho persona was in helping to disguise her true sexuality, it did nothing to resolve her need for intimacy. She still couldn't admit to herself, nor to anyone else, that she was gay. So when the time came for a Banshee "bitch" to be hauled off into the dark of the alley, Willie would assume her Warlord's cool indifference, waiting beside her brethren for her chum's triumphant return. With no one to save, no suffering to stem, she stood with the cheering Warlords, sharing their exaltations and "high fives" she got as one of their ilk. Then when the Banshee "Bitch" slowly emerged disheveled from the darkness, even Willie's voice was heard among the hoots and the howls - a damp spot between her legs.

In all of this frenzied, sexual mania Willie would gasp an empathic sigh of rapture. There was nothing she could say that the dampness between her legs, and the exalted flush of her cheeks did not. In such moments a Warlord felt no jealousy, envy or outrage. A Warlord felt only the joy of requited passion - and for Butch-Willie, her feelings for Alyssa grew ever more bright. Then at night, when she would lay in her bed to dream, no one had to ask whether Butch-Willie "wanted a piece of the girlie action." It was understood!

 

Chapter IV

Estrangement

Parents are often the first to recognize the changes in their children and the last to embrace them. The pattern is all too familiar. The child's struggle to find an individual identity is followed by parental denial, then their eventual estrangement. In this regard we could say that the state of affairs between Wilhelmina and her mother were not uncommon. While it was true that Wilhelmina's foray into the world of the Banshees and Warlords helped skew how she saw herself, it was Katherine's denial of all the telltale clues, and her "She'll grow out of it" avoidance that truly accounted for their eventual estrangement.

Occasionally Katherine would complain, but in the true spirit of adolescent insurrection this only made Wilhelmina more resentful. Nothing she said could bridge the gap and, fearful of making matters worse, she simply stood by and watched as Wilhelmina cut her long red hair boyishly short because it was a bother; tossed out her makeup and her satin lingerie because she was nobody's pretty baby any longer. Adding further insult, she refused to shave because it was unnecessary and an assault to her dignity, and filled her drawers with jockey shorts and T-shirts to look unassailable. Then there was the sudden fascination with the book "Delta of Venus" by Anais Nin; the frayed and much used book that Katherine knew her daughter kept hidden under her mattress. What was a mother to do about such things?

There was still other ominous behavior that should have alerted Katherine that these weren't typical expressions of teenage angst. Wilhelmina's temperament was becoming increasingly contentious and belligerent. Katherine could scarcely broach a discussion before her daughter would storm out of the room with her fist clenched, and without bothering to listen.

By her 17th birthday, Wilhelmina had grown into an extraordinary cocktail of androgynous beauty, feline cunning and masculine aggression. She was, in fact, a seething cauldron, an explosive mixture with a lit fuse always at the ready. Unfortunately, it wasn't until the day Katherine came home to find Wilhelmina completely dressed as a boy that she finally recognized where all those years of estrangement were leading. The statement she made was quite clear. That first glimpse of Wilhelmina with her beautiful hair now greased back in a sleek pompadour, wearing her black leather Warlord jacket, biker boots and jeans left her devastated!

Katherine tried to fight back. After the tears came the shouting and the insistence that an end had come to the Tae Kwon Do classes. She said that she wasn't going to tolerate "those clothes" in her house a moment longer and that in the morning she was going to send Wilhelmina to a psychiatrist. But in spite of Katherine's best effort her daughter would not be denied. It was a spiteful Wilhelmina who shook her fist in her mother's face, sternly warning that if she wanted her to stick around, she'd "damn well better get out of my face." She told her visibly shaken mother that in the morning she wasn't going to a psychiatrist, rather she would be leaving her private school to enroll in Hoover High, with or without her consent.

Willie had won the battle, and Wilhelmina had won the war!

 

Chapter V

The meeting

Once the pride of the Lower East Side, Hoover High now struggled to survive behind an eight-foot chain link parameter fence with security guards posted at each gate. Behind the dilapidated facade and antiquated architecture of the three-story building, the school lived up to its reputation as the worst in the borough. It was a school brimming with adolescent fervor, a place where everyone walked the tightrope between civility and disorder. For Wilhelmina, this Darwinian proving ground was the perfect place to model her wares, and no one would dare to notice. It was a place where "Willie" could finally be presented in all her masculine glory.

An everyday fixture in the weight-training room, she sought to prove herself in a never-ending competition to see who could do the most "reps." With imposing shoulders and forearms, thighs and abs, and bench pressing 220 pounds, she could surely handle her own. The plenitude of testosterone laden Supplements that were dispersed freely among their ranks also helped Willie maintain that aggressive edge, and a fire in her belly to outdo them all.

Still, after all the years of Neu-Body supplements and strenuous physical conditioning she couldn't out lift these future Jones Beach posers. There were limits even she had to concede to, but her "never give up" attitude did win her respect, and what respect she didn't earn in the weight-training room she earned in the hallways outside class. Buddy Dotson was the first prospective goon to grant Willie a free pass through the halls. It only took one graceful jump kick to the midsection, followed a rapid-fire barrage of open palm punches to the face to lay him flat. After they helped him up off the floor, he became the first to welcome Willie to Hoover high.

Now, I've painted a very dark and, albeit grim portrait of our once promising prima ballerina. Indeed, all I need do is paint a pair of horns on her forehead and pitchfork in her hand to make the picture any clearer. I mean, bad is bad, right? If being pugnacious made one "bad," then Willie was the devil incarnate. As the kids at Hoover High would often say, Willie was "b-b-b-bad to the bone." While there was probably more truth then not in how others described her, it was also true that she did have her redeeming qualities.

In fact, besides her brutish behavior toward her mother and a few "chumps" stupid enough to disrespect her, she was not a bad person. Truly! She surely wasn't the kind of girl you'd like to bring home to mother, but then she'd not be the one to steal the silver either. For above all else Wilhelmina thought of herself as a person of principle. You might even say that she was rather high minded about such things as equality and fair play.

Oh, perhaps she was beginning to enjoy her Camels a bit too much and was a bit too contemptuous toward authority. She was nobody's angel, but she did possess a sense of fair play that always saw her standing up for the underdog and defending those treated unfairly. She had rules and principles that guided her actions and she certainly wasn't into stealing, drugs, nor taking advantage of kids unable to defend themselves. She could even proudly claim her virginity intact, no small accomplishment these days. The fact is, though she projected a "harder-than-nails" attitude, and prided herself on being as cunning as any predator on two legs, she was always quite civil to those who gave her the respect she demanded. Like all in the hood, she lived by a "live and let live" code of conduct as long as she received the respect due.

That was the thing that troubled her about the Lacy Richardson incident. When the police came to her home after the filing of charges, her thoughts weren't on the trouble her assault on Pastor Richardson's daughter would cause her, nor the Warlords. Instead, she thought about how she had forsaken the principles she lived by. How could she have caused such damage to a young, defenseless girl only doing her job in collecting the class attendance sheets? She couldn't understand how she could have lost control. Another reported class absence would have only meant another meaningless letter home. But for reasons she was yet to understand she had forsaken her principles and caused irreparable harm to that defenseless, and innocent girl. The consequences of her act were now destined to change her life; her world of the Warlords and the Banshees gone forever.

The police told Katherine that juvenile court would demand full financial redress and that a recommendation to place her daughter in reform school would follow. Wilhelmina had now learned the consequences of her ruthless act in no uncertain terms. So after the police left, she set aside her Warlord jacket in a first attempt to separate herself from her wretched past. Then, frightened and bewildered, she quietly crept out of the apartment to find the answers to her questions out in the street. Dressed in a sweat shirt embossed with the likeness of David Bowie, black leather pants and biker boots, she walked among the late afternoon crowds, hands in pockets, and her watery eyes cast upon the concrete below her feet.

Knowing that life could never be the same, Wilhelmina mourned over what she had done. This was the second time in her young life she felt the anguish of failure, but now, stripped of all bravado, she no longer had the means to escape the pain - so her tears fell.

For all her seventeen years she realized that she knew nothing of herself and that her life had amounted to zero. She felt out of control, confused and without direction. Worst of all, she didn't know where to turn for help. Awash in her tears, a voice from somewhere within kept telling her that she was a worthless failure, unfit for this world. Then she stopped to watch a bus speeding much too fast down the avenue. She envisioned herself in a pool of blood laying beneath it, and wondered if it had come to that.

Wilhelmina had failed, she knew that much was true. It also stood to reason that her Warlord days were done. She had good reason to anguish over what had happened, but enough of her self-respect remained to not give up so easily. Yes, she might be going to reform school. If that is what she had coming then so be it, she reasoned. She wouldn't give up on life quite yet. She couldn't! Wilhelmina would have to suffer the consequence of Willie's act, and find a way to live with it. So she closed off the voice and continued walking down the avenue, still deep in despair.

She wandered through the neighborhoods for hours, then brought herself to a halt on the corner of 85th and 3rd. Her back leaning against a street lamp, she wiped away the last of her tears with the back of her hand. Then she lit up a Camel, taking note that all her wandering had landed her only a few blocks from home. The realization that she had done nothing more than walk in circles through the neighborhoods made her painfully aware of the hopelessness she felt. She laughed at herself, then cried again, wishing she had a guardian angel to save her now. Yes, she prayed for intervention.

What happened next, one could call fate. That is, after all, exactly what Wilhelmina came to call it for the remainder of her days. Even so, to say that something predetermined made it possible to hear a lone voice amid a street filled with noise, was probably stretching the realm of possibilities. Still it did happen just that way. From a group of schoolgirls entering a small, nondescript dance studio just across the street, she clearly heard a distinguishable, and quite recognizable voice.

The voice came from a girl wearing a blue, floral print dress with her collar-length auburn hair wrapped in a matching bandanna. Wilhelmina noticed that the girl had a peculiar gait, and didn't seem to fit the dress she wore. Curiosity getting the better of her, she snuffed-out her camel with her boot, then hurried across the street to have a look inside "Madam Leonora's" modest little dance studio.

Beneath the pink canvas awning that read, "Ballet for Young Women," she paused to consider her reflection in the studio's opulently curtained front window. Hoping to put some semblance of order back into what she saw, she quickly ran her comb through her greased-back pompadour. Then with saliva-moistened fingers, she smoothed down the callow thicket shading her upper-lip, took note of a "Help Wanted" sign tacked to the front door, and entered.

Wilhelmina could see that "Madam Leonora's Studio of Dreams" had long ago seen its best days. The faded draperies and scarred wooden floor spoke to its past glory, while the energy and enthusiasm of the young corps of aspiring ballerinas spoke to its present. Then above the girlish chatter she heard the voice again, and now saw the face beneath the bandanna. She could scarcely believe that the odd girl responsible for drawing her to the studio was none other than Simon Gray, the boy she had so enjoyed pummeling in Tae Kwon Do.

 

The saga continues with Part II

  

 

 

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