Tales of the Season - Ken's Barbie

by Tigger
Copyright 2002

 

Chapter 19: On the Road Again.

"God, the look on your face!" Skipper hooted when they were back in safety of the car. "Got any spare change for the Tampex machine, honey?" she growled in creditable mimicry of the woman who'd just cornered the big blonde.

"Skipper," Barbie warned softly.

"Don't you just HATE it when it hits you miles from nowhere without warning. Monthlies ought to BE monthly, right?"

"You're pushing your luck, cutie," an increasingly red-faced amazon snarled.

"Oh, come on. It's over. Surely you can see how funny it was - at least in hindsight."

"It is NOT the LEAST bit funny and not at all what I had expected."

Skipper was doing her best not to howl with laughter now, and almost succeeding, although she was starting to hiccup. "And what did you expect?"

A trace of a smile softened the taller girl's features now. "Well, according to my skirt-sibs, if you're really lucky, sometimes you see cute girls, shall we say, en dishabille?"

"NOT in roadside bathrooms, girlfriend," Skipper retorted firmly. "I try not to spend any more time in one of those places than necessary." She gave an exaggerated shudder at the thought.

"Gee, I thought it was pretty good. Much better than the guy-side would have been."

Now the other girl's shudder was real. "Yuck! You're kidding, right? No civilized human being would tolerate such conditions."

"Who said men are civilized? Heck, some of us still like trees when nature calls, you know?"

Skipper was still laughing as she started the car and headed back for the open road.

~---------~

"The instructor hasn't had any of your students before," Art pointed out as he read the flyer. "I agree it's intriguing, particularly after having read Adrienne's school file again, but that's a pretty physical art form. The instructor might pick up on your girl's slip-ups."

"I'd be close by," Jane countered, "for the first few lessons, at least. If only to make sure that Adrienne doesn't try anything dangerous. Besides, she might even like it, once she gets past the initial shock of being in public on her own."

"You sure this is what you want? It's not nearly as . . . blatant as some of the things you've done with the children's theater."

"Wrong kind of play. They're all dressing up in animal costumes, so even if I had Adrienne there in a boy role, putting him in a girl chipmunk outfit wouldn't particularly stress him. As to the degree of femininity, I think our young miss will draw. . .attention. The costumes are typically rather form fitting and Adrienne's will be more so than most."

Art hugged his wife. "I love it when you talk dirty," he whispered.

"Down, boy!" Jane ordered, grinning. "So, what do you think?"

"As long as you think you can deal with the externals, it sounds like a good idea. Should put her on the right road, at least."

"And besides, the kids at the clinic will love having a mime come visiting," the Mistress of Seasons House said smugly.

~------~

"So, you had expectations for our little rest-stop? Based on, what was it you called them? Skirt-subs?"

"Skirt-SIBS," Barbie corrected, "As in siblings. Fellow former students of Jane Thompson's Winsome Girls' School for Wayward Boys. It's kind of like being a blood brother, only less messy."

"Right. I take it these . . . persons have invaded a lady's room?"

"Well, maybe I sort of have," Barbie admitted with a bit of a blush before hurrying on with "but Michael and Darryl have, for sure. They both have lived en femme for relatively long periods of time. Darryl as Jane's big sister in residence for about six years; Mike because," the tall blonde hesitated, "well, that's his story to tell."

"He's the one who attempted suicide."

"Yeah. Part of the, well, therapy I guess you'd call it, was to live as Michelle full time for quite a while - to sort of come to grips with the things that had driven him that far."

The pair lapsed into silence as the powerful car ate up the miles down the Connecticut Turnpike. "You want to put the top down after we get through New York?" Barbie asked. "It's a gorgeous day."

"My, but we are becoming comfortable with our girlishness," Skipper observed sweetly.

"Huh? What does that mean?"

"Feel like holding your wig on the whole trip, slick? The wind will have it off you before you can spit. Or is that hairpiece held on by more than a few hair hooked through the mat?"

"Shit!"

"Ah-ah-ah-ah," the shorter girl tutted sweetly. "Whatever would your Mother say? Such language from a lady."

"You're really pushing your luck," Barbie observed.

Skipper said nothing in return, but inwardly smiled. He might be miffed at her teasing, but at least he wasn't brooding about what awaited them at their destination.

"Where do you want to stop for lunch?" she asked instead.

"Anywhere EXCEPT one of those Pennsylvania Turnpike rest areas," was the emphatic answer. "I know a nice little family diner just over the New York-Pennsylvania border. Real home cooking - much better than Momma-Jane ever made, but then, Momma-Jane has Marie."

~---------~

Jane watched the class with practiced eyes, knowing what to look for - knowing what behaviors and situations would be safe for her plans; and those that were simply too dangerous to her student's masquerade.

The instructor was a drama teacher at the local high school, but working here at the youth club as a volunteer. The pre-adolescent boys and girls in this group were learning the 'fine art' of physical comedy. In other words, they were learning to be clowns. Jane had laughed more than once at their exuberant antics, and had even applauded when the teacher had been the practice dummy for the 'pie-in-the-face' act. She wondered what the white foam filling the paper-plates was, but it looked like great fun to her.

*The problem is,* she reminded herself, *that all real acting is at once physical, mental and emotional, and in correcting physical interpretations, acting coaches often 'lay hands' on their students.* Jane could not risk that. An experienced acting teacher might well be all too likely to recognize the 'enhancements' she used with her boys for what they really were - corsets, falsies and other types of padding. Such a recognition might raise questions Jane could not afford to have aired.

So far, the male teacher had been very careful - correcting by means of example and verbal directions only. Still, the only male, other than a former student, Jane had ever involved in her program had been Art, who was unique and special in many ways. Could she take the risk? Certainly, having Adrienne in regular and close contact with a male while in her feminine guise would be very stressful on Jane's current problem-child. *Do I dare risk it?* she asked herself.

The question was still bothering her as the last of the children departed leaving her alone with the instructor. "Ms. Thompson?" the smiling man asked as he walked up to her, vigorously rubbing face and hair with a white towel. "I'm Ted Fredricks. I'd offer you my hand, but I'm not sure I've got all the shaving foam off me yet."

"Is that what that was?" she asked, brow cocked in query.

"Yep. It doesn't cost much, and the little ones aren't tempted to clean the floor with their mouths when we're done. It can smart if it gets in the eye, though, which is why I let them pop me with the 'pie'. Can't be a proper clown without throwing a pie in someone's face, you know. Anyway, you wanted to talk about the class on mime, right? Oh, and could we walk as we talk? I have to leave as soon as we're done."

"Yes, of course," she replied, following him down the hall toward the parking lot door of the club. "I have a young girl living with me, she's thirteen," Jane temporized. Actually, Adrian was fifteen, but was small enough that Adrienne could pass as a fairly tall thirteen year old girl which suited Jane's purposes. "She saw Marcel Marceau on the Biography Channel and was fascinated by the art. I thought she might like to learn something of that first hand."

"I hear a 'but' in that, Ms. Thompson."

*Might as well tell part of the truth,* Jane thought. "I'm concerned about a young girl being taught such a physical art by. . by. . "

"by a MAN?" There was steel-hard ice in Fredricks' voice. "I teach children, Ms. Thompson, I do NOT molest them, and god help anyone I ever catch who does."

"I see," Jane murmured, pleased with the reaction. "I'm sorry for the way that sounded, but one cannot be too careful with a child these days."

He walked up to a late-model van and opened the side door, tossing his duffel inside. "Perhaps, but being male, Ms. Thompson, let me tell you that it gets wearing when everyone expects me to be on the make for little girls. My wife will be helping with the mime class, if that makes you feel any better, and she can work directly with your girl. She usually does coach the girls, in fact."

"Would it be all right if I watched, maybe the first couple or three classes? Just to make sure she's okay with it? *And so I can make sure she's not getting out of hand.*

"No problem, but I may just draft you to help, or make you do the exercises. Ever try mime yourself, Ms. Thompson?"

Jane tried to imagine herself in white-facepaint, a bowler-hat, a long-sleeved white pullover shirt and calf-length pants. Somehow, it just didn't work for the intensely feminine Mistress of Seasons House. She grinned at the thought. "No, can't say that I have." Then something in the van caught her eye. "Those aren't petticoats, are they?" she asked in surprise.

"Yep," Fredricks answered. "The faculty at the school is doing a variety show next week, sort of as a fund raiser. I'm going to do my Milton Burle routine for it. I got those as part of the costuming."

*My goodness,* was all Jane could think.

~--------~

"Your car sucks gas, Blondie," Skipper said as they approached Stamford, CT. "We should probably fill up before the City. With any luck, we won't be down to fumes before we're safely into Pennsylvania."

"I'd take offence for my trusted steed, except I need the necessary."

"Told you you'd regret going to town on that water bottle," Skipper added with a smirk.

"Sheesh, never give a guy an even break, do you?" Barbie responded cattily, and then stopped short when she felt rather than saw her companion almost withdraw into herself.

"What?" the taller blonde demanded. "Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't really mean. . "

She watched as the other girl gathered herself, forcing an almost-smile onto her face. "No. . no, I know it wasn't meant as anything other than playfully. It's just. . ." her voice trailed off as her eyes became focused on something distant that only she could see.

"Just what, Anne?" Kenneth's voice asked very gently.

She sighed deeply. "That's precisely what my brother has always accused me of doing. Never giving him a break, I mean, always on him. It's one of his best shots, and he knows it. I shouldn't react to it . . ."

"But you care about him, so you worry that he might be right?" A shaky nod answered the question. "Seems to me that if Adrian was mature enough not to need such . . . oversight? If he didn't need it, he wouldn't have gotten himself in court and wouldn't be at Seasons House in buttons and bows, pettis and pinafores. Sounds to me like little brother has your buttons pretty well figured out, well tuned and tends to push them pretty hard."

Silence filled the car as Skipper considered that. They drove another two miles before she finally spoke. "I guess he does, at that. Most of our 'discussions'," and the word was said with heavy sarcasm, "seem to end on his terms - usually with one of his little parting shots to twist the knife. You know? I'd never quite seen it in that light."

"Guy thing," Barbie observed, back in character. "In truth, one of the things Jane wants the boys to learn is a more, feminine isn't the right word, but a more 'woman's way' of interacting with other folks, particularly folks who have apparent power. Adrian was thinking in terms of winners and losers - his little shots made him the winner, at least to him."

"But I wasn't trying to make him lose anything," Skipper protested.

"I know that. Hopefully, after Jane is through with him, so will he."

~---------~

"Caro? Hello, Jane here."

"Hi, Jane. What's up?"

Jane smiled flirtatiously at her husband over the curved mouthpiece of the antique-styled phone. "Oh, I was wondering if you had time to do a little job for me this afternoon?"

"How big a job?" Caro asked cautiously, "And on who? Kendra? I thought Sandy and Marie went a little too far with her yesterday. Tear down time?"

"No, no - nothing of the sort. It's Adrienne, and I have some very specific. . . enhancements in mind for her."

"Jane, we've worked together a long time, now, right?"

"Yes we have, dear. So?"

"Well, when you start talking around things, I've learned to start being careful. What do you want and why? What's going on in that devious mind of yours? Tell me that, and then I'll tell you if we can handle what you want this afternoon."

Jane stuck out her tongue and made a face at Art, who dissolved into silent giggles at having won their private bet on Caro's reaction. "Oh, all right. Look, there's a class in which I want to enroll Adrienne - first few sessions have already met, but the instructor has agreed to let her join since she won't be taking the class for credit like the other students in the class."

"So?"

Sighing, Jane continued. "It's a class on mime, Caro, so Adrienne is going to be dressed, at best, androgynously. The class is mixed - boys and girls, mostly girls - however, I want there to be no question in anyone's mind that this student is female. I want the teacher and the other students reacting to Adrienne as a female without conscious thought."

"Okay, so you want the first, second and at least third impressions to scream 'girl', eh? I see. What have you got in mind?"

"Oh, the parade float setup, only more so. Here's what I had in mind. . . . "

~-~

"Just pull up to the full service pump," Barbie said, rummaging in her purse for a credit card.

"Are you NUTS? That's fifteen cents more a gallon than self-serve. Just to have someone stand there holding the gas nozzle?!? I don't THINK so, buster. That's highway robbery - LITERALLY."

"You'll have to go into the ladies room to wash your hands when you're done. Sure you're willing to chance it?" the taller girl teased. "Or is it the principle of the thing?"

"Screw principle, it's fifteen cents a gallon! Maybe that's not a lot to you, but I'm just not used to being so. . .loose with money."

"Well, take the card and do as you like. I need to go - like RIGHT now!"

"Remember to use the ladies," Skipper laughed, "And be sure to sit."

"As if I could forget, wearing this the bloody gaff Marie gave me," Barbie growled as she opened the door and hurried off, leaving behind a Skipper who now had just a bit more understanding of her brother's little barbs.

~-------~

"Are you really going to shoot that particular bolt? Art asked, his eyes grave as he watched Jane assume her 'businesswoman-in-command' persona for the now-scheduled salon visit. "Once that one is loosed, you don't have much else in the way of heavy artillery with this one."

"You're mixing your metaphors again, dear," the auburn-haired teacher evaded, smiling up at his reflected image in her vanity's mirror.

"Janey," Art warned.

"It's not like I have much more time with her in any case," she admitted on a sigh. "What is that first rule of leadership? A two-by-four in the face followed by 'Now that I have your attention?" Jane rose from her stool and turned into her husband's arms and clung for just a moment. "I haven't had this one's attention since Barbara Anne became involved. Unless I get it back, nothing good can come of any of this."

Art held her close, offering what comfort and support he could. "Desperate times, desperate measures?"

"Close enough," she answered into his shoulder. "I know it's a terrible risk, but at least there's a chance that something good might come of trying it. The key to my program is that the student has to care, has to try."

"And you're afraid that this one might try to wait you out?"

"Even though she doesn't know her time here is now limited, she still is inclined to wait for some word from her sister. Every moment is now precious."

Art considered that for a few more moments, even as he savored the intimacy of their loving, fully clothed embrace. What was it Heinlein said about love? 'Love is what you feel when you aren't horny?' Something like that, anyway. *Well, Art, m'lad, you are DEFINITELY in love with this woman. Too bad you can't think of a better course of action than the one she's already decided to follow with this one.* "Okay," he finally said. "Diana will be here when you return, just in case you or Adrienne needs her."

Jane sighed and after one last cuddle, stepped back from the protective circle of his arms. After checking her makeup one last time, she waved and strode toward the hallway door - the Mistress of Seasons House bravely going once more into the breech.

~--------~

*Wonder if real girls have that much trouble in those places?* Barbie wondered as she strolled back to the car having finished her business. *That was a near thing, thanks to all the effort needed to get panties, pantie girdle, hose and the gaff out of the line of fire. But then, real girls don't have the gaff, and most modern girls don't wear girdles, either.*

She was just about to call out to Skipper when she realized that the girl was not alone. A young man had come upon the scene while Barbie had been answering Nature's call and was, from what the tall blonde could tell, attempting to chat the shorter girl up. *God, look at that body language, you idiot,* Barbie thought angrily. *Her spine is rigid - she's staring at the fill nozzle and her body is angled away from you. Short of telling you to take a long walk across a crowded highway, she can't be much more obvious.*

Barbie increased her pace to close the distance. Road noise made it difficult to make anything intelligible out of what the man was saying until she'd gotten almost to the car. What she heard made her eyes narrow dangerously.

"C'mon. Let me buy you lunch. There's a nice place just off the Turnpike up ahead."

"No thank you," was the clipped reply as she rose to her full height to replace the nozzle on the pump. "I've already told you I am not staying in the area, nor from the area."

"Hey, I'm in Rhode Island a lot on business. I could call you - get together - have a few laughs."

"I'm not from Rhode Island. This is a friend's car."

"This isn't because you're taller than me, is it? Hey, I LIKE tall chicks, and trust me, darlin', I'm really tall where it counts, you dig?"

Barbie saw the look of confusion give way to what she could only describe as horror as the meaning of the fool's allusion became clear to her. *Time to do something,* she thought and moved in to stand directly behind the three-piece-suited irritant.

"OWWWCH," he yelped and spun about as Barbie very firmly 'tapped' his shoulder with the nail of her right index finger. "What the . . . . o - my - god."

There was something satisfying as well as humorous as the interloper's eyes started at bosom-level and then crept up slowly until they locked with Barbie's own. Had she seen herself in the mirror, she and any of Jane Thompson's boys would have immediately recognized the look on her face - one eyebrow cocked in sardonic amusement, head self confidently erect, her smile both challenging and only mildly curious. *You're the disease, sucker,* Barbie thought, *I'm the cure.*

"You're annoying my girlfriend, shortie," she said in a sultry purr worthy of Darla. "So you like tall girls, eh? Why? So you can prove you're man enough to handle a LOT of woman?" She watched as his eyes went wide at her challenge, before he recovered enough to nod - almost arrogantly. Barbie snorted derisively. "I don't THINK so." She strode over to Skipper and walked her to the passenger door and helped her in before stepping to the driver's door. "Well, then maybe you should go away and grow up some first, little boy, or maybe go and try that crap on girls. Women," and there was heavy emphasis on the word, "just aren't interested in such. . . childish come ons. Ciao, loser."

Barbie got in the car and simply drove off, leaving the gaping man behind her, breathing exhaust. "You okay?" she asked as she headed for the acceleration lane back onto the turnpike.

"He wouldn't go away. He started pestering me right after you left, telling me how great I looked, how tall I am, and he just wouldn't go away!"

"We went away," Barbie replied gently. *She mentioned his tall comments specifically. Curious. She gets hit on by a stranger and yet she's bothered by the fact that he is attracted to her height. Wish Mike or Darryl were here to explain THAT to me.*

"I should be driving," she said, a bit of a quaver in her voice.

"I'm fine. You should relax now anyway, since you'll need to do the driving when we get into Pennsylvania. I'll drive to that diner I mentioned, then you can get us onto the Pennsylvania Turnpike. I'll spell you for a few hours in the middle, and then give the wheel back to you at the end. Okay?" At her nod, Barbie smiled. "Then why don't you put the seat back and relax - get some rest. It's gonna be a long drive. OH DAMN!"

"What?" Skipper yelped as her head snapped toward the driver's seat.

"I broke a NAIL on that asshole! DAMN! HEY, it's NOT FUNNY! STOP THAT GIGGLING!" Barbie ordered, pleased when her companion could not comply with the order.

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

Jane pulled the big Lincoln up outside the storefront of the Marisha Chalet and after stopping the car, turned the full force of her stare on her student. "We need to get something very clear between us, Adrienne," she began quietly.

"Yes, Ms. Thompson?" she answered without much interest, Jane thought.

"I am aware that you've been in contact with your sister - without my permission and therefore in violation of the court order," Jane said in stern, measured tones. "I am also aware, since I have been in contact with Ms. Braithwaite, that you have told her you are being abused and that you expect her to take action which will see you removed from my custody and control."

She watched the be-skirted boy's face as that revelation was absorbed, considered and digested. With what Adrienne must have thought a poker face, she looked up at Jane and replied, "So?"

"So, this, young lady. Your sister and I have discussed your charges and her concerns - face to face, in fact. We have reached an agreement on those fronts."

"An agreement? What kind of an agreement?" her student asked, suspicion and concern now evident in her manner.

"Well, you are still here, aren't you? And still in skirts? I would say that speaks volumes, wouldn't you?"

"I don't believe you. Barbie wouldn't do that, not after what I told her about you. . .I mean, your program."

"Just so," Jane nodded. "What you told her about ME is what you meant, young lady. Nothing like lying by almost telling the truth, is there? And as I understand it, Ms. Braithwaite does not like to be called 'Barbie'." The older woman smiled as she saw that dart strike home.

"I DON'T believe you. I WON'T believe you until I hear it from Barb. . I mean, Anne."

Her face expressionless, Jane pulled a sealed envelope from her purse and handed it to her charge. A strong yet feminine hand had addressed the missive 'To Adrienne'.

A suspicious look flitted across the girl-boy's face as she used one long nail to part the adhesive holding the flap shut. Jane knew the instant the full meaning of the short note came through to Adrienne, for her hands fell to her lap and her shocked-wide eyes snapped up to meet Jane's darker ones. "I believe," she said confidently, "That you will recognize the handwriting."

For her part, Jane already knew the contents of the note, for she had dictated it to Barbara Anne. It had taken all her considerable skill and force of will, not to say the uncompromising support of Doctors Philips and Nash, and Lawyer Roberts, to convince the girl to do this, but in the end, she did.

 

 

Dear Adrienne,

I have checked into the situation you described in your phone call, and I have to tell you, you almost got us both in an incredible amount of trouble. Let's remember that the only reason you're not in jail right now is because Ms. Thompson agreed to take you in as part of the suspended sentence agreement. By calling me, you almost got your suspension of sentence vacated. You would then go to jail - with me in the cell right next to you.

Look, Adrienne, if you are honest with yourself, you KNOW that I love you dearly. However, I do not intend to ruin my life with a jail sentence because you involved yourself in things when you knew better.

You can avoid that fate, too, if you will do what Ms. Thompson tells you. As you promised. I won't accept any further contact with you until Ms. Thompson agrees to it.

 

Your loving sister,

Anne

 

"This is not real," the teen hissed in a voice made harsh by emotion. "This is another of your damned tricks! You've got enough money go get someone to fake Barb. . Anne's handwriting."

"Watch your language!" Jane snapped. "I don't need to commit forgery. Not when your sister did, indeed, write that letter. Since you doubt me, why don't you try calling her?" Jane withdrew a cell phone from her purse and handed it to the girl. She watched her pupil hesitate. "Go ahead, Adrienne. You've already proven you know your sister's work and home phone numbers. However, I'm afraid you'll find that option no longer open to you. Ms. Braithwaite will not answer your calls."

Without a word, the girl-boy punched in number. "Yes, this is Adrian Braithwaite. I need to speak with my sister, Anne Braithwaite. What do you mean she won't take my call? I don't care what instructions you have, this is her brother and I want to talk to her NOW! WAIT! Don't HANG. . . up."

Casting a furious look at Jane, Adrienne cleared the call and punched in another call. For just a moment, the prettily made up face cleared, but ONLY for a moment. *He heard the opening of the answering machine message and thought he had his sister,* Jane mused. *Now, he's hearing the really bad news,* she added silently.

Jane had actually dictated the essence of the message and had listened to it before leaving the house. "This is Anne Braithwaite. If this is anyone other than my brother, I will be away on business for the next few days to a week. Please leave a message as I will check my machine periodically. If this is Adrian, I will not return any call from you that does not originate from Ms. Thompson. ::beeeep::"

"Damn her!" the young teen growled.

"I told you to watch your language! That means no profanity!" Jane snapped, and then made a show of regaining her control. "So, you are still under my program, and your choices remain the same as they were the day you arrived - successfully complete my program or face several years of juvenile detention. At this point, Adrienne, I am inclined to wash my hands of you, since you have already broken your word once. I'm going to be thinking about that over the next few days. If you truly consider yourself abused, then we can dissolve our association right now, and I will return you to the courts for vacation of the suspension on your sentence. IF I decide to let you stay on, then I will expect your BEST efforts from this point forward. You've had your first chance, young lady, and you blew it. If I decide to give you a second one, that will be it for you. I will not be insulted by those I am trying to help. Do we understand one another?"

Jane sat there, her eyes locked on the golden-haired creature whose eyes were staring off into space. She let the silence between them grow for almost a minute and then demanded intensely, "Do. . . We . . .Understand . . .One Another?!"

Adrienne swallowed hard, obviously shaken, but finally nodded. "Yes, ma'am," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Very well. You may consider yourself on probation until such time as I tell you otherwise. One strike and you are out. Now, go inside and find Mrs. Beale. She and Sandy are waiting for you. I've already told them what I want done, in what I assumed would be the very UNLIKELY event you showed up this afternoon. I'll return in two hours. You MIGHT be done by then."

"Yes, Ms. Thompson," Adrienne answered, as she let herself out of the car.

Jane watched the small figure make her way slowly up to the storefront entrance. She waited until Adrienne had let herself inside before restarting the car.

"Lord, but I hope that was right card to play with this one."

 

 

Chapter 20: Feeding the Inner Woman

"Skipper?" Barbie said, as she followed the exit down the hill. When there was no response, she looked over to find the other girl dozing. *So much for her being really bothered by that creep coming on to her back in Connecticut.* "Anne?" she said more loudly.

The sleek blonde stirred and then shifted her body into a semi-stretch, moistened her lips and cracked open one eye at the driver. "What?" she demanded, her voice softly menacing.

"Umm, do I take this as fair warning that you do not wake up with a song in your heart and sunshine on your shoulder?"

Something that might have been 'no' but was closer to a feral growl came out of her half-parted lips. She shifted in the car-seat, stretched again and sat up. "Where are we?"

"Pennsylvania. It's about two - and I'm hungry, so - Hello, Rabbit? How about lunch?"

Skipper grinned, "Sure, Pooh - lead me to the honey-jar."

A few minutes later, they were sliding onto the bench-seats of an old-style diner-booth, complete with a push-button jukebox at the head of the table. "Oh, I haven't seen one of those since I was a little girl," Skipper gushed, happily reaching up to turn the knob that flipped the cards containing the available selections.

"And Madame's musical preference is?" Barbie asked in the stiff, starchy tones of a five-star maitre d'hotel all the while digging in her purse for change.

"Old fashioned rock-and-roll," she sighed happily, "Like that one!"

"Can't go wrong with "The Boss", can you?" her companion asked approvingly as she fed coins into the machine. "You get to punch in the buttons."

Seconds later, the whiskey-rough voice of Bruce Springsteen was singing about his high school friend who could 'throw that speedball by you' and then 'make you look like a fool'. By the end of the first chorus, Skipper was tapping her nails to the beat of E-street's hard driving rhythm. By the second run-through, her head was moving in time to the music, making her new curls dance and bounce. By the end of the song, she was singing the chorus in a husky alto that did strange and wonderful things in the pit of Barbie's corsetted gut.

"Oh, that was lovely," she breathed when the last guitar riff signaled the end of the song.

"More where that came from," Barbie told her reaching for her purse again. They were interrupted by the arrival of their server. They ordered salads and tea. "Out of change, darnit!"

"That's okay. Maybe later."

"I've got some CD's in the car. Nice to know I'm riding with someone who appreciates the classics."

"Oh, I do." She became silent for a moment and then looked up into the other girl's eyes. "I wanted to thank you - should have done it sooner - for chasing that guy off back at the gas station. I just don't seem to know how to handle. . . situations like that. Not well, anyway."

"You're so pretty, hell, so beautiful, that it must happen on a fairly regular basis - unless you live in a world without men."

"Not hardly," she said with a half laugh, "But, well, I've just never learned how to deal with. . .well, you know, . . .men."

"You may have men in that world of yours, Skip, but they must be blind or stupid!"

"Easy, girl," Skipper warned. "Let's not slip out of character here."

She watched as her table-mate seemed to visibly become. . .more feminine somehow before asking, "Better?" At Skipper's slow, surprised nod, Barbie continued. "Back to my question, though. You must have a lot of practice with the horny male on the prowl - you are that good looking."

"Hmmphh! Different, you mean, and a bloody challenge, until they find out that I come with. . .responsibilities."

"Adrian, you mean?" At Skipper's nod, she continued. "Surely it wasn't always that way, was it? Before your parents' accident?"

"Guys don't beg dates from girls that are taller than they are, okay? When all my classmates were learning to deal with boys, I was hunching over and wishing I could find Alice's shrinking 'eat me' biscuit."

"You dealt pretty well with me so far - Ken, too."

"You're different," Skipper snorted as she stirred her tea. "And with Kenneth, well, that was business, not personal."

"Felt personal to Kenneth, trust me."

She shrugged. "Maybe it was at that, but it felt like business to begin with, and I'm good at that kind of stuff - the logic, the give and take - and besides. . ."

"Besides?"

"Besides that, I was, well, pissed."

Barbie slapped her hands to her ears in exaggerated horror. "Oh, my poor innocent ears - what YOU just said!"

"Your Ms. Thompson would have the soap out by now, eh? But I was angry. Things were out of control and I couldn't figure out how to fix them - with Adrian. Then he goes and gets into real trouble, and there's an out - send him to this school where he'll learn to be a real human being - fix the things I've messed up, and then. . . "

Her voice hitched, and Barbie put a gentling hand onto the shorter girl's arm.

"And then, you get a phone call that tells you he's in worse trouble, being abused, right?" A shaky nod was her only answer. "And given what you found out, you were frightened for him - worried that it might be sexual as well as emotional, right?"

"Because I screwed up," she whispered.

"HE screwed up," Barbie corrected, "And now you know that he's all right, unless you consider wearing skirts damaging to him sexually."

"Is it?" she asked before she could stop herself, and then was horrified at what she'd asked. . .at WHO she'd asked.

"Only if the thong and gaff are too tight," Barbie answered in a hushed whisper. "But that is a problem with jockey-shorts, too."

"Oh?" Skipper asked, the bit of silliness lightening her mood.

"Yeah," Barbie assured her, "if it gets too hot down there, all the sperm die." and was immediately showered in a spray of icy tea.

"WHAT did you SAY?" Skipper squeaked.

~--------~

"So, did you enjoy your afternoon off, Jessica?" Jane asked from her perch on her older student's bed.

Looking at Aunt Jane's reflection, the petite blonde carefully creamed off the eye-makeup she'd put on for the evening meal. "Right, Aunt Jane. Six hours of research for that paper you assigned yesterday. Five thousand words on the legal standing of women in American Society and its effects on the women's suffrage movement immediately prior to the turn of the Twentieth Century."

"We could make it ten thousand if you feel five thousand doesn't give you sufficient scope for your arguments," Jane offered sweetly.

Knowing better than to rise to Jane's little jibes, Jessica instead smiled angelically at the older woman. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind as I gather my source data."

"Well done, dear," Jane approved. "Just the right blend of sweet amiability and hidden cattiness. I could do better, but I have years more experience. Now, tell me what you thought of Adrienne tonight."

"Caro and Sandy did a real number on her. Those brows - wow. I mean, something out of a fifties movie they're so fine. And I'd swear her lashes are longer and thicker, but they don't look like falsies. Real Betty Boop-stuff, only real."

"Waxing for the brows; individual hair by hair replacements for the lashes. Very expensive, very time consuming."

"Thought I was seeing things. Then I assume that the subtle color I saw is also their work? Around her eyes and lips, and her cheek bones?"

"Very good, Jessica. Your observational skills are becoming better everyday. Yes, those are Sandy and Caro - the deep-dye cosmetics, too, so the colors are there for a while, and they'll be refreshed each time we go back to the salon, for the time being."

"Oh? why?"

"Because she's going to be in a public situation where she will have to clean off makeup, and I don't want her feminine look to be compromised."

"That means if she does leave in three weeks, she leaves looking girlish," Jessica observed cautiously.

"I know that, but it simply can't be helped. We don't have time to be careful with this one anymore, and she NEEDS help!" When Jessica only nodded understanding, Jane sighed. "Did you find anything else new about her. . .behaviorally, perhaps?"

Jessica considered that as she walked over to her armoire and pulled out her nightgown. "You know? She was . . .I guess the word is subdued at dinner. For the first time in a couple of weeks, she just sort of sat there and took your shots - all of them. I figured you'd found a way to put what Dar calls the "Fear of Jane" back into her."

"Nothing else? Nothing she's said?"

"Not really. We didn't have much time together after you got back from town. Then there was dinner, and she had KP. She say anything to Tante Marie?"

"No. Look, I pushed a button very hard today, Jessica - very, VERY hard. I don't know how she'll react, but then, she's been difficult to read of late. I could have just made a huge mistake, so try to keep an eye on her for me. If it looks even the least out of the ordinary, call for me, all right?"

"You got it, Aunt Jane."

"Good night, dear."

"'night, Aunt Jane. See you in the morning."

 

 

 

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