Tales of the Season - Ken's Barbie

by Tigger
Copyright 2002

 

Chapter 16: Caro and Sandy Play with Barbie, Ken and Skipper

"So now you're going be called 'Barbie'?" the zoftig blonde beautician asked as she picked up yet another brush. Carolyn was working on Darla in another cubicle while Anne watched the work on Barbie.

"It, ah, seemed like a good idea at the time, Sandy. It would help keep Anne's presence here a secret in the event someone slipped up and said her name, and it suits the new look."

"Might have known only a damned male could hope to match the looks of that damned doll. Do you know, Kendra, I mean, Barbie, how much I used to DREAM of being built like that?"

"I'm sure Marie would love to lace you into one of Jane's killer corsets, Sandy," Barbie offered in her best imitation of Darla's catty tones.

"Dream on, bitch," Sandy replied grinning.

"Gotta suffer for your beauty, doll!" her client shot back.

"Naw, I think this goose will leave that sauce for you goosed ganders."

"You know?" Skipper-AKA-Anne put in from her perch on a nearby stool, "I suspect every little girl dreams of being Barbie-the-beautiful when she grows up. It's why the dolls have sold so well to so many generations of girls."

"Probably," Sandy muttered, her eyes not five inches from Barbie's as she stroked a fine eyeliner brush just above the tall woman's right eyelash. "At least I have the satisfaction of knowing all this life-sized doll's curves are all fake, too - plastic just like that bloody doll."

"You're not the first woman to mention that characteristic I share with my namesake," Barbie retorted, trying to glare at Skipper over Sandy's shoulder.

"Don't move, dammit, unless you want really exotically slanted eyes for the next week, okay? By the way, Ken, I mean Barbie, remind me to put these special cosmetics of Jane's away when we're through here, all right? Last thing I need is for one of kids from out Wednesday afternoon makeup class getting into this stuff."

Before Barbie could answer, Sandy abruptly drew back and gave her client a considering look. "Never mind - I'll put 'em away now. We're done here, I believe." She spun the salon chair so that Barbie could at least see herself in the mirror. "Whatcha think, kiddo?"

If the woman looking on was surprised, the man behind the masquerade was stunned. "My god," she breathed, and then lifted her right hand up to stroke her cheek.

"Is that a good 'My God' or an 'Oh-no-Mr.-Bill' kind of 'My God'?" Sandy asked petulantly when the silence continued to stretch out.

"I'm not sure," Barbie admitted.

Frustrated and looking for the approbation she felt her effort deserved, Sandy turned her eye to the other woman in the cubicle. "What do you think - what is it you're going by? oh, yeah, Skipper?"

"You're really very good at what you do. I watched you do everything and I really cannot point to a single thing that is really different, except that the whole look has changed."

"But is it GOOD?!" Sandy demanded.

"She's beautiful," Anne replied softly. "Like one of those supposedly clean-faced, all natural types you see in the healthy living magazines - you know, the ones who wear the two thousand dollar blue jeans and the name-designer flannel shirts with five hundred dollar ponytails. If I hadn't seen what she looked like coming in here, I wouldn't have thought she was wearing any make up, but I know what you covered up to make her look like that."

"At last, someone with taste and an eye for art," Sandy breathed. "Might've known it would take a REAL woman to appreciate my skill and subtlety."

"Sandy, you can't even SPELL subtlety," Barbie grinned as she got out of the salon chair, "But you are definitely an artiste with brush and pad, tube and pot. Thanks. At least now, Mom will let me in the house with Adrienne around."

"Remarkable," Anne said again.

"Well, hell, girl, it isn't that hard. Get in the chair and let me show you how it's done," Sandy challenged.

"Huh? Me? But I don't wear much more than a little lipstick, maybe some mascara when I have time, but. ."

"But NOTHING, girl. Looks like yours without makeup? Like Rembrandt buying canvas and not painting on it. Using makeup well doesn't have to take a lot of time."

Before the startled woman quite knew what was happening, Sandy had her in the salon chair with a protective cape over her clothing. "All right, now watch, listen and learn, girl friend," the stylist ordered, reaching for a nearby pot.

"What?" Sandy squawked when Barbie latched onto her wrist with an iron grip.

"Not that stuff, Sandy," the tall blonde said, smiling sweetly. "Unless you intend to use Jane's deep-dye stuff, and then you'd better ask first."

"Oh shit! I almost forgot. Thanks, Kenny, I mean, Barbie."

"And do something that will be easy for her to do herself, okay?"

"Would you two quit talking about me as if I weren't here, or worse, as if I were stupid," Anne snarled, starting to rise out of the chair. Hands from two different women blocked her escape. "What if I DON'T want to learn makeup?" she groused.

"A woman with eyes like yours who doesn't want to know how to use makeup?" Sandy retorted. "Don't even TEASE about such blasphemy!"

"Besides, do you want Adrian to be able to chide you for not knowing as much as he does?" Barbie offered.

~---------~

Via her CCTV, Jane was watching Marie's not-entirely-successful attempt to teach Adrienne the finer points of cooking crepes when the phone rang. *I'll have to select my crepe from the ones Marie made while making sure that Adrienne eats her mistakes - intentional or otherwise,* she thought as she tossed her head to float her hair around the receiver. "Jane Thompson."

"Jane? It's Ruth. Is Kenneth still around there? At Seasons House, with you? I tried to reach him at his office, but the senior partner told me he was working on a special project for you. I assume that is the Braithwaite issue?"

"Yes, Ruth. He's not here right now, but I expect him to return this afternoon."

"All right. Look, Jane, he needs to come home. . here, as soon as possible. The next plane would be good."

Jane heard a tone of concern bordering on fear in her old friend's voice, and felt her own nerves tighten. "What is it, Ruth? What's wrong?"

"It's Sheila, Jane, Kenneth's . . . Mother. She's dead - murdered."

"Oh no," Jane breathed as her mind began developing a plan - and came up hard against the reality of ". . .Barbie. Oh, DAMN!"

"Barbie? Who the hell is Barbie, Jane?"

~-~

Carolyn stepped into Sandy's cubicle to find her partner guiding the woman she'd been told to call 'Skipper' through the process of applying eye makeup. "Ken. . I mean, Barbie?" she said.

"Yes, Caro?"

"Jane just called for you and Darla. You're to haul it on back to Seasons House as quick as you can. Right now, in fact. She says it's really important. She said she was calling in Michael, too."

"Any word why?"

"She said she'd tell you when you got there, but. . "

"But what?"

"She did ask if Sandy or I knew of something that would clean off those deep-dye cosmetics. Told me that it was serious and this was not the time to hold back anything. As if I would," the brunette sniffed.

"Sounds like she wants Kenneth back in a hurry. Well, I'm not going to find out until I get home. You 'bout ready in there, Skipper?"

"What do you think?" Sandy asked smugly as she spun Anne's chair to face Caro and Barbie.

The techniques Sandy had taught the young woman were relatively simple, but when combined with the proper cosmetics and Anne's natural gifts, the results were lovely. Her incredible eyes were even larger, and at the same time somehow catlike. An almost invisible hint of color defined high cheekbones that focused the viewer's attention on those incredibly vivid eyes. Her mouth seemed somehow larger, more. . . smiling, but without the overt coloration normally associated with lipstick.

"God, that's great," Barbie sighed in a voice that was much more Ken than Kendra.

"And she did it all by herself," Sandy added.

"Put the stuff you used on Jane's tab, Sandy, and pack it up. We have to get out of here. Darrrr-LA? You done YET?" Barbie bellowed.

"Oh, stuff!" sniffed a petite, blonde pixie in a yellow and white cotton sun dress. "I suppose, but my nails aren't quite dry so YOU'LL have to drive, sister-dear."

The tones were so over-the-top prissy that everyone in the room, except Anne, cracked up immediately. She joined in, once she understood the joke. "WELL, it's not MY fault Jane has decided to inflict a junior version of Edith White on Skipper's sister," Darla groused.

"Who's Edith White?" Skipper asked ingenuously.

"YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW!" four voices yelling in unison assured her.

 

 

Chapter 17: Sometimes, You HAVE to Go Home Again

There was something ominous about the tall redhead who was literally waiting at the door of the huge mansion, Anne thought as she walked up to the main entrance. Something sad, too but at the same time, almost frightening. Whatever that 'something' was, it instantly dissolved the aura of bonhomie that had pervaded the car since the trio had departed Caro's and Sandy's place. Which was too bad because Anne had, surprisingly to her, thoroughly enjoyed herself during the trip back to Seasons House. The girl-boy Darla had kept them in stitches the entire time, by telling a hilarious improvisational story of "Janey-Locks and the Three Blondes". Naturally, the three of them had starred in the roles of 'Baby blonde', the 'Momma-blonde' and the 'Poppa-blonde' given their relative sizes. Of course, 'Janey-Locks' had been a bit more troublesome to the blondes than Goldilocks had ever been to those hapless bears. Anne hadn't quite gotten that part of the joke, but Barbie certainly had, nearly running off the road twice during fits of laughter.

When they'd arrived at Seasons House, the intercom at the main gate had directed them to go to the main house and not to the stable apartment as planned. Once there, Jane had herded the three of them inside the house and then into an ornately decorated office just off the main foyer.

*Not a very functional space,* Anne had thought immediately, for other than an antique French-styled phone, the room had been devoid of any of the electronic trappings of the modern-day workplace. Not a fax, computer or printer to be seen anywhere.

Waiting for them inside the office had been Marie, a distinguished older man with long silver hair, and a younger man - perhaps a year or so older than Anne. The newcomers immediately saw that everyone there shared Jane Thompson's grim mein.

Jane walked over to stand before the tall blonde and took both of her hands in hers. "There's no easy way to do this, dear," the auburn-tressed woman said with a gentleness that surprised Anne. "Your Mother, Sheila Roberts, is dead."

~---------~

She felt like a voyeur - like an outsider peeking through an open curtain at something intensely intimate and thoroughly private. This was what family was all about, Barbara Anne Braithwaite thought as she watched two women, two men and one cross-dressed man encircle the stunned Kenneth, AKA Kendra, AKA Barbie, offering unconditional support, sympathy and love. That the leader of that care giving group was the woman Anne had come here to fight was disconcerting to the pretty blonde, to say the least.

*They simply love her. . him, and he loves them just as deeply,* she thought, *It really is that simple and that complicated. Can a woman who is as. . .evil, I guess is the only word, as I believed Jane Thompson love that completely and unselfishly? I don't think so, and yet, what does that say about my entire premise for being here?*

"Darling," Jane Thompson said quietly, but firmly. "You need to come upstairs with us to my apartment study. There are some. . . things you need to take care of before we can begin to take proper care of you."

"What about Adrienne?" Barbie asked quietly.

"Locked in her room," Jane replied, "A time out for childish behavior, otherwise Marie would have taken her shopping or something. Jessica has the safety watch on the closed circuit."

"Okay," the tall blonde replied tonelessly as she allowed herself to be led down the hall and then into one of the side rooms.

"Safety watch?" Anne wondered aloud as she followed Jane and Barbie out the door. *What the heck is THAT all about?*

The younger man, who had been introduced to Anne as Dr. Michael Nash, took her arm to lead her to the main staircase. "Ever since one of her students tried to commit suicide, they are monitored continuously," he told her softly.

Fear flared in Anne's stomach. "Suicide?!?" The question came out as a half shriek, drawing a sharp look from the woman helping her child up the steps. Anne stifled her urge to yell and rounded on the man at her elbow. "Are you telling me that this. . this PROGRAM involves tormenting my brother enough that he might actually kill himself?"

"Well, we don't really think so, but at times the stress can get pretty tough." He paused to collect himself and Anne saw something change in his eyes. "I know. I was the one who tried to kill himself."

"You?!? And you're still here? With HER?"

"Yes," he said simply, and the smiled impishly. In that smile, Anne could see the girl this man had obviously once been in Jane Thompson's keeping. "But I like to think I'm 'a better man' for it. And I'm the only one who ever got quite that far. One thing about Momma-Jane. She learns from her mistakes and she NEVER makes the same one twice. Kind of scary that way."

"In a lot of ways," Anne muttered under her breath.

~--------~

Jane settled her child in the large desk-chair and put a piece of fax paper in front of her. "I want you to sign that, dear, and then Art and I will sign as witnesses. We'll fax it back to Ruth immediately and then Michael will drive the original into town for overnight mailing."

"What is it?" Barbie asked, obviously forcing herself to focus on the sheet.

"It's a power of attorney granting Judge Ruth Walinkiewicz authority to act in your stead for all matters pertaining to your Mother's internment and estate since it is obvious that you will not be able to attend to those issues yourself."

For the first time since Jane had told her child of Sheila's brutal death at the hands of an abused submissive and of that submissive's subsequent suicide, a spark of life glowed in the dark eyes. "She wasn't much, Momma-Jane, but she was blood of my blood. I have to finish this if I'm ever to have closure with that. . with that part of my life. I will see to her final arrangements."

The Mistress of Seasons House heard the velvety steel in her child's voice, and felt proud even as she recognized the danger of her plan. She shook her head sternly. "Out of the question. Have you looked in the mirror recently? Sheila was not the type to have friends, but even her acquaintances would likely know that she had a son, not a daughter. And those ARE the deep dye cosmetics, are they not? Even if you tried to look masculine right now - simply wearing male clothing and removing the wig won't help. In fact, it will make things worse because you'll look like someone - a MALE someone - who forgot to wash off HIS makeup. That would have serious implications for your career."

"I'm going, Mom," was the quietly determined reply, "Even if it means going as Kendra, or rather Barbie. Aunt Ruth can handle the legal affairs with this," and she held up the power of attorney, "but I'll still be there."

"That is DANGEROUS! How are you going to get there? You can't take the chance of driving - suppose you get stopped for even a random road-check? You don't have a license as Barbie, and in the post-9-11 world, there's no way Barbie could get through airport security. And we haven't begun to address the issues of being alone and having to deal with the reality of living day-to-day as a woman in public."

Barbie looked defiantly at Jane, never forgetting that Jane truly was concerned about her, but determinedly. "I did it before."

Jane smiled sadly, memories of the pride she had in her one time student warring with the also remembered tragic reasons Kendra once had those skills. "That was a long time ago, dear. And you weren't as . . . dramatic then. Your skills, I'm afraid, are rusty at the very time you need them to be even more impeccable. You've slipped up on your behaviors four times since you've returned from Caro's. Before, when you were Kendra, I covered for you, - shielded you - even as I kept you sharp. I'm sorry, but you couldn't manage on your own. I won't have you ruining your career because you tried to help me."

"Mama Jane, isn't that my choice to make?"

"Not if it's my fault, my ineptitude, that has backed you into that corner," Jane insisted.

Jane knew, the moment she ran down, that none of her reasoned if passionate argument had changed the tall lawyer's mind one iota. *It's just like when he first came to me - all determination to do what needs be done - what he THINKS needs be done,* she amended to herself, *and devil take the consequences. Sometimes I wish he wasn't so damned honorable!*

"I have to go, Mom," the femininely turned out young man said. "I'll be okay. I'll drive carefully and slowly so that I don't get pulled over. It's only about a twenty hour drive from here."

"And if an accident happens, despite your best efforts? What then?"

"I'll just have to deal with that if it happens."

"I'm sorry, dear, but that is just not acceptable to me. You leave me no other option but to release Adrienne and go with you myself."

"You can't do that, Mom!" Kenneth's voice roared.

"Of course I can," Jane retorted with calm self assurance. "According to the court order placing Adrian Braithwaite in my keeping, I am the final authority in his case, until or unless I remand him to the juvenile authorities as beyond my ability to rehabilitate. If I say she's done, then she's done."

"Then I won't go. I can't go."

Anne rounded on the taller blonde. "You just said that you were going, regardless of the risk, but now you're not? I don't understand. WHY? Why is keeping my brother here in this. . this frilly prison is more important than seeing to your mother's final arrangements?"

"JANE is my mother," Barbie corrected firmly. "Sheila will have Ruth to take care of her, but who will take care of your brother? As much as I feel I have a duty to her and to myself to finish this, the fact remains that she's dead. When I was the only one placed at risk by my going, that was one thing, and I could handle that. On the other hand, your brother's future is at risk if Jane sets him loose before he's learned what she has to teach him. He needs help, Anne really needs help or he wouldn't have been sent to Jane. Turning him loose before he's ready isn't fair. Not to him, not to you and not to any of us who've been even peripherally involved with Aunt Jane's program through the years."

Anne stared up into Barbie's eyes for several long moments, obviously trying to see the truth behind the words. Finally, she asked "You really believe that?"

"With all my heart," was the simple answer. "Your brother deserves the same chance to turn his life around that Jane's given a hundred other guys. He only gets that chance if both of them are here at Seasons House."

Darla stood up and walked over to stand by Barbie. "I believe that, too, Ms Braithwaite. The only reason I *didn't* commit suicide, or become a runaway who would have died soon after anyway, is because of Mama Jane. I've been a willing participant in her program ever since." Turning to the only mother she had ever really known, Darla said, "And I've learned a lot along the way. I can cover for her, Mom, and if I go as Darryl, there won't be any trouble with cops and things."

"I need you here, Darla, working with Adrienne, or I might as well go myself," Jane declared, "Audrey and Marie as well." She smiled to take any sting out her next words. "And though you are insufferably cute, I'm not sure you have the . . . presence to draw attention away from Kendra , ah, Barbie."

"You're saying I'm not man enough," Darryl's voice said bitterly.

"My son, you are more of a man than 99.9% of the world will ever encounter, but we're not talking about your courage and inner strength, we're talking about visual impact. As Darryl, you've not been blessed with the particular characteristics that would be an appropriate distraction from any faux pas that Barbie might make. I'm sorry."

"Not half as sorry as I am," sighed Darla, but the truth of Jane's observation couldn't be denied.

"I believe Michelle could be fairly distracting," Michael said. "And for reasons I never got around to telling you, I happen to have all the ID Michelle would ever need. I could go."

"You can't do that," Barbie said.

"You think I'm not pretty enough to draw eyes away from you?" Michelle's soft voice challenged.

"Hell, brother mine, when you put your mind to it you're pretty enough to draw attention away from *Jessica*, but that's not the point. You're getting married."

"It can wait, if the only alternatives are abandoning Adrienne or destroying Ken's career."

"I'll go with him," Anne's voice suddenly interjected. Every head in the room swivelled to face her, surprise in every eye. Surprise that was only slightly less than what she herself was feeling at that moment. "I can drive and MY face at least nearly matches the picture on my license."

"That's very. . . kind of you, Ms. Braithwaite," Jane said softly. "May I ask why you're making such an offer?"

The look on the girl's face told Jane very clearly that she wasn't completely clear why she'd done it. "I guess it's because I've come to respect Kenneth. . .um, Barbie. He cares about you and about what you do a great deal. I still don't like what you do, Ms. Thompson, but Kenneth is a good guy, and has been nothing but fair in dealing with me, even after I threatened you with legal action and public exposure. If he's determined to do this, and if you think he needs someone with him, I'll go."

"I see," Jane murmured, considering the option. "Dear?"

Barbie looked at the other tall blonde. "If you're sure. This won't be a pleasant trip."

"I'm sure. It will also give me another opportunity to talk with the Judge. I have some questions for her that I'd like answered before I make up my mind about this . . . program of your Mother's."

"Fair enough. Momma Jane?"

"Marie will pack some things for you, dear," Jane said in quiet surrender. "Why don't you and Ms. Braithwaite go down to the apartment and pack for her. I will bring the car and your luggage down once it's packed."

"Good idea," Anne said. "I really haven't unpacked all that much. I just need to get my own stuff, clean this gunk off my face and we can be off, Barbie."

Jane saw disappointment flash in Barbie's eyes at hearing Anne's intention to cleanse away her makeup. *Oh, my,* she thought as insight flared. "I'm afraid that won't work, Miss Braithwaite," she improvised quickly.

"I beg your pardon? I thought it was decided that I would go. Didn't you just agree not two minutes ago?"

"Not that. The makeup. I think you need to keep wearing it. I think it is crucial to your purpose, in fact."

Anne stared at the older woman for several seconds, disbelief evident in her eyes. "You'll have to explain that," she said finally.

"As we have been discussing, part of your role in all this, besides acting as chauffeur, is as camouflage. You have to draw attention away from Barbie so that her inevitable slip ups won't be as noticeable. Unless you can keep up. . . appearances, I am afraid that some other arrangement will have to be made."

"Mom!" Barbie yelped, giving Jane yet more proof of just how much her child liked the idea of Miss Barbara Anne Braithwaite as escort on this trip. *Even if it means he's in skirts, too. Fascinating.*

"I was completely serious earlier, dear. You forget the masquerade too easily. You will pass the first look, but alone you're too likely to draw that second, third and fourth look. You truly are that striking, but unfortunately, you just are not ready for that level of public scrutiny."

"And you think having me along, made up to, how did you put it, draw attention? You think that will help him pass in public? Would that be YOUR strategy if you were escorting him?"

"I have infinitely more experience shepherding a cross-dressed male about in public than you do, Anne," Jane said gently. "Not only can I correct many errors before they happen, I see and can avoid potentially dangerous situations before they actually have the chance to get out of hand. You don't have that luxury, so you will need to be as striking as Barbie, if not more so."

"You're kidding, right? Make up or no make up, there's no WAY I'm close to being that. . . good looking."

"HAH," Darla snorted, only to receive a sharp slap on the arm from a stern looking Marie. "I only wish I was as good looking. . . or as tall."

Michael chimed in. "Boy howdy," he agreed. "If you only KNEW how hard I have to work to look HALF as good as you look right now." The young doctor suddenly gave a dismayed, feminine sniff and stamped his foot. "It's just *so* not fair!" a disconcertingly feminine voice finished in pure valley girl.

Jane could see that her quarry was starting to reel a bit under the sudden assault by her two former students, and pressed the advantage herself. "You would not need to be so . . . flamboyantly attractive as Michelle would need to be for the same benefit. Subtlety never was her strong point in any case." Jane said lightly, drawing another outraged sniff and a giggle. Pleased with the lightened mood, she then became serious. "Believe me, Anne, I'm an expert in this. If you are willing to take advantage of your natural gifts, you'll be causing traffic pileups from here to Florida."

"You really think so?" the tall girl asked in hesitant, longing wonder.

"I am telling you that I *know* so!" Jane declared, a discreet hand signal keeping the others from adding their own endorsements.

Only Barbie said anything, standing to move close to Anne, "It's not fair to ask this of you, Skipper, but you really could help me a lot here."

*I really must introduce you to Audrey at some point,* Jane thought with a suppressed smile as she looked at the two tall women. "I would truly appreciate it, dear. If you do your best, I won't have to worry nearly so much about the threat to Ken . . . Barbie."

"This isn't just some game you're playing with me, is it?" the girl asked, an audible hesitancy in her voice.

*She wants to be convinced. Well, there's one argument that might work. I hope this isn't a mistake,* Jane thought. "No, it's definitely NOT a game. This whole issue is very serious. Kenneth is as much my son as if I had been the one who gave him birth and this is about his future. Let me repeat, if you insist on going, _Kenneth_," and Jane put heavy emphasis on the intentional use of his male name, "Unless Ms Braithwaite agrees to my conditions, I will have no other option but to release Adrienne and go with you myself."

The look of abject horror on Barbie's face was perfect, Jane realized precisely the reaction she'd hoped for when she'd taken this gamble. *Now, if Anne will just take the bait.*

"All right," Anne said, triggering a sigh of relief from so many people it caused in turn a titter of giggling. "It's only for a few more weeks, and I'll be here to watch over him once we get back."

"Ms. Braithwaite? Just so there is no misunderstanding? I still get my full three weeks after you return. My program and I deserve that much in return for what you've been offered."

A look of surprise flashed across the young woman's face to be replaced by resignation, then she shrugged. "All right. Meet me down at the stables with the car?" she asked Barbie.

 

 

Chapter 18: Plans of Mice, Men and Aunts

Jane Thompson sat enjoying a nightcap in her favorite shabby overstuffed love seat; her long legs curled under her, her body cuddled up to Art. Marie sat across from them sipping tea. "You want to tell me what that little scene was all about, Jane?" the petite housekeeper asked.

"Whatever do you mean?" Jane asked innocently.

"You know VERY well what I mean! Pushing Ms. Braithwaite like that. The makeup and insisting that she spend the full three weeks after returning. Suppose she'd told you to go visit the devil in his hothouse and Kenneth still felt he had to go?"

"Our Janey'd have found a way out," Art said equably. "And somehow convinced the girl it had been HER idea and not Jane's."

"I might have wanted to be shed of that one," Jane said saucily. "Adrienne, the little sneak, has become quite the little conniver."

"Pooh," Marie retorted. "That one, as you say, is now yours, just like they all become yours. You'd no more give up on her than you'd sprout wings and fly."

Jane had the grace to blush, then laughed. "You know me so well, darling. However, my little ultimatum worked, and I got what I wanted. It was a bluff, of course," she admitted finally. "One I'd have been forced to eat and swallow whole if Kenneth hadn't fallen in with it so perfectly that the girl truly believed I was serious."

"You don't think that little ploy just a little risky given that the girl is already planning on suing you? And you still haven't explained what you really wanted out of this game you're playing with her. Why force the make-up on her? AND why insist she still be here at Seasons House all three weeks?"

A mischievous grin stole across Jane's features. "Kenneth is smitten with her. He likes her a very great deal - more than he's admitted yet even to himself, I think, and he especially likes her when she's properly made-up," Jane said conspiratorially. "And I think that SHE is more than just a little bit fascinated by him. I think I rather like the idea of the two of them together. They'll make lovely babies for me to spoil as the doting grandmama."

"WHAT??! Is THAT what that was all about? You've decided to play matchmaker?"

Jane sniffed at the implied reprimand. "You've had your chance to play matchmaker, Marie, with Audrey and Darryl. It's my turn to play interfering mater familias. Should be a good deal of fun."

"But there weren't any truly at-risk students involved when I shepherded those two through the romantic rocks and shoals. What about Adrienne? How are you going to handle her needs at the same time you're throwing her big sister at your son, who oh-by-the-way, is also stuck in a femme role right now?"

"Don't worry about her. I'm still here, and I have some new ideas on that score. Besides, you're still here, aren't you? As are Art and Jessica. Not only that, but we've brought in the really big guns - Audrey and Darla. Now that we've rendered Barbara Anne, I mean, Skipper, incommunicado to our dear student, we should have a chance to turn things around here quite nicely."

"I just HATE it when she says things like that - all airy and completely certain of herself," Art intoned, before putting his hand over his eyes and groaning ostentatiously. "This could be ugly," he warned solemnly.

Jane poked him hard in the solar plexis with her elbow and laughed. "It'll be fine - you'll see."

"And do you mind telling this poor, ignorant male just why you think those two are such a good match, Aunt Yenta?" Art asked. "She's upset that her brother is in skirts and unless I missed something, didn't she force the issue of Kenneth becoming Kendra as a counterattack? Thinking he might refuse or that it might in some way hurt our case?"

"Whatever her reasons were, I think she was very surprised by our Kenneth, and in particular, by our Kenneth as Kendra." With a sigh, Jane set down her brandy snifter and turned about to look at her husband and saw the very real worry in his eyes. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the same emotion clouding Marie's visage as well. "Have you noticed how my boys. . .our boys, gravitate to women who love them, respect them for the softer aspects of their personalities as much for their masculine strength and character? Michael has Janice, Darryl has Audrey, Bill has Carolyn. . "

"I have you," Art added, his words warm with love.

"Indeed. Kenneth has, because of that growth spurt, felt forced to put Kendra aside, to leave her as something only from his past, and while he hasn't been unhappy as a result, I've always sensed that he somehow felt, I don't know, incomplete."

"You think that Barbara Anne Braithwaite is the woman who is going to help him find what he's lost and left behind?"

"She got him into a dress again."

"He did that for you, sweetheart. Darla and Michelle do it as much for themselves as for their chosen ones. I was Diana for me before I was ever her for you, at least long term."

"You're the psychologist, dear, but I think Kenneth has mourned the loss of Kendra. Part of his rejection was due to the baggage he carried with him from Sheila, of course, but still he saw the positive aspects in Darla and Michelle, and in our other boys as well. In time, I think he would have come to achieve a balance with both sides of his yin and yang."

"Except for that growth spurt. Lord, Janey, but Kendra . . . "

"Barbie," Jane interrupted. "Like I told them, we've all got to get used to thinking in those terms for the duration."

"Barbie looks like a Vegas showgirl! Lord above, but those heels! All she needs is some spandex, glitter and feathers! And that figure!"

"Good corsetry works miracles," Marie put in smugly.

"Just so," Jane replied. "Anyway, thanks to Skipper, our Barbie is back, and our Kenneth is dealing with that."

"Okay, I can see all that, but to come back to the question -AGAIN - you still haven't explained the matchmaking and the makeup."

"The make-up is easy. Barbie looked disappointed when Skipper said she was going to clean it off, so I stopped her for Barbie. The excuse I gave her is valid enough, but my real reason was to make her pretty for my boy."

"Huh," Marie snorted. "And you call Adrienne a conniver."

"Master strategist, please, I am far beyond mere connivance. As for the match between the two of them? Well, that's a bit more complicated. Have either of you seen Skipper be anything other than, well, supportive of Barbie?" There was a noticeable pause as the other two considered that and then shook their heads. "Given what she thought of me, I would have expected her to have other, far less pleasant reactions to our boy en femme, but she is, as I said, fascinated by what she sees, and I believe that she honestly likes Barbie, too. Now, thanks to Skipper's offering to go to Indianapolis with Barbie, and to her agreement to serve the full three weeks after they return, I have them together - in close, companionable proximity, for almost a whole month."

"There are words for women like you," Art growled.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Sneaky, manipulative, underhanded. . . "

"And your point is?" Jane asked, one finely shaped brow arching high into her still-smooth forehead.

"I think you're great, and I'm going to have a lot of fun watching you maneuver that pair down the aisle behind Michael and Janice."

Jane picked up her brandy snifter and raised it into the air. "A toast - to young love."

Art raised his glass of the Irish. "To old. . umm, middle-aged, no, make that mature love," he offered.

"Nice try, Philips," Marie giggled as she lifted her wineglass, "But let's just say, 'to love' and leave it at that."

"Hear, hear!" the other two chimed in and finished their drinks.

"DON'T YOU DARE THROW THAT WATERFORD GLASS AGAINST THE MANTLE, ART!" Marie shrieked just in time.

"Spoilsport," Art groused, before turning back to his grinning wife. "Now, what are these ideas you have for Adrienne?"

Jane became serious again. "Well, that little concession I wrangled from her sister before they left will hopefully give me back some of the leverage I've lost. As to a strategy, I'm not sure, but I have an idea. I went back and checked her records, particularly the ones written by her school teachers? I think there's something there."

"What?" Art asked, intrigued.

"No, I'd like you to read through what I've marked," and it was the school teacher who answered. "I don't want you prejudiced by my interpretations."

"Okay. When?"

Jane rose and stretched, and then offered her hand to her mate. "Tomorrow is soon enough," she assured him. "Now, I think we all," and her look included Marie, "need to get some rest. The next few weeks are going to be demanding."

~-~

"How long a drive is it to Indianapolis?" Anne aka Skipper asked as she accelerated Kenneth's BMW sports car onto the westbound lanes of Interstate 95.

"It's about 900 miles," Barbie replied, leaning back in her seat so that she wouldn't have to watch as someone else drove her beloved little car. "Figure about sixteen, maybe seventeen hours driving time. I told Aunt Ruth we'd arrive by dinnertime tomorrow if we stop for the night someplace, before lunch if we drive straight through."

"I don't think I can drive that far straight through," Skipper replied.

"I can drive," Barbie told her. "Aunt Jane to the contrary, it's hard to speed on the Pennsylvania Turnpike these days - too much traffic, too much construction. Toss in a couple of pit-stops and we're home-free. Besides, we'll just make sure you're driving when we get to the end-of-the-line tollbooth."

"Sounds like a plan." The girl concentrated on her driving for a while and sighed in pure pleasure. "This is a great car."

"Momma-Jane's graduation gift to me," Barbie said with a smile.

"You really love her, don't you," Skipper observed.

"That surprises you," Barbie replied, "And bothers you."

"Yes. I mean, after the way she came to you when you needed her, the way all of you seem to . . .I don't know, trust her, I guess, I was all ready to see her in a different light. . "

"Different than what your brother's report had you expecting?"

"That's it," Skipper said quickly. "And then, she goes off on that 'this time with Kenneth doesn't count' stuff. I just don't understand that at all."

Barbie gave a deep throated chuckle of resignation. "With the possible exception of Art and maybe Marie, I don't think any mere mortal can fully understand the workings of Jane Thompson's mind. Probably easier to understand the weather."

"So you have no idea what that was all about?"

"Oh, I have inklings, and while I am probably at least partially right, I am probably missing the subtleties in her plan." At the 'come on, give' motion of the shorter girl's hand, Barbie grinned. "I'd say that, at the very least, Aunt Jane has a new strategy in mind for little Miss Adrienne, and is looking for every possible moment in time to execute the plan. Thus, but not counting your time with me, she gets upwards of another week to work your brother, and believe me, she will."

"That sounds ominous."

"I guess I can understand why you might feel that way," Barbie said reflectively, "But truly, what she does works. Boys come to her on the road to a variety of bad ends. They leave her as pretty good examples of the human species."

"You offer yourself as proof of that, eh?"

"Not really," Skipper's passenger said in a more serious vein. "Momma-Jane figured out after a couple of days that something was wrong with me, and stopped pressing her program until she figured out what was wrong. I was only her student for about two and a half days."

"And your mother was what was wrong?" Skipper asked more gently.

"She'd forged the court documents that referred me to Jane, hoping she could succeed where Sheila herself had failed - turning me into a girl."

"Looks to me like it worked."

"Not quite," Barbie said with noticeably more heat. "Physically, I am still male under all this. . . camouflage. Had my Mother won, I'd be an 'it' - a caricature of a woman - totally degraded in every sense of the word."

"And Ms. Thompson's program isn't degrading?" she challenged sharply.

"No." The answer was spoken emphatically.

"You sound so sure of that. I wish I could be - for my brother's sake."

Barbie sat quietly for a moment, clearly marshaling her thoughts. Skipper watched her out of the corner of her eye - just as quietly - and was impressed despite herself by the earnestness with which Barbie considered this topic. In part, she realized, the statuesque blonde was justifying herself, and not just Jane Thompson.

After that moment, Barbie asked, "You thought that Adrian was getting into one of those Outward Bound programs, or maybe even one of those boot camp types of thing, right?"

"Yes, more the former than the latter. I wouldn't have agreed to the boot camp thing."

"Why not?"

"With Adrian?" Skipper had to resist the urge to snort at that image. Instead, she only said, "That would be, well, worse than Jane Thompson's place."

Barbie raised a hand to hide the grin. She wondered if Skipper even realized she had just casually ranked Jane's program even that high. She knew Skipper would not have done so when she had first considered it so . . perverse. But the new lawyer knew when to let her witness do most of the talking herself, so she just prodded a little.

"Why would it be worse?"

"Adrian is not . . cut out for all that macho sh . . . stuff. If he had to do a bunch of pushups, he'd, well, he wouldn't have done very well. All that military style training is so focused on strength, even the hikes with a pack are easier for bigger, ah, men. It would have broken his heart - and his spirit. I want him to better when he finally comes through this mess, not diminished."

"I think you're right," Barbie agreed quietly. "But you're missing a key point. While the military does use Boot Camp and Basic Training for physical conditioning, there is a more important purpose."

"Yeah, turning them into killers."

"Not exactly, though there is an element of that, in a different way than I think you mean."

"How would you know?" Skipper asked, looking at the gorgeous woman sitting next to her.

Barbie grinned easily and said, "Actually, I don't, not first hand, anyway, but one of Jane's ex students is now a Major in the Marine Corps, and we've, ah, discussed some interesting parallels."

"Parallels to what?" asked Skipper.

Instead of answering the question directly, Barbie asked one of her own. "What's the biggest difference between the young men and women who enter Boot Camp, and those who successfully complete the course?"

"I don't have any idea. Guns, haircuts and uniforms?"

Barbie smiled at the riposte before answering her own question. "Those who go in are individuals. Those who come out are part of a team."

"Nice little robots, you mean?"

"I can see you haven't met many Marines," Barbie snapped, taking insult for her absentee skirt-sib.

Skipper shrugged, but ducked her head at a jab she knew was fair. "No, not really. That swaggering macho thing has never . . . interested me."

Barbie let that go, returning to the key issue. "The Marines have a deliberate, carefully worked out program for new recruits. First, they have to show them that their civilian ways - the self centered, 'I'll do it *my* way for *ME*' attitude won't work. They apply a lot of stress, deliberate stress, tearing away at every detail of the recruits' natural reactions so that they question *every*thing about their own abilities. Then they rebuild them as part of a team, showing them that the disciplined team is stronger, more effective, more worthy of pride than anything they could ever achieve on their own."

The taller girl paused for a moment of reflection, then shrugged. "And you're right, of course. Part of that is military effectiveness, and they do indeed learn to kill. But only under control, as part of a team effort, in compliance with lawful orders. They learn self discipline from the success they achieve through imposed discipline."

"I suppose NOW you're going to tell me that Jane's program does the same thing." There was a world of skepticism in Skipper's acid tones.

"In many ways," Barbie agreed equably. "The team element is less significant of course, but the stress and the discipline are very real. It's a teardown/buildup process that forces the student to question every instinctive reaction on the way to learning conscious control."

Barbie smiled ruefully, and said, "In fact, that's what 'gave me away' to Jane."

"Huh? 'Gave you away'? I don't understand."

"It's how Mom figured out I really didn't belong at Seasons House - as her student, at least. I already had a lot of self control, more than she'd ever seen. Or so she says. That wasn't consistent with the lies my birth mother had placed in the forged records she'd sent Jane."

"I STILL don't see what her program has to do with boot camp or discipline for that matter." Skipper fumed, her frustration with this line of incomprehensible logic growing rapidly.

"The feminine mannerisms Jane demands in he program are as foreign to her typically short and slender students as the rigid discipline of military orders is to the more, ah, 'macho' types who are drawn to the Marines. Yet a smaller boy can do well at Jane's program, even excel something that only very rare individuals of that body type can do in the primarily physical stress of Boot Camp. In the end though, it takes the same sort of self control and discipline to succeed. Once you have that once you *realize* that you have that well, then you're ready to succeed in just about anything you want to do."

"You sound so certain," Skipper observed again, her tones almost wistful.

"I've seen it work, Skipper," Barbie's quiet intensity drew a surprised stare from her companion. "And although Mom admits to two failures, I've never seen one, and I've been watching her for more than five years now."

Lines furrowed the shorter woman's smooth brow as her eyes narrowed in thought. "I'm just not sure I want. . . that I believe being made to excel at being feminine . . " she paused, then shook her head. "I have to think about all this a lot more, I guess."

Barbie nodded, but didn't make any reply. Instead, she let the silence stand for a few minutes, but then saw a sign. "Can we pull off at the rest-stop ahead? Between breakfast and this damned corset squeezing my bladder, I need the little girl's room?"

That drew a surprised giggle from the driver. "You don't think I'm going to go into the little boys room, do you?" she demanded, all outraged dignity.

"Honey," Skipper chortled, "You don't qualify for a 'little' anything! Let's see if we can find you a BIG girl's room."

A sniff that Skipper had not known Jane Thompson long enough to recognize was her only answer.

 

 

 

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