Byron is a bastard. Will he become a good woman or a bitch? That remains to be seen - or read - but what we do know is that the author is lazy. Parts 1, 2, & 3 were posted on the Classic Big Closet site over a year and a half ago. Because it's been such a long time, she is re-posting slightly revised versions of 1 - 3 as well as the new part 4.
Byron is a bastard. Will he become a good woman or a bitch? That remains to be seen - or read.
Byron the Bastard
by Jezzi Stewart
©2004 Turn Right Productions
This story was conceived by the merging of two events in May of 2003. The first event was my rereading of H.G. Well's "The Island of Doctor Moreau" followed closely by the second which was a result of my cleaning out of my classroom closets prior to retirement after 37 years of teaching. I found material dating back to the '60's in those closets! A lot of it consisted of things I had acquired thinking to use them in class, then totally forgot about, and never used. One of those items was a copy of "True Love Stories" magazine from May, 1930. As I leafed through the magazine, it became apparent that it was close to crumbling to dust. There was no way I could save the whole magazine, but I had been impressed with the illustrations and decided to try to save them long enough to scan them. I eventually saved nine illustrations from five different stories. As I looked at them. an idea began to form. I printed each one on its own sheet of paper and began shuffling them around on my dining room table. After several shuffles, the story which you are about to read formed in my mind. Because there are nine pictures, "Byron the Bastard" will be posted in nine chapters, each inspired by one of them. I hope you enjoy it.
This is dedicated to my fellow authors and, I hope, my friends Angel O'Hare, Gwen Lavyril, and Maddy Bell, who have honored me by including me in their stories. You two are in this whether you like it or not! :-)
Part 1, December 24, 1933, Angel
It was christmas Eve, and as the taxi drew closer to the Bromley estate in suburban Wilmette, Angel could tell that her friend, Carol Bromley, was getting a bit nervous and she thought, *I hope to hell this works!*.
Carol's father, Alexander Bromley, was a self-made man. Born dirt poor in Oklahoma 1880, he had worked his way out west to Washington, where he was in a perfect position, at age twenty, to work his way north to Alaska and take advantage of the Gold Rush of 1901. He had not struck it rich, but like Levi Strauss before him in California, he had come up with something the miners desperately needed, a new and improved form of snowshoe, and made a fortune selling it. His snowshoes were smaller and lighter in weight than the traditional ones, and much easier for the miners to work in. It later turned out that his snowshoes worked equally well in sand, and he had increased his fortune by selling to the British and French in the desert regions of their empires. During The Great War, he had come up with a military version, which he manufactured and donated at no cost to the Allied forces, earning the praise of the British French, Russian (Angel, on a visit to Bromwood, the Bromley estate, had seen a picture of him displayed on the piano receiving a medal from the Czar.) and American governments. The shoes had been endorsed by none other than Lawrence of Arabia.
In 1910, Alexander had married the beautiful Sissy Rowland, heir to the Rowland seed grain fortune, and in 1913, Carol had been born. It was a difficult birth, and Sissy, it was found, could have no more children. The couple lavished all their love and money on Carol, but, unfortunately, Sissy never fully recovered from her daughter's birth and died in 1919, when carol was six. She was brought up after that by her father, who retired to do the job. Their joint grief over the loss of Sissy only strengthened the bond between the two, and Carol grew up as beautiful as her mother and with her father's intelligence and work ethic. Hence Carol's employment at Moreau Imports, even though she was heir to enough money to buy several European kingdoms.
Over the year and a half that twenty year old Carol had worked at Moreau Imports in Chicago's Rogers Park, the two young women had become good friends. Angel Moreau O'Hare was the grand-daughter of the founder of the company, which imported artifacts from the Far East, and had been working there since she graduated from high school, five years ago.
When Carol had started at the store, she had been a bright-eyed happy newlywed, and every other conversation was about how much she loved her apparently god-like husband, Byron, and how happy she was. It had been Byron this, and Byron that; it seemed as though the man had no faults.
They had decided to live, she told Angel, with her invalid father on the family estate because he needed her. It had been Byron's idea, she had stated proudly. She had wanted to buy a small home of their own close by, but he had convinced her that "father" needed them close at hand. Such a wonderful, caring man!
But five months after she started work, her beloved father had died. Angel had been by her side for three days straight to comfort her distraught friend, and had held her while she cried and threw the first handful of dirt into the open grave. Angel had thought at the time that it should have been her husband comforting Carol at this time, but when she looked over her friend's shoulder as the dirt rattled on the coffin six feet below, Byron was nowhere near. She finally spotted him over fifty feet away engaged in a heated conversation with a man she recognized as the Bromley family solicitor, Jack Flyer.
Carol had changed after the funeral. There was less and less talk about the wonderful Byron, and when Angel would mention happy times with her husband Bob and their twin daughters Teesee and Tammy, Carol would sigh and get a wistful look in her eyes. Angel suspected all was not well on the Bromley home front.
Today, though, there had been a change for the better. Carol had requested the morning off, and had come into the store at one o'clock beaming and humming "Away in the Manger" She told Angel she had the perfect Christmas gift for Byron, one that was going to make things all better. "I don't know if you've noticed," she opened up to Carol, "but I haven't been happy for quite awhile now. Byron used to compliment me and treat me like a princess, but since the funeral, nothing I do seems to be right. My feelings have been hurt, but I think the poor dear has been under a lot of stress. He claims he wants to buy us the house we talked about before marriage, but there seems to be a problem with Father's will and the sale of Bromwood. Uncle jack comes by often, and, while he is sweet Uncle Jack to me as he always has been, he seems cold to Byron and the two of them argue, mostly in places where I can't make out what they are saying. I love Bromwood, but was willing to give it up as it was way too large for just the two of us," here she smiled, "but now, my present will, I think, make Bromwood just right for us and relieve Byron of the stress connected with trying to sell it. I'm going to tell him on Christmas morning."
At that, Angel began to suspect the nature of the gift that Carol was talking about, and was not surprised when she finally couldn't contain herself any longer and, drawing her friend into a massive hug blurted, "Oh, Angel, the rabbit died; I'm PREGNANT! With twins Dr. Burrows thinks!" She danced her friend around the shop and, while Angel couldn't help being infected by her friend's joyous mood, she cringed as many a far Eastern antique came perilously close to becoming a pile of china or glass shards or broken pieces of wood on the salesroom floor.
Carol had invited Angel to come home to Bromwood with her after work for a girl's evening in of gossip and, of course, baby talk, and to help her decorate the house for Byron's arrival late that evening, and Angel had agreed. Angel's thought in the taxi that she hoped this pregnancy worked was sparked by the experience of a friend of hers, Sally. Sally had also thought that a baby would fix a marriage gone rocky, but the opposite had occurred, a divorce followed, and sally was trying to get by now as a single mother with a four year old. She was not about to rain on her friend's parade just yet, though, and tried to remain upbeat. "Honey, don't worry," she said, giving her friend yet another hug, "Byron is going to be thrilled!" *I hope* she thought to herself. The hug lasted until the taxi pulled into the driveway off Sheridan Road and stopped before the gates to Carol's estate.
In 1922, Howard Carter had discovered the virtually intact tomb of the Egyptian pharaoh Tutankhamon, and the British Empire and the United States had been swept with a passion for all things of an ancient Egyptian nature. It was in 1923 that Alexander Bromley, caught up himself in the craze, had hired architects to design what was to become Bromwood, he and ten year old Carol's new home. As the taxi pulled up to the gates of the estate, Angel was once again awed by the massive facing statues of Ramses III that served as gateposts. The gates themselves were wrought iron with what Alexander had liked to call, tongue in cheek, the "Bromanhotep" cartouche designed by himself worked into each side. Carol exited the cab and, unlocking a plate in the chest of the right-hand Ramses, flipped a switch causing the gates to slowly open.
Fortunately or unfortunately depending on one's point of view, plans for the main house at Bromwood had been finalized before Alexander caught the Egyptian bug, and so was built not in the tradition of an ancient temple or pyramid. But it was still an impressive structure, almost a throwback to the imposing castles built by the Vanderbilts and Rockefellers of the latter half of the last century. Angel's family had not been poor, and she and her husband and children lived comfortably in the converted top two floors of the building that housed Moreau Imports, but she still felt a moment of awe every time she saw Bromwood House.
The cab driver dropped the two off at the front door, and Angel was surprised when Carol fumbled in her purse, pulled out a key, and let them into the house herself, rather than ringing the bell for the butler. Seeing her friend's confusion, Angel explained that their long time family butler and maid, a husband and wife team, had retired to florida a month ago. several new servants had been tried, but had not worked out. The way carol said that made Angel suspect that Byron was the reason, but she decided not to pry ... yet.
As soon as they were inside, Carol's mood brightened considerably, and the two girls were soon giggling and singing carols as they decorated the living room. They had it decorated to Carol's liking by 6:30pm, with Byron's gayly wrapped presents - "But not the BIG present!" Carol had giggled - piled artfully under the tree. But when Angel had made to go home, Carol urged her to stay and say hello to Byron, who was due to arrive at 7:00. Suspecting that there was more to this request than just socializing, she agreed to stay, and the two settled down with Coca-Colas to wait for Byron (Neither woman indulged in alcohol, even though the new 21st Amendment had at last repealed prohibition.)
7:00pm came and went, and so did 8:00pm and 9:00pm. Finally at 9:30, they heard a car screech to a halt out front and a few moments later the door was thrust open. Carol, a smile of both relief and greeting on her face had leaped up and run to the door, with Angel following behind at a slower pace. It should have been a happy romantic scene, the loving and lovely wife waiting to greet her darling handsome husband with her gorgeous best friend, happy for the two, looking on. Two-thirds of the participants looked their parts. Both women were dressed in elegant dresses, carol having decided sometime after 7:00 to change out of her work attire. She had insisted on loaning another elegant gown to Angel, since they were the same size. Angel had agreed, thinking that playing dress up would help pass the time and calm her friend a bit. In keeping with the season, Carol was in red and Angel in emerald green.
But then Byron actually entered the entrance hall. Angel would have been hard put to think of Byron at all as "darling", but she had always found him handsome. Under normal circumstances he was. Very. At a slender 5'10", he filled out a tuxedo nicely and, with his slicked back coal black hair, both women agreed he looked rather like the movie star Fred Astaire. Tonight, however, Byron's good looks were mitigated by a slight stagger in his walk; his suit was disheveled, and there was a scowl on his face. He reeked of cheap booze and just a hint, Angel thought, of a woman's perfume that wasn't Carol's.
No "I love you." No "You look lovely tonight, Dear." Not even a "Sorry I'm late, Honey." Instead Byron stared at his wife as if disgusted and asked in a surly voice, "Get paid today?"
A shocked Carol replied, "Why, yes..."
Before she could continue, Byron thrust out his hand and in the same surly voice demanded, "Give it here, then!"
Carol could only stutter, "Bu ... bu... but, Byron ..." Angel was speechless with shock.
Interrupting her again, Byron raised his right hand and advanced menacingly on his wife. He was almost shouting now. "Carol, give me your pay envelope, you stupid slut!"
Blanching and cringing slightly, Carol reached for her purse which was lying on the small end table by the door and, opening it, pulled out the envelope with her pay in it. She thrust it into Byron's hand and he turned without a word and made his way out, slamming the heavy door behind him. The start of an engine and the screech of tires finally seemed to release the two women and Angel moved quickly to catch the sobbing Carol in her arms.
Many tears later and a phone call to Bob explaining that Angel would be late, Angel put her friend to bed and reluctantly prepared to leave. She wanted to stay with her friend, and only agreed to leave when Carol called "Uncle" Jack.
Jack Flyer was a widower, and both of his sons were overseas, so he had no Christmas obligations. Indeed, Carol had invited him over for Christmas dinner the next day. He regarded Carol as the daughter he never had, so he was more than willing to come over and stay with her. He'd never liked that bastard, Byron!
Christmas morning found a somewhat bleary from lack of sleep Angel putting on a good front and laughing along with Bob as Tammy and TeeSee ripped through their Christmas presents. She had almost forgotten her friend Carol's plight, when the telephone rang. It was Jack, telling her that Carol was in Lake Forest hospital and in surgery.
Part 2, December 25 - 31, 1933, Carol
The closing front door left Carol alone. She had had to argue quite strongly in order to get Angel to leave before Jack arrived, but she was sure, she told her friend, that Byron was off somewhere drinking up her pay and wouldn't be back till morning. She wanted Angel to get home and get to sleep; she didn't want those two darling angels Tammy and Teesee to have a grumpy mother come Christmas morning.
No longer having to keep up appearances, Carol wandered back into the living room and collapsed into her special chair to the right of the fireplace. she didn't cry - She had cried herself out in the arms of her friend. - but her thoughts were in a whirl. How could Byron be like this? And on christmas eve, too? Her happiness at her condition had disappeared, replaced by apprehension. Would the Byron she had seen tonight rejoice with her over the news of their baby ... babies?
She loved Byron deeply, though, and soon began to make excuses for his behavior. It had been, after all, Christmas Eve. Glancing up at the big clock over the fireplace, she noted that it was now 12:05, Christmas morning. The clock was unique; set into a slab of gold bearing rock, it had been made for her father by a Yukon gold miner who attributed his striking it rich to her father's snowshoes. As it ticked away, Carol became calmer. Byron had probably stopped after work to toast the season with some of his friends and just got over enthusiastic, she rationalized. Everybody it seemed was drinking a lot these days, she thought, probably the result of the release of pent up desire after the repeal of prohibition. By the time she heard a car in the driveway, she had convinced herself that Byron had simply needed the money to pay back a friend who had lent him money to buy drinks. he would be his old self when he returned in the morning. She got up and went to the door to let Jack in.
It wasn't Jack. Byron walked in. He walked past her as if she didn't exist, went into the library and lifted the small statue of the Egyptian goddess Hathor in her cow form that rested on the fireplace's four inch thick granite mantle. The horns of the cows' heads of two anthropomorphic statues of Hathor supported the mantle, and the "Bromanhotep" cartouche was carved into it's front. This tableau surrounding the fireplace was the only concession to the Egyptian furor of the early twenties in the house. It was also a concession to the 18th amendment. The lifting of the statue caused the two flanking statues to pivot outward revealing a well stocked mini-bar on either side. It was not a coincidence that Hathor was the Egyptian goddess associated with alcoholic beverages.
Byron poured himself a tumbler of newly legal Canadian whiskey, downed it in one quick swallow, and refilled his glass. He walked over to his chair, to the left of the fireplace facing Carol's, set the drink down on the end table by it, and collapsed into it, all this without a word to carol. He picked up the glass and continued drinking. Carol sat opposite him, waiting. Nothing. No apology for earlier. Nothing. Thinking of the babies, she put aside her hurt feelings. She decided, quite wrongly as it turned out, to give Byron his big present ... their big present. In a conciliatory tone she started, "Byron, dear, I ..."
"What?!" he snapped
"I just thought," she continued, now nervously, "that you seemed so agitated earlier, and that you might want your christmas present a bit early. We can open the ones under the tree in the morning, but this one is special, and," she glanced at the clock, "it IS christmas."
Byron shook his head as if to clear his mind. "Christmas? he asked in a puzzled tone. Carol's heart sank. He had forgotten Christmas! But then he gave a thin smile. "yes, I suppose it is Christmas. well, let's have it! What is this special present?"
Carol got up, walked over to him and knelt before him. The firelight reflected off her red satin gown and revealed the depths of her green eyes, shaded by long luxurious lashes. In her kneeling position Byron could, had he cared to look, seen the milky white tops of her breasts gently rising and falling as she breathed. She radiated the message, "I am woman." Her scent was the scent of a woman in love. New maternal feelings caused her to glow. Any man would feel lust; a husband would, should, feel love ... but not Byron. It seemed only that his annoyance at being interrupted in his drinking was momentarily outweighed by his mild curiosity over this mysterious present his wife had gotten him. "Well? ..."
Carol rushed to get it out, the same thing she'd said to Angel. "Oh, Byron, the rabbit died!" When no response was forthcoming she glanced up, just in time to be almost knocked over as Byron abruptly stood up.
"What!? You don't mean..."
"Yes, I'm pregnant! Twins, most likely said Dr. Burrows!" Carol was glowing and smiling. Then she noticed, as she stood and tried to embrace him, that Byron wasn't smiling back.
"Damn!" was all he said. He turned from her and picked up his drink from the end table. Downing it in one gulp, he slammed the now empty glass down and began pacing in front of the fireplace. He acted as if Carol wasn't even there. She, her whole world in ruins at that moment, just stood there and began to silently cry. Byron finally noticed her and something faintly - very faintly - like concern crossed his face. He grabbed her arm and began to pull her from the library. "Let's go to bed." he muttered distractedly.
Carol's mind was in a confused shambles, all her happiness at Dr. Burrows' news gone for the moment as her grand Christmas plans for renewing their marriage collapsed. She slowly realized there was pain in her arm where Byron was gripping her and pulling her along at the same time. She really focused on his face for a moment and he was scowling. The first hints of fear appeared in her mind. As mean as Byron had been to her in the months since her father's death, he had never before hurt her physically. Where was Uncle Jack?
'Damn!' thought Jack, glancing at his watch as he wrestled with the spare from the trunk of the big Buick. 'What a time for a flat tire!' He was worried. While Carol hadn't said any more than that Byron had been drunk and had left her alone and she wanted company, he had thought he detected fear in her voice. When Carol had first introduced Byron to him months before their wedding, he had disliked the man on sight. Byron had been a perfect gentleman then, though, and he had put it down half seriously to jealousy at a stranger taking away "his little girl." He had tried to like Byron, for Carol's sake, as he saw how happy she was, but all of that changed at Alexander's funeral.
Jack had met Alexander in the Yukon when both had been young men. He had set Alexander's broken arm, and Alex had paid him with a pair of his new snowshoes. The two had become fast friends. They had lost track of each other when jack had left the Yukon to undertake the courting of the woman who would become his wife, but both had been overjoyed years later to find that the other was also in Chicago.
Alex and Sissy were both remarkably healthy and there had been no need of a doctor until Sissy began to experience problems during her pregnancy. A look in the phone book turned up the name "Dr. Jack Flyer". could it be? Yes! The two friends were reunited and Jack delivered Carol. He had also tended the dying Sissy. As a widower himself, he was able to help his old friend through his grief, and it helped that he had also become a lawyer during the intervening years and could deal with all the legal as well as the medical problems surrounding the death. This gave Alex and Carol time to help each other deal with their grief over losing wife and mother. He truly did think of Carol as as much his little girl as Alexander's, and knew that she did indeed love her "Uncle Jack".
He had not expected to have to reprise his role as chief comforter when Alexander died, believing that role to now be Byron's. Thus he was surprised when at the funeral, Byron had dragged him away from the grave site to ask about selling Bromwood. He had looked over and saw that fortunately there was a young woman comforting Carol. He had sharply told Byron to return to his wife and that they would talk at a more appropriate time. He, as executor of Alexander's estate, would be calling soon to arrange for the reading of the will. Later Carol had introduced him to Angel; her he had liked on sight.
Not surprisingly, the will left everything to Carol. While these were the 1930's and not the bad old days when a woman's property automatically became her husbands, the laws of the state of Illinois - Privately Jack believed chicago should secede from the rest of the state and become its own state. - did give Byron some rights in regard to it. It became increasingly clear to Jack that Byron wanted to sell Bromwood. The man was a male gold digger, a gigolo! He could not bring himself to confront Carol about this, though, and destroy her happiness. However, when he had received her call a short while ago, all his ill feelings about Byron had crystalized and it was with a sense of urgency and dread that he had thrown on some old clothes, jumped in the Buick, and headed for Bromwood. He had automatically grabbed his physicians' bag and thrown it into the front seat alongside himself.
As he was recapping all this in his mind he was also finishing the changing of the Buick's right front tire. He picked up the journey to Bromwood just as Byron pulled carol through the door into their bedroom.
"Byron, you're hurting me!" exclaimed Carol, as he dragged her through the bedroom door. She was really crying now. As he pulled her to the bed, she glanced in the mirror and noted that there were no black streaks. 'This new waterproof mascara really works!' was her odd thought, as her mind tried to cope with the serious things that were happening. Looking back to Byron she saw that his scowl had deepened and his face was red with anger.
"You little bitch!" he snarled at her; "You have to go and ruin everything!"
She cringed. "I thought you'd be pleased, Byron. Our children! You wouldn't have to worry about selling the house; we'd need it with our children."
Then the unkindest cut of all. "Our children? How do I know the brats are mine, you slut!" And he slapped her. Hard.
The slap sent Carol reeling backwards. Her heel caught on her satin bed slippers lying on the floor. She fell, first across the night stand, which caught her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her, then hitting her head on the hard wood of the bed side rail. She looked up at the red angry face of the man she still loved. "I love you so much, Byron, but I swear to God that's the last time you'll ever hit me!" she managed to get out as the blackness closed in.
Carol awoke and knew immediately where she was. The smell had been with her almost constantly in the months that her father was dying. she was in a hospital. She opened her eyes and saw Jack sitting beside the bed along with Dr. Burrows. "Uncle Jack! The babies ...?" she managed to get out. The darkness descended again as she saw the sad look on both doctors' faces.
When she next awoke, it was Angel looking down at her. "Damn, girl, you look like shit!" was Angel's comment.
Angel's completely uncharacteristic comment had the desired effect, and Carol burst out laughing as Angel pulled her into a very careful and very gentle hug. Then came the tears. Then Jack was there again. She felt a prick on her arm, and blackness returned.
The next time she awoke, Angel was there again and helped her stand and shakily make her way to the bathroom. Carol found she was able to function, although there was an ache in her heart. She let Angel get her dressed and do her hair and makeup to be presentable for Uncle Jack. He might be her Uncle, but he was still a man and she didn't want him to see her looking disheveled. She knew. of course, that he had seen her looking a mess while she had been unconscious, but that was different. She was sitting up in bed, with Angel in the chair by her side when Jack came in. He thought she had never looked prettier, until he noted the sadness in her eyes.
Her only questions were "What happened?" and "Where's Byron?"
Jack explained: When he had finally arrived at Bromwood, he had entered only to be passed by an exiting Byron. Realizing that something bad must have happened, he rushed through the house, first to the library, where he noted the open bar, the two-thirds empty whisky bottle, and Byron's empty glass, and then to the bedroom, where he discovered Carol unconscious and bleeding profusely from what he quickly determined was just a scalp wound. Fortunately he had automatically grabbed his bag from the front seat of the Buick and brought it in with him. He had stopped the bleeding and checked her vital signs, but couldn't get her to regain consciousness. He called Lake Forest hospital and Dr. Burrows. Then, finding her number in Carol's personal phone directory that he had found in her night stand, he called Angel. Then, he told Carol, he had sat with her head in his lap till the ambulance arrived, singing her every lullaby he knew.
He continued the singing for several hours at the hospital, he continued, till Angel had arrived. The staff, he chuckled, were overjoyed to see Angel as she had a much better singing voice than him. This, too, like Angel's previous comment, got a laugh from carol, with the added benefit of a hug.
Byron, Jack went on, was in police custody, picked up for drunk driving. What the hell, he asked, had happened?
Carol lied. She said Byron had tried to hug her and, because he had reeked of liquor, she had backed away, catching her heel on her bedroom slippers and fell. Jack reluctantly accepted the story and left at her request to deal with a, he hoped, VERY hung over Byron and the police. Carol suspected he didn't believe her, but knew he would accept her story, at least for now.
She told the truth to Angel. She didn't know how she felt about Byron. Hate, certainly; he had cost her her babies, after all, and she and Angel spent a good deal of time crying about that, but she still loved him and wondered if there was a way to deal with him short of divorce. Angel agreed about divorce, but had no such reservations; to her, simple divorce was too good for Byron. He needed to be punished!
Carol agreed, but added that he needed to be rehabilitated, too. What could they do? Angel, remembering a locked trunk in the attic of her and Bob's building, thought she might have a solution. The trunk had belonged to her great-uncle, the infamous Dr. Moreau. Listening to Angel, Carol, seeing the evil smile on her friend's face, thought briefly that if Byron could see that smile, he would leave Chicago as fast as he could. She smiled, too.
to be continued
The TG starts in part 3, I promise.
Byron made a big mistake pissing off the granddaughter of Dr. Moreau. ... and what about Bob?
Byron the Bastard
by Jezzi Stewart
©2004 Turn Right Productions
Since I started this, I have also uncovered among my salvaged school materials several Montgomery Ward catalogs from the early '30's, so there will be more illustrations. Each chapter will, however, continue to be built around one of the original nine illustrations from "True Love Stories" of May, 1930.
This is dedicated to my fellow authors and, I hope, my friends Angel O'Hare and Maddy Bell, who have honored me by including me in their stories. You two are in this whether you like it or not! :-)
Part 3; January 1 - April 1, 1934; Angel
Over the next several days, Carol recuperated, first in the hospital and then at home. Byron was serving 90 days in the cook county Jail for public drunkenness and drunk driving. Only Angel knew the truth about what he had done, and it was consistent with her evolving plan for him that he have this little "vacation". Now all she had to do was convince Carol.
It was 10:00am on New Years Day, and Carol was sitting up in bed when Angel came in to her bedroom at Bromwood. She set the tea tray she had brought down on the night stand and took a good look at her friend. "Well. it's about damn time!" she said, hands on hips.
Carol looked good. For the first time since she'd awakened in Lake Forest Hospital, she had taken the trouble to fix herself up. She had done her hair in an attractive style and had even used some makeup. She was dressed very prettily in a pink nighty. She looked a sweet confection with a pastel blue bedspread surrounding her and propped up by pastel blue pillows. "And a fine good New Years morning to you, too, Miss Grumpy." she said to her friend laughingly, and Angel flushed guiltily. Then she turned serious. "1933 was such a horrible year for everyone in so many ways, and, of course, for me personally at the end, that 1934 just has to be better. I just decided to take President Roosevelt's words to heart, 'We have nothing to fear but fear itself.'" She noticed Angel still standing and smiled again. "Here, come sit by me and fix us the tea."
Angel moved to do so. She fixed Earl Gray for herself, plain, and green tea for Carol, two sugars, as she liked it. They sipped in silence for a moment, broken finally by Angel. "Well, I'm very glad to see my good girlfriend back." she started. "Jack and I ... all your friends ... were worried about you. How do you feel now about the ..." And she glanced at her friend's tummy, leaving the rest of the question unspoken.
Angel watched as Carol's smile disappeared. Her mouth didn't slide all the way into a frown, though, she noted with relief. "The babies?" Carol asked. "I feel sad, of course, but not so bad as I would if they had been more developed. And I am SO angry at Byron!" She began to get herself worked up. "That bastard! Do you know, Angel, that he had the nerve to call me from jail last night and apologize ... and then ask me to get him out!? Angel, he murdered my babies!" She broke into tears, apparently more upset about the loss of the babies than she had thought. "An...and I still love him. Ohmygawd, Angel, what am I going to do about Byron?"
This was what Angel had been waiting for, and while holding her friends hand, she took advantage of the question. "What if you could teach him a lesson, Carol? A REAL lesson. what if you could make him walk a mile in your shoes ... your high heeled shoes!" She watched as confusion replaced anger on her friend's face.
"M...my shoes?" And then there was an abrupt switch to giggles. "And my dress ... with lipstick? Oh, wouldn't he look silly! Are you saying we dress him up like a girl? And take some pictures, maybe? Are you suggesting blackmail? Oh, he's the right size, not too big; he might even be cute!"
Angel giggled too. She knew Carol loved her giggling; most people did. She didn't know why, but it had sort of become her trademark, and she had learned to use it to her advantage. Soon the two women were giggling in unison, one innocently, the other deliberately to get her friend in the right mood. Finally when she knew she'd put carol in a receptive mood, Angel began. "Oh, Carol, she said between giggles, "he WOULD look sooo funny, but that's not what I meant. We might have a hold over "her" for awhile but there're too many chances "he" might find a way out, and get us in trouble to boot. Besides, while we might get our revenge, he wouldn't learn anything; he'd be resentful and constantly plotting escape. We need a way for "her" to be completely dependent on us for his return to manhood - although you may not want "him" back if my plan works.
"Of course I'll want him back!" said carol indignantly. "He's my husband and I do still love him." Then she giggled. "But I wouldn't mind if he endured a little girlishness first - like a period or two!" Both girls laughed, but Angel could see that carol was puzzled. "But how can we get him in the position you mentioned?" she asked. "We can't actually turn him into a girl."
"Oh, no?" Angel smiled. "Look," she said, "you still need to rest. Why don't you come to my place tomorrow around noon. Bob will be working downstairs and I'll send Tammy and TeeSee to my cousin for the day. We'll do lunch and I'll explain a little more what I have in mind for your ... husband. 'Let Carol wonder for awhile about that pause before 'husband'.' she thought. She fluffed Carol's pillows for her, kissed her on the forehead, and picked up the tea things. Carol was already snoring softly as Angel left the room. She left a book on the night stand along with a note. The note read:
Carol,
Have you read Mr. H.G. Well's book, "The Island of Doctor Moreau"? If not, or to refresh your memory, I'm leaving you a copy. It's relatively short; read it before you come tomorrow. Trust me.
Huggles, girl. Angel.
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The next day, Angel sat in her living room waiting for the doorbell to signal carol's arrival. She was dressed rather casually in a rose print shirtwaist. A medium sized victorian looking chest, approximately eighteen inches long and deep and about a foot wide rested on top of the coffee table. A split second before the doorbell rang, she got up to go answer the door. 'I must be a bit psychic.' she thought.
When she opened the door, she was once again pleased to see that her friend's appearance was back up to it's pre-Christmas standard. Carol was wearing an ankle length brown wool coat with matching gloves and hat; the hat had a little mesh veil to add a touch of extra femininity. She took off the coat revealing a brown business suit and matching pumps, and she looked very professional; the look was softened by a spray of white ruffles at her throat and wrists. "Why so formal this morning?" Angel asked, as she led her into the living room.
Carol explained that she was going to the Cook County Jail to see Byron for the first time later in the afternoon. "I want him to know that while I'm a woman and his wife" - She held up her hand so Angel could see she was still wearing her wedding ring. - I'm not going to take any more abuse from him!" She stated angrily as the two seated themselves. The trunk was positioned so that when it's lid was lifted both would be able to see inside.
"You may want to rethink your presentation for Byron after you've heard and seen mine." said Angel. "Did you read the book?"
Carol frowned. "yes, but what could that have to do with Byron? You certainly can't mean we should change him to a woman by putting him through such surgery as is mentioned in the book! That is all fiction. I've read others of Mr. Wells' books - Martians, time travel, changing animals into people; he has quite an imagination, your Mr. Wells, but a true story? Never." She paused. "besides, I could never put Byron through such pain as Dr. Moreau inflicted."
"It is true." Carol smiled and looked up expecting her friend to be smiling, but she wasn't. Angel continued. "The island was and is real. Dr. Moreau was real as well as his sadistic experiments. He did indeed, through surgical vivisection, create the semi-human monsters described in the book. Edward Prendick, although that is not his real name, was real, and his nephew did tell a real story to Mr. H.G. Wells. I know, because Dr. Moreau was my great uncle and his brother, my grandfather. His son, my father, started Moreau imports. He passed on to me his father's story as well as his legacy, the trunk you see before you."
Carol was shocked. "Bu ... but no brother was mentioned in the book."
"Dr. Moreau and my grandfather, also Dr. Moreau, Bernard to his Frederick, had a falling out before Mr. Prendick arrived on the island, a falling out of such dimensions that I am not surprised that Frederick did not mention his brother to him. You see, my grandfather was sickened by the pain inflicted by his brother upon the helpless animals of the island; he believed that what his brother was trying to achieve by surgery, he could achieve with much less pain by chemical means. He retreated to the caves beneath the islands, established his laboratory, and conducted his own experiments. Ultimately he was much more successful than his brother." Here Angel lifted the lid of the trunk.
The top of the interior of the trunk was a tray divided into twenty-seven two by four inch compartments. About two-thirds of the compartments held two two inch diameter cork stoppered blue glass bottles, and the rest held four one inch diameter bottles of the same color; all the bottles were approximately three and a half inches tall, the stoppers increasing their height to four inches. There were hand written labels on some of the bottles, typed labels on others. There were three empty compartments, dust circles on the bottom showing each had contained two bottles. Angel Spoke. "There is another identical tray beneath this one. the bottom of the trunk is filled with my great uncle's journals and medical notes and my father's journal."
Carol giggled nervously. "Love potions, Angel?" ...
In pissing off the niece of Dr. Moreau, he picked the wrong woman ... and what about Bob?
... Angel didn't crack a smile. "Some, partially, yes. These potions - well, they're really called elixirs - developed by my grandfather can do to animals what my great uncle did by means of surgery, with much less pain and a very much higher survival rate." She paused. "To animals ... and people." Carol,..." She looked straight into her friend's eyes. "...The elixirs in these bottles in the top tray can change a person's sex, male to female, female to male."
"You can't mean it!" said a shocked Carol. "Give Byron a ... well, a ... you know? ... And breasts? That's impossible!" Then she giggled again. "It sure would make a funny looking Byron! Oh, you're just having a joke with me, aren't you?"
"Not at all." Angel replied seriously. "And no, "she" wouldn't look funny; she will look like Byron would look if he had been born female - like Byron's fraternal twin sister, so to speak. Carol, I'm not joking, I'm not being silly. My grandfather's elixirs work! I know because I've used them.
She watched Carol's eyes get big. "Y ... you used to be a man?"
Angel laughed a little at that. Grabbing recessed handles, she pulled out both trays and set them on the other end of the coffee table. She reached in and pulled out a fairly new volume that looked like a photo album. She opened the album to the last page that had pictures attached. "Look at the Kodaks." She told her friend; "Work through toward the front."
Carol looked at the first pic. "You, Bob, Tammy, TeeSee, ... and Byron!" she commented in surprise. "I remember; I took this last July when we went to the zoo together. It was right before my father died."
"Keep looking."
On the next page were pictures of Angel and her family, the earliest being of Angel and Bob with Angel holding baby Tammy. Next came wedding pictures and a picture of Bob and Angel sitting at a table in a fancy restaurant; Bob was holding out a ring box to Angel, and a smiling Angel was reaching to take the ring. But then the pictures changed. on the next page were Kodaks of Angel and a girl Carol didn't recognize, but who looked familiar. The two were kissing - not air kiss kiss girlfriend style but deeply, passionately, lovers style! "Who? ... what?" Angel could tell carol was shocked, and just motioned her friend to keep going. The remainder of the pics were of the two women happily doing all sorts of activities that normally a dating couple would do together.
"That's my 'friend' Jez; look closely at her, Carol." Angel told her. "Who does she resemble?" She watched her friend's eyes get big and her mouth drop open as she realized the truth.
"Bob! ... His sister?" asked Carol, hopefully, but knowing she was wrong.
"Carol," started Angel, leaning forward in a confidential manner, "you've become my best friend, and you have a problem. I think I know how to help you solve it, but you have to believe first. I've never told anyone this, and I promised Bob I never would. Having heard about Byron and you from me, he's made a special exception for you. You must promise never to tell anyone what you're about to hear. That might prove hard. can you?"
A confused Carol just nodded. then she, as angel had hoped, pulled herself together and gave an emphatic "Yes!" She paused and then went on. "I feel as if you're my best friend, too, Angel. There's Uncle Jack, but he's more like my step-father and, besides, he's a man. I don't know what I'd have done without you this past year, and here you are now, doing your best to help me again. Of course, Yes.
Now it was Angel's turn to nod, and she continued. "When I was eighteen, Caro, I committed a sin, the sin of falling in love with my best friend Jez - really Jezebel, but she NEVER used that - who happened to be another girl. To my surprise, I learned that she felt the same about me. The process was, as you might imagine, not simple, and I won't spell out the angst ridden details. The bottom, tragic, line though was that neither of us was a lesbian. There seemed no acceptable way for Jez and I to consummate our love privately, let alone go public with it. We both sank into depressions, Jez more so than I."
Angel paused, held up her empty teacup and gave carol a questioning look. Carol nodded, and Angel refreshed their cups.
"Jez and I had been best friends since we were about four when Jez's family moved into Rogers Park. When my Dad went off to fight in the Great War, he took me aside and showed me the trunk and explained everything. My mom was already dead, and I suppose he thought I, as I might become the only remaining direct descendant, ought to know. I was only nine, so I didn't understand a lot of what he said, but the important thing was I knew what the elixirs could do and that the journals and records about them were also in the trunk, ready for when I was older. Here's the thing, I promised my Dad I wouldn't tell anyone, but I lied. Within a day, I had told Jez. Beginning to see where this is going?
Since Carol just held up her hands and shook her head no, Angel continued. "As I've told you, my dad never did come back from the Great War. I have his posthumous Croix de Guerre, but I would rather have had him. He was an only child, so my Aunt Gwen on my mother's side moved from California to take care of me and run the business. She didn't know about the trunk, and I never told her. She loved me, still does and it's mutual, but she never did adapt well to Chicago weather. When I turned twenty-one and she had taught Jez and I, for we were going into business together, all she knew about running Moreau Imports, she Moved back to California. We exchange monthly letters, and she came back to give me away at Bob and my wedding..." She paused and took a deep breath. "... which brings us back to Bob."
"As I said, Jez was the more depressed over our situation of the two of us. To make a long story short, One day, after being gone for a week on business, I walked into my bedroom to find a man who could have been Jez's twin brother sitting on the bed in his underwear. He simply held out his arms to me. I knew immediately what had been done. No words needed to be spoken ... then. I started shucking my clothes at the door and was naked as a jay bird by the time I reached him; by that time, he was minus his undies. We made grand glorious love for a whole day straight." She smiled a soft smile, remembering. "After about an hour, in a snuggle break, he spoke. 'Hi, I'm Bob.' he said, and I swear, if we'd been in position to do so, I think he would have stuck his hand out for a handshake. He kissed me instead and that led to another round. During the next snuggle break, I said, 'Bob?' and he just said, 'Yep, Bob.' My spouse never has explained how he got from Jez to Bob, but he did explain, the next day, how Jez became Bob."
Carol put her hand up in a "stop" gesture. "Oh, my, Angel, I believe I need something stronger than tea!" she said, shaking her head. Since neither woman, nor Bob, for that matter, drank alcohol, Angel could see that her friend was really shook up and needed a break. Angel went to the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of Canadian Club whiskey from its hiding place beneath the removable bottom of the under sink cabinet. It had been there since Bob and her anniversary party three years ago when a Canadian guest had smuggled it in as a gift for them. It had never been opened, but Angel could not imagine that there would ever be a better time. Her quirky sense of humor came to the fore and she poured the liquor into Tammy and TeeSee's matching Radio Orphan Annie Ovaltine mugs. she put the mugs on a tray and started for the living room. before she got to the door she paused, turned and grabbed the bottle. Radio Orphan Annie might very well have to broadcast more than once, she thought.
She was right. Carol threw her mug back and offered it for another hit before Angel was fully seated. Angel waited for her friend to finish coughing and then, sipping her drink, returned to her story. " Bob told me that Jez, about two months before my business trip, had decided to kill herself, that she felt there was no hope for us. That scared me badly, but I hid it and continued listening. While she was trying to decide how to do it, he said, she remembered my grandfather's trunk, and my father's long ago story of what it could do. Desperate, and grabbing at any straw, she went one night when I was out down to the basement, where the trunk was kept, jimmied it open, and found what you see before you, Carol. She read my grandfather's and my father's journals and medical notes, and decided with a calmness born of 'nothing left to lose' - to use her phrase - to turn herself into a man, a man who could then become my husband. ... And it worked."
Reaching into the trunk. Angel removed one of the bottles from a two bottle compartment. Handing it to Carol, she continued. "The elixir in this bottle prepares the body for the changes it will undergo. It has to be taken sixty days before the next bottle, which will initiate the actual changes. Jez had to add a Teaspoon of her blood to the second bottle 24 hours before drinking it, and Bob told me that getting that blood was by far the hardest part for her. The actual changes take several hours to complete. Bob says Jez simply went to sleep, and he woke up. He felt like he had the mother of all hangovers, his legs and underarms were still smooth shaven, his hair was still in Jez style, and, like the blonde she was, he told me smiling, Jez had forgotten to provide male clothes. His height and weight hadn't changed much, though, so he was still able to fit into Jez's clothes. He told me he actually had to cross dress like a girl to go out and buy himself some male clothing. Getting a haircut was the most embarrassing thing he said, as the barber he went to kept teasing "her" about being a tomboy. And you know the rest. We concocted a story about Jez leaving for Europe for her health, while her twin brother had come to chicago to take over her end of Moreau Imports. Most of our friends were secretly, I think, a little relieved because they suspected, as one admitted to me, that Jez and my relationship was becoming 'a bit unusual'. One of my father's friends who had taken a protective liking to me - sort of like your "Uncle" Jack - and had kept in touch with me through the years was in some shady businesses, worked with Capone I think, and he was able to get Bob a birth certificate. We married two months after the change." She shrugged, indicating that that was the end of the story.
"WOW!" was all Carol could manage. She held out her Ovaltine mug for a third hit of Canadian Club. Both women sipped their whiskey in silence for a moment. Finally Carol commented. "I would never have suspected, Angel; Bob doesn't act the least bit effeminate."
"It wasn't easy for him, Caro." Angel replied. "He had to unlearn all Jez's feminine mannerisms, and Jez was a very feminine woman. He misses her, too, as do I. You mustn't tell a soul, but every once in awhile, if it becomes too much for him, he dresses and makes up as Jez, and we go out as two girlfriends for dinner or dancing." She laughed. "One time we ran into my father's friend who had gotten the birth certificate for Bob at a jazz club; he danced with Jez and never suspected a thing! Tammy and TeeSee have even met their "Aunt Jez", although they don't know that she's also daddy yet; we'll tell them when they are a bit older and better able to keep secrets. Now that you know, you'll have to meet Jez sometime. You and Bob get along well, and I'm sure he won't mind. As I said, he knows I'm telling you all this."
"I think I will really enjoy that!" laughed Carol, and then continued, shaking her head. "I believe you, Dear Friend, but you gotta admit this is really wild. And we can do this to Byron? What about changing her back to him? I don't want my husband a woman permanently. I have no intention of becoming a lesbian."
"I don't think you could, dear; I think they are born, not made. But, yes," Angel said to give her friend peace of mind, "'she' can be changed back. Bob and I used two more of the elixir sets to change a male dog to female and back. We had a vet examine the dog after each transformation. No complications at all."
"Still," said Carol, "I'd want Uncle Jack in on it."
Angel was delighted that her friends statement indicated that she accepted turning that bastard into a woman, but was concerned about involving a third- party - well fourth, since Bob was included. "Do you think that's wise?" she asked.
"Jack Flier was my father's best friend, and those two shared some wild adventures. He's very open minded, and he very much dislikes Byron, so I don't think there will be any problems getting him to believe and help, Ange. You'll have to get to know him better and let him tell you some of his stories." She giggled. ("Oh, no," thought Angel, "Is that my influence or the liquor's?") Maybe I'll have You and 'Jez' and Jack over for a small gathering after Byron is transformed. Miss New Girl can practice the feminine skills we will, I'm sure, (Angel grinned at carol's evil grin.) have a great deal of fun teaching 'her'. I can get to know Jez, and Jack can tell us some tales and you can get to know him." The grin and giggles disappeared. "Seriously, having both a physician and a lawyer in on this will, I think, be a big help." Switching gears, she asked, "What do the four smaller bottles do?"
Angel shook her head, looking at the now one-third empty whiskey bottle, which was a little blurry. "No more of this!" she said before answering Carol's question. She grabbed the bottle and stood up - carefully. "Do you mind?"
Carol, who, having had one more drink than her friend, was afraid she wouldn't be able to stand up, waved her away with a "No, not at all."
At the door to the kitchen, Angel turned back. "Remind me when you leave," she said grinning, "that I need to rinse these mugs before Tammy and TeeSee get home. I'll bring us a couple of Coca-Colas" And she hid the bottle back under the sink, even though it no longer needed to be hidden. "Out of sight; out of mind." she thought.
She returned with the Coca-Colas, and after settling down again. Finally answered her friend's question. "I don't know what they do for a fact, as Jez didn't use any and at the time we didn't see a point to trying them on the dog, although looking back on it, we probably should have. What they are supposed to do is to initiate mental changes to go along with the physical ones. They are submissive feminine, submissive masculine, dominant feminine, and dominant masculine. A full dose of subfemme ..." Here Angel copied her girlfriend's earlier evil grin. "... supposedly will make 'Byronia' your eager sex slave and ...."
Carol pulled herself up straight. "Angel, NO!" she interrupted sharply, surprising her friend. "Let's get one thing straight. I know you don't like Byron; you certainly have no reason to. I don't like him much at the moment. But he IS my husband, and I DO love him. I don't mind teaching him a lesson, and I don't mind if we have some fun at 'her' expense while we are doing it; he deserves it. But I don't want a slave, sex or otherwise. I want a temporary girlfriend, I guess. She'll have enough trouble adjusting, without being mentally sandbagged as well. The fact that we are her only way back to manhood should be enough to keep her in line and get her to learn the lessons we want 'him' to learn!
Angel held up her hands in a compliant gesture. 'Wow,' she thought, 'a feisty side to my friend!' "OK," she said. "It was just a thought. Wouldn't hurt to fantasize about it though; Byron in a cute little nighty, begging you to, well, you know..."
Carol giggled. 'I wonder if this inane giggling is Angel's influence or the liquor's?' she thought. "OK," she said. "I must admit fantasizing about it DOES sound fun, but that's all!... Destroy that bottle of hooch, Ange; that's EVIL stuff!" And she started giggling again, as did Angel. Byron, permed and made up, in a pink, really really feminine nighty doing, well, you know ...!
After pulling herself together, and seeing that Carol had as well, Angel said, "Seriously Caro, Dad's notes said a small dose of sub elixir would just help the transformee accept his/her necessary changes for her/his new role better. Just think about it. Now, getting down to business, despite what I said earlier, I now think you should stick to you original plan for visiting Byron. That suit suits you and your plan very well, by the way." she added as an aside, and giggled. 'NO more Canadian Club EVER!' she thought. "Make him think you really will divorce him!" Can you bring him anything? Any food?" she asked, getting an idea.
"Candy bars and stuff." Answered Carol. "Why? I didn't bring him anything today; I was too angry with him."
"Don't worry about it today, hon," Angel replied. Next time you'll bring him something that will make him sick - sick enough that he'll need a doctor. That'll be our excuse to get Jack into see him; he can administer the first bottle of elixir and Byron can unknowingly be preparing for womanhood while he's finishing his sentence. At the same time, we can be fixing up a really girly-girl room at your place for our new little doll. Won't that be fun! We'll have to get a few outfits for our newbie, but then we'll introduce her to the joys of SHOPPING! Too bad we can't age regress 'her'. Wouldn't you love to have an adorable little Shirley Temple look alike to play with?"
Carol out and out laughed as she got up - carefully - to gather her things. "My dear girl, you are EVIL. It's a good thing for 'Byronia' - we'll have to come up with a better name, but we can wait on that. - that I'll be around to balance you!"
Handing Carol her purse, Angel put her hand on her friend's shoulder. "Becoming your daughter would be justice served, Caro." she told her seriously. "Remember, if you start getting cold feet, what that bastard cost you!"
Carol pulled her friend into a hug. "I do, Ange, and I will!" she promised. "I'll call Jack as soon as I get home and get him to call you. You and he can set a time for him to come over and get "The Explanation" - without the Canadian Club, though, I think." She grinned. "Oh, don't forget to rinse out the mugs;" she said as she left. "The Ovaltine people are probably getting psychic headaches because of their abuse!"
After Carol left, Angel sat down and realized the buzz from the hooch was being replaced by a king sized headache, She got up, went to the kitchen, washed out the mugs, and then retrieved the bottle of Canadian Club from its hiding place. she poured the remaining contents down the drain. 'It makes you feel too good before it makes you feel bad.' she thought.
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In the ensuing weeks and months, the two friend's plans were put into effect. Jack proved surprisingly easy to convince. Angel supposed Carol had been telling the truth about his interesting life and looked forward to hearing his stories and getting to know him better. Byron, made sick by a doctored Baby Ruth Carol gave him, called for a doctor, and the police, notified by Carol that Jack was Byron's doctor, called him. He administered the first elixir by means of a shot in Byron's rear. Jack used a dull needle. By the time Byron's sentence was up at the end of March, all was in readiness at Bromwood.
Byron was tired as he walked through the front door of Bromwood House for the first time in three months. His hair was about two inches longer, down below his ears, almost to his jaw line and below his collar tickling his back in back; he had wanted to get a haircut from the prison barber, but Carol had convinced him that prison barbers were butchers and that he should wait and go to his own barber. His suit had obviously not been properly cared for while under the control of the prison authorities, and he looked quite disheveled. There was no "You bitch!" with threatening gestures about him now. While he definitely was looking forward to sex with Carol, who seemed to have forgiven him, he decided it could wait till tomorrow. Little did he realize that it would be a lot longer than that, if ever. Carol helped him undress in her room and get into herf bed. She went down stairs and quickly brought back a hot toddy for him; it was laced with the contents of the second bottle of elixir. Jack had drawn the necessary blood from Byron on his last prison visit, and carol had kept it refrigerated till yesterday.
After Byron had slipped into the elixir induced sleep, Angel, who had been in the next room waiting, came in and joined Carol. She sure as hell wasn't going to miss this. Soon it began. "Look!" exclaimed Carol, who was sitting on the edge of the bed and noticed the changes first, "The subfemme elixir is working even as SHE sleeps!" Angel got up from her chair to look just as Byron's facial features began to soften and change, skin clearing, lips getting fuller, nose smaller with just a bit of cute little upturn, cheekbones more prominent. "Ohmygawd, she's going to be a beauty!" said Carol, in awe.
"Jealous already?" teased Angel.
That succeeded in lightening the mood. "Oh, you!" laughed Carol, punching her friend playfully on the arm. "Go get Jack and Bob; they wanted to see this happening too. They're in the library; Jack's probably already raided the bar. I'm sure poor Hathor will really be glad to have Jack around now that everyone ..." She glanced at the changing Byron. "... in this household will be teetotalers. He'll be her only worshipper."
Angel laughed and left to get the two men. Jack's interest was medical although he was human enough to want to see Byron get hi ... er, hers, also. Bob had, of course, missed her own transformation, and was curious. The men, however, didn't stay in the bedroom too long. Jack was nervous with a "There but for the grace of God go I." uneasiness. Bob, while he enjoyed playing Jez occasionally, didn't want to be reminded that he could BE her again; being her had cost him his love, and almost his life.
The two women watched through the night. Toward morning when the changes were complete and the new, and, they hoped, improved Byron was just sleeping soundly, they cleaned her up. Byron's mustache and other facial hair had just fallen out and was laying on his face. While not all his leg and arm hair had fallen out, all that was left on them and under her arms was that normal for a woman who hadn't shaved. They cleaned off the no longer anchored hair, but didn't shave her; they were going to leave that pleasure for her to do herself. Carol ran a brush through her hair to tidy it, but didn't attempt to style it; another pleasure they wanted her to experience. When carol looked up from her brushing, Angel brought out a bottle of Revlon's "Where's The Fire" very red nail polish from behind her back and silently mouthed "Please?" at her and pouted. Carol frowned at first, then the frown slowly turned to a smile and she whispered, "What the hell, go ahead!" Angel gleefully spent the next half hour giving their new lady a manicure AND pedicure. Finally they had the new Byron as ready as they wanted her, dressed in a pastel blue silk chemise V-neck nighty festooned with oodles of lace - matching panties underneath, of course, with plenty of ruffles across the bottom. They wanted his first sensations of girlhood to be ultra feminine. Giggling quietly, they tiptoed out. They wanted her to think himself alone when he realized the changes. They had, however, installed a one way mirror and a false heat duct grill between their soon-to-be-only-Carol's bedroom and the room next door, the room that had been Byron's room, a typically male room that was now the girly-girl room set up for the new woman. they would be able to see and hear everything.
"Ooooh, Byron is going to be soooo mad!" giggled Angel. as she viewed her and Carol's handiwork.
"We can't keep calling HER Byron," Carol giggled back, "and I hate Byronia!"
"Well, whoever we call HER, HE's going to be mad, M A D!" Angel spelled it out and laughed out loud, since they were now in the other room. She always wanted the last word.
'Mad. Mad.... Hmmmmmm' Carol thought, and then she joined Angel in getting comfortable in front of the one way mirror. Time to watch the fun.
Byron groaned and opened his eyes slowly. Something wasn't right. Something felt, in fact, very very wrong. As his vision cleared, he looked down at herself. what he saw was a veritable field of blue silk and lace. And out of that veritable field jutted two VERY prominent hills.
The first words the women in the other room heard were uttered in a lovely feminine soprano. They were, "Oh, shit!"
to be continued...
Byron is transformed and doesn't like it one little bit!
Byron the Bastard
by Jezzi Stewart
©2004 Turn Right Productions
Since I started this, I have also uncovered among my salvaged school materials several Montgomery Ward catalogs from the early '30's, so there may be more illustrations. Each chapter will, however, continue to be built around one of the original nine illustrations from "True Love Stories" of May, 1930.
This is dedicated to my fellow authors and, I hope, my friends Angel O'Hare, Maddy Bell, and Gwen Lavyril who have honored me by including me in their stories. You three are in this whether you like it or not! :-)
Part 4 April 1, 1934 Byron/Maddy
"Oh, shit!" Byron's vision was clearing rapidly and as he jerked himself up into a sitting position, he could feel those twin lace and silk covered hills move. "What the hell???" He hooked his finger in the V of what he realized was a woman's nighty and pulled it away from him. Breasts! And they sure as hell looked real. He touched his right nipple and an electric shock ran through him right down to the ... the ... "OHMYGAWD!" he screamed, and didn't recognize the woman's voice doing it. 'REAL!' he thought, 'AND MINE!' He pulled up the bottom of the nighty and discovered he was wearing matching panties. He frantically worked his hand under the lacy waistband, only to find inverted what had always been extended. "HOLY SHIT!" came out of his (?) mouth several octaves higher than he was used to. He was a goddamned girl, a REAL GOD DAMNED GIRL! And the tits! Bigger than Carol's, he guessed. Carol. CAROL! Had she somehow done this to him, her and that bitch friend of hers, Angel??? But how? ... He'd worry about the how later; For now: "CAROL! CAROL, GET YOURSELF IN HERE NOW. WHAT THE GODDAMNMOTHERFUCKINGPITOFHELL HAS HAPPENED TO ME!" His voice! ... Her voice! By that time he (?) was standing beside the bed and, looking down, noticed for the first time his Fire Engine Red toenails; he glanced at his hands, and those similarly colored nails seemed to glint mockingly at him. Toes painted; fingers painted; dressed in a silk and lace nighty and panties. This hadn't happened to him ... but it had. It had been DONE to him! "CAROLYOUBITCHCUNTMOTHERlovingcocksuc... " What finally temporarily defeated him was the fact that his shouting did not sound at all threatening in his new girlie voice - that, and he caught sight of himself in the mirror and saw "her"self ... drop dead gorgeous, terminally cute herself, every inch, it seemed, a female. He did the female thing. Byron collapsed back onto the bed and cried till he ... she passed out.
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Angel started to laugh, but caught herself when she glanced at Carol. Her friend was staring through the "window" at the sobbing girl who had been her husband, and she was, probably unknowingly, crying herself as well, silent tears of anguish. "oh, Ange, she's miserable! Why did we do this to him?" There was anguish in her voice.
Angel felt a bit ashamed at the pleasure she was experiencing at Byron being miserable. She would, she decided, really have to control her dislike for Byron for the sake of Carol. *My gawd, she really does love the bastard!* she thought. It looked like Byron had plenty of tears left and then he ... she would probably sleep some more. She pulled her friend onto the bed and sat beside her, hugging her.
"Remember what he did, what he cost you, hon." She gently placed her hand on Carol's tummy. "Also, remember this isn't supposed to be about punishment, but rehabilitation. We're not out to humiliate and debase "her". Once she accepts the change, We can make this an enjoyable experience for her." *And if you believe that, dear friend* she thought *I have this bridge for sale ...* She didn't believe for a minute that that misogynist bastard in the other room would enjoy any of the experience, and she didn't care, but "she" WOULD damn well pretend she did. She would make sure of that.
"Let's move her in here, so she wakes in her very own girlie girl bed in her very own girlie girl room." she said to Carol. Carol shook her head and Angel could see from her body language that she was pulling herself back together to get with the program they had agreed upon.
Carol glanced around the room and giggled. "It is sooooo little girlie, isn't it Ange. I do believe we've outdone ourselves."
Byron awoke the second time. For the second time he noticed his new configuration and wardrobe and realized that neither the first time impressions nor the impressions his senses were sending him this time were dreams. The sensations coming from his crotch, where the material of his (?) panties had worked its way up into what shouldn't have been there, reenforced his initial finding that what should have been there was missing. Further up, the rubbing of the silk nighty across his (?) nipples indicated once again they were not "his" nipples anymore. Automatically one of HER hands had risen to caress those nipples while the other descended to enter the new valley; the sensations HIS mind was receiving were definitely NOT unpleasant, so when HIS mind realized what HER hands were doing and what HE was feeling he drew both hands away. For the moment, anger was replaced by helpless horror mixed with a bit of awe at the power of someone who could do this to him. "Ohmygawd," he whispered, "I really am a girl."
If her own body was not enough to convince him, feelings of girlishness were confirmed by the room she was just beginning to take notice of. The placement of the window and the view from it confirmed that this was indeed his room, or rather, had been his room; it was now very definitely HER room. The walls were painted a light pink with a foot wide border of garden flowers against a pastel blue background circling the room at ceiling level twelve feet above the floor. An ornate crystal chandelier held the electric lights. The one large window was curtained in pastel blue chintz and looked out over the estate's formal flower gardens, green with just a few flowers beginning to bloom in this early spring season. There would be plenty of flowers to fill the vases in the room an another month, she thought, and HE was aghast at that thought, HIS first feminine thought, and realized that this new body might betray his mind. Against the wall opposite the bed was a ten foot wide by ten food high by three feet deep Louie XIV armoire, white, with pink and blue trim; the door had a floral pattern painted on it. In fact, all the furniture was Louie XIV. There was a writing desk under the window, and a dresser and a vanity flanking the door.
Every trace of him was gone. His tennis and other sports trophies had been replaced by dolls and stuffed animals. His masculine toilet articles and jewelry box had been replaced by cosmetics, a very feminine comb and brush set, and a woman's jewelry box - or, rather, more like a little girl's jewelry box, as it had the doll figure of a ballerina in second arabesque position on the lid. The pictures of English hunting scenes that had been on the walls were now ones of kittens, more ballerinas, and flowers. He shuddered to think of what was in the armoire that had replaced his brown oak one.
His survey of the room brought him back to the bed she was lying on. The sheets covering her were white with a pink border and the comforter was a pattern of roses. looking up, he realized that there was a ruffled canopy over her, also pink. The bed itself, like the rest of the furniture was Louis XIV, white with rose decoration. Her hand with the bright red nails, symbol of his betrayal, brushed against something heretofore unnoticed. It felt like hair, and, glancing to her side, he realized that it was. A doll lay beside her, a larger doll dressed in a mass of lace and ruffles that even he recognized as victorian fashion, and his hand had brushed against her hair. Even he had to admit she was quite pretty.
The doll was the straw that broke the camels back. Byron was drowning in femininity! He pulled herself up so that she was sitting with her back against the headboard. She was trembling, and he didn't realize that he had pulled the sheet up around her in such a manner as to cover her breasts even though she had the nightie on. So very feminine. He shook her head in confusion mixed with wonder, and didn't realize that he was speaking out loud. "This can't be me! I'm a man!" Her body betrayed him again, as she automatically it seemed grabbed the pretty victorian doll and hugged it to her. Betraying tears formed in her eyes as waves of estrogen poured over the sides of his mental ship of male identity. "This can't be my room," she sobbed, "This is a GIRLS room!"
As if on cue, Carol entered the room, followed closely by Angel. "Of course it is, dear." she said proudly. "Angel, Bob, Uncle Jack, and I worked very hard to make this room extra special pretty for our new girl."
"Where's all my things? What is this I'm wearing? Where Are my pajamas? What HAVE you DONE to me!?!," Byron tried to sound angry, but it came out as a wail in her new pretty voice.
"Why these ARE your things, and this IS your room, dear." said a smiling Carol, as if talking to a child. "And that nighty is so much more becoming on a lovely girl like you than those old drab pajama's of Byron's. "Don't you think everything is just so pretty?"
Carol stepped to the side, and Byron was blinded by a flash as Angel took HER picture. "Oh that is so precious, Byron," she taunted, "Your tear stained face surrounded by curls in disarray, you holding your sheet pulled up to cover your bosom while clutching your pretty dolly - why, you're the very picture of a distraught but lovely little girl. This is indeed a moment to be captured by a Kodak!" She quickly wound the film, attached a new flash bulb, and took a second picture. (*kodak Moment,* she thought, *nice turn of phrase; wonder if ... naw, they'd never buy it.*) "Now tell Mommy Carol and Auntie Angel what it is that's bothering you, sweetheart," she mocked
"Are you worried that that pretty nighty is all your new clothing?" Carol chimed in. Byron was getting angry again. He could tell that Carol and Angel were enjoying his predicament and, while he had suspected it before, this proved to him beyond a doubt that they were somehow responsible for it. The anger built as Carol pulled out one of the dresser drawers. "See," she continued indicating a mass of silk, lace, and ruffles in various pastel shades that lay within, "you have plenty of adorable lingerie, and see," she pointed to where Angel stood, having opened the armoire, revealing what byron could only assume were only women's clothes, all in ultra feminine styles, "all the clothes a pretty girl could need."
"Aren't you the lucky one!" exclaimed Angel.
It was too much. Byron threw aside the sheet and sprang from the bed, throwing the doll into the corner in the process. He faced the two women in a very masculine stance, which looked absolutely ridiculous given her nicely curved and femininely shaped body. Both women broke into laughter, and Angel took another picture. "Look over there! In the corner! On the floor!" she shouted. He spun around presenting her backside to the women and bent at the waist to look. There was nothing there, so he looked back over her shoulder just in time to look right into a blinding flash from the camera. "OHMYGAWD, it worked!" she cried. "What a pic! Oh, little miss ruffle butt, what a pretty girlie pin up pose you gave me!" Suddenly a vision of what SHE must look like; HER ruffled pantied bottom presented to the camera, the surprised over the shoulder face SHE was making inscribed itself on HIS mind. Byron had had such a picture of Hollywood starlet taped to the inside of the closet door in his dorm room during his college years. Both women were almost bent over laughing at HIM!
"Little Miss Ruffle Butt!" exclaimed Carol. "Perfect! Didn't you tell me, Ange, that that's what your Aunt Gwen called you when you were a little girl and acting up? So perfect!"
"WHAT THE GODDAMNMOTHERFUCKINGPITOFHELL HAVE YOU TWO CUNTBITCHES DONE TO ME!" Shouted Byron, finally snapping and rushing at Angel - probably because she had the camera - with fists raised. "CHANGE ME BACK! ... NOW!
It should have been funny, but what with the old Byron would have caused fear in the two women, just looked pathetic to them coming from the new Byron. Byron had retained his male height as a lady, so she was taller than either Carol or Angel, and quite possibly stronger, but her shapely breasts and butt made her center of gravity quite different from what her mind, still keyed to the old male body, was used to. What was meant to be a fluid and precise strike, quickly became a stumble, and the threat of her hands balled into fists was negated by their small size and the glint of red on their fingertips. Angel, having set her Kodak on the dressing table, prepared to deliver a slap but was surprised when carol beat her to it, delivering a slap so powerful it spun Byron around and sent her sprawling face down over the bed. Like an avenging angel she moved to hover over the shocked new woman. "Oh, Byron, my dear HUSBAND!" - she made a mockery of the word, as months of pent up anger spilled out. "Are you MAD at us?"
It was obviously a rhetorical question, as she didn't stop for an answer. "You don't know what MAD is, you bastard!" I, you SHIT, AM MAD! And as to what we've done to you, why I think it would have sunk in to even you by now. You're no longer a bastard; you're a bitch. We've changed you into a woman. But you know, as a woman, you're just a little bitty bitch, and you know, Angel and me, why we're your worst nightmare, HONEY, because we are the biggest, baddest bitches around," Now she was shouting, and Angel had moved so she could restrain her if she got dangerously physical. "and WE ARE EXTREMELY MAD AT YOU!! Suddenly her anger vanished and she started to collapse, sobbing. "You cost me OUR BABIES; oh, Byron, how could you!" And she fainted.
Angel moved to catch her, but to her surprise, it was Byron who managed to keep her from hurting herself by pulling her to land on the bed beside her instead of on the floor. *Hmmmmm,* she thought, *maybe there is hope.* and she decided to play good cop, although it wouldn't be easy. After she had taken Carol from Byron and placed her gently in one of the chairs, she returned and stood over Byron who was still lying sprawled on her stomach on the bed. She trembled. Carol had just scared the shit out of him, and he shuddered - It came out as her trembling - to think about Angel's anger. He was pretty sure Carol loved him despite everything, but he was also pretty sure Angel detested him.
Angel smiled at him as if she could read his thoughts. It was not at all a nice smile; it was in fact, a very predatory smile, but she spoke to him in a mostly normal tone of voice. "Look, GIRLFRIEND, I'm going to try to be nice, but it'll be hard because, SHITFORBRAINS, you have hurt my dearest friend, and hurt her badly. So don't give me any, not any, excuse to become angry with you. I'll give you you're anger; I'll even name you for it. Your ex-wife came up with it. Yes," she replied to his startled look, "EX-wife, because you're a woman now and for the foreseeable future, and she is not a lesbian, not to mention the legal prohibitions. You're new name is MADeline, and we will call you MADDY. Maddy Belle; Belle, because it sounds really feminine to us, and you, my dear, are going to become the most feminine of women, the most girlie of girls! Maddy Belle O'Hare, my cousin, my Aunt Gwen's daughter. Byron has disappeared, heading west last we heard, and good riddance. Won't it be sooooo nice, cuz, us related?" She laughed and Byron imagined it must be because of the look on her face at that remark. To his own surprise, a small, tentative laugh emerged from her lips - small and tentative, but still a laugh. Angel looked surprised but pleased and continued. "Good first step, Maddy, if you can laugh, maybe there is hope. Look," she got serious, "we can change you back, and we plan to, but not for awhile, not for months, maybe even a year or two, but we WILL change you back - if you cooperate and really learn the lessons we will teach you. We want you to experience being a woman so you can understand what you did to your wife. Are you going to feel embarrassed and humiliated? Yes, at least at first. Will we enjoy that? Yes. But, while this is certainly meant to be punishment for you, it is also meant to rehabilitate you so that you are a better person when it's over." She paused. "You were a bad man; now be a good girl! If you try, you may even come to enjoy the experience." She abruptly turned away from her and moved to see about carol, who was sighing and showing signs of coming out of her faint.
*Enjoy the experience!?! The hell I will!* Byron thought to himself, any good feelings he had felt forgotten. But he realized that for the moment, the ladies held all the cards. He had no idea how they had done what they did to him, and no idea how to reverse it by himself. He didn't know anything about this new body he was in, either, and if he was going to be in it for awhile, as seemed certain unless a miracle occurred, he wanted to keep it healthy. He had known a woman out in Frisco who had had a good case of the clap, and he certainly didn't want to end up like her ... or, it suddenly occurred to HER, end up pregnant. OHMYGAWD, that was possible now! Having a period would be bad enough, and he knew he would need carol's help to get through that. Better he decided, if Maddy took over and went with the flow - he did chuckle mentally at his unintended pun. Then, in their mind, BYRON turned and opened a door. On the other side was a very masculine lounge - pool table, radio, bar, the works; HE entered. Where he had stood, Maddy remained; SHE was in charge.
Besides, thought Maddy, SHE would get even; SHE would find a way. After all, SHE was now the female of the species and, as had been pointed out to the now and for the foreseeable future third person Byron, SHE was more deadly than the male.
Her new confidence and resolve were challenged almost immediately, however as her bladder's needs coincided with Angel's reentry. Angel's arms were loaded with ominous looking rubber equipment. Taking in Maddy's body language, she gave an evil chuckle. "Time for first tinkle, love? Let Auntie Angel help. And," she held up the equipment, "No time like the present to learn about feminine hygiene."
Inside the mental lounge, Byron cringed.
to be continued