Timeout 4, Reel to Real: A Whateley Academy Fan fiction, Chapter 12 part 6 of 8

Andy Warhol said,"In the future, everyone will be famous for 15 minutes." What if your 15 minutes came late in life, and fame decided to never let you go? Could you survive the circus your life would become?

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place, (http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."
Your constructive criticism and advice continues to help. This is an exercise in the joys of creativity and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Any violations of copyright, trade mark or use of real people or incidents are purely for purposes of humor or parody and done solely for the free enjoyment of the reading public. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005-201208.

Adult content advisory: this chapter contains situations and topics unsuitable for young minds or your sanity. There is also some adult content written by a middle-age juvenile mind. You were warned.

Timeout 4, part 6 of 8

By John from Wauwatosa
Pronouns protected by Itinerant
Homonymphone herding by Holly Hart
Um, that means they proofed it &/or otherwise saved you from me.

Chapter 12, Sitting Pretty, V a c a t i o n

Various locations in Iowa and Wisconsin, June 03-16, 2007

Sunday June 10, 2007

Dad left quietly in the pre-dawn. I never woke, though I think he kissed me goodbye. Let's see, it was wet, warm, possibly furry, but it didn't purr, so it wasn't one of the cats waking me to be fed. It was Dad. Dad left a note saying we could have all the eggs and stuff we wanted, and not to worry; he'd eaten before he left. Mel and Eric expressed interest in attending church. Their parents had exposed them to many faiths, not trying to force them one way or another. Plus it was good politics.

"My Boy Scout troop was the same when we went on weekend camp-outs. I’m not a terribly religious person, but I don’t deny there is something out there. My last year tells me something beyond the world I knew must exist, so sure, I’ll take you.”

They decided the nearest church was fine so we went to the early service at ... I won’t name them, but they are a small yet important branch within the greater Lutheran church. I used to be friends with kids who went there; some were my neighbors, in fact.

I explained to an usher my friends and I were visiting and wanted to attend. We were welcomed and took seats towards the rear, so as not to be too obvious, but far enough to the front to see and hear well. The service was fairly standard; I recognized a couple of the hymns though the hymnals made that easy. I noted the nods and smiles from many of the worshipers, when they heard my singing. Everything went well, until the minister got into his sermon; the subject was temptation and sin; a classic, right? The problem was mutants featured prominently among the latest sins of man, in the pastor’s view. I was increasingly uncomfortable.

Mel kept her cool but was upset. She held my hand and whispered in my ear, "If you want to leave, I understand. This must hurt.”

"It’s okay so long as it’s only words,” I whispered back. I noticed Eric’s hand touching my other hand as if to say "I won’t let them hurt you.” This not being able to express our attraction openly was hard on both of us. I gave his hand an appreciative squeeze back.

The service ended, and we waited for the crowd to thin. I suspected a few recognized me, but they said nothing. But think of it from their perspective, what were the odds of my being in their church? We got up to go, and I thanked several people.

"I was impressed by your singing. You could be a professional with that voice and good looks.” I struggled not to react. "Are you from the area? We are always looking for new members.”

"I used to live in town but moved to New England last year. I’m visiting friends and family with my best friends Eric and Melissa. They wanted to attend services, so here we are.”

" It’s nice that you came. I must compliment you on how well behaved you all were; many teenagers are not.”

Mel giggled. "I’m not a teenager, yet, though my brother is. As to my friend, I’m not sure what age she is sometimes. She is a high school teacher, really, and my best friend ever.”

The pastor asked what we thought of the sermon. I found it hard to comment.

"Ah ... I understand the concept of Man and sin but some of it I ... I have a hard time with labeling people; surely life is more complex than that.”

"I’ll answer that if I can; what do you mean by labeling people?”

I couldn’t speak.

"She thinks it’s not fair to lump people together under a label and assume they are all good or all bad.”

"Like my sister says, grouping or stereotyping isn’t fair. I was taught everyone is their own person, with free will and all that. It is how you act in life that determines if you are good or bad and not whether you are a certain race or faith.”

"Yeah, that’s it, brother. How can anyone say all mutants are sinners? I’ve met several, and they were normal, decent people.”

"Ah, so it's the bit about mutants that confuses you? I assure you mutants are, like many sinners, skilled at deception, at lying, but a godly person can see through the deception.”

"So if I were to tell you I am a mutant…” I said trying not to knee him one in the happy sacks. Not that *I* would ever....

"You a mutant? Hardly! I can’t imagine you as one of those.” At that, Eric laughed, and Mel got furious.

"A mutant saved my life. I’d be dead if not for her. Joanie, let's go, I don’t like it here.”

"I was there. My sister would have died, if not for a mutant.

"Let’s go,” Eric said, barely concealing his displeasure at the man.

"We’d best be going. My friends have strong opinions, but then they are from a family of politicians. Thanks for your hospitality, but like my friends, I have to differ with you on the mutant issue. There are some bad mutants, even some evil ones, but no more so than in the general population. There are also many decent mutants, and *I* know this for a fact.” I leaned in close. "I teach at a school for mutants. Some of my closest friends are mutants," 'but ... then, so am I.' I completed in my mind.
We walked away, and I thought I heard some insults aimed at us. I ignored it, until someone muttered "mutant lovers”. I could take an insult, but they’d insulted my friends.

"Oh, what the heck.” I ran back, did my time stop, and left the man standing in public with his pants over his head. Okay, it was his suit coat but 'in my heart' it was his pants. Now if he had said anything to insult my friends ...

* * * *

"Remind me never to get you angry,” Eric said as Mel laughed. We did take a round-about way back to Dad's house, just in case.

* * * *

I wanted to take my friends bike riding on some of the state rails-to-trails routes. These are former railway and inter-urban lines that were abandoned but saved as recreational corridors. My 20-year-old mountain bike needed a tune-up and new tires but otherwise was fine; the frame size would fit my female body well. The kids needed bikes, though; something modern. Eric helped load my bike in the truck, and we drove out to Brookfield, where my former neighbor worked. They opened Sunday mornings during the summer, so I was confident we’d be ready to ride by later that day.

We walked in the shop; several obvious regulars were at the parts counter eying the latest accessories, pedals or whatever. Computer geeks, gaming geeks, bicycle geeks, same deal.

"Can I help you, ma’am?” a very tall muscular man in his early fifties asked. It was my former neighbor.

"I need my Cannondale tuned up. I’ve not ridden it in several years, so if it needs new brake pads, tires, tubes, whatever, do it. I’ll trust you to know what is needed. Oh, and a battery for the odometer, a new emergency repair kit and pump, and I want to buy a good bike for each of my dear friends.”

"Your bike, ma’am?” he asked.

"Eric has it.

"Eric, over here.” I waved, and Eric wheeled it over.

He looked at the bike. He looked hard at it, then he looked at me.

”Do you know John? ... I recognize his old mountain bike. The custom speedometer sensor mount is unmistakable. He made the mount, and I remember him showing me. How is he? I haven't seen him in some time.”

"I got it from him after his illness. You’d never recognize him, he’s changed so much.” Then I whispered, "But you haven’t, except maybe an extra gray hair or two. You're everything he says you were,” and I kissed him. "Not bad at all. I don’t know why some woman hasn’t snapped you up. You’re built like a Nordic god ... and everywhere too,” I said as I glanced downward. "If you want, maybe someday we can go out dancing, show the local babes what they are missing?”

"I-I-have a girlfriend.”

"About time, congrats! You tell her, for me, she’s made a good choice. Sorry to kid you like that, but John said you were a good sport. So how about fixing up Eric and Mel with some decent bikes? Something similar to mine but modern, not this antique ... the bike I mean.”

I had him totally flustered, but he recovered, and in little over an hour we had bikes selected and adjusted to fit. He needed to mount the lights, speedometers and other accessories I wanted. Bringing my old bike up to spec would take the most work, but then I was fond of the *old* Cannondale.

"When will they be ready?”

"I can have them ready tomorrow.”

"Can you do it before you close today? I’ll pay extra for rush service, if it helps.”

"There are only the two of us here.”

"I’ll give you a bunch of autographed photos you can use to promote the shop. You can honestly claim I am a *satisfied* customer." I licked my lips, slowly. "I’ve got my digital camera along; I’ll pose for photos with you in the shop. I bet the drugstore on the other end of the mall can make huge blowups in an hour or so, my treat? Pretty please?” I was acting totally shameless: doe eyes, fluttering lashes, voice dripping with lust. It was so much fun, too. Poor Eric and Mel could hardly contain themselves.

"I'll have them done by two PM; you have my word, ma'am."

He got to work on our bikes immediately, while his coworker called in one of their off-duty mechanics to help out. Eric snapped our pictures. I took them to the drugstore; it was part of a nationwide drugstore chain with 'Wal' as part of the name ... NOT ending in 'mart'. They downloaded the photos I wanted and said the posters would be ready in just over an hour.

Back at the bike shop, we tried on helmets, riding gloves and the like. We added them to the total, along with several day bags to carry tools, water-bottles/holders, a first-aid kit and such. I got a set of saddlebags for each bike to carry our spare clothes, cyclist's raincoats, lunches and the like, plus the needed racks to mount them on. Overkill, I know, but it pays to be prepared. They assured me those would be ready, as well, in the time available. I noticed two extra workers come in, and three were now working nonstop prepping our bikes. After this we left for lunch. I had to sign a few dozen autographs for the modest crowd that had gathered, but it was a joy.

* * * *

We drove the few miles east to Mayfair Mall where we window-shopped and got some lunch. Mel got a hot bathing suit at a women's shop, and I bought these sexy ankle boots. I already had a hot bathing suit; any hotter and I'd start a fire. The crowd let us be for the most part, though there was this incident when I bent over to tie a loose boot lace. Just because I had changed into these cute running shorts Mel had spotted and a matching Daisy Duke top was no reason to act like they were struck blind. Fortunately, no one was seriously injured in the pile-up. Thank Ghod I didn't do that by the escalator.

We drove back to the bike shop around one o'clock. Fifteen minutes later, they had finished. By two, we were on our way. I gave them a big tip and several wet kisses for their hard work. They even helped mount a carrier rack in my truck bed and secured the bikes for us.

* * * *

We made a quick call to reserve a motel suite for the night then stopped at my sister's. Dad would not have minded, but two nights in a row might have outed him as my dad and all the danger that would entail. My sister's condo was far too small to impose.

"I wish we had more time to talk, but at the ball park, we had to be careful.”

"And I had all these embarrassing stories about you to tell your friends, particularly to Eric. You know, I have copies of your baby pictures.”

"Sis, that’s not fair!”

"No, it isn’t. Tell me, tell me, please?” whined Mel.

"Do you want to have to call your dad to come and pick you up, Mel? Eric, I’m glad to see you stayed quiet.”

"I was in trouble either way, so I figured I’d better shut up. If it comes down to it, Mel, I’d have to side with Joanie, sorry.”

"He is besotted with you, isn’t he,” my sister replied.

"You have extraordinarily good taste and a strong sense of self preservation ... right, Eric?”

"Oh! Joanie, you are my world! I worship the ground you walk on. ...”

"That will do for now, slave. You may lick my boots later ... and *other things* if you are very good." I couldn’t help myself and giggled. Eric fixed that by hugging me until I calmed down. How he behaves himself after all my teasing amazes me.

We spent a couple hours talking back and forth. It was like old times but even better.

"I missed you so, Joanie, and I am enjoying this immensely, but we’re scheduled to man pledge phones down at MATC in a hour.”

"Channels 10 and 36 studios?” She nodded yes. "I’ll ... I mean we’ll come. I know Mel and Eric are too young to work the phones, but seeing the studio will be fun, and they know how to behave. They’ve been on TV often, what with their dad’s and grandfather’s campaigns.”

"My brother and I are used to press conferences and all. We know not to talk when we shouldn’t or run around when ... I know I messed up on *that* one last Labor Day, but you know what I mean.”

"It would freak the PBS people, Hon,” Tony said.

"Get dressed in something nice, but casual -- NORMAL casual, not YOUR kind of casual, Miss July -- and come along. I just know I’ll regret this, but I can’t resist my husband and his puppy dog eyes.”

* * * *

It took under fifteen minutes to get to the downtown studios. They are located in a sprawling Milwaukee Area Technical College campus -- they have several -- near the heart of everything, the County Court House, City of Milwaukee Safety Building, the Bradley Center and the Wisconsin Center convention complex. I let my sister drive my baby as there was major freeway construction, um reconstruction, okay let's be honest, destruction ongoing near the campus, and the usual route to the studios was blocked. My New Hampshire plates surprised the woman at the entrance to the secure parking, but my sister told her why we were there, and we parked.

"Follow me closely; this building is confusing if you turn wrong.” The Johnsons kept close to my heels.

We walked to the elevators and rode to the top floor where the TV studios were located.

My sister spotted the volunteers’ coordinator.

"I brought an extra hand along for the phones. She did have to bring her traveling companions with her. They are too young for the phones but are used to being on TV and willing to help or just watch quietly.”

"And they are?”

"Hi, I’m Eric Johnson and this is my sister Melissa, or Mel as she prefers to be called.”

"Our dad is the Governor of Iowa. We’re here on vacation with our dearest friend. We promise to stay out of the way and not get in any trouble. We're used to being around television cameras.”

"Thank you, Mel. I recognize you and your brother from the media. Maybe we can arrange a tour of the studio later, if you’d like.”

"I’d like that and so would my brother ... I’m sorry; I forgot to introduce my friend, I mean OUR dearest friend.” Mel giggled.

"That’s okay, Mel, it’s been a long day; I’ll introduce myself. Hi! I’m Joan, but everyone calls me Joanie. I’ve been a pledge phone operator before, so I’m looking forward to this ... You can roll up your tongue, and press your eyeballs back in their sockets, if you like. You look like you’ve seen some big celebrity. Is there a place where my friends can watch where they won’t be in the way?”

Mel and Eric were snickering. My sister and her husband struggled valiantly not to laugh.

"I ... I’ll l-let the f-floor director know.”

The now glassy-eyed volunteer coordinator walked off, more like stumbled off as she almost tripped on a camera cable. My old sci-fi club members crowded around me.

"What are you doing here, Joanie?”

"Answering pledge phones, duh, and for the free food. You?”

"Joanie, that was mean,” Mel said.

"Well, it's true! And I’m here to say 'Hi' again to my Doctor Who friends. Still geeky as ever? Hands up everyone who owes a "sonic screwdriver".” I laughed, and they knew I was kidding. FYI, they ALL owned at least one. My sister has two if you must know.

We chatted a little then were called into the studio as a pledge break was due shortly. For those who don’t know, public broadcasting gets almost no government aid in the US anymore and relies on memberships and corporate donations for the vast bulk of its operating expenses. I've been to too many of these pledge drives, haven't I?

"Who of you have done this before?” All of us raised our hands, and the coordinator smiled.

"Good. The first break is around a cooking show and the premiums are ...” She described the premiums offered to encourage the listeners to pledge at certain levels. "After this break, our next is at 6:43 and is the first of three during NOVA.”

I struggled not to giggle. The on-air talent took their marks, and we were on. I did note both looking in my direction, just before we went live.

"Wasn’t that great? We bring these programs to you, our viewers, because of your pledges of support....” the typical spiel if you watch PBS with any regularity. The talent was a host of a locally-produced outdoors/sporting show and was aided by one of the show’s on-air correspondents. They switched back and forth, describing the need for donations and the benefits of joining the local PBS volunteers association.

"This evening we have something you can only see on Public Television. Commercial television simply doesn’t do the kind of in-depth documentaries you can see on public television. We are privileged to preview this fall's big NOVA landmark special on mutants ...”

I admit my life seems to be this string of incredible coincidences, but this happened. I’m not joking. I broke into a smile and fought to stop from laughing, not easy with this body and the giggly over-the-top teenage emotions I am saddled ... I mean blessed with.

The on-air talent described the benefits of being a member of The Friends of Public Television and so on, doing their best to guilt you into pledging. The break was nearly over when....

"We are particularly privileged to present this NOVA preview to you, as it is hosted and narrated by a former Milwaukee-area native, now prominent mutant, Joanie. This show is a must see. Please enjoy tonight’s programming, and please consider pledging at one of the thank you gift levels.”

We went off air and the *talent* discussed with the floor director what to do for a later break. One of the video crew asked, "Do any of you want to watch this? We can feed the sound down here to the monitors. Word is this NOVA is exceptionally good.”

"Not me! I can’t stand to watch her. Frankly, her acting sucks, and she’s an airhead. She'd need a personality transplant just to tell her apart from a manikin.”

Mel and Eric who had been perfect angels up to now started laughing uncontrollably. My poor sister and brother-in-law looked apoplectic, and the sci-fi club people near me -- Joanie that is -- weren’t much better off.

One of the *talent* overheard and had to see what was going on.

"Could you please keep it down? We’re trying t .. to ... You’re her!?”

"Last time I looked, I was me. I’m Joan, but you can call me Joanie. Sorry I got so loud, but I do have a hard time watching myself. I am glad I narrated the NOVA. From what I’ve learned in the last year, it’s accurate and balanced, unlike a certain other network that uses that catchphrase.

"I’m so rude; Eric, Mel? This handsome young man is Eric Johnson and the lovely heart-breaker, standing next to him, is his sister Melissa or Mel. We met last Labor Day.”

* * * *

The next pledge break *I* was *talent*, rigged with a mic and everything. We’d worked out a *deal* during the intervening time. The PBS station manager was pleased and then some.

"Hi, I’m Joan; many of you know me as Joanie. I’m a long time viewer of public television and a sometimes volunteer phone operator like the good gals and guys behind me. I looked a little different, back then.” I was amazed my sister and brother-in-law didn’t have seizures.

"I had the great pleasure of narrating the NOVA miniseries on mutants. They seemed to think I was recognizable as one.” I giggled; I do it at the strangest times, too. "Whatever your personal beliefs towards mutants, from positive to negative, I urge you to watch this NOVA miniseries. It is remarkably informative, given the limited time they have. And if you are a young man, you get to see and hear me a lot; so even if you can’t stand documentaries, it will be a treat.” That had Eric, off in the wings, blushing, and Mel struggling not to laugh.

"This public station needs your help. Government funding is essentially non-existent. They can’t use advertising dollars like commercial TV. We get no funds from the cable or satellite systems so don't think your subscription helps to support us, as it doesn't. As generous as the corporate and foundation donations are, would you want that to be their sole source of funds? PBS thrives as an independent voice because of you, the donating viewers, who insist on their impartiality in serving the public interest.

"I have a special incentive to encourage your pledge.' I remembered this idea from the radio side of public broadcasting. "Any pledge made and paid to this station during this year's June pledge drive, and I am including those already pledged, will be matched, by me, dollar-for-dollar until they reach their funding goal. Any pledges beyond that I will match three dollars to every one dollar pledged and paid. The sales of my music have gone very well, and I can afford this gesture. Please be generous, and make me regret this rash act.” I giggled.

"I'll turn the mic over to the Station Manager, and he will tell you how to pledge.”

The phones, which had been all but dead, all rang. There were a lot of crank calls and anti-mutant protesters, but the bulk were legitimate. The response was amazing. We extended the break an extra ten minutes to handle them all, and I took as many calls as I could. A number of people called in to up their previous pledges, when they learned of the matching grant. We were so busy, the station let Eric handle a line and Mel was a runner, picking up complete pledge forms as soon as they were done. They had a great time.

Half an hour later, the pledge coordinator had a tally for the break. She looked exhausted but happy. "This is one for the record books...." I cringed. I made arrangements for them to contact me via email, when the pledge drive was over and the pledges verified. I ended up writing a very big check. Me and my big sexy mouth!

* * * *

Monday June 11, 2007

Monday, we took a early ride to get used to our bikes. Everything went well. They'd done an excellent prep job on the bikes, so we were ready for our big ride on Tuesday. It was still morning, so I took them on a quick sightseeing tour of town. We stopped at UW-Milwaukee, and I led them on a walking tour of the main campus. Lots had changed since I’d last been there but much was familiar. The early summer session was on -- the twelve week, late May through mid August session, not the shorter, eight week main summer session -- so the campus was relatively quiet. BTW if you understood what I just wrote, please explain it to me. Thanks.

We bought a few souvenirs in the Student Union Book Store -- T-shirts and mugs mostly. I sorely wanted to buy some of the more, um adult items like the classic bikini bottoms -- AKA panties --with the smirking UWM Panther mascot on it, but that would have been tempting fate what with how I feel about you know who.

They have this small, but well equipped, athletic wear/sporting goods store in the same building, where we got additional padded cycling shorts and windbreakers/rain jackets to supplement what we’d purchased at the bicycle shop. Money IS money. You don't need to be a student or an alumni to make a purchase.

We stopped at one of the Student Union's outdoor food booths, as the weather was nice, and got a light early lunch. I’d gotten a few looks as we walked around, but on a college campus, I was a pretty girl in a sea of pretty young woman, albeit I was one of the taller ones and ... alright I’m drop-dead gorgeous. I admit it, does that make you feel better? As we ate, I got a lot of looks, and the sharks started circling.

"Morning, good looking! Are you a new student? I don’t remember seeing you before, and I’d remember a woman like you.”

He was tall, athletic and confident; a bit too confident for my taste. I stood up and found I was nearly as tall as him, so I was not intimidated.

"I’m flattered; though let’s face it, that is a terrible chat-up line.”

He seemed pleased, until I dropped the bomb on him. "I’d consider going out with you, if it weren’t for a few things. I already have someone I’m seeing exclusively. It would cut him to his soul, if I cheated on him, and I’d hurt even worse. I’m not a student here, I’m visiting from the East coast and don’t want any complications. And to be a bit rude, there is no way you could keep up with me.”

"My, are you full of yourself.” He lost his cool.

"Just stating the facts. I’m a mutant, an exemplar and a regen, technically. You’d die from exhaustion, before I was even sore down there.”

"You’re joking.”

"She’s not. I played a friendly game of one on one basketball with her, and she wore me out. I’m one of the best athletes in my school. She could have mopped the floor with me, if she wanted to, and she’s a family friend.”

A student who’d run my purchase in the bookstore walked by, on break I assumed. "Move on; you're not in her league. Not even close." He left, tail between his legs.

She walked to our table. "Ms Brown, um ... can I have your autograph? I recognized you at once, and I assume this lovely young woman is the one you rescued last Labor Day.

"You will be very beautiful by the time you are my age. You're already a head turner; Melissa, is it?”

Mel blushed.

"I'm a journalism major, so I follow the news.

"And you must be her brother, um, Eric?”

She came closer and whispered in Eric’s ear. "I noticed how you look at Joanie, and though she hides it well, how she looks at you. You are a very lucky man to have gained her favor; don’t you ever make her regret that.”

"N-n-no, ma’am,” he whispered back.

I didn't mean to listen in, but I'm glad I did. I resolved to be more discreet in the future, or our future, Eric's and mine, was a bleak one.

The rest of our lunch went well, except for the occasional collision between students who were paying attention to me and not where they were walking. We left and drove a couple miles south, so I could do some banking. You're all going, "Huh?" aren't you? Hang in there, it will make sense in a minute.

* * * *

We parked, and the three of us entered the early sixties building. The lobby was quiet at the moment, with only a couple customers at the teller windows.

"You two wait over in the customer lounge, while I take care of this. I shouldn’t be long.”

I walked up to the first window and was greeted by a blond woman who nearly bit her tongue in surprise.

"Good afternoon, and how can I ... Oh my god!” That got the attention of her coworkers. They couldn’t see me from where they were, what with the high counter dividers and the bulletproof glass, but their customers noticed. They began ignoring what they had come in to do to watch me instead.

I broke the silence. "I got this bonus check from one of my employers. I don’t need the money anytime soon, so I’d like to open a CD. I saw your rate board and was thinking an 18 month sounded decent.”

"F-f-or how much?” Her sudden stuttering -- she NEVER stutters -- got more attention drawn my way.

"Sorry, here’s the check and my ID; I'm sure you’ll need that. I used to work in a bank myself. Make the CD out for the full amount. I'm in the system, so you shouldn't need my Social.”

She looked at the check and almost fainted. This was pure Heaven.

"A-a-ah, s-s-sure; let me get an ac-c-ccount packet, and I'll g-get you taken care of.”

Her supervisor came over and talked to her softly. The average person would not have overheard their conversation, but then I'm not average.

"What’s the matter? You’re never like this.”

"I-it’s who the CD is for, and who much, how much.”

"A celebrity, I take it?”

"Yeah, and I am certain it’s her. We’ve met before.”

"How much?”

"Yeah."

She handed her the check, the supervisor looked at it, saw my ID and the amount of the check and did this great dry spit take. I got really good service for some reason. And the branch manager took us to lunch, on her. Strange that. The fact that the poor rattled teller was my sister had absolutely nothing to do with the fun I had in the least. Like *I* would tease my baby sister!

* * * *

There was one last thing I need to do today. I stopped at a west side florist and bought three bunches each of a dozen long-stemmed red roses. We drove to my father's, parked, and I went in the house.

"Dad.”

"Joanie! I didn’t expect you back so soon.” Hearing dad call me Joanie almost had me in tears.

"Grab your keys and wallet. I have something I want to do for you, and I need you along. I think you’ll approve.”

Once we were in my truck, I drove to Brookfield and Wisconsin Memorial Park, Dad following in his sedan. He tried to keep a brave face on, but I could see the tears rising when we parked near a familiar evergreen hedge and red maple. I’d bought some florist’s foam and took out a water bottle from my built-in cooler. I handed Dad one of the bunches of roses.

"Dad, these are for Mom. I have stuff to make sure they stay in place and fresh for a while. Mel, Eric, help him, please?”

My two friends helped Dad to the grave site; his arthritis had flared up. It had to be weird to look at your own grave just waiting for you to be buried and the year screwed onto the bronze marker. Eric worked the vase free from its storage well and set it upright. Mel helped him put the flowers in it, using lots of foam to wedge them in place, followed by a good watering. We added a few tablespoons of that hygroscopic gel florists sell to retain water. We did the same, in turn, with my older sister’s grave and my maternal grandparents. I had a hard time not bawling at the gravesides, I missed them so. I bucked it up for my Dad. The florist had thrown in a couple spares as it was a nice sale, and those went on my stillborn cousins’ plot, as they had no formal marker.

"Dad, one last task. Tell me again how you and Mom met.”

I saw Dad tear up, so I knew this might take awhile.

"Mel, Eric, I’m not sure how long this will be. You can wait in the truck or walk around the grounds here. As cemeteries go, this one has a lot of wildlife. It was laid out to be as much a park as a cemetery.” I didn't want him to see me cry.

"We’ll stay with you. I'd like to hear about your mom. Death is part of life, after all,” Mel said.

"You are mature for your age, aren’t you, Mel,” my dad said, shocking me.

"Thank you, Mr. Brown; that was most kind.”

"Mel, that was sweet,” I said, giving her a hug.

Dad looked surprised for a moment then smiled. "I still marvel at how much like your mother you are. You sound like her; it's uncanny. You move and act like she used to. Don’t ever lose that, Joan.”

"I hope not, Dad.”

* * * *

Dad left first; it was chancy enough our being around him as it was. I knew what the consequences could be, if my male past was revealed -- for my family, that is. I suspected the press knew I was in town and had their eyes out for me. I offered to pay for a hedge of roses to be perpetually maintained near her grave, if the cemetery allowed it, but he said no, that my very presence was enough. I made a note to plant some roses at the farm to remember her, perhaps a semi-wild or old fashioned climbing-type to slowly weave it's way along a fence line. She would have liked that.

"Promise to remember us, when we are gone; that is all I ask. Your mother would have been so proud of you.” He hugged me then made his way painfully back to his car -- the years were catching up with him fast.

We tidied up the graves for a bit, and I got melancholy. My friends noticed it too and got down next to me and hugged me.

"I wish you could have met my mom."

I started to cry, and they both wrapped their arms around me. I felt this odd sensation; I'd not felt it since those tests with Sergi. I opened my eyes and the place had changed. The trees were much smaller and most of the buildings were gone. There were cultivated fields in several directions, where there should have been houses and businesses.

"Joanie, what happened?"

I knew but was embarrassed to say. "I, um, we are ... I mean ... I time traveled us back to June in 1941."

I saw three young women and two middle-aged folks, likely their parents. The youngest, the others looked five or ten years older, was leaning against a tree posing for her dad for a photo. She turned this way and that trying to get the perfect pose. She wore a smart looking skirt and top and two-tone shoes like a bobby-soxer might. She had this happy, confident look on her face, like she was eager for whatever the future would bring. She couldn't have been more than fifteen but had the figure of a college gal. I mean this girl was stacked, not that she was Rubensesque, far from it. I guessed her to be about 5 ft 5 and 100 pounds dripping wet if that. I mean she was hot even by our *Barbie Doll,* 21st-century standards.

I saw her face for a moment, as she turned. I don't think she noticed me, but I noticed her ... how could I not? She was holding the very pose from the color touched-up photo that was a feature in my grandparents' home. I did the only thing my overwhelmed mind could think of: I walked, holding my friends' hands tight, for a short distance until we were out of sight, then I fainted.

I woke in the present, my two friends clutching on to me like I was a life ring, and they were adrift at sea. We were back in the present.

"What was that?"

"The girl .. by the tree..." I gasped.

"The one in the blue skirt? She was pretty; she reminded me of you a little, Joanie."

"She should! That teenager was my mom!"

"Could you be wrong?"

"Eric, that photo Grandpa was taking was in their living room for years, then we had it in our home. Then there was that early forties, four-door Mercury parked nearby. That was their car; I rode in it as a little kid. Grandpa was so proud of it, he kept it almost twenty-five years."

"No wonder you were crying, seeing your mom again."

"I wish I could have introduced you to her, but who would have believed I was her future son/daughter? Ghod! I'm such a worthless freak!"

Eric turned my head and looked me in the eyes. "I'll tell you this, Joanie, as pretty as your mom was, she has nothing on you." He kept looking at me, determination and love in his face. I caught a glimpse of the man he would become and ... Ghods! I wanted him, but I loved him too much to ruin it. I composed myself and smiled.

"Words like that will get you in a lot of trouble."

"How?"

"Fending me off! En Garde!" I gave a quick look around, kissed him, then tickled him until he cried uncle. Mel wisely stayed out of it, giggling all the while. I couldn't stay melancholy, with those two around.

* * * *

After calling to make sure Dad was home safe, we drove to Madison and our motel rooms for the night. Our bikes were secure in my truck bed. We stopped at the University of Wisconsin Medical Center to pay a courtesy call to Dr Sara. With my passes and face, we were soon inside the high security *mutant wing*. A number of the staff called out to me and smiled as they remembered me from my initial convalescence after my burnout. I got to the main nurses’ station for Sara’s department and was greeted by a young woman working reception. She looked at me, and her face lit with joy.

"Joanie, it’s so good to see you again!”

"I apologize, but I don’t remember you.” This shocked me, for reasons you will soon understand.

"I’m not surprised; I’ve changed considerably since we last met. Take a look, and tell me what you think.” She positively radiated enthusiasm, and her sultry voice was a perfect complement.

She got out from behind the counter, walked towards us and turned slowly so we could see her. I saw an utterly enchanting young woman of mixed ancestry. Picture Tia Carrere at eighteen, twenty tops -- the Hawaiian actress/model -- blended in equal parts with Nicole Kidman, J-Lo and Jeri Ryan of Seven-of-Nine/Star Trek fame. The woman had Tia’s dark, lustrous hair, caramel skin, athleticism and mixed Asian features tempered with Ms. Kidman’s height, slender limbs and angelic face. Add to that a booty J-Lo would die for and a chest that compared favorably to Jeri’s and with mine.

This woman was stacked, but tastefully so -- you get the idea. She moved with hypnotic grace, and her age defied my guessing. There was not a wrinkle or sag on her that I noticed, and with puppies like hers, you’d expect some. Then again I defy gravity too, so who am I to judge? That suggested she was in her mid-to-upper teens, but she was far too *fleshed-out* to be a teen, but so am I. With no obvious traces of puppy fat and her abundant adult curves, she had to be, say, at least 25. Her confident manner and movement suggested someone maybe late-20s to 30-something. She was almost too perfect, but it worked; whoa, momma! This was one hot babe.

~~It’s like a much older woman has been placed in a brand new custom-built body ... No!? But it’s the only answer that makes sense.~~

"Donna, is that you?”

"There’s no fooling you is there, Joanie? Yes it’s me. I think the breasts are a bit over-the-top, but Gin and her thaumatologist friends insist this body is designed for them, and they will defy time and gravity, or so they claim. I admit they do defy men not to stare at them; it’s embarrassing at times. I mean just look at them.”

And I did. "Smokin’, Donna. You sure aren’t a member of the itty-bitty-titty club with those on your chest. I’m jealous! Woof!

"I have a hard time not staring at them myself.” She gave them a gentle lift, and we both started laughing.

"Welcome to my world, Donna. Honestly, you may be a *big* girl now, but they are in proportion to your figure given your height and all. What are you, five foot ten, eleven?” We both laughed.

"I’m just over six feet tall; nearly as tall as you, Stretch.”

"Okay, your figure is a bit extreme, granted, but I mean, this only makes up for a fraction of what you lost. Sorry, I didn't mean to." She smiled back so i knew I was forgiven my blonde moment. "I knew from Gin that they could help you, but ... Wow! I never expected this, you’re so HOT! Are you seeing anyone? I think I’m in l-l-l-love.” That broke us up again.

"They told me that this combination of my ancestry gives me the healthiest possible set of my own genes, yet I’m still me, essentially. I can’t say one way or another, but I do know this body is far more athletic than my old one, and I was a gymnast and cheerleader. I didn’t think a woman this tall or *built* could move like I can. This body is amazing; I can’t thank you and your friends enough for what you did for me.”

"Now I feel silly, but keep heaping on the praise; I love it.”

Donna laughed this glorious, sexy laugh. It was a joy to hear.

This was not the battered, sad, young widow lying in that hospital bed a few short months ago. Damn, but she was a resilient soul. I wondered if I'd have the courage to come back from all she'd experienced. I smiled back. " Have you told Tom or Tina yet?”

"I told them I would be undergoing the treatments, but I wanted to be fully recovered before we saw or talked each other again. We have kept in touch with email in the mean time.”

She was well satisfied with the outcome, I could tell. That new lower register voice of hers was charming and oh-so sexy sounding. ~~Come to think of it, I sound a lot like that ... Gin!~~

"They haven't noticed the changes in your voice? I mean, you had a pleasant voice before but now, hubba hubba, woof, zowie!" that got a laugh out everybody. Okay, yet another blonde moment. In my defense the new Donna was devastatingly distracting.

"Joanie dear, my children have not spoken to me or seen me since the treatments began." She smiled and it wasn't a 'You stupid blonde!' kind of smile. This was a smile of love and gratitude. "I told them I would not be as I was, that your friends would change me in significant ways. They know I could no longer look as I did for our safety. I just wanted them to hold off until they could see the whole picture, as it were. I’m visiting Whateley during the summer session, and I will have a long talk with Tom and Tina. The experts here say they can transform my children to what they would have been like if I was this way when they were conceived. They have offered to optimize my husband’s contributions to their genes just as they optimized mine. I’m assured their age can remain as it is or regressed to as little as to age seven, without any loss of their memories or skills. I love them as they are, but they will be even better, if they agree. It’s their choice. I had to do this for me. I couldn't go on as I was. I'm so sorry.”

"Don't blame yourself, Donna. Under similar circumstances I hope I would have your courage to embrace change. And it's not completely selfish. This way you help protect your kids, as no one can connect the new you to them.

"From my observations I can tell you Tom will not want to be much younger, unless a certain Mzzz Suzy gets the same treatment. The two of them are very close, Donna. I’m half afraid they’ll come to me one day and say she’s pregnant, but they are too responsible for that -- just. We're blood relatives and believe me I *know* what she's going through ... oh GHOD do I." I said and giggled nervously.

"Tom emails me often, now that I’m getting better; so does Tina. I think we’ll work something out. I want them as my children again, to hold and cherish, but they are nearly adults so I have to start letting go. If I have to play *big sister* to them so be it. Being a mom is not easy, Joanie, but it’s worth it. I wish their dad had survived, that’s all.” She began to cry, and we hugged each other.

She noticed Eric and Mel standing off to the side. They hadn’t wanted to interfere with our reunion. I could see they wanted to join in but didn’t know how.

"I’m sorry I didn’t say hello; please join us. I’m Donna, Tom and Tina’s mom. I know I look too young, but I am their mom, really. You must be Eric and Mel; my children have talked often about you. You’re going to be a beauty in a few years, Mel; I can see it.” Mel blushed. "And you young man, if you ever hurt my friend Joanie, I’ll make your life a living hell, understand?” He nodded. "Now give me a hug, so I can see what all the fuss is about.”

Eric gave her a tentative hug. Donna hugged him back, and he hugged her more firmly. After a few moments she gave him a tender kiss on the cheek.

"I see why you like him. Eric, do you want to dump this generic blond for a more exotic model?’ She cooed then laughed. Poor Eric blushed. "You’re safe from me, Eric; I like my men a bit older and unattached. You don’t have any single male cousins say twenty to thirty-five years of age? Your dad have a younger single brother ... hum?" She laughed then continued.

"I’m not kidding, Joanie, not totally. Eric is impressive for a teen; the man will be magnificent. I’m not ready to jump in the dating pool yet, but I will someday and Eric here has the potential to be a fine catch in a few years.” She looked at my Eric more than a little bit wistfully. I noticed the not so subtle signs of physical arousal in her but chose not to say anything. I wondered if he resembled her late husband in some way. I'd never met him. I only knew him from a few photographs their Tom and Susy showed me. Her subconscious but obvious reaction to Eric got my own body going. We might both be responsible adults in our minds, but our bodies had their own agenda.

"Hands off, Donna, this one is mine.” There was more hostility in my tone than I'd like to admit. What I did next worried me more. Anger, desire, and a frightening dose of jealousy fueled it. I gave Eric a hug and kiss, rather more intense than I intended... okay a LOT more intense. Ghod it was glorious! If it hadn't been for Mel rolling her eyes at us hormone-crazed creatures...

"Oh, pu-lease!”

We broke it up, reluctantly. "Mel, I can guarantee you in a very few years you will be as sex obsessed as we are. You’re going to drive your parents and the boys crazy.” I half-panted.

"No way! I’m a responsible person, I’ll never let my emotions rule me ... Oooh!... who is that walking over there?” She pointed down a corridor at a retreating figure. Her gaze was locked on him in a way I recognized, but then he has a nice ass... Scratch that, a great ass.

"That was Badger Boy, one of the MSG mutant supers. He’s been helping with my physical therapy. He’s very fit and rather sweet.”

"Um, how old is he?”

"He’s in college, and, yes, he’s single. At least he was when I lived here. He still unattached, Donna?"

"Absolutely, he's just a good friend. I have no designs on him."

"Mel, want me to set up a date?” I asked.

"Noooo, Joanie, I just, well...” She turned beet-red, but I could see all the signs in her; I knew them too well in myself.

"Scrap that, Donna. I’d say puberty has arrived early and in full force. The saints preserve us!” I broke into giggles and gave Mel a sisterly hug. "He is kinda cute for an older boy, isn’t he, Mel,” I whispered. "Don’t be embarrassed to notice a hot boy, but take your time to finish growing up. You are so very young. Hell, *I'm* too young for this.” Mel smiled back.

"Badger Boy!” I shouted out. "Please come here.”

He spun and ran down the long hall to us.

"Yes, Joanie? Great to see you by the way. Who are your guests?”

"These are Eric and Mel Johnson of Iowa, my good friends.”

"I should have known."

"Hi, I'm Badger Boy. Got to stick to my super secret code name you know." Then he laughed.

He shook Eric’s hand and turned to Mel.

"Welcome to Madison, Mel. Is that short for Mellisa?"

Mel looked at her feet nervously. I broke the impasse.

"Mel thinks you’re hot. She’s a state governor’s oldest daughter and a US Senator’s only granddaughter. She's young, beautiful, politically contected and loaded wink, wink.”

He grabbed her hand and knelt. He kissed the back of it and asked, "Will you marry me?”

"Joanie! That is not funny!” Mel shouted, but it was more like a stifled laugh. Then she gave Badger Boy a big hug and kissed him on the cheek lightly, many times; butterfly kisses, I think they are called. She giggled and backed away like she was dancing.

Ghods, she’s discovered boys. Babs will kill me.~~

"Ask me again a few years and I might say yes. Um ... can I write you?”

"Joanie?” Badger Boy looked near panic. Pre-teens lusting for his body was not something he was comfortable with.

"I’ll have to ask her mom; she’s not quite eleven. Let me call her.” I started dialing on my cell. They both looked panicked, so I stopped.

"Mel, Badger boy is a decent man, but he is an adult. It might not be seen as proper, your corresponding with an adult ... Yes, I know that I sound like a hypocrite. I mean with your brother and me, but remember we are both women and have the most to lose in a relationship, however platonic it starts out.”

"But Joanie, I just want to write him. A male pen-pal would give me another perspective. And it’s safe; it’s not like we’re dating. I just want to understand what boys think, and he is cute for an older boy.”

Damn, she was using logic on me.

"I was afraid this might happen. Mel, you don’t understand. It’s not that I don’t trust you. Badger Boy is an honorable young man, so I’m not worried, but remember you can get pregnant now; so can I. Society tries to protect girls and to a lesser extent boys from becoming parents when they are not ready.

"I have a hard time with my relationship to Eric, and I’m much older, mentally. I know not to have relations with him, until he is an adult -- when we will both be adults -- but it’s so hard not to give in to my feelings. You don’t have the experience to have that extra control. You might be fine with it or you might be a mother at thirteen. I trust you, Mel, but do you trust yourself when the stakes are so high? It only takes one slip up, one sperm to make you a mom. I came dangerously close to that a while back, and you know it.”

"I understand, Joanie, but it isn’t fair; I don’t know why, but it isn’t.”

I hugged her for a while, as Eric and Badger Boy spoke with Donna. "Mel, life is seldom fair; I mean I meet a wonderful girl who will blossom into an outstanding woman, and I’m a woman. I have to settle for your scruffy older brother -- boy cooties, yuck!” She giggled a little which made me feel better. The innocent little girl was back, for now.

* * * *

To be continued soon.

John in Wauwatosa