Tales of the Season: Caitlyn's Story.
By Tigger
Copyright 1999 All Rights Reserved.

Archiving and reposting of this story *unchanged* is permitted
provided that no fee be charged, either directly or indirectly
(this includes so-called "adult checks") *and* provided that
this disclaimer and attribution to the original author are
maintained. 

Based on the characters and situations presented in "Seasons of
Change" by Joel Lawrence, Copyright 1989. This story is archived
in its entirety here at Fictionmania (go to search by authors
and select Joel Lawrence)

Part 1: Demons in the Night

Cliched as it might sound, it *was* a dark and stormy night.  A
much anticipated Canadian cold front had pushed down into
southeastern New England only to collide with the sweltering
humidity of a July-Bermuda high.  The resulting thunderstorm had
been an awesome explosion of sound and light, and for a time,
had distracted the woman seated in the elegantly furnished home
office from her dark thoughts and even darker feelings.

Jane Thompson was an austerely handsome woman, not quite pretty,
but her classic features were the type that did not change
significantly with the passing years.  When she admitted her age
she was nearly fifty, but she looked at least fifteen years
younger than that.  This night, the still dark auburn hair that
she ordinarily wore in a severe bun or a perfect chignon was
unusually mussed and hanging down loose about her elegant face. 
The finely etched wrinkles lining her normally smooth forehead
gave mute evidence of the steadily building headache behind the
icy blue of her eyes.

The room suddenly seemed to close in about her, becoming
stifling, almost airless. Jane stood and walked over to the door
that opened onto her beloved English garden and flung it wide
open. For several minutes, she simply stood behind the screen
door, letting the still mist-dampened breezes cool her.  "If
only all my problems were so easily solved," Jane sighed aloud.

How many times, Jane reflected as she returned to her seat, had
she found herself sitting up alone in the darkness like this? 
How often had she been the only person awake in her huge old
Victorian mansion planning the next trial or excursion for one
of her students? How many nights had she lain awake, unable to
sleep because she had been worrying if she had pushed some boy
too hard or too quickly, or if she had not pressed another one
far enough? Probably at least a dozen times for each and every
one of the nearly sixty young men she'd taken into this very
house as her students. 

Her students, Jane thought with a slight ghost of a smile, only
*left* her home as "young men". With rare exception, they had
all been little more than obstreperous boys when they'd arrived
at her house as prospective students.  Boys she'd subsequently
forced into learning to behave like proper young ladies so that
she could then help them learn to become fine young men.

*The Jane Thompson Winsome Girls Home for Wayward Boys,* she
thought to herself, *the name Marie and I have jokingly given my
little program over the almost twenty five years I've been doing
this.*  She remembered yet again that the big FIVE-OH was
looming very large on her personal horizon - only a little more
than two years in the future. *Where have the years gone?*  

"Spent making money and building young character," she told
herself.  The financial games helped to assuage Jane Thompson's
not insignificant competitive drives.  Profit and loss
statements were the score cards that clearly showed who won and
who lost in that type of sport, and Jane *liked* winning  - a
*LOT*.  In fact, Jane won quite regularly at the game of high
finance - so much so that only the most reckless of the
financial high rollers dared crossing entrepreneurial swords
with her anymore.

However, those pleasures paled into insignificance when compared
to her other avocation.  She had become a teacher  so that she
could be close to and work with children.  Eventually she had
focused on a very specialized curriculum - petticoating wayward
boys.  Jane's unique program had a long history of success with
her students, helping them to turn their lives around and to
grow into productive, caring human beings - *men* in the finest
sense of that overused and often misused word.  

The truth was that her boys filled a basic, deeply seated need
within the complex woman who was Jane Thompson - a need for
family.  Jane's be-skirted young men, along with Marie and a few
carefully chosen and completely trusted co-conspirators, were
Jane's family, and she had come to love each and every one of
them.  *Even if some of them never quite believe that I do until
after they've left me.* she thought wryly. 

Jane Thompson's love was often a very tough brand of love, but
collectively, her little circle of friends and students filled a
ragged bleeding hole that had been torn from Jane's life that
day over twenty five years ago, when a viral infection had
attacked her ovaries and fallopian tubes.  The resulting fever
had left Jane delirious for more than four days, and she had
very nearly died.  Jane had survived, thanks in large part to
the heroic efforts of some superb doctors, but her dreams of
ever holding in her arms a child of her body had not. 

And Jane had come to view the words "sterile" and "barren" as
being the foulest words in the English language.  

 She'd only lost two young men back to the system - spectacular
failures to be sure - one to a life of violent crime as a drug
runner and the other to a life of "legal crime" as an
unscrupulous corporate robber baron.  

Those failures haunted Jane, particularly on this dark, airless
night, because tonight Jane had finally forced herself to
confront the growing likelihood of a third failure.  Carlton
Everett Jeffries the Fourth, known for the past five months as
Caitlyn, seemed no closer to "graduation" now than he had at the
end of his first month in her program.

"DAMN!" Jane exploded.  Everything about this boy should have
been a perfect fit for her regimen.  Deprived of parental
attention. . . getting in with the wrong crowd . . acting out to
fit in.  Eventually, he'd gone too far, had found himself in
Ruth's courtroom and under Jane's special tyranny shortly
thereafter.  She'd been almost gleeful at the thought of working
and playing with this boy.  But as Robert Burns said, the best
laid plans of mice, men and petticoat disciplinarians oft times
go a' glee. Or something like that.  Suffice to say that things
began to go awry.

Several unanticipated problems cropped up once Caitlyn had begun
to settle into what passed for Jane's routine.  The worst of
these problems was Caitlyn's lack of coordination.  Simply
stated, the girl was an absolute *klutz*.

Putting the girl into high heels was an invitation to disaster. 
No amount of reluctance or recalcitrance could fake the badly
swollen ankle that had laid Caitlyn up for over a week. 
*Twice!*  Even Jane's trick of forcing a student study ballet to
improve her grace and poise had been a complete flop. Jane did
not even like *thinking* about her charge's performance at dance
school. 

For the first time in Jane's long experience, and despite her
large and continuing financial contributions to the dance
studio, the ballet instructor had actually asked Jane not to
bring Caitlyn to class anymore.

"She tries hard, Ms. Thompson, really hard, but with our summer
performance coming up, it just wouldn't be fair to the other
girls.  I promise all of my ladies that if they work for me, I
will find a place for each of them on the stage, but . . ," she
shrugged sadly at Jane.

The instructor had been right, of course.  Even aside from the
risk of additional injury to her charge, Jane couldn't have
Caitlyn falling in the middle of performances the other girls
had worked so hard to make beautiful.  Unfortunately, Jane also
saw Caitlyn's effort and wanted to see that continue, too. 
Ultimately, the two women had compromised.  Caitlyn's recent
ankle injuries were used as reasons to keep her out of the
shows, but she would continue to take class with the dance
mistress, working on her floor-work, basic positions and at the
barre.

Then there was the not-so-small problem of make-up. If Caitlyn's
gross physical coordination was abysmal, her fine motor skills
were even *worse*. Her hands shook visibly whenever she tried to
execute the delicate movements of brush and pad needed to apply
cosmetics properly and subtly.  When she attempted anything but
the lightest, simplest "at-home" look, the girl came out looking
like a circus clown at best and a five-dollar-an-hour street-
walker at the worst. 

Unfortunately, both problems were far more serious than they
might sound at first blush.  Jane's program required a certain
degree of "near exposure" to work.  Fear of being discovered as
a boy in girl's clothing served as "incentive to succeed" for
her students.  Once that fear of discovery effectively diverted
the boy's attention, the other, more important elements of
Jane's program demolished his false, angry pride so that a
sounder, more positive self-esteem could grow in its place. 
Only after they'd made that leap forward could they begin to see
themselves and their surroundings in a new light.

For the first time in her memory, Jane couldn't take any
pleasure in her excursions with one of her students.  With the
all the others before her, Jane's carefully  orchestrated dances
on the edge of exposure had terrified them but given  Jane a
delicious thrill of power.  With Caitlyn, though, the risk of 
exposure was just too real.  Her garish makeup (when Jane forced
the issue of having the girl do her own) drew unwanted
attention.  

Worse yet, there was always the very real possibility that her
clumsiness might cause her to fall and hurt herself badly enough
to require treatment at an emergency room.  Jane had gone to the
hospital with an injured boy-girl once before and had just
barely managed to get away without revealing her student's
masquerade.  Jane knew she could not count on being that
fortunate again.  The moment some orderly or nurse discovered
the secret currently hidden in Caitlyn's delicate lace panties,
all of Jane's previous students would be compromised as well.

Jane felt cornered by this decision.  Caitlyn was obviously
trying as diligently as than any student she'd very had in her
program.  Yet Jane knew she would shortly have no other legal
option but to send her back to Ruth and a more traditional
juvenile correction program, however ineffective that might be.  

She snorted derisively to herself, *Yeah, like my program is any
better.   At least in this case.*  It seemed . . . no, it WAS
patently unfair, but Jane was caught up in a horrible moral and
ethical dilemma - with serious legal overtones.  

The court order required Jane to provide training that would
rehabilitate Carlton into a polite, law-abiding citizen, but as
yet she'd been unable to do that.  Lord knew she'd tried, but so
much of Jane's program had been stymied by Caitlyn's inability
to master the skills of passing unread as a girl in public. 

If she couldn't help the child to learn to behave properly, she
was legally bound to return Carlton to state custody.
Unfortunately, to date, Jane could provide no hard evidence of
the sort of radical, extremely obvious transformation in
attitudes her methods required.  Jane had to be able to certify
that the improvements were *real*, and that the student wasn't
putting up a very convincing act during the relatively short
time frame she had him under observation.

*God, what a coil* Jane fumed.  *If only he wasn't one of the
court order-referred cases.  If he'd been sent here by his
family, then I could just keep him with me until I found
*something* that worked for him.  Only he *is* a court case and
soon I will have to answer to Ruth for his progress.  What do I
do then?  Lie to her?  DAMN!*

Tomorrow, she told herself.  She'd look at the whole situation
again tomorrow before she made any permanent decisions. 
"Playing Scarlet O'Hara now, are you, Ms. Jane?" she chided
herself aloud, "And besides.  It already *IS* tomorrow."  In her
heart, she knew she was only postponing the inevitable and that
soon, all *too* soon, she would be legally required to start the
process of making Caitlyn back over into Carlton so that she
could then send Carlton back to Judge Ruth and the boys' home.

But not tonight.  She wouldn't . . . couldn't do it tonight.

Jane's beloved antique grandfather clock chimed twice for two
AM. Wearily, she pushed out of her chair to go to bed, not that
she expected to sleep, but she had to try - no matter how badly
she felt about failing Caitlyn.  

"Face it, Jane Thompson, that boy is part of *your* *family* now
- one of your boys to help and to protect - and you cannot stand
facing that you have failed him," she told herself sternly.

Rationally, she knew the situation wasn't entirely her fault.
There was more than enough fault to go around to all the key
players, but knowing that did not do much to lighten Jane's own
guilt and feelings of inadequacy.  Jane *knew* that Carlton
would not rehabilitate at that juvenile detention facility.  
Certainly her other two failures had not been improved by that
experience,  unless you believed in negative improvement.  
Still, she couldn't think of anything else she could do with the
child at this point.  She tried every sneaky trick and
humiliating stratagem she'd accumulated in over twenty five
years, but all to no real effect.

With a heavy heart, Jane made her way silently up the stairs to
her room.  Only force of long habit made her glance down the
hall towards the student rooms.  Instinct told her that there
was something wrong an instant before she could put her finger
on what that something was.

There was a faint halo of light arcing onto the hall rug from
beneath Caitlyn's door. *Why is she up at this unholy hour?*
Jane wondered before her icy fear clutched at her heart. *Is she
planning to run away?  Or maybe she already has run off, but
left the light on?*

Jane turned and ran down the hall to her upstairs study. 
Inside, she slipped in behind her desk and turned on the
surveillance monitors and selected Caitlyn's room.  These new
devices had seemed a prudent way of keeping watch over her
students in their early days, especially after her experiences
with Michael and Kendra.  She could set tasks for her boys and
then watch to see how they reacted in what they presumed was the
privacy of their room or bath, so that she could intervene in
time if something went seriously wrong.

The gray image coalesced into the color picture of a figure
moving about in the intensely feminine room.  For several long
moments, Jane could only stare, unable to credit the evidence of
her eyes.  It was not possible.  There was simply no way that
figure on her monitor could be Caitlyn.

But it was.  Amazingly - almost unbelievably - it was Caitlyn,
but it was a Caitlyn Jane had never seen before.

Caitlyn was dancing.  There, in her oppressively feminine room,
in the middle of the night, Caitlyn was dancing.

Jane took a few moments to absorb the scene.  Her student's
appearance was like nothing Jane would have believed without
seeing for herself.  Caitlyn had outfitted herself in one of the
dance leotards, completing her outfit with the classic ruffled
skirt of the ballerina's tutu.  Her hair was up in a perfect
dancer's knot and her face, Jane thought in amazement, her face
was beautiful.  The student who could not seem to create
anything but the most garish cosmetic presentation, even after
months of makeup instruction, had achieved just the right effect
for the role she was dancing.

Even without the music, Jane recognized the choreography -
Caitlyn was practicing one of the lead dancer's solos from
"Sleeping Beauty", the ballet that Caitlyn's dance school was
currently planning for their spring performance later that
month.

Only then did Jane realize that Caitlyn was not only dancing,
she was dancing en pointe.  *None* of her boy-girls had ever
achieved that level of proficiency before - mostly because it
wasn't necessary.  Jane's purpose in having them practice dance
had always been twofold.  First, the exaggerated arm and hand
movements, along with the steps improved her students feminine
presentation and grace, and of course, her other reason for such
a girlish activity was that it gave her plenty of opportunity to
tease and humiliate the little darlings.  *Still, I have never
before had a student stay in dance class long enough to develop
beyond that goal.  Klutzy-Caitlyn,* she thought using Darla's
disgusted nickname for her little sister,  *has been in that
dance class far longer than any of my other students.*

Perhaps it was Jane's fatigue-fogged mind, but it took several
moments for her to realize precisely how well Caitlyn was
dancing.  Her steps and positions were precise, her spins
balanced and flowing, her leaps powerful yet graceful. 
Moreover, she was obviously working to perfect her
interpretation of the dance routine.  Every once in a while, she
would stop, go back and then repeat a sequence of movements over
and over again until Jane saw her nod her satisfaction and then
proceed to the next steps.

*This does not make sense,* Jane thought over and over again.
*Kicked out of the upcoming performance - almost kicked out of
the dance class entirely and NOW the girl was dancing like
THAT!?!? How is this even possible?!?* Jane fumed as she watched
the screen.  *This is not the clumsy, stumble-prone child I see
falling all over the dance floor three times a week at dance
class.  This is a talented, proficient young dancer.  Maybe even
a prodigy.*

Jane sat glued to her monitor, watching her student move
confidently through the entire dance solo one last time.  Just
as she finished, her alarm clock buzzed.  Caitlyn turned off the
alarm and than sat down to undo her hair and clean off her
makeup.  *Does that efficiently and well, too.* Jane noted.

Caitlyn carefully gathered up the disposable items she'd used to
clean up and hid them in the pocket of her bathrobe.  She folded
her leotard and slipped it into her dance bag along with the
toe-shoes, then she shrugged into her nightgown and got back
into bed.

Jane continued to sit and stare at the monitor long after the
room had gone dark.

A student who still cannot put her hair up without tangling it
or put on makeup or dress herself without looking like a clown. 
An ungainly, uncoordinated accident waiting to happen on the
dance floor or on the sidewalk.  

A lost cause.

A *Failure*!

That is what everyone had concluded about Caitlyn over the past
few weeks, and yet, Jane had just seen how well her student had
really absorbed her teachings.

A key question in all of this was why was she hiding her light
under a bushel?  A student who could make herself look as pretty
as Caitlyn just had done, who could move as beautifully as
Caitlyn had been dancing, had certainly mastered everything that
Jane wanted her to learn about the masquerade. Surely, the girl
knew that life around the Thompson household became much easier
once Jane saw both effort *and* progress on the part of her
girls.  Darla had become so exasperated with her seeming
intransigence that she'd come out and told the girl that, but to
no apparent effect.

The other question that begged an answer was where and how had
Caitlyn learned to dance like that.  Jane was not an expert, but
there was little doubt in her mind that what she had just
witnessed far outstripped anything the current soloist was
capable of doing in both skill and maturity of presentation. 
*Maybe her male ego is still so rigidly inflexible that it won't
let her do something so femme as be even considered for the part
of the prima donna dancer in a ballet.*  

Perhaps that was what she was dealing with here.  Was Caitlyn
sufficiently motivated to passively resist Jane's program and,
just as importantly, skilled enough as an actor to simulate
effort to comply with the program?  Well enough to fool even
her, with all of her experience with boys pretending to get the
message?  

Then again, perhaps that was not the case with Caitlyn.  Again
the grim question assailed her - was Caitlyn intentionally
tripping over her own feet just to defy her?  Would even the
most rigid, gender-phobic male ego be able to justify
practically crippling herself with clumsy falls whenever she was
made to wear heels?

She still did not have an answer.  Perhaps, more honestly, she
did not really want to *know* the answer.

Who was she really dealing with at this point?  An implacable,
bad actor in Carlton, or a very unusual Caitlyn?  And if it was
Carlton resisting her method so much more effectively than any
student Jane had ever taught, why in god's name would he get out
of bed at two o'clock in the morning to dress and make himself
up so beautifully and then dance?  Why would he chance his
deception being discovered?

Ejecting the tape cassette from the recorder, Jane pondered her
next course of action.  *What to do, what to do?  Should I go in
there and confront her with the proof of this tape?*  Shaking
her head, she put the tape into her desk.  *No, that might
change her behavior if she knew about the hidden surveillance
cameras.  There is more to this than meets the eye.  Obviously,
there are things about Carlton Everett Jeffries IV that his
parents have not told me.*  Jane considered that line of thought
for a moment.  *Perhaps because they don't know themselves?* 
That made as much or more sense as anything she had just
witnessed over the past hour.

Jane evaluated that theory for a moment and then pulled out her
planner.  She found the number she wanted and dialed it.  The
office was closed, of course, but Jane left a voice mail message
asking for an immediate phone conference.

Once that was completed, Jane made her way back downstairs to
her office.  She had plans to make and she would not be able to
sleep after that performance anyway.  Her mind was too full to
relax, so she might as well try to figure out what to do next.

Part 2: Confrontation and Disaster and Unexpected Strength

The morning breakfast table found Jane exhausted - mentally,
physically and emotionally.  Only her own superb cosmetic
artistry gave her any semblance of a decent night's rest. 
Darla, with her own skills honed over the past two years as
Jane's ward and assistant, could tell that Jane had used a much
heavier hand with her makeup than was her normal preference for
breakfast at home.  Marie saw the same thing, but with her
longer experience with Jane also took in all the signs of a
sleepless night and moreover, she thought she knew why.

Caitlyn only knew that Jane seemed more irritable and sharper-
tongued towards her than she had been for quite a while - since
her first few weeks under Jane's supervision.  *I wonder what
she has in store for me, today* she thought morosely. *God, I am
so tired of feeling helpless.*

"Girls,"  Jane's firm tone broke through Caitlyn's thoughts, and
she looked up from her plate to the older woman.  "We will be
doing some more walking practice today, Caitlyn.  I am
determined that you will attend Edith White's ball next month
wearing those lovely white sling-backs we purchased for you last
week."

Darla groaned inwardly, wishing Jane would just give up. 
Walking practice meant yet another morning wasted trying to keep
Klutzy Caitlyn from breaking a leg or worse.  Still, she had
promised Jane that she would help.  "All right, Aunt Jane.  What
time do you want us and where do you want to do it?" she asked,
pasting an forced smile on her lightly colored lips.

Jane gave her ward an approving smile, but shook her head. "Not
you today, Darla.  You have that appointment with Caroline this
morning.  You may use the car.  Marie will be assisting us. 
Perhaps you would clear the table and take care of the dishes
before you leave?"

While post-meal KP was definitely *not* Darla's favorite chore,
it was infinitely better than yet another session of fighting to
keep Caitlyn from killing herself in high heels.  "I'd
forgotten, Aunt Jane.  I'll be happy to take care of the clean
up." She rose and began to collect the dishes.

"Thank you, Darla," Jane approved before turning to Caitlyn and
Marie.  "Marie will oversee you putting on make up suitable for
evening wear, and then you will come down to my office.  We will
practice in the main hall today."  

Caitlyn nodded, a weary look on her face.  "May I be excused,
please, Ms. Thompson?"

"You may,"  Jane responded.  The girl rose from the table and
prepared to leave the room when Jane lifted a hand to halt her. 
"I expect you to give me your *very* best effort today,
Caitlyn," she said in a tightly controlled voice.  "Your future
depends, in large part, on how you handle yourself today.  Now
is the time to put your best foot forward.  Do I make myself
clear, young lady?"

Caitlyn felt her heart start pounding and had to fight to keep
from squirming under Jane's stare.  "Yes, ma'am.  I understand,"
she replied with only a slight tremor in her voice before
curtsying and leaving Jane's presence as quickly as she could.

Jane watched in silence as the girl walked out of the room.
Then, with a sigh, she reached for the coffee pot to refill her
cup.  She desperately needed the caffeine.  

"Is this in the way of a last chance, Aunt Jane?"  Darla's soft
question made Jane jump.  "I mean, didn't you say just the other
night that there was no way you could let her go to a deserted
park in heels let alone to something with as much visibility as
one of Edith's debutante monstrosities?  Do you really think you
can get her up to that level in the few weeks you have left when
you've already spent months working her with nothing to show for
it?"

"I can't tell *her* this is her last chance, Darla.  She just
might give up on me and I can't have that.  However, I suspect
you are right on that score.  Ruth's probation officer will be
meeting with me soon to review the girl's progress, and I just
don't have much of anything to report that's positive.  She
hasn't done anything bad while here, but neither has she
successfully  made any of the usual transitions that demonstrate
changed attitudes and outlooks.  She's no more ready to be a big
sister now than she was when we first met her on the train, and
as you well know, *that* is when her real training occurs.  My
time with her is running out, Darla."

"I'm sorry, Aunt Jane.  I know how badly you feel about this."

"Thank you, dear.  By the way, I put Darryl's boy clothes into
the trunk of the car earlier.  You can change down at the gate
house and go up to Providence for the day.  I understand the
Paw-Sox are playing this afternoon," she said with a teasing
grin.  One thing Darla had never quite managed to control was
Darryl's love of baseball.  Jane had never quite broken him of
going for the sports page instead of the fashion or business
page first.  Except when Darla was playing big sister, of
course. Then she would smuggle the sports page to her room.

"Thanks, Aunt Jane.  I need to meet with the Registrar folks up
at the university anyway.  I want to make sure that everything
is all set for the fall term.  I can still be at the ball park
in time for the game.  It will mean I'll be getting home later
than I would if I was going to Caro's, though."

"Don't worry about it.  I don't think Caitlyn will notice or
remark upon your arrival time. Have a good time, dear.  See you
at supper."  Jane finished her coffee and stood.  She was
starting to leave the room when Darla intercepted her and hugged
her close.  

"You've done your best, Aunt Jane," she whispered in Darryl's
voice.  "It is not your fault that you have run out of time with
this one."

Suddenly weary beyond words, Jane let herself cling to her
ward's strong young body for several moments, fighting the tears
of frustration, anger and sadness burning behind her eyelids. 
"I know, but it still hurts."  Jane broke the embrace and strode
out of the dining room, leaving a worried Darla staring at her
retreating back.

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

Jane was furious - with herself more than with Caitlyn and she
was becoming steadily more incensed with each passing moment. In
truth, for all her acting out for her students, Jane rarely lost
her temper with or around one of her boy-girls, but she
certainly had lost it in the face of Caitlyn's continued
clumsiness.  For the past hour, Jane and Marie had walked the
main hall, flanking the struggling student as she made her
painfully slow, awkward way on yet another lap up and down the
long, central hallway.  And Jane still couldn't tell for certain
precisely what was happening with this student - which further
stoked her already burning temper.

The exercise could scarcely have gone more poorly.  Since the
moment a very sheepish looking Marie had escorted their latest
project into Jane's office, they had been served up one failure
after another.

The child's make up was as bad as Jane had ever seen it.  Except
for the foundation, nothing else had been properly applied. 
Lipstick and eyeliner applications were uneven and jagged,
distorting the shape of the mouth and eyes.  Mascara seemed to
clump at one end of the eye, making her lashes seem to travel
only half of the eyelid. Her rouge application wasn't quite two
red dots on Caitlyn's cheekbones, but it was close.  *Well, at
least her hair looks adequate,* Jane consoled herself, *but that
is probably Sandy's last permanent than anything more by Caitlyn
than a good brushing out.*

The walking exercise in the dainty, nearly three inch heeled
shoes had been a series of near disasters.  Jane and Marie had
each caught a falling Caitlyn at least a half dozen times, and
that was before Jane had given up counting in disgust and
disappointment.

*DAMN the boy!* Jane's mind shouted. *What do I have to do? 
Tell him that if he doesn't start moving like we BOTH know that
he can, he is out of here within the month?  Where is the grace,
the elegance of movement I saw last night?  Those heels are as
nothing compared to what he was doing last night in ballet
shoes.*

As her temper became ever more volatile, Jane did not realize
she had not kept her position next to her charge until the
disaster she'd always feared struck.

Catching Marie in the cross fire.

Caitlyn came down awkwardly on the heel on Jane's side, and it
began to roll under her.  Marie immediately saw that Jane was
not going to be able to catch Caitlyn in time and leapt to the
rescue.  She caught the toppling boy-girl and tried to brace her
own feet to stop the fall.  Unfortunately, she had planted her
right foot on one of the small, colorful accent rugs that
decorated the ceramic tiled hallway.  Marie got a first hand
insight why those scraps of color as sometimes called slip rugs. 
Her right foot slid forward, out from under her and under the
body of the still falling Caitlyn.

Marie's scream of pain, as she took Caitlyn's full weight on her
extended knee tore, Jane from her ruminations and sent her
scrambling toward her friend.  Caitlyn was there first, having
spun on her knees to get off Marie and help her to lay out on
the floor.

"What happened!" Jane yelled as she fell to her own knees beside
Marie.

"My. . my knee," Marie rasped through gritted teeth.  "I
couldn't catch Caitlyn in time and she fell onto my knee.  Oh,
God, Jane, it hurts."

Jane made a quick examination of the injured leg.  "Call 911,
Caitlyn. I don't think it is broken, but she may have ligament
damage. We need to get her to the emergency room."

Caitlyn nodded and raced off to the parlor, only to return
moments later.  "There's been some kind of massive accident up
towards Providence, Ms. Thompson, and the remaining rescue units
are on other calls.  They asked what the problem was and told me
that since this isn't life threatening, we may have to wait a
while before they can get to us."

"Like hell we will," Jane snarled, shocking Caitlyn with her
curse. She stood and stalked into her office.  On returning she
tossed a ring of keys to Caitlyn.  "I am going to immobilize
that leg.  You go to the garage and bring around the estate
wagon, then come back here.  I will need your help getting Marie
down to the car."

"Right," Caitlyn answered as she hurried to the garage.

Getting Marie down the long walk to the driveway was not easy,
but Jane and Caitlyn managed it.  Jane drove while Caitlyn sat
in the back with Marie, trying to give what comfort she could,
even if it was only providing one hand for Marie to squeeze and
another to hold an ice pack against the rapidly swelling knee.

Fortunately, there was more than enough help available when Jane
squealed to a stop at the emergency room entrance.  Once inside,
Jane noticed how perspiration and tears had ravaged Caitlyn's
face.  She handed her the small necessities make up kit she
carried for her students.  "Go clean your face, Caitlyn.  They
will think you are a potential patient.  I will wait here for
the doctors to finish with Marie."

She watched the boy-girl walk off in search of a lady's room and
then turned back to stand vigil on her best friend.

~----------~
Several hours later, the good news was that Marie would not
require surgery.  She would, however, be required to stay off
her feet for up to a week before she could even begin to think
about moving around, and then only with crutches for perhaps
another few weeks.

Caitlyn had been very quiet during Jane's long vigil as the
doctors had worked on Marie.  Nor had she said very much during
the drive back to the house, not wanting to disturb Marie as she
dozed in the back.  

When Caitlyn did finally speak, her voice gave Jane a jolt. "Ms.
Thompson?"  Jane fought to calm her heart and nodded to the girl
who then continued.  "Marie sleeps upstairs, doesn't she?"

"Actually, she sleeps on the third floor," Jane responded,
wondering what was going on in that bleached blond head now.

"Well, that might be a problem.  First, it will be very
difficult for her to get up there, even with us helping her, but
more than that, if there was some type of emergency, like a
fire, we might not be able to get her downstairs safely."

"Oh, lord," Jane sighed.  She was so bloody tired.  The
adrenalin that had sustained her throughout this crisis had
waned long ago, and nearly thirty six stress-filled hours
without sleep was catching up with her.  "You're right, of
course, but there aren't any bedrooms on the ground floor,"  She
said with a defeated tone.

Caitlyn looked at her for several moments and then decided to
chance it. "Ummm. . . isn't that sofa in your office a pullout
bed?   I know you like your privacy, but maybe we could move
that into the parlor?  The downstairs powder room is close by,
too."

Relief rolled through Jane as she acknowledged the intelligence
of the solution.  "My privacy compared to Marie's comfort and
safety? Nonsense," she said, before quickly adding when she saw
Caitlyn's face fall.  "Your idea is perfect, dear, but we won't
move the bed.  We will install her in my office.  Once we get
her inside, you run up and get some linens and then make up the
bed.  Good thinking, Caitlyn."

~------------~
Marie was soon settled in relative luxury in Jane's office.  "I
can't be laid up for as long as the doctor said, Jane.  Who will
take care of you, the girls and the house?"

"I will take care of the house for you, Marie," Caitlyn firmly
cut in before Jane could come up with an answer.  "*YOU* will
stay put and get well.  You took care of me when I fell, and now
I will see that you take care of yourself."  At Marie's mutinous
glare, Caitlyn smiled.  "If you don't stay put like a good girl,
I will sic Ms. Thompson on you."

That earned Caitlyn a chuckle.  "Jane does make a good threat,
doesn't she, chica?" Marie said.

"Works for me," Caitlyn said pertly.  "Now, I am going to go
make you a nice cup of tea and see if we still have any of those
cookies that you watched me bake the other day.  I'll be right
back."

Jane stared in fatigued bemusement at her hopeless student
taking charge of Marie.

"What has gotten into *her*?" an amazed Marie asked her friend.

"I have no idea," Jane said with a weary smile.  "But since I am
too tired to do you much good right now, and since Darla is
still not back from her excursion, I am glad whatever it is has
gotten into her right now."

Caitlyn came bustling back into the room with a loaded tea tray
filled with cookies, pastries and some fruit.  She efficiently
moved a coffee table over near Marie's makeshift bed and set the
tray upon it.  "Shall I serve, Ms. Thompson?"  She asked.

"Yes, please pour, Caitlyn," Jane replied knowing she would
probably spill the hot liquid if she tried to serve.

Soon, Jane and Caitlyn had taken seats near Marie's couch, and
each of them had steaming cup of tea and a small plate of food. 
The food and tea were greedily, albeit daintily consumed.  Jane
noted with a hidden smile that the tea was not her preferred
Earl Grey, but rather a soothing herbal blend.  Obviously
Caitlyn intended that Marie would not be kept awake by too much
caffeine. 

Soon, the medication caught up with Marie and she was once again
sleeping deeply.  The sounds of her friend's gentle, rhythmic
snoring combined with exhaustion to lull Jane to sleep as well.

A gentle hand taking the empty cup from Jane's lap startled her
back to wakefulness  Caitlyn put a finger to her lips to stifle
a cry of alarm.  "Ms. Thompson," she whispered.  "You are dead
on your feet.  Why don't you go up and take a nap yourself.  I
will sit with Ms. Marie if that will ease your mind."

For long moments, Jane only stared at her student, eventually
causing her to squirm under the hard scrutiny.  "I won't run
away," she told the older woman disgustedly.

"No," Jane agreed thoughtfully.  "I didn't think you would. 
You've had ample opportunity today and did not take it. 
Heavens, I even gave you the keys to the wagon twice - once to
bring it around to pick up Marie and once at the hospital to
take it to the parking lot.  As focused on Marie as I was, you
could have been hundreds of miles away before I realized you'd
run."

"Ms. Marie needed both of us, Ms. Thompson," Caitlyn said
simply.  "Besides, I figured out a long time ago that I really
have nowhere to run to if I did manage to get away from here."

The two sat quietly for several minutes after that, each
regarding the other with cautious, yet curious eyes.  Finally
Jane nodded and rose from her seat.  "Darla should be back in
two or three more hours.  She can relieve you if Marie and I are
both still asleep.  Call me if you think there is anything
wrong."  She pointed to the small speaker phone on her desk. 
"Intercom 2 rings in my bedroom."

"Rest well, Ms. Thompson,"  Caitlyn offered quietly.

"I will, now,"  Jane replied as she headed for the door.  Just
before she crossed the threshold, Jane turned back to face her
charge.  "Caitlyn?"

"Yes, Ms. Thompson?"

"Thank you for your help today.  Marie is very special to me and
when she was hurt, well, I was not at my best."

"She is a very special lady, Ms. Thompson.  She tries to be
tough, but she cares too much for it not to show through some
times.  I like her a lot and I really do want to help you take
care of her."

Jane nodded.  "Then, I must thank you again.  I will see you
later."  And then Jane left the room and went up to her own bed,
her mind a-whirl with the day's happenings and surprises.  

She'd worried that she might still be too keyed up to sleep, but
that fear lasted only until the moment her head touched the
pillow.

~-----------------~
The house was dark and quiet once again.  Darla and Caitlyn had
both long since gone up to their respective beds.  Jane,
however, was savoring the relative peace of her office.  A fire
burned cheerily in the fireplace, and soft classical music
played in the background.

Seated behind her desk, Jane kept a silent vigil - watching over
Marie as she slept, her injured leg cushioned 'just so' by
Caitlyn.  The sleep was the student's work as well.  She'd seen
Marie trying to fight the pain and had demanded to know if Marie
had taken her latest dose of pain pills yet.  Jane had known the
answer even before Marie's negative response - Marie hated
taking drugs of any kind as much as Jane did.  This time, she
hadn't been allowed any choice in that matter.  Caitlyn had
gently and sweetly browbeaten Jane's longtime friend until Marie
had swallowed the pills out of self defense.  The strong muscle
relaxer and pain killer soon knocked Marie out.  Only then had
Caitlyn been willing to go up to her room and rest after their
hectic day.

Who would have ever believed that Jane's awkward little chick
could be so ferociously determined to take care of Marie?  She'd
been a clucking broody hen one minute and a growling tigress the
next.  Just another amazing bit that did not seem to fit
anywhere in the increasingly complex and confusing mosaic that
was her Caitlyn.  

One thing was certain, however.  As long as Marie was laid up,
and Caitlyn was taking such excellent care of her, Caitlyn had a
home with Jane Thompson.  They would see what happened after
that, but for now, any thought of returning Carlton to the
juvenile justice system was put firmly aside.  One way or
another, Jane would keep the probation officer at bay for at
least another month.  There were simply too many unanswered
questions about Miss Caitlyn Jeffries, and Jane was not about to
give up on this child until she had answers to all of them.  She
now *owed* this child, and Jane Thompson always paid her debts -
in full.

Marie gave a little moan of pain as she tried, unsuccessfully,
to turn over in her sleep.  Only now could Jane let herself look
backward and honestly admit to the terror that had gripped her
in those first few moments following Marie's injury.  Marie was
such a big part of her life - her family - that to have her hurt
was hard for Jane to bear.  

In the dark silence of her sleeping home, Jane felt so very
alone and so very inadequate.  At times like this she yearned
for someone to hug her, to hold her and pet her, and to tell her
she was doing fine - that everything would be all right. 
Someone to guard *her* during the long, cold night when the dark
dreams and the darker fears came calling as she was guarding her
best friend.  

But there was nobody like that for Jane Thompson.

Jane knew that many of her young men suspected that her
relationship with the vivacious Marie was of a far more intimate
and physical nature than it truly was.  Some of her circle of
co-conspirators had, at one time or another, hinted that they
thought that, too, but nothing like that had ever come of Jane
and Marie's friendship.  It wasn't that Jane was any more averse
to a sexual relationship with another woman than she was to
having one with a man.  In fact, she had experimented with
lesbian lovemaking in college and had found it a beautiful
experience when it was done well. 

She smiled at those old memories.  *Another of what passed for a
'radical act' back twenty-odd years ago. Naturally, that just
made it all the more exciting for a finely bred young debutante
from *the* Hamptons like Miss Jane Anne Thompson.*  She'd been
so naively fearless in those days.

However, she had never even considered such a relationship with
Marie.  Marie was, in every way that counted, Jane's sister. 
They were family, but they were not lovers.  They cared for each
other, supported each other, *loved* each other, but not in the
physical sense beyond the normal affectionate hugs and gestures
of one sister to another.

Perhaps it would have been easier for them both if they had been
lovers, Jane mused.  Lord knew that both of them wished for
someone special in their lives.  Jane had had affairs in the
past, and she was fairly certain that Marie had as well, but
each of her own relationships had sputtered out and died after 
a few months.  In her youth, Jane's innate honesty about her
inability to conceive a child had ended at least two promising
romances cold.  More recently, at an age where her role as the
progenitor of the next generation was no longer a significant
issue, other problems, such as who came first in her life, had
cropped up.  

None of the men recently in her life had been willing to accept
the short notice cancellations when one of her boys needed her
immediate personal attentions, or her sudden departures (once
just before the "consummation of the act") when a girl-boy had a
crisis experience.  Simply stated, her lovers had been unable to
accept not being number one in Jane Thompson's life, and Jane
had not yet met the man who could become more important to her
than her boys.  So, Jane Thompson slept alone, contented herself
with what she had with Marie and her boys, and faced the demons
of the night on her own.

Part 3 Investigations, and a Cry for Help

The next afternoon, Jane and Marie were chatting together while
Jane changed Marie's bed linens and the two girls prepared
lunch.  Jane was recounting the full story of their mad rush to
the Emergency Room and Caitlyn's major role in that adventure. 
Marie shook her head in disbelief, and then began giggling as
the image painted by her friend struck her funny bone. "Lord,
Jane, but she must have gotten some very strange and pointed
stares, wandering around the waiting room and hospital halls in
her bare feet and her face looking like a four-year-old's
fingerpainting project."

"She wasn't barefoot,"  Jane said off-handedly.

"Oh?  I guess she had time to change into flats before we left?"

Distracted by stuffing Marie's pillow into a fresh pillow case,
Jane responded off-handedly, "She didn't cha . . . " then Jane's
eyes went wide and her mouth formed a disbelieving 'O'.  "My
god, Marie, I just now realized.  Caitlyn spent the entire day
moving effortlessly in those heels once she focused on you."

"She didn't," Marie asserted staunchly until she took a good
look at Jane's face.  "Did she?"

"She did," Jane replied thoughtfully.  "And now that you mention
it, her face was completely passable, too.  Once she came back
from redoing her face in the hospital's lady's room, that is."

The two friends said nothing for several minutes before Marie
asked in a slightly nervous tone.  "Jane?  Just what is going on
here with that child?"

Jane only shook her head.  "I don't know, Marie.  I really don't
know, but now I wonder what will happen tomorrow morning when we
try the walking practice again."

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

The next morning after breakfast, Jane and Darla found Caitlyn
happily spoiling Marie with the patient's very favorite
breakfast.

"Caitlyn?"  Jane called as she came into the room.

"Yes, Ms. Thompson?"  The girl answered, looking at Jane more
than a little warily. 

"Put these on, please," she said tersely as she handed the girl
a white shoe box.  Jane saw Caitlyn's face go white, and the
easy manner that had been so evident with Marie dissolve.  *It
is as if she is turning into a flesh-toned statue or life-sized
mannequin right before my very eyes,* Jane thought.

They worked on Caitlyn for the next hour, nearly getting her
killed twice.  The three inch heeled ankle boots helped a
little.   The extra ankle support from the stiff leather uppers
kept Caitlyn's ankle from rolling, but she still fell regularly.
Jane even had to modify the "course" to keep Caitlyn away from
Jane's antique desk and its sharp corners that could easily
crack a skull.  

At the end of the hour, Jane let Caitlyn slip back into her
flats and sent her off to see about lunch preparations.  Darla
stayed behind with Jane and Marie. 

Closing and latching the door, Jane turned back to face the
woman and the boy dressed as a girl.  "Well, that was certainly
as inept as I have ever seen her."

Darla snorted indelicately.  "Did you expect anything else, Aunt
Jane?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact.  Yesterday, when Marie was injured,
there was suddenly no sign of our Klutzy Caitlyn,"  Jane
answered, staring directly at Darla who had the grace to blush.

At Darla's disbelief, Jane laughed softly.  "It's the truth,
dear."

"She just walked?  In heels?  Without falling?"

"Yes, yes and yes," Jane replied in the tones used by Mothers of
adolescents for thousands of years. "Actually, she ran, too."

"The question is," Marie interjected, "Is why is she faking like
we just saw?  Doesn't she believe that you will send her back to
Judge Ruth if she doesn't shape up?"

Jane came over and took the seat next to Marie's makeshift bed. 
"I am not sure of much of anything right now.  Yesterday, I
would have been positive that the child knows what will happen. 
Today?  As I said, I am just not sure."

"Then, there are a couple of possibilities.  A - he really
*doesn't* believe you when you say he could get shipped back so
he is simply finding a way to make life around here difficult,"
Darla said ticking off her points on the fingers of her right
hand.  "B - he thinks he is going back regardless and is trying
to make you think he isn't learning so you'll keep him as long
as possible."

"Or C," Jane said, "None of the above.  Marie, did you notice
the change in Caitlyn when she realized what was in the box?

"Now that you mention it, I did.  It was like the life drained
out of her.  One moment she is fussing over me with this huge
smile on her face, and the next, she was literally shaking.  I
could feel the change in her because she had one of her hands on
my brow."

"Interesting.  I saw her entire demeanor change when she
realized what I intended for her to do,"  Jane added
thoughtfully.  "It was as if every muscle in her body became
rigid.  Small wonder that she could not move about in them in
that condition."

"But, Aunt Jane," Darla cut in.  "You said she did just fine
yesterday, and those slingbacks don't give near the support that
those ankle boots do.  How come she could walk yesterday and not
today?"

"Marie's injury, Darla," Jane replied.  "The moment Marie was
down and screaming, something changed in Caitlyn - physically
and mentally. She's the one who settled Marie and then went for
the station wagon when the local ambulance wasn't available."

"Weird," Darla said, "And just a bit scary."

"Scary?"  Marie asked.  "How so, chica?  Our Caitlyn evidently
has a cool head in an emergency."

"Scary in that, no matter how cool you are under pressure, if
you are clumsy for real, you are clumsy in an emergency.  I
could see her kicking off the shoes if she was cool and
collected, but suddenly being able to walk in heels?  It doesn't
work that way.  What that has to mean is that she *can* walk in
heels.  So what is scary is why has she been falling all over
herself whenever Jane tries to get her into a pair?"

"Oh." was all Marie could say.

Jane considered the video tape still hidden in the drawer of her
upstairs study.  "So, we are back to the question of why would
she fail intentionally, and why did she break character?"

Marie looked smug.  "She broke because she cares for me."

"True," Jane said.  "That much is obvious given how hard she has
worked at looking after you, but that is not the entire answer. 
As Darla points out, given the emergency, she could have slipped
off the heels without me noticing.  Goodness, I did not even
realize until this morning that she *had* worn them all day
yesterday."

"Then she forgot," Darla said with some finality.  "But that
still leaves the nasty fact that she has been faking it ever
since she arrived."

"Do you think, Darla, that even the most determined boy would
intentionally injure himself to thwart me?  Maybe the first time
was an accident - he didn't realize that it would hurt that
much, but then to turn around and do it again, injuring his
other ankle even more severely than the first?  Before Nurse
Nora arrived, I was certain he'd broken his ankle that time and
I don't ever want to go through *that* again. If he *is* that
determined, then I agree, the boy is frightening and moreover,
he needs help that I cannot give him."

"Why not, Aunt Jane?"

"Because to a certain extent, my program relies on a student's
basic self interest and instinct for self protection to work. 
At least in the early stages it does.  For the most part, that
means that my little precious is afraid of being caught out in
his petticoats and skirts, but if a student is not afraid of
that, it ruins everything.  A student who would willingly accept
public discovery would leave me completely impotent because I
could not take him out in public. There'd be too many
repercussions to my other boys."

"But that is not the same thing here, Aunt Jane.  Caitlyn is
just as terrified as any other student when you drag us down to
the Chalet or to the mall."

Jane smiled ruefully.  "But it *is* much the same thing, dear,
if Caitlyn is a student who willingly accepts serious injury to
resist me.  Such a child has issues that need to be dealt with
by an therapist experienced in dealing with such self
destructive behaviors.  Neither my program nor I are equipped to
deal with that."

"You've had boys with destructive pasts before, Aunt Jane."

"Ah, but their destructive urges were always aimed outward, away
from themselves.  Part of the benefit of putting them into
skirts is that they cannot freely vent that destructive fury
without giving themselves away, which is the one thing they find
worse than swallowing their anger and obeying me.  If Caitlyn
has inwardly directed destructive inclinations, then my program
is worthless to her."

"But she's been such a good child here, Jane,"  Marie protested. 
"I know she hasn't learned very much about some things, but she
has always been ready to help in the kitchen or to clean up the
house.  And now, she is taking care of me."

"I know, Marie.  That is why I am baffled. Those behaviors don't
ring true with a boy who is willing to break his leg to avoid
doing what is expected or desired from him.  I just wish I could
confront him on it.  Catch him in the act, so to speak."

The threesome sat quietly for a few moments considering that
idea, and then Darla's finely featured face broke out in a
mischievous grin.  "How about this idea, Aunt Jane?"

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

Jane and Darla watched Caitlyn again fuss over Marie.  Darla's
plan had worked perfectly.  Now all Jane had to do was figure
out how to deal with the results.

Following a superb lunch - the kitchen truly was one aspect of
her masquerade that Caitlyn had mastered - Jane had again
ordered her student into the ankle boots.  This time, in
accordance with Darla's scheme, Jane had Caitlyn walking around
the room such that one leg of each lap was close to Marie's bed.

It had only been a matter of time until Caitlyn had lost her
balance near Marie.  Acting her part to perfection, Marie had
made a seemingly instinctual lunge to catch the falling girl-
boy.

And had screamed!

In the passage of a heartbeat, Caitlyn had been at the bedside,
cursing herself for being responsible for Marie's renewed pain
while trying to resettle Marie comfortably.  She'd moved about
efficiently - puffing a pillow, repositioning and immobilizing
the injured knee, finding Marie's pills and getting a glass of
water.

All while still wearing the three inch heels.

Caitlyn finally satisfied herself with her patient's condition,
and only then remembered Jane.  Shyly, she turned to face her
teacher and tormenter and became instantly aware of Jane's
focused scrutiny.

For several moments, she simply stood there, waiting for Jane to
say something.  When she didn't, Caitlyn felt like fidgeting,
but knew that would only earn her a scold for ladylike behavior. 
Finally, she could stand it no more.  "I. . . I am sorry, Ms.
Thompson, but when Marie hurt like that, I forgot the exercise,"
she offered hesitantly.

The half mocking smile that curled only one side of Jane's mouth
did little to reassure the young man in feminine dress.  Jane
gave a half snort, half laugh and replied.  "That is evidently
not all you forgot, Caitlyn." 

The sardonic tones confused Caitlyn as much as the words.  "I. .
. I am afraid I don't understand, ma'am."

Jane did not immediately answer, choosing instead to simply
watch the girl.  At long last, however, not even Jane could
stand the quiet any longer.  "Your shoes, Caitlyn," she said in
a dangerously gentle voice.  "You have forgotten you are wearing
that pair of high heels.  Sufficiently to move quite gracefully
in them."

Shock rippled through the girl as she stared down at her own
feet in mute disbelief.  When she looked back up, Jane was again
smiling that awful half smile.  "Just as you did yesterday when
we took Marie to the hospital."

"Oh. . . my . . . god. . . " Caitlyn said, recalling the
previous day.

Jane lifted a single brow in high challenge.  "Indeed," Jane's
voice was coldly curt and commanding.  "Why don't we go up to my
study and discuss this. . . .miracle in private, Caitlyn. 
Darla, see to Marie, please."

Spinning on her heel, Jane headed for the door, only to spin
back at the sound of Darla's inarticulate scream, just in time
to see Caitlyn's headlong fall to the floor.  A sickening thud
resounded as her temple hit hard against the ceramic floor
tiles.

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

With Marie on Jane's sofa, the best that Darla and Jane could do
for Caitlyn was to stretch her out on the floor.  For long
minutes, the threesome kept a grim watch on the teenaged figure. 
Once again, Jane found herself caught between the jaws of a
dilemma.  She was, by this point, more than half way convinced
that Caitlyn was putting on an act - with the shoes, with the
makeup and now with this fall.  What the girl hoped to gain by
this charade was beyond Jane's comprehension, but she must have
some goal in mind.  

Unfortunately, Jane was not *completely* sure that her charge
was pretending to be unconscious.  She had certainly felt like
dead weight when Darla had assisted Jane in moving Caitlyn.  If
she *was* unconscious from that fall, then Jane had to get her
to medical attention.

In the end, there was really no dilemma at all, Jane realized,
if Caitlyn wasn't acting and was actually hurt, she'd been out
too long. *And so my life of helping young men ends today,
because I stupidly failed to use that tape as reason to ship him
back to Ruth two days ago when I first found out,* she thought
as she picked up her phone to dial 911.

Jane had pressed the "nine" key and was shifting her finger
toward the "one" when Caitlyn moaned and began to lift a hand
toward her head.  Setting the phone down, Jane moved back to her
student and knelt beside her.  "Easy, Caitlyn," Jane said
softly.

"Oh. . my head," the girl whined as she tried to rub at her
temple.  

Jane caught Caitlyn's wrist and pulled it away. "Let me see,
Caitlyn."  Jane ran gentle fingers along the smooth forehead
towards the golden hairline. . . . and froze.

A lump, already large, had formed where Caitlyn's head had
impacted the floor.  "Darla, get some ice, please,"  Jane
ordered.

Caitlyn opened her eyes and looked up into Jane's dark green
orbs.  "What happened, Ms. Thompson?"

"You fell when you tried to follow me,"  Jane said neutrally.

"The heels," Caitlyn said softly as she squeezed her eyes shut
against the pain.  "I am so confused about all this, Ms.
Thompson."

"You are not the only one, Caitlyn.  Once we make sure you are
not badly hurt, we are going to have to talk.  I think we have a
great deal to say to each other."

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

Nora Bedford walked into the Jane's downstairs office bristling
with barely contained emotion.  She'd been called on when
Caitlyn kept slipping in and out of consciousness after going
back to her room.

"What would you do if I told you he has a slight skull fracture
and needs to be in the hospital?"  The nurse asked quietly.

"Does he?"  Jane asked as she reached for the phone.

Nora regarded Jane for several moments before shaking her head.
"No, it's just a bad bump.  I am just angry with this whole
shtick just now, Jane.  That *boy* hurt himself trying to follow
you when you have evidence that he cannot walk knowing he is in
heels."

"He'd walked just fine when he thought I was hurt, Nora," Marie
interjected.

"So what, Marie?  There is a large body of incidental evidence
about people who do many things in a crisis that they cannot do
when they are thinking about what they are doing.  You were a
psych major, Jane - you told  me that when I agreed to be part
of your little team.  How do you know that he's faking?  What
have you done to find out if his problem is real or something he
is putting on?  What just happened here is NOT a test!  This
makes. . .what?  Three times he has injured himself?"

Jane had said nothing during Nora's quiet tirade, but nodded
when she finished.  "It is the third time, Nora, and you are
right.  I made the simple assumption that it was an act.  Maybe
his injuries have been an accident, or maybe he has willingly
sacrificed his body in fighting me."

Nora shook her head.  "You know what concerned him the most?  It
wasn't his own condition, I'll tell you that much."

Jane could only shake her head.  "He was worrying about who was
going to bully Marie into taking her medication, since I told
him he was on bed rest for the next day or two,"  Nora said
tartly.  "I had to promise him that I would see to his "Ms.
Marie" before he'd relax and rest."

"Doesn't sound like a real hard-nut case, does he?"  Jane mused
sadly.

"No, he doesn't, Jane.  And there is no doubt in my mind that
his concern for Marie is very real."

"I don't doubt it either, Nora.  So, what do you think I should
do next?"

"You're the expert, Jane, but if it were me, I'd figure out
whether she is fighting you and taking the risk to her body, or
if there is something else at work here."

"You're right, of course,"  Jane answered.  "What about Caitlyn? 
What does she need tonight?"

"Like I said earlier. It is just bad bump. Except for a
headache, she'll be fine by tomorrow.  She'll sleep the night
away, but you may want to keep an eye on her.  If she wakes up
and needs to go to the bathroom, she may be dizzy or
disoriented.  She might fall again.  Whatever it is with her
problem, Jane, I don't think it is intentional or something she
does consciously."

"I don't know, Nora.  I really don't, but at this point, even
subconsciously it poses a significant danger - both to Caitlyn
and to everyone else who has ever been associated with my
program.  I am going to call Eric and ask him what to do next."

"The early student of yours who became a psychologist? The one
who came when Michael tried to kill himself?"

"The same.  I'll call him in the morning after I sit up with
Caitlyn tonight."

"I'll sleep in her room tonight, Aunt Jane,"  Darla offered
immediately. "So you could try to get through to the doctor
right away and then get some rest yourself.  You look really
shagged out."

Shaking her head, Jane smiled at her ward.  "No, dear.  She is
my responsibility.  She was hurt because I made the assumption
that she was acting out.  I will watch over her tonight, but if
you would stay with her while I make the phone call?"

Darla returned the smile, and walked over to Jane.  "Sure 'nuff,
Aunt Jane," she whispered and then kissed her on the cheek. 
"We'll take care of this one, too."

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

The phone buzzed in Jane's ear.  She felt, rather than saw,
Marie's concerned gaze.  On the fourth ring, someone picked up. 
A feminine voice offered, "Davis residence."

"Sylvia? Is that you? This is Jane Thompson."

"Jane," the other woman's voice warmed, "And how is Eric
Junior's favorite Godmother?"

"Troubled, I am afraid, dear.  I have a boy-girl problem and
really need some help.  Is Eric home?"

"Sure. . .just a minute, Jane.  I will get him for you."

Jane closed her eyes as she waited for her former student to
come on the line.

"Jane?  What's up?  Syl said you had a problem with one of your
boys?  What can I do for you?"  A familiar voice came on.

"Oh, god, Eric.  It is such an abysmal mess."

For the next fifteen minutes, Jane briefed Eric on Caitlyn and
her antics.  "I have never had a situation like this before,
Eric.  I mean, she danced beautifully, and then when Marie was
hurt, she went from a walking disaster to completely competent
even carrying extra weight in an instant.  She's either faking,
and has intentionally injured herself no less than three times,
or there is something else happening.  *Is* there another
explanation?"

Eric was silent for several moments.  "Well, I would say it is
something to do with the program. . . ."

"Tell me something I don't already know, dear."

"As I was saying," Eric interrupted in exaggeratedly pompous
tones, "regardless of which of your two broad options it is, it
is something to do with how she is reacting to the program, and
apparently, something to do with how she reacts to being public
in the program."

Jane considered this before replying.  "But *what* is it?"

"I don't really know, Jane," was the equable reply.  "But then,
my specialty is crisis intervention."

"This *IS* a crisis, Eric,"  Jane almost yelled into the phone.

"To you, yes, but not in the sense that I mean, Jane.  She
hasn't attempted suicide or something as drastic as that.  Even
if she is allowing herself to be injured, that is not an act of
desperation so much as an act of defiance. No, something about
this whole thing is tied up in your student's self image.  I
think you need to go to a specialist on this one."

"But I can't do that, and you know it.  It was one thing for
Michael - he was no longer in skirts unwillingly when we took
him to the psychologist in Providence.  Caitlyn is, and she
might very well expose the whole program if I took her to that
therapist."

"How about Doctor Art?"  Eric asked quietly.  "He knows about
the program because he is the one you sent me to see when I
wanted to go into psychology.  He works with people dealing with
gender and identity issues as the main part of his practice and
I know for a fact that he thinks very highly of you and what you
do with your boys.  We talked about that when he was feeling me
out for my motivations in studying psychology."

Momentarily, Jane's mind seemed to stop and then flew back to
those days at school, more than twenty five years ago.  Art
Philips had been very special to Jane back then.  So special,
that Jane herself had broken off with him when it became clear
that she could never hope to give him a family.  "I. . .I don't
have his number,"  Jane almost stuttered.

"Got something to write with?  I have it right here on my desk. 
It's his office number, but you might try information and see if
his home number is listed."

Moments later, the number was indelibly inked into Jane's
address book.  "Good luck, Aunt Jane.  If you think I can help,
give me a call. Any time.  Gotta run.  Eric Junior needs a
story.  Love you!"

"I love you too, dear. Thank you for the help."

Jane hung up the phone, only to sit staring at it.  Art Philips,
she mused, after all these years.  *You are procrastinating,
Jane Thompson.  You have a child who needs help and if Art can
provide that, then that is who you need.*

Grimly, she reached for the phone and dialed the number.  Art
was not at his office, but he did have an answering service. 
The operator on the other end dutifully took Jane's name and
number, and that it was vitally important that she speak with
the Doctor at the earliest possible time.

Part 4 A Voice and Face from the Past

All too quickly for Jane's peace of mind, the phone shrilled its
electronic summons.  "Hello?  Thompson residence."

"Jane?  Jane Thompson?  Lord, it is good to hear your voice. 
This is Art Philips.  I just got your message and returned your
call immediately.  What can I do for you?"

Grimly, Jane again recapped the Caitlyn experience, up until the
most recent injury, and then summarized Eric's reading on the
situation.  "I should have packed him off to the juvenile lock
up facility ages ago, Art.  He's just not getting any of the
benefits of the program since he can't go out in public, and I
could never trust him as a big sister.  The new student would
likely read him in the first week or so."

"So why haven't you done that, Jane?"

"Because it feels wrong," she sighed.  "Every instinct tells me
she is trying her best, and then, there is the way she took on
caring for Marie.  She's quite the little nurse."

"But you're concerned about the dancing and the sudden ability
to walk in heels?"

"Shouldn't I be?"  Jane retorted, getting tired of Art's
Socratic style of conversation.

A low, pleasant chuckle sounded over the phone.  "Sorry about
that," Art said, not sounding at all sorry.  "Answering
questions with questions is one of the little occupational
privileges of my trade.  For what it is worth, however, I agree
with Eric.  You say he suddenly went completely stiff when you
pointed out he was still in heels?  Interesting."

"But what do I do, Art?"

"Get him together with a good therapist, Jane."  Jane started to
argue but was cut off by her old friend.  "I *know* that would
ordinarily endanger your program, but there won't be any problem
with the therapist I have in mind.  Completely trustworthy and
discreet, I assure you, and a very big fan of yours, too."

"Oh really?  And who have you been talking to about my program,
Art?"

The chuckle was back.  "Aren't you lucky I don't have anything
planned for my two weeks vacation that starts tomorrow?  I will
be on the first plane to Providence.  I should be there by
tomorrow evening."

"You?  You're the therapist you were talking about?  You'd come
here?  Just like that?"

"Of course.  You have always been special to me, Jane,"  Was the
soft reply.  "Now," the voice firmed and became business like. 
"Who should I show up as?  Art or Diana?"

"Diana is still with us?"  Jane asked, surprised.

"Yes indeed, and quite often, actually.  I can be my own best
example of overcoming emotional/physical obstacles for my
patients, and frankly, Diana helps some of my gender dysphoric
patients be more at ease with me since they see me as someone
who understands their feelings better. Besides, I enjoy being
Diana."

"I see.  Then I think, at least for the beginning, it might be
better for you to arrive as Diana.  With few and intentionally
uncomfortable-for-her exceptions, she's been without obviously-
male contact since she arrived.  Artemis would be a new
variable, perhaps causing her to react unpredictably,"  Jane
snorted.  "As if she had been at all predictable to this point
in time."

"All right.  Diana it is, but the guy name is now just plain
'Art'.  I legally ditched Artemis years ago," he paused.  "Okay,
I will be there when I get there.  I will rent a car, so don't
worry about having anyone meet me."

Jane closed her eyes, the relief of no longer feeling quite so
alone in her battle almost orgasmic in its intensity.  "Thank
you, Art.  I really, really do appreciate this."

"No problem.  I am already looking forward to it.  Get some
rest, Jane.  It sounds like you have had a hellish couple of
days."  The line disconnected, and Jane gently returned the
phone to its cradle.

"Okay, Jane.  I am dying of curiosity,"  Marie broke into Jane's
reveries,  "Just who is this Artemis who is evidently also a
Diana?  I don't remember any boy named Artemis and I would have. 
I always loved that show "Wild, Wild West" and Artemis Gordon in
particular."

"Someone I knew a lifetime ago, Marie."
~--------------~

"You remember I told you that the first guy I ever helped put in
skirts was Sheila's boyfriend?  Yes, well, that wasn't all that
great an experience once it was done.  Not that anything
particularly bad happened to the boy, but there was just this
feeling that I did not want to be around them.  At the time, I
decided it was that I did not want to appear to be poaching on a
sorority sister's guy.  Now, after what we learned from Kendra's
sojourn with us, maybe it was something else that was bothering
me about Sheila even then."

"But it had been great fun.  Not just the dress-up and make up
games, but the dominance aspects of it.  I found that I really
enjoyed the one giving the orders and having them obeyed, no
matter how silly they might actually be, or watching the darling
blush bright red at a teasing comment or observation.  Anyway,
after I separated myself from Sheila, I decided I wanted a boy
like that of my very own.  I found Artemis Philips, or perhaps,
Artemis Philips found me.  I was never quite sure."

"Maybe it was a little of both, Jane?" Marie asked gently.

A gentle smile softened Jane's worried face.  "Perhaps it was. 
We just sort of kept bumping into each other.  At first, he was
just a nice guy who took a few of the same classes I did.  The
first thing that caught my attention beyond that was his slender
build since I was thinking about the games I had played with
Sheila's boyfriend.  I started gathering information about him. 
Where he lived, who he'd dated, what his old girlfriends thought
of him.  I was planning my campaign when he suddenly started
showing up at the oddest places.  The club I went to for
dancing, my favorite corner of the library, the park where I
went running in the mornings before school.  The more I saw him,
the more I liked him.  I ended up liking him a very, very great
deal."

"Sounds like you weren't the only one gathering data and
planning something, Jane."

"No, it doesn't, does it?  Suddenly, we were quite the item -
dating, going out walking together, studying together.  When I
started teasing him with the dominance games, he just played
with me as though they were nothing out of the ordinary. 
Shortly after that, I had him fully rigged out in one of my most
feminine outfits from the skin out and he was marvelous.  Took a
bit of doing to tease him into going out in public with me, but
even he saw he looked so good that he'd pass on even the third
of fourth look. Besides, " and here Jane's smile became quite
feline, "I rewarded him very well for those little outings."

"I'll just bet you did, Jane Thompson,"  Marie said haughtily
before breaking into giggles.  "Lucky guy."

"Lucky me, you mean.  He never made me feel odd for liking that
type of play and always seemed to enjoy it as much as I did, yet
I always knew that he was a man in every finest sense of that
word.  I think the biggest surprise was that I could dominate a
guy and still respect him *as* a guy.  Sheila never respected
her boyfriend, and I think that may have been one of the reasons
I backed off from them.  I think in many ways, I have tried to
teach my boys the special characteristics I found in Art, both
as Artemis and as Diana."

"I guess you chose the Diana name as a play on Artemis, both of
them being Goddess of the Moon and the Hunt?"

"Sort of.  This all happened before I learned the value of
having similar sounding names for my boys when they are en
femme.  I had an awful time getting Art to answer to Diana
without hesitation.  Of course, I think part of that was pure
pique on his part. He has always hated being stuck with name
Artemis in the first place.  The name was one of those Old
Boston "first son gets named after some distant ancestor" 
family traditions. Art always contended that it was a girl's
name, so I chose to name his feminine alter ego Diana as a
tease."  Jane sighed.  "Those were some very special times."

"Whatever happened to that relationship, Jane?"

*A hospital happened,* Jane thought as a wet warmth prickled
behind her eyes.  "Life happened, Marie," Jane answered softly. 
"We both needed to move on."  *He needed and deserved the family
I couldn't give him after my illness.*

"Well, it's nice to know he still cares enough to come to your
rescue like that."


Feeling very grateful, Jane could only nod her agreement.  "I
need to go up and relieve Darla.  I will send her down to help
you get ready for bed.  I'll leave Caitlyn's door open.  Yell if
you need anything.  I don't expect I'll get much sleep in any
case.  The chair I put in her room is the most uncomfortable
antique monstrosity I have ever found.  Hoist by my own petard."

"Good night, Jane,"  Marie said softly.  "Try to rest."

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

Contrary to her expectations, Jane managed to fall asleep while
watching over Caitlyn, but her fears about the comfort of the
chair proved painfully true.  Jane awoke with a start and a
groan of pain when Caitlyn began to stir.  She'd managed to put
a severe crick in her neck and shoulders in the course of her
long night's vigil.

Her groan finished waking Caitlyn, who sat up in surprise when
she found that she was not alone in the dawn-gilt room.  "Ms.
Thompson?!?  What are you doing here?"

Jane tried to arch her neck and shoulders, but the pain stopped
her short.  Grimacing, she looked at her student, her head
cocked to one side.  "You had a mild concussion, Caitlyn.  Nurse
Nora said you should not be left alone until your head cleared. 
How are you feeling this morning?"

The sleep rumpled boy-girl considered that for a moment, taking
a quick mental inventory.  "Okay, I guess.  I only see one of
you," she said with a gamine little grin, "But my head does ache
where I banged it.  No dizziness and I am too hungry to be
nauseous."

"Teenagers and their stomachs,"  Jane said softly.

"I'd say, Ms. Thompson, that I feel a lot better than you look
right now.  What is wrong?  Why are you holding your head that
way?"

"This chair,"  Jane answered ruefully.  "is not designed for
overnight sleeping.  My neck and shoulders are painfully stiff."

"I can fix that,"  Caitlyn perked, getting out of her bed with a
decidedly unladylike bound.  Before Jane could chastise the girl
for it, however, Caitlyn was helping Jane gently out of the
chair and onto her bed.  She arranged Jane on her stomach and
used pillows to prop Jane's head so as to take the strain off
her neck and shoulders.  "This might hurt a bit at first, so let
me know and I will go a little easier until you loosen up."

To Jane's utter surprise, Caitlyn began a very careful, and
apparently very knowledgeable massage of the distressed muscles. 
Momentarily taken off guard, Jane stiffened.  Feeling that, the
girl-boy stepped back.  "Am I hurting you, Ms. Thompson?" she
asked solicitously.

"N. . no. . .you just surprised me is all.  I am not sure this
is a very good idea, Caitlyn," she said.  Jane moved to rise,
but a stab of pain to the back of her neck stopped her the
instant she tried to lift her head off the pillow.

"Let me try, Ms. Thompson," the girl entreated softly.  "If it
doesn't help, you won't be any worse off than you are right now,
and it should help.  I will be ever so gentle with you."

Jane wanted to argue, but couldn't.  Her neck and shoulders were
becoming stiffer every moment.  "All right.  But be very careful
where you put your hands, young lady,"  Jane warned darkly.

"Like I said, you just tell me if it hurts too much and I will
back off."  And with that complete misunderstanding of Jane's
warning against trying to cop a quick feel, Caitlyn resumed her
massage.  "This silk is great for this type of work, Ms.
Thompson.  It makes my hands slide on you without massage oil
and it holds the heat, too."

Almost miraculously, Jane could feel her muscles warm, and
become pliant under Caitlyn's touch.  *I can't believe I am
letting her do this,* Jane thought. *I can't believe she is
doing this without prompting and is actually working to make me
feel better.  Why would she do that??*

"Why?" Jane asked in a drowsy tone.

"Why what, Ms. Thompson?"  Caitlyn asked as she began kneading
at a particularly tight knot of muscle.

"Why are you helping me?  After yesterday?  One way or another,
a great deal of the blame for your own injury yesterday is my
fault, and I have given you little cause to like me in the past
months.  Why would you even think of helping me?"  The last
sentence was slurred on a moan of near bliss as the knot relaxed
under Caitlyn's fingers.

"Because you hurt," she responded indifferently.  "I hate seeing
anyone hurt - and I knew I could help you."

*That makes no sense either.  If Carlton felt that way, why is
Caitlyn here with me?*  "But your offense involves assault.  You
fought with other students regularly.  And you hate seeing
anyone hurt??"

Caitlyn's fingers stopped momentarily.  In the vanity mirror,
Jane saw her student's eyes close, almost in pain, before she
shook herself and continued her massage.  "I hate hurting most
of all, Ms. Thompson, but sometimes there just doesn't seem to
be any other choices. My father has this Kenny Rogers' tune he
always used to play called "Coward of the County?."  

*Kenny Rogers,* Jane thought smiling, *Doesn't that bring
memories.*  A very young Jane Thompson had loved listening to
"Kenny Rogers and the First Edition" - so much that she had even
forgiven Kenny for moving into the Country and Western world. 
"I know the song, Caitlyn,"  Jane told her student.  

"One of the last lines in the song is . . "Sometimes you've got
to fight when you're a man. . " - Dad sure did play that song a
lot - especially when he thought I wasn't spending enough time
with the guys."

"You fought because your father wanted you to fight?"  Jane
asked, her drowsy somnambulance broken by the bitterness she
heard in Caitlyn's voice.

"He never said so, Ms. Thompson,"  Caitlyn said briskly and then
stood back up.  She offered Jane a hand.  "I think that about
fixes you up, Ms. Thompson."

Jane took the proffered hand and stood.  "My, that is much
better," she said, meaning it.  "Thank you very much, Caitlyn."

"It was my pleasure, Ms. Thompson,"  The boy-girl answered
formally.

*Why is it that I believe you mean that?* Jane wondered
thoughtfully.  "Where ever did you learn to do that?"

Normally, the diffident shrug that answered Jane would have
earned a student a scolding, but she held her tongue this time,
hoping for a real answer.  She got one.

"My mom used to be a dancer - ballet - good enough to have
danced lead in some smaller companies if she hadn't met and
married Dad.  She still works out at a dance studio and
sometimes she comes home with a sprain or a stiff back.  I
learned helping her."

"I see," Jane replied, although she wasn't sure she really did. 
"Well, I must go dress for the day.  Are you feeling well enough
to help with Marie today?"

A bright smile lit Caitlyn's face, making her as beautiful as
any student Jane had ever taught, even without a trace of make
up on her face.  "Oh, yes.  I will be fine, Ms. Thompson."

"Very well, then.  I will see you at breakfast, then,"  Jane
moved across the room and slipped out the door.  Once outside
Caitlyn's room, Jane came to a complete stop and simply stared
off into space.  *I think I actually believe everything she just
told me, even though it makes absolutely NO sense at all.*

Well, she certainly had something else to tell Art when he
arrived later that day.  Maybe *he* could make some sense of all
this.

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

The day passed quietly into mid-afternoon.  Jane had tried to
keep up her usual banter on manners and decorum, but that had
been the extent of her efforts with Caitlyn.  Jane was still
tired after her night in that abominable chair, and she knew her
judgement was not at its best when she was this tired.  Besides,
there did not seem to be much point in the game until Art
arrived.  Maybe he'd be able to help Jane figure out how the
rules had been changed with this student.

The sound of a vacuum cleaner starting in the parlor caught
Jane's attention.  Except for taking time out to prepare lunch,
Caitlyn had been caught up in a massive cleaning frenzy all day
- ever since Jane had announced at breakfast that she was
expecting a visit from a dear school chum of hers.  The main
public rooms - the entry foyer, front parlor, living room and
dining room - literally gleamed, and Jane was positive that
Caitlyn was carrying over that same dirt search-and-destroy
attitude over into readying the best guest room.  

Jane had not ordered the girl to clean like that.  In fact, what
cleaning Jane demanded of the girls was more to emphasize their
feminine condition by having them work at stereotypically female
"maid-ish" tasks.  Dusting with a feather duster, plumping
pillows, setting out flowers, doing dishes and other such dainty
tasks were part and parcel of their indoctrination, but heavy
cleaning was done by a service Jane brought in every two weeks
or so.

When Jane had cornered Caitlyn to find out why she was doing
this, her answer had been direct.  "Because I promised Ms.
Marie, Ms. Thompson.  I don't want her fretting over the house
and trying to do too much too quickly."  Jane was trying to find
something to say about that, when the girl-boy had continued. 
"You will tell her I am doing a good enough job at it, won't
you, Ms. Thompson? Even if there are places you think I need to
go back and fix?  Otherwise, she's going to think she needs to
get back into it."

"Of. . of course," Jane had stuttered.  "I. . . I will come back
later to inspect your work to show you what you need to
correct."  *After I find a pair of white gloves to inspect with
since that is the only way I am going to find anything to
criticize in this room.  What has gotten into the boy??  Is his
word *really* that important to him?!?*

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

Art called Jane a little after 3:00 P.M., telling her he'd
landed at Providence and would arrive within the hour.  When
Jane had told this to Caitlyn and Darla, intending to have them
go clean up to receive visitors, Caitlyn had gone pale. 
"Dinner, Ms. Thompson, I forgot all about dinner."

"I've already arranged for dinner to be delivered,"  Jane said
with her fingers crossed.  "I did not want Marie to be fretted
either.  We will dine at eight tonight, but if you could have a
low tea prepared, Darla, for when our guest arrives?"

"Yes, Aunt Jane,"  Darla had replied.  "That won't be any
problem at all."

Nodding her approval, Jane had shoo-ed them both up to change
while she made a semi-frantic phone call to a local restaurant. 
That little white lie, told to preserve Caitlyn's feelings,
ended up costing Jane a great deal.  

But the girl had worked so hard today, Jane told herself by way
of rationalization.  Even Marie at her best would have been hard
pressed to deal with such an unexpected arrival of company.

Part 5  Jane's Old Boyfriend - Diana.

Darla answered the doorbell's summons.  "Hello, young lady.  I
am Diana Philips.  I believe Jane is expecting me?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Darla answered with a curtsy.  "I am Darla, Jane's
ward.  Won't you please come in?"

The woman barely got in the door before Jane swept out of her
office and gathered the other woman up into a warm affectionate
hug.  "Diana!  How wonderful to see you again!" she cried, as
much from relief as from pleasure.

They held each other just a moment longer than might have been
proper, but Jane felt somehow buoyed up by the presence and
support of her old friend.  When they finally pulled apart, Jane
caught the glimmer of a smile and a wink before she turned to
introduce her little band.  "Diana, I believe you have met
Darla?  Darla, this is my old school friend, D. . . Ms. Diana
Philips."  Jane had only at the last minute remembered not to
use Diana's professional title of "doctor".  At least, not until
after Diana had formed an impression of the girl.

Jane gave her old friend a thorough once over as her foster
child made a "Miss Manners"-perfect greeting to Diana.  Diana
made a very attractive woman.  She was still quite slender, with
a nicely shaped, subtle figure.  The skirt of her dark blue
travel suit went to knee level and showed off a very nice pair
of legs.  Her skin was smooth, and except for laugh wrinkles
about her eyes and mouth, unlined.  Only her hair gave away
anything of her age.  Done up in a complex French braid, her
hair was a shimmering silver.  A touch of color, and it would
have looked like that almost white tone of nordic blond.  Still,
the impression was one of a younger woman in her late thirties,
early forties, who had gone prematurely gray. 

Diana finished her pleasantries with Darla and then turned her
head expectantly towards Caitlyn.  Picking up her introductions,
Jane continued, "And this is my newest student, Caitlyn
Jeffries.  Caitlyn, this is my dear friend, Ms. Diana Philips."

"Pleased to meet you, Ma'am," Caitlyn said softly as she, too,
curtseyed.  Not as well as Darla, but a good effort nonetheless,
Jane mused.  

Caitlyn had obviously dressed carefully, keeping well within her
limitations in the arts of dress up and make up.  She wore a
casual, but nice sweater and skirt combination, with white
stockings and a pair of smart flats.  Her cosmetics were very
light, in one of the few styles she had managed to master and
her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail.  All in all,
she looked like a very young teenage girl who had just recently
been given permission to wear a *little* bit of make up by her
mother.

Diana smiled at Caitlyn.  "My, aren't you lovely.  Let me get a
closer look at you, girl."  An elegant, finely fingered hand
reached up to cup Caitlyn's chin.  The girl went very still, her
whole body taking on that nearly frightened, "doe-in-the-
headlights" tension that Jane recognized from the previous day's
second "walking practice".

Diana tilted Caitlyn's face this way and that, cooing happily at
her, and complimenting her looks.  Caitlyn, for her part, could
do nothing but stand there and take it, seemingly unable to move
even her lips enough to make a suitably pleased or grateful
sound.

She only relaxed after Diana released her and had turned back to
face Jane.  "Well, I must say I am happy to be here, Jane.  I am
sure we'll have a great time."

Forcing a smile, Jane nodded. "I do hope so, dear.  Why don't I
show you to your rooms?  Darla?  Caitlyn?  Would you have tea
ready when we come back down?  Say, about twenty minutes?"  Jane
then led her friend toward the stairs.  "I will get Tom and his
boy to bring in the rest of your luggage, Diana, but let's at
least give you a chance to freshen up after your trip."

Darla and Caitlyn watched the two older women leave.  "Let's go
finish making the tea, Caitlyn," Darla ordered. "I've got the
sandwiches and pastries already finished."

~---------------~
"Does she *always* freeze up like that when someone touches
her?"  Diana asked as soon as the door closed behind them.

Jane shook her head.  "Not that I've ever noticed, Diana, but
then I don't let people other than my immediate little circle
just touch my girls with such familiarity.  Actually, the only
other time I have seen her freeze up like that was yesterday
when I surprised her with that second exercise in heels."

"The same exercise that you called her attention to her walking
in them without difficulty when she responded to Marie's
apparent re-injury?"

"Yes.  However, Marie tells me she often freezes like that when
she oversees Caitlyn's cosmetics training."

"Neither of which she does very well," Diana said thoughtfully,
"except when she was fully focused on an emergency?"

"Yes, and also at two o'clock in the morning, when she thought
everyone else was asleep."

"When you saw her dancing?"  Diana asked.  At Jane's emphatic
nod, she frowned. "I'd like to see that tape, Jane.  Later
tonight.  In the meantime, what do you know about her home
life?"

"Only what is in the files provided to me by her parents and
Ruth.  Her mother doesn't work, but is involved in many
charities and committees.  Dad is a fast-track business type who
doesn't have as much time to spend with Carlton as he might
wish.  Nothing all that unusual.  Certainly nothing that would
explain the problems he has had with me,"  Jane admitted. 
"However, I have dispatched an investigator to check things out
a little more deeply.  He was scheduled to arrive in her
hometown around noon today, in fact."

"Excellent.  Well, that about covers everything for now.  I am
starved.  Wearing this infernal corset limits how much I can
eat, but I still get hungry.  Anyone who believes that "I'm
never hungry in a corset" garbage hasn't worn one.  I still get
hungry - I just get hungry a lot more often because I can't
stoke up the fire as well as I can when I am in my corset-less
male skin."

She caught the worried look on Jane's face.  "Don't worry so
much, dear.  My first reading of your problem-child is that
Caitlyn is essentially a pretty nice kid.  There is something
else at work here.  We just have to figure out what it is."

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

Diana watched, her eyes glued intently to the small TV screen,
as Caitlyn's screen image completed one last graceful spin, held
her final position for a full ten count and then dropped into an
incredibly low curtsy.

"Remarkable," she repeated for what had to be the hundredth time
since she'd joined Jane in the upstairs study after everyone
else had gone to their beds.  "No wonder you thought she was
defying you, Janie.  Lord, but that was incredible."

"Yes, it was, and you know that I *loathe* being called Janie,
Artemis," Jane said in her most intimidating "teacher-to-
student" voice. 
 
"Sure I know it, Janie," Diana answered unfazed, her amber eyes
twinkling with mirth.  "Why do you think I use it?  For the same
reason you call me Artemis."

Choosing not to pursue the argument, Jane waved a tired hand
toward the now-blank screen.  "What do you think?"

The laughing eyes immediately became serious.  "I am not ready
to make a diagnosis, if that is what you are asking, Jane. 
However, I am beginning to see a pattern.  She's completely
alone in that video, and because of the hour, she expects to
stay that way.  After the way she reacted to me giving her the
"grandmotherly" going over and complimenting when I arrived, I
decided to try other, similar types of contact - which I did,
numerous times over the course of the evening."

"And you learned?" Jane asked with great patience.

"She doesn't react like that simply from being touched or
addressed.  I don't know what makes the difference, but it is
very obvious when it does happens.  I have seen dress shop
mannequins with more flexibility."

"You think that is significant?"

"Have any of your other students reacted that way?  If I had to
hazard a guess, I would say that for almost all of your boys
that kind of contact - a friendly touch, an honest compliment, a
hug - would be like a manna from heaven to a starving man."

"No, now that you mention it.  At worst, they might be very
suspicious of any contact or attention of that nature, worried
that it is something I have instigated to cause them more
humiliation, but for the most part you are right, Diana," Jane
admitted wryly. "They don't get much in the way of simple
affection in my keeping, especially in the early days, and they
relish whatever they get."

Diana reached over to pat Jane's hand.  "Understandable.  Such
life changing experiences are almost never easy rites of
passage.  Yours is far kinder and gentler, and much more
effective than others I have seen."

"Thanks, Diana," Jane said softly.  "So, what do we do now?"

"Well, I'd like to stay in here after everyone goes off to bed
and see if she dances again tonight.  I want to observe the
entire affair from start of finish."

"She may not dance tonight,"  Jane cautioned.  "I only saw her
do it that once."

"Then I will keep coming back each night."  A teasing smile lit
Diana's face.  "I *am* a woman of leisure for the next two
weeks.  No one will notice if I sleep past breakfast."

"All right, darling, but why don't you do your waiting in my
private rooms?  I assure you that you will be far more
comfortable there than you will be in here, and I do have the
same monitoring systems in there as you see here."

"Offering to show me your etchings, Janie?"

"Maybe at some point, smartie, but for now I am just offering
you a place to sit that will be far more comfortable than
anything in here."

Grinning widely, Diana rose and offered Jane her hand.  "Comfort
is good - very good, in fact.  I really was not looking forward
to sitting on . . . " her nose wrinkled delicately in disgust as
she looked down at the settee she'd been occupying, "*that*
antique monstrosity for any longer than absolutely and
unavoidably necessary."

Jane laughed softly at her friend's obvious discomfort.
"Antiques of that era were built to *look* pretty, Diana, not to
be comfortable.  Not only that, but they were designed in an age
when women wore bustles and ungodly corsets.  So, of course, no
normal human being could sit comfortably or naturally on any of
them.  Besides, why do you think I bought them?  They are an
acid test for my girls.  When one of my laddie-ladies can sit
down gracefully on one of these instruments of gluteal torture
and still look sweet and winsome, I know I have made real
progress with that student."

"But on the downside, *you* have to sit on them, too, and get
sore, stiff necks in the bargain," Diana said slyly.

"True, dear.  I believe the appropriate slogan is 'No pain, no
gain'.  But there are advantages to everything.  Sitting in one
of those abominations puts me in the perfect mood to terrorize
my little darlings."

"Every silver lining has a cloud.  I am sure that those things
must qualify as cruel and unusual punishment, Jane,"  Diana
giggled softly as they made their way into the hallway leading
to Jane's apartment.

"Well, if you don't tell Ruth, darling, I won't.  Besides, I am
not technically a penal institution.  It's true that many of my
boys come here as an alternative to incarceration, but they are
not actually under a sentence.  At least, not formally under
sentence."

"Only because you don't really exist as far as anyone knows,
except for Ruth and a few other trusted officials like her."

Jane opened the door into her rooms and motioned Diana to enter
first. "God willing, it will stay that way, too.  Now, do you
still drink brandy, or would you like something stronger?"

"Brandy is a fine idea, Jane.  Something aromatic to the nose,
smooth going down, with just a touch of a bite would be just
right for talking the whole night, remembering the good times we
shared together."

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

Surprising both of them, Jane and Diana managed to wake up in
time for the normal Thompson breakfast hour of 8:30 A.M.  The
meal itself was plain - just coffee, fresh fruit and pastries,
but tasty and nicely presented.

"Thank you for seeing to this, Darla," Jane said as she refilled
her coffee cup.

"Oh, it wasn't me, Aunt Jane,"  Darla replied.  "I was going to
do it, but Caitlyn already had everything just about ready when
I came down.  All I did was make the coffee."

"I see,"  Jane murmured.  *That girl was up for almost two hours
last night doing the equivalent of a high impact aerobics class
and she still gets up in time to fix breakfast?  Not just fix
breakfast, but in time to make up individual plates and flower
arrangements?  Why isn't she drooping from pure exhaustion?* 
"Thank you, Caitlyn.  Everything was lovely."

"I'm sorry we didn't have a hot breakfast, Ms. Thompson, but
yesterday was market day, and with Ms. Marie laid up and Ms.
Philips coming to visit, I forgot to remind you we needed to go
shopping."

"Don't worry, dear,"  Jane said with a touch of warmth for the
girl's evident - and to Jane's mind, quite real - concern. 
"We'll get Marie to help us with a shopping list and take care
of it today."

A momentary frown clouded Caitlyn's face.  "Umm. . Ms. Thompson,
today is class day.  If it is all right, and you don't think Ms.
Marie will need me, I would like to go."

Diana watched the interplay between the two with keen interest. 
*So, she likes going to dance class, but Jane says that she
performs as badly there as she did beautifully last night.  One
would think, at first blush, that her intent at failing there
was a ploy to get out of the class.  If one had not seen her
dance in the privacy of her room, that is."

"I would love to see the dance studio, Jane," Diana interjected.
"I just love watching young people move so freely and elegantly. 
Are you preparing for a show soon, Caitlyn?"

Caitlyn's head drooped and she broke eye contact with the older
women.  "Yes, Ma'am.  Sleeping Beauty, only I won't be
performing."  *Was that the merest sigh of regret I heard in her
voice,* Diana wondered.  "I am not yet able to dance in public."

*What a clanker,*  Jane thought.  *Yet, if she wants to go, then
there is hope we can find out what is really going on here. 
"All right, Caitlyn.  I will drop you and Diana off at the
studio while I go to market.  Darla will remain here in the case
that Marie needs any assistance."

The smile that lit Caitlyn's face momentarily stunned everyone
else around the table.  "Oh, thank you, Ms. Thompson.  I will go
change as soon as I clear away and clean up from breakfast."

"No, you go get ready now, Caitlyn,"  Darla broke in.  "You got
up and did all the hard work.  I will take care of the clean
up."

Caitlyn rounded on her "big sister".  "You're sure? I mean, it
won't take but a minute.  I could help,"  She offered quickly.

"Caitlyn!"  Darla all but growled.

"Yes, Darla?"

"Go . . . Get . . . Ready!"  Darla ordered.  When Caitlyn still
hesitated. "NOW!"

Another of those blinding smiles lit Caitlyn's face as she stood
to leave.  "Thank you, Darla," she said, and then leaned over to
kiss her shocked mentor on the cheek before hurrying from the
room.

No one said anything for several long moments.  Darla simply
held her cheek and stared at Caitlyn's exit door, her eyes wide
and her mouth round.  "She's never done *that* before," Darla
finally managed to rasp out.

"Another puzzle piece, Jane,"  Diana said with admirable reserve
as she took another sip of her coffee. 

"Yes, it is,"  Jane agreed, her own expression mirroring
Darla's.  "But she seems to be getting each new piece from a
different box.  Just when you think you're putting together a
landscape puzzle, the dratted girl hands you a piece from an
abstract art rendering."  She shook her head.  "Now what?"

"She wants to go to dance class.  I will try and observe her
behavior there without her realizing it."

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

Diana watched the class warming up at the barre.  It was a mixed
class - if you could call a grouping of twenty teenagers, only
three of whom were boys, mixed.  At least one of the boys seemed
quite talented.  Probably why the dance mistress was willing to
take on a ballet quite so advanced as Sleeping Beauty for their
performance.

Something of a ballet buff, Diana watched the class unfold with
growing respect for the dance mistress.  She drilled her
students hard, but always with encouragement, always finding
something positive to balance each correction.  She showed
extraordinary patience with Caitlyn, who seemed ready to fall on
her bottom anytime she had less than both feet planted flatly on
the floor.

Caitlyn stayed in the warmup room while the rest of the class
went onto the studio's mocked up stage to practice the actual
choreography of the ballet they would be dancing.  Most of the
girls seemed to have something encouraging to say to Caitlyn as
they passed by her.  *Evidently she is at least liked here.  Is
that the reason she wants to attend, even though she seems
determined to be inept?  Is it friendship and acceptance she
finds so seductive about this place?*

Diana took a position in the main studio that afforded her a
covert view of Caitlyn in the warmup room while still giving the
appearance of watching the performers on the stage.  Soon, the
wonderful music of Tchaikovsky filled the small theater and
everyone was caught up in the master composer's magic.

Including, Diana suddenly realized, Caitlyn.  Obviously
oblivious to anything except the rapture of the music, Caitlyn's
exercises at the barre suddenly became fluid, graceful and to
Diana's eye at least, highly proficient.  A quick glance at the
soloist on the stage showed that Caitlyn was following each
movement and step.  Lost in the music's spell, Caitlyn had again
'forgotten' to be clumsy.

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

"So," Jane said reflectively, "Once again she is distracted,
this time by the music, and forgets herself.  Did the dance
mistress see any of this?"

"No," Diana replied, taking a sip of her tea.  "And I didn't
call her attention to it.  Something is happening there that I
don't think we can afford to lose at this point.  For one thing,
she is accepted and apparently well liked there."

"She is?  Even as poorly as she dances there?"

"She isn't a threat to any of them now that it is known she
won't be in the performance, and she goes out of her way to make
herself useful.  She gets drinks, or she'll play the piano to
accompany someone who wants to work a little extra on a part. I
even saw her partner one of the soloists as she warmed up before
going on stage.  Nothing very elaborate, Jane.  She just held
the girl's hand and balance points while the girl did her
extended movements."

"So, as yet another puzzle box opened and its contents scattered
onto our already full table.  Is this making *any* sense to you,
Diana?  If she hates the feminine touches here, she should hate
them period.  If she is really uncoordinated, she should be
uncoordinated all the time."

"I think it is fairly clear after this afternoon, and after
watching her both on tape and live last night, that she neither
hates the feminine touches nor is she uncoordinated - quite the
opposite in both cases, in fact.  Having established that fairly
firmly in my mind, I am at a loss to explain the other things I
have observed about her."

"Be sure to let me know when you figure it out, then,"  Jane
said in mild disgust.  She started to say something else, but
was cut off by the phone.

Sighing, Jane picked up the phone.  "Thompson residence."

"Jane?  Hi, this is Reggie Walters."  Jane smiled as she
recognized the name and voice of her former student who had gone
on to become a security specialist.  Reginald (Gina) had been
sent to Jane because the combination of his very inquisitive
mind and his skill with computers had gotten him in trouble. 
Several very large companies objected to fourteen year olds
hacking their computer systems and helping themselves to free
samples of whatever the company happens to be selling.  Now,
Reggie used his skills as a private investigator/security
systems expert - often fighting the same type of kid he used to
be.  Two of Jane's more recent students had been "caught" by
Reggie who had then referred the distraught parents to Ms. Jane
Thompson.

"Reggie, so good to hear from you.  What have you found out?"

"Well, don't ask me how you knew, but you were right.  I talked
with Carlton's mother and he has had formal ballet training. 
She used to dance professionally herself at one time - quite
well, in fact - and continued taking classes when she retired to
get married.  She used to take him to class with her all the
time.  It was a regular thing with them from the time he was old
enough to walk, right up until about a year and a half ago."

"Why did it cease to be a regular thing?"  Jane asked as she put
the phone on speaker.

"His mother doesn't know.  He just refused to go with her
anymore.  She is still a little upset about it because
evidently, the boy was talented, if perhaps not quite in the way
Mom might have liked."

"How so, Reggie?"

"Evidently, he was really graceful and very dedicated to
improving his skills.  Unfortunately, even by the time he was
almost fourteen years old, he wasn't developing much in the way
of upper body strength.  He could dance the child parts, but he
wasn't strong enough physically to partner a ballerina, even as
just one of the chorus."

"They don't call it a chorus in a ballet, dear, but I understand
your meaning.  So he stopped taking lessons well over a year
ago?"  Jane wanted to reaffirm.

"As far as his Mom knows, Jane.  Is there a reason you are
concerned about that?"

Jane looked over at Diana who nodded her assent.  "Yes, there
is, Reggie.  He's been dancing here, and far too well for there
to have been a long layoff before coming to my home.  At least,
I think that he is too adept not to have been taking lessons. 
Could you check around, maybe go to the studio or any other
local studios and see if they have any information about that?"

"Sure, Jane.  No problem."  Reggie paused.  "Jane?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I think you should expect a call from the boy's mom.  She was
very concerned that her son hasn't made more progress in the
time you've had him there."

"She's not the only one, Reggie, but thanks for the warning.  I
will expect the call.  Bye now."

Jane hung up the phone and looked at her old friend.  "Well, at
least we know that he *used* to study dance. That's something."

"We know a good deal more than that, Janie,"  Diana said softly. 
At Jane's raised brow, Diana gave her a wan smile.  "We know
that something happened in his life - something sufficiently
important to change the habit of a young lifetime rather
abruptly.  A habit, I might add, that we have graphic proof that
the young man still enjoys, albeit in private."

"Traumatic?" Jane asked warily.

"Perhaps yes, perhaps no.  We will have to wait and see.  Right
now, we just know that something made him feel he had to quit."

"I take your point."  Jane rose from her seat and stretched.  "I
need to take a walk before I settle down to fixing dinner. With
Marie still on bed rest, someone needs to cook.  The girls have
done their part so tonight is my turn."

"Need some help, Janie?"

An evil grin that more than one hundred boys and young men would
have instantly recognized and feared lit Jane's face. 
"Certainly, Artemis.  How are you at chopping onions?"

"Makes my mascara run, and I told you, my name is Art, now.  If
you *must* call my by a masculine name.  I do prefer Diana when
I am dressed, dear."

"Well, come along.  We have plenty of cotton balls and cold
cream for fixing your face later. I buy the stuff by the
caseload since my boys need to fix or change their faces so very
often.  Surely *you* remember that, even if you weren't really
in my program."

"Bitch," Diana retorted affectionately.

"Just so you keep *that* firmly in mind, darling," Jane gave
back sweetly. "I think salads and French Onion soup will make
just a perfect dinner, don't you?"

Part 6 Caitlyn's Past and Diana's Plans

After dinner, Jane retired to her study to finish a business
proposal for a consulting contract.  Diana had gone to keep an
increasingly bored Marie company while Caitlyn and Darla took
care of the cleanup duties.

Happily engrossed in the competitive world of business, Jane
lost track of time, so she was somewhat surprised to see her
desk clock read 10:45 P.M. when a knock on her door jolted her
back to reality.  "Come in," she called, expecting to see Diana,
only to surprised to find a very wary-looking Caitlyn peeking
around the barely opened door.  "Yes, Caitlyn?  What is it?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, Ms. Thompson, but could I please talk
to you for a few minutes?"

*Well, this is new,* Jane thought.  *First time the girl has
ever approached me like this.  Wonder what is that important to
her?*  "Of course, Caitlyn. I am finished with this anyway.
Please, come in and have a seat."

She watched as the girl-boy entered and moved to take a seat in
*the* chair.  After several silent moments, Jane prompted, "What
can I do for you, Caitlyn?"

The girl cleared her throat once, and then again before looking
up to face Jane directly.  "Ms. Thompson?  Darla says you work
with a lot of big companies - consulting with them and stuff
like that.  Is that true?"

Intrigued by this line of questioning, Jane decided to answer.
"Yes, I do, Caitlyn.  At one time or another, I'd say I have
worked with or for many of the Fortune 500 in some limited
capacity or another."

Caitlyn brightened.  "Do you know any of them with foundations?
You know, the kind that do good works and things like that?"

"I am not sure where this is going, but I do know several people
who head up such organizations.  Why do you want to know,
Caitlyn?"

Excitement evident in her very posture, Caitlyn shifted subtly
closer to Jane as she began to speak.  "It's about Tasha - Tasha
Pederov - she's the lead dancer at dance school?"  Still
confused, Jane could only nod and hope that the girl would get
to the point.  "Well, she is really talented, and very, very
smart.  She's been invited to try out for this big science camp
for high school seniors this summer, and she's just so smart, I
just know she'd get accepted. . .only. . . "

"Only what, Caitlyn?"

"Her folks are not very well off, Ms. Thompson.  What extra
money they have goes to help some of their family who are still
in Eastern Europe.  She wouldn't even be able to take classes
with us except that Dance Mistress gave her a scholarship."  

*Ahh. . .wonder what Caitlyn would say if she knew that I was
actually the source of Dance Mistress Allison's discretionary
funding?* 

"So, what do you want me to do, Caitlyn?"

"Could you check with the people you know and see if there is a
way to get her a scholarship or a grant or something, so that
she can at least try out?  Even if she couldn't go, being
accepted might help her get a scholarship to college next year
and she is a very, very special person."

"She must be for you to beard me in my den this way."  A touch
of amusement colored Jane's tones.

Caitlyn lowered her head and broke eye contact.  "She is the one
who stood up for me when everyone else at class was afraid I was
going to mess up the ballet.  She got the others to accept me
after it was agreed that I wouldn't be performing.  She made me
her friend when I was feeling very alone and very down on
myself."

"Oh?"

Jane saw dark spots start to bloom on Caitlyn's blouse as the
tears began to flow in earnest.  "I know I am not doing well
enough here, Ms. Thompson.  I have tried, impossible as that may
be for you to believe, but it's like those heels.  I am just not
getting it.  I figure I am on borrowed time as it is.  Tasha,
and the other girls,...well, they've helped me forget all that
for a few hours every week.  They like me and that amazes the
heck out of me, but they don't let me feel alone, and they won't
let me get down on myself."

"I will see what I can do for her, Caitlyn.  I can't make any
promises," *at least until I confirm all of this with Allison,*
"but I will look into the matter and do my best."

"Thank you, Ms. Thompson."  The girl started to stand, but Jane
stopped her with a gesture.

Standing, Jane came around her desk and took a seat next to her
student.  "Caitlyn, you are right about your time here.  I don't
want to send you back, but I have obligations to the court. 
Please, can't you help me to help you?" 

"How?"  Caitlyn sobbed, the tears flowing faster now.

Jane handed the girl a box of tissues from her desk and waited
for her to blow her nose.  "Can't you at least explain to me
what is going on?  I mean, there you were - falling with every
step in the high heels one moment, and then stepping out in them
like a runway model the next?  And then when I called you on it,
you were like a puppet whose strings were suddenly cut.  What is
happening?"

"I wish I could explain it, Ms. Thompson.  I mean, I truly don't
want to go to that juvenile detention place.  The day before
yesterday, when you told me I was walking in those heels?"  Jane
nodded encouragingly.  "Well, the only thing I can compare what
I felt like was Wile E. Coyote."

A shocked burble of laughter escaped Jane.  "Whhhhaaaat???"

Caitlyn hung her head.  "Stupid comparison, I know, but it was
like one second I was walking around just fine, and the next
second there was nothing under my feet but air and a yawning
chasm.  Next thing I remember is waking up with an awful
headache."

Even Jane chuckled at that.   "I take the analogy, but don't you
have any idea *why* it happened?"

There was a moment's hesitation, giving Jane some hope, but then
Caitlyn shook her head.  "If I knew the why of it, Ms. Thompson,
I would fix it.  I really don't want to go to that other place."

*And once again, I am inclined to believe you, regardless of the
fact that what you said makes very little sense.*

Jane stood and pulled her student to her feet.  "Run along to
bed, Caitlyn.  I will make inquiries about your friend tomorrow. 
If it is as you say it is, I will try to find the resources she
needs to attend that camp." *Even if I have to pay it out of my
own pocket.*

"Thank you again, Ms. Thompson."  The femininely dressed boy
seemed to hesitate again, but then turned toward the door. 
"Good night, then."

"Good night to you, too, Caitlyn.  Rest well."

The door closed behind her, and Jane moved back to her desk. 
*Well, I wonder just what I am supposed to make of that?  Maybe
Diana will know.  She's supposed to be the specialist in these
matters.*

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

The following day, two phone calls profoundly changed Jane
Thompson's view of her little world - one that she initiated,
and another that she received.

About mid morning, Jane called the dance studio mistress to
follow up on her promise to Caitlyn of the night before. 
Allison confirmed everything that Jane had been told. 
"Honestly, Jane, it is so sad because the girl is so talented
and so sweet.  She's been very adult about the summer science
camp thing, but its obvious she was very disappointed.  Her
family is trying to get more of their people away from that
awful Serbian situation so there's just not any money to be had
for something like that camp."

"Do you know when she has to appear for the tryout in order to
be selected?"

"Hmmmm. . . seems to me she said something about having to go to
the Boston Science Museum any Monday or Friday before the end of
the month."

Jane checked her calendar and did a quick calculation.  "That
means that there are less than two weeks left, and besides,
aren't you performing over that last weekend?"

"We are, but I don't think it is going to be a problem, Jane,
not for the play anyway.  Although, for her sake, I almost wish
that it was going to be a problem.  I am just glad you endow us
generously enough that I can have her here at all.  If this
place had to make money to stay open, I would be hard pressed to
take her on."

"Well. . . of course, Allison.  I am glad to help," Jane said
with a grimace.  "I have to run, dear.  I'll see you when I
bring Caitlyn in for her next class."

"I look forward to it, Jane.  She's a perfect sweetheart.  I
just wish she could dance."

*You don't know the half of it, Allison.* Jane thought as she
hung up the phone.

"You're frowning, Jane,"  Diana said softly from her seat on the
other side of the desk.  "Cait's story doesn't checkout?"

"No, nothing like that," Jane said with a sigh.  "In fact,
Allison just confirmed everything Caitlyn told me."

"So, why the long face, darling?"

Jane turned tear-bright eyes towards her friend.  "She thanked
me for my patronage. . . telling me that it was my support that
permitted her to take on students like this friend of
Caitlyn's."

Diana was out of her seat and pulling Jane up into her arms. 
"C'mon. . . I would think that would make you feel good.  What's
with the tears?"

"Because that's not why I do it, dammit!  She is giving me
credit for it, and the only reason I do it is for my own little
agenda,"  Jane said around the tears. "Something like that never
entered my mind.  I just wanted to make sure the place was there
as a torment for my boys."

Diana pulled back from Jane, giving her a piercing look.  "And
of course, your entire purpose is just that, isn't it?  You'd
never waste your money on something so insignificant as a
neighborhood dance school if it did not fit in with your
devious, malevolent little schemes," she said with heavy irony. 
"Torment those little bastards.  Make 'em suffer.  Terrorize
them and break them.  Turn them into perfect little wimps any
way you can, right?"

"Of course not!" Jane nearly shouted.  "Everything I do is to
the ultimate purpose of helping the boys, of moving them . . .
for . . . ward. . . " her voice started to lose its power and
her eyes went wide before narrowing.  She stood there in the
circle of Diana's embrace, her body unmoving.  Then, she relaxed
and rested her head on her old lover's shoulder. "Bitch."

"That's better,"  Diana said as she led Jane over to an antique
love seat and settled them both on it.  "I think it is wonderful
that in having found a way to help these boys, what you do lets
other folks benefit, too."

Jane rested her head on Diana's shoulder and closed her eyes. 
"Thanks, dear," she said softly.  "I guess I am feeling just a
little fragile right now."

"Caitlyn matters to you, Jane.  You love her, and you are
worried that you won't be able to help her.  We both know that
you aren't the iron hearted witch you want them to think that
you are.  And I agree with you about Caitlyn.  She's an enigma
and you are afraid to give up on her before you've solved that
enigma.  Well, at least she did not lie to you about that girl."

"You know something, Diana?"  Jane asked softly.  "Over the
years, I have gotten very good at spotting my boys' lies and
evasions.  I'm almost as good as a lie detector, but I can't
remember a time when I felt that Caitlyn was intentionally lying
to me.  Oh, there have been a few times when I thought she
hasn't really known the whole truth, like yesterday when she
told me she couldn't explain about the high heel incidents, but
I don't believe she has ever really tried to deceive me."

"That says a lot, I think.  Either that was an honest kid when
he got here or you have turned him around."

"But the only evidence of that is my instinct, dear.  Not
something I can take to the probation officer."

"Why not?  Aren't you a professional consultant?  You must be or
the court couldn't turn the kids over to you.  Do you doubt your
own judgment?"

"Yes. . .No. . .I mean, . . .Oh, I don't know.  This is a
helluva lot easier when they follow the plan."

"Life's like that, dear.  Trust me when I say that I understand
perfectly, but its when the therapy doesn't follow the plan that
I really earn my pay.  Trust your instincts, dear.  I think you
are right on with this child."

The two femininely turned out friends, only one of whom was
really a woman, sat in silence, simply enjoying the close
contact of holding the other.

"Diana?"  Jane finally said, her head still resting on his
shoulder. 

"Mmmmmm?" 

"How did we end up cuddling on the settee?"

A very male chuckle answered Jane, followed by a hard hug.  "I
only regret it has taken this long to get here.  I've been
trying to figure out a way to get my hands on your elegant self
since the moment I knew I was coming here."

"You WHAT??"  Jane tried to jump away, but found herself held
firmly in place.  "I thought you came here to help Caitlyn!"

"Oh, I did, I did," Diana answered with a self deprecating
chuckle.  "But I can do more than one thing at a time, dear, and
helping Caitlyn is not the only item on my personal agenda."

"You came here planning to . . .to . . .what, . . .seduce me?" 
Jane asked, with a very unwelcome quaver in her usually strong
voice.

A gentle finger pressed against Jane's lips silencing her. 
Diana moved very suddenly and pressed her mouth possessively
against Jane's before standing up and offering the stunned woman
a hand up.  "That's only part of it, Jane, and the seduction
will be verrrrry nice, too. *When* I eventually get to that. 
However, what I really came here to do, my lovely Jane, is to
court you."

With that, Diana turned on her heel and sailed from the room,
leaving a disbelieving Jane Thompson bobbing in her wake,
staring after her retreating friend.

"Court me??  Court ME??  I don't *believe* this. I don't have
*time* for this kind of distraction right now," Jane all but
moaned.  "I *really* don't have time for this."

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

For the better part of the next hour, a thoroughly confused Jane
Thompson sat in the sunlit silence of her study.  So many
things, she railed inwardly, so many things on top of yet so
many more, and she still had very little idea what to do about
*any* of them.  First there was Caitlyn, not to mention her
probation officer, then Marie's injury and now, she had to deal
with Diana declaring her semi-honorable intentions?  Lord help
her, but she couldn't think of what to do next.  

Jane rose from her seat, intent on finding Marie and asking for
her thoughts.  She had just reached the door when her private
line rang.  For the first couple of rings, Jane seriously
considered not answering and letting her service take a message,
but then she remembered that Caitlyn's mother had said she'd be
calling.

Sighing, she returned to her desk and picked up the phone. 
"Thompson Residence, Jane Thompson speaking."

"Jane!" an excited male voice called.  "This is Reggie.  I think
I have found something important."

"Good news, I hope, Reggie," Jane said quietly.

"I don't know about that, Jane, but I did finally got a lead on
what your student's been doing since he stopped going to class
with his mother.  According to the fine arts and drama teacher
at his school, he found a dance club at the local "Y".  I went
down there and talked to the woman who runs the club. 
Evidently, he's been attending lessons there for over a year."

"His mother did not say anything about that, did she?"

"She didn't know.  According to her, he's been taking martial
arts classes which happen to meet at the same time at the same
place.  My suspicion is that he actually did take the martial
arts classes for a few months until he discovered the dance
club."

"What did he do at the dance club."

"Not much outside of attend the class, according to the dancing
teacher.  He still didn't have much upper body strength, but he
worked on the male parts anyway.  One odd thing, Jane?  The
female dancers thought very highly of him, but not as a partner. 
They liked him because he was so good at helping them perfect
their own dancing."

"Odd, but that seems to be the rule with this child.  Oh well,
thanks, Reggie."

"Oh, but Jane, that is not the only reason I called.  I got some
information on the incident that put him in court.  According to
his fine arts teacher, it may not have been quite what came out
in the court."

"Oh?  The police thought it was fairly cut and dried."

"Well, he went after that guy with a baseball bat, all right. 
However, the teacher said there were some circumstances that did
not come out during the court case.  Evidently, this guy he took
out and his buddies have been really on your student's case all
school year.  They decided he was . . . well . .  That he was
not very masculine and just rode him hard about it - according
to that teacher, they really did their level at making him into
a real laughing stock at school.  She also said that she saw
them corner him on at least three occasions.  Since all of them
were physically much larger than Carlton, they really
intimidated him."

"And the ringleader of this little gang is the one that Carlton
supposedly went looking for with a baseball bat?"

"Interesting thing about that, too, Jane.  There is some
question as to whether he was looking for them with the ball
bat, or whether it was handy when he felt he needed it.  Oh, and
take three guesses who the only eyewitnesses are - but only the
first one will count."

"The other members of the gang?"

"Bingo.  After talking to that teacher, I talked to the police
detective who did the investigation and he is a loser.  Got his
supposed witnesses, submitted the case and moved on to clear the
next case off his quota.  Never questioned anything.  The DA
decided that Carlton's conviction would make for an easy win in
his campaign-promised war against school violence and pushed the
issue with the case."

"Any idea what their problem is?  The gang of jocks, that is."

"Not really.  The teacher I spoke with thinks it is just that he
is different.  She says he always moved very fluidly and had
some fairly exaggerated gestures," *Like a dancer*, Jane thought
grimly, "that those macho assholes decided was effeminate.  Easy
meat."

"Find out what else you can about the case and any extenuating
circumstances and I will take it to Judge Ruth.  It may not be
enough to get him off, but it may be enough to get that
probation officer to back off for a while longer."

"Another thing, Jane? As nearly as this teacher recalls, almost
all the trouble your boy has been in over the past year has been
either instigated by or in retaliation against this group.  Now,
that's an opinion and not really backed up by the records or by
the school administrators.  All the official record shows is
that he's been disciplined a lot in the past eighteen months or
so, but she sounds convinced that if those clowns had left him
alone, Carlton would have been fine."

"I see.  Well, let me know else you find out, Reggie.  At least
now I have a possible explanation as to why he hasn't shown all
that bad an attitude here.  Thanks, dear."

"See you, Jane."

Jane set the phone down and rose from her chair.  She needed to
clear her head.  *A walk,* she mused, *that is what I need right
now - a little fresh air and exercise.*

Part 7 The Courtship of Ms Jane Thompson

Although Jane herself did not realize it, dinner that night was
unusually quiet.  There was none of the social banter, manners
corrections, or business questions and answers that typically
spiced almost every meal at the Thompson house.  For her part,
Jane could not seem to keep her mind on any subject other than
Art/Artemis/Diana Philips.

Several times over the course of the meal, she actually caught
herself staring at the silver-tressed vision at the other end of
the dining table.  Once, Diana had caught her, and quirked an
eyebrow at Jane in silently laughing challenge.  Jane had torn
her eyes from Diana's, but not before she felt the heat of a
fiery blush coloring her face.

They'd been good together all those years ago.  Jane had forced
herself to forget just how good when she'd made the decision to
break things off with him.  A part of Jane Thompson that she did
not want to acknowledge was quietly wondering if they could be
that good again.  *Surely not,* she growled mentally.  "We're
both much older now, much more staid.  Surely those fires have
long since been reduced to embers.*  Which momentarily relieved
her anxiety, until she remembered just how her guest was
dressed, and *that* in turn, reminded her of other games that a
young Jane Thompson and Art Philips had played together. 
Memories which made her blush all the harder.

Jane had excused herself as soon as she possibly could without
appearing too rude, and had fled to the privacy of her own
apartment.  She'd been about to pour herself a stiff brandy when
she heard her door open.

"Have I driven you to drink, my love?" an amused voice said from
behind Jane.

With great deliberation, Jane removed the stopper from the
decanter and poured a perfect inch and a half into the crystal
snifter.  "May I offer you a drink?"  She asked with what she
thought was commendable control.

*What IS this???  I am not some green girl to go all fluttery
when a man tells me he is pursuing me.*  Jane thought as she
held up the decanter in offer.  *Lord, but I don't even know
what -Art- looks like because Diana's the only "one" I've seen.*

"Thank you, Jane.  That would be very nice,"  the lovely, very
femininely turned out male replied.

Diana took the proffered snifter and walked over to take a seat
on one of Jane's overstuffed chairs.  She sighed with obvious
pleasure and snuggled into its cushiony depths. "*MUCH* nicer
than those stiff backed, rock hard seated things you have in the
outer house, Dear.  Now, why don't you tell me what's bothering
you?"

Jane could not recall when she had last been so physically aware
of another person.  That alone was enough to make her glare in
repressed fury at the smiling source of her distraction.  "Damn
you, Art," she finally exploded, "Why are you doing this to me? 
What is it?  You want a lover who knows about your little dual
identity and you figure I won't freak when you come to bed in
makeup and lingerie?  Is that why you are supposedly 'courting
me'?  Because you know what I do here, putting my little boys
into frilly undies and skirts?  Does that little facet of my
persona make me somehow more convenient for you as Art and as
Diana?"

The laugh that outburst elicited from Diana oscillated between a
feminine giggle and an uncomfortably sexy masculine chuckle.
"Ah, Jane," he rasped when he'd finally regained control of
himself.  "You, my love, are about the most inconvenient woman I
have ever met.  Nope.  I simply intend to correct the single
biggest mistake of my entire life, that's all."

"And just *what* may I ask does that mean?  What mistake?"

"Lord, woman, but you do the haughty lady of the manor
perfectly." Diana set her snifter aside and rose to her feet. 
Slowly, she began to move towards Jane.  "My great mistake, dear
heart, is symbolized by the continued nudity of your left ring
finger."

To her intense embarrassment, Jane found herself rubbing said
nude finger while stepping backward, trying to keep distance
between herself and Diana.  Diana's grin only widened when
Jane's bottom came up hard against the solid, unyielding mass of
her desk.  Before she could say or do anything else, Jane found
herself being thoroughly kissed.  Her last rational thought for
the next several dizzy minutes was that she'd forgotten how nice
lipstick on lipstick felt.

When Diana finally broke the kiss, that damnably satisfied male
grin made Jane want to slap him - and she would have - if her
corn mush brain could have found her hands at that moment.

"Letting you walk out of my life without a fight.  Stupidest
damned thing I have ever done.  Don't expect to escape this
time, Darling.  I intend to make you Mrs. Philips, or is that
make myself Mrs. Thompson?  Or maybe Thompson-Philips. Or is
that Philips-Thompson perhaps?"

"Would you please STOP that?"  Jane *did* scream that time.

"Okay.  For now.  We can pick it up tonight after the girls are
in bed."  Diana planted a quick kiss to Jane's cheek and then
returned to her seat.  So, now that we've dealt with my evil
designs on your lovely, delicate and nubile self, I guess that
it is Caitlyn that is still bothering you?"

"Not so nubile anymore, Diana, and it's both you and Caitlyn.  I
don't know what to do to solve the problem posed by either of
you."

"Well, since I refuse to work against my own interests, and
since I *know* you are going to fight me tooth and nail as long
as one of your cubs is in jeopardy, Momma Bear, why don't we sit
down and try to catalog what it is we really know about," and
here Diana dropped her voice by octaves,  "the Caitlyn Enigma."

"You make this sound like Robert Ludlum mystery thriller."

"Just so.  You want to write or shall I?"

For a very long time, Jane stood very still.  "I am serious
about that, Jane," Diana finally said to break the impasse.  "I
think it is time we tried to put down everything we know that
makes her unique.  Maybe we can start pulling things together
and making connections."  When Jane still did not move, Diana
sat forward and ordered, "Sit!  I promise not to jump your bones
tonight, if that is what you're worried about."

Jane seemed to shake herself and then nodded.  "Very well. 
Okay, Doctor," she said, assuming a seat on the opposite side of
the coffee table from Diana.  "How do we start?"

"At the beginning.  We know that he was tried for assault."

"Yes," Jane murmured, "but something I learned today has bearing
on that."  And Jane reviewed her earlier call from her
investigator student.

"So, he quit dancing for no apparent reason, tried to do
something else, i.e., the martial arts, but then was back in a
dance class within a few months.  Covertly.  Okay, let's put
that together with what else we know about dance."

"He evidently was quite talented in both of his classes before
he came here, and obviously, he does very well in his private,
late night recitals, but is hopelessly inept at the class he
takes here."

"Except when he's lost in the music and alone,"  Diana added. 
"Also, we know that he likes going to class, well enough that he
would ask you to take him."

"That just may be a result of the fact that he is well-liked as
a person by the other students."

"Perhaps.  I'll note it down.  All right, let's move on to other
anomalies."

"Cosmetics and moving about in heels,"  Jane offered.

They spent a good twenty minutes going over Caitlyn's history in
those two areas, carefully revisiting each time that the boy had
been able to perform effectively in either.

"So, the only times you've seen him put on relatively complex
make up was on those videotapes of him dancing."

"He did a relatively nice job at the hospital, but that wasn't
all that difficult.  Actually, it was quite subtle."

"Very odd," Diana said.  "No other issues with clothing or
grooming?  I mean, I have watched her and she seems to be quite
comfortable in the skirts and dresses she wears.  She sits and
moves like quite the lady."

"She's been in them for over five months, Diana,"  Jane said
with some disgust.  "I would hope she would have learned to wear
them correctly by this time."

"She doesn't move in heels or wear cosmetics yet, Jane.  It may
mean nothing.  So, other than the make up she has to put on
herself, there was no problem with hair or anything like that?"

"No, not rea . . . "  Jane stopped in mid sentence.  "You know,
there was an incident, although at the time I simply put it down
as the expected, if somewhat more obstinate, reaction of a boy
being put into curls.  The second month he was here, I took him
to the beauty parlor.  I was starting to get unhappy with his
progress and wanted to do something that would really  get his
attention."

"Ah, the metaphoric 'two-by-four' in the face rule of
leadership?"

"Yes.  Well, you see what relatively long hair she has?  Well, I
was going to have Sandy turn it into a mass of curls - really
"Shirley Temple" her.  Sandy started to cut her hair and Caitlyn
just lost it on me.  I arrived there and saw her, still with the
white protective sheet about her, standing in the corner facing
off with Sandy.  Nothing we could do or say would get her back
into that chair, and short of restraining her to the chair once
we got her there, we couldn't have gone near her safely with a
sharp implement.  She  simply would not agree to cooperate or
move from that corner until she had extracted my word that Sandy
wouldn't cut her hair."

"Evidently you kept your word."  Diana said with approval.

"I learned early that you can never tell a direct lie or fail to
keep a promise with these kids.  She still got a very "big hair"
set, but she looked more like Farrah Fawcett than Shirley
Temple.  Unfortunately, that did not bother her very much, even
when every adolescent male within twenty yards of us at the mall
gawked at her."

"So, her hair being long was important to her.  Important
enough, again, to dare your wrath.  Interesting.  That's it?"

"As far as clothing and grooming goes.  Betty Franson reached
her at the Dress Shoppe, but then, putting on fifteen or twenty
dresses in a semi-public room is daunting even if you don't have
something odd hidden in your panties.  Other than that, she does
most other things passably. . .quite well, in fact.  She cooks
and cleans up without a fuss, keeps her room neat and doesn't
mind helping Marie keep the place dusted and the like.  Oh, and
she nurses Marie like a cross between Florence Nightingale and
Hypolyta, Queen of the Amazons."

"Quite a conundrum your Caitlyn, Jane.  You know, it seems to me
that an awful lot of his troubles date back to when he suddenly
stopped going to dance class with his Mother.  At least if your
investigator's source - who was that?  The fine arts teacher?"
Jane nodded and Diana continued, "If her account is accurate."

"She is only one person, Diana, and she is the only one who
mentioned anything of the kind."

"True, true," Diana agreed.  "Still, I would sure like to know
why she quit dancing as abruptly as she did."

"Well, I can ask.  In fact, I am still expecting a call from her
Mother."

Diana nodded, and then looked at the clock on Jane's mantle. 
"My goodness, look how late it's gotten.  I must be off to my
bed.  We'll think more clearly about this tomorrow after a nice
hot bath and a good night's sleep."  She rose and blew a coy
kiss in Jane's direction.  "Nightie-night, sweetheart.  Dream
lovely hot and sexy dreams about me." And with a saucy wink, she
was gone.

For the second time that day, a speechless Jane Thompson watched
as her former lover sauntered out the door of her rooms.  "I
really, really don't *believe* this," she said again in great
exasperation.  "And I *don't* have *time* for this right now."

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

Morpheus refused to visit Jane and grant her repose.  Her every
nerve was on edge; every muscle was wire-taut.  She'd given up
laying down and was prowling her quarters like an enraged
lioness.  "How *dare* he do this to me?" she snarled more than
once.

"I refuse to let him get to me this way," she told herself and
headed back to her bedroom.  On her way to her huge canopied
bed, Jane happened to glance and see herself in the mirror, and
stopped dead in her tracks.

Jane was not a vain woman, but what she saw in that mirror at
that moment was certainly worthy of vanity.  A lifetime of horse
riding and keeping up with energetic teenagers had kept her body
trim and firm.  The filmy nightgown and peignoir hugged her
tight curves and small waist.  Her long auburn hair hung loose
and free.  Her eyes were wild and her mouth was open.  *My god,*
she thought, *I am literally panting.*

"DAMN the man!" she spit out as she stormed out of her bedroom
toward the hall doorway.  "He's not getting away with this. 
There is simply *no* way he is going to get the better of me!"

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

Diana hadn't been able to sleep either.  The supposed remedy for
what was currently ailing him, a freezing cold shower, had twice
failed to cool his blood.  So he'd slipped on a silk robe and
had taken a seat by the bed to read.  Without much more success.

"That has to be the fifth time I've tried to read that page," he
sighed.  Just then, the door to his room slammed open.  His head
snapped up in time to see a wild-haired valkyrie in black satin
and silk bearing down on him, raw fire burning in her eyes.

He started to stand.  "Janeeeee??" was all he managed to get out
before his mouth was being ravished.  For her part, Jane never
even slowed, all but tackling her prey and carrying him bodily
to the bed where she followed him down onto the thick, satin-
slippery comforter, her mouth still locked with his, her hands
running wild over him. 

A long time later, they lay entwined, their bodies damp and
replete from their loving.  "Next time,"  Jane murmured, "I want
you properly made up.  I like the way you taste with lipstick
on."

The chuckle that answered her was pure male.  "Glad you know
that there will be a next time, sweet Jane."

"I am stubborn, Artemis/Diana, but I am not stupid.  The only
way you are sleeping alone anytime from now until the end of
your vacation is if you fall asleep in the sun by the pool."

Jane gave a soft, throaty giggle that would have amazed any of
her boys, and then shimmied herself to get a little closer to
her lover's body.  His instantaneous male response pleased her
greatly.  "Hey, Janey, be careful, or I won't let you go to
sleep for another hour or so,"  Diana warned.

Jane repeated the movement, more slowly and deliberately this
time.  "Oh, promises, promises, old man," she teased.

"OLD MAN??" he growled pulling her closer.  "I'll show you who's
old, missy."

Well over the aforementioned hour later, a sleepy voice sighed. 
"Tomorrow night, sweetheart.  I will make myself up for you
tomorrow night."

Only a soft, purringly feminine snore answered.

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

Jane managed to slip back to her own rooms just before dawn so
no one in the house knew where and how she'd spent the night. 
Of course, when she couldn't quite keep the goofy smile off her
face at the breakfast table, she figured she'd given the game
away.

Actually, all *that* did was terrify Caitlyn and unnerve Darla. 
Neither be-skirted boy could begin to imagine what newly devised
terror of Jane's would make her smile like *that*, and all the
time, too.

Jane would have been pleased to know her reputation was still
working for her, if she'd been at all concerned such minor
matters, but Jane was too caught up in the throes of
rediscovered love.  As a result, the day, for the most part,
passed uneventfully.  Marie had to go to the doctor's office for
a checkup, and Caitlyn was due at dancing class.  Jane took
Marie in the station wagon and Diana drove Caitlyn in Jane's
Lincoln.  

Dance class went much as the last one had with nothing new noted
by Diana's keen, if covert, surveillance.  The day's best news
was that Marie had been given permission to get up and move
around on crutches.  The only admonition had been to take it
easy when her knee started to hurt too much.

It was still too soon for her to be able to resume running the
household, but Caitlyn once again had a solution.  "You can sit
in the kitchen or where ever, and supervise me.  I'll be your
legs until you are moving around more easily."

"*You* just want to be close by so that you can nag me back into
a chair when ever *you* think I am overdoing, cherie.  You don't
fool me for an instant, Miss,"  Marie had accused, waggling an
admonitory finger at the unrepentant Caitlyn.

"It'll work," was Caitlyn's pert retort.

"And an excellent solution since I know you all too well,
Marie,"  Jane had interjected with a stern look at her best
friend.  "I think I can count on Caitlyn to keep you on the
short leash you need just now."

"HAH!  Short leash?!?  More like keeping hold of the scruff of
my neck."  Under the power of Jane's unblinking stare, Marie
finally subsided.  "Oh, all right, but just you wait, cherie,
until I am on my feet again.  I have had all this time to study
glamor magazines and I have found some make up tricks that will
look just *wonderful* on you.  I can't *wait* to show you off
all fixed up like that."

The threat had been made in a teasing tone with a wide, cheerful
smile on Marie's face.  No one in the room could possibly have
taken her words as a threat of actual retribution.  No one
except Caitlyn, who again went rigid and lost all the color in
her cheeks.  "I . . . I'm sorry, Ms. Marie," she managed to
choke out.  "I . . I didn't mean to impose."

Marie immediately hobbled over to the girl and took her in her
arms, crutches dangling.  "Ah, cherie, don't worry.  I was just
fooling with you.  I promise, I won't do anything like that,
okay?"

Jane watched as her student slowly relaxed under Marie's
ministrations and promises.  Finally, she nodded roughly. "Okay,
then," Marie said more brusquely.  Now, into my kitchen with
you.  You haven't *too* done badly in my absence, but I want to
cook my own dinner tonight."

"All right, Ms. Marie,"  Caitlyn said softly.

Marie nodded as she began moving toward the kitchen.  "And
Caitlyn?"

"Yes, Ms. Marie?"

"My friends have the privilege of using my given name.  I would
be pleased and honored if you would call me Marie.

Only Jane saw the look of utter disbelief during the barest
instant before an explosion of joy that lit her student's face.

*And another unfitted piece of the puzzle becomes visible.*

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

The house was redolent with wonderful smells and aromas,
indicating Marie was return to power in her kitchenly domain,
when the phone in Jane's office rang.

Jane answered the phone.  "Ms. Thompson?  This is Eleanora
Jeffries."

*Well, I knew this was coming.* "Good afternoon, Mrs. Jeffries. 
I am glad you called."

"Perhaps you won't be so very glad after I have my say, Ms.
Thompson." Jane could hear the suppressed emotion in the other
woman's voice.  "I want to know what is happening with my son. 
I was given to understand that most of your students are all but
finished with your program after five months.  I have been
expecting you to get in touch with me regarding travel plans and
such for his return home, but I have not heard anything from you
in over a month when you told me he was having problems, but
trying."

*And there's not much more I can say at this time, either,* Jane
thought.  "Yes, Mrs. Jeffries.  That is true, however, I have
had students stay much longer than five months as well." 

"Ms. Thompson, I am not talking about other students.  I am
talking about *my* son who has a sentence to juvenile hall
hanging over his head.  Now, I have this private investigator
saying that he is representing you asking questions about my
son.  I want to know exactly what is going on, Ms. Thompson."

*Remember to call him Carlton, Jane,* she reminded herself. *The
Jeffries only got a very sketchy idea of what it is that I do
here because Ruth wanted to make sure they'd accept the
bargain.* "Carlton has shown some improvement since last we
spoke, Mrs. Jeffries.  Not as much as I would like, but I am
definitely not displeased with he. . .him."

"Ms. Thompson." and now Mrs. Jeffries voice became icy cold.
"What . . . is . . .my . . . son . . .failing . . .to . . do?"

*Damn.  How can I tell her that her son doesn't walk well in
high heels, can't seem to put on make up properly and oh by the
way, seems to be hiding the fact that *he* is a very
accomplished and skilled _ballerina_!?!?!* "If you will recall,
I told you that my program was aimed at developing grace and
manners under pressure."

"My son, except for when he has been forced to protect himself
from a vicious attack by those bullies, is a perfect gentleman,
Ms. Thompson.  As for *grace*, my son has studied dance for
almost ten years and he was superb at it.  Unless he has had a
late growth spurt, I cannot believe that there is *anything*
deficient in his grace of movement."

"No growth spurt, Mrs. Jeffries,"  Jane responded honestly. 
"But he has not shown any of that grace in public."

"Mrs. Thompson.  I am ticketed on the next flight to Providence. 
I have reservations with the hotel in Kingston.  I will expect
you to call upon me there tomorrow morning at ten.  Unless you
do, I will be on your doorstep by eleven."

"That violates your agreement with Ruth, Mrs. Jeffries.  I could
vacate his suspended sentence and ship him immediately off to
that juvenile hall."  Jane hoped she'd believe that threat
because there was no way Jane would ever do it - at least not
until she had solved the Caitlyn Enigma.

"So what?  According to that probation officer, my son is mere
days away from that happening anyway.  This way, I will at least
know what was so unacceptable about my son that the woman who
Judge Ruth praised to the heavens as the savior of countless
boys has been unable to help him."

"I see," Jane said very quietly and then sighed.  "Very well.  I
will see you tomorrow at ten, but for the sake of your son, Mrs.
Jeffries, please stay away from my house.  Whatever chance I
still have to help your son could well go down the drain if he
sees you in his current situation."

"Then I will expect you to be there, Ms. Thompson.  And I would
suggest you explain to me in some detail exactly what this so-
called situation of his is all about.  Perhaps it just might be
better for him to be in juvenile hall.  At least there I could
keep an eye on his keepers and hold *them* to account for what
they were doing for and to my son."

"I will see you tomorrow," Jane repeated stolidly.  "Good bye."

Jane set the phone down, her knuckles white under the strain,
her eyes stinging and burning from repressed tears.  That was
how Diana found her.  "Jane, what is the matter?"  Diana asked
as she moved to her lover's side.

"Oh, God, Diana,"  Jane said, her voice little more than a harsh
whisper.  "I am going to lose Caitlyn before I even get the
chance to figure out how to help her."

"Settle down, dear. Come over to the sofa and tell me all about
it,"  Diana said gently as she moved Jane firmly away from her
phone.

"That was Caitlyn's Mother. . ."

Part 8 Caitlyn Breaks and the Puzzle Fits

A knock on his door brought Darryl out of a lovely daydream. 
He'd been thinking about college, and more importantly, college
girls.  One problem with being schooled at home and living as
Darla in order to help Aunt Jane with her program was the lack
of *real* girls in *Darryl's* life.  The few times he had been
out among girls as a guy, he'd done rather well, even if he did
say so himself.  Jane's program had given him a very unique view
of the feminine outlook and the ladies seemed to sense that
about him . . . and to *like* it about him . . . a LOT!

So, he was not in a particularly good mood when, after checking
his appearance in the mirror to ensure that Darla looked
adequately 'winsome', she opened her door to "Caitlyn?"

"Hi, Darla,"  Caitlyn said quietly.  "I am sorry to bother you,
but I need some help and I don't know where else to turn."

"What can I do for you, Caitlyn?"

"I want to work on walking in heels some more.  Maybe if I can
do that, Ms. Thompson will give me more time to get past the
make up thing, but I know I will need help to do it without
killing myself."

*Uh oh.*  "Ummm, why not ask Jane?  She'd be tickled that you
were willing to try without being told to do it."

Caitlyn shook her head sadly.  "No, because of the two times
when Marie was hurt, she thinks I am faking this."  Suspiciously
glittering eyes looked up into Darla's own.  "I'm not, though. 
HONEST, Darla.  I don't want to go to that prison for underage
males."

*Lord, why do I want to believe her?* Darla silently lamented. 
*No, it's more than that - I *do* believe her.  The question is,
why do I actually believe her?*  Sighing at her own gullibility,
Darla began to open her door when she remembered the sports
pages strewn all across Darla's bed.  *Ooops.*

"How about we do it in your room, Caitlyn?  Then we can try all
your shoes and see if a particular style makes any difference." 
*Don't know why it would, but hey, try anything in a crisis.*

"Oh, thank you, Darla!"  That blinding smile was back. "Can we
do it right now?"

Shrugging, Darla smiled in return.  "Sure.  Let's do it and
surprise the heck out of Aunt Jane for a change."

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

"So, you have deceived the parents in all this?"  Diana asked in
a very flat voice. 

"Strictly speaking, I suppose you can say that.  We, that is,
Ruth and I, just did not explicitly tell them what my program
really entailed.  We've had problems before with . . . non-
voluntary parents in the past.  They have a tendency to show up
at awkward times in the boy's rehabilitation, interfering in the
program, and in general, making a difficult job much harder.  In
one case, one woman loudly chastised me in front of the child. 
Such nonsense encourages a child who is already inclined to be
rebellious to continue fighting me.  The mother who chewed me
out in front of her son finally had to be put on a restraining
order to keep her away from my home.  The next time she
contacted her child without my express permission, the boy was
to have been dispatched to juvenile lockup until his eighteenth
birthday.  And at that, her interference literally cost the boy
almost half a year. Ultimately, I had to keep him in skirts for
over a year before we achieved a turnaround with him."

"So, you don't believe in your own program strongly enough to be
able to sell it to parents who are already in a situation where
they are willing to accept almost anything to avoid court
ordered incarceration?"  Diana asked in sardonic tones. 
"Please, Jane, don't take me for a fool.  We both know that's
not why you've elected to keep the parents in the dark about the
specifics of what it is you do to these boys."

"Well, what is your opinion on why *I* do something *I* know
works, Doctor."  Every word dripped in ice that belied the angry
fire in Jane's eyes.

Diana shrugged.  "You just said it, dear.  You know it works. 
It is easier for you to do it this way.  Not easier for the
parents, especially for caring parents, but you get off more
easily."

Stung by those words, and not wanting to admit their validity,
Jane struck back.  "I can't risk my other students.  If those
parents don't already have a stake in keeping my secret, how can
I entrust my other boys' lives and reputations to them?  And
what about the boy in question, eh?  At least my way, it is his
choice to tell his parents what happened here with me and why it
happened, but *only* after he has graduated and understands what
the experiences did for him as a person."

"Your other boys are safe, Jane.  Ruth can easily protect them
by forcing a pre-indoctrination agreement on the prospective
participants. They simply have to sign a contract never to
reveal anything about the program, regardless of whether they
accept the deal or not.  If they refuse to sign, they aren't
told anything substantive about the program and their little
darling goes behind the metaphoric cold steel bars of juvy.  As
for the current boy, your argument is valid *if* the boy
graduates, but suppose you fail, as you seem to think you will
with Caitlyn.  *Then* what do you do?  Explain to his parents
that your program consists of a very heavy dose of petticoat
discipline and all that entails?  Even worse, that your best
efforts did not work with their boy?"  Diana's voice became low,
gravelly-rough and stereotypically redneck male in tone,  "Well,
o'course my *boy* didn't get nothin' outta your stupid program,
you idjit woman.  My boy is a *man*.  Damn fool stupid females."

"Diana!"

Diana resumed her normal light alto voice.  "And in that case,
you *won't* be able to protect your other boys or Judge Ruth  or
anyone else who has ever been involved with you because you have
no legal or emotional hold on the boy or his parents."

Jane went very still as she digested Diana's words.  "I have
never thought of it like that before."

"You've never had to deal with court directed psychological
therapies.  Trust me, we head shrinkers have learned these
lessons the hard way."

"So what do I do tomorrow with Mrs. Jeffries?"  Jane asked
wearily.

"I go with you, as Art, and let my sheepskin and research
experience support you.  We argue for more time with the boy,
and then, we do whatever it takes to get that probation officer
off your back for at least another three months."

"Oh, I don't know, Diana.  Short of lying, I don't know what I
could do to keep him."

"So lie,"  Diana said with ringing conviction. "Your first
responsibility is to the child.  Do you believe that the
alternative is better for that boy than what you do here?"  Jane
hesitated, uncertain how to respond.  Her personal ethics and
legal responsibilities warring inside her.  "Do you really
believe that, Jane?"  Diana repeated very gently.

Taking a deep, heaving breath, Jane shook her head.  "No," she
replied in a barely audible voice.  "That sweet child would
wither and die in that place."

"So what are you going to do?"

Jane walked back over to Diana and weakly hugged her, resting
her head against her lover's shoulder.  "I guess I'll lie."

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

Darla was doing her level best not to scream out her frustration
at Caitlyn.  For the past hour, they had been trying to find a
pair of heels the girl could walk in.  Now, she was standing by
watching Caitlyn lace up a pair of high heeled calf-length boots
that Darla had loaned to her.

*If I hadn't seen her walking - hell - *running* in those heels
when Marie acted like she was hurt, there is no way I would
believe this person could ever walk in these things.*

"Ready?"  She asked, trying to keep the resignation out of her
voice.

"I. . .I think so."  Caitlyn answered with a quaver.  "Here
goes."  She pushed herself off the bed with her hands and
struggled momentarily for balance.

Darla waited for Caitlyn to manage the two steps to where she
was standing so that they could try one more time.

Caitlyn never made it.  The heel of her right foot went out from
under her as she made that crucial second step, sending her
toppling over backward.  Darla was just a step too far away to
catch her and Caitlyn crashed the back of her head against the
edge of her mattress.

Momentarily stunned, it took Caitlyn a few moments to clear her
head sufficiently to realize that Darla was yelling at her. 
"I'm o. ..okay," she managed to get out. "Just hit my head on
the mattress is all."

Relief washed over Darla like a cold shower.  Slowly she stepped
back, intending to offer Caitlyn a hand up and saw her position. 
Caitlyn was sprawled on the floor, her back resting against the
bed, her legs spread-eagled on the floor with the pointed toes
of the high heeled shoes pointing to the stars.  Darla thought
she looked for all the world like some character out of a
children's cartoon.  All that was missing were images of stars
and planets spinning about her head. The combination of
adrenalin-drop, the situation and her own terror did Darla in. 
She began to laugh, almost hysterically, in her relief that her
friend was actually unhurt.

"What are you laughing at?!?"  Caitlyn yelled.  Darla couldn't
seem to stop and could only gesture helplessly.  "ME?  You are
laughing at ME??"  Caitlyn began scrambling to her knees, her
face a mask of fury and hurt.  "Damn you! Stop laughing at me! I
thought *you* at least my friend!  Ms. Thompson said other
people would laugh at the boy in skirts, but I thought *you*
were different. I thought you, at least, cared about me!  DAMN
YOU!!"

An open hand slap to her cheek rocked Darla back on her
haunches.  Suddenly, she was being pelted by flying missiles as
Caitlyn launched lipsticks, powder pots and bottles of all sizes
at her adversary, all the time screaming for her friend to stop
laughing at her.

Not knowing what else to do, Darla launched herself at Caitlyn
to try and restrain her, grateful for the fact that she, at
least, was in flats.   She just wished she had paid more
attention when Kenneth, or rather Kendra as she was known in
Jane's house, had offered to teach her the basics of that
martial art thing that Kendra had once used to restrain an
enraged Darla.

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

"JANE!!  DIANA!!  HELP ME!"

Instantly recognizing both the terror and the fact that it was
Darryl, not Darla who was calling, Jane was heading for the
stairs before the words had finished reverberating about the
house.  *Oh, God, not another one. Not another Michael* she
prayed as she ran.

Diana reached the bedroom door just behind Jane.  There was
Darla, her arms and legs wrapped around a wildly struggling
Caitlyn from behind.  "Help me. I can't calm her down and she's
damnably strong."

Almost immediately, Diana left the doorway and ran down the
hall.  Jane moved towards the bed, oblivious to the brass and
broken bits of ceramic and crystal that littered the floor. 
"Easy, Caitlyn,"  She said, trying to relax the girl.  "It's all
right now."

Before she could say anything else, Diana returned to the room
and pushed in front of Jane.  In swift, practiced movements, she
daubed Caitlyn's arm with an aromatic pad and then plunged a
hypodermic needle into the just sanitized skin.

"What was that?"  Jane asked as Caitlyn seemed to begin relaxing
almost instantly.

"Sedative.  We use it with some of our more violent penal system
patients when they lose it for some reason during therapy.  Very
fast acting with no side or after effects."  Diana told her
briskly.  "You can let her go now, Darla.  Here, let me help you
get her up onto the bed."

"What happened?"  Jane finally asked.  Tearfully, Darla reviewed
the events leading up to Caitlyn's break.

"So, it was the laughter that set her off?"  Diana asked.

Darla nodded shakily.  "It was like an electrical switch got
thrown."

"Okay.  Jane?  One of the effects of that drug in some folks is
that they become very suggestable - almost like sodium
pentothal.

"You mean truth serum?"  Darla asked, her eyes wide.

Smiling gently, Diana replied, "Not quite, but she might answer
some of the questions that are bothering us if we can phrase
them properly for her almost sleeping mind.  Now, you two, get
out of here. The fewer things to distract her right now, the
better."

Darla went, but Jane hesitated, not wanting to leave her boy
like this.  "I will take very good care of her for you, Janey, I
promise.  You can watch in your study, but this is something I
should do alone."

Finally, Jane nodded, and without another word, left the room.

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

An hour later, Diana came into Jane's study and walked straight
to the bar.  She poured herself a brandy before turning and
silently offering up the decanter to Jane.  "I'll take one, too,
dear," Jane said softly.

"Well,"  Diana said after a bracing sip of the fiery liquid.  "I
would say that our visit with Mrs. Jeffries just became
critically important."

"Oh?  Why?  I could hear you, but I could barely make out what
it was that Caitlyn said to you."

"His mother is why he dropped out of ballet the first time."

"WHAT?"

"Evidently he decided that he was hurting her by continuing to
go to dance class.  It seems that the dance teacher began paying
a lot of attention to him at some point in time, and he saw his
mother appear to react negatively to that attention a few times. 
He also has convinced himself that her reaction had to do with
dance movements that he was capable of performing that his
mother no longer could."

"You think he quit because he believed he was hurting her
feelings?"

"That's part of it.  Unfortunately, he fell completely asleep
before I could get all of it out of him, and what I did get is a
little confused.  Jane?  According to your investigator, what
parts did Carlton dance?"

"Hmmm. ..let me see."  Jane rummaged around for the faxed copies
of Reggie's reports.  She ruffled through them until she found
what she was looking for.  "Well, it doesn't really say for the
period when he was dancing with his Mother.  When he went to the
Y, the report is that he worked at the male parts, but wasn't
strong enough physically to partner as a soloist.  Oh yes, and
it says that he refused to participate in performances anyway."

Diana sat down and closed her eyes in deep thought.  "There is
something there that I am just not seeing."

"Yes, I know what you mean.  It is strange though, that the
earlier dance teacher at the dedicated studio thought so highly
of him when the second one at a club at the Y said he wasn't
strong enough."

Diana's eyes went wide.  "Oh. . My. . .God."

"What is it??"  Jane demanded.

"He thought his performance was hurting his mother's feelings. 
Why would he think that?  A male dancer is not a threat to a
ballerina."

"Oh, Diana, you aren't thinking that he was dancing . ."

"Female roles?"  Diana asked, certainty growing by the instant. 
"Yes, I think that is it.  That would explain why the boy is so
proficient en pointe when boys are never taught to go on
tiptoe."

"Heels?"

"Remind him subconsciously of going on toe point.  Vivid
cosmetics remind him of stage make up.  Short hair can't be
styled into a dancer's knot."

"He's protecting his Mother?  But what about the fighting?  The
ball bat and his reaction to laughter?"

"I am not sure about those.  They may not be entirely related. 
I mean, look at the way the boy moves normally."

"Like a dancer,"  Jane said flatly.

"Like a very good dancer.  That's instinctual - it is how his
muscles know how to move.  It certainly isn't the ponderous
tread of the testosterone poisoned adolescent male animal.  He'd
stand out, be different.  He's also small in stature and
naturally quiet.  He'd be, as your investigator friend put it so
succinctly, easy meat for the bullies of the world."

"Sometimes you have to fight when you're a man,"  Jane quoted.

"Just so,"  Diana added, then caught the pensive look in her
friend's face.  "Is that significant?"

"Might be."  Jane replied before she related the discussion
she'd had with her student during her impromptu massage.

"Parental pressure to defend himself?  That fits.  He's trying
to please them even when it is against his own desires and
feelings."

"What was that?  I don't understand."

"Look at all the evidence, Jane.  Except for the very specific
activities that might relate to or remind him of dance, how does
he behave?"

"Very well.  Caitlyn is quite the perfect lady."

"Exactly.  I have watched her.  She is happy doing the little
feminine rituals you impose on your students. She cooks
wonderfully, presents food like a chef, doesn't mind cleaning up
and loves mothering Marie.  Have you tried her on any feminine
crafts?"

Jane nodded.  "Water colors and embroidery.  She thoroughly
enjoyed them.  That's why I stopped doing those.  They relaxed
her and I needed her to feel stressed."

Diana chuckled softly.  "Which you will probably never achieve
with that one.  Girls don't get stressed out doing girl things,
Janey."

"But he's *not* really a girl," Jane retorted.  Diana said
nothing. "Oh, no, Diana.  I have had transvestites - that is,
fetishistic crossdressers - before and the act of dressing up
excited them.  Carlton hasn't had a single nocturnal emission
since he arrived.  Marie checks."

"I did not say transvestite, nor have I mentioned anything
related to fetishism, Jane.  I said 'girl'.  Except when you've
stepped on the dance landmine, every time I have seen that girl
she's been happy."

"But . . .but. ."

"But nothing.  This is only a working hypothesis, Jane.  That's
why we need to talk to Mom tomorrow.  She can help us reach some
conclusions about what to do next.  One thing I am sure of,
Jane, is that there is *no* way that child belongs in a juvenile
detention institution.  It must have taken a helluva lot to push
him or her over the edge like that.  It *had* to be self
defense."

"All right.  I can accept that.  Now, what about Caitlyn for
now?"

"Darla is sitting with her.  She wants to be there when the
sedative wears off so that she can apologize.  That's okay -
Darla needs the closure, but in reality, the whole incident has
been fortuitous.  At least now, we have some idea of what is
driving that child.  Now, we can begin to help her confront and
deal with the real problems in her life."

"And if you are right, those problems are huge."

"Depends on how Mom reacts.  A loving family can help smooth
many a rough road.  Based on how she chewed on you yesterday, I
am inclined to think this Mom is quite the bulldozer."  Diana
rose and held out her hand to Jane.  "C'mon.  Let's go help
Marie with dinner.  Caitlyn will have all three of our
collective asses if we let her beloved Ms. Marie overdo because
we were wasting time fretting over Caitlyn and not over Marie."

Part 9 Caitlyn's Mother

A groan and a whimper roused Darla who had been dozing in the
same chair that Jane had used only a few nights earlier when she
had kept watch on the sleeping Caitlyn.  Caitlyn stretched and
then started fully awake.  "Who's there?"  she asked into the
darkness.

"It's me . . .  Darla."

"Oh, you," and the voice went very dull.

"Caitlyn, I want to apologize to you for laughing like I did.  I
wasn't laughing at you, really I wasn't.  I was just so scared
that you had really hurt yourself when you fell, and then you
were all right . . .."  Darla's voice broke and she took a deep
breath to control her own emotion.  "Well, when you were all
right, I was just so relieved and happy that all I could do was
laugh.  I am sorry I hurt you."

There was a long, very uncomfortable silence that had Darla
squirming before Caitlyn finally responded.  "That's the truth? 
You aren't just saying that because Ms. Thompson told  you to
apologize?"

"Please trust me, Caitlyn, I would *never* laugh at anyone who
came a cropper trying to follow one of Jane's orders,"  Darla
said fervently.

Caitlyn again went silent, and for a moment, Darla wondered if
she had fallen back to sleep.  "You are very strong, Darla, for
your size.  You held me down quite easily."

"Not so very easily, girlfriend," Darla replied, just a hint of
a laugh in her voice.  "You are tough!"

"That's why you really wouldn't laugh at someone like me, even
though Ms. Thompson told me anyone who figured out that I really
was a boy all this stuff would laugh, because you are like me,
aren't you?  You are really a boy under that make up and
nightgown."  There was no question or doubt in Caitlyn's voice,
simply quiet certainty.

Darla thought about trying to lie her way out of it, but in the
end, decided there was little point.  "My real name is Darryl,"
he said simply.  "And everything you've been asked to do, I have
been asked to do as well.  That's why I was not laughing *at*
you this afternoon and why I would never laugh at you - period. 
I was laughing at the situation and from an overdose of relief."

"Thank you, Darryl.  I accept your apology even though I now
understand that none was owed."

"Thank you, Caitlyn, and it might just be best if Aunt Jane did
not know you know I am a boy.  She's under a lot of pressure
right now about your progress in the program, and one of the
main ideas of her method is an older sister who is really a boy
helping the new kid.  If she thought you had figured out I am a
guy, she might decide there wasn't any point in continuing you
in the program.  She wouldn't want to, but she might feel
legally obligated, you know?  In this case, what Aunt Jane
doesn't know won't hurt you, okay?"

"Okay," Caitlyn said, a smile in her voice.  "*Darla*."

"Great.  Are you going to be okay?  This chair really stinks and
my back is begging me to go find my own bed before I'm crippled
by the thing."

"Sure.  Sweet dreams, Darla, and thanks again." 

Somehow, without either boy-girl being precisely certain what
motivated them, the pair shared what could only be described as
a sisterly hug.  They broke apart with shy smiles, but without
really feeling any embarrassment, again surprising both of them.

Darla stepped back and moved to the door.  "No problem, little
sister, and don't worry about Aunt Jane.  I will figure out a
way to keep you around until she can honestly tell Judge Ruth
that you are all better.  Even if I have to break my leg so that
*I* need little Miss Nurse Caitie.  'Night, Caitlyn."

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

Jane and Diana stood in the hotel lobby, waiting for the
elevator.  "Are you really sure that Art wouldn't be a better
advocate?"  Jane asked for the twentieth time since Diana had
appeared for breakfast announcing that *she*, not Art would
accompany Jane that morning.

"As sure as I can be, dear.  We may still need Art, but in this
context, having Art spring forth from Diana may help our
position.  We will have to play it by ear."

The elevator door swooshed open and took them rapidly to Mrs.
Jeffries' floor.  Pushing back any uncertainty, Jane strode over
to the appropriate door and knocked.

Jane recognized the petite, slender brunette who answered the
door.  In many ways, she strongly reminded her of Caitlyn,
except for Caitlyn's currently blond colored locks.  The same
facial bones, the same eyes, the same basic body type, and yet,
Jane could feel the power burning inside the other woman and
knew that Mrs. Jeffries had come ready for battle. 

Femma e femma for her son's well being.

"Hello, Mrs. Jeffries.  May we come in?"

Without a word, the shorter woman stood aside and let Jane lead
Diana into the suite's sitting room.  Jane stopped and indicated
her escort.  "Mrs. Jeffries, may I introduce Dr. Philips who is
a practicing psychologist-therapist and my very good friend? 
And Diana?  This is Mrs. Eleanora Jeffries, Carlton's Mother."

Both women mumbled a polite pleasantry and soon all were seated,
looking uncomfortably at one another.  Finally, at a prod from
Diana, Jane spoke up.  "I feel, Mrs. Jeffries, that I should
begin by telling you more about how I undertake to rehabilitate
boys who are put in my keeping.  I was intentionally vague when
we first met.  I had reasons, but I have recently been given to
understand that they are not valid, and besides, you need to
understand the program so that you can begin to understand the
problems I have been having with your child."

Over the next twenty minutes, Jane laid out the history of her
program, starting with her experiences at Eastmore through her
work with "Caitlyn".  Jane concluded with a discussion of the
problems she had been having with Caitlyn.

For her part, the steadily rising color of Mrs. Jeffries' face
gave grim testament to exactly what she thought of Jane's
revelations.  Finally, she asked, beginning in a very quiet
voice that rose steadily in volume with each spoken syllable, 
"So, let me see if I have this correctly.  I am to understand
that my son has been living with you, trying to learn to behave
and act like a teenage girl for the past five months?!?"

"That is what I just said, Mrs. Jeffries.  Your son Carlton has
been living as Caitlyn since within twenty four hours of leaving
the train in Kingston,"  Jane replied steadily.

"And in the course of this . . .this . .*program*, my son has
been injured no fewer than four times because *you* in your
infinite wisdom decided that he absolutely *had* to walk in high
heels?  Do I have this right?"  Jane started to reply, but was
cut off as the outraged mother lurched to her feet and began
pacing about the room.  "Who the hell made you God, Ms.
Thompson?  What gives you the right to put my son physically at
risk?  And I haven't even begun to tell you what I think about
your stupid idea of cross dressing my son to - *HA* -
rehabilitate him."

Diana chose that moment to stand and put herself between Jane
and the furious woman.  "Mrs. Jeffries," she said firmly. 
"First, let me tell you that there is both historical and
research based evidence that experiences such as the one that
Ms. Thompson provides her boys are effective in helping the
young men in trouble to learn self control and good behavior. 
In general, boys forced to masquerade as girls have to restrain
aggressive, obviously macho behaviors or risk being discovered. 
In societies such as ours and that of the United Kingdom, being
a "sissy" is among the worst things one can say about a boy."

"Which is precisely what this . . . this . . . woman has done to
my son."

"The boys only become known as "sissies" if they are unmasked
publicly during the masquerade, and that has *never* happened. 
Jane goes to incredible lengths to ensure that, while the threat
of exposure seems frighteningly real to her boys, the actual
probability of discovery by someone not already aware of the
masquerade is all but zero.  That is why she was working him so
hard on the high heeled walking.  Girls your son's age wear
heels, and he couldn't be taken out and about for many of those
learning experiences until he had mastered them."

"With all due respect," Mrs. Jeffries interjected in a tone that
implied very little respect, "I fail to understand how that
supposedly helps, Dr. Philips."

"They have to learn new, more socially appropriate ways of
expressing themselves, Mrs. Jeffries.  They must develop better
tools to help them deal with their anger and frustration, while
learning more acceptable ways to interact with other people.  In
Jane's program, once they've learned those lessons, they are
given the responsibility for the next student's early
indoctrination and see first hand how those experiences improves
the new student, and by extension, how the older student himself
benefitted by them.  The young people learn manners, polite
speech and basic courtesy because failure in any of those areas
draws undue attention to them - something they wish to avoid at
all costs."

In spite of herself, Mrs. Jeffries found herself nodding in
understanding, if not total agreement with those last points. 
"You said Ms. Thompson has historical evidence on her side?"

"Jane?"  Diana said, resuming her seat.

"Over my career, Mrs. Jeffries, I have worked with nearly one
hundred boys.  I won't lie and tell you it has been one hundred
percent perfect, but all but two of my boys have gone on to
happy, productive lives as doctors, police officers, attorneys,
social workers and a variety of other occupations - all well
above minimum wage, I might add,"  Jane said with considerable
pride.

"What Jane did not say, Mrs. Jeffries, is that a goodly number
of those boys were in the same situation as your son, only much
worse.  Many were living in and perpetuating violence for a
variety of reasons, but Jane was able to help them.  Most of
them now think of her as an honorary aunt.  One drawer of her
desk if full of cards, letters and notes from her boys."

*Why the little sneak has been snooping around in my desk!  Just
wait till I get him home!*

"I see,"  Mrs. Jeffries said in a much calmer and less
confrontational tone of voice.  "So, why hasn't it worked with
my son?"

"Wellllll. . . ."

"Mrs. Jeffries," Diana interrupted Jane, "Your son has issues
that directly conflict and interfere with what Jane has been
trying to teach him about passing as a female."

"What issues, Doctor?"

"Well, maybe you can explain to us why your son stopped taking
ballet lessons with you?"

"WHAT???" she asked in disbelief, "What has ballet to do with
anything we've just spoken about?"

"Please, Mrs. Jeffries, just bear with me for a few more moments
and answer my questions.  Then I will tell you a little story
and show you a video that Ms. Thompson has brought with her
today."

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

The tape was playing for the third time, and still Eleanora
could not move from her seat or take her eyes off the screen. 
Finally, she sat back and looked at her two guests, "Lord,
Diana, Jane, if I did not know that I was *never* videotaped
dancing that particular choreography, I would have sworn that
was me dancing in a blond wig."

"It is Carlton, Eleanora,"  Jane told her.  "Truly."
"Oh, I believe you, Jane.  As hard as it is to take in that my
son dances *that* well as a girl, that my son *looks* that good
as a girl, her. . . I mean *his* resemblance to me is
unmistakable.  And you say that he can't dance or walk in heels
or appear noticeably made up unless no one is watching or unless
he forgets because of a crisis or something?"

"Well," and here Jane allowed herself a sly grin.  "He wears
make up well enough when someone else puts it on him.  When
someone is watching him when he tries to put it on himself, his
hands shake very badly, and well, the results are rather
appalling."

"And you," Eleanora directed her attention back to Diana,
"Believe this is due to anxiety brought on when he thought I was
jealous of his abilities?  Diana, he told me he was quitting
because he was taking a lot of heat at school because of the
dancing.  Since I knew there was no future for him either as a
male or female dancer, I agreed and then encouraged him to study
the martial arts as a way of building up his self confidence and
his self esteem.  The martial arts teacher at our local Y was
very highly recommended to me."

"The Y is where he found the dance club and joined up, this time
as a male dancer,"  Diana told her.  "But based on what we just
saw, I would say he continued to practice the female roles on
his own.  His teacher did say he was very good at helping her
female students perfect their own routines.  Probably because he
knew them better than they did."

"So, what must we do to help my son find out who he, or if as
you believe, who *she* really is, Dr. Philips?"

"Well, step one is acceptance and love, Eleanora.  All issues of
gender and self image aside, your child is currently repressing
an essential aspect of his or her personality because it hurt
you, or rather, because he *thought* it hurt you.  That is a
very deep love on your child's part and you must give it back in
the comparable measure if you are going to help her or him get
past this."

"That is a given, Diana.  Girl or boy, my child is my child and
*our* child is well and truly loved by both my husband and by
me."

"Then it would really help if we could somehow get him past this
emotional block about being seen dancing.  So far, only things
outside of herself have gotten her past that when in public - 
like when Jane's housekeeper was injured.  It is really too bad
that we couldn't create a crisis that would force her to dance
instead of walk."

Silence fell over the room as all three brooded over that
observation, until a thoroughly wicked and mischievous grin
familiar to and feared by almost one hundred boys and young men
began to form on Jane Thompson's lips.  "Darling?" she cooed
over at Diana.  "Get that tape out of the VCR for me please.  We
need to go talk to some people.  Eleanora? Would you care to
accompany us?"

Part 10 Confronting Caitlyn's Past

Caitlyn fought to keep herself from shaking outside Jane's
upstairs studio.  Fear had been clutching at her heart ever
since Darla had come to tell her that Jane wanted to see her
immediately.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door and was told to
enter.  Jane and her friend Ms. Philips were both inside waiting
for her.  Surprisingly, they weren't sitting at Jane's huge
desk, but rather in the small conversation grouping near the
hearth.  "Come over and sit down, Caitlyn,"  Jane ordered.

Caitlyn gave a quick curtsy and then took the chair Jane
indicated.

"Well, Caitlyn, I have some good news for you, and sadly, some
bad news."

*Oh god, it's too late - she is going to send me away.*

"The good news is that I have been able to arrange a full
scholarship for your friend Tasha so that she will be able to
attend that summer camp.  Provided she is accepted for the
program, of course."

"Oh Ms. Thompson," Caitlyn burst out, "Thank you so much.  That
is wonderful news.  I am sure Tasha is over the moon."

"I am afraid, dear, that this is where the bad news comes in. 
To be accepted for the program, she has to go to Boston for
three days this weekend for tests and interviews with the
organizers."

"But, Ms. Thompson, that is when the troupe is dancing Sleeping
Beauty.  Won't they give her another time?"

"They can't, Caitlyn.  The organizers have to finalize their
plans next week in order to have everything ready to go.  I am
afraid that they are adamant that she has to go this weekend,
and therein lies the problem.  Your troupe doesn't have anyone
else who can dance the lead.  The performance can't be delayed
because the auditorium won't be available again until after
school lets out and several of the troupe have plans with their
parents."

"And Tasha wouldn't dream of leaving the others in a lurch, even
for this wonderful, once in a lifetime opportunity,"  Caitlyn
added, obviously near tears.

"I am afraid that is so, but there is, perhaps one other
solution."  Jane turned to Diana.  "Diana, would you please run
that video tape?"

A small television flared to life, first with a test pattern
which then coalesced into the picture of a room and a figure. 
Caitlyn quickly recognized the that the figure was dancing, but
it took several moments for her to realize who the dancer
actually was.

"Oh, no!  That's me!  You know. . I mean . . ."

"Easy, Caitlyn," Jane said moving over to sit beside her student
and offer her support.  "Yes, we know it is you dancing there. 
That is our solution.  You must dance the part for Tasha so that
she can go to the interviews."

"But I can't dance in public, Ms. Thompson. You know that.
You've seen me try and I really was trying. Honest, I really
was."  The tears were flowing freely.

"I believe you, sweetheart," Jane said quietly.  "But that," and
her she pointed to the gracefully moving figure on the screen,
"Says that you are capable of doing it.  Your friend Tasha, and
the rest of the dance troupe, need you, dear.  They have worked
so hard for this and you are the only one who can step in and
save their show."

"Real men, Caitlyn," Diana interjected, "*And* real women stand
by the people who stand by them.  Your friends need your help,
sweetheart.  Won't you at least try to help them?"

"How long have you known?" Caitlyn asked, her head hanging.

"Since the night before Marie's injury."  Jane replied.

"I am not faking, Ms. Thompson," Caitlyn said again, "Really!  I
have been trying to figure out for myself why I can't seem stand
on two feet if you or someone else is watching when I *know* I
could dance like that.  I just get so. . . so . . . And what
happens if they figure out I am not really a girl?"

"It's called an anxiety attack, Caitlyn.  Something about
dancing in public upsets you.  I think it is why you have
trouble with heels and makeup, unless you are alone or
distracted," Diana cut in. "Caitlyn, the other night, I sedated
you with a drug that acts much like a truth serum.  I questioned
you about your dancing then.  Why do you think that it hurts
your mother when you dance?" 

"It just does." 

"How do you know that, Caitlyn?" 

"Because, when the instructor asked me to dance mother's part,
she looked sad and hurt." 

"What makes you think so -  did she tell you she was sad and
hurt?" 

"No, but I saw it on her face." 

"What did her face look like? Was she angry?" 

"No, she was sad." 

"Is there any other reason she might have been sad?" 

"No." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Well, yes.  Why else would she be sad?"
 
"Suppose I told you another reason she might have been sad." 

"Like what?" 

"What if she was sad because she thought you couldn't dance
ballet since you don't have the right physical body-type for a
male dancer?" 

"Well, I don't," she snapped back, almost petulantly.

"So?" 

"So I can't dance ballet."

"Caitlyn, that tape says you can dance.  The person on that tape
dances ballet beautifully, and Caitlyn?"  The gentle voice
demanded and ultimately was given the boy-girl's full attention. 
"You *are* that person."

"But it will hurt Mom if I dance as a girl. And hurt Dad, too."

"Do you love them?"

"Of course!"

"I believe you. You love them enough to give up what you want
most in the world, to dance the only way you can - as a graceful
ballerina. Why don't you believe that they could love you, too?
Even enough to want you to have your dream."

"They could?  They do??"

"I showed your mother that tape recently, and she was so
thrilled at your skill that she cried.  Not tears of sadness, or
jealousy, but tears of soul deep pride she couldn't contain and
the tears of an artist in the presence of true beauty."

"She did?"

"Yes, Caitlyn," Jane reentered the conversation.  "She did.  You
know you can trust me on this."

"My Mother really liked my dancing?

"She *loved* your dancing, silly, and she loves you - without
any reservation,"  Jane said with quiet intensity.  "Now, my
dear, your friend Tasha needs you.  No one else except the two
of you could dance that part.  As you just pointed out, she
won't leave her friends in the lurch."

"But. . .but, I am a boy.  It's one thing to do barre exercises
or to do single floor exercises.  It's a whole different matter
to dance real solos, or a pas de deux.  There's no way I will be
able to hold up the masquerade in such situations."

"*No* one is going to read you as a boy," Diana told him. 
"Believe me, I know."

"How can you know that for sure?" Caitlyn asked suspiciously.

Diana reached up and pulled off her wig.  "Because I don't get
read and you are a thousand percent more believable than I am. 
Carlton?" he said softly using his "boy" name to get his
attention.  "It is all right to enjoy this if that is who you
really are.  No one here will think less of you.  Especially
since you do it so very well."

"You're a *man*?!?" the boy-girl gasped in surprise and shock.

"Yes, I am," Art said quietly, his voice dropping into the
deeper ranges he used when appearing as a male.  "However, I
happen to *enjoy* dressing as and appearing in public as a
woman.  And Caitlyn?  There is *nothing* wrong with that."

"There's not?"  Art could here the quaver of uncertainty in the
boy's voice, and perhaps a plea for reassurance on this point.

"Why should there be?" he asked reasonably.  "My dressing hurts
no one.  I certainly would never do anything while dressed as
Diana to hurt or embarrass anyone else."

"You wouldn't?"  Caitlyn asked softly.

"Certainly not.  No more than you try to hurt anyone when you
dance late at night."

"But that is different,"  Caitlyn affirmed.

"No, it's not!" Jane and Art said, almost in unison.

"I don't know if I can do this, Ms. Thompson," Caitlyn cried,
turning her attention back to Jane.  "I don't want to let Tasha
down, but I just don't think I can do this."

"Call me Aunt Jane, dear,"  Jane ordered as she swept the
sobbing teen into her arms.  "Of course you can do it if you
will but give yourself permission to try.  The important
question is do you want to try?  Try to help your friends who
have worked so very hard for this?  Madame Allison Jarvis has
seen the tape, and she was *very* impressed.  I assure you that
she is *more* than willing to try if you are."

"You mean I can dance?" 

Jane said nothing, but rather used the remote control she still
held to restart the tape of Caitlyn's midnight dancing one more
time.  Once again, the three of them stood transfixed, caught up
in the beauty of the lithe dancer moving in time to music only
she could hear.

Shakily, Caitlyn turned her eyes up to meet Janes.  "The girls
there have all been pretty great to me, even when they were
afraid that I would bungle their show."

"They'd be very disappointed if the show could not go on, dear." 
Jane offered quietly.
 
"I know."  Caitlyn sighed.  Jane thought that, for the very
first time, the girl was almost willing to be convinced, so she
pressed home her advantage.

"Are you willing to at least try, Caitlyn?  They need you,
perhaps not as badly as Marie needed you, but you are their only
hope of being able to perform."

Caitlyn said nothing for a very long time, her teeth worrying at
her lower lip as she fought the demons of her own mind. 
Finally, she gave a shaky nod of her head.  "Could we go over,
now?  Just you, Marie, Diana and me, and try with Madame Jarvis? 
Oh, and Darla, too if she can make it.  A sort of closed door
rehearsal?  If I fall all over myself, no one else has to know."

"You'll have to rehearse with your partners, Caitlyn," Jane
reminded her.  "You and your partners will have to learn each
other before you can perform together during the actual
production."

"I know. .. but. . .but, one step at a time.  IF I can do it
with just the six of us, then we can bring in the male lead and
try the pas de deux.  If that works, we go for it all."

"Sounds like a plan.  Go get your things.  I will call Allison
and tell her we are on our way."  

"Yes, Ma'am.  I'll be right back,"  Caitlyn said as she rose to
leave.  "My Mom really did say she was pleased with my dancing?"

"Over and over and over again.  And Caitlyn?" Jane said with a
smile.  "I am very proud of you.  We all are.  Your Mother would
be proud of you if she knew what you were going to try to do. 
Trust me on that, too."

"I will try my very best, Ms. . I mean, Aunt Jane."

"I know you will do well.  Your friend needs you just like Marie
needed you."

"Thank you, Ms. Thompson."

"What did you call me?"  Jane demanded, a small smile playing on
her face.

"I mean, thank you, Aunt Jane."

"Much better.  Now scoot.  We've got people to surprise today."

As the door closed behind the teen, Jane turned worried eyes to
her lover.  "Well?"

"We wait and see.  I think she wants to believe us, as much
because of her burning need to dance as for not wanting to cause
her Mother pain."

"Did we make a mistake by having Eleanora stay away from this? 
She could have been the final nudge that pushed her over the
top."

"Or she could have been the shove that pushed Caitlyn over the
edge for good.  We still have her in reserve, Jane, if this
doesn't work.  At least Caitlyn is questioning the basis of her
fears now.  Her nurturing instinct is helping, too.  It's not
quite as immediate as Marie's injury, but Tasha is very
important to her.  At the very least, she'll likely do better
than you've ever seen her at that studio which is progress."

"Please let this work,"  Jane said fervently.

"Amen, lover.  Amen."

Part 11 Fearful Dancing; Dancing Free

They were met at the studio by Allison, and by Tasha Pederov who
immediately went and pulled Caitlyn into an enthusiastic hug. 
"Thank you, Cait, for going to bat with your Ms. Thompson for
me.  Even if I can't go, I won't ever forget you for going to
bat like that for me with your Aunt Jane."

Jane saw Caitlyn's eyes narrow momentarily, and then harden in
determination. *Well, I bet I know what she's decided.  If force
of will can get her past this block, Caitlyn has all she needs
now.*

"I'll do my best, Tash,"  Jane heard her whisper in the other
girl's ear.  "I promise, I will do my best so that you can go to
those interviews."

"Is it all right if I watch?  I mean, Ms. Thompson showed me
that tape of you dancing because I didn't believe you could fill
in for me."

Caitlyn hesitated noticeably, but in the end nodded her assent.

"Caitlyn?  You can change in my office and then use the practice
room for your warmup," Madame Allison Jarvis put in,  "Donald
will be here in an hour to practice the pas de deux with you if
we get that far."

"I'll come with you, dear,"  Jane said.  "To do your face.  So
you will look as lovely as your dancing."

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

It would be nice to say that everything went perfectly, that
Caitlyn danced as well or better than she had when Jane had
video-taped her, and that everyone in attendance was awe-struck
by her artistry. However, reality is rarely so obliging, and the
sad truth of the matter was that Caitlyn fell off her toe point
numerous times.  In fact, for the first several minutes, she
couldn't even seem to move - at least not gracefully.  The
harder she tried, the less graceful she became, to the point
where she ran off the floor and into the warm up room in tears.

"Caitlyn?"  Diana said quietly, having followed the distraught
dancer into the little room.

"Oh, go away!" she sobbed.  "I tried, and I can't.  Now, Tasha
won't go to those interviews and it will be all my fault."

Diana moved closer, and put her hand on the girl's shuddering
back.  "Easy.  Now, listen to me, Caitlyn Jeffries," she snapped
out, drawing Caitlyn up short.  "That's better," she said, her
voice once again gentle.  "First of all, if Tasha elects not to
go to those interviews, that will be her choice.  Madame Allison
is certainly aware of how important those are and is willing to
cancel a performance.  I know you feel badly right now, but this
is NOT your fault. You are the solution, dear, NOT the problem."

"But I can't dance out there," she sniffled.  "Tasha needs me
and I can't do it, Diana, not with all those people *watching*
me."

"Then close your eyes for me.  Close them, I said!  Better. 
Now, listen to the music,"  Diana's voice slipped into a
strangely haunting, dreamlike register that rose and fell with
the music itself; a voice unlike any Caitlyn had ever heard
before.  "The music is all that matters.  Let it take you, dear. 
Now, move to the music.. .that's it."

Diana watched as the movements which moments before had been so
hesitant, so jerky, began to smooth out, began to gain
confidence.  "Feel it, sweetheart?"

Caitlyn came to a stop, momentarily shocked by what she'd just 
done.  "Y . . yes. . .at least a bit.  But no one was in here so
it doesn't count,"  She added, just a bit pugnaciously.

"I was here, wasn't I?  But this time you concentrated on the
music and not on me.  My presence no longer bothered you once it
was the music that mattered."

"Oh my."  Caitlyn's eyes were wide with surprise and wonder.

"Let's try it out there now?  All right?"

"Will you be there to help me. .. like you just did?" Caitlyn
asked timorously. 

"Of course, sweetheart.  Let's go try."

The second attempt went better.  Under Diana's almost hypnotic
support, Caitlyn closed her eyes and let herself forget
everything but the music.  The natural grace showed through more
brightly with each passing step, every passing position and
movement.  Except that even the most accomplished dancer needs
to be able to see at certain critical moments - such as when she
is airborne and needs to judge where and when she will land. 
With her eyes closed, Caitlyn couldn't and repeatedly stumbled,
often falling.

The turning point came after about twenty minutes of only
partial success, when Caitlyn just broke down, sobbing on the
floor after falling yet again. Jane and Tasha had each hugged
the girl, telling her that they *knew* she could do it.  

"I've tried, dammit.  I can't dance with my eyes open and I
can't dance with them shut, either.  The only way I can fill in
for Tash is if no one else is in the auditorium.  Now that makes
a lot of sense, doesn't it?" she wailed. 

"Stand up!"  Tasha snapped with a forcefulness that made Jane
start momentarily.  "Stand up, I said."

Slowly, Caitlyn stood.  "Now, you will dance for me, Caitlyn. 
You will dance *with* me.  Come on, I know you can do it and so
do you.  Let the music take us both and let us be beautiful
together."  Tasha let Caitlyn stare at her in confusion for
several moments, before she smiled and added.  "Please?"

Swallowing hard, Caitlyn gave her own smile, and nodded.

"Great.  Let's play follow the leader.  I lead, you follow,
okay?"

With a flourish, Tasha led off the first few steps of the solo
they'd been working on.  Caitlyn watched her for a couple of
moments, then took a deep breath, and stepped out herself.

And then, she did do it.  All the way through the main solo. 
Without incident, without a misstep.  Midway through the piece,
Tasha stepped off the dance floor to watch her friend. Caitlyn
was so caught up in the music and in the sheer exhilaration of
the dance that she never even noticed that she was performing
the solo alone.

By the time the male soloist arrived, Tasha and Allison were
working with an ecstatically joyous Caitlyn, fine tuning her
dancing.  

There was something intensely satisfying, Caitlyn thought to
herself, about that look of stunned disbelief on the male
soloist's face when he recognized that it was Caitlyn who was
working with Madame Allison.

"Ready for the gruesome twosome?" Tasha asked her friend with a
gamine grin.

That was the moment of truth, Jane would think much later, the
moment when Caitlyn's block disintegrated in light of her
friend's support and regard and in the heat of her own passion
for the dance.

The pas de deux itself was anticlimactic.  The first time
through Caitlyn performed flawlessly - the only missteps caused
by the understandable lack of experience of each dancer working
with the other. The rest of the time was spent fine tuning
Caitlyn's and Donald's timing  and stage positions, and went
without any real difficulty.

"I think that's enough for today, kids," Allison said, finally
calling an end to the practice.  "Let's not risk an injury at
this point."

Coming down from the emotional high of being able to share dance
with others again, Caitlyn turned toward the small gallery with
a huge smile on her face.

And stopped cold.

A petite, slender, dark haired woman was striding purposefully
across the dance floor, a brilliant smile lighting her face.

"M. . m . MMmomMM???"  Caitlyn got out just before she was swept
up in her Mother's exuberant embrace.

"God, darling, but that was so lovely.  I am *so* very proud of
you.  I can't believe how well you did that, and I can't believe
you'd be brave enough to do something like this for your friend,
but I think. . .no, I know that you're wonderful."  The hug
somehow tightened further.  "You make me so proud, baby."

Caitlyn finally broke away, tears streaming down her face. "I am
so sorry, Mom.  I did not know you would be here.  I know Diana
said you weren't really sad about my dancing, but you were so
upset when the dance mistress started complimenting my dancing,
saying that I was doing things better than you. . ."

"No, darling.  I was upset because I stupidly thought you would
never be able to show off your talents. I know how hard it is to
have a gift and have to choose.  I thought that you would never
even be given the opportunity to make that choice.  I am glad
that you showed me to be wrong, my love.  I was devastated,
darling, that's true, but it was *for* you and what I thought
you could never have.  Never for me."

"Oh, Mom," Caitlyn bawled as she stood sobbing an her mother's
shoulder, held tightly within the safety of Eleanora's arms.

"There, there, baby.  You were wonderful,"  Eleanora crooned
over and over.  "I thought you were so beautiful. You made me
cry you were so beautiful."

For several minutes, the pair stood there, locked in their
mutual embrace, warmed and healed by the surety of love. 
Finally, Caitlyn's emotional release ran its course, and her
tears gradually slowed.  Eleanora pulled a tissue from her purse
and handed it to her child.  "Blow your nose, sweetheart. 
Better now?"

"You really mean it, don't you?  You really are happy about me
dancing?"  Caitlyn asked as she wiped tear reddened eyes.

"Of course I am, silly.  My only regret is that you won't
actually be dancing the lead in the show."

"I won't???"  Caitlyn squealed, before spinning to face Tasha
who was grinning sheepishly at her friend.

"Your Aunt Jane asked me to pretend that I had to choose between
the camp and the dance so that you would have a reason to try. 
Like when her friend got hurt, you know?  Actually, she fixed it
so I get to go to the camp without the interview.  Just the test
and they sent that to me.  Isn't she great?"

Caitlyn turned very slowly to face where Jane stood, watching
her.  Putting a blank look on her face, Caitlyn strode over to
face Jane.

"It was all just a trick,"  Caitlyn stated.

"You needed some help to get past those memories.  Dance is
important to you and we wanted you to be able to enjoy it fully
and freely again."

"I see," Caitlyn said noncommitally.  "You know what I think,
*Ms* Thompson?" she asked, taking yet another step toward Jane
until the pair was bare inches apart.

"No, but I am sure you will tell me,"  Jane said, steeling
herself for an eruption.

Suddenly, Caitlyn was in Jane's arms, hugging her tightly.  "I
think you're pretty great, too."

Eleanora was standing beside Jane and Caitlyn as they held each
other.  "Caitlyn, dear?"

"Yes, Mom?"

"You need to go fix your face, sweetheart.  All those tears have
destroyed your eye makeup."

Cold shock burned down Caitlyn's spine as she remembered for the
first time just how she was garbed.  "Oh my God! You saw me! 
Dressed like a g. . ."

"Like a dancer? Of course, dear,"  Eleanora said lightly as she
led Caitlyn into the privacy of Allison's office again, closing
the door behind them.  "Still, that is no excuse.  No daughter
of mine is going out in public with tear tracks 
in her mascara."

"Daughter?"

"Oh, dear Caitlyn, don't you think I want your happiness more
than anything in the world?  If what makes you happy is being
the most beautiful, most graceful, most feminine ballerina in
the world, then that is what I want for you!"

"But. . .but, I am a boy, Mom.  You *want* me to be a girl?  To
wear makeup?"

"Dear, I love *you*.  If Caitlyn is who you *really* are -
inside - then you must maintain your appearance as the lovely
girl Caitlyn Jeffries is - the way I expect *my* beautiful
daughter to present herself to the world.  You need to decide
who you are, right now and either repair your makeup or take it
all off and dress as Carlton.  Or you can defer that decision
until you are more certain, in which case you still need to
repair your makeup so that you can continue as Caitlyn until you
can decide," and a gently teasing grin lit Eleanora's face, "At
least until you leave this place where your friends only know
you as Caitlyn."

Somehow, choosing to become Carlton right then and there sounded
far worse to the boy-girl than anything Caitlyn had endured or
been threatened with during her season in Jane Thompson's
petticoat prison.  Still, it was not only her or her mother who
would be affected by this decision.  "Daddy will hate me."

"Stuff and nonsense, young lady.  Name one time he has ever
acted as though he hated you."

"Uh, well, but . . . "

"But nothing. He loves you, too. If this is who you are, who you
*need* to be, then this is who he will love. I promise you
that."

Jane knocked on the door and stuck her head in to call to the
Mother and daughter pair.  "Come on, folks.  You, too, Eleanora. 
Let's go home."

Part 12 Breaking the Chrysalis 

Eleanora herself escorted her daughter/son to dinner that night. 
Caitlyn was made up beautifully, with colors that called
attention to her natural good looks - and she was in heels. 
Every one saw and smiled as "Clumsy Caitlyn" sailed into the
room with the same confidence and grace in her delicate sling-
backs that she had demonstrated on the dance floor earlier that
afternoon.

If Diana looked particularly smug when she saw Caitlyn, no one
who knew the whole story would have begrudged her the right. 
She'd taken Caitlyn aside shortly after they'd gotten back to
the old Victorian mansion with the specific intent of getting
her to confront her problems with high heels.  It had been
another rapid fire verbal exchange, similar to the one they'd
had earlier dealing with the dance anxiety, if a little less
stressful.  As she told Jane later on, "The telling argument was
that she had just spent three hours on her toes without the
benefit of any heel.  I swear, Jane, I think I could hear her
eyes snap open as she realized what that meant."

Jane had chuckled over that, and mused privately how Caitlyn's
movements did have more of the ballet dancer than the runway
model to her gait.  She still moved beautifully in any case.

Even her makeup was perfect.  "And she did it all by herself,"
Eleanora said to anyone she could corner.  The obvious maternal
pride in her voice made Caitlyn blush every time, but Jane was
sure she saw the girl stand a little more erect, and take on a
more maturely elegant bearing, each time her mother gushed.  One
thing was certain, Caitlyn no longer worried that her
accomplishments somehow diminished or hurt her mother.  In fact,
Jane was amused to note that Caitlyn was unconsciously mimicking
her mother's social behaviors and mannerisms. *Lord above,* Jane
thought with a mental chuckle, *she is even holding her teacup
the same exact way Eleanora does.  Talk about 'like Mother, like
Daughter'.*

At dinner, Caitlyn finally felt brave enough, now that she knew
she had her Mother's approval, to address Jane.  "Thank you for
today, Aunt Jane.  I am glad that I have put all of that anxiety
stuff," and here she leveled a grateful smile at Diana, "behind
me, but I am also very happy Tasha will get to do both the
performance and the summer camp.  She has worked so hard and she
deserves it."

"Aren't you sorry that you won't be performing, dear?"  Jane
asked.  "Diana felt, evidently quite correctly, that you needed
today's experiences, but I simply couldn't deprive your friend
of her place in the show.  As much as I would have liked to
reward your courage that way, she had already worked so hard for
that privilege herself."

Caitlyn sighed.  "No, I would have enjoyed dancing - Sleeping
Beauty is a wonderful ballet - but you are right - she's earned
that role and I haven't.  It's rightfully Tasha's part and I am
very happy for her."

"Couldn't you dance with the Corps de Ballet, dear?"  Diana
asked.  "At least then you could share the experience with your
friends."

Shaking her head, Caitlyn smiled sadly at her other savior. 
"No, Diana, because I have not practiced with them so I don't
have the timing down properly, and there just isn't enough time
before the show date for me to learn it.  It's more important
that the corps seem to move as one than for one person to stand
out.  That is the job of the soloist.  No, I will be satisfied
to help behind the curtains and cheer them on.  Maybe I can
dance in their next production," she said wistfully, before her
eyes went wide with dismay.  "That is, Aunt Jane, if I will
still be allowed to stay here and complete your program . . .
now that I am past the clumsy part."

Jane saw the touch of fear behind the girl's eyes.  "I think,
dear, that is up to your Mother.  I think you have well and
truly learned everything I would have taught you about the
masquerade, and you could easily move on to the next part of the
program, but you don't really need to stay here any longer.  As
far as I am concerned, you've graduated.  Besides, I think if
the police had been half as diligent as my investigator, that
you would never have been convicted since I now am certain you
were telling the truth about self defense.  So don't worry, all
right?  I promise you that juvenile lockup is not in your
future.  As for the rest, we will talk about that later."

Part 13 Loving Well is the Best Living

Later, Jane had Eleanora, Caitlyn and Diana as guests in her
rooms.  "You look very lovely tonight, Caitlyn."

"Thank you, Ms. . .I mean, Aunt Jane," she responded shyly.

"And tell me, how do you feel?  Sitting here among women as a
woman?  Pretty, winsome, demure?  The picture of elegant young
womanhood?  How do you personally feel, right now, as you think
about yourself that way?"

No one spoke for what seemed to be a very long time, as they
gave the young teen an opportunity to digest and answer the
question.  Finally, she looked up, her face worried.  "I feel .
. comfortable, Aunt Jane. . .Happy."

"At peace with yourself, dear?"  Jane prodded gently.

After several moments, the girl nodded slowly.

"Let me ask another question then.  Suppose I tell you that
tomorrow morning Caro and Sandy will be here to change Caitlyn
back to Carlton, so that your Mother can take her son home with
her."

"But. . but the performance. . ." she stuttered out in surprise.

Jane smiled.  "All right.  After the performance.  Monday,
Caitlyn becomes a memory and Carlton gets on with his life."

The three women watched intently as emotions flew across the
girl's expressive face.  Finally she nodded.  "I guess I have
to, don't I?"

At that point, Eleanora moved over to kneel in front of the
daughter she thought never to have.  "No, you don't,"  She said
quietly.

"But what about Dad?" Caitlyn asked through a sob.

"As I *told* you, sweetheart, your Father will love *you*,
Carlton or Caitlyn or both.  Your Dad loves you, not some male
icon, but you, the person that you are."  Caitlyn started to
protest, but her Mother put a finger to her lips to stem that. 
"Let me ask you one question.  Is it only the dance?  Is that
what is so important about Caitlyn to you?  If we could find a
way for Carlton to dance as Caitlyn, would that be enough for
you?  Not for me, not for your father, but for you?

Again, the silence grew oppressive.  In the end, Caitlyn shook
her head.  "I don't know, Mother.  For all the grief I have
caused Aunt Jane, I have been . . .well, happy here.  The kids
at the dance school have become my friends, and Carlton never
had very many friends.  I like the clothes and all that, but
that isn't what's bothering me. . .not really.  I feel good
doing the homey things that Aunt Jane and Marie have taught me
here, but I also feel good about going to a ball game with Dad
and things like that."

"That's fair, dear,"  Diana interjected.  "You've only had
Caitlyn for a few months and you've a lifetime of experiences as
Carlton."

"I don't want to hurt anyone,"  Caitlyn said, rubbing mascara
blackened tears from her cheek.

"And we don't want that anyone to include you, dear," her Mother
said quietly.

"Suppose, Caitlyn, that Jane and her cronies do come here next
week and bring Carlton back for a while.  You've lived here,
utterly immersed in a deeply feminine experience for five
months, and as you just said, you've been happy," Diana offered
gently.  "Now, you can go back and reacquaint yourself with
Carlton.  There's no reason Carlton can't cook, or help your
Mother with the house or garden, and my goodness, Rosey Greer
does needle point.  Carlton doesn't have to lose anything that
he gained by being Caitlyn."

"Except dance."

"If you want to dance, dear, and still want to live most of your
life as Carlton, then we will find a way for that,"  Eleanora
interposed.  "Trust me on that.  I still have some connections
in the world of dance, and I will use them now that I know how
important your ballet is to you."

"Excellent," Diana approved.  "And Caitlyn, there is no reason
that you have to lose those things you like about Carlton's life
if you choose to live full time or most of the time as Caitlyn. 
It may surprise you to know this, but women *do* enjoy sports,
too.  The very aristocratic, sublimely elegant Ms. Jane Thompson
used to be one of those football fans who put the "fan" in the
word "fanatic"."

"I *did* not,"  Jane said in stilted tones that drew forth the
intended chuckle from everyone, albeit a watery one from
Caitlyn.

"I promise you this, my son and daughter," Eleanora said with
quiet authority.  "No one. . . . and I mean *NO* one will ever
force you to make a choice between Carlton and Caitlyn.  That is
your business, your *life*, and your father and I, as well as
these other folks who *love* you, will support you and continue
to love you."

"Oh, Mom," Caitlyn cried as she threw herself into her Mother's
arms.

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

Later that night, Jane rested in the embrace of her lover, who
had finally kept her promise to come to bed in full make up. 
Spent, the two feminine creatures were cuddling gently - a touch
here, a kiss there, a hug - and talking softly about the
evening.

"Do you think she will choose to remain Caitlyn?" Jane asked.

"In my experience, love, it is rarely something so voluntary as
a choice.  For people like Caitlyn, her gender is simply who she
is inside, not how she's built outside.  But to answer your
question, I think it will not be long before Caitlyn returns. 
She has a lot going for her - much more than many of my
patients."

"Oh?"

"Her mom," Diana said simply.  "Her support will not inhibit
Carlton/Caitlyn the way most parents and family members do to
their children with gender identity issues.  If Dad is half as
open as Eleanora makes him out to be, then I suspect Caitlyn
will be back sooner rather than later. Her father's opinions and
feelings matter to her as much as her Mother's feelings do, and
we already know what she tried to give up for her Mother."

"No wonder I couldn't do much with that child."

"Like I said, it is hard to humiliate a girl by making her be a
girl."

"The one thing I don't understand is how someone as gentle
natured as Caitlyn ended up charged with assault with a deadly
weapon.  That makes no sense to me."

"Oh really?  Look at her Mother's defense of her child against
your evil, uncaring self, darling.  See the daughter in the
Mother."

"She didn't come after me with a ball bat."

"If you'd continued to threaten her child, and that is precisely
now Eleanora saw things, I suspect she wouldn't have hesitated
for a moment and might have found something more dangerous than
a bat."

"I guess, but that was for her child, and that's not Caitlyn's
situation."

"I suspect, dear heart, that when we know the whole story it
will it will turn out to be self defense.  Those bastards have
been working Carlton over for months.  Over time, their ability
to get a satisfactory rise out of him with their less malicious
tricks waned.   They needed that rush they got from his fear,
anger, humiliation. .. whatever, so their cruelty gradually
escalated.  Top that off with his father trying to "help" him by
encouraging him to take care of himself. . ."

"Sometimes you've got to fight when you're a man?"

"Precisely.  Eventually, they'd have to start ganging up on him. 
That last time, they made the mistake of letting him get his
hands on weapon - and paid for it."

"Unfortunately, Diana, so did Carlton."

"Oh, but he gained far more than he lost, dear.  First of all,
he got you and your family on his side - a prize of inestimable
value, I assure you.  He came to understand Caitlyn and in so
doing, began to face who he, or rather, who she truly is.  And
he regained his gift of dance.  If you asked her, I think you'd
find that Caitlyn is more than happy with both the prize and the
price."

"Well, if that's the case, then I can happily move on in my
life.  I will miss the boys, though,"  Jane sighed.

"Pardon me?"  And the voice that spoke was pure Art.

"Well, I can't very well run this program where you live.  I
won't have the support of folks like Caro, Sandy and Betty who
help me set up those terrifying yet safe be-skirted brushes with
the general public.  Whither thou go-est, beloved-man."  Jane
said softly.  "After all, you *are* marrying me, aren't you?"

"Now you listen to *me*, Jane Thompson, there is NO way you are
giving up working with your boys."  Jane started to speak but
was cut off by Art.  "I told you I was at loose ends.  That was
because I was getting ready to retire from active practice.  I
still have some cases to transfer to another practitioner, but I
am all but done with that phase of my life.  My house is already
up for sale.  I told you that I came here to fix the biggest
mistake of my life, and YES, we are getting married, but I am
not going to let *you* make an even bigger mistake by depriving
yourself of the life and children you love."

"But, Art, a vital part of the program is that the boy thinks he
is alone in a house of women - a great, unyielding tsunami of
femininity without the slightest masculine safe harbor."

"I don't think anyone except you knew of Art before I revealed
myself to Darla and Cait."

"But you'd have to live most of your life as Diana!" Jane
pointed out.

"Oh Really?  Why didn't *I* think of that?"  Was that a hint of
mockery in Diana's voice?  Jane wasn't quite certain.

"You mean wearing skirts and makeup, and having my hair done up? 
Go to the beauty salon with you? All that kind of thing?"

Diana's perplexed tone had Jane wondering if she'd misread the
first response.  "Well . . . Yes . . . of course.  We can have
only *women* here when there are students about the house.  At
least during those first critical weeks of a student's tenure
here."

"Oh. Well, that's different.  I'll really have to think about
that . . ."

Jane stifled a sigh of disappointment.

"Janie?" Diana returned, bearing an impish countenance, "Is that
a promise?"

"But . but. . but. . "

"I can live as either Diana or Art as long as I have you, and I
think helping you with your boys would be a wonderful way to
spend our life together.  So, what else is the matter?  Afraid
to be known as a lesbian?"

"Oh, you," Jane growled, as exasperated as she was exultant. She
made a snatching grab for a pillow, but was too slow.  

Diana was on her before she could get a grip on her fluffy
weapon, and was kissing the breath out her.  When the kiss
finally, reluctantly broke, Art/Diana looked into Jane's eyes. 
"Are you really worried about such things, Jane?"

"No, I guess I am not.  All right, we'll try it.  All I ask is
that when you reach the point where you cannot handle it
anymore, you go on a trip until I finish with whatever boys are
in the program.  I don't know what damage it might do to them to
discover that Dr. Philips is a male during some of the more. .
.difficult phases of the program.

"I think it's more "if" than "when, darling, but all right, I
promise.  Now, will you marry me, Jane Thompson?"

"Who gets to wear the wedding dress?"  She asked pertly.

"We'll get married twice so we can take turns.  Although I think
you'll need a corset to fit into my dress, darling."

"WHAT???? Why you. . ."  Precisely what Jane would have said
will never be known as her unpredictable mate started beating
her with the very same down pillow that Jane hadn't quite
managed to get to first.

Much later, basking in the warm afterglow of the loving their
play had sparked, a voice said drowsily, "Yes, my darling, I
will marry you."

Only a soft, purringly feminine snore answered.

Epilogue.

Caitlyn was in her normal place off stage, watching enthralled
as her best friend in all the world glided about the stage in
the final solo of the next to the last act of this, the last
performance of Sleeping Beauty.  More than once, Caitlyn caught
herself mimicking the dance steps or the hand movements and
would blushingly look about to see if anyone noticed.

The curtain closed, and Tasha rushed off the stage for her final
costume change when disaster struck.  She slipped while running
at full speed, her right leg going out from under her, but with
her left leg pinned under her body.

Everyone clustered around the fallen dancer as she writhed on
the floor.  Caitlyn rushed up to her friend who saw her. 
"Madame?  Caitlyn must finish the last act.  My knee. .  "

"Meeee?  Screw the dance, Tasha!" Caitlyn yelled, forgetting
herself in her concern.  "We have to get you to a doctor."

"I will see to Tasha, Caitlyn," Madame Allison said firmly. 
"She's right.  Some of our troupe are only on stage in the last
act.  If we stop the show, none of them will get to perform for
their families and friends.  Would you deprive them?"

Her head a whirl, Caitlyn did not know what to do when Tasha's
hoarsely whispered, "Please, Cait?" burned through her
confusion.

"All right, but you go get that looked at!" Caitlyn ordered as
she and the wardrobe mistress ran down the hall to the dressing
room.  "I just hope I can wear Tasha's outfit."

Moments later, Caitlyn was center stage in position one as the
curtain rose.

Later, Caitlyn would not be able to remember much between that
first ringing note and the wildly joyous crescendo of the
finale.  Her first clear memory was of Donald grinning down at
her as she held her final position before rising to take her
bows.

Three curtain calls later, Caitlyn rushed off stage looking for
Tasha.  "Better be careful, girlfriend," a very familiar, laugh-
filled voice said.  "That floor seems to be really slippery."

Caitlyn spun to see a very unhurt Tasha grinning at her.  "You
were great!" she said as she launched herself into Caitlyn's
suddenly very unsteady arms.

"You're all right," Caitlyn said stunned.  "You aren't hurt."

"Nope.  We all decided that you deserved to dance. So, all of
us, including Madame Allison and the wardrobe mistress hatched
this little plan.  You dance as hard as I do when you watch from
backstage anyway, so we knew you'd be all warmed up."

"No wonder your costume fit me so perfectly," Caitlyn mused. 
"It had been altered to fit me."

"Actually, dear," another voice entered the conversation.  "I
purchased a new one just for you so that, in the event that you
couldn't go on, Tasha would still have her own to wear."

"Aunt Jane?"  Caitlyn spun toward the voice only to see Jane was
not alone.  Jane was flanked by a petite woman and a tall, well
built man.  "Mom?? and DAAADD???"

"Hi, Caitlyn," her father said, a shy, uncertain smile on his
face.  "You did great.  I am sorry I didn't know that you could
dance like that, but I am very proud of you."

Suddenly, Caitlyn was in her father's and Mother's arms.  Tears
flowed freely from everyone's eyes, bringing glitter to the
sunny smiles worn on every face.

"Still the manipulator, eh, Jane Thompson?"  Diana whispered
into her betrothed's ear.

"Well, once I spoke with her father, it was a relatively simple
matter to put just a bit of a bug in Tasha's ear," Jane
answered, well pleased with her little machination.  If she
hadn't gone for it, I would never have pressed the matter.  He's
a good man, isn't he."

"A worthy match for his wife, I think.  I'd say that support we
talked about the other night will be there for our Caitlyn in
ample supply."

"Well, I guess I know where I am going to get attendants for our
wedding, darling.  I am sure that Michelle, Kendra, Darla, Beth
and Caitlyn will be very happy to stand up for me with Marie as
my Maid of Honor.  Who are you going to have as best man and
ushers?"

"Who says I need 'em in this family, sweetheart?  Whoever stands
up for me can dress anyway they damn well please.  That's not
what matters."

"And what does matter then?"

"Love.  Commitment. Sharing.  Nothing that you don't have in
full measure, Ms. Jane Thompson. And getting *my* ring on that
still sadly nude left ring finger of yours. Come on, let's go to
the cast party.  I know one of the stars and she'll get us in."

"Odd, but it happens I know one or two of them myself, darling. 
I am just a little sad you are here as Diana and not as Art. 
Suppose there is dancing?"  

Diana gave her love a very lascivious wink, making Jane blush.  

Jane felt her face begin to burn "Well, I guess we'll dance,
then, won't we?" she whispered around a sudden lump in her
throat.

"No doubt about it, Jane my love, none at all."

A New Beginning