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Author's Note: Hi, This is the second story I've ever written. It's still incomplete. I hope you like it.

Feel free to archive or otherwise distribute, provided it (and this preamble) is unedited and no fee is charged for access. This story may not be distributed from any site that charges money, is members-only, or uses that ridiculous "adult check" thing (or any similar system).

All rights reserved by the author, who can be contacted at: [email protected] ~Becky

Image Credit: Picture purchased and licensed for use from 123RF.com Stock Photography.

The model(s) in this image is in / and are no way connected with this story nor supports nor conveys the issues and situations brought up within the story. The model(s) use is solely used for the representation of looks of the main character(s) of this particular story. ~Sephrena
 

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Chapter 19.  Thursday
 
 
Thursday night, as planned, I walked over to meet Marcia after she'd come home from school. Mrs. Wilson opened the door and greeted me. I wasn't sure, but I thought I detected something kind of strange about the way she said "Hi Jenny, Marcia's just up in her room." Maybe it was just paranoia.

Marcia and Becky were in her room.

"Ah! The victim!" Becky grinned maniacally, brandishing a curling wand. She and Marcia seized on my arms and dragged me to the chair in front of Marcia's dresser where all this had started a few weeks earlier.

The two of them went to work on me. Actually, Marcia did all the work, but Becky provided all the criticism. "Too *blonde*, she said to Marcia after Marcia had finished re-plucking my eyebrows into a slightly thinner arch and then applied different makeup. "What's with the pink lipstick?"

"Becky, not everyone wants to look like the queen of darkness, okay?" Marcia smiled. "Somehow I can't see Jenny's coloring working with the goth look, y'know?"

"Hmmm," Becky said grudgingly. "Just don't make her too, y'know, pretty. There are plenty of cheerleaders in the world already."

"Do you think we can match the makeup in some of those photos?" I asked.

"I don't think that's a very good idea, ma cherie," Marcia said. Those looks were, you know, for a fashion spread kind of thing. You're only going to a meeting, right?"

Eventually Marcia and Becky had my makeup done to their approval, and my grudging acceptance. Actually, I was glad of Becky's help for a change, since her suggestions had mostly been pretty good ones -- well, except for the black lipstick.

Marcia cleaned my face and then they showed me in detail the various things they had done. Then I had to clean my face again and do my makeup myself until I was able to duplicate the look. I had been doing my own makeup for a couple of weeks, but the tips Marcia gave me were worthwhile. She was good at this stuff. Years of practice pay off, I guess.

I had brought over the clothes that I had planned to wear next day in a plastic shopping bag: a blue blouse that Megan had given me and a white skirt. "Eeeuuwww!" Becky said as I stripped off my clothes and pulled on the skirt. "Unh unh, no way kiddo."

"What?" I said, thinking she objected to it because I wasn't wearing black.

"You're not trying out for secretary, right?"

"It's like that?" I asked, suddenly uncertain.

Marcia and Becky both nodded.

They ran through Marcia's wardrobe trying to find something. Becky suggested a pair of black pants and a silky silver-gray knit top, but I nixed that. Even though everyone had liked Mark's photographs of me, I thought maybe I wasn't big enough in the hips to carry off pants.

"Jenny, like, are you *completely* oblivious to the world? When was the last time you saw a model who looked like she had hips like *normal* women do? They all look like... Well, you know." Becky moved her hands up and down indicating straight lines.

"Yeah," Marcia said, "but Jenny might have a point there. Let's see what else we've got."

"No pants," I agreed.

"Marcia, look at her," Becky said. "She's skinny, but at least what she's got is all in her butt." That wasn't entirely true. I was skinny, but I didn't think my butt looked anything like Marcia's -- and especially not like the positively voluptuous Becky.

"I know, Becky, but she's got to feel comfortable, and if she feels uncertain, then it's not gonna work, okay?"

"I can't see how she's gonna model if she can't wear pants," Becky said insistently.

"We'll deal with that one when we come to it," Marcia said, in that tone of voice she used to indicate that her mind was made up and everyone else's had better damned well follow.

"Well, okay, but if she's not gonna try those pants on, I will," Becky said, beginning to strip off. Wow. Becky was curvy. Really curvy. Marcia was right when she said Becky had a spectacular body.

"Did I say *you* could borrow my clothes, Becky?" Marcia said, but I could tell she wasn't serious.

"What are friends for?" Becky grinned. "Anyway, you don't have enough black in your wardrobe."

We all smiled, especially when Becky found out the pants were too tight around her hips. She tried on several other things as well while I went through change of clothes after change of clothes. Then Marcia got into the spirit of the occasion and modelled a couple of her favorite dresses. I realized that even though I was in a room with almost totally naked girls that I felt no real sexual arousal. It was interesting, and they really both were gorgeous, but I had come to think of Marcia and Becky as friends. And I realized that I had almost come to think of myself as a girl, too.

I tried on another knit top, and had just pulled it over my head when Mrs. Wilson stuck her head around the door about a microsecond after knocking. Wow, was I glad that I had taped myself back in my panties, since I didn't have anything else on below the waist.

"Are you girls staying for dinner?" She asked.

"Gee, thanks Mrs. Wilson but I think I should be getting home," I said.

"That'd be great, Mrs. Wilson," Becky said straight away.

"Where abouts is it you live, Jenny?" Mrs. Wilson said, giving me one of those odd looks again.

"Mom, enough with the questions," Marcia said quickly. "You're always doing this. Actually, we thought we might go out for pizza later, if that's okay."

"Well, there's plenty of food," Marcia's Mom said doubtfully.

"Stay, Jen, okay?" Marcia said. "We still haven't found anything."

I was a little uncertain, since I wasn't really crazy about the way Mrs. Wilson had looked at me, but Marcia had *that* look in her eyes, the one that said she was gonna nag me if I said no, and she was right, we still hadn't settled on anything for me to wear tomorrow, and I really did want the help.

"Uh, okay, thanks, Mrs. Wilson," I said. She smiled, and seemed pleased, and the odd look she's had vanished. She went downstairs. "I should call my Mom, if that's okay," I said to Marcia.

Becky and I made calls. When we were finished Marcia held up a dress for me to try on, and I sighed. "Can we take a short break for a few minutes more?" I asked. "I just need to sit down and relax for a few minutes."

We sat around Marcia's room for a while, still mostly naked, and discussed what might happen at the meeting with the agent the next day. None of us had any real idea, of course, but that didn't stop us from speculating. I had learned in my few weeks as a girl that girl discussions aren't always about solving problems or planning things, sometimes they're just, well, about discussing things. Girls can talk about *stuff* all day. Boys want to talk about *things*. It mightn't sound like a big difference, but it is. Because stuff involves people, and how they act and all that, and things... well, things are just things.

I felt right at home.

We pulled on some clothes to go downstairs for dinner. I had stopped feeling so weird around Mrs. Wilson, and basically it was a pretty okay sort of meal, without anything odd about it except that I got the feeling Rob was studying me pretty intensely a few times. But he was kind of terrified of Becky for some reason, so he was mostly pretty quiet. Mr. Wilson led most of the conversation, but fortunately Becky and Marcia were able to deflect most of it away from me whenever he got close to asking questions about me. About the only one he got an answer to was his question about what my Dad did. "He runs his own company, Mr. Wilson. Something to do with computers." This seemed to leave him mildly dissatisfied, as though my father's profession was ignoble. I didn't want to elaborate and tell him my Dad's company was going really well since he'd moved to New York, since that would have given the game away, but fortunately the meal was pretty much over at that point and Marcia excused us from the table.

When we got back upstairs we continued trying on Marcia's clothes, looking for the perfect outfit for the meeting. After an hour we didn't seem any closer to finding something that all three of us thought worked for me. "I can't believe you have so many clothes, Marcia," I said. "I'm getting worn out."

"Jenny, if you're gonna be modelling you're going to have to get used to changing clothes a lot," Marcia said.

"Duh. I guess," I said, feeling foolish. But I was exhausted.

Finally Marcia held something up triumphantly. "Ta daa!" It was a simple blue sheath dress. It was the color of blue they use in photography, you know, there's like red, green and blue and that makes up everything? I can't remember the name of it, but it's a really brilliant color. If the dress had been at all fussy the color would have been too much, but it lifted the simplicity of the dress and made it something special. "I haven't worn this, ever," Marcia said. "It makes me look like I have fat legs, I don't know why I bought it."

"Yeah, right, Miss Fat Legs," I said sarcastically, taking the dress from her and wiggling it over my head.

"Y'know, I hate to admit it, but that's it," Becky said as soon as I had zipped the dress up at the back. "It's your color, kiddo." I still wished she'd stop calling me kiddo. Apart from anything else, it was so un-goth of her.

"Yeah," Marcia said. "That's it, for sure."

"You think so?" I asked, looking at myself in the mirror.

"Yeah, we think so," Becky said.

"Maybe Marcia was right. My legs do look kind of stumpy."

"Aaarrrrgghhhh!" Becky said as she raised her hands in exasperation. "You are *made* for this modelling business, girl!"

"Here," Marcia said, handing me a pair of strappy black sandals not unlike the ones Megan had given me, except that the heel on this pair was about an inch higher. "Try these on."

I put them on. "See?" Marcia said, "They make your legs look longer. You look fabulous, Jenny, but not overdone."

She was right. The heels increased my height by at least 3 inches, and made my legs look long and thin.

"I should wear pantyhose, right?" I said.

"Not with the sandals, kiddo," Becky said. "Anyway, with skin like yours, you don't *need* pantyhose."

"She's right, Jenny. What you need is a little fake tan, and a pedicure."

I got undressed down to my bra and panties, and Becky and Marcia wrapped me in a robe and ushered me down the hall and into the bathroom. There they spread fake tan all over my legs and arms and a little on my chest and neck. It felt pretty good, having them massage my body that way. Idly I wondered why having two girls rubbing me like that wasn't having the effect on my penis -- taped down or not -- that I would have expected. It felt nice, but not as erotic as I might have thought even a few weeks ago. Were my experiences with Paul changing me that much?

They left me in the bathroom on my own for about ten minutes until the fake tan absorbed completely into my skin. I blotted my skin with tissues to make sure there wasn't any residue that would come off on the robe or my clothes, and then went back to Marcia's room.

I got dressed in the clothes I had come over in and the three of us went downstairs to the living room. All of Marcia's family were elsewhere in the house, so the three of us sat around and watched television together for another hour or so, while we each painted one anothers' toes. Marcia chose a deep, almost blood red for mine, and Becky approved. I painted Marcia's in a demented shade of green that she'd picked up from somewhere and Marcia painted Becky's in -- what else -- black. "I bought it for Halloween last year," Marcia explained to me when I asked her if she was considering a goth look for herself.

At 10.00pm Becky's Dad showed up to collect her, and Becky made a big show of getting her Dad to drive me home too, I think just to give the Wilsons the impression I lived somewhere near her or something. Mr. Connor was pretty surprised when Becky told him to drop me just 50 yards down the road, but I got the feeling that he was used to odd requests from Becky. I thanked him for the ride and walked up the path to my front door. I told Mom and Dad I was pretty tired and went straight up to bed when I got in. It was the truth. Some days being a girl was exhausting!
 
 

 
Chapter 20.  Friday Morning
 
 
Mom had to wake me on Friday morning. With all the anticipation that was going into my meeting with the agent, I should have been buzzing and awake bright and early, but for some reason I overslept. It was a good thing I had picked out what I was going to wear the night before, because it was all I could do to get ready on time. Dad looked kind of bemused as I flung myself through the kitchen on the way to the car. "Running late, Dad," I said as I kissed him. "See you later!"

Mom was already in the car when I made it out. We stopped in town for gas and I grabbed a Danish from the store next door to the Chevron. It wasn't exactly the healthiest way to start the day, but I needed something in my belly to calm some of the jitters I was getting about the meeting we were going to. What the heck was I thinking -- that I was gonna do some modelling?!?

"Your father is meeting us down at the Doctor's office," Mom said, interrupting my funk. "I told him we were going to have lunch with Megan before the doctor's appointment, and you know how he feels about Megan."

"Yeah, I noticed. What is it with him and her?"

"It's a long story, Jen. Perhaps some time when he's not here." By here I guess she meant staying with us.

I wasn't sure whether deceiving Dad about the appointment with the agent was a good idea, but Mom seemed to have things under control, so I sat back and enjoyed the ride. I had brought along a Fiona Apple tape, which didn't seem to bother Mom as much as some of the other music I played, and I listened to that as Mom drove.

As we got closer to LA I had a brief moment of panic. Was it, like, fraudulent or anything to be going to this agency and pretending I was a girl? They were probably going to get me to sign something, right? I started sweating with nervousness.

"Uh, Mom?"

"Yes honey?"

"Ummm...."

"Don't say 'Ummm'," she said crossly. "Think before you speak."

"Yes Mom. Ummm... " I couldn't help it! "I was just thinking. Should we, uh ... do you think we should tell this guy the truth? About me, I mean?"

"What do you think?" I wished she would stop answering my questions with questions. She'd been doing that a lot, recently.

"Well, is it, like, illegal?"

"I don't think so, Jenny. I seem to recall reading somewhere that you can call yourself any name you like, so long as you're not ... Oh, I see. Yes. You will have to sign your name, won't you?"

"Well, actually, I was thinking that it's probably more likely that you will have to sign on my behalf."

"Yes, I suppose that's true." Mom thought for a moment. "On the other hand, I can't imagine you'll get any work at all if you tell them the truth, and I can't imagine why you should have to tell them the truth. You *won't* be doing any nude work, young lady!"

"Duh! Mom, I don't even know what's involved in modelling!" I said. "But I mean, when Mark took those pictures, I was almost naked in the dressing room a lot of the time, and ... well, you know, Andrea -- that's Mark's makeup artist -- you know, she noticed things about, you know..."

"I think," Mom said firmly, "That we should see how this meeting goes first, and then work out all of that. You never know. They might decide that you're not as wonderful as they thought you were, and the whole deal could fall through."

"I guess..."

Somehow I had the feeling I was setting myself up at the top of a very steep dip in a rollercoaster, and we were about to set the thing in motion.
 

 
We arrived at the agency about ten minutes early. At first we weren't sure if it was the right place, since there were no signs on the building to indicate what it might have contained. But the street number was correct, so Mom found a parking space for the car in a side street a little further down Wilshire Boulevard and we walked back to the agency.

The building wasn't especially large, and from the outside it looked fairly uninspiring. Just a bland glass and cement block with some kind of rough finish to the unpainted cement. The lobby was pretty understated, too, except for a single large painting behind the security desk. Mom announced our names to the guard and he consulted a list before asking us to catch the elevator to the second floor.

When we got out of the elevator we found ourselves in a second lobby. A very beautiful Asian woman in her mid-twenties sat at a glass-topped table with nothing but a telephone and a laptop computer in front of her. She smiled as we stepped out of the elevator. I'd never seen such a beautiful woman before. In the flesh, I mean. I'd seen them in magazines, but this woman was... well, almost perfect. She was wearing a short black dress, which rode up on her thighs as she was sitting at the table, which I guess was supposed to function as some kind of desk for her, although I couldn't see how she could work at it considering there was no place to put anything. She had her legs crossed, I suppose because everyone who came out of the elevator could see right through the table at her legs and if she hadn't crossed them any guy would have looked right up her dress.

It seemed like a really impractical working arrangement to me. I thought to myself that it was almost certainly a guy who figured it would be a good idea to display her like this.

Mom introduced us.

"Yes, Mrs. Miller. I'll let Bob's assistant know you're here. Won't you please take a seat?" She indicated a plush leather couch at the side of the reception area, beneath a large abstract painting, then pushed a button on the phone and announced us.

My mother drew a breath as we turned to the couch and the painting. "That's a Rothko," she whispered to me. I didn't know what that meant, except that Mom was impressed. She had studied art in college and I figured she'd know if the painting was supposed to be good or something, so I stood there with her and looked at it instead of sitting down. I was pretty incredibly nervous, if you want to know the truth, and so I really wanted to sit down, but I figured we might never be back here and so I stood with Mom and we looked at the painting, which was nothing much except for two rough oblongs of blue and black surrounded by a border of orange. Except the blue and black looked like they were floating above the orange, and the blue seemed almost black next to the orange, but not quite that dark next to the black.

It wasn't bad, if you like paintings that are just blue and black and orange.

"It gets you in, doesn't it," a voice behind us said. We turned and saw another young woman, this one maybe twenty-one at most and beautiful but not quite as exotic as the woman at the desk. She extended her hand to my mother, who took it. "I'm Linda Krauss," she said. "Bob Naughton's assistant." She turned to me. "And you must be Jenny. Bob's ready for you now, if you'll just come this way."

We walked down the corridor behind her and she made small talk about our drive down to L.A. When we got to a door she knocked once before opening it without a response, and then ushered us into an incredibly huge office. The wall near the door was covered in photographs of *really* famous people standing with a pudgy looking guy, maybe 40 years old. The pudgy guy, who I took to be Bob Naughton, was sitting at a desk on the other side of the room, talking on the phone using one of those headset things that I'd only ever seen receptionists wear, and writing something on one of those little handheld PDA devices. He looked up as we entered and gestured to the couches at the far end of the room, while still talking on the phone. Linda ushered us over to the seats and asked us if we'd like anything to drink. Mom declined, but I asked for a water, and Linda left to get it.

We sat down. I tried to be as ladylike as I could, but I was so nervous I felt like I was sweating right through the dress as obvious as all hell.

Linda returned with a bottle of Evian and a glass with some ice in it, then opened the bottle and poured it for me. Then she smiled and winked at me before leaving again.

I was kind of puzzled. "I think that was for luck," Mom said softly.

I tried not to gulp the water. I was sweating like crazy. Maybe that's why I was so thirsty.

The pudgy guy finally finished his phone call and took the headset off his head. Then he stood and walked over to us. We both stood up as he approached. "I'm Bob Naughton," he said. "I'm very pleased to meet you Katherine. May I call you Katherine?" He took Mom's hand as he said this, then turned to me and took mine. "And Jennifer. Very pleased to meet you. Please sit back down."

He had a strange accent -- it seemed mostly English, but he must have been here a long time because it wasn't strong. I guessed it was what people meant when they said 'mid-Atlantic'.

We sat. I was very aware of him looking me over, but then I guess that was why I was there. I was kind of looking him over, too. He wasn't exactly what I had expected. I think I had expected that he would be better looking. He was overweight, and his hair was receding. His suit looked expensive, and the office furnishings were expensive, but he looked out of place in such opulent trappings.

Before he said anything else Linda came back in carrying a small tray with a plunger of coffee and a little metal cup and saucer, which she set down in front of Bob. Then she took a notebook from the corner of Bob's desk and came and sat in one of the seats next to him.

Bob started off the meeting by thanking us for coming in, and then asked us how often we got to come to L.A. Mom mentioned that her sister lived here, so we came about once every six to eight weeks. "More regularly, recently," she concluded.

"Would you mind me asking how old you are, Jenny. Do you prefer Jenny, or Jennifer?"

"Uh, Jenny is fine," I said. I told him I was fifteen, and still a ways off sixteen. I wondered if that would be a problem.

"If we represent you, Jenny, it would mean being in L.A. a lot. Would that be a problem for you?"

I looked at Mom. "No, I guess not," I said. "I can always stay at Megan's, right Mom?"

"Yes, I'm sure that would be fine," she said.

"What about other travel?"

"My Dad lives in New York --" I began, but Mom interrupted.

"-- Before we get into details like that, Mr. Naughton --"

"-- Please. Call me Bob."

"-- Bob, perhaps you could tell us what you believe you could offer Jenny."

Naughton looked at Mom like he was reappraising her. That was smart of him. Mom was a pretty sharp businesswoman, even if she had been unemployed for a while.

"Well, Katherine, our agency is quite well established. We have one of the finest client lists around." He waved his arm at the wall covered in photographs. "My personal clients include some of the most prominent models and actresses in the world." He paused while he depressed the plunger and poured himself coffee. "It is not often I take on a young woman with no experience. I was told you have no experience, Jenny, is that right?"

"I guess so," I said.

"That's right," Mom said. She was always on at me to be more precise in my choice of words. She hated it when I said stuff like 'whatever' and 'I guess'.

"So, to some extent, Katherine, Jenny is very fortunate. Donna -- one of the most influential people in this business -- liked what she saw when she was at Mark Broussard's the other day, and it's at her request that we agreed to this meeting." Linda handed him an envelope and he drew the photographs from it and arrayed them on the table.

"You don't have to do us any favors, Mr. Naughton," Mom said. I poured myself some more water. Mom was playing pretty hard. It actually relaxed me. If I didn't get any work as a model, it would probably not be because of anything I'd done wrong!

"We won't be doing that, Katherine." He moved the photographs around on the table and then sat back again. "And call me Bob, please. I see that you have Jenny's interests at heart. I'm very encouraged by that. Many girls, well..." he made a gesture of despair with his hands, "their mothers push them too hard. It distresses me. What can I say?"

"From what I understand, Mr. Naughton, this is a hard business."

"Yes, it is, Katherine. But, as I said, I'm encouraged by your concern... " Bob paused as I poured myself some more water.

"My part in all this," he said, leaning forward over the coffee table, "is to get as much work for my clients as possible. But it's also to make sure their interests are protected, and sometimes that means turning down work, because it's too much to take on, or because -- and this is the critical part -- it's the wrong kind of work."

My opinion of Bob went up as he turned to address me directly. "Jenny, if you do decide to sign with us, we'll be working for the long term, not just the quick dollar. We like to build careers, because *all* we have," he waved his arm around, "depends on the people we have. They're our assets. If we don't do the right thing by them, our business fails."

He sat back in his chair again. "I think you can see that business is not failing," he said, smiling.

"I think we have an understanding, then, Mr. Naughton," Mom said.

"Good. I think we will enjoy our relationship, Katherine. There are other agencies that might be interested in representing Jenny, but I think you will find we can offer her more... more quality in terms of the work she attracts."

Mom touched her hand to my knee. "Perhaps, Mr. Naughton, you could give Jenny a better idea of what will be required."

"Before we get to that, I think we need to learn a bit more about Jenny," Bob said. "Jenny, perhaps you could tell me a little more about yourself, and what your interests are."

Uh oh. I was momentarily speechless. I could see Linda poised with pen and notepad to write down whatever pearls of wisdom fell from my lips, but there were no pearls to be had. What was I interested in? Who was I? I had been wrestling with that myself these last few weeks.

"Ummmm," I let that out before I realized how much it would bug Mom. "Well... I'm fifteen, you know that already. Um, I guess, I don't know..."

"Have you always lived in ..." he turned to Linda.

"Santa Rosita," Linda offered.

"... Santa Rosita?" Bob finished.

"Most of my life," I said. "We were in San Diego until I was six."

"Tell me about Santa Rosita, then," Bob said.

I started off talking about the town, and about our house, and Mom and Dad being separated (Mom blushed, for some reason), and about my friends Marcia and Becky, and then, at Bob's prompting, about school.

"I bet you break a lot of hearts at school," Bob said, smiling, as much to me as my Mom.

"I break a lot of something," I retorted. Like, what a dumb thing to say. My opinion of Bob went back down. He asked me what I liked at school, and I thought that was a pretty stupid question, too. But then, I reasoned, he was probably just being polite. Why would he possibly care less about the subjects I was good at? "I'm okay at most things, I guess."

"She has excellent grades," Mom said.

Bob asked whether I wanted to continue through school, or whether I would take up modelling full-time.

"I hadn't thought of it as an either-or proposition," I said.

"It doesn't have to be, Jenny," Bob said. "But we don't generally take on clients who aren't committed to building their careers." I could see that what he was saying made sense, and he could see that I was perturbed about not finishing school.

"I want to graduate," I said. "Like, I know it's kind of early to say, but I was thinking college, too."

Don't get me wrong, I'm not the smartest kid in the class. But I just naturally pick up on subjects, I guess, because I like to read. "I like to read," I said to Bob, feeling relieved that I had thought of something that I liked that might add to my character description.

"You'll have *lots* of time for that, Jenny," Bob said, smiling. "Look, I can't *guarantee* you a lot of work until we see how your first few jobs pan out. So I don't know how much your schooling will be disrupted. But if you do as well as everyone seems to think you will, you will be spending a lot of time working, and that could interfere with your studies.

"Of course," he concluded, "If you spend a *lot* of time working we can think about private tutors. It depends on the kind of work."

"What kind of work do you think I might be doing?" I asked.

"Aah. Well, here we get to the nitty gritty, Jenny. Could you stand up for me and turn around, please?"

I stood, and turned around awkwardly. I felt a bit like a horse being inspected for purchase or something.

"How tall are you?" he asked as he looked me up and down.

"About five seven," I said.

"That's roughly what I thought. No catwalk for you."

"Why not?" Mom asked.

"Sit down, please Jenny. Katherine, no-one under 5'10" does catwalk modelling, and it helps if you're over six feet. Don't be too disappointed. Frankly catwalk is a bitch of a job -- excuse my language -- and the scene is too hyped up for my tastes.

"So Mr. Naughton," Mom began

"-- Bob," he said.

"Bob," Mom continued. "If she's not tall enough for catwalk modelling, what can she do?"

"I think Jenny is better suited to editorial. Magazine work," he concluded.

"What does that involve?" I asked.

"Generally the same thing I imagine you did for these photographs," Bob said. "You model clothes for a particular article or advertisement. You might get some TVC work, we'll see."

"TVC?" Mom said.

"Television Commercial," Bob said. "That will depend on how Jenny tests onscreen. Some people do very well in still photographs but don't move well enough to do TVCs."

"Does television pay better?"

"It depends on the product, Katherine. There aren't usually any residuals in fashion advertising, but other products can involve ongoing payments depending on the durability of the ad." He paused and looked back through the photographs. "Because she's not tall that could be a problem, too. In TVC work you are frequently working with other people, and in stills you can usually fake height, but it's harder when there's movement involved."

"If I'm not really suited to this, Bob," I asked kind of timidly, "Why are you even thinking about representing me?"

"Well" Bob paused. He spoke to Mom instead of me, which got me kind of pissed at him. "Here's the funny thing. See, if Jenny had just walked in off the street, I couldn't find her work, because everyone would look at her stats and just say 'no' straight off. She couldn't even get in the door at Ford. But... well... the thing is, it's these photographs."

"These photographs that Mark took?" I asked, immediately feeling stupid. Like, what other photographs were there? I guess I just wanted him to explain all this to me, instead of talking to Mom all the time.

"Yes, these. I wasn't going to tell you this, Jenny, but quite a few people have seen these photographs. They've totally blown people away. As I said earlier, people are always looking for a fresh look, and there's something about you, in these photographs, that says 'look at me' in a way that people are really excited by. And they can't tell how tall you are in these. You are thin enough, and you certainly have a 'look'. You look *right*.

"So, yes, you have quite a lot of potential doing magazine work," he continued. "Plus, you're still young enough that you have a long career ahead of you. And I won't beat around the bush, here, Jenny. This agency succeeds because we build long-term relationships with our clients. If we don't do the right thing by you, you'll leave us, and then our investment of time and money on you will be wasted. It's in our interest to find young, fresh girls like you and sign them -- and *keep* them."

Bob outlined the range of possible assignments he could envisage, depending on the clients he could find for me. Most of them sounded like they would be similar to the stuff I had done for Mark, and I felt more confident about that, although I had another flash of panic when I thought about having to get as naked as I did then for future work.

As though she had read my mind, Mom interrupted to insist that I should not be involved in any nude work. Bob raised his eyebrows for a moment, but said "Of course, Katherine. We're interested in quality work for Jenny."

He paused, and then addressed me instead of Mom. "Your main selling point is that you have a certain look, Jenny. A little Kate Moss, you could stand to put on some weight. But I think you have class, too. We'll be playing that up. We won't be sending you on jobs we think will hurt that image."

Then Bob asked me if I had any acting experience, and I said that I had tried out for drama club last year but had only ever worked backstage.

"No big deal," he said. "We'll arrange to get you a test. Linda, can you schedule that?"

She nodded. I began to get that panic back. Tests. Someone was bound to see through me eventually.

"So, what do you think, Jenny?" Bob asked finally. "Would you be interested in signing with us?"

I tried to fight down my urge to run screaming from the room.

"I don't think I'm as pretty as some other girls I know," I said, trying to backpedal. "Like Marcia," I added for Mom's benefit.

"Well, she's complaining about her looks, she's off to the right start," Bob joked with Linda and Mom like it was the funniest thing he'd heard.

He turned back to me and said, seriously, "Pretty I don't need. Pretty is cheesecake. Pretty will get you a shot at the Miss Kansas title and a spread in Playboy, Jenny. High fashion is something different altogether. What we want -- what fashion people want -- is arresting good looks, not merely pretty faces."

"But..."

"I can't believe I'm having to talk you into this," he said, exasperated. To Mom, he said "Does she really want to do this?"

Mom looked at me. "Jenny?"

"Yes, I think so, but -" I began.

"-Think of a pretty high fashion model," Bob interrupted. "Name one."

"Uh... Linda Evangelista," I said. Hers was the first name that came into my head.

"Ha!" he scoffed. "She's not pretty, Jenny. She's got an unforgettable set of cheekbones, and she's beautiful, but I can tell you now, if she heard you call her pretty she'd tear out your heart and have you eat it for lunch. She's *striking*. She's *beautiful*. She's not *pretty*.

"See, Jenny," he continued, "high fashion is not about selling to men. It's about selling to women, but more particularly it's about selling to the industry. The industry is always searching for a new look, a new face. In some years it's the waif look, in other years it's the androgynous look, some other years again it's the punk look. This year," he reflected, "I think we're seeing all of them, for different assignments.

"What you have," he concluded, "is beauty. And beauty beats pretty hands down. Trust me on this."

I looked over at Mom. My stomach was doing aerobics of its own accord. But she nodded, and I nodded.

Bob smiled. "Good!" He stuck out his hand, and I shook it, and then Mom shook it. "Jenny, Katherine, you'll enjoy this. This is going to be great! Donna has already asked for you to do a spot for them next week, Jenny."

"I suppose it was in your interests to get us to sign, then," Mom said wryly.

"I won't lie, Katherine, we think Jenny is going to be a big asset to the agency." Bob said. He rubbed his hands together. "Now, terms... I suppose you've been told already?"

I shook my head, and Mom said "Please explain them to us."

"It's very simple. We take 15%. There will be some expenses up front, head shots, that sort of thing. You already have a head start on a lot of girls with those photographs, Jenny, and they'll stand in stead of a working folio. The fact that Mark Broussard took them is a big plus."

He looked at me closely. "How did you get Mark to do these?"

"He's my uncle." I said.

Bob's eyebrows shot up and he looked the photographs again. "Uncle, huh? Lucky you."

He looked back up at me. "Your expenses will be deducted from your first month's earnings. I expect you to earn more than enough in the next week or so to make us all very happy, so I wouldn't worry about that if I was you."

He stood up, as a signal that our meeting was over. As we walked to the door he put his hand in the small of my back to guide me, and I jumped a little.

"One more thing..." Bob said. "Perhaps you could give some thought to another name?"

Mom and I looked at one another, and then at Bob.

"I don't want to offend you, but Jenny Miller is... " He shrugged.

"Do you have any suggestions?" Mom asked.

"Perhaps it's something we can all think about over the weekend," Bob said. He opened the door. "Linda will make some appointments for you, Jenny. Katherine, we'll send out the paperwork this afternoon. If you could give Linda the name of your lawyer, that will speed things up."

That was it. I guess I was officially a model. The rollercoaster had gained speed.
 
 

 
Chapter 21.  Friday Afternoon
 
 
Before we left the agency I realised I needed to go to the ladies room. I guess I had drunk too much water. Mom accompanied me and we both touched up our makeup.

"Mom?" I asked as I finished fixing a strand of my hair that had come astray.

"Yes honey?"

"Do you honestly think this is a good idea?"

"You can say no at any time, Jenny."

"Okay, I guess."

"Do you want to say no?"

"No. I mean, no I don't want to say anything. I guess since we just said yes inside it would seem pretty strange if I backed out now, wouldn't it?"

"Don't you worry about what would seem weird. Just do what you feel comfortable with."

"Okay, Mom. Thanks." I gave her a long hug. It felt good.

Mom drove us up to Sunset Boulevard to meet Dad at a cafe before our appointment with Dr. Colquhoun. Dad already had a table out on the sidewalk when we arrived. I could feel the eyes of a couple of young guys at a table a few feet away glued to me as I approached Dad's table, and I felt uncomfortable for a moment until I realized they were staring at me because they liked the way I looked, not because they wanted to beat me to a pulp. I looked over at them briefly as I sat down, smoothing my dress under me. The one closest to me was thin and weedy, but his friend was actually pretty cute. I smiled and turned to Dad, who had stood up as we approached and was sitting back down again.

"D'you see that, man. She likes you!" I overheard the weedy guy say.

"Hi Daddy," I said, and smiled. I heard the cute guy tell his friend to shut up.

"How was Megan?" he said to both of us.

I blushed, but Mom stepped in. "Oh, she was fine, thanks." Obviously Dad wasn't gonna get to know about the modelling for a while yet. "How was your trip down?" Mom asked.

"Fine. Except the damned rental has developed some problem with wheel alignment. It was fine when I got it on Saturday, but it shook all the way here. I'll be glad to give it back."

"When are you returning it?"

"Well, I was planning on going back Monday, but... " Dad seemed like he didn't want to continue.

"But?" Mom said.

"I think I'd better be getting back tonight, for the sake of domestic harmony," Dad sighed wearily. He meant his relationship back in New York, with a woman named Alison something that Mom and I had never met. I noticed Dad always refrained from using her name in front of Mom. That was probably smart.

"Oh," Mom said flatly. Fortunately the waiter came and took our order for coffee and interrupted the moment. Then we saw Eddie Murphy get out of a black Mercedes across the road and walk to another cafe. I asked Dad if he went to the movies at all in New York. Dad was pretty much a movie buff, so that got him started on a long dissertation about the last couple of shows he'd seen. Mom smiled at me and I knew she knew I'd changed the subject on purpose. I disagreed with Dad on a couple of points which kept him going for a while.

After we'd had our coffees and Dad had finished talking about movies it was getting close to our appointment time with the doctor and I was starting to get nervous again. I looked at Mom pleadingly and said I had to use the bathroom, and she and I went together again.

In the ladies room Mom and I fixed our lipstick and she hugged me and reassured me again. "It will all be okay, Jenny. Just relax."

"I guess." I said. "At least Dad's feeling comfortable enough to think he can go back to New York."

"I don't know whether comfort had anything to do with it, unless you mean not getting harangued by Alison." Mom smiled, and I laughed.

We each checked our appearances in the mirror, and went back out to the sidewalk.

"Daddy, about Dr. Colquhoun..." I began, as we walked back to the table. Dad had settled the check and had stood up as we approached.

"Yes?"

"Your friend who arranged this..."

"Jeff Braun. He's a doctor too. He organised it as a special favor." He put his hand on my arm to guide me away from the table.

"What did he say to Dr. Colquhoun about me. What did you say?"

"I told Jeff that you had some gender issues to work through, honey." I was shocked. Dad used the word 'honey'. He must have realised it too, because he withdrew his hand and looked confused.

"I, uh, I didn't say much more than that." He was turning red. "Don't worry. Jeff said Dr.Colquhoun has had a lot of experience with those kinds of issues."

Those kinds of issues. We walked across the street to Dr. Colquhoun's office.
 

 
Dr. Colquhoun's office was in this funny timber building that looked like it belonged in the 18th century, with little attic windows on the second floor. It looked kind of incongruous amongst the other modern buildings on this part of Sunset Boulevard. Dad held the door for Mom and me as we entered. There was a reception room to the left of the main door, and I followed Mom in. I was much more nervous about this visit than I had been about the visit to Dr. Adams. Maybe that was because Dad was with us this time. Or maybe it was because whether or not I continued as Jenny depended on the results of this visit.

As I entered the reception area my eyes settled on the two people at the other side of the room. One was a boy about my age, perhaps a year or two older. He reminded me a little bit of Paul's friend Steve, maybe because he had a little goatee, except he looked a lot shorter. The other was an enormous person in a hideous red and pink floral dress. I'm probably being cruel, saying 'person', but 'woman' wasn't the first word that came to mind. I noticed my Dad doing a double take when he came in behind me, and then watch his eyes look for almost anything else to settle on. I'm not sure exactly what came over me at that moment but I reached over and took his hand and smiled at him reassuringly. He seemed to like that, which was good. I kept holding his hand.

Mom introduced us to the receptionist. I noticed she said 'Jenny' when she got to my name. The receptionist looked slightly puzzled, but only for a moment. I figured she probably had my name listed as Chris, but since this place had lots of experience 'with those kinds of issues' -- as Dad had put it -- she made the connection.

The three of us sat at the side of the reception area and waited. A few moments after we sat down a gray-haired guy in his fifties or sixties -- I'm not sure, but he was older than Dad -- walked into the room and looked at all of us sitting there. I presumed he was Doctor Colquhoun, since he was carrying a folder with someone's name on it and he looked kind of doctorly. "Chris Abrahams?" he asked.

The boy next to me put down the magazine he was reading and followed the doctor down the passageway. I wondered what he was doing seeing the Doctor. He sure wasn't going to cut it as a girl, I thought to myself, even if he lost the goatee. Maybe Dr. Colquhoun had a more diverse practise than Dad knew about.

The receptionist came over with a clipboard that had a couple of forms on it. "Mr. Miller? You'll need to fill this out, sir." I looked across at the form as Dad began to fill it out. He got to my date of birth and stopped to think for a moment.

"Daddy!"

"Hmmm? What?"

"You don't even remember my birthday?"

Dad had the grace to look embarrassed. "Well, I...

"August 16th," Mom said helpfully. "Nineteen Eighty-Five," she added, in case he embarrassed himself again.

Dad filled out the rest of the form, with a couple of prompts from Mom, and gave it back to the receptionist, and the three of us sat there reading magazines. The receptionist apologized for the delay, which was nice of here, but we weren't really in any rush so it wasn't any bother. The boy came back into the reception area about 20 minutes later and gave something to the receptionist. While he was waiting for her to make another appointment he looked over at me and smiled. I smiled back, but I blushed as well and turned my eyes back to the magazine. A few moments later he had left, and Dr.Colquhoun had come back into the waiting room and wordlessly looked at the person in the red and pink dress. They both went into his office.

A few minutes later a woman came in for her appointment. I figured she was around Mom's age. When I looked at her closely I could see that she had probably been a man a while ago. There was something about her eyes, and her chin. And the size of her hands, when I looked carefully. She looked pretty good, though, and when she spoke to the receptionist to introduce herself she sounded just like any other woman her age. If we hadn't been in a place where I knew there were transvestites and stuff I probably wouldn't have noticed anything strange about her at all.

I thought to myself that maybe not all the transvestites in the world were like the ones on Jerry Springer.

It wasn't until about an hour after our scheduled time that Dr Colquhoun came out to see us. "The Millers, I presume?" He asked, shaking my Dad's hand and ushering us down the hall to his office.

I was really nervous as we sat down in his office. He had to get two chairs from the side of the room and move them closer to his desk so we could all sit there, so it took a moment before we were seated. I sat with my hands folded in my lap, waiting for whatever questions he wanted to ask me.

But he didn't ask me anything at first. Instead he began by talking to Dad jovially about their mutual friend, Jeff Braun, who apparently was some kind of amateur golfing legend. Mom and I exchanged glances and groaned inwardly. It was never a good idea to start Dad off talking about golf.

Finally they got to the point. "So," Dr. Colquhoun said. "Jeff tells me you've been having some difficulties, Jenny."

"Um... I guess."

"Would you like to tell me about it?"

I looked at Mom, and then at Dad, and shrugged my shoulders. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Well, perhaps you could start at the beginning. How long have you felt like a boy?"

"Huh?" From the corner of my eye I noticed Dad slump in his seat.

"Do you feel uncomfortable talking in front of your parents?"

"I guess. But, ummmm..."

"I don't think Jeff was very clear, Dr. Colquhoun. She... He's a boy. His name is Chris," Dad said. He was blushing. I don't think I'd ever seen Dad blush.

"Oh. Of course," Dr. Colquhoun said, looking down at his folder. "My assistant seems to have put the wrong name in the brackets this time." I figured he was just covering up for his own mistake.

He looked back up at me. "Well, Chris, you, ah... you do seem to be very comfortable as Jenny. I wouldn't have known."

Somehow I couldn't really believe that. This was a guy who saw transvestites all day long and he couldn't tell I wasn't a girl? I guess that was good, even if it didn't seem very likely. But then his initial mistake seemed genuine. I didn't know what to say.

When I didn't say anything at all he turned back to Mom and Dad. "Perhaps I could get your perspectives on this first, and then talk to Jenny -- ah, Chris -- separately."

Dad began to tell the Doctor about how he had come home last Saturday and I had answered the door. There was a lot of emotion in his voice. I realized again that I had probably hurt him, and I felt uncomfortable about that. But then I hadn't known he was going to be the one at the door. I idly wondered if I would have changed and gone back to Chris if I had known it was him. I reflected that I wouldn't have had the time to do that, and anyway -- as Dad discovered later --people didn't seem to think I looked like a guy anymore even if I wore guy clothes.

After Dad had talked for a few minutes Dr. Colquhoun turned to Mom and asked her for her version of my story. Mom began a lot further back, when I was a kid. It was funny to hear her talk to him almost like I wasn't there. She said that when I was little I had always played with her clothes and makeup a lot. I didn't remember that at all. She must have noticed me staring at her because she turned to me and said "Do you remember any of this?" I shook my head.

Mom went on, and said that I had thrown tantrums when I was two about having my hair cut, and then talked about how I had always seemed more like a girl when I was a baby. Dad made "hmmph" noises when she said that.

Then the two of them gave slightly conflicting versions of their separation, and my Dad admitted, grudgingly, that he hadn't had very much contact with me since he had left Mom. "That doesn't mean I don't care," he said, turning to me. I took his hand again. "I came as soon as your mother told me you needed help," he continued.

"It's okay, Daddy," I said, and smiled. I don't know why I was being so nice to him. He did run off and leave us both. And he was going back to New York tonight.

Dr. Colquhoun asked Mom and Dad a few questions about their long-term plans so far as their relationship went, and they both said they couldn't ever see a way to get back together again, but that they both wanted the best possible life for me. Dad squeezed my hand when he said that. I squeezed back.

Then Dr.Colquhoun asked me a bunch of questions about my schoolwork, and about what I liked to do in my spare time. I gave pretty simple answers. Then he asked me to describe how I felt about dressing up as a girl. I looked at Dad, awkwardly, and hesitated before replying. Dr. Colquhoun must have noticed that, because he interrupted and said to my parents that he'd like to talk to me alone. Dad gave my hand a squeeze again before he stood up and he and Mom went out into the waiting room again.

Dr. Colquhoun had stood as my parents left, and now he came and sat on the edge of his desk to talk to me. "I'm sorry about the mistake earlier. Thinking you were wanting to change into a boy," he said.

"Do I look like I'm dressed like a boy?" I asked, waving my hands over my dress.

"That's not often a good guide, Jenny, when I have patients who come in with their parents. You could have been a girl whose parents made her dress up specially for this appointment. To tell the truth I'm surprised, given his feelings on the subject, that your father didn't make you come here dressed as a boy."

"He wanted me to," I said. "But when I tried to go back to being a boy for him a couple of days ago he didn't like it. He said I looked like a freak when I was in boys clothes, you know, because my eyebrows are plucked and everything."

"You do make a very attractive girl, Jenny. I'm surprised nobody noticed it until recently."

I sighed. "Well, Mom and Marcia both said they knew this was gonna happen..."

"Marcia?"

"She's my best friend. She lives next door."

"Do you have any male friends, Jenny?"

I blushed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean friends at school."

"I, uh, I don't really fit in, I guess."

"No-one at all?"

"There's Tony, I guess. He's kind of a loner, too. We hang together sometimes. But we don't really see each other outside school."

"Anyone else?"

I blushed again.

"You have a crush on someone?"

"I, uh... Uh huh. I guess."

"A boy, I suppose?"

"Yes." I told him all about my experience with Paul, and then he wanted to know how I felt about all of that, and I couldn't help it, I told him that when I was with Paul I wished I was really a girl, and how I felt like I was somehow letting Paul down because I wasn't, really.

"Did you want to be a girl before you met Paul?"

I thought for a moment. "I think maybe I did, but I didn't really think of it that way until people started treating me like one. Does that make sense?"

"Yes."

"But, you know, I don't want to be weird."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, I don't think... I don't want to end up like a transvestite."

"A transvestite? Is there something wrong with that?"

"Well, you know, it's..."

"Do you like dressing up like a girl?"

"It's not that. It's... you know?"

He didn't say anything. Rats. I had to think of what I really meant.

"It's, well... I like it when people think of me as a girl..."

"So it's not just dressing up?"

"No. I mean, I like the clothes and all, but..."

"Now, Jenny, there's nothing wrong with being a transvestite. Truly. I think I should arrange for you to meet some people that might change your mind about that. But have you ever heard of transsexuals?"

"It's the same thing, isn't it?'

"Not at all, Jenny. But perhaps we'll get your parents to come back in before I explain what those differences are. It might put your father more at ease. Tell me about your friend Marcia. What do you do when the two of you are together?"

I told him about Marcia, about how we had known each other for a couple of years, and that even though she's older than me she still likes me -- even though nobody else my own age even thinks about me when I'm Chris.

Dr. Colquhoun was a pretty good listener, really, and I found myself pouring out a whole mass of stuff about my life. Not just about Marcia and me, but about not fitting in, and then about how everyone liked Jenny and nobody liked Chris, except Marcia and even she liked me better when I was Jenny. I told him her remark about me being kind of like a little sister.

"So you have a crush on Marcia, too?"

"I think I did. But now, you know, since I've been Jenny... I like her as a really good friend, you know?" I thought to myself that Mom would kill me if she heard me saying 'you know' so much. "A few weeks ago she kissed me, on the lips, and it was nice... but..."

"But?"

"I don't want to mess up our friendship. Anyway it's different than when I'm with Paul."

Dr. Colquhoun asked me about my visit to Dr. Adams, and asked me whether I knew what she had said. I said that I had only heard what Mom and Dad had discussed, which wasn't much.

"One last thing before I bring your parents back in, Jenny." Dr. Colquhoun said. "I'm guessing from what you've said that you'd prefer to continue being Jenny."

I nodded. "But, you know, I have to go back to school, and--"

"-- I think that we can deal with that if your parents are amenable to some ideas."

"-- and then there's the modeling," I concluded.

"Modeling?"

I told him about the meeting this morning, and about Mark's photographs, and how I had an agent now. He looked slightly stunned.

"Dad doesn't know, yet," I added hastily. "He saw Mark's photos, and he knows I'm gonna have more taken, but he doesn't know anything about the agent or anything yet."

"Perhaps we should keep that to ourselves until you and your mother can tell him. I think you should tell him, don't you, Jenny?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "I just think he'll, you know, freak."

Dr Colquhoun used the intercom to ask his assistant to send Mom and Dad back in. After they sat down he talked to all three of us about the distinction between being a transvestite and being transgendered. I understood most of it, I think. Dad seemed to be a little uncomfortable with some of the stuff Dr. Colquhoun said, but he mostly just nodded.

The Doctor asked me to wait outside for a few moments, and I went back into the waiting room. There were two new people in there now. One of them was a guy, but he looked very feminine. The other was a woman in her twenties who was really, really pretty. I smiled at her as I sat down and picked up a magazine, and she smiled back. I wondered what she was doing there. Maybe she was with the guy, although their body language didn't seem right for that.

After about five minutes Dr. Colquhoun buzzed the receptionist to ask her to send me back to his office. When I was seated, he said that he would like to see me again. I looked at Mom and Dad. None of us said anything. Dr. Colquhoun continued. "I think I can safely say, Mr. and Mrs. Miller, that I concur with Dr. Adams in her diagnosis of Jenny. I don't know whether it matters if she sees me or Dr. Adams, but I would recommend ongoing therapy."

"You think therapy will help her -- him get back to normal?" Dad said.

"Mr. Miller," Dr. Colquhoun said, and he leaned forward in his chair. "I suppose that depends on your definition of normal. I would like to see Jenny again before I made any final diagnosis, but my preliminary thoughts are that she is almost certainly transsexual."

"Oh, God," Dad muttered.

"There's nothing wrong with that, Mr Miller."

"But you can fix it, right?" Dad said.

"We can try to ensure that Jenny has a long and happy life, Mr. Miller, if that's what you mean."

Dr. Colquhoun went on to tell Mom and Dad, but especially Dad, that it would probably be in my best interest to stay as Jenny for at least a year, maybe two. "If that's what you want, Jenny."

I nodded. "You can always go back to being Chris at any time," he added. As I thought about it I became more sure that was the last thing I wanted.

Dad looked stunned. "What about school?" he asked.

"I'm sure you can work something out. Jenny's about to finish junior high, isn't she?"

Dad didn't say anything, but Mom said yes, so Dr. Colquhoun explained his plan to Mom. Depending on the outcome of another follow-up visit, he would probably recommend that I start on some drugs to prevent puberty advancing any further. That was a relief. I didn't want to end up all hairy and stuff. He would write a letter to whichever high school I went to, saying I was under his care and exempting me from gym class.

Dr. Colquhoun went on for a few minutes, reassuring Mom and Dad -- especially Dad -- that this stuff was pretty commonplace in the 90's. I could see Dad was having a hard time swallowing it, but since he was the one who arranged for me to see Dr. Colquhoun there wasn't much he could do to argue.

After the appointment with Dr. Colquhoun finished we walked out into the afternoon sun and back across the road to the cafe we had been at earlier. Dad almost looked like he was gonna cry. He looked really old all of a sudden, and I started feeling guilty again.

Mom didn't show any signs of guilt, though. She looked kind of pleased. I wasn't sure whether that was because she thought what Dr. Colquhoun had said was a good thing for me, or if she was still pissed with Dad for something and maybe pleased that he was upset. It was always hard to know with Mom and Dad. I wondered what Dr. Colquhoun had said to them while I was out of the room.

We sat back down at a table and ordered coffee for Dad and Mom and an Evian for me. It was then, as Dad was at his most vulnerable, that Mom let him know about the modeling work and the contract with the agency.
 
 

 
To Be Continued ?