Chapter Eight – A Frightened Boy
Jefferson continued sobbing and refused to look up when Marcus entered the room.  Marcus said nothing and placed a gentle hand on Jefferson’s shoulder, caressing it softly for a moment.  Marcus took off his jacket, got a chair and pulled it over to a corner of the room.  He stood on the chair and reached up to place his jacket over a video camera thus blocking any chance of Tatiana, Amy or anyone else from viewing what was going on in the room. 
 
Marcus got down from the chair and noticed Jefferson looking at him with interest.  It was the first time since the incident in Madison Heights that Jefferson had shown an interest in anything.  The boy had a questioning look in his eye. 
 
“It’s just you and me now, Jefferson.  Nobody else can hear us talk.” 
 
“Are you going to hurt me or something?” the boy said.  It was the first full sentence he had uttered since his arrest.  “I know what cops do when they’re alone in a room.  I seen it on TV.” 
 
Marcus laughed.  “Do I look strong enough to hurt you? And, besides you know I’m not a cop.” 
 
To demonstrate his point, Marcus pushed up the short sleeve of his shirt and attempted to form a muscle with his thin, soft arm.  Of course, the arm remained flat and without any show of manly strength.  The boy gave a half smile, apparently recognizing the preposterous prospect of Marcum exerting physical harm. 
 
“Look, I like you Jefferson.  A lot.  I really do and I hope you like me.” 
 
The boy nodded, apparently signifying that Marcus was correct. 
 
“And I’m your social worker.  The law says whatever we talk about is just between you and me.  I can’t even tell the police if you admit to a crime, unless it’s real serious like murder or something.  OK?” 
 
“I guess.” 
 
“But first, I’m starved,” Marcus said.  “I’m really tempted to see if Tatiana was telling us the truth about their pizza here.  Why don’t we both have a slice and then if you’d like we can talk about whatever you want?  I’m going to ask to have a slice and you’ll make me feel guilty if you don’t eat some too.  I know you like pizza, Jefferson.  OK?” 
 
“Are you really starved?” the boy asked, appearing concerned about Marcus’ own hunger. 
 
“Ravenous,” Marcus replied. 
 
The boy looked puzzled and then asked, “What’s ravenous?” 
 
“Means really hungry.” 
 
“Me too.  And do they have root beer?” 
 
Marcus excused himself and went out into the corridor and asked Tatiana to bring on the pizza and two root beers for the two of them. 
 
***** 
The pizza was as good as Tatiana promised it would be; its crust was thin and crisp and heavy with cheese, pepperoni and veggies.  Its sauce was unique and tangy and both Marcus and Jefferson had second helpings of the pizza.  Tatiana joined them during their lunch break, commenting that she at first didn’t care for the pizza because of its firm, crisp crust.  “It’s not what I was used to, being from New York,” she said, explaining that New Yorkers seemed to prefer soggy crusts. 
 
“But I love it now,” she added. 
 
“I like it,” Jefferson said enthusiastically.  “Is all the food that good here?” 
 
“Mostly it is, I’d say,” Tatiana replied.  “But I got to go now.  Have to see a couple of my kids.” 
 
When they were alone, Marcus and Jefferson moved to a sofa and sat down next to each other.  Marcus took the boy’s hand into both of his and looked squarely into the boy’s eyes.  He could see Marcus was about to cry. 
 
“What’s bothering you?” Marcus asked. 
 
Jefferson began to sob softly and then slowly began to speak, the words breaking up due to his crying. 
 
“You and Amy have both been so good to me.  And I like you both, especially you, Mr. Whiting.” 
 
“That’s OK.  Take your time, Jefferson.  We both like you, too.” 
 
Jefferson’s sobs grew more intense and Marcus sat quietly, holding the boy’s hand.  He wanted to pull the boy closer and hug him tightly, letting him cry his eyes out, but realized he did not want to compromise his professional duty to refrain from any undue contact with the boy.  He was fearful he had already stepped over the limits of familiarity required of social workers. 
 
The boy was slender and fragile, almost like a China doll that was too dainty to touch.  He had beautiful full lips, a slender face with high cheek bones and thin eyebrows.  He wore dreadlocks that were neatly fashioned.  He could only be described as pretty.  He was still wearing the schoolgirl outfit he had been arrested in, though it was mussed and disheveled from a night in a detention cell. 
 
“I want to tell you what happened, but I can’t, Mr. Whiting,” Jefferson said finally. 
 
“Oh?  That’s too bad, because if I knew what happened maybe we could help you, Jefferson,” Marcus said. 
 
“I know, but I can’t.  Let’s talk about something else.” 
 
“Jefferson.  Listen to me.  I’ll make certain what you tell me will stay strictly between you and me and remember the law protects your privacy on this.” 
 
The boy nodded and pointed to the mirror on the wall; he apparently knew it was a one-way mirror and the perhaps Tatiana or maybe the police were watching and hearing every word he said. 
 
Marcus got up from the sofa and pulled down a shade to cover the mirror.  He excused himself and left the room briefly.  He returned and sat down next to the boy, again taking his hand.  The two sat together, their thighs turned toward each other, almost as if they were lovers. 
 
“There, you see I have covered up the video camera with my jacket and I’ve had them turn off any recording device.  They can’t hear us or see us, so you can tell me whatever you’d like to,” Marcus said. 
 
Jefferson said nothing for a moment and then asked: “Will I have to go back to the Harrisons?” 
 
“We’re not sure, yet.  Don’t you want to?  I thought you liked it there, Jefferson.” 
 
“Not anymore,” he said firmly. 
 
“Why?” 
 
“I can’t tell you.  They’ll hurt me.” 
 
“Who will hurt you?” Marcus said.  He was shocked by the statement, since the Harrisons had a reputation of being model foster parents. 
 
“I can’t tell.” 
 
“Is it the other kids in the house?  The Harrisons?  People at your school?” 
 
“Not Melody and Larry.  They’re pretty nice though they like to tease me.  And, if I talk they’ll get hurt, too.  Don’t you see?  I can’t tell you anything.” 
 
The boy shivered.  The child was frightened and scared.  He began to cry again.  Against his better judgment, Marcus took the boy in his arms and hugged him tightly.  He felt his shirt grow moist on the shoulder from the tears streaming down Jefferson’s face.  The boy felt weak and breakable in his arms. 

Finally, Jefferson stopped crying and Marcus released him from the hug.  Marcus stood up, and suggested Jefferson do the same.     

“Let’s go to the bathroom, Jefferson, and wash some of those tears off your face,” Marcus said.  “Once you’re cleaned up, we’ll see if Tatiana can get you settled in a room and find some fresh clothes for you. OK?” 
 
“OK and could I wear girl clothes?”  
 
Marcus was surprised by the request. 
 
“Is that what you want?” 
 
“Yes.  Is it wrong to want to wear dresses?” 
 
Marcus blushed, uncertain how to answer.  He wanted to urge Jefferson to dress in appropriate male clothing, realizing how much trouble the boy could bring upon himself by wearing female outfits.  He reflected on his own joy of wearing dresses. 
 
“No.  Nothing wrong, I guess.  I’ll see what Tatiana thinks.” 
 
“Thank you, Mr. Whiting.  I like being a girl.” 
 
*****  
Because of his afternoon appointments, Marcus had to leave Jefferson in the hands of the staff at Hope Place.  It pained him to do so, since he felt he was breaking through the barriers the boy had placed around himself.  He was puzzled at how foster parents like the Harrisons, who were so well-regarded, could have allowed one of their foster children to be found in girl’s clothing in the middle of the night, frightened and dressed strangely, first as if he was a prostitute and the second time as a schoolgirl.  It just didn’t make any sense. 
 
Tatiana said she couldn’t immediately find girls’ clothing to satisfy Jefferson’s wishes, but that she had several items of clothing that were androgynous, including girl jeans, a pink tee-shirt and a sweater provided by one of her co-workers.  In the meantime, she told both Jefferson and Marcus that specialists would closely examine the boy, including psychologists, to determine the boy’s feelings about his gender. 
 
“Jefferson, I assure you that we understand your feelings about wearing girls’ clothing, and we respect it,” the Hope Place social worker told the boy just before Marcus left for his appointment. 
 
“I understand Hope Place also has had transgendered youth here before,” Marcus added. 
 
“Yes, we have and in fact we have a transgendered boy here right now,” Tatiana said. 
 
“A boy?” Jefferson asked. 
 
“Yes.  Elias was born as a girl, but now lives as a boy.  He’s seventeen, but I think you’ll like him.” 
 
“A boy.  Why would a girl want to be a boy?” Jefferson asked. 
 
“For the same reason you probably want to be a girl, Jefferson,” Marcus said.  “Because even though Elias was born a girl physically, she felt like she was a boy inside.  You were born with boy parts, but it sounds like you feel you are a girl inside.” 
 
“Being a girl is so cool,” the boy persisted. 
 
“If we find you really feel you’re a girl, Jefferson, we’ll respect that and let you live as a girl,” Tatiana said.  “Just be patient.” 
 
Marcus realized he had to leave for his appointment.  He rose, promising he’d be back the next day to talk more.   Jefferson stood up as well and walked over to hug Marcus.  “You have to come back, Marcus.   Don’t leave me like everyone else in my life,” the boy pleaded. 
 
“I won’t Jefferson.  I won’t,” Marcus said, wondering if he would always be able to keep his promise to the boy. 
 
As the two broke up, Marcus could see tears in the boy’s eyes.  His own eyes began to tear up, too.
 
***** 
That evening Marcus and Amy had the first serious disagreement in their short relationship.  You might even call it a fight, though no blows were struck.  What they said to each other hurt even harder, it seemed. 
 
They gathered for a supper of sub sandwiches at Amy’s, having stopped at Luigi’s Hero House, one of the more popular sandwich shops in the city.  Marcus had changed out of the male attire he wore for work and stepped into a loose-fitting teddy and let his hair down.  Amy had encouraged him to become Miranda immediately upon entering her apartment and even though he was hungry Marcus was only too happy to oblige.  He felt comfortable as Miranda and, best of all, he knew Amy adored him as a pretty young woman. 
 
His euphoria was short-lived.  In the midst of devouring their juicy, meat heavy subs with Luigi’s special sauces dripping down their chins, Amy brought up Jefferson Turner and the boy’s troubled state of mind. 
 
“I think it’s best you step away from the Turner case,” she said.  “I’ll assign it permanently to Latesha.” 
 
Marcus had his mouth full of soggy bread, Italian meats, lettuce, tomato and the usual condiments when she spoke.  He almost felt like spitting the delicious conglomeration from his mouth and instead looked at her with anger in his eyes. 
 
“You’re getting too close to him in this case, Miranda, and that’s not good for a professional social worker, my dear,” she said. Her tone was sympathetic, as if she sensed his unhappiness with her decision. 
 
Marcus finally cleared the food from his mouth.  
 
“But, he needs me now,” he said. 
 
“That’s the trouble, Marcus.   You have to step away from him.  You’re not his mother or his sister and anything.  You’re a social worker.” 
 
“He’ll think I deserted him.  Just like everyone else in his life.  Right now, I think I’m his only friend.” 
 
“Don’t flatter yourself, Miranda.  He’s probably just using you.  If he’s so close to you, why won’t he tell you what he’s up to?  For all we know, he’s an accomplished prostitute.” 
 
Marcus stood up and looked down at Amy, who had put her sandwich down and was glaring at him. 
 
“The boy’s suicidal,” Marcus pleaded. 
 
“They’ve got him on suicide watch at Hope Place.  Now sit down and finish your sandwich and then let’s you and I just enjoy our night together.  I love holding you Miranda, my darling.” 
 
“No.  I’m going back to my place.  Alone,” he said and turned to storm out of the kitchen. 
 
Amy grabbed his arm before he could leave, dragging him back to her and drawing him onto her lap.  He tried to squirm away, but she was too strong for him and he surrendered onto her lap.   
 
“Let me go.” 
 
“No, darling, let’s just cuddle now.  We don’t need to talk business now.  Let’s do it tomorrow in the office.  Kiss me Miranda.” 
 
She tried to kiss him on the lips, but he kept turning his face so she couldn’t link their lips.  He continued to struggle against her hold, but his strength of giving out and soon he succumbed to her, collapsing into her arms.  She nestled him tightly, her hands loosening their grip and beginning to caress his slender arms and round bottom.  Marcus felt warm and protected in her husky firm arms.  He felt fragile and weak after his struggle with the woman.  
 
“Miranda, Miranda, Miranda, my lovely sweet Miranda,” she said soothingly. 
 
They kissed.  It was a tentative kiss at first, but soon grew passionate.  They pressed their lips hard against each other, mouths opening to receive the other’s tongue.  Marcus was lost in the reverie, momentarily forgetting the earlier disagreement over Jefferson Turner.  He smelled the familiarity of Amy’s body, a sourness from a day of work and her tendency to sweat heavily; he was comforted by the scent.  His mouth moved from her lips onto the flesh of her neck, where his tongue tasted the salt from her body. 
 
“Ooooh,” she cooed.  He knew how that excited her. 
 
They left their half-eaten sub sandwiches and the still partially full glasses of red wine on the table and moved to the bedroom, helping each other out of their clothes before falling together atop Amy’s bed. 
 
***** 
Marcus awoke with his head resting on the soft tummy of Amy.  A faint brightness filled the room from the early morning sunlight filtering through the semi-opaque shades.  He saw the sweet nipples of her breasts.  Amy’s hand has resting on his slender shoulders and the scent of a night of passionate love-making permeated his nostrils.  In their love-making, Amy had tenderly caressed him, whispering “Miranda, Miranda.” 
 
He had tasted every nook and cranny of Amy’s fleshy body.  His mouth devoured the musky taste of her feminine cavity, his tongue teasing her as she squealed and moved with breathless delight.  He relished the exotic taste of her orgasm.  His reverie of the enrapturing night of love was interrupted as Amy stirred, pushing him off her tummy and turning her back toward him.  The woman moved restlessly in the tangle of sheets. 
 
He looked at the digital alarm on the night stand, his sleep encrusted eyes straining to read it: “Five-fifty-eight,” he murmured.  Two minutes before its musical ring would disturb the peacefulness of the early morning.  He leaned across the bed trying to reach the clock so as to turn it off before its buzz shattered the silence.  He grasped it, but fumbled around trying to figure out what he needed to do before it exploded in its annoying sound.   
 
He never could find how to shut it off and soon the alarm’s musical ringtone burst into sound and Amy stirred quickly, leaning her naked body over him to reach the clock.  “Couldn’t you turn it off?” she shouted in exasperation. 
 
“Didn’t know how.” 
 
She turned off the alarm and let her body fall on Marcus.  She kissed him softly.  “You’re wonderful,” she said.  “My lovely girl.” 
 
Five minutes later, they were in the shower, together. 
 
***** 
Back into his male clothes, Marcus went to the kitchen and found the partially consumed sub sandwiches and the wine glasses (both with red wine still unfinished) on the kitchen table where the two lovers had left them the previous night in their fervent haste to get to the bedroom.  He smelled the sandwiches, considered they were still safe to eat and wrapped both into wax paper he found in a drawer and put them into the refrigerator.  He dumped the wine and was washing the glasses when Amy entered. 
 
He was astounded by what he saw.  Normally Amy wore slacks and simple tops to work; they were always of neutral colors, giving her almost a cold demeanor.  This morning she wore a plain, but dark brown skirt with large white buttons down the front and a long-sleeved blouse with light silver starbursts on a white background.  She had put on heavier makeup than he’d ever seen her with and fixed her hair in a pixie style. 
 
“Wow.  You look ravishing,” he exclaimed. 
 
She smiled at him.  “You like, Miranda.” 
 
“Definitely.  What’s the occasion?  We have to go to work, you know, or were you declaring a holiday for us?” 
 
She giggled.  “I thought about it.  But work beckons.  Do you think this is too much for the office?” 
 
“Not at all.  Latesha is always dressed up, maybe even more so.  Maybe it’s time we social workers need to show we can be stylish as well,” he said. 
 
“Well, I know you could be the most stylish of all the girls, Miranda,” she said, winking.   
 
“I was going to make us eggs this morning, that’s if you have eggs,” Marcus said. 
 
The two busied themselves preparing their simple breakfast, having decided on veggie omelets.  Marcus proved to be an accomplished morning cook and the two enjoyed their breakfast, sitting close to each other.  They periodically gave each other light kisses as they ate.   
 
“Playtime is over,” Amy announced as they finished their meal.  “We need to get down to business and settle this Jefferson Turner situation.” 
 
“I know.  I kept wondering about it as we slept together last night,” he confessed. 
 
“Me too, and I felt guilty to be enjoying you while still not sure what to do about Jefferson,” she agreed. 
 
“I can’t desert him, Amy,” Marcus said.  “I promised him.” 
 
“Yes, I know, and maybe I was too harsh on you last night.  I was thinking of a possible solution though, something that I think would possibly help the boy.” 
 
“Oh?” 
 
“Yes, but I will still make Latesha his principal worker; she’ll take over the Harrisons and that will include Jefferson, whether he goes back there or not.” 
 
“But, I . . .” 
 
“Wait,” she said, putting up her hand to urge him to hold back his words.  “Here’s what you’ll do.  You know first of all that you are emotionally connected to the boy, and that’s no good for a case.  You have to remain objective, OK?” 
 
“Yes, I guess.” 
 
“But I will not order you to stop seeing him, as a friend.  In other words, feel free to visit him on your own time and if you have a break in your other cases you can even sneak in a few visits while you’re working.  Just don’t tell me, but you can’t neglect your other work.  OK?” 
 
“Seems OK.” 
 
“Two other things and this is critical and I want you to be honest with me about them.” 
 
He nodded. 
 
“First, if he tells you anything that might be pertinent to his case, you should share it with Latesha or myself.”  
 
“But what if he wants it a secret between us?” Marcus asked.  He hated the thought of “ratting” on the boy. 
 
“I’ll let you be the judge of that.  He seems to trust you and that’s critical.” 
 
Amy’s eyes focused in on him.  “Secondly, you are not to have any sexual contact with him.  Any.  That’s vital to this case.  We are representing the state as his guardians, you know.  We could lose our contract with the state if you venture down this road.” 
 
Marcus angered at her comment.  How could she accuse him of such behavior?   
 
“Are you accusing me of being a pervert or something?  My God, he’s only fourteen.  I’m not that way.” 
 
Amy held up her hand again.  “Whoa.  I never accused you of anything.  I trust you not to do anything like that, but the agency is responsible for its employees’ behavior with clients.  Just a word to the wise, that’s all.” 
 
Marcus understood.  Amy was acting now in her role as his supervisor, not his lover.  It was a relationship he realized the two had to recognize and obey.  He knew their growing affection for each other could be troublesome for a boss and her underling, particularly for a social service agency operating with public funds. 
 
“Now, let’s get to the office.  I texted Latesha to plan on an early meeting for the three of us on this case,” Amy said. 
 
***** 
When Marcus walked into Amy’s office shortly after 9 a.m., she was on the phone; she motioned for Marcus to sit down at the small round table she had placed for small conferences.  She continued her phone conversation, interjecting with comments such as “Yes, I understand,” “Of course, we want to cooperate,” and “We are first of all most interested in the welfare of the child.” 
 
She had a critical look on her face, as if she didn’t like what she was hearing from the party on the other end.  The conversation continued in that manner for a few more minutes, and Latesha entered, taking a chair opposite Marcus.  A slight whiff of sweet perfume followed the woman’s entrance into the room.  Marcus and Latesha nodded to each other, but said nothing. 
 
“Yes, sergeant.  We’ll be here,” Amy said, finally ending the conversation. 
 
Marcus’ attention sharpened when he realized that Amy was talking with someone who was a sergeant.  It could be a sergeant in the Army, the sheriff’s office or the police, but he was certain she was talking with Sgt. Simbach of the police juvenile division and their conversation involved Jefferson Turner. 
 
“Yes, that was Simbach,” Amy said as she left her desk and walked over to the small conference table. 
 
“What’s up?” Marcus said, worried that something might have happened to Jefferson. 
 
“Well, first of all, your friend, Officer Jelacic, will be over here in twenty minutes to talk with us about Jefferson.  Seems they’re under some pressure to arrest Jefferson for prostitution.” 
 
“But he was a victim?” 
 
“Of course, and I tried to explain that to Simbach.  He’s sympathetic, but it seems the alderman of that district is on a crusade to shutdown Grove Avenue’s prostitution and the mayor is on board with him.  They think arresting Jefferson would show how tough they will be on the Janes, particularly underage Janes.” 
 
“What about arresting the Johns?” Marcus asked. 
 
Latesha laughed.  “Don’t be silly.  They’d end up putting half of the mayor’s contributors behind bars.  Besides, why shut it down?  After drug dealing, prostitution is the area’s largest economic activity.”   
 
“Let’s get serious,” Amy warned.  “He also said he got a strange request from the police chief of Madison Heights.  They are waiving all charges against Jefferson and urge that we not look into why the boy was in their fancy suburb that morning.” 
 
“That is weird, isn’t it?” Marcus agreed. 
 
“Sounds like they’re protecting someone,” Latesha said.  “Perhaps the person who took the boy into Madison Heights to play with him.”

“He’s a victim, for God’s sake.  I’m so worried that if he goes into detention he’ll be harmed.  He’s so weak and fragile.”  Marcus shook his head. 
 
“Or, he’ll harm himself,” Amy said. 
 
***** 
Officer Hedwig Jelacic arrived within fifteen minutes of the Amy’s conversation with Sgt. Simbach and she was as worried about Jefferson’s treatment as were the three social workers.  “My sergeant agrees with you, Amy,” she explained.  “He doesn’t think the boy deserves arrest, but his hands are tied from above.  I heard him argue with the captain vehemently before the captain yelled at him, ‘Dammit, arrest the boy.  That’s an order.’” 
 
“It sounds like the boy is a punching bag for the politicians,” Amy said.  “He’s just a kid.” 
 
“Isn’t the welfare of a child worth anything?” Latesha asked. 
 
“Not where politicians are concerned,” Amy replied. 
 
“The boy is so fragile,” Marcus said.  “The other kids will torture him and rape him.  You know they’ll beat the shit out of him, if not worse.  Can’t we do something to save him?” 
 
“I think maybe I have an idea,” Amy said, after a brief pause. 
 
“What is it?”  
 
“Let me make a few calls first,” she said.  “You guys go down to the break room for a few minutes and I’ll call you.  OK?” 
 
“What are you going to do, Amy?” Officer Jelacic asked.  “I’m ordered to arrest him.” 
 
“I won’t stand in your way, Heddy.  Just give me a few minutes.” 
 
The three got up and left. 
 
***** 
It was nearly twenty minutes later when Amy summoned the three back to her office.  She explained she had called Alicia Strauminger, the director at Hope Place, to discuss the boy’s situation. 
 
“They are set up as a secure facility, you know, and under a court order, they have held kids who are under arrest until their hearing date,” she explained.  “They only do it rarely, and the county district attorney has to agree to the arrangement.  That’s a problem since the county must pay extra for Hope Place to hold a child in that way.” 
 
“That won’t work then,” Heddy said.  “You know how the county hates to pay for these kids to start with.” 

“I called your sergeant, too, Heddy, to discuss it and he agreed to pursue the idea with his captain and, I suppose, the district attorney’s office.  I also called the woman who heads the DA’s juvenile division.  I know her.  In fact, she worked here on a summer internship when I first started and she’s most sympathetic.” 
 
“Wow, you’ve been busy, Amy,” the officer said. 
 
“I hope you didn’t mind my calling your sergeant and not talking to you first, Heddy.  I really trust you, but some of this is just beyond your pay grade,” Amy said. 
 
“No, no, not at all,” Heddy reassured Amy.  “If it’s best for the child.  Do it.” 
 
Marcus found himself growing to like Officer Hedwig Jelacic far more than he had ever imagined.  So much for first impressions, he thought.  He remembered how negative and mean-sounding she was at their first meetings; now, he felt she was truly a decent person and a dedicated police officer. 

Temporary arrangements were made to hold Jefferson in Hope Place’s secure unit while efforts were made for a more permanent stay.  Officer Jelacic, accompanied by both Latesha and Amy, met with Jefferson to tell him what was happening.  He cried when he didn’t see Marcus with them, but felt better when it was promised that Marcus would visit him as a friend at night.