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A Losing Season - An Alternative Ending to Seasons of Change
Part X
by Tigger
Copyright 1998

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

Based on the characters and situations presented in "Seasons
of Change" by Joel Lawrence, Copyright 1989.  This story is
archived in its entirety at:

http://www.nifty.org/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Joel_Lawrence

This story represents an alternative ending to Mr. Lawrence's
story.  It is essentially a parallel universe story where
things start out the same, but follow a much different path
than the one portrayed in the original story. 

A Losing Season: Chapter 31.  Attack Imminent

Jane stood outside the door of her front parlor, knowing that
this had to be done, but wishing she could just forget the
whole thing.  She sighed unhappily.  She *had* given her word,
she thought.  At least twice, and it all came down to this. 
Steeling herself, Jane moved into the room where Michelle sat
reading yet another book. Probably psychology again, she
thought.

Michelle looked up from her book, a blank expression on her
perfectly made up face.  She looked so completely feminine,
Jane mused not for the first time.  In all of her years of
training young men to look and behave like young women, not
one of them had approached the level attained by this one. 
Which made it all the sadder that her motive for achieving all
this perfection was the accomplishment of so base a goal.  

The Laura Ashley sweater and skirt combination were set off by
opaque white stockings and low heeled black pumps.  Her
jewelry was tastefully selected and was completely appropriate
to her age and her apparel.  Her manner was refined and
gentle.  She looked like a young lady who had just returned
home from Sunday services.  Which, with the exception of truly
being a lady, was exactly what she was.  It had amazed Jane
when Michelle asked if they could go to church to celebrate
the start of the Christmas season, but she had given her
assent.  They'd both had a lovely time.

Indeed, she *was* perfect.

"Yes, Aunt Jane?"  Michelle finally asked, breaking the odd
silence between them.

Jane shrugged inwardly, and pressed forward.  "Michelle.  I
know it is still very early in your training, but I have what
may be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here that you should
consider."  She handed Michelle a piece of gold-gilt parchment
and then stood by in silence as the girl read it.

"This is an invitation to my Mother's engagement party next
month.  So, she has finally managed to get one of her
boyfriends to come up to scratch."  Jane watched her pupil,
and was surprised to see that, although her words had been
harsh, her face had reflected no such emotion.  Either
Michelle had become very good at masking her feelings, or the
girl did not actually find the concept of her Mother
remarrying as distasteful as she let on.  "What has this to do
with me, Aunt Jane?"

Jane took a seat on the chair next to Michelle.  "I should
think that it would be obvious, pet.  We could both attend
that party together and you would have your chance to get even
with her Mother.  Many very powerful and influential people
will attend this event.  Her fianc‚ will be there.  What
better time could there be for you to face down your Mother
and force her to acknowledge what you've become and what she's
lost."  Jane had spoken in very calm, very reasoned tones, as
if she had absolutely no doubt that Michelle could accomplish
such an end.

Michelle stared at the mentor she had recently found herself 
caring about deeply.  Could she really mean that?  Could they
really do something that . . . that total?  Michelle shook her
head, trying to clear her thinking, and failed.  It was all
too much, too soon.  "Too soon." she repeated those words
aloud, hoping to convince Jane and herself.  "I am not ready
for that type of event, Jane."  Her voice held a touch of
panic.  "Maybe a year from now. . .Maybe.  I mean, really Aunt
Jane, I have only been doing this for a few months.  I could
never hold up under such demanding scrutiny as I'd have to
face at that party.  No, I need to learn much more."

Jane chuckled at her young friend's panic and prevarication. 
"Now, Michelle," she soothed, "You've held up just fine at any
number of dances and parties with the local teenage crowd.  I
assure you that none of the people who are at that party will
be quite so forward as a seventeen year old male in heat."
Michelle blushed at that reminder of a recent party where
she'd been forced to threaten to knee one suitor in the groin
before he finally backed off.

"Wish I'd never told you about that one." Michelle muttered
under her breath.

"Well, you did, but that is beside the point.  What is to the
point is that, with the exception of a few of the young men at
the party, no one is going to look at you twice.  The women
are going to ignore you because you are far more beautiful
than they, and the men will ignore you because their women
will be watching them.  You can mingle or dance or even play
wallflower, as you choose, but you will be there and your
Mother will see you.  You could tell her that her son is dead
to her when we make our final good byes to her."

Michelle wasn't sure how she felt about that idea just now. 
It was one thing to think about, to fantasize about, but to
actually go out and intentionally hurt someone?  Even if his
Mother surely deserved everything he could do to her?  But
isn't that what you want??, her mind screamed, only to be
answered by another part of her brain - I *don't* know! She
needed time.  Time to think.  Time to get her priorities back
in order.  "I don't know, Aunt Jane.  I just don't think I am
ready."

Jane simply shook her head.  "You are never going to be any
better than perfection, Michelle.  You *are* ready. If we are
going to go through with this, it would be best to do it as
soon as possible.  Furthermore, your Mother will never be more
vulnerable than she will be on the day of her engagement
party, particularly if she really does love that man."

Michelle considered that.  "Do you think she really does? Love
him, I mean."

"I don't know, Michelle.  I do know that your Mother has had
any number of affairs over the years since your father died
with men who would have been more than delighted to wed her. 
If she is marrying this one, then either she does truly love
him, or she is broke and needs the money that marrying a
wealthy man will bring her."

"No." Michelle responded firmly.  "She is still wealthy beyond
anyone's needs.  The annual income on her share of the stock
from my father's company alone is in the seven figure range."

"Then I think she must have genuine feelings for the man." 
Jane said with great finality.  "So.  Do I RSVP accepting, or
tendering our regrets?"

"Aunt Jane?  Speaking of finances, I won't come into my trust
fund for another three years.  What if she cuts me off after
this?  I won't have any income and likely no place to live."

Jane squelched that argument quickly.  "I told you, Michelle,
that I would take care of you until you reach your majority
and can take charge of your trust.  That promise has not
changed - will not change.  Please trust me on this.  I won't
let anything bad happen to you because I care about you.
Okay?"

Wonder shown in Michelle's eyes as she absorbed Jane's last
words.  The girl/boy was so hungry for simple affection that
it made Jane hurt.  Dammit, she thought, regardless of what
Barbara wanted or had to do, this child needed love.  Well,
she'd just have to see that he got it in the future, wouldn't
she?

A tear cut a path down Michelle's cheek, and she flew into
Jane's arms.  "And .. .and I care about you, too, Aunt Jane."

Before the shocked older woman could react, Michelle jumped to
her feet.  "Aunt Jane, please excuse me, but I need to go
somewhere and think." She was out the door before Jane could
reply.

Once she was certain the girl was not returning, Jane allowed
herself to relax for the first time since the engraved
invitation had arrived.  And remembering the surprise hug, she
also allowed herself to smile.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary 
November 30- Day 136

Dear Diary

Well, my chickens have come home to roost.  My Mother is
engaged to be married and is holding a gala society ball at
the South Hampton house as an engagement party.  Jane was
invited, which I guess means that I have been invited, too.

This wasn't supposed to happen for months, years even.  I
mean, it's always been the back of my mind, but I never
thought it would be so soon.  I thought I would have much more
time to prepare myself for this, and now, it is almost upon
me.

I cannot understand how I feel right now.  I should be excited
about this, gleefully anticipating the scene I would make as I
told her of her son's demise.  I mean, it is the perfect
opportunity for the maximum possible effect, to really show
her just what she condemned me to suffer when she sent me to
Jane last spring.

But am I ready for this?

God, I don't even know why I am so confused!

And as for passing at the party, Jane was right about that as
well.  Actually, Jane does not know the _real_ story.  How
could I tell her that I was not merely groped by two
Neanderthals instead of one, and I was nearly raped.  Since
that Dennis, that son of a female dog, is a homophobic idiot,
I have a damned good notion just how well I am passing as a
female these days.

So fear of not passing is just an excuse, exactly as Jane
said.

Well, I guess all this means I have to go.  There may never be
another chance like this, and I have to open the door when
opportunity's knocking this loudly.  Because if I don't do
this, then everything I've done for the past five months,
everything I've endured from that damned gaff to the actual
abdication of my masculinity, would have been for nothing.

So, it appears I must go to my Mother's engagement party.

Shit.  I bet this means another shopping trip.

Michelle Nash.

A Losing Season: Chapter 32.  Battle Planning and Logistics

Actually, it was several shopping trips.  Mrs. Franson's
store, The Style Shoppe, carried a nice selection of very
smart dresses and gowns, but she had nothing really suitable
for a New York society debutante attending her first ball.  At
least, not in Jane's or Mrs. Franson's estimation. Oh, no.
*This* gown had to be perfect - one of a kind.  It had to be
hideously expensive and a designer original.

Jane swept her unhappy student off to Boston where a well
known fashion designer fitted her a ball gown.  Fortunately,
the glued on prosthetic breasts and Caro's special cosmetic
blending compound held up through that ordeal; Michelle looked
completely passable, even in her lingerie.  The strapless bra
gave her support and the special gaff designed to look like a
g-string panty kept Michael in check, as well.

The designer was a little miffed that both Jane and Michelle
steadfastly vetoed every one of her attempts to tease them
into a lower neckline that would "properly show off your
lovely bosoms, dear."  

Which, of course, was one of the few things that the dress
could *not* show off.  Caro's body paint worked just fine in
the relative sedentary, cool world of the fitting room, but it
would not be so effective over several hours in the body
temperature heat at Michelle's Mother's ball.  At some point
during that long evening, whether it was in the middle of a
crush of other guests, or when pulled tight against some
male's body, pretending to waltz, the stuff would probably
melt and get rubbed off onto her dance partner's tux or some
woman's bodice.  Jane and Michelle had too much respect for
the whimsies of Mr. Murphy to permit the designer to have her
way.  

Finally the designer surrendered, and instead proposed a dress
with a high neckline designed to show off Michelle's lovely
long throat.  That worked very nicely.  Michelle even modeled
the five stranded pearl choker with antique cameo she intended
to wear with the dress during that initial fitting.

The initial fitting went off without incident, and even better
than Jane had dared hope. However, the long period of standing
absolutely still, while under the close scrutiny of the
modiste, had been a nerve racking experience for Michelle. 
Thus it was a very relieved Michelle who finally scurried away
from that shop as quickly as Jane would let her.  

Amused, Jane permitted the headlong flight for about a block
before she reined in the girl.  "Stop worrying, Michelle."
Jane chided gently.  "The worst is over. She'll even be coming
to the house for the other fittings, and you will be able to
change into the gown in the privacy of your own room.  Now,
Betty Franson can handle the lingerie and hosiery for us, and
you already have your jewelry, so we don't have to worry about
those.  Let's see. . . ah yes, the shoes." she all but sighed
with pleasure at the thought of their next stop.

~---------~
Excerpt: Michelle's Diary 
December 2 - Day 138

Dear Diary

I wonder if I need a tetanus shot?  After the fifth or sixth
time we told that bitch that I was not going to be showing off
"my lovely bosoms", those damned pins of hers started sticking
me more than they did the darn dress.

As for the dress - well, I just don't know.  I still can't
tell what the thing is going to look like at this point - but
Jane can and she is positively rhapsodic over it.  

I just hope it works for me. 

I need sleep.  Jane has had us both on the move since before
seven this morning, and we finally finished what we could at
about six tonight.  Another thing I don't want to think about
is what is it that we couldn't get done.  How could there
possibly be any more?

Michelle Nash


Jane smiled happily to herself in her room of the large suite
she had rented in Boston.  Michelle was sound asleep in her
own room, exhausted from her ordeals.  Still, she'd held up
well, and had only come close to panic once - when she'd had
to strip down for the modiste.  Even then, she had only
behaved like a shy, well bred, if somewhat sheltered young
woman asked to undress in front of a stranger.

Jane had thoroughly enjoyed their day of shopping.  She'd
almost forgotten the simple pleasure of just shopping for
pretty things with another female.  Oh, she went on
innumerable "shopping" expeditions with her sissy boys, but
those excursions were intended to scare the panties off the
little darlings.  The problem was, Jane could never relax her
vigilance during those jaunts, because although she only
frequented the establishments of women who were in on her
secret, there were usually other people in those popular
stores who were not.  Jane had to be constantly on the lookout
for *real* danger while Betty or Caro or Sandy worked on and
worked over her little sweeties.

Not so today.  Michelle was so close to actually *being* a
woman, that sometimes Jane found herself forgetting that her
ward was physically a male.  Today had been just such a time,
and although Michael would deny it with his dying breath, Jane
and Michelle had had a wonderful time.  The little minx had
even teased the hell out of that poor shoe salesman with her
lovely legs as he fitted her for a pair of hand made pumps to
match her gown.  Yes, today had been great fun, and Jane had
almost been able to forget the disaster that was looming in
her future.

Almost.

Excerpt: Michelle's Diary 
December 5 - Day 141

Dear Diary

I had my first home fitting of the new gown, today.  I have to
admit that Jane had it right. My dress is going to be
gorgeous.  The only downside is that the darn thing has to be
white, since this is my "coming out" and debutantes are always
arrayed in white purity when they are first presented as
"virgins in society".  Some stupid tradition left over from
Regency England, I'm told. *I* wanted something festive and
bright, maybe jewel tones selected to match my eyes, and to
knock the eyes out of whoever sees me in it.

My god. . . .what did I just write?

Oh hell.  Honesty time again.  Yes, I *love* the dress.  It
makes me look and feel pretty, and that makes me feel good. 
Certainly better than I ever felt about myself back when I was
a male.

*When I _was_ a male?* What the hell do I think I am *now*?

Interesting question, and one I am not entirely certain I want
to or even *can* answer.  However it is abundantly clear that
Michelle is no longer just a disguise or an means to an end. 
I really do not know where Michael ends and Michelle starts. 
I guess that is what Eric and David meant by saying they were
both themselves and their feminine alter egos.

Which begs another question.  If next month at my Mother's
party, I do finish what I started so many months ago, what
happens then? In particular, what happens to all the planning
Jane and I have done so Michelle can go to school? What about
my little "sister"?

Or do I go back to being Michael?  Or even *mostly* Michael? 
I don't really know anymore.  I really have never given any
thought to anytime or anything beyond my giving my Mother what
she seemed to want of me.  Jane has said I will always have a
home with her, but it goes beyond that.  

I've said I want to go to college, and Jane has said that she
could arrange that for me as Michelle.  But that was when we
thought the masquerade would go on much longer than a mere
five or six months.

Well, the first thing I will do once this is over is take
charge of my life and figure out what *I* want to do with it.

The strangest part of all this is that I am more excited about
the dress than I am about achieving my six month goal.  

And I don't even want to think any more about that little
concept.


Michelle Nash.


Excerpt: Michelle's Diary 
December 18 - Day 154

Dear Diary

Well, tomorrow is the point of no return.  The party is the
day after so tomorrow we will take a ferry from somewhere in
Connecticut down to Long Island's Montauk Point where a car
will pick us up.  We will be spending the night with one of
Jane's friends (not Mother) because Jane does not want to take
the chance I will slip up and expose myself to my Mother
before the party.  "If you are going to do it at all, dear,
then do it where and when it will have the greatest effect."

Jane would have made a hell of an army general.

The dress is done, and is packed away lovingly by Maria, ready
for transport to our destination.   Maria cried when I modeled
the full outfit for her, and wasted an entire roll of film.
She had me parading up and down the stairs, doing the "Scarlet
O'Hara gliding down the front hall grand staircase at Tara"
thing, or slinking down the runway like some kind of high
fashion model showing off the latest Bill Blass creation. 
Well, at least I learned how during my part time job as a
model for Mrs. Franson.

Well, maybe it's not entirely a waste - the dress is
absolutely gorgeous.

I wonder if she will let me have some copies of the better
shots?  Just for souvenirs.

As to what I will do the night of the party, my mind is no
clearer than it has been since Jane first told me we were
going to face my Mother. 

In my darkest heart, I have to say that I really am looking
forward to seeing the look on her face when I unveil myself as
the person who *used* to be her son, and when I tell her
precisely what I mean to do in the future.  

And yet. . .,

God.  And yet, in my less evil moments, I have to ask - does
she really deserve this?  Well, for neglecting me, yes, maybe
somewhat.  But on the other hand, her "abandonment" of me to
Jane - in the final analysis, was that really such a bad
thing?  Haven't I ultimately gained Maria and Jane from that?

My stomach is really churning.  I don't think I am going to
sleep a wink between now and the party.  I don't even know why
it is still bothering me this way.  

Wait, that is not quite right.  I do know something of the
reason.  I am frightened.  The thing I don't know is precisely
what it is that frightens me. 

Sometimes I think it is the confrontation with my Mother, and
its subsequent fallout, assuming that there is one.  Other
times, I think it is the uncertainty of my future beyond that
confrontation.

And some times, during those really dark, lonely times when I
don't seem to know quite who or what I am anymore, I am pretty
sure it is *me* that I fear the most.

What I am planning is not a very nice thing to do to anyone. 
Isn't that a gross understatement?  Some might say my plans
are the complete opposite of the Golden Rule. In "killing"
Michael to give her Michelle, I have, in a very real sense,
abandoned her as she abandoned Michael.  I will do unto her as
she has done unto me.  

I read something the other day that described revenge as a
blade that cuts both ways.  As I approach the culmination of
my plan, I have come to understand that concept only too well. 
My little "I will show *her*" plan is starting to sound a
great deal like revenge, and I am not happy about that. After
a great deal of reflection on all the possible outcomes of
this enterprise, I have concluded that I will not come out of
it unscathed. Will the outcome be worth what I have already
endured, and what I will have to endure after the fact?  I
just don't know.  

Six months ago, heck, three months ago, I would have simply
gone off and done this thing without a qualm or a second
thought.  Now, I have many of each, and yet, do I really have
any choice?  I mean, if I don't do this thing, will I ever be
free of this. . .this hurting inside me?

I wish I knew.

I seem to be saying that a lot, lately.

Michelle Nash

A Losing Season: Chapter 33.  Storming the Castle

The extended body limousine pulled around the long circular
driveway and rolled to a stop directly in front of the red
carpeted entrance to his Mother's house.  Michael Nash had not
been inside that house since his Father's funeral; since he'd
begun his gypsy life of going from one boarding school to
another, from one more camp to the next.  Michelle was certain
that Jane must be able to hear the pounding of her heart as
she stared at the familiar stone pillars of what should have
been home.

Oh God, Michelle thought bleakly.  I am *not* ready for this.

Jane sensed rather than saw the hesitancy in her charge's
demeanor, and rested a single gloved hand on Michelle's wrist. 
The lovely vision spun to lock eyes with her Aunt.  A strange
sad little smile played across Jane's lips before she nodded
toward the doorman stepping up to open the car door for them.

Months of training snapped into control and Michelle acted on
what was now pure instinct. Offering her gloved fingers up to
the gaudily uniformed man, she permitted him to hand her up
and out of the car.  Michelle bestowed a blinding smile on him
and watched with quiet amusement as he almost stumbled getting
back to help Jane.

"Ready, my dear?" Jane asked softly as she took her place
beside Michelle.

Hell no, Michelle thought before answering "As ready as I will
ever be.  Lets do this and get it over with, Jane, before I do
something stupidly female - like faint." 

The entrance foyer was just as Michelle remembered it - rich
with red velvet, polished hardwoods and gilt edged trim.  As
she turned to give her wrap to the butler, she saw the huge,
curving grand staircase with its brightly polished bannister. 
An old memory tugged at her just then, of a young boy caught
sliding down that bannister by an angry father who turned him
over to his Mother for punishment.  

Only, she hadn't punished him.  Instead, she'd swatted a sofa
pillow and told him to scream loudly.  Then the pair of them
had snuck into the kitchen to filch cookies from the cook. 
Her only admonition had been to tell him to make sure his
Father was not around the next time he felt like sliding.

Odd how he'd managed to forget things like that - his father
always finding fault with him, always finding reasons to
"discipline the boy and make a man out of him."   And it had
always been his Mother who had taken his side, or softened the
punishment.  What had changed, Michelle's mind cried.  When
had things changed between Michael and his Mother?  Wasn't
that the memory of a loving Mother protecting her child from
an unjustly harsh punishment?

"Michelle?"  Jane's voice broke in on the flood of unanswered
questions in Michelle's mind.  "Are you all right?" was the
solicitous question.

Taking a deep breath, Michelle fought off the memories and
nodded to Jane.  "I'm all right.  I was just remembering. .
remembering something."

"A happy or a sad something?" Jane asked gently.

"Both." was the curt answer.  "And neither.  Let's go in."

The ballroom of the mansion was filled with people engaged in
the fine arts of flirtation and small talk.  The orchestra was
not scheduled to start for another couple of hours, and so the
guests made free with the light buffet of savory gourmet
finger foods and the open bars laid out in the small rooms
about the periphery of the ball room. 

Neither Jane nor Michelle had eaten that day, but both were so
nervous that the mere thought of eating made their stomachs
roil.  Jane went to one of the bars and returned with two wine
flutes filled with a clear, sparkling liquid.  Michelle's
brows went up in query as Jane handed her one of the chilled
glasses.

"Perrier, darling.  I think we will both need our wits about
us before this night is over.  Now lets go mingle."

Somehow, they managed to avoid Barbara in their wanderings. 
Whether that was intentional on Jane's part, or simple
serendipity, Michelle did not know.  She was, however,
grateful for whatever brought that to pass.  Her ambivalence
about confronting her Mother seemed to be growing with each
passing minute.

At some point in the evening, the orchestra began to play a
rousing little ditty to get everyone's attention.  Barbara and
her fiance walked hand in hand to the makeshift podium and
greeted their guests.

It was the first time that Michelle had ever gotten a good
look at Michael's soon-to-be stepfather.  He was a very
slender fellow of medium height - actually shorter than his
Mother since she was wearing fairly tall spiked heels  - who
moved with unusual grace for a man.  He was handsome, in an
almost pretty sort of way - much like an older Leo DeCaprio -
with his light blonde, somewhat long hair and eyes that were
probably blue.  He was also, if Michelle was any judge of it,
more than a decade younger than Michael's forty two year old
mother.

As Michelle watched the pair, her Mother's true feelings came
through to her with crystalline clarity.  Michelle's mother
was deeply in love with that man.  The sheer emotion that lit
up her Mother's entire face made Michelle blush and want to
turn away.

After the remarks and the many toasts to the happy pair, the
orchestra began to play a waltz, and the betrothed couple led
off the dancing to the applause of all the guests.

Much of what happened thereafter was mostly a blur to
Michelle.  She had been offered and had accepted dance
invitations from several men.  A couple of them were old
enough to be her grandfather, and they had enjoyed the
opportunity to take a turn around the dance floor with such a
lovely young woman.  She had glowed under their genuine
compliments and had dutifully giggled at their gentle,
fatherly teasing.  Her other dance partners, with the notable
exception of two boors, were pleasant young men who danced
well and who made an effort to put her at ease.  

She even managed to fit in with the other women guests as
well.  The grand dames wanted to introduce their sons to her,
and the younger girls seemed to want to emulate her.  On one
occasion she heard one woman point her out to another matron. 
"That one has been well trained by someone.  She'd have been
acceptable in our time, dear, unlike so many of these
hoydens."  It had made her smile.

One of her few real smiles that night.

The only difficulties she'd had to face, with the exception of
her Mother, were two young preppie males in the St. Andrews
Academy mold, who obviously thought they were God's gift to
women.  Michelle had vainly tried to ignore the wandering
hands of the first one, but he would not be deterred.  As the
dance thankfully ended, the hand he rested behind her tugged
at her zipper.  Fed up at last, Michelle stopped, and with a
dazzling smile on her face, went up on tiptoe to whisper
something to the young fool.

Jane wondered if anyone else saw the look of surprise followed
by stark terror on the man's face as Michelle got her message
through to him.  Or if anyone saw the hand taking a fistful of
something down around his groin and start squeezing.  Jane did
not think so, since Michelle had been very careful to keep her
skirts between her quarry and the rest of the assembly.

The second incident occurred an hour or so later.  This young
buck managed to muscle Michelle out onto the terrace during
their dance.  Although the air was unseasonably mild for
December in New York, it was still quite chilly for a young
lady in a silk gown and not very much else.  Having seen what
the churlish young man had done, Jane had immediately hurried
over to the terrace door just in time to see Michelle's dance
partner trying to force his mouth onto hers.

Suddenly, the man jumped back, his hand flying to his mouth. 
Jane could not hear what was said, but she recognized the
stern, down-the-nose glare Michelle fixed on her erstwhile
suitor as the one she herself employed with her more
recalcitrant sissy boys.  And with much the same effect, too,
she was pleased to note. Then Jane only barely missed being
knocked over by a furiously blushing man holding a bleeding
lower lip as he all but ran from the scene.  Jane watched as
her ward took a few moments to compose herself before walking
with sedate poise back to the ball room.  

The girl had learned far more than Jane had realized in the
past months.  God, but she was proud of this student.  If only
things were different, she thought yet one more time.

For her own part, Michelle had had just about enough "society"
to last her a lifetime.  She was heartily weary of the entire
thing and wanted nothing more than to leave this place with
its painful memories and its myriad ghosts.  She started
scanning the room for Jane, only to have her gaze fall on her
Mother, still dancing with her husband-to-be.  The pure
unadulterated joy on Barbara's face took Michelle's breath
away, and she simply stood there spellbound, watching them
dance as one.

The spell broke when the song completed and the orchestra
leader announced an intermission.  Michelle again looked about
for Jane, this time locating her off to one side of the
ballroom, over near the door to the terrace that lout had
pulled her off to.  Purposefully, she moved through the throng
of milling guests and upon reaching Jane, took her elbow and
led her to a quiet corner.

"Jane, I have had enough.  I want to leave.  Could we please
go home? *Now*?"

Jane lifted one thin, finely lined brow.  "Now?  Before we
complete the mission to which you have dedicated the last six
months?  What about your Mother?"

There were tears in her ward's eyes, now.  Whether from
frustration, anger or sadness, Jane did not know.  She wished
she did. 

"No, Aunt Jane.  This is her night.  She is happy and in love. 
No matter how much I hurt, no matter how much I think she
deserves to hurt, I just can't do it."

"Does this mean we will be coming back at some later date to
finish the job?" Jane probed gently.

"No." Michelle shook her head in defeat. "Not now.  Not ever. 
It is over.  I am going to move past this. Somehow.  Try to
figure out where I fit into the world.  I guess I will need to
take you up on your offer to stay with you, at least for a
while." and here she sighed deeply. "Which means I will be
staying Michelle for the foreseeable future.  Too many people
around your house know Michelle and would probably recognize
me if I suddenly showed up as Michael."  She looked at her
reflection in the glass terrace doors and gave Jane a wan
smile.  "That's okay, I guess I kinda like being Michelle. 
Heck, I don't think I'd know how to be Michael around you,
Aunt Jane."

"You could learn, dear, if that is what you truly want."

"That's okay.  Right now, I probably don't know how to be
Michael - period.  Can we go, now?" she asked again,
plaintively. "*Please*?"

"All right.  Look, you go into that little sitting room off
the foyer while I go to the powder room and then call for our
car."

Michelle nodded and let herself be led away by her aunt. 

End Part 10


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