T.J.'s Experiment In Pink
by Anne O'Nonymous
PART TEN
Mom filled our wine glasses and we toasted to a successful day. Their house wine was rather good, and I carefully sipped it, drawing out the flavor (I had heard of words like 'aroma,' 'nose,' 'bouquet,' and 'palate,' but I didn't understand them fully.), trying to understand what made this wine appeal to me.
In a low voice, Nan stated, "Terri, I've never seen you so mad – you could've seriously hurt that guy."
"Yeah, I never realized how angry you could get, until now," Sandy added.
Strange, but true! I almost lost it; I felt an anger inside that I never felt before. It was kind of a controlled rage, if that's possible.
Mom replied, "Terri acted in response to seeing someone possibly being hurt. She didn't provoke an attack, but she did protect someone else being attacked – like a bear would protect its cubs."
Sandy replied, "Oh, like a mother, with the strength of a father."
"Exactly," mom replied.
Nan looked around to make sure we weren't being overheard then spoke, "That's what makes TJ so perfect; the strength of a man and protective as a mother. She can think before he acts. He can appreciate the arts, a beautiful sunset, can cry on hearing the sounds of happy children, and she can change a tire, lose her way, and figure out calculus. The careful melding of male and female is wonderful to behold, Sandra. Think about it."
Mom was in thought. I wanted to grab Nan and hug the hell out of her.
"Each side tempers the other," mom responded, "At that confrontation, you saw what was happening and made what you thought was an unconscious decision, but an inner voice – a mother's instinct -- said something was wrong and you acted on it."
Hmmmm, I mused, seems like that is about it. In my imagination, there was a balancing act going on in my body, first the male side, then the tipping over to the female, then male, trying to find a point of balance. Then again, maybe there is no balance – the side that's needed for that occasion comes to the forefront. Oh, I can see it now – I hit a homer, run the bases, hold out my skirt and curtsey at home plate!
The waiter returned to our table carrying a humongous tray, loaded with dishes. I watched as he served each of us, placing the correct order in the correct place. Even giving me extra cheese.
I took one look at the pile of shrimp, scallops and others on a plate covered with pasta, added more cheese, had my wine glass filled (by the waiter, no less), placed my napkin oh-so-daintily in my lap, and dug in as feminine as any refined young lady could under the circumstances. I may look like a young girl, but I still had the stomach of a growing boy – at least that's one advantage in being a male.
Pasta, like spaghetti, can be eaten in many ways, but I prefer to twirl it on a fork aided by a spoon. The shrimp, scallops, and the bits of sun-dried tomatoes were cut to bite-size. Spaghetti, shrimp and scallop, blot mouth, sip wine, and repeat – that's the way the meal went. Occasionally, a fragment of conversation ensued, and I joined in.
". . . and that's it for your local weather," came suddenly from a TV set, "and repeating our top news story: Tonight, the area can breathe a sigh of relief as the police announced the capture of Jake Palmer and Al DeMarco, fugitives wanted in five states in connection with a series of robberies, rapes, kidnappings and other crimes. Bayview mall security personnel are being hailed as heroes for their part in capturing these dangerous felons and putting an end to their murderous crime spree."
According to a police spokesperson, the "perps" will be eligible for parole in 2083. They'll probably be out in ten years, maybe less. The restaurant broke out in spontaneous cheers for the brave men in mall security.
Our waiter wheeled a dessert cart, containing pie slices, cakes and other sweets, over to our table, and we made our selections – I took a piece of still-warm homemade cherry pie (If it's made in the restaurant, does it still qualify as "homemade?"). A second cart with a coffee urn followed. I asked about tea, and got the following: "English Breakfast, Darjeeling, Green, Black, Herb, Orange Pekoe, Chinese Restaurant, or Yerba Mate?"
Being 'adventurous,' I asked for Darjeeling with lemon and honey.
After my tea and dessert, I went with Sandra to the ladies, did the necessary, and fixed what needed repairing. Another lady already there asked to borrow my lipstick – I was flattered when she said I looked nice in slacks. "I prefer skirts, but I had some special work today," I replied. She nodded her understanding before she left. Another lady with a nice perfume gave me a spritz when I inquired as to the name. She said it was specially made for her at an exclusive Paris perfumer. Maybe I can go on-line and also get some.
Going back to the table, we relieved mom and Nancy so they could perform nature's functions.
"Terri, that was great!" Sandra enthused.
"Yeah, sis. I am full," I replied, "Everything was perfect, I'll see if we can't talk mom into coming here again."
"Hey, we can take a crack at that pasta dish at home."
"Always try," I replied, discretely watching a guy trying to flirt with me (or it just may be gas pains – with men, you never know), and another gentleman smiling at the first guy's attempts. Well, it wasn't my legs, as they were covered. Ponytail. Would that turn a guy on? Breasts. No, I was almost flat, compared to some of the waitresses. So what is it?
The "Nancys" returned, mom left a cash twenty-dollar tip, paid the bill with the company card, we got our jackets and left the restaurant to play "hunt the car." Nan knew, mom followed her, Sandy and me just tagged along. Right make, right color, wrong plate. Next! Right color, wrong make. Next! Right plate – mom opened the door, we got in, Sandra sat in the back with me. (Damn, I miss hearing the sound of heels on a pavement – there's nothing so erotic as that tap, tap, tap.) After fastening our seatbelts, we started back home.
"That pasta dish was really good! Did . . . ," I started.
"It's rather simple. I have the recipe in my purse," mom finished.
Riding along, Nan said, "Oh TJ, you make me feel so lucky to have found you."
"Why?" was the first thing that came out of my mouth.
"You are just so perfect. Okay, why, right?"
I was a bit perplexed, so I responded, "I would like to know."
"Okay, here it goes! You are gentle, kind, considerate, motherly, sensitive, intelligent, and compassionate. You like art, music, reading, and don't mind housework. And, I can hold a fairly decent conversation with you."
"He also does laundry and ironing, and tomorrow morning, TJ will make breakfast, so add cooking to the list," mom said over her shoulder.
"Wait just a sec. I'm not all that perfect, ya know! I become moody at times, get mad at little stuff, and I'm not really that smart," I replied, trying to keep things in proportion. True, I get mad at things that, to me, seem stupid. I was a loner, because I didn't seem to fit in with the others in high school.
"Oh, come off it! You kept your smarts down, because you were trying to fit in with the 'in' crowd. Terri, you are a very special person, only you refuse to see it. Tea, I know this is corny, but let the Terri in you flourish – she is that real you. You stayed away from people, because you are afraid 'she' will come out and embarrass the hell out of you," Nan said, a touch of anger in her voice.
"She's right," mom added, "males fear their feminine side, because it erodes the front they erect. Remember: less macho, weaker?"
"No, not weaker," I replied, "As TJ, I don't think I would have done anything when I saw those guys today. Terri had an instinct inside that made her want to protect that little girl. Umm, I think women have an aura of quiet inner strength, and men just don't get it."
"By Jove, I think she's getting it," mom replied with a laugh.
"And I did see you checking out Victoria's Secrets in the mall," Sandra stated.
"Well, us girls do want to attract the right mate, don't we," Nan emphatically stated to me.
"Nan, you do like me, don't you? When I was on the internet, it seemed there were a lot of places catering to women who hated their boyfriends or husbands. They apparently go out of their way to try to embarrass, humiliate, and destroy these men. From what I saw, I have to admit that I really don't know about making any plans right now."
"And just what are you saying?"
"I think we should just take it easy for a while," I said, "really think these things over. I just don't know, okay!"
"Hummmph. If that's the way you feel, so be it," Nan replied, "there are a lot of 'real men' at school. I sure won't be lonely."
That stung! Finally, it came out how she really felt about me. She was hiding her real feelings all this time, stringing me along in some perverted game. I pulled my hand from Sandra's, put it in my lap, and stared out at the slowly darkening day. From a grand and happy morning to a gloomy, now-silent car. I wanted to be away from here, in bed alone. A strange coldness came over me, and I shivered. I'm a man, I will not cry was my quiet mantra, repeated over and over.
"OKAY! That's goddamn fine with me," I replied angrily.
When the car parked in front of the house, I was the first out, and at the door and in. A trip to the bathroom to remove the "now-hated" femmy clothes, a man's robe on and I headed downstairs to a second bedroom where my "real clothing" was. Wearing a T-shirt, boxers, and pajamas, I locked the bedroom door, settled into bed and ignored all requests to come out. I am a man, I will not cry, I repeated.
Mom knocked on the door, and shouted, "TJ, get up! We have to get breakfast!"
I ignored her.
"C'mon, Tea – open up, sweetie," mom repeated.
"Have your breakfast without me."
Quiet, blessed quiet! Bed was just so comfortable; I'm going to stay here.
"TJ, we got to get to work!"
"No, you have to go to work! There's nothing there for me anymore," I told her, feeling sad at the loss. It passed, and I knew I had to put all this behind me. This period was over and done with. I will be strong, and conquer these thoughts. No more of that "sissy" crap again – I'll die first!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Light flooded through the curtains of a room containing a sleeping nightgown-clad person. The sheet shook a bit, one arm reached up, followed by a second, a body stretched, next an "ahhhhmmm" sounded from near the pillows of the bed. A head moved, checked a nearby alarm clock for the time, and two legs moved out of the bed, down to two pink fuzzy slippers on the floor by the bed. A body moved to a pink chenille robe hanging on the back of a door, placed it on, a door was opened and Terri walked through it, and, after a quick wake-up wash, went down to make breakfasts.
With one skillet getting hot, a coffee maker was filled and started; eggs, onions, tomatoes, mushrooms, and sausages retrieved from the fridge. Sausages went into the hot skillet, and second and third smaller ones were started, with butter and a crushed clove of garlic added to each.
"Good morning!"
Startled, Terri turned, saw mom, and started to apologize profusely: "Mom, I am s-o-o-o very sorry for my actions yesterday! I acted like an idiot."
"What are you talking about, sweetheart?" mom replied, a confused look on her lovely face.
"What I said in the car," Terri replied, breaking eggs into a bowl.
"Watch your cooking, dear; we'll talk later," mom finished the conversation, then started setting the table.
With garlic removed, chopped onions went into the butter, mushrooms added, and eggs whipped. A second good morning came as diced potatoes were added to the onions.
"Sandra," I replied, "I am sorry I acted like an idiot yesterday – please forgive me?"
A perplexed Sandra said, "For what?"
"The way I acted, it was uncalled for."
"Well, what did you do that was so bad that you feel you must apologize for?" came from a frowning Sandra.
"Never mind, we'll talk later," I replied, as Sandra got the juice glasses to fill.
Now, I was baffled! Did they just want to forget what happened yesterday, ignore it and get on with life, or are they just being nice and helping me forget. Anyway, I guess I'll find out later.
So, back to the cooking: I had two omelets going, mom had the table set for four, and Sandra had four glasses of juice on the table. I turned the omelets, added chopped tomatoes and shredded cheese on top, when Sandra started four pairs (top and bottom) of English muffins.
(We use a soy-based margarine, so if you're calorie conscious – relax!)
A familiar third "good morning, darling," with a kiss on the cheek, shook the heck out of me. I wanted to answer her, but an imagined fear of her rejection, what she would say, stopped me. I almost whimpered "good morning."
I turned to face her, then let it out: "Oh God, Nancy! I said and did the most stupidest thing any person, since the beginning of time, could do. I could say 'I'm sorry' one hundred million billion googolplexes of times and write it across the galaxies in one-quarter-inch-high letters, and still not show how contrite I am. All I can do is say it each time I see you, starting now – I'm so sorry for what I said last night. Please, forgive me."
"Terri, your omelets!" was Nan's only reply.
Well, I managed to get the omelets made and served, had only a cup of coffee and a muffin myself. Didn't much feel like eating.
Mom leaned towards me, put a hand on my shoulder and asked, "TJ, dear, what's the matter? When I came into the kitchen, you looked so upset!"
"I made such a fool of myself yesterday!"
The three of them looked at each other in wonderment.
"Oh, I know," Sandra said, "Tea, you must've been dreaming! Mom, tell him."
"Okay, when we came out of the restaurant, you mumbled something about a recipe as you got into the back seat. You moved all the way over to the left, Sandy got in, you fastened your seatbelt, put your head on her shoulder and fell sound asleep. When we got home, Sandy took the feet, I took the shoulders, and Nan opened the front door. You should've seen us getting you upstairs. Well, Nan – wink, wink, titter, titter -- undressed you as I got a nightgown and put it on you. Nan slept in the room downstairs. As far as I know, all you had was a bad dream."
"Then I never said anything about . . . .," I replied, adding "ahhhhh" in relief.
"Well, we are sure you don't snore," added Nan.
There are many ways to express joy, dancing is only one. I danced while clearing the table, washing dishes, wiping the countertop, and up the stairs to my room. Anyhoo, I was thankful it was just a dream. I dressed in clothes matching the ones worn yesterday, brushed my hair and proceeded downstairs where mom checked the appearance and outfit against the Polaroid she took.
"Okay, you're alright," she approved.
Nan followed in the judging, and was also approved. Sandy wore blue jeans, and mom – she was dressed in a grey business suit. With her hair done in a French twist, she really looked elegant!
The drive to work was a treat, the construction site filled with houses in all manner of completion. In fact, in one area, there were several landscapers' trucks. With sewers being installed and street lighting poles in the process of being unloaded, it wouldn't be too long before moving trucks would be appearing, and new kids emerging at school.
"Terri, about your . . . . ," Mom said.
"Please, mom, no questions," I interrupted.
"Not a question, dear! We'll all agree to forget it, okay," mom stated.
"Agree," echoed three voices.
Arriving at work, we parked in mom's usual spot, despite Nan's protestations. Shoulder bags to the left of us, equipment to the right of us, into the building we strolled. Security recognized us all, and just waved us through. Up in mom's office, we dropped off the used videos, sheets showing usage and scenes on tape, checked the storyboard, and, water bottles in hand, headed for the ground floor studio.
Upon entering the studio, I was struck by the size: 100' by 80'. Along the wall were folded room dividers, lighting on dollies, microphones on booms, several cameras, and various props and covered furniture. The 20' ceiling held more computer-controlled lights, scenery of some sort, and other, hidden from direct view, objects.
"Oh, this is where those meetings are held, isn't it," Sandy said.
"Focus groups, Opportunity/Career Day, Halloween party, and company-related meetings," mom said, adding, "also new product introductions are photographed here, too. Occasionally, the city holds some events here!"
All I could say was "Wow!" Over in one twenty-foot-square area there was a duplication of the shop in the mall, only this had curtains for walls. A set-up with chairs and one-way mirrors, similar to the ones in the store, waited, and standing between chairs was a woman in an apron.
As I got closer, I could see she was about 5'7" tall, with blue eyes, perfect complexion, and white hair, although she looked no older than thirty. She was a perfect example of the proper application of makeup – accentuate the better features, cover or minimize the flaws.
"Helen, it's so nice to see you again!" mom said as they warmly shook hands, then introduced her, "Terri, Sandra, Nancy, I'd like you all to meet Helen Sanders. Helen, Terri and Sandra Matthews, and Nancy Mueller, Kathy's daughter."
In turn, we shook hands with Helen, a firm grip from each of us. She smiled at us, repeating our names, returning tit for tat.
"Kids, I met Helen in college. She was a year ahead of me, a Chemistry major. Last time I saw you was at a women's business seminar."
"Lectured on the importance of appearance in male-dominated business offices," she replied, "and how the usage and amount of makeup can make or break your career, remember?"
"Yep! C'mon, let's have some tea and do a verbal run-through."
In one corner was a small kitchen area with a hotplate, coffee maker, sink, etc. A door in the wall led to a fairly standard kitchen that was usually used by caterers on special occasions. I was delegated to make coffee, while Nan opened the fridge to retrieve donuts put there earlier that morning. We sat, ate donuts with our coffee, and discussed how to go about the videotaping. The sound tech joined us, and she took coffee and a Danish.
Okay, we decided on this: Nan and I enter the store (ding-a-ling a bell goes), we look around (already on tape), go to counter ("Err, we aren't too sure about what makeup we should buy! There are so many selections," says Nan. "And, we really aren't too sure about how to use it properly – do you give demonstrations?"), Helen (the play clerk) replies "are you together?" and we say "yes." She calls to another person to mind store while we go into the other area. Start demonstration.
Our assistant arrives, gets coffee and donut. (Companies run on coffee. Imagine what would happen if there was no coffee – I shudder to think of such a calamity!)
Cameras get positioned. I help push a large one behind a one-way mirror on the set. Set gets lighted, chairs put in place, a-n-n-d action.
My acting career starts. Nan and I, we go to the door, open it and enter the store. Walk around, look at shelves (empty), examine non-existing bottles, and go up to counter. Mom says "stop," we do as she looks at stopwatch. We go out and do it all over again, and again.
Mom explains: "We need time to fill; we have interior shots, but need a fill from when you open door 'til you are at the counter. We haven't decided how much of which part to use."
"Oh, so you want as much variety as possible," I said, without thinking.
"Right," mom replied.
We take a break, then a run through with Helen in place at the counter. In we go, around the store, admiring the nothingness, then over to the counter with filled shelves behind her. Nan starts her little speech, then I do mine. A second time and then a third, with mom filming each attempt.
"Okay," mom announces, "that should do for entrances. What do you think, Helen?"
"In my opinion, it should turn out rather nicely. But the counter seems a little bare, maybe a few more displays?"
"I agree! Clair, can you see if you can scare up a few more displays for the counter?"
A hidden voice replied, "Anything in particular?"
"Nope!"
After a new batch of props was added, we did another run through, Sandra had one camera, and mom was on the other. Sound check was made and we were off. In store, around the place, over to counter, look at displays, ask Helen about makeup, and back to the back we go.
With both of us seated, Helen takes a really close look at our faces, then pronounces: "Terri, you have a slightly oily complexion, and Nan, yours is somewhat dry skin. First, we'll use a cleanser on both of you."
I blurted out, "Why use a cleanser? Isn't washing the face enough?"
Helen answered, "For a man, washing is enough, but a woman who uses cosmetics, no. Dirt and skin oils can be trapped under foundation, clogging pores, and cause skin problems down the line. A good skin cleanser is an essential first step after washing."
We finished with session one at lunch, so it was over to the cafeteria in full war paint. There I was, Chieftess Running Nose, ready to do battle.
The ladies sat at on end of the table, the tech and assistant next, and the three of us at the end. They discussed the progress on the project; we discussed how great we looked. Of course I had a salad, jello, and juice – a star has to watch her weight, as I said s-o-o-o many times before.
What was really nice was the workers coming over and saying how nice we looked. Their praise was genuine, and I managed to thank each for the compliment.
Sandra said I really took to this acting and asked some really good questions; I said I tried to think what would be important to a young girl, what she would absolutely need to know.
Lunch over, Sandra, Nancy and I, hand in hand, walked back to the studio, followed by mom and Helen reliving college days, and tech people trailed. Two security persons smiled at us, we smiled back.
In the studio, the makeup was completely removed by the assistant on both of us actresses, and a sound check was done on our hidden mikes, cameras checked, and another run through was started.
At four pee emm, we quit. There was enough takes to make five videos, and we were tired. The techies removed the cassettes and took charge of all the other equipment, mom invited Helen to dinner at a local restaurant, and she accepted.
I managed to snag a couple of bottles of cleanser, foundation, skin cream, blusher, and then found out we were getting it delivered, free.
Helen invited me to ride in her car; I accepted. She was parked in a VIP Guest spot, right in front of the main entrance. As we walked, Helen told me all about mom's naughty escapades in college. Once in the car, we watched for mom's car. She pulled up alongside us, yelled "Teddies" and moved on.
"Do you know where 'Teddies' is, Terri?"
"I think so, but we better stick to mom, to be sure," I replied, adding, "if we lose her, I can still guide you."
That was our plan. Helen drove, keeping mom in sight.
The question was unexpected: "Emm, Terri, I'm confused – can you help me?"
"About what," I replied.
"Well, the last time I saw her, your mother told me she had a son. But here I meet a very happy and attractive young lady. And I do mean lady! Did something happen?"
Oh, what to say, how to say it, should I say it. C'mon, TJ, she won't bite – if she's mom's friend she should know.
"Helen, I'm TJ, Nancy's son."
We had stopped at a light, and stopped, and stopped! A state of bewilderment flashed on Helen's face, and then she seemed to have framed a response: "You're a boy? And I never realized I was putting makeup on a boy to show how a girl should use it! You did do this voluntarily, didn't you?"
"Oh I'm sorry, Helen, I think you may have gotten the wrong impression." During the rest of the ride, I gave her a quick rundown of my experiment. Looking at her, I could see frowning, wrinkling of nose, smiling, hidden laughter, then interest.
"Damn," she replied, upon hearing my litany, "you do make one pretty girl. Oh, don't worry – I'll keep your secret."
She asked how I liked wearing nice things, and I was answering as we pulled into the mall parking area. As we pulled into a parking space near mom, I had my shoulder bag ready.
Meeting up with the others, Helen said, "Terri was telling me all about TJ, Nancy. I think it's nice to have a lad that is so very close to his sister. Close enough to fill her shoes."
Mom smiled, replying, "I thought it wouldn't take too long."
To which Helen replied, "Took a little too long."
I took Nan's hand, Sandra took mine, Helen and mom walked arm in arm, and we proceeded into the mall.
"Okay, ladies, eat first, shop later!"
To Be Continued --
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© 2003 by Ann O'Nonymous. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.