The old saying has it that the third time is the charm. Is it really a good idea to tempt fate when you're already under a fairy curse?

Private Mountain

by Erin Halfelven

Chapter 3 - Sharp Dresser

For fairies, time is a flexible resource. It can be stretched or compressed to fit one's needs and convenience. Of course, if one isn't careful or paying close attention, time can slip through the grasp of even the canniest of fairies.

"Do this, Toomey. Then do that," Cullain Toomey muttered to himself as he set out along the green byways that fairies use to travel the wide world. As usual when unobserved, his accent tended to drift from Connaught to Cheapside, where he'd actually been born back in the days of gaslight and horse manure. "Oh, be a Seelie Knight, me mum said. Hobnobbing with the Fair and Fortunate. Running wee errands like fetching ice to cool her ladyship's drink from Mt. Kill-you-tomorrow. Nobody mentions the flippin' enormous hyenas they have in bloody Africa, do they?" He sighed, "I knew about the bloody lions, but what Unseelie horr'r thought up them hyenas?"

He groaned. "Now it's go to bleeding America and curse this child of an ancient curse on the First Full Moon of Summer. Then it's, oh, he's too young--she's too young!--to be cursed for something she didn't do, so go back and give her a fairy boon! Isn't that the idea of a family curse? That someone has done something so bleedin' awful as to make their innocent descendants suffer for it, too? I ask you?" He glared at an innocent kitten willow by the side of the path. The downy plant looked as if it had been eavesdropping, he thought, but it made no reply to his challenge.

Toomey snorted. "Powers preserve me from the Curiousity of Cats, the Friendliness of Dogs, and above bloody all, the Sheer Bloody-Mindedness of Bloody Hyenas!" he exclaimed in pained memory. He did a little dance for emphasis, shaking his fists at the sky and his feet at the earth.

Then the little man stopped stock still suddenly, staring. "Was this flippin' signpost here when I come this way before?" He glared about him suspiciously. Fairy woodlands stretched away from him on either side, full of strange fairy plants and animals, and no doubt, the even stranger denizens called fairies. Some of whom were not above trying to pull a trick on a traveler, even on a Seelie Knight.

Squinting a bit, Mr. Toomey read the sign, "America do Sud, this-a-way." He pointed. "America do Nord, that-a-way?" He pointed with the other hand, crossing his arms across his chest. Then he scratched his chin with one long, bony index finger after the other. "There's two of 'em?"

While Mr. Toomey wandered his dyspeptic, copasetic, peripatetic way back toward Bobbi Meehan's private mountain, many things could happen in the mortal world. Many things that Mr. Toomey might have prevented had he the will and the presence of mind; indeed, if he were present at all his very presence might have prevented them.

For now that Bobbi's existence has been illuminated by a fairie curse, other supernatural beings may take notice.

* * *

Bobbi and her mother left Perky's by the door into the mall after a satisfyingly high calorie breakfast. Eunice laughed, thinking about the restaurant staff mistaking her son for a girl. "We'll have to spell your name with an 'i' on the end," she teased.

Bobbi blushed, thinking that that would be cute. "Maybe I could draw a little heart over the 'i'?" she suggested, giggling, then she cringed a bit.

That was too much for Eunice. She giggled and snorted enough to embarrass Bobbi for a whole different reason. "Oh! Your father would...." but she stopped herself realizing that she might have to deal with Charlie Meehan's prejudices herself if what she suspected about Bobby turned out to be true. She wiped her eyes and sighed. "Oh, dear," she said quietly.

"Momma?" Bobbi asked quietly.

"What, honey?"

"You won't tell Daddy what happened today--in the restaurant?"

"No, I don't think I will," Eunice agreed. "But as long as we're arranging to keep secrets, is there anything you'd like to tell me?" She looked at Bobby with the patented, You-Might-As-Well-Confess-Now Mother's Gimlet Glare.

"I--I..." Bobbi stammered. On previous occasions she, well, he, had admitted to all sorts of trivial crimes and misdemeanors when subjected to the Glare. "I can't think," she said now. "I can't say it."

"Shall I guess?" Another Mother's Tactic. "You asked me earlier if I'd wished I had a daughter. Well, have you ever wished you were my daughter?"

Bobbi winced. "Something like that?" she said.

"It's your birthday," Eunice mentioned again. "As a birthday present, would you like to find out what it would be like to, well, to be a girl?"

Bobbi nodded before she could even fully take in the question. "I'm...I feel like..." but she couldn't articulate her dilemma, leaving her at the mercy of her mother's guesses about the true situation. My mom thinks I'm some kind of fruit, she cringed inwardly.

Eunice took a deep breath, wondering for a moment where this crazy idea had come from. "Okay, here's the deal. We're going to visit two more shops. If the shop people think you're a girl--without either of us saying anything one way or another--well, then, counting the restaurant, third time's the charm, huh?"

Bobbi swallowed hard.

"Okay?" her mother prompted, nodding.

"Okay," Bobbi agreed. "But how will we know?"

Eunice grinned. "We'll know."

'Third time's the charm' is a very old saying. Another longer version of it is, 'Once is chance, twice is coincidence, three times is policy.' Old sayings have a peculiar verity around fairies. So Eunice's choice of a second place of business didn't matter much; however, her decision about a third place for the Bobbi Test would matter a great deal.

"Here we go," said Eunice. "A t-shirt shop." She stopped in front of a colorful display of casual apparel under a sign reading, "Shangri-La and All That - A Magical T-Shirt Place". It wasn't really but the theme fit.

Bobbi cringed but started in.

"I won't say a thing," Eunice promised. "Just go in, tell them it's your birthday and your mom is going to buy you some shirts."

Bobbi nodded. Several times. Then she swallowed and looked at her mother with such an odd, lost look that Eunice wanted to grab her and hug her and tell her things would be okay. Instead she only nodded back. "Go on, try it."

Bobbi sighed and went into the store, really a narrow kiosk built into the mall. Her mother followed. Only the second test of Eunice's impromptu 'Three times the charm,' it didn't really matter much what happened here. But then, none of them knew that at the time.

Bobbi felt certain that she would pass the test, and that certain knowledge scared her. "I am a girl," she thought, "why shouldn't everyone else think I'm a girl?" Scary either way.

The old man running the little kiosk smiled at her or perhaps at Eunice or at both of them. His own shirt had a picture of the band ZZ Top, and the legend, 'Sharp-Dressed Man.' His name tag identified him as, "Roger Beard, Deadhead Plenipotentary," and he wore a small neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper goatee.

"Hi girls," he said cheerfully.

"Um, it's my birthday and Mom, says she'll buy me some shirts?" Bobbi asked, not really noticing that she had already convinced the man of her gender without saying a thing.

"Sure thing, darling," the man drawled. "Some for Mom, too?" He winked at Eunice.

Bobbi almost bolted, thinking at first that the wink had been aimed at her. She glanced at Eunice, who just smiled.

"Not today," Mrs. Meehan said, reflecting that she had been sure that this would happen, and why was that? Shouldn't it surprise her that her son had suddenly developed a talent at female impersonation? But it didn't.

Roger nodded. "Okay, so how old are you, punkin?" He leaned across the little counter to put his face a bit more on her level.

"I'm twelve, no, I mean, I'm thirteen today?" said Bobbi, uncertainly.

The old man nodded. "Yup. Well do you want shirts you can wear to school or ones just for fun? Or ones that will make you Dad say, you're not wearing that out of the house, young lady?" He grinned.

Bobbi and Eunice both chuckled a little nervously. "Just, just ones for fun, sir?"

"Sir!" Roger yelped and Bobbi flinched. "Now, what did I do to deserve you calling me 'sir'? Oh, guess it's because I'm older than your Mom?" He looked sad then winked again. "We've got a sale on, buy two and the third one is free." He waved at the store contents. "That's for everything in the store, but you got to buy two of the same thing--two shirts, or two coffee mugs, or two bumper stickers--to get the third one free. Okay?"

Bobbi nodded, a little confused. She hadn't even noticed that the little shop had such things as coffee mugs and bumper stickers. "I don't drink coffee," she explained.

Roger chuckled. Coming around the counter, he took Bobbi's had gently and led her to the display of teen babydoll tees. "Bet you're a size XS," he said. "You girls like to wear your shirts tight, I know you." He winked again, aiming this one at Eunice who frowned at him.

The old man, perhaps deciding he had pushed things a little too far, dropped Bobbi's hand to take down a bright fuchsia tee with

in gold and purple glitter on it. "How about this for starters?" he suggested.

Bobbi glanced at her mother. Eunice nodded, feeling just the tiniest bit disconnected from reality. A mental image of Bobby wearing the shirt came to her. So wrong, but she--he!--would look so cute in that! Eunice thought.

"Here's another," said Roger. A deeper rose pink, the second tee read in dark purple lettering:

Eunice and Bobbi both giggled at that one. That would probably kill Charlie if he saw Bobby wearing it, thought Eunice. So he'd better not see her! Him.

The pretty feminine colors thrilled Bobbi, she could hardly stop smiling. She knew she had seen her schoolgirl classmates wearing similar shirts last year and right then she wanted to be like all the other girls.

Roger, canny shop owner that he was, knew he'd made two sales alread. He turned to another rack of higher priced items and and picked a longer, dress-length tee in baby pink. A gray and purple cartoon kitten with big green eyes adorned the front of the tee. Red cartoon lettering said:

"Nightshirt tee," said Roger. "Good for at least a twenty percent raise in your allowance." He didn't quite leer but fortunately, neither Eunice nor Bobbi were looking at him. "Or you can wear it as a dress. You wanna try any of them on?"

Bobbi nodded a bit numbly. Roger showed her a narrow booth behind the sales counter where she could change. Obediently, she stepped inside, her fingers trembling a bit. In just a few moments, she would be wearing real clothes, girl's clothes. The yellow left over tee that had belonged to Bobbi seemed to itch, she could hardly wait to get it off.

"Close the curtain afore you do that, darlin', " drawled Roger. Blushing, Bobbi quickly pulled the heavy drape closed.

"She's a teenager, now," Roger remarked amiably to Eunice. "You gone have your hands full." He grinned and somehow contrived to waggle his goatee.

Eunice nodded. "I remember being that age," she remarked.

Roger laughed. "Bet you were a pistol," he said.

Boy crazy, thought Eunice. Well, not at thirteen but before I started high school. Heck, I married Charlie six days after my eighteenth birthday, New Years Eve, middle of senior year. She never had graduated and regretted that only occasionally.

A Christmas baby, her parents had christened her Eunice Noelle Biederbecker. Slightly more than sixteen years older, Charlie had turned thirty-four in October, almost twice her age. Eunice shivered, remembering.

Charlie Mean, they'd called him in his football days. College All Star defensive back, eleven years in the NFL before badly torn shoulder ligaments and other accumulated injuries had convinced him to take one of many offers to go into business.

He'd announced his retirement in mid-November that year after the news from the doctors that he'd need at least two operations and a year of therapy before he could safely continue knocking people down by using his body as a missile. "Couldn't wait to get out of Buffalo forever," he'd told the sportswriters. "Gonna move to Los Angeles; they don't have black ice, blizzards or even football there. I don't know that they even remember what it is. Suits me." It got a lot of laughs but it made a lot of his fans mad.

Not that all of Charlie Mean's fans were people who could be easily discouraged by a little sarcasm. Or even a lot; it just added to the legend of Charlie Mean.

Meehan had been a big improvement over Biederbecker, reflected Eunice. But that hadn't been why she married him.

They'd met the summer before at a party before the Bills training camp started. Eunice's boyfriend at the time, the rubber-armed saves leader of the local college baseball team, 'Noodles' Nussbaum, had wangled an invitation to the blowout for them through his coach.

Either that or they'd gate-crashed the party. Probably crashed. Noodles had never made the Big Show, at twenty-one he'd already been a junk ball pitcher, throwing assorted off-speed pitches, anemic fastballs, and a decent if not stellar curve. Funny that she couldn't remember his real first name, now. She could probably look it up, she knew he was a pitching coach in some non-Association midwestern minor league, Eunice considered. But why? She'd backed the right play, picked the right horse, worn the right jersey when she'd dumped Noodles there at the party and became Charlie Mean's latest 'Mean Squeeze'.

No one, not even Charlie, had known her underage status at first. Things had been hot but had cooled off when the season started and she had gone back to high school. She'd been watching the game in October when Riley Underwood of the Saints broke Charlie's shoulder with an illegal block that earned him a four game suspension.

She called the number she had for Charlie, left a message on the machine, and later that night he had called her back. "Hell of a birthday present," he'd slurred, his voice thick with pain-killers. "How about you come out here and keep me company while the doctors figure out if they can fix this?"

He'd bought the ticket for her with his credit card and six hours later, she took the evening flight to Houston where Charlie had been taken to see the shoulder specialists. In less than a week, it really was Charlie's birthday and by that time she must have been pregnant.

During the affair, her parents had been divided about Charlie and her relationship. On the one hand, Didi, her mother, had also married a football hero after a torrid underage romance. But Stack Biederbecker had been only a few weeks older, not a grown man in his thirties with two ex-wives. For his part, Stack considered Charlie one of the most underrated defensive players in the league, but shitfire!, this was his daughter! Still, he couldn't bring himself to tell her not to do as her heart led her. But it wasn't as if Charlie were a Steeler, the hometown favorite team of the little West Virginia village where her parents had grown up.

On Halloween, she'd slipped up and told Charlie that her eighteenth birthday would be on another holiday, two months away. Charlie had hit the ceiling. Literally, he'd been so angry he'd jumped into the air and punched out the light fixture in the hotel room. He'd used his right hand, not the injured left. He hadn't hit her though. After he stopped shouting, he gave Eunice all the money in his wallet and told her to get out of his sight.

She'd been back home with her parents when Charlie announced his retirement, tearful and worried that Charlie Mean had dumped her for good, now that he knew the truth. By Thanksgiving, she knew she was pregnant and a drugstore test kit confirmed it. Weeping, she'd called Charlie's number and left another message on his machine. He'd sent her $500 dollars and told her in a terse note that she knew what she had to do.

She did it. She bought a ticket to Los Angeles and paid for a cab ride to Charlie's apartment with her last fifty dollars. He'd been impressed. Charlie Mean respected her courage and go-for-it attitude. He played football the same way after he'd been told repeatedly that he wasn't quick enough for offense and nor big enough for defense. "Marry me and we keep the kid," he'd said. Not exactly the most romantic of proposals.

Thirteen years later, Charlie Mean was Chaz Meehan, vice-president of media operations for Numinous Entertainment Group. Eunice blinked, startled out of her remiscence by Bobby's emergence from the dressing booth.

Bobbi stood there shyly in the ankle length pink t-shirt with the 'Too Cute' legend. Her tiny breasts made little tents in the fabric and her hips flared just the slightest bit below her delicate waist. Her face glowed in pleasure and embarrassment. "I really like this one, Momma," she said softly. "Can I wear it while we shop?"

"I guess so, honey," Eunice mumbled, numbly. Now she knew what divided feelings over a child felt like. That's my son, she told herself, and she's beautiful.

Bobbi beamed. It was just a simple t-shirt but it was her first dress, her first female clothing. And it felt so good to be wearing it. There were a lot of other things she would need but it was a start.

Roger Beard beamed at them while Eunice paid for their purchases. It did seem to have made a big difference--Bobbi would certainly not be mistaken for a boy now--but in the long run it really didn't matter. It would all depend on which shop they chose for the third test, because the third time really could be the charm.