Vignette 1. Tickle Teddy, Grampa

Frank Martin calmed down on the return drive from Tucson. Karen had calmed, too; she greeted him at the mudroom door with an ice-cold beer, a well-intentioned hug, and was on her way back to the kitchen before he took off his shoes. He traipsed after her, still planning his apology.

“I was way out of line, Dad. Savannah cried for an hour after you left.”

Frank heaved a sigh. “Good intentions don’t count for shit if it adversely affects Savannah’s gender identity.”

“She really loves you,” Karen added, briskly stirring a pot of vegetable soup.

“I really love him.” Frank winked to show he intended ‘her.’ He still got the lecture.

“Dad, you’ve gone to the doctors with me, and I really appreciate it. Given that, you ought to understand by now. ” Karen hesitated to say it. “I also know you want a grandson.”

“But?” There was always a ‘but;’ a mighty big ‘but’ as far as Frank was concerned.

“It’s not about what’s down there, but what’s up here.” Karen touched her forehead. “Savannah sees herself as a girl. The only person who thinks she might grow out of it is you.”

“Kinda hard to get used to the idea given what’s down below.” Frank exhaled. “I’ll try harder, okay? What we argued about, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

“’A football is an investment in Savannah’s future,’ seriously?” Now, she smiled about it.

He gave a timid shrug, mocking her ever so slightly. If she asked, he’d returned it to the store. Actually, he locked it away in his gun safe, right above his Remington pump-action shotgun. A Super Bowl XLIII football, Cardinals and Steelers at Raymond James Stadium in Tampa, Florida, 2009; not the Wilson mass-market version. Signed by the team, it was worth a small fortune in Arizona. In another ten years, it would pay Savannah’s college tuition.

Frank followed her into the breakfast room. It had the best sunrise view; late afternoon wasn’t much different, the ranch and mountains in the distance. Karen had been working at the table, pasting and taping pages as they exited from the printer, cutting patterns for her next release of unisex kid clothes. She was calling it ‘Savannah Collection’ until a better name came along.

From the mess, Frank wondered if he should’ve detoured by Staples and purchased more paper. “I bought Savannah something else, if that’s okay, Karen?”

“You can give her anything you want to, Dad, so long as it’s for a girl.”

“It’s not much.” Frank pulled the jewelry box from his jacket pocket, and opened it for her. “Another investment in Savannah’s future,” he joked.

A plain gold chain for a child’s skinny wrist, no hearts, no flashy gems, no plate for engraving a name, no tiny charms dangling, yet a straight boy would never wear a bracelet that delicate.

Smiling, Karen raised an eyebrow. He could tell she approved.

“I doubt there’s a thousandth of an ounce of gold in it.”

“It’s the thought that counts, Dad.”

“A special chain for a special kid was kind of what I thought. As soon as I saw it, I was sure she’d like it.”

“She’ll love it, Dad.”

Frank grinned, relieved they were talking like father and daughter again.

“Um, I also bought Savannah a pony for her birthday. That way, you guys will visit more often.”

Any number of hints, a pony was in Savannah’s future; yet, Karen shook her head in mild disbelief. A moment later, she smiled.

“Okay, but only if you give her riding lessons.”

“I’ll start her bareback like a Navajo boy,” he joked. “Where’s my favorite fashion brat?”

“She’s in the living room, consoling Teddy because he’s feeling miserable.”

Frank walked to the doorway and looked through the dining room. He couldn’t see beyond the fireplace, only embers left. Still, the noise from the TV was enough.

“Sounds like Hannah Montana is with her.”

“I let her watch so she doesn’t annoy me. I’ll be up until midnight as it is.”

Frank lifted his eyes heavenward. Any moment, he’d say what he really thought about the trash on TV.

Karen beat him to it. “You’ve seen her Hoedown Throwdown, Dad. Hip-hop meets line dancing, waste of time, or not?”

With almost no practice, Savannah transformed two years of jazz ballet lessons into a little dance dynamo. Her Hoedown version was incredible, especially wearing Karen’s version of hip-hop and country girl, white-latex jodhpurs and black leather boots. Six years after Hannah Montana The Movie, Savannah’s YouTube video got 86,000 hits in the first week, a growing if somewhat creepy fan club of followers, and a curious phone call from Eric Perlmann. He wanted to expand, TOMBOY^pre with high-fashion ensembles for younger kids, take New York by unisex storm.

Frank caved. “Aerobic exercise and good coordination are important.”

“I’ll take that to mean you think she’s sexy as hell,” Karen teased.

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but yeah.” He reddened slightly. “I didn’t say that.”

Karen nudged him out of the way, picked up the most recent pattern, and held it up for critical review. A minute passed before she noticed he was still there.

“You want to put Sanny in a dress now?” Frank said, trying to remain calm.

“Why not? She’ll wear one sooner or later. I’d rather it was one of mine.” She crumpled the pattern and tossed it at the trashcan. “You’re right; it’s not her.”

“You think the bracelet is okay, though? I didn’t want it to look flashy. Maybe it’s not showy enough.”

“It’s perfect, Dad.” She regarded him, tickled by his awkwardness. “Give her a special kiss when you put it on her.”

“Huh?”

“You know what I mean; and tickle her before she goes to bed, too, she loves that.”

With beer in hand, Frank wandered in the living room. Savannah curled up on the couch, surrounded by Navajo blankets, both arms wrapped around Teddy D. Bear. The TV was on, the volume now turned down.

Savannah looked up and smiled shyly. “I was worried you wouldn’t come back, Grampa.”

“I wanted to see you before you fell asleep.”

Feeling rather like a scary spider from the barn, Frank sat down beside her, vulnerable and petite, wearing only her mom’s Rodeo Girl T-shirt, oversized, pulled up to mid-thigh. He inhaled kid-shampoo, unable to decide if the scent was peach or plum blossom. It wasn’t orange; it was fresh and invigorating, vaguely tropical, and very satisfying. He stroked a bare arm, warm, soft like a baby. Savannah squirmed against him. Like every other night, he hugged her, and she snuggled up even closer, keeping Teddy between them.

“Tickle Teddy, Grampa.” It was an order.

He spread the nearest Navajo blanket over both of them before he started. His right hand massaged the stuffed bear’s fat belly. His left hand stroked long golden curls, little ears, and a silky soft neck. Far more enjoyable was listening to Savannah’s melodic very-agreeable whimpers.

“I love you so much,” he murmured.

“You’re my teddy bear, Grampa,” Savannah murmured back.

Almost immediately, Savannah’s hot little hand inched closer, backed away, circled and cautiously inched closer again, teasing, tempting, aborting, torturing. To anyone watching, it might seem innocent play, except for the ultimate destination.

“Maybe I should tickle my teddy bear?” he whispered, so close his lips brushed honey-hued hair.

“Uh huh.”

Frank’s right hand abandoned Teddy’s faux-fur belly and glided onto Savannah’s warm belly, firm flesh under a very loose Rodeo Girl. He scratched around the little navel playfully.

“I reckon you got fleas.”

“No fleas, Grampa. Do my bellybutton properly.”

“How’s that?”

“The way you’re supposed to.” Savannah hiked up her t-shirt. “Now, make circles.”

Safe under the blanket, Frank caressed bare tummy. With belly button as center, his tantalizing trail was more spiral than circle, expanding, contracting, always impossibly slow so nerves had time to tingle. Gradually, ‘circles’ became orbiting ellipses, larger and larger, slowing down at crucial locations. Savannah’s breathing quickened, little trembles erupting, whimpers steadily getting louder.

Frank made a point of retreating to safe territory, still he worried. Skin texture lured him back, increasingly delicate the closer he approached. Softer than silk, gliding smoothly, resolve melting before his fingertips; it grew warmer, too. She whimpered, peculiar, edgy, intense.

“Shhhh.”

“Mom, he’s tickling me!” Savannah shrieked, grinning right at Grampa, knowing she’d scared him half to death.

“I’m really busy, Savy. Tell him to stop if you don’t like it,” Karen called back.

Savannah dragged the blanket away. “Look what you did to my belly, Grampa.”

From belly to shoulders, she was pimpled with goose flesh, both tiny nipples pricked up.

“You got a stiff, too,” Frank pointed out.

Although he hadn’t touched, his fingertip had come shockingly close on the ‘circles.’

Savannah flipped at it, pulled it down, and let it bounce back. “Stupid thing!”

“He’s extra special, just like you,” Frank whispered, not about to explain ‘extra special’ again. “He just wants to have fun, too

“Is yours big?”

Frank swallowed spit, thinking ‘out of the mouths of children.’ “Yes, because of you.”

Savannah was breathy, anxious, eager even for her. “Can I tickle him again?”

“Maybe when you’re in the bath.”

Savannah wriggled against him, hot and shivery at the same time. “Now!” It was much too loud.

“Shhhh.” He kissed Savannah on the forehead. “How about we tickle each other?”

Savannah looked toward the kitchen. “Now, while Mommy’s busy.”

With the jewelry box in hand, Frank Martin trembled. “First, I’ve got a special present for my teddy bear.”