Timeout 4, Reel to Real: A Whateley Academy Fan fiction, chapter 12 part 3

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place, (http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."
Your constructive criticism and advice continues to help. This is an exercise in the joys of creativity and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Any violations of copyright, trade mark or use of real people or incidents are purely for purposes of humor or parody and done solely for the free enjoyment of the reading public. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005-201208.

Adult content advisory: this chapter contains situations and topics unsuitable for young minds or your sanity. There is also some adult content written by a middle-age juvenile mind. You were warned.

Timeout 4, chapter 12

By John from Wauwatosa
Pronouns protected by Itinerant
Homonymphone herding by Holly Hart
Um, that means they proofed it &/or otherwise saved you from me.

Chapter 12, part 3 of ?

Sitting Pretty, V a c a t i o n

Various locations in Iowa and Wisconsin, June 03-16, 2007

Monday June 04, 2007

* * * *

We drove for a mile or so, following Crystal in her small SUV, and got to a shopping district that reminded me of State Street in Madison, Wisconsin.

We entered the store, and a thirty-ish woman with several prominent tattoos and piercings welcomed us. She had a biker-chick look to her but appeared well groomed. “Crystal, what are you doing...? Oh! Mrs. Johnson, what a pleasure to have you in my establishment. I recognize you from the news and People Magazine. We don’t have a lot of maternity fashions, but I’m sure we can find something in a large size and tailor it for you; we do that on-site.

“I’m forgetting my manners. I’m Nicole and your friend here is … You look just like that singer Joanie, Ms...?

“Joan Brown, but you can call me Joanie.” The shop owner managed to not quite do an impression of a goldfish, but it was a near thing … And if anyone says she was floundering, I'm trout of here.

“Nicole, I was hoping Billie could get some extra commission today. She needs the money for ... you know, and she’s a good worker.”

“I understand, Crystal.” Nicole, the biker chick, pressed an intercom button.

“Billie, I need you up front, please.”

“I’m on my way, Nicole.”

A woman of average height and slight build walked out from the back room. Since I knew she was in transition, I noticed several signs she was not genetically a woman, but they were subtle. She would never be pretty, she didn’t have that kind of face, but she would be a handsome woman. I felt sad that she had to suffer to become what her mind long knew she was; I think I’ve become more sensitive to people’s feelings since my mutation or maybe it’s the hormones. Okay, that was a bad male chauvinist joke, but the male part of my mind needs an occasional bit of fun.

“Crys, it’s so nice to see you.” Her voice was not bad, a bit low but feminine. I began to suspect she started her transitioning very young.

“Billie, this is Babs Johnson, the wife of our governor, and her friend Joanie Brown. You may have heard of her.” She laughed and so did her *sister*. “They are looking for something special to suit their figures. They asked specifically for you.”

“I'll leave you ladies to Billie’s expertise. If you need anything, I’ll be up front.” Nicole excused herself. Crystal said her goodbyes soon after.

“I’ll need your measurements and some idea of what you are looking for: day wear, fancy dress, evening wear, something to impress your sweetie?”

Babs exploded in giggles. “I think my current condition proves my sweetie is happy, and if my friend here gets any sexier, men will explode.”

“Never mind her; everyone in that family is insane, that’s why I fit in so well.” Babs and I giggled like idiots.

“This will be a looong day.”

“Nah, Babs and I are easy to serve. Now bark like a dog and lick our boots, peon.”

Babs took one look at me, and we broke up again.

* * * *

It took a lot of looking and trying on things before she found it. Okay *it* was several outfits, but when Babs saw them, her reaction told me I’d hit pay dirt. Confused? I am too. What I think I meant to say was Billie found these three outfits, these ... these ... Let's say Babs was very enthused when Billie brought them out. I figured if Babs thought they suited me who was I to argue?

Still confused? Well let me describe them. Outfit number one was all black, Capri pants, a sleeveless knit top and some classic white deck shoes. Technically not ALL black but you know, very Audrey Hepburn. I modeled them for my *sister,* anxious for her response. There were several floor length mirrors so I could see for myself, but it was Babs approval I craved. I got it in spades. She had this look on her face, this look of joy that her *sister* had found this perfect outfit. But it was tinged with a look of longing and envy that she could never hope to look as good as me. I have disagreed with her many times over this, but still...

“Joanie, that is so fifties, but it is you. I can see you and Fred Astaire in a bookstore in Paris.”

“Me? Audrey Hepburn? The woman about whom a director said: ‘Put a padded bra on her‘? To which the wardrobe person replied, ‘She’s already wearing two!’? You must be crazy, look at these!’” I hefted my breasts.

“So you’re Audrey Hepburn with really big boobs!”

“Babs! … Women who live in glass houses.…”

I pointed at her pregnancy-swollen chest.

“These are needed to feed twins. I think they are coming along nicely, don’t you?.”

“So, like which of your *twins* are coming along nicely?” I pointed at her belly and chest and acted ‘totally blonde.’ We had the sillies today and could not shake them. The sillies. silly. The other *things* shook very well I must say.

* * * *

Outfit number two was a horridly impractical, red-sequined, LBD ensemble, rather like the sparkling dress Marilyn Monroe wore for President Kennedy’s birthday -- though I think hers was white or maybe gold? To be honest, with her it wasn't the dress you remembered. Number two would be a bitch to keep clean and in repair, but it was breathtaking. It had spaghetti straps and a dangerously deep plunging neckline. It was not quite J-Lo’s green Versace number from the 42nd Grammys,

(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grammy_Awards_of_2000)

but it was a close second in my mind. With my figure, it was scandalous; scratch that, it was tempting fate. One *wardrobe malfunction* and I'd end civilization as we know it. Matching shoes and a purse completed it, and everything fit me -- almost.

“The shoes are fine and the purse, well that fits anyone but Babs. What do you think? It’s a little tight on top and loose in the waist. It fits nice on my butt and hips, but it ends dangerously far above my knees.”

“Try it without a bra, it was made to be worn that way. The spaghetti straps are a clue.”

“Sorry, Billie. I’m not completely used to women’s fashion,” I said a little snappishly.

“I’ve insulted you, Ms Brown. I forgot you were a man, less than a year ago. I apologize.”

“No offense taken, and I should have spoken more carefully. I was rude to you, and I hate celebrities who are snobs.”

I changed back into it braless, and it fit better. By better I meant much more comfortably in a physical sense. As to my personal feelings ... the jury was still out.

“If I take it in here … here … and here … and let it out a bit here and here,” Billie said as she pinned the dress to mark it for adjustments. “I think it could work. And it’s not that high above the knees; I can let out the hem and gain another inch easily. I’d suggest red panties, though, just in case.”

“I’m not sure. I'm sticking out all over the place. Not literally, but still. I admit it looks sexy on me but ... I mean all that cleavage and the high slit on the side. It's more a stripper costume than a ball gown.”

“Joanie,” Babs motioned to me to come closer. “It's a classic. You have the figure for it and it is not indecent, just a bit ... playful? Wear it for Eric’s senior high school prom. I’ll store it for you. You will be the belle of the ball,” she whispered to me. I blushed.

“If I wear *that*, it will look like I’m begging to get laid!” I whispered back

“Eric will be eighteen and free to do as he chooses. How do you think I got Bob? Though we *did it* in college -- my dorm room in fact,” Babs whispered back, giggling as she finished.

“Billie, I have GOT to have this outfit.”

* * * *

My last outfit was all-leather cowgirl. Sort of a Dale Evans meets Joan Jett look. Your basic ’When good cowgirls go bad’ look.

“Oh my, Joanie, I’m not sure about that one. You’re either a ranch hand or a member of a biker gang -- the tough one of the gang.”

“I’ll take it!”

“What?”

“Babs, I look like an innocent school girl much of the time." She raised an eyebrow. "Okay, a not so innocent school girl, but you know what I mean. I look so young. A little *walk on the wild side* can’t hurt. ~~Plus Eric will love it … on me, duh!~~ Then I imagined how he'd react taking it off me ... "I HAVE to have this one, Babs; it's a matter of life and death. A petit-mort." I whispered that last bit to her, then I rolled the whites of my eyes at her and she laughed.

"My friend will take this outfit too. Who am I to deny her? Any thoughts on accessories, Billie?"

Billie smiled at us, not only were we fun customers, or was it funny customers, but we were buying a lot of stuff. You know, lovely, loony and loaded. Her smile got even wider, as she had an 'Eureka!' moment.

“I forgot. I have a pair of tooled, high-heeled, cowgirl boots that match.”

“B-boots? Y-you have boots?” I trembled with anticipation.

“Um, yeah.”

“Billie, Joanie has this weakness. She has never met a pair of sexy boots she doesn’t like … or buy.”

“That is not true ... Can I try them on, PLEASE?” I whined.

“Sure. We can stretch them a size, possibly two, if need be. They are real leather,” Billie kept cool and professional.

I tried them, and they fit perfectly -- not too loose or tight anyplace. “Ghod, they have a four inch heel and engraved steel toecaps … Oooooh!”

“Joanie, stop drooling.”

“Babs, I am not! Well, maybe a little bit. ~~But not where you can see,~~ Can I wear this outfit out of here?”

Babs and I bought, okay she bought for both of us, nearly a thousand dollars in clothes and accessories. I offered to pay but she insisted, "Can't I treat my sister?" I couldn't argue with that. She got several nice outfits, including one that would only fit her if she got back to her pre-pregnancy weight and level of fitness.

“This will never fit me, not after twins.”

“Babs, you’ll get your figure back. I’ll help, if need be. Think of how hot you’ll look in this; Bob will love it.” It was a classic evening gown, not quite an LBD but close. In my mind, I pictured it on Babs’ shorter, more voluptuous figure. It would be eye-popping, show stopping. It shouted ‘I am woman, hear me roar!’ ... she’d look attractive. “Babs, you deserve this dress. Um … just a mo …”

“Billie, do you have one in my size too?”

She found me one. I was really getting to like this young woman.

“Babs, see, I found you an incentive to get back in shape, we can be twins.”

“Twin call girls, Joanie. We could star in a remake of Pretty Woman.”

“For your and Bob’s next wedding anniversary?”

“You little … You know I can’t resist that. Joanie, let’s save yours for special occasions, like your honeymoon.”

“Billie, we’ll take both of these as well. Do you have any matching shoes in stock?”

I left Billie a healthy tip when Babs wasn’t looking. She was in the bathroom; the twins had made their presence known to her bladder.

“Here, these were cluttering up my wallet.” I handed Billie several Benjamin Franklins -- four to be honest.

“Joanie, this is wrong! Even if I wasn’t getting commission, this is a forty percent tip!”

“You still have to alter the gowns and dresses for Babs and me.” She’d gotten a couple nice plus sized summer dresses that, with a little tailoring, would look good on her during and after her pregancy. “Those are nice dresses Babs got. I want you to adjust them as she progresses and cut them down to size after the births. If it bothers you, consider part of your tip as payment for the future alterations.”

“It’s *still* a big tip.”

“Billie, it’s a gift to a soon to be whole girl; don’t make me beg. I want to help, as does your roommate.”

* * * *
We walked out of the boutique looking sharp. Babs looked every bit the glowing and sexy mother-to-be, I looked cowgirl-licious … Yippee-ti-yi-yea, ride 'em cowboy! ~~Ride 'em hard and put him away wet. ... WHERE did THAT come from? ... He's only fourteen - he's only fourteen - he's only fourteen ... ~~

“Babs, know any western wear or saddle shops? I’m thinking this outfit needs a whip, lasso and spurs … for the bedroom.”

Poor Babs laughed so hard, she nearly lost it. “Sorry, I got over enthused.”

We got in my truck, and Babs directed me back to the restaurant in the mini-mall where the hair salon was located. Babs was sweet and didn’t say a thing against my choice of outfit. Her only comment was, “I wish I could pull off a look like that.”

“You will, Hon, if you want to. Just imagine the two of us knocking the socks off everybody at some stuffy political fund raiser.”

“Joanie, the two of us dressed like that would cause a stampede.” Babs got this silly grin. “We have got to see if they have one in my size; imagine us at a charity ball.”

“... or the Democratic Presidential Convention?”

“... the Presidential Inauguration.”

“... the Vatican.”

“Oh yeah! Blazing Saddles! I like your way of thinking, Babs.”

We entered the family-style Greek restaurant and waited to be seated. A college-age woman walked up to us. I suspected she was a daughter of the owner, as she had classic Greek features.

“I’m Helen; I’ll be your waitress today. Would you prefer a booth or a table?” Helen’s face lit up the moment she saw us, particularly Babs. I was suspicious that Babs had pulled a fast one on me.

“A table for Joanie and me, please; no way could I get in to a booth with my belly -- I’m carrying twins.”

“Congratulations Ms. Johnson, I recognized your … face from the media, and Ms Brown, this is an unexpected honor.” Babs laughed.

“Helen, keep buttering us up like this and you’ll soon be on my *A* list. I’m curious, Helen, like in Helen of Troy?” I asked.

“No, after a great grandmother, My Mom jokes we should move to upstate New York, so I really would be Helen of Troy.”

“Sounds like you have a fun mom.”

“Yeah, Dad says he married her because she made him laugh.”

Moments later an attractive woman of around forty walked past us. She carried several dinners on a large tray and looked like an older version of our waitress. “I heard that, Helen Alexis.”

“I meant Dad married her because Mom wasn’t just a pretty face; she had a brain.” Helen said quickly and smiled.

“'Had' a brain? So I don’t have a brain anymore is it, daughter?”

“MOM!” Helen whined, and the older woman laughed, breaking into a broad grin.

Helen seated us and handed out menus then left to welcome a new customer.

The older woman served her tables then stopped by ours. ”Hi, Ms Brown, I’m Phoebe, Helen’s mother. Ms Johnson, Babs, is a long time patron of ours.”

“So Helen was joking when she said where she knew Babs from?”

“That’s my fault. Helen inherited my sense of humor. We’ve both known Babs for years. I was at her wedding.”

“You’re friends?”

“Phoebe and I were waitresses together when I was in college. She was my Matron of Honor, and Helen was the flower girl.”

“My father said Babs was the best waitress we ever had, then Bob had to come and take her from us.”

Helen returned a short while later with ice water and a basket of fresh-baked bread.

“Mom, what have you been telling Ms. Brown about us?”

“Only the truth, dear; Oh, and your father married me because I was pregnant with you, not because I made him laugh. We had a traditional white shotgun wedding.”

“Mom, you’re embarrassing me!”

“I’ll leave you to my daughter’s tender mercies. Babs. Whatever dessert you and Ms Brown want is on the house.”

“Free dessert? Please call me Joanie; you’ve earned it. Um, you do have chocolate … Ummmmmm chocolate!”

“You’re a loony. I see why Babs is your friend.” Phoebe walked off.

“Are you ready to order?”

“Sure,” I said, and Babs nodded. “What do you recommend?” I asked.

“If you want something light, yet satisfying, we do a great Gyro salad. It’s like a gyro, but the pita bread is cut up into small pieces and toasted like croutons. With the extra veggies and the smaller pita, it's half the calories of a classic gyro and very tasty. I eat them a lot.”

I’d noticed how trim and healthy this young woman was. “I’m convinced, Helen. If I want more, I can always order more. One gyro salad for me and an ice tea, lemon with no sugar, please.”

Babs ordered the same plus an appetizer of various Greek cheeses and olives. “My doctor wants me to get more calcium. Cheese is a good source and is much more tasty than the vitamin and mineral supplements my pediatrician has me taking. And yes , I'm eating lots of leafy greens and taking folic acid pills as well. Plus the salad uses a pasteurized milk cheese, not raw. They can't afford to give customers food poisoning. Happier now, Miss Worry-Wart?”

"Much!" I grinned, and we both exploded in giggles.

Minutes later, our orders arrived. The patrons left us to eat in peace, though a couple of kids pointed me out to their parents. Oh, I almost forgot, we got a gyro and ice tea to-go for our *tail*. We finished, paid up and drove back to Terrace Hill. Our *tail* was very happy. I was in heaven; Helen had brought me this slice of Devil’s Food cake and … oooooh! It was so good it was an orgasmic experience.

* * * *

After a very satisfying lunch, we returned to Terrace Hill. I made sure Babs was settled in, and I took off to pick up my friends. I pulled up outside the middle school around three, got out, and stood next to my truck. At promptly five after three, bells rang and kids came running out the doors seconds after. It looked like a jailbreak.

"I know the feeling, kids,” I said to no one but myself.

They were in a hurry to get home or to their friends, for the most part, until a few spotted me. In moments, I was swamped by shouting, excited kids wondering why I was here.

"Whoa! One at a time!”

"What'cha doing here, Joanie?”

"She’s my ride, that’s what,” Eric called out.

That reply worried me. Our romance needed to stay a secret, so I quickly added, "I’m branching out from music to where the real money is: babysitting and taxi service. You'd be amazed what a soccer mom will pay.” The kids laughed their heads off; poor Eric blushed from embarrassment.

I led him to my truck, signed a bunch of autographs for excited kids, and we drove off.

* * * *
.
When we were safely out of sight, I pulled over and parked. I apologized. "I hated having to make fun of you back there, but I was afraid they would find out we are a couple.” I leaned over and gave him a hug "No matter what I have to say or do in public never forget, I *AM* your girl.” I looked around and kissed him sweetly as we were alone.

"Never forget *I* am *yours*.” He looked at me with those eyes of his, so sweet, so adoring, so serious, so ... so ...

"So, you’re a girl?!”

You think *I'm* gonna' pass on a straight-line like that?

We both laughed, then he kissed me -- rather passionately, I might add. It was unexpected and romantic; I cried.

I wiped my tears and started driving again. I wanted him so bad, I ached. I prayed I’d packed one of my *toys* ... and lots of batteries, those long-lived lithium ones preferably. A woman has her needs. Come on, be fair!

* * * *

I looked at my watch; we’d arrived at Mel’s school a little later than I’d like, 3:28, but they’d only just let out minutes before.

"Do you see your sister?”

"I’m not sure. There are so many kids, but I think I see Mel. She's the tall girl over by the basketball hoops.”

"Wait here.” I got out and ran over to her.

"Sorry we’re late, Mel,” I said as she saw me.

"It’s okay, I just got here. Where’s Eric?”

"He’s riding shotgun in my truck, Mel. You got everything?”

A hand tugged on my belt.

"Excuse me. I don’t mean to be rude, but are you Joanie?”

I turned and saw nothing, until I looked down. A fragile-looking girl in a wheelchair was looking up at me. There were some serious looking crutches on the back of the chair and metal braces on her legs. She looked terribly thin and weak. Makeup covered, but did not completely conceal, nasty scars on her face, arms and legs. I struggled not to wince at the sight. ~~Poor kid.~~

"Yes, I’m Joanie.”

"I’m Megan; I like your singing.”

"Thanks, Megan.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. Mel rescued me.

"Megan was a grade ahead of me. She used to be play soccer and tennis; she was good, too. She was in a car crash last year and was hurt bad. She’s in my grade now ’cause she missed so much school. I don't know her very well, but she's a nice girl from what I've heard,” she whispered.

"It’s okay to tell Joanie, Mel. I’m trying real hard to get better, but I’m so weak, it hurts when I try to do much of anything, and my Mom ... she…” The girl started crying.

A man came up to us with a sad expression on his face. "What’s wrong? Did somebody tease you again? Did you hurt yourself, Princess?”

"Megan was talking to us, sir. She recognized me. We were chatting, and she mentioned her mom. Then, she started crying. Sorry, the name's Joanie. I’m a friend of Mel’s, um, Melissa here. And I sing professionally That's probably how Megan knows who I am”

"I thought you were *that* Joanie; Megan has a poster of you. She uses it to motivate herself. You’re an inspiration to her.”

"Me?”

"You went through so much last year: your mutating into a woman, saving people, the kidnapping and other things.”

"What’s so inspirational about that? I suppose if you look at it that way it could be, but for me it was pure luck on my part; I’m no one special.”

"I’m expressing it badly. It’s how you’ve handled everything: the change, saving lives, the sudden fame. You have taken it all so well.”

"Huh?”

"I can’t imagine many people in your situation would have succeeded to the extent you have. I’d expect you to be a basket case emotionally, or a prima-donna with a swelled ego, but you are neither. I can't recall reading or seeing anything bad about you in the legitimate press; in fact it's usually the opposite, saving Ms. Johnson here for example. Your simply being here for her proves you are remarkably normal, and, um, nice? How many so-called celebrities would voluntarily come to Iowa?” He smiled and laughed softly.

I smiled, then got serious. ”I had no choice in the matter; half the time I’m reacting to events. Very little of my life is my own, but then who am I to complain? For the most part, I have it pretty good, and I have made some great friends as a result of my change.” I gave Mel a hug. "Will Megan be okay?”

"I think so. She misses her Mom as do I. She’s a tough girl and will pull though. I’m proud of her."

He looked at his daughter. "Are you ready to go to therapy?”

Megan sniffled a bit. "I’ll be alright, Dad.”

She turned her chair back to face me. "Sorry I cried before, Joanie. I didn’t mean to. It wasn't your fault.”

"I understand all too well, Megan. I cry when I think about my mom, and she’s been gone almost two years. I was 47, when she died. Mom was just shy of 79, so it wasn't like she didn't have a long life; so why does it hurt so? I miss her bad sometimes.” I got to thinking of my mom, and the waterworks started.

"What’s wrong, Joanie?” Megan asked. She grabbed my hand with her better one and squeezed mine to comfort me.

"I ... I was thinking of M-mom!” I dissolved into tears.

She gripped me with both her hands. I felt Megan pulling herself up, using me as her support. She wrapped both her arms around me and gave me a big hug.

"It will be okay, Joanie; you’ll feel better. I bet she’s up in Heaven looking down on us, smiling with my mom.”

As soon as Megan mentioned her mom, she began sobbing and held on all the tighter. We must have looked a sight: two girls, blubbering away, her head pressed against my chest. We held each other for a while, then she must have seen her dad was crying too. She let go of me and walked the few feet to him.

"Don't cry. It will be alright, Daddy, you’ll see,” she said as she hugged him.

He stared at her, amazed. Her face showed an equally shocked expression. "You walked!”

"I walked! No crutches, no walker, no stupid parallel bars. I walked, Daddy!”

He lifted her off the ground and spun her around. "I’ve waited so long for this. It means you’re getting better.” He lowered her back to the ground. They stood there smiling. She grimaced, and he looked concerned.

"I forgot myself. Does it hurt?”

"A little, but I think it’s because I was stuck in bed and this damn chair so long."

"Megan, don't swear! You want down, honey?"

"Yeah, my legs are getting tired; can you brace my chair as I sit down, Dad?”

"It would be my pleasure, Megan,” I offered. I braced her wheelchair from behind, as her dad gently guided her into the seat. She smiled at her dad and me, as she sat down.

"It will take some time, but I promise you’ll see me running again, Daddy.”

She spun her chair and looked up into my eyes.

"Thank you so much!”

"What for?”

"Helping me to walk again.”

"But I did nothing; you did it all.”

"Yes, you did. When you started crying for your mother, I forgot that I couldn’t walk, and I got up to comfort you. I was close to walking in therapy, but it hurt so much, I was afraid to try. I’m not afraid anymore. I know it will take lots of work, and some pain, but I know I can do it. And that is so kewl! You're like an angel or something.”

"Okay, if you want to think that. I'll be your *guardian angel,* if it helps to motivate you, I mean ... I don't know what I am saying, but I am happy for you. You write me, ya'hear? I want to know how you are doing, If you don't, I'll sic Mel on you."

That got a laugh out of Megan, and her face lit up. I noticed Eric walk up to us; I guess he was worried for me. Seeing him standing next to Megan made me feel so good.

~~She has such a pretty laugh! And with that smile on her face, she could get any boy she wants with those ... NOOOOO!~~

"If you ever pull your feminine wiles on Eric, I'll ..." I whispered in a less than friendly tone.

~~Damn. I'm a jealous woman ... CRAP, I just outed us!~~

"I'm so sorry.I don't know where that came from, that was very rude, forgive me?" I whispered in apology.

Megan laughed and whispered back, "I may not be an adult, but even I can see he is yours. The way he looks at you ... I hope someone will love me like that. Don't worry, I'll never tell; girl's honor!"

Mel whispered something in my ear, something about the desirability of pinky swearing. Apparently Megan and I were not as discreet as we assumed, or so Mel warned me. I followed her suggestion; Who was I to ignore her sage council? Plus Mel was the expert on adolescent girls here... Okay I ACT adolescent, but it's not the same.

I knelt by Megan's wheelchair. "Will you Pinky swear on that, Megan? Then you can never break your word to me or something terrible will happen, like you'll chip a nail or break out with zits on Prom night.

"My advisor on all things teen and girly, Ms Mel here, insists that we do. *I* trust you but then I'm still kinda new at all this girl stuff. So I must defer to an expert."

She laughed, but we did pinky swear. To be fair I gave my *sacred oath* too.

"I, Joanie, pinky swear to never reveal any secrets you tell me and to be your friend as long as you want. You pinky swear to be my friend and never ever tell anybody about me and you know who." I whispered the last bit as I subtly pointed towards Eric. "Pinky swear?" Seeing the scars on her up-close made me cringe though Megan didn't see me, I think. ~~ I wonder if Gin and her sorceress friends could do something for her ?~~

I had Mel witness our *oaths*. She also pinky swore with Megan. Hey, I'm taking no chances with Eric!

We exchanged e-mail addresses, so we could keep in touch, and left before the crowd around us grew too big. Eric helped us get though the crowd and into my truck. It was just in time too, as a TV news van pulled into the school parking lot moments after we drove off.

* * * *

The rest of the day I was subjected to adolescent hero worship, as Mel had to tell her parents, the staff of Terrace Hill, and all her friends about the *miracle* I’d performed. Apparently they'd been reading some fantastic story, by a Welshauthor, about a young woman who raised dormice while bicycling, caring for a hoard of kids and performing miracles or something like that.

I couldn't follow a word they said. I got the impression they saw similarities between me and the story's heroine. I did get a lot of hugs, which were nice, out of it. Eric, who had watched most of the triggering event, my *healing the lame or the Miracle of Megan*, from the relative safety of my truck, was unsympathetic to my *plight* and delighted in watching me squirm at his sister’s antics.

"Eric! Rescue me, please!”

"No. This is too much fun.”

"Maybe I should get me a different boyfriend.”

"Sis, stop teasing my girl! Joanie, dear, do you want to shoot some hoops?”

"Wow! You got my hint," I said sarcastically, or tried to, but the giggles got me. Poor Eric just shook his head and smiled. If I hadn't fallen for him before, I did then. That he can put up with this ditzy psycho dame is beyond me, Oh, right, I'm built like a brick shi* house -- gold bricks at that. As the T-shirt says *These get me off the hook*. They don't call them *boobs* for nothing. And I should know. My sister sent me a dozen T-shirts in assorted colors with that printed on them. Do you think all those decades of blonde jokes finally got to her? ... Nah!

We played basketball until it was time to go to bed. It was the perfect end to a perfect day. I worked all my sexual frustration out with that hard exercise and felt much better after.

I have to confess, I snuck into his room while he showered and *borrowed* his sweaty T-shirt. I folded it up, took a deep long sniff and placed it under my pillow. I had the most wonderful dreams that night, and no, I’m not telling you about them!

Tuesday, June 05, 2007

Tuesday was a repeat of Monday. After breakfast, I got my friends to school then spent much of the morning bumming around with Babs. We caught up on the latest gossip ... GOTCHA! Like I was interested in gossip. But we did catch up on what we’d each been doing since we’d last talked. She showed me the latest sonogram movies of the twins, and we oohed and ahhed over them.

"Babs, I must confess I feel jealous of you.”

"Of me?”

"Yes, you have this hunk of a husband, two great kids, many fine friends and a belly full of joys to come. I so want to be pregnant, I ache.”

"Damn, I have to go to the bathroom again.” She had to use it at least every fifteen to twenty minutes, and I could see it annoyed her. "I’ll trade you,” she called out from the bathroom.

"How about I give you a nice long massage while you bitch and moan about the horrors of pregnancy?”

"Deal!”

* * * *

At noon, I left for that TV station to meet with the aide who had participated in my fan club chat, Ms. baby6blue. The management made one last pitch for their anchor to do the interview, but I insisted.

"Your intern did all the work and should reap the benefits. I don’t mind the anchor participating, or my doing a few promo spots with them, but that’s the limit. You knew my conditions coming into this and agreed. Adults keep their promises. or so I’ve been told.”

They were surprised I spoke that way. "You’re not what we expected, Joanie.”

"I may look like teenage airhead to some, but that is a mis-perception. I’m not being a bitch; I simply want the person who did the work to reap the benefits, as I said a moment ago. I’ll gladly help promote your anchor and the station, so long as the new kid here gets the break of a lifetime. Deal?”

They agreed, and we started filming after reviewing a list of possible questions and topics. The intern was exceptionally well prepared, and the anchor was not just a pretty face herself. To be honest she was quite attractive as many news anchors are, but there was a brain behind the tinted contacts, hand-tailored suit and three-hundred-dollar coiffure. I’ll not go into details, as the interview has been rebroadcast many times. I like to think I did well; Mel and Eric seemed to think so, as did Babs, and they should know.

* * * *

There was a significant crowd of students waiting around Mel and Eric at their respective schools when I picked them up, but no TV crews, thankfully. An enterprising young woman at Eric’s school asked me a few questions.

"I’m Madison, and I’m on the school paper. Can I ask a couple questions?”

"If it won’t take too long. My friends must be getting hungry, assuming the school lunch didn’t kill their desire for food ... ever again.” I faked gagging, and most of the kids laughed.

"Why are you in Iowa? Are you just visiting the Johnsons?”

"That's a big part of it. It’s pure joy for me being with them, I feel like family, when I'm with them. They are so kind and loving. That I am a mutant has no affect on how they perceive me. I'm a dear, close friend, period. I'm no fool; my saving Melissa is the reason we met and that they accepted me at first, but it's gone way beyond that. The Johnsons are plain and simply good people.

"Sorry, kinda' wandered off topic there."

"That's alright. It's clear you love and respect the Johnsons, so that is pertinent to the story."

"My, we don't talk half posh, do we?" I said in a overblown upper class British accent.

"You're silly." The girl behind the *serious reporter* mask broke though, laughing.,

"Well duh! I'm a loony." We both laughed then I continued. "I'm also here to get away from school, um, my school, schooling ... Whatever! Summer vacation, that's the word -- okay, phrase. I’m at a school that specializes in training mutants, which is something I need, and I teach there too. Being with my friends back in the Midwest is helping me clear my head, get some perspective, and relax before my trip to Wales.”

"Wales as in the United Kingdom?”

"Exactly! You must be good at geography, Madison.”

"I’m okay at it, but I did my research. You’re reported as heading to Wales to appear on TV.”

"Close. I’m there for a TV series. I can’t say which one, but it’s a show I watch here. I expect it will be hard work but fun. Uh-oh! I see a TV truck. I’d better go, or you’ll lose your exclusive.”

"You’re right! Our advisor will be so amazed.”

"Feel free to e-mail me. Maybe I’ll send you some photos from the TV show you can put in the school paper, or maybe the Des Moines Register under your byline? Ask Eric, here; he has my contact info."

"I'll have it for you tomorrow, Madison, if that's okay with you?"

"Oh yes! Thank you Eric." Madison was beaming.

"Let's go. Your sister awaits.”

We left the lot just as the TV people got there. I waved and laughed, as I drove past. Ghod! I love teasing them, the blood sucking vampires, um guardians of the truth. And if I have offended any actual vampires, I apologize. I should have said '... the blood-sucking politicians.'

* * * *

To be continued very soon.

Only another 107 pages to go not counting the abbreviated header to each part.

Then starts chapter 13.

John in Wauwatosa