I’m not full grown yet, I’ll grant you that. And perhaps, technically speaking I am currently female. But why do people have to keep constantly insulting me by calling me a young lady… what did I ever do to them?

Cometh the Hour Cometh the Woman: Part 9

[***][***][***]

“That boy that did this to you?” asked an irritated Mr. DeGeas. “It’s that Tom Ryan you wrote about, isn’t it?”

‘That boy am I? I wonder how he would like it knowing that boy was now in a position to do any wicked thing he wanted to Jessica’s body.' “Yes, Thomas Ryan is the father, ” I confirmed for him.

“He always sounded like a little shit, those military brats are all like that, think the world owes them a living cuz their parents put on a uniform. And now he goes and does THIS to you,” he said furiously waiving at my midsection. “I suppose if you’re going through the effort to have me make a will for the bastard, you have considered the alternative and discounted it?”

I have never slapped another person. I guess I hadn’t been in this body long enough to develop the habit. Whenever I had decided, on those few occasions, mind you, that the situation had devolved into one where violence was the only answer, I hadn’t done anything as ineffective as slapping. I instead went in with both fists ready, assuming an actual weapon was not at hand. I looked around the office and could not find anything sufficiently lethal to demonstrate my displeasure at his words, so instead I stood up slowly and walked around the large wooden desk to stand in front of his chair. He looked up at me confused at my actions and he kept that look on the face right up until I broke his nose.

It hurt like hell, that’s also one of the things they don’t usually show on television. But it does, and I think I might have further dug myself in the health insurance hole by doing serious damage to my right hand, but that was for later and there was another matter to deal with. DeGeas brought both hands to his nose in an attempt to stop the bleeding and started moaning a bit while I quietly and calmly walked back to my purse and retrieved the now battered document from a New Hampshire courthouse and set it on the desk in front of him. After coming back to my seat and returning his frightened look with a cold steely gaze I coolly spoke to him again.

“Mr. DeGeas, there is no other alternative, and I don’t wish to be rude, but the next time you insult my child or my husband in my presence, and particularly use the word bastard to do so…. Will be the last!”

He seemed startled at that, but he was an excellent judge of character, I could tell. I could tell he believed me, He slowly, I suppose as not to startle me, got up from his desk and walked away toward the bar again. This time taking out a handkerchief and filling it full of ice from the container on the side. He then wrapped it up, applied the dressing to his nose, then walked back to the desk and sat down, leaning back in his chair to slow the bleeding. He didn’t look at me, just leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

“For my earlier remarks…” He said eventually, his tone of voice and breathing strained by the injury. “I apologize; it was not my wish to dishonor you or your husband and child… I was just too shocked to think right. Whenever I thought about you, Jessie, it was that cute little girl in the Easter dress who was so excited to go searching for the eggs during the hunt at the Lauritzen Gardens. You found em too, twice as many as anyone else… it’s just. You were a little girl a second ago, and now you’re going to have a baby. It shocked me, and I’m very sorry.”

“Your apology… is accepted, with gratitude,” I had done what I felt was needed, but I had no great desire to permanently alienate the man who held my purse strings. I’m quite sure he could have gone in for quite of bit of nasty tricks if he had been inclined.

“Well,” he said sitting up and checking the blood flow. “Let us never speak of that again.”

“Done,” I said simply and meant it.

“Serves me right, for pricking the temper of a Scott,” he said while reaching for his desk’s phone and pressing a button, “Girl!... get in here!”

About 20 seconds later, a short well dressed Hispanic woman in her twenties came through the door visibly irritated, “I have a name Mr. DeGeas,” she said as she walked in. “It’s Victoria Hernandez, the sensitivity trainer has spoken to you about this.”

“And I mean to learn, it too, any day now. But by the time I do you’ll, be promoted away from me. I’ve gone through about 40 secretaries over the years, so it’s just easier to call them all girl. At least you are one and not a man like Judge Wasdin has in his front office.”

“I’m sure I’m grateful, what happened to you Mr. DeGeas? you’re bleeding!”

“I took a fall and tripped over my dragging knuckles, now go downstairs and get the eminent Michael Phipps M.D., J.D., and Ph.D. and ask him to stop playing whatever game is on his computer and come to my office. Tell him to bring his bag.”

“Yes sir, do you want an ambulance?”

“Just get the good doctor, when he tells you to go to hell, tell him he still owes me from that thing with the guy in the place and I’ll NEVER FORGET IT.”

“Yes sir,” she said and was gone quickly out the door.

“I’m glad you have medical attention so close at hand,” I said as he once again leaned back in his chair.

“So am I, though he will make me pay for it later, he started out a regular doctor, got wrongfully sued one too many times, So he had to 'unofficially' learn half a law degree to defend himself, once done, he decided to go all the way and get the official certification that went it. A few years back, he decided to take up philosophy, I guess because he didn’t have enough letters after his name… decided to marry you did he?” DeGeas asked after he opened the envelope I had given him, and had a chance to look inside.

“Yes.”

“I ask with all respect, and please remember that I am a wounded man!” he said raising an open palm as a sign of surrender. “I have to ask if you did anything incredibly unromantic like sign a prenuptial agreement?”

“Um… no, the subject never came up.”

“Do you trust him?” he asked plainly.

“That’s… a complicated question.”

“It usually is, it usually is,” he allowed as he closed his eyes and sighed.

“I don’t think he married me for my money,” though he may divorce me for it! “And Thomas Ryan doing the right thing is almost bred into his DNA,” 'And Jess had better remember that!'

“I’ll grant that you know the boy better than I do, but you’re father thought he married well too, and I’ll remind you how that turned out..."

[***][***][***]

Dr Phipps saw to the treatment of Mr. DeGeas, and no uncomfortable questions were asked while he did so. After he was done, before he left he was asked by DeGeas for a list of good OB/GYN in town who ‘owed us any favors'. Soon enough, I left the law firm with: a briefcase, a bruised hand and an appointment in three days with a lady parts doctor. The bill would be negotiated later, but I was not too, under pain of scolding, miss it.

We had decided that I would mortgage the two vacation properties to free up cash. We wouldn’t get what I should, both in amount and rate, but it would bring in enough, hopefully, to live on for a while. While also leaving enough money invested to cover the payments. It was hoped, with good luck and a fair market, that rising home prices and a rebounded stock exchange would by itself be enough to pay the way. But good luck hadn’t been something I could count on of late.

My first order of business was transportation. Depending upon a cab for the rest of my stay, or when I to Maryland, would quickly eat through even the great fortune that 'Jessica' was expecting. I had seen a string of car dealership at the Westroads mall when I had picked up my skirt suit. I felt like the cabs of this city were on a yo-yo for me today. Downtown, midtown, midtown downtown, and back, again. Despite not immediately burning up in a puff a of smoke by driving a imported car, I resolved to buy American, again.

I held out no great hope that a copy of Rocinante would be here for the taking. Even if a collector was willing to let one go, it would be out of my price range. With a large medical expense ahead of me, not to mention the not inconsiderable cost of raising a child while trying to get educated, I could not in good conscience spend the money, other peoples though it may be.

Reader, I shall let you in on a little secret. And if you repeat it to anyone, I may never speak to you, again. But deep down in the bottom of my heart where few men dare to dwell, I always felt quite envious of a pretty girl with long hair barreling town the highway with the top down. Men you see, couldn’t get away with it. Not in the Marine Corps, anyway. But the joyful looks on many a hotties face as the wind blew through her hair always filled me with a sense of awe. Those girls always looked like they were having a good time and hadn’t a care in the world. I could sort of use that, in the place that I was.

Nebraska isn’t really a convertible country. Probably something to do with the long winters that I hoped I wouldn’t be here to experience. There were a few on the lot, but nothing to stir any heart strings. And they were overpriced anyway for what was on offer. Put them on a lot in California and people wouldn’t look twice.

There was, however, exiled to the Siberia of the lot a 2000 Jeep Wrangler in cherry red. As a car, it was a sort of glass cannon. A very light frame wrapped around a too powerful engine sitting atop huge wheels that could take you over anything from desert sands to arctic tundra, and even the occasional suburban street. Because it was so light, it did so with an envious fuel efficiency. It didn’t have airbags... Don’t look at me like that, I remember reading that taking an airbag blast to the guts is not exactly good for a fetus anyway.

“Can I help you, Miss?” asked a kind voice as I was finishing one last circle of the Jeep. I must admit to being disappointed. I was quite looking forward to dealing with some receding hairline slick back cad of a used car salesman and showing him up with my mechanical aptitude and knowledge far beyond my apparent station. Instead, I was confronted with a plump 50ish woman who looked like a central casting stand in for the beloved aunt. She obviously worked here, however, as she was wearing the car lots symbol on her jacket as well as holding an official looking clipboard. Some opportunities just don’t come…

“Yes ma’am,” I replied with a smile and a nod of my head. “I need a car for college and this seems to meet my needs. I’ll make your work easy for the day. Give me a test drive and a mechanical inspection and you have a sale.”

“Certainly, young lady,” she said still a bit surprised by my confidence. “Just let me see your drivers license and I’ll go get the keys. My name is Barbara Robbins. ”

She was back within a few moments and had the car keys as well as the little book containing the owner’s manual and the vehicle history. I was pleased to see that it had never been in any accidents. While it wasn’t exactly the mythical ‘only driven by a little old lady to the market’ used car it had only 45,000 miles on it which it wore rather well. A fresh wax job and a good cleaning, the car looked about as fresh and frisky as its newer, much more expensive descendents.

We pulled out of the car lot, onto Dodge Street followed by Interstate 680. Midday on a weekday, while I didn’t exactly have the road all to myself, I had ample room to maneuver. I quickly had her up to the 75 M.P.H. speed limit and maybe a little bit extra…you know…for science.

My right hand still smarted a bit, but the power steering was light as a feather, and I didn’t need to use two hands, anyway. A fact that did not instill my passenger with much confidence.

“So, what are you looking for in a car,” she asked nervously as we zigged zagged in and out of the five lane highway. I was using my turn signal though, so it was all right. I noticed she didn’t get behind the whole wind in your hair thing and had both her hands over her head trying to keep it under control.

“Oh, a little of this, and a little of that… and a reasonable amount of guts,” I said as I swerved right to make the exit. “Can’t abide a car without some courage.”

“Oh,” she said, shocked as she fell a bit into my side.

“Lean into the turn, you have to account for the G-force…. So, anyway, how much a pain in the ass is it to register a car in Nebraska. I’m planning to take it out of state almost right away, and I don’t know what is ahead of me, paperwork wise.”

“Oh, it’s no pain at all,. It can be done all in one day, though you have to wait for the financing to clear and then we send the title to your bank…. Oh!”

“And what if I pay in cash? Or a bank transfer for the full amount, anyway.”

“Well then… WATCH OUT!”

“What? We had like a good five feet of clearance. You’re just use to having a lot more Detroit steel between you and the outside.” I pulled into the western part of the mall’s parking lot, short of Christmas season it looked like this section of it was never used, and it offered me ample area to put the car through the paces.

“And what about car insurance? I believe in being safe,” I stated as I performed an intricate series of figure eights followed by a 180 degree high speed turn.

“Ummmmmmmmmm,” She moaned as she followed my advice and leaned into the turn. “You can call in today for a temporary rider to cover you for a week until you sort out formal insurance for the car. Teen girls actually get a bit of a break on price over boys.”

“Really?”

“Yes, they are much safer drivers… usually.” she said, looking a bit pale.

“Well, I should get a good rate then. I have never been in an accident,” I said proudly as I rung her out a little more, just to show her I could. I mean the car, not dear old Babs. We then sedately pulled into the car lot, the brakes handled marvelously as demonstrated by the dust cloud I generated right in front of the finance office. I put her in idle, then leaned over to the saleslady's side and helped clean off her beige jacket from some of the detritus of the road.

“Well… let’s look up her skirt, shall we?” I said happily.

“What?” she asked confused.

“You have a garage attached to this place, right? We’ll hoist the Jeep up on a jack, and I’ll do the mechanical inspection. Indications are good, but I want to take a look at her innards.

“You mean you want to do the inspection yourself?”

“Yeah sure, why not? Unless there is some policy against it. In which case I can probably find someone else who will let me look under the hood.”

“Um no, no policy against it, it’s just that, do you intend to do so dressed like that?”

I looked down at what I was wearing and realized I was inside a rather nice suit with a flippy skirt, that along with the nylons and heels is not exactly the sort of thing grease monkeys wear.

“Well, I quite forgot what I was wearing, you know. I don’t usually dress like this… just between you and me,” I said winking at her. “So, If one of your mechanics has some coveralls I might borrow, I would appreciate it, and be sure to comment on the exceptional customer service to your manager."

“I’ll… see what I can find.”

[***][***][***]

She was gone for a few minutes while I looked at what could be looked at from this angle. I think she took longer than she had to finding a pair of dungarees and suspected she spent some time in the ladies room getting reacquainted with her lunch. But never let it be said she wasn’t a game day player, because she was outside within minutes, holding a set of protective clothing that was three sizes too big, but would get the job done. We drove over to the far end of the building, and I was directed to the center slot. I was pleased to see that this car lot's garage was modern enough to even have a ladies room. That’s not always a safe assumption to make, with these sorts of places. I had to totally undress down to my underwear. While these coveralls were designed to go over normal clothes, it presupposes that person is wearing pants, and the skirt I was currently in didn’t have enough give in it for me to slide the legs over it. I’m morally certain I was the first person to wear this set in nylons and heels. But then, knowing some of the stuff I had been reading on the internet, trying to find a way to swap back with Jess, maybe that wasn’t a safe bet to make…

It took me most of an hour, I took pity on Barbara about ten minutes into it and let her start the paperwork since about the only thing that would stop me from buying the Jeep now was maybe finding a severed head under the axle, perhaps not even that, depending on how fresh it was.

“We sell the jeep with an optional hardtop for the winter,” Barbara said as she came back to check on my progress. “It’s a pain to swap out, but if you are planning your own maintenance, it shouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“I’ll take it,” I said, getting up off the concrete.

“The hardtop or the car?”

“Both,” I clarified. “Oh, and while I’m changing back, get me list of people in town who can upgrade the stereo. I have an overwhelming desire to play some tunes on the highway, so I need something with a little more emphasis.”

[***][***][***]

The paperwork took about ten minutes to finalize. It’s amazing what they can accomplish for people who know what they want and don’t need a bank to give them permission, first. They wouldn’t let me have her right away, though, so I cooled my high heels in the waiting room for a good half hour while the sales team worked her over and gave her that new(ish) car shine.

There was a terrible cult 80’s movie called 'Cherry 2000'. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0092746/synopsis . It was zany and completely over the top as most 80’s action movies were. But it also had a very pretty star in Melanie Griffith before she got all old and fat and married to Antonio Banderas. The character she played drove around in a kick ass Mustang, it was a contributing factor in my decision to build my own 'pony car'. That and the 'Bandit', but he also got old and fat and…
not married to Antonio Banderas. So for my new cherry red colored 2000 model year Jeep Wrangler TJ(modified) I had decided to name her Melanie in her honor.

She was a good American girl from a fine family, and I think that we would be very happy together. She was no Roxy, it’s true what they say, you never forget your first love, but she was a more than adequate substitute for the time being.

And I was right about the wind in the hair thing.

[***][***][***]

My cell phone was dead. Requiem in terra pax and so forth. Or rather, not dead, but in someone else’s hand, the point is that I didn’t have one of my own, being off com was sufficiently off putting that I needed to solve it as soon as I could. I had no great desire to brave the Apple Store, I wasn’t trendy enough to justify paying an extra $200 just so my handheld electronic could look pretty. I was certain a perfectly fine alternative could be had at any big box electronics store, and at the same time, get me a replacement computer. I was going to buy a laptop, I didn’t want to be made fun of while I did it. Back at Exeter, I sort of had a hate on against all the kids who insisted their parents buy them one. A laptop is designed to be 'MOBILE', to move about hither and yon for on the move professionals.

Trying to stuff all that computer inside something that size in under 8 pounds means: 1, it gets expensive as all hell, and 2, it means the bastard will break down more often. It drove me nuts to see all those kids who had freaking 'DUST' collected on their laptops. If you are going to park your computer and never move it, that’s what DESKTOPS are built for, you mooks! Trying to force something designed for something else to do what another thing is perfectly designed for and can do so cheaper just offended my sense of engineering.

But anyway, here endeth the rant, and I went to buy a laptop. I figured I would be traveling light, so I don’t want you to give me any shit about it. Jeeze when did I become my sisters and whine so much while contradicting myself?

Oh God… is it too early to blame it on the hormones?

I was out in and out in thirty minutes, most of that time was spent trying to get the geek squad not to hit on me. My wedding ring was apparently not enough camouflage, or the Nebraska boys never looked down further than my chest, it was hard to tell. I drove back to Jessica’s house, and since I had a copy of the deed in my briefcase, I guess I could feel comfortable enough to crash there for the night. I still had no clothes past my fancy new duds which sort of needed a dry-cleaning, and my old jeans and top which probably needed a hazmat team. Once dropping off my electronics, and rearming the alarm with the code provided in the information packet from DeGeas, I drove down the street to the nearest Target.

[***][***][***]

I invaded that store like I was marching on Paris. I vowed to never give in to my new body and accompanying stereotypes, thus start an occupation. I purchased three outfits from the skin out, though I was a little ahead in the panties department since the plainest ones I could find only came in a six pack. I picked up two pairs of jeans and some Capri pants, then I gave into temptation and bought a comfortable pair of pajama bottoms since it looked like it had an expanding waist, though I was confused as all hell when I couldn’t find the top that went with it. Did woman really only wear half a set of pajamas? I had been through buying a bra at Von Maur, and hadn’t broken out in hives. I manfully carried on at Target as well. A couple of tops, a few comfy looking t-shirts, then a light jacket since May still got cold occasionally, and rain was always an issue. Taking it all to the dressing room, I kicked myself for letting things snowball.

OK, so it was more than three outfits. but I didn’t know how long the bags would be!

I suspected there wasn’t a thing to eat in the house, or if there was, it was long past fit for human consumption. I didn’t know how long I would be in town before I could head east and follow my body, either trying to get it back or keep it out of trouble was still to be determined. So I only bought a few days of food, mostly packaged items and some milk, bread, and fresh fruits. I considered giving in to the inevitable, just buying a couple gallon pails of ice-cream to live off of, but I figured the OB/GYN at my coming doctor’s appointment would probably scold me enough over my diet.

It was well into evening before I had brought it all home, stowed the food in the pantry the size of some counties and made myself some dinner. It had been something of a full and surprising day, but I had lived through bigger shocks. Still, I was bone tired and went to bed at 9:30 P.M. like an old person. It took some time to remove all the makeup Von Maur had slathered on with a trowel, but I took enough water and towel to the problem to eventually win through. I then bound my hair so it wouldn’t bother me dressed in my new pajamas and t-shirt, slipped into Jessica’s bed feeling rather like the metaphorical thief in the night. It was incredibly comfortable. I was just getting in the optimal position when I realized why it felt so right, the bed smelled like Jessica even though it was many months since she had last slept in it. Despite all that had gone on and gone wrong between us, my brain was wired to recognize that smell and love it. Well, I wasn’t going to fight biology. I slipped off into sleep, without comprehending that it was also now my smell.

It was some weeks later before I realized that.