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From: nostrumo@nienor.IN-Berlin.DE (Nostrumo)
Subject: Repost TG: Alex's Story    by Lisa Paige  (1/4)
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Hi.

  A story about a young fellow who had a deal with his mother, which
is more careing as he had thought before.

  As usual I DIDN'T write this story and haven't any claim on it. If
you have some usefull hints or some good coments, your mail is then
welcome. Flames, you know, they will be piped to /dev/null.

  If you are an author and wish to remain anonymouns or just try to
avoid the replies to your work. I offer you the chance of posting your
stories and collecting the response for you. This offer only stands for
story postings and for nothing else.

Enjoy the story.

Ciao
	Nostrumo

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> cut here with a sharp knife <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<


Alex's Story


                                                                by Lisa Paige


That I as a Junior should be going to Seniors Night at the biggest amusement
park in the state was something of a miracle - or even a collection of
miracles.  I had volunteered for the "Social Committee" as a way of meeting
new kids at the high school.  It seemed like a pretty lame idea at first:  I
did all the grunt work for Heather, the senior girl who was planning the all
the graduation activities.  She and the others on the committee treated me
pretty much like dirt and loaded all the work on me.  They sat around and
chatted while I made all the calls, struck all the bargains and pretty much
did everything.

The first real miracle came when Heather came down with Mono just two weeks
before the big bash.  I was the only one who knew the contacts and the
arrangements, so I had to go along as the representative for my school.
Enter the second miracle - a couple of "angels," you might say.  Word got
around that I could get people into the bash as "helpers" - and I definitely
needed help.  The other girls on the social committee had served notice that
this was their night to party, and they had no intention of helping a lowly
underclass boy.  Pat and Jennifer were Juniors who went to the ritzy private
school on the West Side, and they weren't a part of the Bash.  To make it
more interesting, their boyfriends were already gone - to some football
training camp run by the Ivy League school they had signed with.  When Pat
and Jennifer volunteered to be my personal helpers for the night, I didn't
think twice, even though I had most of the work delegated out already.  Did
I mention that Pat and Jennifer were the foxiest girls I had ever seen?

The only real hitch was the car.  I had to have the car to get me and the
girls to the park and back, and Mom already had plans for the night.  We had
a custom, Mom and me, of making deals for things like this.  "Tit for Tat"
sort of.  I had to come up with something big for this one, and after a
little pondering, I hit on a deal I knew she wouldn't refuse.  I'm not sure
which of us came up with the final wording, but it went something like this:
I would get unlimited use of the car (with gas supplied) for the evening,
and Mom would get my unquestioned obedience for one month thereafter.  Yes,
it was a pretty open-ended bargain on her part, but I really needed that
car.  Being the savvy dealer I was, I did put in one exception clause.  Mom
had been trying to get me to cut my hair for the last year, and I had
resisted.  I made her agree that my "obedience" would not include cutting my
hair.  The final miracle happened - Mom agreed to the deal.

Senior's night itself turned out to be a mix between miracle and curse.  The
first couple of hours I had to stand at the gate with the other school reps
and resolve multiple cases of "lost my ticket" and the usual assortment of
dodges used by gatecrashers from other places.  Then there were the assorted
cases of "drunk and disorderly" and other eviction crimes that I had to log
when a student from our school was involved.  We were only able to steal
away a few minutes at a time to enjoy the amusements, but what we had,
Jennifer and Pat made the most of.  Not only did they really help when there
was work to do, they treated me in a VERY friendly manner whenever we had a
few minutes for the amusements.  It was all for laughs, of course - how
could they really go for a shortstop like me?  But I took what I could get,
and we all three had some good laughs.  We enjoyed ourselves so much, in
fact, that someone, somewhere in the night, took the time to warn me that
their boyfriends would not approve of the "friendliness" they were showing.
Of course, their boyfriends were a thousand miles away, and their school
wasn't participating - how would they ever know?

Reality has a way of paying you back for pretty much every miracle in your
life, I guess.  My payback started the first day of vacation - just two days
after the Bash.  Mom phoned from work and told me to clean up and meet her
at the curb when she got home - we had some things to do downtown.  That's
all she would tell me over the phone, so I reluctantly got myself cleaned up
(I hadn't quite started my summer job search by then) and was waiting as she
instructed.

She drove up to the curb and waited for me to get in, then she drove out
toward the boulevard that led to the other side of town.  I asked her where
we were going, and she gave me a glance, then started to talk.

"Alex, I've been thinking a lot about the arguments we've had over the past
few months.  I know it's been hard on you - the divorce, moving to a new
place, trying to make new friends in a new school.  I think I haven't been
very fair to you."

Wow, this seemed to be the old mellow Mom talking - not the one that had
been riding me on pretty much every topic under the sun since the divorce
proceedings began.  I began to get suspicious.

"In thinking about it the last few weeks, I've realized how much of the
conflict is my fault."

Immediately my senses went on active alert:  when Mom started out by
admitting a fault, you could be sure that she had something up her sleeve.

"It's not so much your having long hair that's been bothering me, it's that
you seem not to keep it as neat as I feel you should."

Aha!  She was going to try some technicality to get me to cut my hair.  But
I had an ironclad agreement with her, so I let her continue without
interrupting.

"I guess I've just been expecting you to know what to do to keep your hair
neat, then to get it done, and that's probably not reasonable on my part.
When I was your age I spent a lot of time with my mom learning how to do
that.  She taught me how often to wash it and how to manage it afterward:
how to set it and style it and keep it looking nice.  We used to spend hours
some times brushing out each other's hair and thinking up new ways to wear
it and manage it.  It was fun -- a lot better than the arguments and hassles
we've had -- and I see no reason why we shouldn't have fun with this as
well."

Hmm, this was sounding a little too reasonable.  But I couldn't see anything
to object to so far.

"Anyway, I'd like to change the way I've been approaching this -- to take
more responsibility to teach you what you need to know -- and to make it an
enjoyable thing for both of us.  Do you think that would be okay with you?"

I had to agree that our conflicts on this had been no fun, and I liked the
fact that she had acknowledged that part of it was her fault.  It was also
true that I really didn't know how to manage my hair very well.  As it got
longer it seemed to be greasy all the time.  Every time I washed it though,
it got real wispy and I couldn't do anything with it.  Tangles were
beginning to be a major problem too.  I had actually wanted to ask Mom for
her help, but I was afraid she'd just use that as a reason to hassle me even
more.  Now here she was offering the help I'd been wanting -- how could I
say no?

"Actually, Mom, I've had some real problems with tangles lately, and I was
going to ask if you knew how I could avoid them -- I just didn't want you to
hassle me or try and make me cut my hair, that's all."

"Sweetheart, I appreciate you sharing those feelings with me.  I've decided
that, with the changing styles and all, if you really want to wear your hair
long there's really no good reason for me to object -- provided that you
keep it looking nice.  Would you let me help you do that?"

"Sure.  I'd like that a lot."

"Then the only real problem is that, with my job demanding more and more of
my time, I may not be able to spend all the time it takes at first.  I mean,
after a while you'll be able to do most things on your own, but at first I
think you'll need more help than I might be able to give you."

"What can be that hard?  Your hair is long, but you seem to spend just a few
minutes a day on it."

"Well, this is a particularly easy style to manage, but I'm not sure you'd
like to wear your hair the same way." We both chuckled at this little joke.
"But even the 'simple' styles take a lot more time than you might think.
You may not realize the amount of time I spend at the salon, or the time at
night before I go to bed.  Make no mistake, you really will have to spend
some time on this -- especially since your hair is getting longer than mine.
Are you willing to spend the time and effort that it takes?"

"I guess I am, but if you're already spending time on yours, will you have
the time to help me on mine?" I had no idea that I was digging myself deeper
and deeper into Mom's trap.

"Well, as I said before, at first you're probably going to need more help
than I can give you.  That's why I've made arrangements with Betty to help
you get started -- that's where we're going now."

Betty was one of the first people -- one of the few -- who had befriended us
when we moved in.  Someone at her new job had referred Mom to Betty's beauty
salon when we first moved.  Betty had not only done a great job on Mom's
hair, she had become a good friend and kind of helped both of us find our
way around.  Unlike many adults, Betty had gone out of her way to pay some
attention to me, and seemed actually interested in my friendship as well as
Mom's.

"Gee, that's really nice of her to be willing to help -- I don't think I've
ever been to her house before."

"Betty really is a good friend, but I wouldn't feel right taking advantage
of her professional knowledge, or imposing on her hospitality, so I made
this sort of a business deal.  I made an appointment for you at Betty's
salon every Monday night this month.  Tonight is your first appointment."

"Mom, there's no way I'm going into a salon with all those women around.  I
know you used to take me with you some times, but I'm not a little kid any
more.  Besides, someone I know might see me."

"Calm down, sweetheart.  I'm not totally insensitive to your feelings, and
neither is Betty.  Her salon closes early on Monday night, but Betty has
agreed to stay late for these appointments just so you wouldn't have to
worry about other people being there.  Not only that, she's giving us a
half-price discount on everything she does and everything we buy."

"Wow, that really is nice of her.  I'm sorry, Mom, I didn't mean to get
upset." She had me on the defensive now, and I still had no clue of the trap
she laid.

"You're forgiven, my dear.  I do think that I've done everything I could to
consider your feelings as well as my own.  I want us to have fun with this,
so I've tried to keep the rules to an absolute minimum -- just two in fact."

My suspicions were suddenly aroused again.  "What do you mean, 'rules'?"

"Well, this is, after all, your part of the agreement -- that you'd follow
all my wishes for the month after you got the use of the car -- right?
Well, my wishes are these:  that for the next month you keep your hair clean
and well-groomed at all times, and up off your collar when I'm around.
That's not too much to ask, is it?"

"Mom, YOUR part of the agreement was that you wouldn't make me cut my hair.
Wasn't this whole conversation about how I was going to learn to manage my
hair LONG?"

"Absolutely, dear, I said nothing about cutting your hair."

"Mom, how can I keep my hair 'off my collar' if I don't cut it.  You took
that phrase right out of the old high school dress code."

"This has nothing to do with the old dress codes, and long hair is going to
be acceptable in the high school this Fall again, anyway.  I want you to
keep it off your collar as a way of learning how to truly manage your hair
at that length.  Betty can help you learn any number of ways to arrange it
so that it's off your collar."

"Arrange it?  You mean 'put it up' -- like a girl's?  Mom, you can't be
serious."

"You're yelling again, sweetheart.  I mean 'put it up' like
you-have-all-the-skills-you-need-to-keep-long-hair-neat-and-attractive.
Once you've done that for a month I'll be sure that you can handle it on
your own, no matter what length or style you decide to wear it.  And, as I
said, I'll help you as much as I can, in addition to what you learn from
Betty."

Now I saw the clever trap she had laid.  Technically, I had agreed to follow
any demand she made, though I never dreamed she'd come up with anything like
this.  "There's no way you're going to get me to wear my hair like a girl's
for the next month.  I couldn't leave the house.  I just won't do it."



  "That's your choice, my dear.  If that's the way you feel, just have Betty
give you a regular boy's cut, and the whole thing will be over.  If you
really believe those arguments you've been feeding me, though, wearing your
hair 'up' shouldn't be considered any more 'girlish' than wearing it long.
And another thing:  you can wear your hair any way you like when I'm not
around -- I can't control that.  It's just when we're at home together that
I want to see it up.  If you really show that you've learned how to manage
it before the month is over, I might ease off on the requirements.  Now
here's Betty's shop, and we're already a few minutes late, so hurry inside.
I'll be back about the time you're finished -- I have some errands to run."

I looked around furtively and saw no one near who might recognize me, so I
jumped out of the car, slammed the door and raced inside.  I was fuming, but
Betty pretended not to mind as she greeted me warmly and had me sit down in
the chair farthest from the windows.  "From your mood I'd guess that your
mom has filled you in on her rules?  She told me about her plan over the
phone yesterday.  I guess you're pretty upset, huh?"

"She's laid her clever little trap for me, Betty, and she thinks she's going
to win this one and get me to cut my hair, but I'll figure some way out of
this."

"Well, Alex, I really don't want to take sides -- you and your mother are
both such good friends -- but there is a little bit of a middle ground here,
if you have the patience for it, and are really determined to keep your long
hair."

"I'm even more determined now than I was before."

Betty chuckled.  "I think you're every bit as stubborn as your mother.
That's one of the things I like about you both:  you know what you want and
are willing to hang in there 'til you get it.  Well then, down to business I
don't think you've had much practice with arranging your hair or using
curlers, have you?"

I looked at her sideways.  "You've got to be kidding."

"I didn't think so, but I just wanted to make sure." Her tone made it sound
as if she would have preferred it if I had said yes.  "If you'd had practice
before, we could settle for a simple French Roll or something that you could
let down and put up whenever you wanted.  You'll get good enough to do that
over the next couple of weeks, but for now I think you'll need a style that
will stay pretty much in place for the next few days.  Friday morning is my
only slack time this week:  I won't be able to help you with the next step
until then.  What we can do is put your hair up in a style that we can
pretty well "cement" in place - something that you'll be able to maintain
with just some hairspray and pins every morning.  Friday morning after your
mom leaves for work you can take it down and wash it.  Then if you have
trouble putting it up again you can call me and I'll help you.  How does
that sound?"

I didn't mean to, but I probably sounded pretty whiny as I replied.  "You
mean I'd have my hair up like a girl's until Friday morning?  I wouldn't be
able to leave the house.  I'd go stir crazy."

Betty kept her voice down, but there was a firmness in it that told me I was
near the end of her tolerance.  "I know that may seem hard for you, but it's
the only way I see to help you.  If you'd rather, we can just call it quits
and give you a regular boy's cut."

Besides being embarrassed at having angered Betty, I realized I was cornered
now, and I was determined to fight back.  "No.  I'm not going to give in -
just tell me what you want me to do."

Betty smiled and gave me a friendly hug.  "Now, now, it really won't be that
bad.  I'll bet you a milkshake that when this month is over you're going to
look back on this and wonder what the big deal was."

I grinned in spite of myself.  "You have a bet, lady.  Plan on a double
chocolate malted."

"Okay, wise guy, you're on." Betty selected two picture albums from a nearby
shelf.  "Now look through these books and pick a style that you like.  I
think pretty much any one of these will fit our needs.  Meanwhile, I'll get
my stuff arranged.

As I began to page through the albums my spirits sank further and further.
Every model had hair piled way on top of their heads, most of them fixed up
with ribbons or curls or decorated combs.  Some even had flowers woven into
the style.  There was obviously no way I was going to get through the next
few days with my dignity intact:  I was going to be getting a girl's hairdo.

For a moment, I seriously thought of just giving in and asking for a boy's
cut.  As I thought it over, I pictured all my hair lying on Betty's floor,
and a shiver went through me.  I had fought for the right to wear my hair
long:  not only with Mom and the principal at my old school, but with
several guys who found out that long hair doesn't mean you're a sissy.  I
really felt I had a lot of myself invested in it.  The last straw was when I
pictured the triumphant smile that would be on Mom's face if she returned to
find me with my hair cut short.

I swallowed hard, then took the album over to Betty.  With grim
determination I pointed to one of the styles Betty suggested as being the
easiest.  I had seen it on several of my female classmates the day of the
Prom:  all the hair swept up to the crown, then arranged in two tiers of
ringlets, one on top of the other.

I thought I could see just a bit of sympathy in Betty's eyes, but she smiled
cheerfully and patted the salon chair where I was to sit.  Strangely enough,
now that I had made the decision I began to relax.  Betty's easy chatter
soon had me actually smiling and enjoying myself.  As she began to wash my
hair, my memory drifted back to the times when I had gone with Mom to her
beauty appointments.  I would usually sit in the front with a toy or comic
book while the strange smells and the chatter of female voices filled my
senses.  Sometimes I would look over the divider and watch as Mom and the
other women subjected themselves to the indignity of curlers and other
strange gadgets.  The women had always been nice to me, and had sometimes
teased me about coming back and getting my hair done.  I got butterflies in
my stomach as I realized that those memories were now taking on a strange
and current reality.

That funny feeling in my stomach grew stronger and was joined by a tightness
in my chest as Betty combed out my wet hair, separated the first strand, and
wound a curler into it.

"But I don't want curls in my hair, Betty.  Can't I just keep it straight?"

"You curl your hair every time you wash it, Alex, whether you wear it curly
or straight.  Large curlers like the ones we're using give you just a little
body and control.  If you decide you really want curls we'll use the smaller
ones." She didn't wait for my retort.  "I'll just give you a set of these
larger ones to take with you tonight, so you'll have them on hand Friday
morning.  I'll be around to help if you forget what I'm about to show you

As she put each curler in she had me hand her the hairpins that secured them
in place.  After the first few, she handed me the comb.  "Since you're
eventually going to have to do this for yourself, you might as well start
learning now, I guess."

It took almost an hour, and my arms were aching, but I finally began to get
the hang of things:  sectioning out a strand of hair, winding the curler
down and pinning it in place.  Betty taught me a little about which way to
wind the curlers and where to position them to get the effect we were trying
for.  When we were finally finished, Betty wrapped my head with a net and
led me to one of her dryers.  I looked ridiculous, but no more so than any
female I had seen under the same circumstance.  Betty sat me under the
dryer, then before she turned on the air she asked if I would like for her
to give me a manicure while my hair dried.

"No way are you going to paint my nails, Lady."

Betty giggled.  "Getting a manicure doesn't mean you have to get your nails
painted, silly.  I have some very good male clients who get regular
manicures to keep their hands looking nice -- Mayor Frost among them."

The thought of Mayor Frost sitting in one of Betty's chairs made me giggle,
but Betty finally convinced me that it was okay - and it seemed preferable
to browsing through the countless women's magazines lying around.

When my hair was finally dry I followed Betty back to the styling chair.  My
chest began to get strangely tight again as I watched her remove the curlers
from my hair.  In spite of her assurances that large curlers would produce
straight hair, each strand came out with a bouncy curl at the end.  I wanted
to complain, but somehow I was too fascinated to say anything:  ...all those
curls in my hair...in some strange way it was exciting to me - almost like
the feelings I had when I had swiped some of Mom's things to try on...  Here
I stopped myself abruptly.  It had been several weeks since I had decided to
end that nonsense.  I was a guy, after all, and too grown up now to do such
things.  Still, I could not fully repress the feelings that continued as
Betty began to comb out each section, tease it and spritz it with hair
spray, then pile it on top of my head.  She used several large hairpins to
keep the strands in place until she had piled it up all around, then she
used an elastic fastener to pull the whole mass together.  Next she took a
curling iron and began to form little flat curls that she pinned in a circle
around the crown of my head.  When she had completed a full circle she was
pretty much out of hair.  She told me she'd be back in just a second, then
she disappeared into the back of the shop.



  I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a long time.  There was no
mistaking the femininity of this hairstyle, nor the effect that it had on my
overall appearance.  My resistance to the excitement within was quickly
evaporating.  On an impulse I brought my newly manicured fingers up under my
chin, smiled at myself and struck a girlish pose.  For an instant I even
regretted not having accepted Betty's offer of clear polish for my nails.
It was at that moment that Betty came back into the room.  I quickly dropped
my pose and sat back in my seat.  Betty said nothing, but she seemed to have
a slight knowing smile as she went back to work.  She had found a small
hairpiece that matched my shade, and proceeded to fashion it into a second
tier of curls, which she pinned atop the first.

"Betty, that's not really necessary, is it?" I asked half-heartedly.

"Not really, but would you deny an artist the pleasure of finishing her
creation?" She gave me a broad smile and a wink, and I smiled in spite of
myself.  Betty really was a good friend, and I surely didn't want to get on
her bad side - not now when I really needed her.

When Betty was finished with the hairpiece she had me cover my face, then
she coated the whole construction with what seemed to be half a can of hair
spray.  I was just uncovering my face when Mom walked into the shop.

"Oh, Betty, he's beaut...I mean, his hair is perfect!"

Immediately my anger returned.  On the one hand, I was fascinated to see
myself with an honest-to-gosh hairstyle, but on he other hand, I was furious
with Mom for having forced me into this predicament.  I didn't even respond
when Mom greeted me, and I pretended not to pay attention as Betty put
several things into a bag and explained what I'd have to do for the next few
days.

The next few days were really hell.  I refused to speak to Mom, number one.
She would leave long lists of chores for me to do, including having dinner
fixed every night when she came home.  I was so determined not to speak to
her that I didn't even argue.  Of course, it was all part of my agreed month
of "obedience" any way, so arguing would have been useless.  With my hair up
I wasn't about to go outside - not even in my own yard - for fear the
neighbors might see me.  My hairdo was the cause of all sorts of problems -
not just the confinement.  It took extra time every evening to spray my hair
all over and wrap it in a net so it would survive the night There was no
comfortable way to put my head as I tried to sleep, either, so I tossed and
turned all night long.  I had to get up early every morning, unwrap my hair,
pin all the strands that had come loose, spray it, then present myself to
Mom at breakfast.  She was very cheerful every morning, and very
complimentary, but I was having none of it.

There were times during the day when I would take time out from my chores
and relax.  It was usually at these times that old urges would hit me, and
I'd spend long moments sitting at Mom's dressing table, staring at myself in
the mirror.  I was trying to see myself "from the outside":  wondering what
others would think if they saw me like this.  For the most part, though,
those first days were just chores and silence.

Thursday morning after Mom left I decided that I couldn't stand another day
of that sticky, sagging mass on top of my head.  I was almost to the point
of shaving myself bald just to get a decent night's sleep and to get away
from the house for a while.  Maybe I could do the curling and brushing out
by myself - how hard could it be?  I practically tore the pins out of my
hair, then took a long hot shower, washing and conditioning my hair as Betty
had instructed.

After I had relaxing for a while I got out all the stuff Betty had sold us
that first night, laid it out at Mom's dresser, then began to put curlers in
my hair.  It was a disaster from the start.  No sooner had I put a few
curlers in, but one would fall out.  As I leaned over to pick the curler off
the floor, the others would loosen and flop around.  After about fifteen
minutes of this I was in tears.  I phoned Betty at her shop, and fortunately
she was there.  The day was slower than she had expected, and she offered to
come right over.  I readily accepted.

Betty greeted me cheerily at the door, and immediately I felt my spirits
lift.  Within a few minutes she had me sectioning off my hair and putting
curlers in place like I had done it all my life.  Not only that, but she had
me laughing and chatting with her to boot.  It seemed like no time 'till my
hair was dry and Betty was helping me brush it out.  She showed me how to
put it up in a simple bun at the back of my head.  She had me practice a few
times to be sure I could do it myself, then produced a couple of items from
her handbag.  She called them "chignon covers" and showed me how to pin them
over the bun, explaining that they would hold in all the loose end that
might otherwise stick out.  I didn't think they were really necessary, but
Betty reminded me that Mom was going to awfully picky about such things, and
would demand that my hair look perfect whenever she was around.

When she felt comfortable enough with my ability to manage the bun and the
covers, she asked if she could drop me anywhere on her way back to work.  I
was completely stir crazy by this time, and eagerly accepted.  She suggested
that I could walk around the mall across from her shop, then she would drive
me back home when I was finished.  This seemed great, and I was soon waving
good-bye to her as I strolled toward the mall entrance.  I caught my
reflection in the doorway to the mall, and saw with satisfaction that my
hair was hanging almost straight by now.  It was certainly cleaner than I
was used to wearing it, and maybe a little fuller than before, but it pretty
much looked like it did a week ago.  I strolled around a little while, then
stopped at a music store and began browsing through the racks of tapes.

"May I help you, Miss?" The voice was near me, but I paid it no attention at
first.  Then I saw the clerk out of the corner of my eye, and he was looking
straight at me.  "Excuse me, Miss, but are you looking for something in
particular?" He was actually speaking to me!  I thought of something
sarcastic to say, but then I caught my breath as the realization hit me that
he was sincere.  I shook my head and walked quickly out of the store As I
approached the entrance to one of the department stores, a girl held up an
atomizer and pointed it toward me.  "Try a little of Linvin's new perfume,
Miss?" I quickened my pace a little more and ignored the girl as I passed
her.  My head felt a little light and my heart was beating faster now, and
as I came to the first department I stepped out of the aisle to catch my
breath and think for a moment.

"These are brand new today, aren't they just darling?" I looked up to see
that I was in the Junior's Department, standing among the dress racks.  Yes,
the sales clerk was talking to me.  "You look to be about a 5 or a 7 Do you
prefer a particular color?"

I opened my mouth to tell her I was definitely NOT interested in a dress,
but nothing came out except a hoarse croak.  My throat felt like cotton.

"Oh, those summer colds are the WORST, aren't they?  I could get you a glass
of water while you try something on?"

I turned and almost ran out of the store, leaving the saleslady staring
after me.  I didn't stop till I found a secluded bench in one of the back
corners of the mall.  It took a long time to get my breathing and heart rate
back to normal.  What was going on?  It was true that I had often been
mistaken for a girl as I grew up, especially when I wore a hood or cap, but
that was mostly in the past.  Relatives still called me "babyface"
sometimes, but only the grownups who ignored my reactions to the name.  It
was true that I had been teased several times since I started letting my
hair grow long, but that quickly stopped after the first couple of fights.
I was small and thin for my age, but I was very wiry, and I had developed a
reputation for having a quick temper and an ability to back it up.  This was
different, though.  These people weren't teasing, they were being polite.
For some reason, three people had just mistaken a teenage boy for a girl!

I carefully examined my reflection in a nearby store window.  I was wearing
loose jeans, a baggy shirt and white tennis shoes, so that wasn't much of a
factor one way or the other.  It had to be my hair.  Maybe it did turn up a
little at the ends, and it did feel a little fuller, but was that enough to
make a difference?  Somehow, with the subtle effect of the washing and
conditioning and the curling, something had change.  It was like I had
crossed over some invisible line that changed the way people saw me.  I had
to talk to someone about this, and Betty was just across the street.

I saw Betty chatting with one her clients, so I walked quickly past the desk
without speaking to the receptionist.  "Excuse me, Miss, but you can't go in
there without---"

"Betty, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I HAVE to talk to you right now!" I
whispered.  Betty excused herself and led me into her office, closing the
door behind us.

"Alex, you look like you've seen a ghost.  What on Earth is wrong?"

I quickly explained my experiences of the past few minutes.

"Well, I guess I can understand your feelings, but I must say I'm not really
surprised.  I know how sensitive you are about this, Alex, but you have very
fine features, and a really pretty face.  With your hair as long as it is,
and now looking so nice and well-kept, it's only natural that people see you
that way."

I took a moment to digest this.  In so many tactful words, Betty had just
told me "You look like a girl." These were the same words that had caused
more than one bloody nose among my peers, but Betty was a grownup, and
what's more, I knew that she was sincere.

"But, Betty, what can I do about it?"

"What do you want to do about it?"

I was totally confused by now, and frustrated.  Betty seemed to understand,
but she wasn't being very helpful.  I just sat there with a blank look on my
face.  What could I do?  I could cut my hair, but that would be surrender -
out of the question.  More than that, I really did like wearing it long.  I
liked the way it swung back and forth as I walked, and I liked the way it
felt when I ran my hands through it, as I was doing now.  When all this was
over, I could go back to keeping it unwashed and stringy, but that didn't
seem like much of an option either.

Betty waited and watched me for a few moments, then she smiled.  "There is
one simple solution that I can see." Here I perked up a little and looked at
her hopefully.  "You could just play along with the situation, and let
people think what they want.  We could make it sort of a game --- or an
experiment --- see how much you can get away with."

It took me a couple of seconds to realize what Betty was talking about.
"You mean, pretend I really am a girl?  Get serious, Betty."

"Why not, Alex?  It might be fun, seeing how many fools you could fool."

"Yeah, until the first fool figured it out and told everyone else.  Then
where would I be?"

"Well, there is that risk, I suppose, but I think it's rather slim.
Especially since you know so few people around here anyway." I just looked
at her skeptically.  "I tell you what, let's try a little experiment.  I'll
bet you that I can take you out shopping right now, as my niece or
something, and that not one person will guess our secret."

"Oh, come on, Betty.  All I have to do is open my mouth or just stand the
wrong way, and anyone will be able to tell."

"You may not believe me, but there are thousands of girls your age that have
a deeper voice than you.  Anyway, you can let me do all the talking, if you
like.  What do you say?  Shall we lay another double chocolate malted on the
line?"

At first I couldn't believe that Betty was really serious, but the more I
thought about it, the more curious I became.  I had always wondered what I
would look like as a girl, and now it seemed like I was going to find out.
Why not let Betty help?  Besides, she had challenged me - I always liked a
friendly wager.

"Okay, Betty, you're on!  But I don't have to wear a dress or anything, do
I?"

"Not if you don't want to, dear." She paused, as if I needed to respond to
her implication.  "I will need to do just a little fixing up, though.  Sit
over here at my desk and I'll be right back." Betty stepped out of her
office for an instant, then came back with a brush and some other things.

"Now, I'm just going to put your hair up like we had it this morning .." she
began to brush my hair back, talking as she worked.  " ...  but we'll brush
it back over your ears, to soften the look a little more." When she finished
she opened her purse and then took my chin in her hand.  "Now look down for
a moment, that's it, now look at the ceiling - try not to blink.  Very good,
now look down again." I felt little strokes at my lashes and over my
eyelids, and figured out that she was putting some of her makeup on me!  I
started to pull back, but she tightened her grip on my chin.  "Not yet,
Alex.  Let me finish, then you can see what you think.  Now part your lips a
little, that's it ..." A heavy sweet taste filled my mouth as she ran a
brush around my lips, then filled in.  "Now rub your lips together, mmm,
that's it.  Now blot.  Now part your lips again."

The taste was almost like raspberries, and for some reason it set off a
powerful surge within me.  My chest got so tight I could hardly breathe, and
there were other feelings I didn't even want to think about.  Memories of
those salon trips and visions of Mom's lingerie drawer began to pass quickly
through my mind.  It was all I could do to bring myself back to reality.

Betty flicked the brush across my cheeks, then smudged at them with her
fingertips.  "There, now you can take a look in the mirror.  What do you
think?" She wheeled the chair around so it was facing the full length mirror
behind her door.  When I stood up I was so dizzy I had to hold onto Betty's
arm to keep from falling over.  The body in the mirror was definitely mine,
but there were subtle differences in the face.  The darker eyes, the pink
cheeks and lips, It was still my face, I guess, only --- pretty.

"Wow." It was all I could say while I tried to make myself breathe normally
again.

"Well, young lady, are you ready to loose that bet?"

I made a wry face at her, but I couldn't get my legs to move.  Betty took my
hand, interlacing my fingers with hers, and led me out the door.  "Come on,
this is going to be FUN."

"Grace, I'll be out for an hour or two, but I'll be back before Mrs.  Valles
comes in for her appointment." The receptionist nodded at Betty, then made a
face at me when Betty looked away.  I couldn't resist making a face back,
and for some reason that gave me a little more courage for what I was about
to do.

I lost the bet.  During those two hours we visited almost every Lady's shop
and department in the mall, and no one even hinted that I might be a boy.
At the first couple of places we just walked through, and Betty talked about
the latest fashions and styles, color combinations and good accessories.  I
realized later that she was giving me time to adjust to the situation.  No
one we passed had anything more than a smile for me, though a few people
recognized Betty and said hello.  I began to believe that I was actually
passing as a girl!  Betty quietly pointed this out to me several times,
reassuring me that this was going to be a breeze - and a lot of fun.

At the next shop we stopped to browse among the racks of women's clothes.
Betty held out several things that she liked and asked my opinion on them.
Subtly, she drew me into the swing of things, and soon I was laughing and
chatting along with her.  Several times Betty complimented me on my taste
and my eye for fashion, and I began sharing my opinion on everything from
fabrics to jewelry.

We went into some shops where Betty was well-known, and she introduced me as
her niece from out of town.  The ladies were all very nice to me, and I
began to really enjoy myself.  It was intoxicating, looking through the
racks of vibrant colors and soft fabrics, admiring the beautiful jewelry,
smelling the scent of perfumes and makeup.  Betty was careful not to go too
far, I think, and never suggested that I try anything on, but she did get me
to sample some eye shadow and a couple of lipsticks at one of the makeup
counters.

When it was time to leave I realized how tired I was, but I was almost
reluctant to have it all end.  Betty took me back to her shop and helped me
remove the makeup, then she drove me home.  I thanked her for a wonderful
afternoon, and she gave me a big hug before I got out of the car.  "Maybe we
can do this again next week, and you can buy me that double malted you owe
me." I laughingly acknowledged that I had lost the bet, and readily agreed



                                  1

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