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In our third entry we follow Andrew into the soup. He took a risk then took another.

Where did I leave off? Yes it was on Friday night after discovering Jean Phillips looking back at me in my mirror. That shock caused me to faint. I must have laid on my bedroom floor all night as I just woke up spread out on the carpet. I rushed to the mirror noting I’m still dressed in those clothes. Now I have to shower and put on the other outfit. A girl cannot wear clothes she slept in when going out for a special weekend.

It is not as if I am enjoying this I’m only satisfying a curiosity. I would not be tempting fate with this game if they did not offer an opportunity to see how the rich and famous lived. Clearly it is not my fault that I inherited this mess. Mom bought the clothes for some real estate con. Dad forced me to wear the soapstone skirt and wig. They dragged me to several agents’, offices selling their game. The Sanctuary organization gave me this pass for Andréa limiting it to the registered e-mail owner. You can see it is not my fault or a mess of my making. I look into the mirror of my Beetle while in the parking lot. I am amazed how much I resemble my dream girl. I touch up my makeup insuring everything is right then step out of the car. Several attendants give me the once over as I smooth my skirt and take measured strides to the creaking steps.

Bela is there breaking his neck offering to assist me with the swipe card. He makes sure I understand how the selection works and when to step into the chamber. We already went over this so much I want to scream. He finally backs off giving me space. I cannot do Romance, skiing is out. I never skied before and have no inkling to break something. The Spa sounds dangerous that leaves, Relaxation. I push the button like you are selecting a can of soda. A few lights flicker and a gate opens. I see the scanner which spews colored lights until an l-e-d sign says “Error”. I don’t like the sound of that and try to step back to hear another message, “Adjusting.” Finally, the scanning tube opens on the opposite side. I step into a room designed to look like a cave. The walls have those faux gray rocks with dew and moss on them. A door at the far end opens and I step outside into a garden.

A paved path weaves between rose bushes and a warm gentle breeze is felt. The sun is high and butterflies are alighting on sunflower petals. The sense is spring not October; my clothes did not change in that transition leaving me confused regarding adjustments it might have made. I quickly glanced down to see my skirt flowing with each step. God it felt sensual. The path ended at a circle where several golf carts are parked. Each with a guy wearing Dockers, Rugby shirt and open sandals without socks standing at the ready. Each guy looked like someone from those Hollywood soap opera movies. The big budget ones you see on the late show. I expected to witness the midget running around yelling Da’ Plane.’ My first urge is to laugh instead I had a panic attack. Why would I do that? Easy one of those golf cart drivers looking ever so much like a hunk approached me. He is my driver and will assist me for the weekend. The first stop after he assisted me into the vehicle is my private bungalow.

Troy walked me to the door opening it handing me a key. Do I have to tell you there is something hot about a guy in pressed Dockers, sandals and hands so warm you literally melt into? I suppose you are not surprised his name is Troy either, I’m not. I admit he pointed to a closet then opened it to reveal the most fabulous clothes a girl ever seen. He surprised me again.

“Andi those clothes are for you to keep. Everything is in your size, four I believe. When you are ready to leave I shall pack the clothes for you and carry them out to the car. Please if you wish a dinner companion just pick up the cell on the night stand. My number is programmed; you may call at any time. Please enjoy feel free to request transportation or assistance at your leisure. I am yours alone for the entire weekend.

I thought, ‘sure you are Troy and I bet you are more than willing. Christ how do I get myself into these messes?’ What do I do know and where in hell am I? So here I am at nine AM looking at this amazing bungalow. It is definitely feminine with floral patterns on pastel painted walls. A cool stereo system and wide screen wafer thin monitor. I discovered a wet bar, mini fridge and of all things a hot tub. Now I am not one to panic as I have always played Joe Cool. When I decided the hot tub needs to be tested meaning a swimsuit. Now what kind of swim suit do you think this resort provided for Ms. Andréa Judd? Yeah, right it is called a bikini. In other words it consists of two napkins and a band-aid.

The next thing I know Andi managed to squeeze into whatever that sorry excuse for a swimsuit is called. You must have heard me at least a hundred times say Jean is my dream girl. I had no idea how fantastic she looks. I mean for a girl whose image is a plain next door type; she sure offers plenty of skin in all in the right places. I did not trust myself in the tub with this body. I jumped out quickly racing to the closet and found that tennis outfit. What do they do read your mind? I have to admit while defending my macho male self I loved the feel of this short white skirt. On went the tennis shoes with me heading out the door. I figured they must rent rackets at the court.

Here I am walking along a winding road through a park atmosphere trying to figure out why I’m considering tennis. It sounds like too much work for the son of a Grifter. Son of a Grifter, you mean Helen of Troy’s daughter. Speaking of Troy, here he comes white pearly teeth gleaming like he is in a whitener commercial. God he is hot.

“Hey Andi you look ready for a round on the links. Do you need a lift? I have time we could partner.

“It’s like this I never held a golf club in my life.” My response must have sounded demure. I did not wish to betray his offer excited me. The plan is to keep walking searching for solitude. Find a quiet spot grab a book while the breeze washes over me and a dozen guys cream in their jeans watching and hoping. Troy like most hunks is short on getting hints.

“Excellent Andi, I spent last summer as an instructor. It should not take long to have you looking good. Let’s start out easy playing nine holes.”

He pats the seat next to him on his cute little golf cart. His smile sends a blinding beam of light from those perfect teeth. Against my better judgment my perfect rear lands next to him. It is then I discover short skirts get shorter when you sit. I just learned why one must squat to pick something up. It is one more mystery from the wonderful world of girls. Why do you guys do this to yourselves? I say a silent prayer of thanks that my tennis now golf skirt has a pair of built in shorts.

Any girl looking like me would simply get all gushy if a guy looking like that late night movie actor; Troy Donahue is standing there panting to get closer. I may look like that, however I’m not interested. I have to confess a voice inside my head directed my attention to his package. I did not need much encouragement my eyes were riveted. His glances transmitted he is aware of my growing heat within.

Troy is an excellent teacher as the profession’s custom he likes to be hands on. He held my arms above the wrist and sort of hugged me teaching the right way to grip. He was all arms and I could feel his minty breath as he guided my swing. The warming from the air he exhaled settled on my ear. It sent a shiver to odd places I did not know I had. He found many reasons to rest his hands on my hips. If he had a free hand it seemed to be glued to my waist. I never thought golf is a contact spot. I swear all of these moves could be rationalized as needed to show the proper grip etc. But what possible reason is there to be so close? I could feel his minty breath blowing on my neck. It sent chills it really did and my reaction was to do nothing. I found myself wanting more of it. We finished at two pm or so only to have lunch. It was at one of those round tables in a garden over looking a beach.

I drank a couple of funny named drinks that come with an umbrella in the glass making me feel a bit lightheaded. Troy drove me back telling me at least a hundred times what a great day he is having. The only way I could get rid of him was to promise to have dinner after a nap. He was absolutely drooling when he jumped into that cart.

At eight o’clock I’m shamelessly tempting him wearing a required girlish outfit. I later learned L B D means little black dress. Seriously that garb placed me at risk of going over the edge. What was I thinking when I held that skimpy black sheath with shoelace straps in front of the mirror? To make it worse it does not have sleeves and lacks any material above the shelf bra. Here I am sitting at a table showing more skin than I though I had. I went all out even dabbing perfume at some odd places. When I first put on a pair of two inch heels I expected to break my nose but somehow this rented body knew exactly how to navigate.

Troy is again all eyes and teeth with an occasional hand. Well fingers, during dinner I can’t count the times fingers traced my wrist. The grilled sword fish melted in my mouth and the soup and salad were heavenly. To make matters worse Troy is an excellent dancer why should that surprise anybody? The way he held me sent my body screaming wanting to guide his hand lower than the hip it claimed. For awhile I though it is welded there. I wondered if I could take him home with me. I swear when he kissed me on the dance floor I wet myself. Later I learned that is the female response equivalent to a guy’s erection. Silly me how was I supposed to know?

The guy felt let down when I failed to invite him into my bungalow. It is midnight and for a guy who had never been on a date before even I knew inviting him in would lead to trouble. Tired, I had a wonderful time and agreed to do it again. That worked as he limped back to his cart on three legs in serious pain I’m sure.

I managed to slip out early Sunday afternoon. It was not easy getting rid of Troy. I agreed to take a ride with him to see the island this same morning. Oh yeah, I discovered we are on an island. How I managed to get here exiting that Sanctuary house is beyond me. As we are sitting on a grassy slope viewing gentle waves under a gleaming blue sky I felt something strange. Troy leaned closer and one of his eight hands found its way under my top. I wanted to belt him when within seconds something hardened. No I’m not talking about the impression of something large pressing against my greedy palm. I mean something hard at the end of my fake breast. That little button pointed straight up when his lips pressed against it. Wow, I have a guy’s lips on my nipple. I thought I was going to pass out.

Focused solely on sensations caused by those lips I heard myself moaning. I lost control when my hand is suddenly filled with something long and hard. As he is raising my temperature my fingers sense a tremor as something wet and sticky pools in my palm. I sat up straight blushing when I discovered what I did. Troy is gushing; no not down there he is finished with that. I mean his face it is smiling and moaning. He kisses me again fortunately for me my bad little fingers disarmed his weapon. We scrambled to our feet with Troy apologizing he did not satisfy me and will behave better when I come back in two weeks.

That is if I come back in two weeks. I mean the idea of seeing how the other half lives is intriguing and come on guys you are dying to find out. It turned out to be totally scary. I figure I blew it big time especially when I ended up looking like my dream girl. Imagine I have been swooning over Jean since freshman year. Now that I have a free pass to explore her heavenly body I did not do it. I won’t admit this ever but I couldn’t do it I respect her too much.

Troy as promised lugged the large suit case of free clothes all the way out to my car. He hinted for my number but I’m too smart to fall for that. Keep him guessing that’s what the girls always say. Besides what would I do with a guy the five out of seven days when I’m me? No thanks I’m not going to go there. That is how my first week of freedom went not exactly what any red blooded guy would plan. Now I have a closet full of designer clothes any chick in the top ten at school would die for.

As I lay in bed I dream up schemes of how to talk to Jean. She is a poor kid like I said she lives in a trailer park. She wears the same frumpy clothes to school and is made fun of by the rich kids. I know for a fact how these clothes will look on her and they would fit. How do I give a girl a high priced closet full of clothes without having it come off wrong? Then there is these nagging voices in the back of my head saying keep them. I’d really hate to part with that tennis set err golf set. I’d have no problem giving her those high priced Jeans. They are all fancy designer labels that have strange names I cannot recall. Every top ten babe in school can rattle those names off like melting butter on her tongue. Jean wears nothing but Wranglers I can’t recall ever seeing her legs. I did not think about it when I said it but really I can part with the jeans but not my tennis skirt.

I fell asleep while hearing Troy’s voice whispering in my head. I know now I dreamed but at the time it seemed so real. The excitement of playing Andréa Judd impacted my dreams. I see myself sitting on a grassy slope wearing a denim skirt. Gentle waves are washing upon a shore a few yards away. A gleaming blue sky above with scattered cumulus clouds present a gorgeous peaceful day. I stretch black leaning on my palms drinking in the sun’s rays. I felt something strange.

I tilt my head to see Jean sitting close wearing cotton shorts. Guy’s shorts that reach below his knees. The waist band is covered by a bloused over stripped Rugby shirt. His smile is gleaming as his hands are under my skirt stirring up exciting feelings. At this position my profile must be provocative. I can feel my nipples pressing against my silky blouse. Jean’s hands having unhooked my strap are gently massaging them. I react by rubbing him with earnest discovering his shorts have an elastic band. A shiver goes through me feeling the pulsing in my palm. I sat up when Troy interrupted my dream I could hear his voice whispering, “It is your destiny.”

I set off for school on Monday completely freaked out. There are several issues keeping me off balance. Most of them are minor. Then there are times where you end up saying to yourself get a grip. These kinds of freak out things challenge your core raising questions of who you are. I put on my pair of Wranglers and a tee. First off the jeans are scratchy against my skin making me feel irritated. My white Fruit Of The Loom briefs are rather bulky Not that they are too large or something like that. It is just, well all weekend I wore Hanes Body Creations silk briefs. Guys you can’t imagine how heavenly they feel. Then I saw something hanging in my closet I did not get a chance to try it on for size. It was then I knew my core is threatened.

It was one of those yuppie outdoors companies New Balance you must have seen some of their crap poor kids cannot afford. This skirt hung there teasing me with its luscious purple color. The tag said ultrasoft and stretchy. Wear New Balance Arise skirt over a pair of leggings for a cute and comfy ensemble, complete with a pleated back detail and wide waistband. From New Balance's yoga collection moisture wicking Nirvana polyester fabric with Flat lock seams. What in hell are Flat Lock seams? It must be a brand name because the name is capitalized. It is just not fair the girls get stuff like this and I’m stuck in Wranglers. I ran my fingers over it and nearly died it is so supple. Like the tag said it would look great with tights and white running shoes. I had to remove the jeans and slip the skirt on. I nearly lost it because it was the first time since I got back I looked at my legs. My own legs were back no longer were those shapely gams of Jean’s hanging from my waist. That totally bummed me out. I hung the skirt up broken hearted. Then I went to the bathroom.

That’s when I screamed my junk is missing. Really, no shit my junk is gone. Not shrunk or smaller but gone completely not there. I have this small hole where pee comes out nothing more. Shit what am I going to do now? I used this to excuse my changing into the Hanes body silks. It helped me to feel better. Now all I have to do is convince the nuns to let me wear my New Balance Arise skirt. Yeah right, with my guy legs the skirt would look freaky. I’m not going to bring missing junk up. I can get away with using a stall in boy’s room for awhile. When I get back I will research the Sanctuary outfit about the residual effects bullshit.

First period was living hell. Everybody gave me strange looks. I don’t know why I’m wearing my usual uniform, jeans and tea. They sure as hell can’t see my underwear. The next to worse thing is Sister Karla. She spells it with a K just like the German secret police did when she worked there. I’m making it up it’s just that she looks the part. Every time I tried to steal a peak at Jean, Sister Karla caught me giving me her evil eye. She caught me about five times and each time Jean would pass a stern gaze. It is interesting that Jean never noticed me before. I caught her more than once staring at me. I managed to not look at Jean once during second and third periods. She appeared furious during Sister Karla’s class causing me to shrink. I swore she was about to cross the room and punch me.

Toward the end of third period I started feeling prickly. An odd moist feeling began to permeate in my panties. I began to feel warm under my collar then I heard it, Troy’s voice. At least it sounded like a sexy guy speaking inside my head. I told you he really got to me this weekend. I could hear him whispering seductively. ‘Little girl you are trembling in anticipation. Look at Jean over there he is going to make a woman of you very soon.’ When the bell rang I literally ran out of the room.

Fourth period is physical torture. My bottom feels like it is on fire. I have no idea what is happening and cannot avoid stop looking at Jean. I am fantasizing she is having her way with me. The voice is gone thank goodness but I cannot control my gaze. Then Sister George, after the fifth time catching me her strong glare bores into me. Even worse her arms are folded. Mercifully the bell rings allowing me escape to the lunch room. Sister in her stern voice commands, “Andrew see me at my desk now.” Something sounding like that I’m too petrified to hear her exactly. As Jean stepped to the door her eyes locked on mine, those beautiful green eyes caused sweat to bead up on the base of my neck. That is when I felt it my Meg Ryan hair.

Sister George chastised me, “Andrew I have no idea what you are thinking wearing your hair like that. Are you threatening Ms. Phillips? I find nothing funny in your actions. Do something about it Andrew. Come tomorrow I will use the scissors in my desk. You do not wish to have your classmates feeling uncomfortable being forced to watch me giving you a haircut. One more thing Andrew I am fond of buzz cuts.” Holy shit, I ran to the boys’ room between classes but first had to sit to pee. Two things wrong with that. The splash sounded off and secondly it felt weird to have to wipe.

I look in the mirror and to my horror I am wearing the wig. It turns out it is not a wig I could not yank it off. I clearly remember putting the thing on the foam head in my mom’s room. My hair is chestnut brown the wig I started out wearing was blond. There it is a head full of Jean Phillips hair. So there are two residual effects still not faded away. What am I going to do now? It did not help to comb it differently. I tried but the Jean effect kept coming back. Fourth period is the same as the first three. I’m getting strange looks but some of them actually seem to be appreciative. Then there is the stare coming from those emerald pools I adore. It is not a friendly stare.

The lunch room is arranged like every other school lunch room in the world. That is seating is staked out in order of hierarchy everyone having their own place according to status. This means for four years I sit by myself in the far left corner. Jean sits by herself in the far right corner. It is the way it is supposed to be as she and I have zero friends. No one violates this rule as it is not allowed. Thou shalt not disrupt the social order. Today something forced Ms. Phillips to break the rules. I’m sitting here eating my plate of unidentified school slop when Jean is spotted walking toward me. Hers is a resolute determined walk. Her unmistakable gait screams I’m going to the principal’s office. Before I can react she sits across from me, her elbows on the table supporting her chin. Did I say she has a perfect chin with an adorable dimple?

Jean’s pose clearly signals there is a purpose one not in my best interest. She sits without so much as a may I. My reaction is to sit up at attention like I do when Sister Agnes gets that look. I’m melting with lust staring into her green pools. Before I can react, mount a defense or even a warm hello she attacks.

“Lyons what are you doing? You sit in class everyday staring at me acting like I don’t notice. Today you went over the top. Is this some kind of joke? Are you trying to make fun of me like everybody else? I’ve had it with your crap so knock it off.”

I come back with a pretty lame response. “Phillips isn’t it? You have to admit my plan worked you finally spoke to me after four years of silence. Please enlighten me what specifically pissed you off enough to end your silence?” I can tell she is getting angrier so I figure she does not like my witty response. Somehow I have to turn this conversation around. It does not appear a response is coming so I keep babbling.

“Seriously, Phillips which of my callous selfish and childish behaviors did you find most offensive? How can I correct my offenses if you don’t tell me?” Finally, I struck a nerve.

“Lyons, It’s your hair you did it up to tease me. It looks just like mine. It is bad enough you constantly stare now you want to join the crowd and make fun of me.”

I roll my eyes as she singles out the hair something I have no control over. “Look Phillips my hair is not intentional. If you ever bothered to look at me before you would know my hair on Friday was really short. Think a minute could it possibly have grown this much over the weekend?” Aha, that got her. She stares at me presenting a look that says she knows full well I’m right. What did she do? She reached over the table grabbing my top knot pulling like hell yelling “it’s a wig.” I screamed from the pain. Everybody in the cafeteria starts laughing and pointing and she sits back stunned.

Have you ever tried to appear nonchalant when a crowd of people are laughing and pointing? Some were trying to make smart remarks while guffaws morph into coughing fits. My response is to take an adult approach directing it at the crowd, “Fuck You.”

The next thing I know one of the bigger nuns is issuing the evil eye. She does not take any direct action like lifting me up by pulling on my ears pointing me toward the office. Sister Igor, I’m making that name up, turns to face my tormentors issuing her be quiet order. When she shifts her white habit central to her penguin uniform everybody knows what that means. They shut up at once. We call her Igor because of her presentation. The woman is built like a linebacker and her church name is Sister Ignatius. It is after Saint Ignatius of Loyola or something like that. In religion class we learned after being seriously wounded in the Battle of Pamplona in 1521, he underwent a spiritual conversion while in recovery. De Vita Christi by Ludolph of Saxony inspired Loyola to abandon his previous military life and devote himself to labor for God, following the example of spiritual leaders such as Francis of Assisi.

If you want to know more you can look it up on the net. I’m sure there is no shortage of information. In the meantime Jean is still looking darts at me not convinced this isn’t a wig. I can’t blame her who can believe this shit. My hair is just like hers right down to the roots. I try to lighten the conversation by admitting, “It looks better on you.”

It almost brought a wry smile. Like I said almost, she then shocked me.

“Lyons even if I bought your lame excuse your hair grew over the weekend into a perfect replica of mine including the color, how do you explain the other change?”

“Other change, what the hell are you talking about?” She is clearly pissed off blaming me for yet another affront. I did not do anything. What is causing her to explode? I did not have to wait too long.

“I suppose wearing those contacts is your way of highlighting your phony hair. So it’s not a wig or you have some fantastic bonding agent. But beyond contacts there is no way to change your eye color. I can understand using green contacts but changing the shape as well. You must be into some sick shit to carry stalking this far.”

I expected her to make a grand exit after slugging me. Those balled up fist serve as a warning. She simply sat there doing nothing waiting for some response. How in hell can I respond to something as stupid as that? Jean is so angry she has lost the ability to use common sense. In the first place I am not wearing contacts and there is no way I could change the shape of my eyes.

“Jean I have no idea what you are talking about. I’m not wearing contacts. My eyes did not and could not change shape. I think you are losing it. I will try not to stare at you any more. I’m sorry if I am bothering you but I can’t help the way I feel.”

Speechless she appears to be processing what I said. Her expression tells me she is not buying it. She takes a long time to answer most likely she is gathering herself to issue a contained explosion.

“They are not green huh. You are not wearing contacts and your eyes are not shaped just like mine. You had nothing to do with it, right. It must have been the eye fairy paid you a visit. You have to commend her she did a great job applying your mascara.”

Now I am in full panic, “What are you talking about? My eyes are blue and I’m not wearing mascara. What do you take me for?”

“Lyons, go check in the boy’s room, you are not convincing enough for the girl’s room yet though you’re getting there. Go ahead, I’ll wait.”

Now she is issuing challenges and threatening my manhood as well. I stand slowly looking down at Jean. “You will wait?”

She nods then stands with a strange expression. “I thought you were taller than me.”

“I am,” then I look suddenly discovering we appear to be the same height. I turn and run to the bathroom. Standing there facing sheer panic I nearly freak out. There in the mirror is Jean Phillips’ face staring at me. Her green eyes are enhanced with the slightest touch of eye liner or lashes or whatever products I know nothing about. They are green the brightest most beautiful oval green eyes I’ve ever seen. Defeated I walk back to the lunch room clueless unable to offer any defense let alone an answer.

Jean is still at my table wearing her I told you so look. She also carries a persona transmitting there will be no reprieve. There will be an answer and she will have it or else. I sit about ready to cry noticed by Jean. In total silence I gawk at her unable to speak trying to shrink. The last thing I want to do is get into a discussion about Andréa. Admitting that will certainly send her over the edge and I will lose her forever.

Well,” she presses but cannot complete her sentence. I did not see it coming but should have. Using slow motion replay shows Brittany at the cool table whispering into the ear of a follower. The follower, a jock well endowed no doubt based upon what Brittany likes stands. He is carrying a cup of what I don’t know. The zombie follower fakes tripping dumping the contents on Jean’s head. I discovered what filled the cup because Jean is covered by almost a pint of ketchup.

Jean stands screaming the red stuff covering her blouse, jeans and hair. The jock utters a phony, “sorry.”

Sister Igor didn’t buy it as to my shock she lifts the offender by his ears literally carrying him out of the room. I always thought Igor’s strength came from exaggerated lies told to scare students so much for that myth. A jock once known as Pete Gibbons is hauled away to be forever called ears, Jean is still freaking. I whispered a request to Sister Paula who is sympathetic to tormented students. She scribbled out a pair of passes and I with unaccustomed bravado hustled Jean out the door into the parking lot.

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” She demands of me as I try not to laugh at her dripping orange hair.

“Jean you need to change your clothes. I got us passes to be excused for the rest of the day. I will give you a ride. Those jeans will be ruined if we don’t get the stains out quickly.” I open the pea green door of my Beetle noticing her befuddled stare.

“Lyons when did you get a car?”

“You must have heard my parents got twenty years in jail. It will be twenty years before they become eligible for parole. It seems the old man was hoarding cash. I found it; he owes me so I bought a car. Notice I bought on the cheap,” Being a gentleman with a huge crush I open the door for Jean who sits cautiously.

I start the car turning south toward my house when Jean begins to look a bit nervous. I slow not wanting to scare my dream girl away. I ask with my softest voice. “Is there anything wrong?” She turns her face toward the window answering in a muffled voice.

“I thought you were driving me home to change.” The tremor in her voice alarmed me. Is she afraid of me?

“If that is what you want it’s just I have five pair of designer jeans in your size that were given to me in error.” I could tell she is not swallowing this story. It is the best I can come up with. They came from Sanctuary part of the free clothes thing. I am not about to wear girl’s jeans. I added quickly, “Really I do, you can have them.”

“Lyons, it’s not that I’m afraid of you. I don’t know if I can trust you. What do you think it sounds like when I hear about free designer jeans in my size you ordered my mistake? Really and we are the same size.”

“They are your size, we are the same. Remember same hair, eyes and now size. Give me a shot I will prove it to you.” She stared at me with a blank doubtful expression. I kept driving toward home while Jean leaned as close to the door as possible. My thoughts focused on my parents they were both into clothes. My dad never left the house without being immaculate. He always said when trying to reel in a mark you had to impress. That is why he rented a house in this neighborhood.

It sits near the top of a low ridge on the edge of town. The house is not a showpiece is built on a half acre lot with an impressive yard. I lucked out with the welfare continuing the rent payments. Mom and dad’s life style has always troubled me and I swear I will do the right thing. I glanced at Jean knowing I could never expect a girl like her to share a life my parents led. I am getting closer to my street and notice Jean’s expression has not changed.

“You can try the jeans and if they fit which they will you can have them. Like I said I got them for nothing and I have no use for them.” She did not answer so I tried to ease her concerns. “Tell you what if it makes you feel better wait in the car I will bring them out to you. I’d feel a bit nervous going into a stalkers house if I were you.” She smiled as we pulled into the driveway.

“Really Lyons you think I’m afraid of you? We are the same size and I have bigger muscles.”

Jean smiled for the first time since she got into the car. Like the king of Grifters always told me when the bird is flighty give it a reason to relax. I shut off the car ready to run around to open her door but she is too fast exiting rather quickly. I smile watching her look around trying to be cool. “Come on Phillips since you aren’t afraid of me.” She stared following me to the door.

“You live here by yourself?” She asked with an incredulous lilt to her voice.

“Yup since the felons were hauled off to the slammer. I have the place to myself.”

“Lyons, what kind of scam are you running? Are you rich or something? How do you pay the rent or mortgage or whatever?”

I blink opening the door as the rumored poor kid simply is surprised when seeing my digs. I never thought about it before but she had no idea of where I lived. I guess I’m about to surprise her. “Phillips you think you are poor when I’m the poor one. You are much better off than I am. You have two parents that I hear are really super. Me, not so much mine are in jail because they are thieves. The house is paid for by the welfare.” She stared at me in total disbelief.

As I held the door for her I smiled not saying anything more.

“Nice digs, just the same for welfare trash Lyons.”

She is laughing while poking me as in a tease. I did not feel offended. We sat on the sofa. Well I did she took a chair across from me. Ms. Phillips is still maintaining her safe distance. I am feeling a bit apprehensive as my dream girl is in my house. How in hell did this happen? “You probably want to make this short. That room near the kitchen is mine. Hold on a minute and I will dig out the jeans. They are in the closet.”

She looked at me doubtfully as I dashed to my room. The jeans are quickly stacked on the edge of the bed then I had a thought. Ketchup in her hair, on her clothes, she may want a shower. I toss an unopened pack of Hanes silky boy shorts and an unopened Bali bra package on top of the jeans. Then I walked back into the living room. “All set Phillips the jeans are on the bed along with unopened packages of new underwear in your size in case you want to shower. The bedroom and bath room doors have locks just so you know.”

“There you go again Lyons. My size how do you know what my size is if you are not a stalker and why are you doing this?”

She is standing right in front of me those green eyes blazing. “Phillips, we are the same height, we have the same hair, the same eyes I bet we even weight within a pound of each other. The jeans are size four they fit me. They will fit you. Why you ask? Try processing this thought, I think I love you.”

Next Chapter 4 Jean Phillips Discovering a Secret.