Tales of the Season - Ken's Barbie

by Tigger
Copyright 2002

 

Chapter 27: Saucing the Goose - Steaming the Gander

"Damned. . . miserable ::OUCH!:: . . . zipper - BLAST IT - bit me aGAIN!" Skipper fumed, as she tried to work the side-seamed zipper up her torso with as little of her skin caught in their shiny teeth as possible. Only the problem was that a good deal of her hide was falling into the realm of 'possible'.

How had Barbie ever gotten into that pink-toned sausage casing? Getting into this dress had nearly strangled Anne on no fewer than three occasions. The first time she hadn't noticed the zipper and had tried to pull it down over her head without unzipping it. Only a great effort had kept her from having to call to Barbie to save her. The second time was when she'd tried getting the thing on over her sturdy, serviceable brassiere. The latex had caught on the cups turning them inside out and twisted them into a very painful knot that bid fair to pinch off her now-very-tender bosoms while the bodice had again become nearly choked her. At that point, she'd given serious consideration to reneging on her bet, but in the end, her sense of fairness had won out and her eighteen hour bra had ended up draped over the hanger that had held this garment from hell. The third incidence of near asphyxiation by dress came when she'd tried to pop her head thorough the neck. Not only did Barbie's mother have abominable taste in clothing, she compounded that failing by possessing a pencil-thin neck.

The small dressing room's atmosphere was foggy with the talcum powder Anne had used to finally get the thing over her body. She didn't even want to think about what that stuff was doing to her lungs and nasal passages, but all that paled in comparison to the torment caused by that inhumanly evil device - the zipper.

Okay, so it wasn't just the zipper - stretching the latex and compressing certain womanly parts of her body in order to have any chance at all of closing the zipper had a great deal to do with her problems. What she really needed another set of hands - one set to hold the blasted sides together and another pull up on the zipper-tab. But she'd be thrice damned before she'd call in Barbie and ask HER help in this. She'd already helped more than enough, thank-you-very-much. "Who would've thought she could get into that damned halter."

With one last gargantuan effort, Skipper pulled the last three inches of zipper closed, held the ends tightly in her near hand and pulled up - hard - on the zipper.

It only bit a little, but it DID finally close. "Thank goodness," she breathed.

She rested for a few moments and wondered what to do next. She had to show Barbie - that had been part of the deal. The only thing was she wasn't all that sure just how much of what she showed the tall girl would be dress and how much would be Anne. She thought she just might end up showing way more of Anne than she'd like. "'course, if I'd won, she'd be parading down the street with her panties hanging out, but that's logic and I don't feel real logically inclined just now! Well, guess I'll go out and take a look in the mirror before she gets back from her explorations - find out just how bad it is."

With a quick jerk to try to pull the hem down a little further over her rear, Anne headed for the floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

The damned skirt snapped back up to catch her square on the bum.

"BLAST!"

~-~

It was even worse than she'd feared. The blue turned nearly as transparent as the pink shirt had, except Barbie had kept that dress underneath. There wasn't anything except Anne underneath the bodice of this dress. The conservative neckline didn't mean a thing when the rest of the dress looked like it have been painted on instead of put on. "And you thought Barbie stuck out. Okay, no way am I going through with this - uh uh - no way, no how."

She turned to hurry back to the safety of the dressing room.

Just in time to face the returning Barbie face on.

"Hey, Skipper, you won't believe what I found - my mother's bedroom and talk about plush. . . oh . . .my . . . god!"

The stunned look on the taller girl's face would have been comical had Anne not wanted nothing more than to melt into the floorboards and disappear. She started to say something, but no words came to mind - she could only stand there, rooted to the spot, watching a myriad of emotions flash across her companion's normally controlled face.

Barbie broke first, spinning on her heel and bending over, her hands fisted against her abdomen. "Oh, God!" she said again, almost a moan.

"Barbie?" Anne asked, suddenly concerned. She moved over to the girl who had become her friend, "Are you all right? What's the matter?"

"That. . that dress," a harsh voice answered, "YOU. . . in that dress."

"Huh? I don't understand."

She watched Barbie's shoulders rise and fall as the taller girl took several deep breaths. "S'okay," she finally answered, although the words still seemed labored. "I think we could say that . . . it's a guy thing."

"Oh," Anne replied, not really understanding. "Well, since you're here, aren't you going to take a closer look?"

"Oh, I think I got a close enough look already!"

Biting her lip and feeling oddly just a little disappointed that Barbie wouldn't look at her, Anne caught herself pulling down on the skirt's hem again and forced herself to let go of it gently. "Ummm, you're sure?"

"Annie, if you don't get away from me and out of that dress, this *guy* is gonna explain to you what guys and girls do, because there ain't no doubt you are 110% prime girl." With that, Barbie Barbie stormed back out of the room the way she had come in.

"Well!" Anne said, staring at the vibrating door. And then she smiled - a small, uncertain little smile to be sure - but nonetheless a very feminine smile indeed.

~-~

Barbie was sitting on the edge of the large canopied bed, staring out the window when Anne peaked around the corner of the walkway door. The taller girl had her back to the door and didn't hear Anne's arrival. "Barbie?" she asked, and cringed at the quavery tone of her voice.

Her friend's back went stiff, but she made no effort to turn around. "Yes?"

"I, ah, well that is, I need some help. The zipper is stuck.

Barbie spun about and nearly fell off the slippery, satin-comforter-covered bed. "You're kidding!"

"Not kidding," was the sad reply. "And I can't see it well enough to see what's caught in it. I'm sorry, and I'm not teasing, but could you take a look?"

~-~

"It's not stuck."

"Of course it is. Otherwise I'd be out of this latex iron maiden."

"It's not stuck," Barbie repeated. "It's locked. There's a difference. One's an accident, the other's intentional."

"Locked?!? Tell me you're kidding, please!"

"Not kidding. My mother used this type of zipper on me several times. They lock at the top with an itty-bitty deadbolt sort of thing. With me she used them so I couldn't get out of her little dress up games until she was ready to let me. Tight as this thing is, I figure she must have used one on this dress to keep the zipper from working loose during a session with one of her clients."

"Fine. Great. Tell me you know how to unlock it."

"With my mother? I made it my business to learn how these things worked - and how to get them open. Releasing that little deadbolt thing takes a special tool - a key, really, even though it looks like a pair of twisted needlenose pliers. I may be able to find something similar."

"Barbie?" Anne's voice was dangerously soft, and her eyes glinted ominously.

"Yes, Skipper?"

"GET ME OUT OF THIS THING!!"

"Okay, okay. . calm down. Let me see if I can find some tools. That latex will be tough to cut and the metal even tougher."

~-~

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T FIND ANY OF THE BLASTED TOOLS!?!"

"You don't have to scream - and just what I said - no tools. There's not even a decent knife in the kitchen - although as tight as that dress is on you - I'd be afraid of cutting you, if I tried to use a knife on the latex itself. No, I think the solution is going to be taking you back to Aunt Ruth's. I'm sure I have something in my old toolkit that will jimmy open that little deadbolt."

"And how, pray tell, do you expect me to get to the car? It's, as you pointed out, two blocks from here no matter which house we leave from. With a no-parking zone in front of the houses, to boot. I WILL be arrested in this outfit and none of your mother's things will fit me well enough to wear over it."

"I guess I shouldn't ask what happened to your bra?"

"Right, you shouldn't ask that - not if you want to father children."

"Right - got it - no questions about bras."

"Good plan - and furthermore, a better one that deals with my . . .OUR current situation would be appreciated, Blondie."

"Uhmm, sure. Say, you didn't think to bring your raincoat, did you?"

"It's in the car, why? OH, I get it. Go get it for me!"

"As soon as you say please and undo the laces on this dress, so I can go outside. There ought to be SOME benefit to winning the bet."

"Turn around so I can get started. I have this sudden urge to get out of this place!" When all Barbie did was stand and tilt up her chin in challenge, Anne felt her face flame. "Umm, please."

"Guess now we know what part of the houses she actually lived in, eh?" Barbie said, nonchalantly looking around to take in the sumptuous bedroom-suite. Then, she turned around, grabbed hold of the ornately carved bedpost with both hands and braced herself for the unlacing.

~-~

"Don't dawdle, Adrienne," the tiny blonde commanded. Though this 'Ms. Darla Smith' did not possess Ms. Thompson's commanding presence, she made up for it with twice the ascerbic sharpness. Adrienne hurried as quickly as she could to her seat in the huge Lincoln Towncar, wondering if Ms. Smith would magically produce the booster seat she would need to see over the steering wheel.

Of course, the powered seats in the fine motorcar adjusted enough - barely enough - for the height-challenged woman to be street-legal as a driver. By the time Adrienne had her own seat belt adjusted, the small woman had the car in motion.

*I wonder if she has to work to make her lips pucker quite that way all the time?* Adrienne mused as she idly watched the New England scenery flash by. *Or maybe she uses lemon juice as a mouthwash?*

Ms. Smith had arrived earlier that morning and nothing had gone right for or been right about the younger person since. Her petti's were bunching; she'd creased the back of her skirts; her hose were crooked; her cosmetics were unevenly applied and worse, inappropriate for a girl her age; she ALMOST dribbled tea when ordered to pour by Ms. Thompson.

It was like that first hellish two or three days all over again, only this harpy wasn't one Adrienne could look up to - at least not physically. And yet, the woman was nearly as perfect in her own dress and deportment as Ms. Thompson. *How many perfect women can there be in the world. I swear, if someone comes floating down on an umbrella, wearing a weird hat and carrying a carpet bag, I am really out of here. Supercalifragilisticexpealladocious.*

"Pay attention, girl!" the fingernails-on-blackboard voice of Ms. Smith snapped. "I asked you a question."

Swallowing, and knowing she'd been caught daydreaming, Adrienne put as positive a look on her face as she could manage under the circumstances. "I'm sorry, Ms. Smith. I was just thinking about this class Ms. Thompson has arranged for me."

"THAT's what I was attempting to discuss with you, Miss. Whatever has come over Jane? Sending a young lady to such a class? Clowning, for goodness sake."

"It's mime, actually, ma'am."

"Same thing. And look at you! Those ... those unsuitably tight pants and suspenders and those ridiculous striped socks. Why, the trouser legs barely reach past your knees! And we won't even discuss that. . .that bowler on your head. No self respecting young woman could possibly want to wear such. . . such unfeminine clothing."

For her part, all Adrienne could think was that she wished her underwear matched her outerwear's lack of femininity. However, once again, she knew better than to voice that particular observation.

"Harrumph. Tell me something, Miss Braithwaite. Can you act?" Ms. Smith asked.

"Act? You mean, like in a play?" and then added hastily, "Ma'am?"

"Precisely."

Carefully, Adrienne considered her answer. In the end, she thought she could tell the truth without inadvertently volunteering for something. That had been a hard-learned lesson for the boy-girl since arriving at Seasons House. "I truly don't know, Ma'am. I've never tried. Maybe I could."

"How about singing? Ever danced?"

"I sing. .. a little. . . but I never danced until I was sent here - to Ms. Thompson's school."

"You likely would do well enough," Ms Smith said, reflectively although Adrienne thought she heard a touch of doubt in her tones, "Presuming, of course, that Jane has followed her usual program. I happen to know that the children's theater is holding auditions today. The Wizard of Oz. A lovely girl such as yourself should be a shoe-in for the part of Dorothy."

*Only if you try out for the Wicked Witch, and while we're at it, could we please arrange to drop a house on Ms. Thompson, too? And I'd rather be Toto!* "I don't think that's what Ms. Thompson had in mind, ma'am."

"Never know unless you try. I know, we'll go over and you can audition. If you get the part, Jane will be pleased. She is a patroness of that theater in case you were not aware of that fact."

"Dorothy is a hard part," Adrienne averred, using whatever acting skill she DID possess to hide any sign of the near-panic she felt at that moment. "I really don't sing all that well, ma'am." *And if my voice cracks, I am really in the soup. Even at audition.*

"Then you can be that lovely fairy. . ."

"Fairy?!?!" Adrienne squawked.

"or is it good witch? I forget. The one who gives Dorothy the ruby slippers. Yes, I think that is an excellent notion. Much more suitable than something so physical as clowning."

Adrienne bit back the full-blown panic that now assailed her system. She couldn't face that. Going to this mime class, having to pretend to be a girl there was bad enough, but acting? That meant costume changes, didn't it? With real girls around who would realize Adrienne didn't really know much about being a girl. "No, ma'am, please. Ms. Thompson was most emphatic about this mime experience."

"She'll change her mind once you get the part."

"I promised to do what she told me and she told me to go to the mime class, ma'am," Adrienne said as firmly as she dared.

The short blonde cast a disgusted look at her passenger. "Don't know what's wrong with Jane these days."

"Nothing, ma'am," Adrienne retorted sharply, surprising herself more than she did her tormentor with her sudden defense of her teacher. *At least Ms. Thompson listens,* she realized. *She may ignore what you say, but she listens. This one only hears herself!*

Darla squelched the urge to smile at her little victory and managed an even more sour pursing of her lips. "Oh, very well, we'll go to your silly class, but I must say that you disappoint me, girl. You do indeed disappoint me."

 

 

Chapter 28: Ruth-ful Interludes

Barbie's Turn.

Ruth had watched the pair of them dancing around each other with half-amused concern ever since Barbie had brought the very sweaty Anne home the previous afternoon. The judge's first reaction had been that her child must have taken that young woman 'parking', as they'd called it in Judge Ruth's day, and that both of them had a very good time doing it. Her second reaction had been surprise that *Barbie* would do anything so risky (and risque) as that, given that it had still been daylight when they'd returned.

Then Barbie had helped the other girl out of that heavy raincoat.

*That dress,* she thought, still amazed, *That incredible dress.* Thankfully, she had managed not to laugh when the problem had been explained. Although precisely how Barbie had gotten Anne into that dress, and Ruth had absolutely no doubt that her Jane-Thompson-trained child had been instrumental in bringing that about, had _not_ been explained. *A locking zipper. Amazing. Sheila, you were truly devious.*

Once Barbie had located her old toolkit, releasing the tiny dead bolt had been easy enough. On the other hand, since then, those two young idiots had barely said more than four words to each other. Not only that, except for the special en famille evening meal Ruth had arranged, they had managed to steadfastly avoid being in each other's company.

*Well, one advantage of being the proverbial interfering mater familias is that I am allowed to interfere! It is my duty, after all.* Ruth thought as she marched down the stairs toward Kenneth's basement workout room.

"Does sweating like that help any better now than when you were a teenager, dear?" she asked sweetly, mostly to announce her presence.

With the focus that had always been basic to the soul of Kenneth Roberts, Barbie completed the last set of curls before looking up to meet Ruth's eyes. "Not really," was the honest answer. "The problem is still there when I quit, but it does help burn the adrenalin out of my system so I can at least think more clearly about . .. things."

"Things like tall, pretty blondes in ::ahem:: very interesting and unusual dresses?"

The vivid flush of exertion changed shade, becoming darker as Barbie looked away momentarily. "I'm sorry she had to come back here and face you dressed like that. It wasn't my intention."

"You didn't want her to put on the dress?"

"Hell yes, I wanted her in that dress!" was the immediate retort. "Excuse me," she said softly.

"I've heard and used the word before, dear."

"Suppose you have, at that." Barbie set her hand-weights aside and began to set up her flexing resistance machine. "She was outrageously gorgeous in that outfit, wasn't she?"

"Outrageous works for me," Ruth quipped, and then regretted her flippancy when she saw the anxiety in her child's eyes. "Well, it certainly proved that those curves of hers are definitely all her. She was very attractive. I take it she's upset with you for winning your little wager?"

Barbie began a rowing machine motion on the resistance machine. "I guess. She hasn't spoken to me since I sprung her from that dress."

"I noticed. And I've noted that her silence bothers you, doesn't it, son?" Ruth asked in that very special voice mothers reserve for their sons.

The rowing motion stopped in mid-stroke, and Barbie momentarily let her forehead rest on her knees. Then she released the hand-grips and turned suspiciously moist eyes to Ruth. "I hate it, Mom," was the soft reply. Silence grew between them, and quickly became oppressive. Several times, Ruth almost said something - anything, just to fill in that vacuum between them, but she managed to restrain herself. She managed because she knew her child; because she knew what she or he needed at that moment.

"I love her, Mom." The simple words were softly spoken, and there just a touch of surprise coloring their tone.

"Took you long enough to figure that out," Ruth said with motherly exasperation. "Or at least, to admit it out loud. Thought I taught you to be more honest with yourself."

"You did, but I was . . . Well, I guess I was a little scared."

"A lot scared, you mean, and that's good in a way - if it makes you think about her wants and needs at the same time as you worry about your own. Are you?"

"I think so - now anyway. I wasn't when I manipulated her into that dress. God, but I wanted to see her in that dress more than I wanted to breathe."

"Do you regret getting her into it?"

"Only if it messes things up between us beyond fixing. Otherwise, I'm gonna carry that memory of her squeezed into all that shiny rubber to my grave. Maybe I'm as kinky as Sheila was in some things, but lordie, Mom, Anne was, well, ummm," Barbie's voice broke and the bright red color suffused her face once again.

Ruth grinned wickedly. "She was what, dear?"

"Beautiful," and the word was whispered with all the reverence of a prayer. "Incredibly sexy and. . . "

"Finish it, dear," Ruth ordered.

"The woman I want to marry, Mom."

"Thought that might be the case."

"Problem is, am I the man she will want to marry? I mean, she hasn't had a whole lot of time with Kenneth, and most of that wasn't a very positive experience for her."

"Oh, but I think she has, dear. You're not like Darryl, son. When Darryl puts on Darla, he becomes she and that she IS Darla. It's not a split personality, but the yin and the yang, if you will, of that Darryl/Darla are more clearly defined, more. . . I don't know, distinct, I suppose . . . than anyone I've ever encountered. You, on the other hand, whether in skirts or trousers, are still basically the same person. Oh, you would let go a little more in skirts, could have fun a little more easily as Kendra, or now, as Barbie, but I think that has more to do with the company you kept than with your apparent gender."

"I don't understand."

"Don't be dense! It doesn't work with your Mother. Of course you understand. Darryl wouldn't let you get away with being old nose-to-the-grindstone Kenneth Roberts, regardless of how either of you are rigged out. Did you ever go out for a night on the town as males together?"

"Well, sure. . ."

"And did you have fun? The kind of fun Kendra and Darla had together?"

"Well, we didn't go shopping for new shoes or lingerie. That's for sure!"

"Ken-NETH!" Ruth snapped out in her traditional two-syllable reprimand for smart-mouthing.

"Yeah we did. Ball games, a movie now and then, some girl-watching. Heck, he even dragged me into a strip club once."

"Have a good time?" Ruth asked, her wicked grin back in full force. "Stick a few dollars in the ladies' garters? Buy a lap dance?"

"MOM!!"

"Well, did you?"

Wondering how she still managed to reach him like that, even now that he was a full adult, the man in the dress looked away in bashful resignation. "Yes, Mother," he mumbled, barely managing not to shuffle his feet.

"Good."

"GOOD?!?!" Shocked eyes snapped back up.

"Of course good, you lunkhead. If you did it every night, that's one thing, but you don't. You did, however, enjoy yourself. So, good. So, what's the plan for the grand courtship? I'm sure you have one. Let's hear what you're thinking and I will give you the, ah, feminine take on your plans. I think I rather fancy that young woman as a daughter in law."

"Even if it means Adrian as a sort of son in law?"

"Jane will have him in hand soon enough. Now, quit stalling and tell me what you've got in mind."

A relieved smile suffused the still-beautifully made-up face, as for the first time since Anne's adventures in latex, hope flared in Kenneth/Barbie's heart. Mother was here, and she would help make it all right. "First, I need to get her speaking to me again. . . "

~-~

Adrienne sat on the floor with the throng of other kids signed up for this class. There were ten other girls and five guys. *Watch your thinking, Braithwaite,* she chided herself. *OTHER girls? Oh man, I am in trouble.*

She was trying to deal with the ramifications of that thought when the man who had directed her to sit down here walked up to the group. "Well, we're all here, so we'll get started. My name is Ted Fredricks and I'll be your coach for this class. None of you are scheduled to be in a class with me this coming year at the high school, so you can call me Ted. Now, we've got several things to do today. First, how many of you know what mime's look like? How they dress and make themselves up?"

All of the kids raised their hands. "Good. Now, I have some books and magazines with me that we'll use as references, so you can study in a bit more detail the types of costumes. You'll be on your own creating your own outfit. You should have stuff at home that will do, so don't go spending your school clothing allowance on this stuff. As if you would, anyway," he added slyly and was rewarded by male guffaws and feminine giggles.

Adrienne started to laugh herself but noticed one student who didn't laugh. The boy inside the girlish makeup and hairdo found this girl worth a second look. She of Asian decent with dark hair, dark eyes and a golden complexion. She was also petite in the extreme, shorter than Adrienne if she was any judge of the matter. Intrigued, the boy-girl found her attention straying back to the unsmiling girl over and over again.

"A word of advice," Ted continued, "Make those costumes tight but flexible - you don't want any flapping sounds, but mime is about telling stories with body motion, and you'll need freedom of movement. Everybody got that?" Everyone, including the little Asian girl, nodded their understanding. Ted Fredricks smiled and pressed on. "Next week, come dressed in your outfit. Now, today, we're going to break up in partners. Your partner will watch you work, help you with your makeup, critique your movements. So, you need to be friends, and to be friends, you need to know about each other, right?" This was answered by a rumble of affirmative sounds. "Good, so here's the plan. There's, what, sixteen of us? Okay, we'll count off by eights, and then, go meet our partners. You have three assignments. Uh, do you need to write this down, or can you all remember three things?"

Adrienne could not help but laugh at the seriously concerned look that clouded Ted Fredricks' face. The other kids did as well. Even the little Asian girl managed an almost-smile. Somehow, that did something for Adrienne and she felt herself relax. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Okay, after you team up, I want you to design your faces and then try putting it on each other. When you have your face the way you want it, come up to me and I'll take a digital picture of you. I'll give you a copy of the picture so you can take it home and practice. While you're doing that, I expect you to pump each other for all the information about the other you can so that you can introduce your partner to the class next time, got it? Good. The third thing is, after you have your faces on, I want you and your partner to design a skit. I want you to open the refrigerator door, take out and pour a glass of milk which you will then give to your partner who will drink it. Be as messy as you want, be as creative as you want, but sell whatever it is you decide to do. Make me SEE the door, the glass, the drool coming out of your mouths. You'll put your skits on next time, and at the end? A friend of mine and I will do OUR skit. Got all that?" A group 'yes' followed by a smattering's of 'sirs' answered him. "Okay, when I point to you, I will count - remember your number. One. . two. . .three. . ."

Moments later, Adrienne found herself paired off with the solemn girl who had barely smiled at any of their teacher's quips. "My name is Xhinea," she told Adrienne, her voice soft and delicately accented.

~-~

Years of experience in similar situations was the only thing that enabled Jane to hide her smile as she strode into the dining room for the evening meal. Things had, by all of Darla's accounts, gone well today and her latest stratagem for her troublesome student showed promise. It hadn't flowered - it had not even sprouted, but it had germinated. Now, as it had been with her other boys, Jane had to tend that tiny seed of hope and help Adrienne grow and bloom.

Jane seated herself and indicated that her two students should as well. She smiled at both as she unfurled her napkin. Jessica returned the smile, while Adrienne blushed and dropped her eyes to her lap. *Perfect,* she thought.

For the first part of the meal, Jane followed her usual pattern, quizzing each girl on current events. Jessica had missed the latest development in the ongoing investigation of large multinational's accounting practices and was assigned a twenty-five hundred word paper summarizing and then analyzing the issues involved. "Due immediately following the evening meal tomorrow, Jessica. Be prepared to discuss and defend your positions, please."

"Yes, Aunt Jane," the pretty strawberry blonde replied, with what Adrienne thought to be admirable self possession.

"And do try to make your arguments logical instead of emotional, please. Emotion only makes circumstances such as these worse," Jane ordered and then turned her gimlet eye on her other student. "Miss Smith tells me you made a friend today, Adrienne."

Startled at the sudden switch from Jane's usual oral examination mode, Adrienne nearly stuttered out a 'huh', but managed a "Yes, Ma'am," followed by a deep breath and "Her name is Xhinea. . . Xhinea Hearst."

"Xhinea?" Jane said as if tasting the word. "How odd. Are you quite certain that's her name?"

Adrienne's brows momentarily knit together in concentration. "That's how she introduced herself, Ms. Jane. She said her mother named her Iphigenea, because it was like her Chinese name, but she's called Xhinea."

"Chinese name?" Jane already knew all of this, but wanted to see how much her student had found out.

"Yes, ma'am. She's adopted. Her mom, I think she's a doctor at the hospital? She went to Mainland China - to the orphanage where Xhinea lived until she was ten years old - and adopted her. She's been in this country for almost four years now."

"A mainland Chinese orphanage, you say? I wonder if she really was an orphan, then."

"Ma'am?" Adrienne asked, confused.

Jane waved the question away. "I understand that you have some assignments for your next meeting, Adrienne."

"Two, Ms. Jane. I have to introduce Xhinea to the class, and we have to do a skit. I was going to ask if we could maybe get together, she and I, to practice. This weekend?"

Jane hadn't considered that. She'd have to think about it - find out what she could about the girl's adoptive mother. "We'll see. In the meantime, I have an assignment for you - Jessica? You'll help her. I want you to research the Chinese laws concerning population control. I want you to write a report summarizing the laws and the social issues surrounding them. Take a personal position and be prepared to defend your position. The report is also due tomorrow after dinner. Jessica? You will supervise her use of the computer and the Internet, and help her with the searches. Then, Adrienne, after we have discussed your paper, you will prepare your introduction of your friend. Jessica will role play her part while Marie and I will act as the other members of your class. We will do that following dinner day after tomorrow. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Adrienne said, in unison with Jessica's "Yes, Aunt Jane."

"Excellent," the Mistress of Seasons House replied even as she rung for desert.

~-~

Skipper's Turn with Ruth

A soft knock on the guest room door stopped Anne in mid-pace, rousing her from her latest round of frustrated self-examinations. "Just as well," she muttered in vexation. "I haven't made any more progress this time."

"Come in," she called, and saw Judge Ruth poke her gray-haired head around the partially opened door.

"Hello, Anne," she said in a surprisingly warm voice. "May I come in? I wanted to talk to you for a few moments, while Barbie. . . I mean, Kenneth is otherwise occupied."

"It's hard not to think of, um, him as Barbie, isn't it?" Skipper said wryly. "She is so tall, so, um, shapely, and so beautiful that she could have been used as the model for the doll."

"She's not the only one," Ruth said gently.

Skipper blushed fiercely and ducked her head, triggering waves of her own blonde mane to flow over her shoulders. "I always hated that name, you know? And that image. I'm not some plastic doll."

"Do you think my Barbie - my Kenneth - is?"

"No, of course not," Skipper replied sharply. Then she sagged a little and said, "But I heard that so often from Adrian that, well, there are some negative associations."

"Is that why you were so embarrassed about being seen in that killer dress?"

"Oh, God, that dress was . . . I mean, even if I'd never heard of Barbie dolls, that was . . . "

"Gorgeous," Ruth completed for her, with a sigh. "Never in all my life, even when I was your age, would I have looked as terrific as you did. As you do."

"It was the dress," Skipper protested.

Ruth laughed. "Don't lie to yourself, dear, and don't even try with me. I see through liars for a living. That dress is hanging in your closet right now. But I'll bet the images in Kenneth's mind as he beats that exercise equipment into submission are not of what's in your closet."

"Yeah, well, you weren't there. You didn't see the way she, I mean, he looked at me when . . ."

"When . . . ?" Ruth prodded.

Instead of answering, Skipper resumed her interrupted pacing about the room. After a moment, she turned to Ruth and said, "I think it *is* the clothes - not just that rubber dress, but . . "

Ruth didn't interrupt with words. Instead she settled into her chair and wrapped herself in patience as though it were her judicial robes. It encouraged without demanding, and promised honest, open-minded attention.

"First," Skipper began, warming to her topic, "He teases me into playing dress-up - I will if you will, Skipper. The sneak. So we end up putting on these killer corsets - hers was a dress, actually, that laced all the way down the back from neck to hemline - couldn't quite get it closed over her bottom either."

"Sounds drafty," Ruth offered, "but sexy, too."

"Oh, yeah," Skipper sighed, eyes unfocusing for a moment as she remembered. Ruth carefully noticed, and just as carefully didn't show that she noticed, that Skipper's body was betraying what she had really thought about how Barbie looked in that dress. "And I got into this merry widow thing - lifted my boobs practically up to my chin and took four inches off my waist."

"Your. . your boobs?"

"Oh, I put it on over my blouse," Anne said off-handedly. "That was that Barbie's idea, too. Then, THEN we find the latex closet, and she oh-so-sneakily manipulates me into trying on that dress you saw. Made it into a bet - a dare, actually," and then added, "I have a problem with dares - I can't seem to resist them."

"A definite disadvantage when a man knows that about you, dear, but do go on. I'm fascinated."

"Okay, okay! So, I put this thing on, right? Practically drew blood trying to get that blasted zipper closed, but when I come out of the dressing room, Barbie's not around, so I go over to look at myself in the mirror. I nearly fainted."

"You were, I believe the vernacular is, one hot babe in that dress, Anne."

"I didn't know I could look like that. It frightened me and I started back to the dressing room. I was going to concede the bet - pretend I couldn't get it on, but Barbie came in at just that moment . . . "

After the torrent of sound from Anne's story, the sudden silence was almost shocking. Ruth couldn't stand it. "And?!?" she demanded.

 

"He looked at me," she said softly. "And I don't care how he was dressed, how much like a sleek and sensuous female he might have appeared, that look was all male. First, it was like, well, stunned, and then, it was pure heat, and something else . . . I felt. . I felt wanted, I guess."

"Darling child, every woman should have a man look at her that way, at least once in her life. The lucky ones get it more often than that. Did you like it?"

"I wouldn't have thought that I would - before this - but with her. . .him, I did." A shy grin came over her face. "I offered to let him have a good look. AND THEN, the no-good stinker turned and ran! Told me to change before he showed me what guys and girls do together. As if I didn't already know," she snorted angrily.

"Oh, my. Horrors!" Ruth allowed a bit of exaggerated drama into her voice, "The FIEND, he must be stopped before he goes too far! The sensitive male protecting delicate female sensibilities. It's utterly despicable!"

"I didn't need protecting!" Anne flared back. "And then, when we couldn't get the dress off? He made excuses why he couldn't just cut it off me - like he couldn't bear to see me nude, and went and got that damned raincoat to cover me up for the trip home."

"Could he have cut it off you? Without hurting you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe."

"Maybe isn't good enough for a man trying to avoid hurting a woman he cares for, child."

"But. ."

"But nothing. Tell me, Anne. What's really upsetting you? That Kenneth wanted to see your tall, leggy self in that killer dress? Or that Barbie, or perhaps more correctly, Kendra, recognized and empathized with your embarrassment enough to squelch Kenneth's desires in favor of helping you? Good Lord, girl! Just how did you WANT him to react?!?"

"I . . . don't know," the young woman finally replied in confusion.

"Is that part of this tension between the two of you? Feeling bad about yourself for how you acted towards her?"

Ruth settled herself on the bed and smiled at her guest. "I'm sure you've noticed that such things don't bother her. Believe me when I tell you that no one could have survived growing up with Sheila Roberts without developing a somewhat thick skin when it comes to taunting. The bitch. . excuse me, the woman was a past master of the art. So, if it isn't that, what is it? You've hardly said ten words in a row since coming back from Sheila's place."

Skipper started to pace again, then stopped herself. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face Ruth directly. "This whole . . . situation is bothering me. I started this to try and keep my brother from being abused. Now . . . now I'm spending my time with a guy who looks like the most gorgeous woman I've even seen, and I like it. I've let myself be tricked into wearing an outfit I'd never have imagined myself in . . and I liked the way I looked in it. And the guy I'm, um, with saw me in it - and reacted - and I liked that, too. I'm so far from taking care of Adrian's problem that I can't even remember how I got here. What sort of guardian does that make me?"

"Nonsense. Don't even think about that. You're more than suitable."

Rising off the bed, she went over to embrace Anne in a motherly hug. "Now, let me apologize for not telling you the full truth about Jane and her program. You should have known the truth before agreeing to my offer-sheet. If Jane cannot find a way to help Adrian, I will not send him to the juvenile reform institution. We'll find another way to help him."

"Thank you."

"However, I have to tell you that I don't regret anything that's happened because of that error."

"Huh?"

"Oh, you'll do, girl. You will definitely do. Now, I need to tell you that my son has asked me to see to the disposition of Sheila's belongings and houses. I know some. . .special women who might find her toys professionally useful."

"You?!? But you're a judge."

"So I am, and properly done, such. . . professional services do not fall outside the law. In any case, tomorrow, he wants to start back to Kingston."

"Oh. Ummm, all right. I'll, uh, pack."

"You do that, dear. And think about my question about why you really were upset. By the way,"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Are there any outfits over at Sheila's you'd like me to hold back? Just let me know." And then Judge Ruth slipped out of the guest room before Anne could recover sufficiently to respond.

And smiled broadly all the way down to her study. This one would lead her boy a merry chase. It would be fun to watch, even at a distance.

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Tigger. 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.