Pigtails Are For Girls — Part 11
Chapters 23-24 
 
 By Katherine Day
 
Jarod's femininity and beauty come to the forefront as his mother grapples with reality that her son is destined, much to her worry, to become a lovely woman some day.

(Copyright 2008)23: It’s Girl Time

Jarod was early for his September appointment with Dr. Martin, having taken the city bus from school. His mother was to meet him there, arriving from her teaching job at the community college.

“You’re mother won’t be able to be here for the visit, Jarod,” the doctor’s assistant, Grace, informed him as he entered the empty waiting room.

“Oh?” Jarod responded, unconsciously flicking his hair.

“Yes, honey. She said there were some problems at school she had to clear up but that she should be here to pick you up afterward.”

“Ok,” he said, moving toward the love seat to await his appointment.

“And how is your new school?” Grace said when he got settled. “Are they treating you OK?”

Jarod was a bit startled at the question, wondering why this receptionist or physician’s assistant or whatever she was wondering about his schooling, or that among the many patients she must see, why she would remember him and his schooling.

“I guess,” he said, almost with a shrug.

“Yes, going to a new school can be rough, sometimes,” she agreed, returning to the computer to work, and leaving Jarod to his musings.

Jarod tried to concentrate on a copy of Vogue, looking at the fashion ads, and thinking the clothes appeared so outlandish to him. He could not, however, keep from glancing over the top of the magazine to look at Grace, admiring her classic beauty and precise way of dressing. He had never before seen an office worker who dressed both so stylishly and prettily.

When he had commented upon Grace’s outfit to his mother after their earlier visit, she merely responded that Dr. Martin must want his assistants to be dressed in fashion.

Grace looked up from her work, catching Jarod’s eyes, focusing in upon her. She smiled: “I could never wear clothes like those,” she said. “They’re too over the top.”

“Me either,” Jarod responded, without thinking.

Realizing his mistake, he gave out a nervous laugh, and Grace merely smiled back at him, a smile that exuded comfort and friendship.

“You like your girl friends to be in clothes that are more conservative, don’t you Jarod?” she said.

“I guess, but I don’t have a girl friend yet. I’m too young.” He blushed.

Grace smiled as she responded, “Oh yes, of course.”

“But you’d look good in some of these clothes, ma’am,” he volunteered to Grace.

“Thank you, honey.”

An uncomfortable silence followed, broken by the patient from the previous appointment coming from Dr. Martin’s office. The doctor followed, instructing Grace on the middle-aged woman’s next appointment, and turning to Jarod and inviting him into his office.

*****
“Remember, Jarod, I want you to sit comfortably and to be natural,” the doctor instructed him.

Jarod, however, was tense, not sure how to act. He tried to sit upright, his knees together and his hands folded primly in his lap, the posture, he felt, of an obedient, respectful young girl. But the natural comfort of the chair seemed to preclude him from sitting erect, forcing him to lean back, folding his legs.

“There, just relax Jarod. We’re just going to talk now.”

Dr. Martin’s voice was gentle and soft, almost the antithesis to his strong, masculine body and bull neck.

After initial questions about how he liked school, Dr. Martin asked him unexpectedly: “When you get home tonight, what’s would you most want to do?”

Jarod was stunned for a moment.

“If you could do anything you heart desired, what would that be?” The doctor persisted.

“The truth?”

“Yes, Jarod, the truth.”

He paused, knowing what he was to say was preposterous, but it was something he had been dreaming about so often. “I’d like to be a . . . a . . . a mommy with a baby,” he said finally.

Dr. Martin didn’t appear the least bit shocked by the statement, merely asking, “How long have you thought about that?”

“Oh doctor,” Jarod said quickly, stammering in his answer. “I know that’s ridiculous, but I thought about that often, since I started helping Amy with her two girls. I guess I was 10 or 11.”

“Did you wish you could get pregnant, too?”

Jarod reddened, knowing he was talking nonsense. “Yes, doctor.”

Dr. Martin quickly moved on to different subjects, and the 30 minutes passed quickly. Just before ending the session, the doctor asked Jarod: “Have any questions, now?”

“Yes, doctor, I just wanted to say your assistant, Grace, dresses so nice and so feminine. I wondered where she gets her clothes.”

The doctor laughed, saying: “You better ask her.”

Returning to the reception area, Jarod saw his mother waiting there, and he went to her, receiving a quick hug.

“I’m sorry darling,” she said to her son, who now having grown taller was equal to her in height. “But we had some disciplinary problems at school I had to clear up.”

“That’s ok, mom,” he said.

Dr. Martin interjected: “Yes, Mrs. Pinkerton, Jarod and I had a good conversation. Now, Jarod, I’d like to talk to your mother for a few minutes. I let you and Grace talk about fashions.”

Jarod smiled and Grace turned up from her work with a questioning look. “Yes, he wants to know where you buy all those nice clothes.”

With that, he shook his mother’s hand and directed her into his office, saying: “We’ll only be a five minutes.”

Jarod took the same love seat, and picked up a magazine, but Grace interrupted immediately, speaking in her husky voice: “So you like what I’m wearing?”

“Yes ma’am, you’re so classy and dress so nice.”

“And you want to know where I get these clothes? Such a strange question from a boy?”

Jarod looked down at his hands, neatly folded in his lap as he sat erect, knees tight together, looking very much like a proper young lady.

“Yes ma’am,” he answered shyly.

“Jarod, you’re sweet to ask. I got this out fit, the skirt and suit coat from Penney’s. They really have nice clothes for a professional woman.”

“Yes, I noticed that.”

“You are observant, my young man.”

“And this white blouse, I got from a second hand outlet. In fact I get most of my clothes from a second hand store. You’d be surprised what a girl can find there.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Jarod said, his interested suddenly peaked.

“Yes, Jarod, you’ll find some lovely gowns in such stores,” Grace continued. “For proms, weddings, parties. Women buy them, maybe wear them once or twice, and then send them off to the thrift shop.”

“And they’re cheap, too, aren’t they, ma’am?”

“I got this blouse for $2.50,” she said, then quickly adding, “And they have clothes for men and boys, too, Jarod.”

Jarod laughed outloud, recognizing the playful tease in the assistant’s voice. He realized full well that the assistant had perceived the reasons for his visits to Dr. Martin, and was just trying to further justify the boy’s intense interest in clothes.

Their conversation ended when Jarod’s mother re-entered the room, and another appointment was set for Jarod in a month.

“And, Jarod, I gave your mother a reference to see another doctor for a physical,” Dr. Martin said. “I want you to go to her — she’s a lady doctor — so that we can see how you’re maturing now.”

Jarod started to raise a question, but his mother held him off. “We’ll talk about this at home.”

“Bye Jarod,” Grace said, “As they got up to leave. Happy shopping?”

“We will,” Jarod said, almost skipping from the office.

*****
In the car home, his mother asked: “What was that ‘happy shopping’ remark all about?”

“Oh mommy,” he said, reverting quickly to his girlish manner of speaking. “She’s get the coolest outfits at thrift shops.”

“Yes, honey, I know, but I always hate to wear somebody else’s stuff.”

“Oh but, mommy, I know it’s clean and some stuff has been worn only once or not at all. And they have such cool dresses and gowns, Grace said.”

“I suppose you want to go there sometimes?” she asked as they were stopped at a red light.

“Yes, mommy. I getting too tall for all those clothes we got from Amy.”

“I know those dresses are way too short for you,” his mother said, a gleam in her eye. “But you don’t have to worry about showing off your legs, honey. You have very pretty legs.”

“Oh mommy, you’re so cool.”

“Oh, oh, you’re really such a girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, mommy. Can we go shopping?”

“We’ll see, dear. Maybe Wanda or Latoya would love to go with you sometime. You could go as Jane and we could find some thrift shop not too close.”

“Oh mommy, could we? Could we?”

*****
That night, as he was preparing for bed, having completed his evening bath, and while standing in the bathroom, his mother knocked on the door and asked to enter. Jarod was still only in his panties, but opened the door.

His mother lowered the seat on the toilet and sat down on it. She was already in her nightgown for the evening, with her hair up. Jarod noticed how lovely her skin was and felt he had the prettiest mother around. There was a little flesh around her upper arms and chest, but Jarod felt it just added to her femininity.

“Let me look at you,” she said, putting her hand on his thigh, looking closely at it, and then holding his forearm. Jarod liked the feel of her hands.

“See, Jarod,” she said. “You’re beginning to get some hair on your legs and arms, just like boys of your age normally do.”

“But you can hardly see it, mom,” he protested. “Some boys have lots of hair.”

She put a hand to his chin, raising it to look at is better. “And you’re getting peach fuzz on your lip. Soon you’ll have to begin shaving, like a boy.”

Jarod was crestfallen. He knew this as happening to him and he even noticed some light hair on his chest, even though it was so fine as to be nearly invisible.

“And I suppose your penis is growing, too?” she asked.

He nodded, realizing that while his penis was small compared to some boys, it was nearly normal size compared to others. He knew this was all a sign that he was physically maturing into a man, even though he had only just turned 14.

His mother took his hands in hers, as he sat on the edge of the bathtub, his lovely legs held together, as had become his manner.

“Dr. Martin seems nearly convinced that your desire to be a girl is real,” she began. “I guess I’ve always known that, but I’ve always been afraid of what would happen to you if it were true.”

“I know mommy, since you care about me,” he said.

“So he’s convinced me to let you live in secret as a girl just so you get used to it, and understand what it means. That means you can dress at home whenever we’re alone, and that you can go out as girl to other parts of town and with your two friends, ‘Toya and Wanda, as Jane. We’ll keep doing that through high school, at least for a while.”

“Ok, mommy,” Jarod said.

“But we need to look at how you’re maturing physically,” she said. “That’s why we’re going to see Dr. Adaboya soon.”

“Yes, mommy. What will she do?”

“I don’t know, but you’ll soon be taking on more male characteristics. You’re voice is already changing from the sweet little girl’s voice you always had.”

“Can we do something about that?”

“I don’t know honey, but that’s what Dr. Adaboya will tell us.”

Jarod could hardly sleep that night, realizing that his life was about to undergo many changes. He wanted the changes, he was sure, but the future now looked scary and uncertain to him. Sometime in the future, he would no longer be able to rest in the comforts of his girly self within the barricades of his mother’s house. He would sometime be out in the world as a girl and then a woman. He knew it was going to happen. He wasn’t sure he was ready for it yet. He rubbed at the thin strap of his nightie, as he massaged his slender shoulders and dainty neck, dreaming of being a pretty girl in a prom gown, and also wondering what troubles a pretty girl might face.

*****
It was the week before Thanksgiving before Jarod was able to go shopping with his girl friends. Until then Wanda and Latoya had both been busy with school activities, Wanda with soccer games and Latoya with her work as wardrobe girl for the school play. The leaves had already left barren trees lining the streets in the city and a dark grayness hung like a shroud, as the three girls joined Jarod’s mother for a ride to do shopping in the larger city just north of Douglas.

“Mom is cool with me going shopping as Jane with you, but we gotta go where we won’t meet anyone we know,” Jarod explained as he invited each of them for the Saturday trip.

“That’ll be so much fun,” Latoya said, as she and Jarod talked after lunch in school.

“How are you dressing?” Wanda wanted to know when he skipped over to the other girl’s house after supper one night.

“Kinda like this,” he said, referring to the Capri pants, girl tennis shoes and pink sweatshirt with bunnies he was wearing.

“And my pigtails,” he added quickly.

“Just casual, then?” Wanda asked.

“Yes, why not?”

“Well, we could dress up a bit more,” Wanda said. “You look darling in anything you wear, Jane. I always look like a horse.”

“Oh? You wanna wear skirts? Like the rich girls do?”

Wanda’s eyes lit up. “Sure, let’s look sharp and show them how classy us girls from Douglas can be.”

“Let’s.” Jarod giggled, and hugged his friend, exchanging a sisterly kiss.

After Jarod’s mother dropped them off, she told them she’d meet them in three hours at the food court. It wasn’t long before the girls were attracting the eyes of many of the boys in the mall that afternoon; the three were easily the best dressed girls among the shoppers it seemed. Most of the teen girls wore jeans, sweat shirts or men’s work shirts. Many of the tennis shoes were soiled and jeans ripped.

They easily drew the attention of store clerks as well, usually eager to serve these three chic girls in the mistaken view that the three must have had lots of cash to spend.

“Let’s stop here,” Latoya said as they approached Claudine’s Apparels, a store that featured formal dresses at relatively modest prices. Claudine’s, though a local store, was becoming popular with most teen girls through its rather up-to-date styles.

“Yes, let’s. That’s where lots of girls get their prom dresses,” Jarod said.

“I didn’t know that, Jane,” Wanda said. “She knows everything about clothes, our Jane does.”

“Of course, she does,” Latoya echoed.

Jarod only giggled as the three entered the store. Jarod headed directly to the “formals” area, the two tagging along.

“You must have been here before, Jane,” Wanda said, realizing Jarod knew exactly where he was heading. The trio stopped before a bank of long, flowing gowns, all gauzy and pastel.

“They’re all strapless,” exclaimed Latoya.

“Oh I’d look ugly in those,” Wanda added, self conscious over her muscular shoulders and arms.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Latoya said. “You always think you’re not pretty, Wanda. But, you are. You have such a good body.”

Wanda just blushed, and then pulled out a light blue gown, full of ruffles and obviously strapless.

“This gown is just perfect for Jane, here,” she said. “She has the prettiest shoulders of all of us.”

It was true that Jarod’s upper body was more dainty and soft looking than either of the other two girls. Latoya’s arms were not as bulging with muscles as Wanda’s, but they displayed a slender sinewy structure.

“What are you girls looking for?” The question came from a stylishly dressed middle-aged woman clerk with flowing black hair, tipped with strands of gray. She wore a colorful paisley pleated skirt, a colorless blouse and a v-neck sweater vest.

“We love your prom outfits,” Latoya said quickly.

“We’re just looking,” Jarod said, hoping to dismiss the clerk.

“She needs a gown,” Latoya interjected, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“No, I don’t,” Jarod said. “I just love looking at the gowns.”

“You are just so lovely, young lady,” the clerk said addressing Jarod. “Would you like to try one on?” the clerk persisted.

“Can I?” Jarod responded, almost too quickly, trying to keep his voice low to hide the growing masculinity that was beginning to show in his voice.

“Yes, honey,” the clerk said. “Pick out the one you like and you and one of your friends can help you put it on?”

“But, ma’am, I can’t buy it today,” Jarod said. “My mom would have to be here.”

“Go ahead anyway, dear,” the clerk said. “See how it looks on you. And meanwhile, if either of you other two want to try some on, let me know.”

“No, that’s OK,” Wanda said. “We’ll help Jane.”

*****
The store had large fitting rooms, big enough for all three to be inside one of them. They giggled as they assisted Jarod into the gown; never did he feel more completely a female than when in the company of Wanda and Latoya, who treated him only as a girl, totally ignoring his male appendage, which was not too big and could be easily tucked into a tight jockstrap which he wore inside the panties.

“We’re so jealous, Jane,” Wanda said. “Everyone thinks you’re so pretty.”

“Yes, Jane, we oughta hate you,” Latoya echoed.

“But we don’t. We love you, Jane,” Wanda said, as they completed putting the dress on.

Now fully outfitted as a lovely teen girl, Jarod gave a graceful turn, the white skin of his shoulders and arms smooth and porcelain that he dipped into a curtsey.

“She’s just the daintiest of things,” Latoya said, adding a giggle.

“Now let’s see what the clerk thinks, Jane,” Wanda said.

Jarod left the fitting room first, feeling regal as he walked into the store proper, taking short, straight-ahead steps, bending his arms at the elbows. He realized his practice at walking like runway models had paid off and he felt certain he must have been perceived as a girl without question. He smiled, as he’d seen runway models do on television and in pictures in fashion advertisements.

“Oh my,” exclaimed the clerk. “You are a vision, my dear. A real lovely vision.”

Jarod made a practiced turn and placed himself in front of the three-paneled mirror, seeing himself, his narrow shoulders, slender arms and dainty neck exuding a soft and pale sheen. He turned several more times, fearful he might be exaggerating the effeminate mannerisms.

“Oh thank you for letting me try this on,” he said to the clerk. “But I don’t have plans for the prom yet.”

“No boy friends. And such a pretty thing you are, too?”

Wanda interjected. “She’s only 14 and her mom doesn’t want her dating yet.”

“You girls can admire your friend for a few minutes. I want you three to remain here, I have to see the manager about something and I’ll be right back. Don’t leave.”

After several minutes of Jarod preening before the mirror, and wandering back among the racks, looking at other gowns, the clerk returned with an older grey-haired dignified looking man, slender and tall.

“What’s your name honey?” the man said, addressing Jarod.

“Ah . . . ah . . . Jane.”

“Ok, Jane,” the man began. “Let me see you walk to the center aisle and back. Just like you walked before.”

Jarod was puzzled. “How did I walk?”

“Like you were a model on the runway,” the female clerk said.

Jarod suddenly realized he was being watched; he hadn’t really thought too much about how he walked coming out of the fitting room. Now, he was to demonstrate the way he walked, and he was unsure if he could remember exactly what he did. He hesitated.

“Just be natural, Jane,” Wanda whispered in his ear.

Jarod blushed as he began the walk. Since he was wearing flats, he felt his walk might not be too feminine; yet, he need not have worried, since he completed the trek as ordered. He followed that with a few graceful turns, at the request of the man. He was ordered to raise his chin and to look left and right.

The man examined Jarod’s actions with a studied eye, not smiling once.

Finally, he said. “Ok Jane. Take the dress off and get back into your regular clothes.”

“Mr. Marcineau would like you three to come to his office when you’re changed, girls,” the clerk said.

“Why? Did we do something wrong?” Wanda asked.

“No. No.” the clerk said. “Not at all, but we’d like to talk to Jane for a minute. It’s nothing bad.”

*****
In the administration offices at the back of the store, the girls and Jarod were shown to a tiny waiting room with three narrow, straight back chairs, a coffee table with fashion magazines and small television set which was not turned on. They were all offered bottled water, which they accepted.

“Jane,” the clerk said. “Mr. Marcineau would like you to join us in his office. You two make yourself at home here.”

Wanda objected. “Do you want us to come with you, Jane?”

“I dunno.”

“Really, girls, Mr. Marcineau and I have an idea that Jane might like to hear. She’ll be ok?”

She led Jarod into the man’s office, an awkwardly narrow office, but tastefully decorated with stylistic drawings of models in ball gowns through the centuries. She directed Jarod to sit in a spare, but comfortable straight chair at the opposite side of the man’s desk. His desk was like he was: clean, orderly and handsome.

The clerk, whose name he had been told was Marcia Holland, sat in a similar chair.

“Your name is?” the man began.

“Jane.”

“Yes, but your full name and age and address and home phone please.”

Jarod suddenly became fearful. His mother had warned him about giving out too much information.

“What’s this all about?” he said, not answering the question.

“Well, I guess that’s fair, Jane,” the man said, his face growing gentle.

“Jane,” the woman clerk began. “We noticed how lovely and dignified a young lady you are. And we noticed how well you walk and hold yourself.”

“Thank you, Miss Holland,” Jarod said.

“You may call me, Marcia,” she smiled.

“To get to the point, Jane,” Mr. Marcineau said. “We need to find a girl about your age to model soon, and you might just be that girl.”

Jarod was speechless, looking at first the man, and then the woman.

“Yes, dear, you handle yourself very nicely,” the woman said. “Have you ever modeled before?”

“No. Well, yes, at home, when I try out the dresses I make.”

“You make dresses?” the man said. “How old are you?”

“14.”

“And you sew your own dresses? How marvelous.”

The two questioned Jarod a bit further about Jane’s interests, her schooling, and basic information. Jarod told the truth about everything, except for the fact that he continued in the fiction that he was a 14-year-old girl named Jane.

After 15 minutes, he was given the cards of both Mr. Marcineau and Marcia Holland and told to ask his mother to call either of them to set up an appointment if she was interested in having “her daughter model.” They asked that Jarod’s mother call them soon, since they had a photo shoot set up for next week. Jarod had not given them his full name, address or phone number. They had accepted that, hoping that the mother would want her “daughter” to model and would call.

*****
“They what?” Wanda said in astonishment as they walked out of the store.

“They want me to model for them,” Jarod said sheepishly.

“Not as Jarod, for sure,” Latoya said.

“As Jane,” he answered.

“Oh my god,” Wanda said. “This is too funny.”

“What are you going to do? You never let on you were not really a Jane, did you?” Latoya asked.

“No, to them I’m still Jane.”

The three of them giggled as they walked down the mall.

“What are you going to do?” Latoya asked.

“Nothing,” Jarod said. “Just forget it.”

“Not tell your mom?”

“Why should I? I can’t go through with it. They’ll have to be told I’m a boy.”

“I guess,” Wanda said. “But it is funny. I always said you were a better girl than me.”

“And me.” Latoya said.

“But you oughta think about it, Jane,” Wanda said. “Modeling pays good money, and I know you could use it if you want to go to college.”

“I suppose so,” Jarod said, just beginning to think that it might indeed be something to consider.

When they hooked up with Mrs. Pinkerton later in the food court, she wondered how there day had gone.

“Nothing special,” Jarod volunteered.

At that point, Wanda and Latoya started giggling.

“Nothing special? What’s so funny then?” his mother said.

“Nothing, mom. They’re just being silly.”

Wanda and Latoya looked at each other, and their laughing became uncontrollable.

“Now girls, what’s going on here?” his mother demanded.

Wanda finally stifled a laugh long enough to turn to Jarod and ask: “Are you going to tell her?”

“No, and you better not either,” he said.

“Tell me what?” his mother was now looking worried.

Wanda looked at Jarod, as if to say she was sorry, and began:

“Claudine’s wants Jane here to model for them.”

“Yes, they say she’s a natural,” Latoya added.

His mother looked at Jarod, her face assuming that stern, silent stare that stirs heavy panic in his stomach.

“Are they serious, Jarod,” she asked finally.

“Yes, mom, and they gave me their card and want you to call them.”

He handed over the two cards, turning his face to look down.

“We’ll talk about this at home,” she said, her voice still stern. “Let’s go, girls.”

“I’m thirsty, mom,” he said.

“You can get a drink at home. Let’s go.” His mother stood up abruptly, and stalked out of the food court to the parking lot, leaving the three teens to follow. They gathered themselves up and walked behind the angry woman.

Jarod was afraid he’d begin crying; he had never seen his mother so stern and sharp in her anger. The drive home was made in silence. His mother dropped Latoya off first, and the girl put a hand gently on Jarod’s shoulder as she left the back seat. By then, Jarod had been fighting off tears.

“Mrs. Pinkerton,” Wanda began, as they continued the drive home. “We egged Jane . . . ah . . .err . . . I mean Jarod on. Don’t blame him.”

“I don’t want to hear anything from you, Wanda. It’s up to Jarod to obey me.”

*****
“But what did I do mother?” Jarod asked when they had gotten home. “You said I could go as Jane.”

“Yes, I did, and I was wrong to let you do that. I should have known you’d carry that to an extreme.”

“Mom, I didn’t do anything special. The clerk just thought I looked so pretty. She got the manager and said they needed a girl like me to model for them. I could make lots of money.”

“No, Jarod. You’re not ready for that yet.”

“Oh mother.”

“Don’t mother me. Get out of that outfit and put on your boy clothes tonight.”

“But, mother, I thought I could be Jane at home.”

“Not tonight, Jarod,” his mother said. “The issue is closed. Go change.”

His mother’s tone was firm. Jarod knew he had no choice but to obey. He went and changed, putting on a pair of boy jeans and a collared shirt. He left his hair in pigtails, but took off the earrings and toe rings.

They had a silent supper, neither speaking, except for simple requests to pass food or drink. Jarod kept his head down, seemingly studying his food but in reality not really seeing it. His mother’s silence bothered him; she rarely acted like this, even if she was angry with him.

Her face had lost its earlier angry demeanor; now, she merely looked sad and resigned to whatever future might come.

“Mother,” he started to speak after dessert was finished. “Mother, I just . . .”

“I don’t need explanations, Jarod. I just need to think about things,” she said.

“But, mother . . .”

“No honey. We’ll talk soon,” she said, looking at him, patting his arm gently. “You can use the computer, if you wish tonight.”

“No thanks. Maybe I’ll just be in my room.”

In his room, Jarod took off his boy clothes; he still wore panties and the bra with breast forms underneath. He looked at himself in the mirror, turning this way and that, emulating the moves of a model. He flicked his hair, tilted his head and smiled coyly over a cocked shoulder, growing more and more pleased with the lovely figure he saw in the mirror.

The initial invitation by Mr. Marcineau, the store manager, that as Jane he could be a model for girl fashions had come as such a surprise, he had rejected the thought without much reflection. As the idea began to sink in, he recognized how much it might be possible.

“I am so pretty,” he said to himself, almost aloud.

His underdeveloped arms and shoulders looked enticingly and convincingly girlish; and, he noticed he seemed to have gained a bit of curve to his buttocks, perhaps due to his stint as a cross country runner.

He locked his door, got Jane’s diary from its hiding place in the Clue game box, hopped on his bed, tucking his legs under him and began to write:

Oct. 21, 2005

Can you imagine? Me as a model?

I was trying on gowns today at Claudine’s Apparels and the store people said I could be a model. They said I was a natural.

I never thought I was pretty enough. Even so, I have always dreamed about being homecoming queen or prom queen or even Miss Wisconsin.

Amy next door and my best friend, Wanda, always said I was the prettiest girl in the school. They probably just told me that because I was complaining about not having a boy friend.

They said Marquise liked me, but he’s never told me that. He’s always nice to me. I think he’s just shy. Maybe if he knew I could be a model, he’d like me. Do you think?

When mom heard about this model thing, she was mad. She said I’m too young for that, or for boys. She doesn’t want me to date until I’m 16. That’s two years away. Who’ll want me then?

Oh, but they said, I really was perfect for what they wanted. Besides, they said they needed someone my age to model the clothes. Maybe, mom will relent. After all, it pays pretty good and we need the money. I so want to be a pretty model.

Jane

Jarod went to sleep early that evening, still picturing himself in stunning clothes, strutting in a beautiful motion down the red-carpeted runway, hearing the “ohs” and “ahs” from stylish women who were impressed by the grace and loveliness of the model.

Chapter 24: The Fashion Shoot
“You doing anything now, Nancy?” the questioner on the phone was Helen, Wanda’s mother.

“Not now. Just reading the Sunday paper,” Nancy Pinkerton replied.

“Let’s have coffee. Stop on over if you’d like.”

Nancy replied she was not dressed, and that her neighbor should come to her home. “The coffee’s just been made, and I baked a nice strudel.”

“Where’s Jarod?” Helen asked as the two women friends settled down in the Pinkterton kitchen.

“Sleeping still, I guess.”

Nancy’s strudel, still warm from the oven, sat between them on the table, emitting tempting scents of cinnamon, sugar and maple syrup.

“I shouldn’t bake this stuff,” Nancy said. “Just smell it and I gain five pounds.”

“You gotta treat yourself sometimes, Nancy, and besides you’re not fat.”

“Oh posh, Helen. I am too. How I envy you? You can eat anything and not gain.”

The other woman smiled, recognizing the truth of the words. She indeed had one of those rare metabolisms that permitted a person to eat anything and everything and not gain weight. Perhaps that explained her daughter Wanda’s husky body that also carried little fat.

The two soon dove into the strudel, discussing their lives, both currently without men. Helen’s professorial ex-husband, she learned from Wanda’s weekly visits with him, was now living with his grad-assistant, a fact that angered Helen and embarrassed Wanda, who was only five years younger than her father’s current girl friend.

“The only guy flirting with me these days,” said Nancy, “is Greek guy who runs the deli at the Corners.”

“Nobody at the college?” Helen inquired, referring to the Community College where Nancy taught English.

Her friend laughed: “Not really. They’re either married or gay or too young.”

*****
Jarod was awakened by the conversation and laughter coming from the kitchen. He looked at the digital clock on the stand, seeing it read 10:11. It was time to get up, and as he listened he realized it was Wanda’s mother visiting his mother for their regular Sunday morning kaffee klatsch.

He had grown to love these Sunday get-togethers with the two women, listening to their laments about men, their views about recent fashions and their opinions about the news of the day. He found himself often dreaming of the day he, too, would be a mother and would enjoy the friendship of other women.

He hurried himself into the bathroom to freshen up, brush his hair and do his teeth, hoping to join the conversation before Helen left for her home. He knew he could still wear his nightie, a light blue satiny outfit with thin straps that kept sliding off his narrow shoulders. Helen was well aware that he slept in nighties and dressed as a girl while at home.

“Hi, mommy,” he said, literally skipping into the room like a 5-year-old girl. His hair bounced as he bounded into the room, kissing his mother on the cheek.

“Hi, Mrs. Highsmith,” he said, squeaking out the words in a high voice.

“Good morning, Jane,” the neighbor replied, going along with the boy’s play-acting as a little girl.

“Jarod,” his mother’s voice was firm. “Quit being so silly. You can get your own cereal and milk, honey.”

“Oh mommy, can’t I have some coffee cake?”

“Oh Jarod, quit this now.” His mother, however, got up and fixed him a bowl of cereal, cutting up a banana to top it off.

“Did you have fun shopping yesterday, Jarod?” Mrs. Highsmith said, returning to his boy’s name.

“Oh yessie,” he said between spoonfuls of cereal.

Several minutes later, his cereal finished, Jarod regained the conversation, asking:

“Did Wanda tell you want happened yesterday at Claudines?”

“No, she didn’t say much about the trip, except that it was fun going with you and Latoya.”

His mother shushed him, saying: “Helen doesn’t want to hear about that.”

Jarod looked at his mother, feeling disappointed that he couldn’t tell that he was being recruited as a model. He still hoped it would become possible.

Mrs. Highsmith didn’t protest, and the conversation soon went onto the War in Iraq; both women opposed the Bush Administration’s actions in that country. Their anger at the Bush Administration grew as the conversation continued, with even Jarod entering an opinion every so often.

“You looked so cute yesterday morning, Jarod, when you and Wanda left for shopping,” Mrs. Highsmith said when Jarod’s mother left for a trip to the bathroom.

“Thank you.”

“I love how those pigtails look on you. You’re really getting to be a pretty young lady, and I think my Wanda’s jealous of you.”

Jarod nodded, becoming tempted to tell her about the modeling invitation. He held his tongue, however, knowing how mad it would make his mother.

“Your mother tells me you’re seeing a doctor now. I hope you like him.”

“He’s OK. He listens to me.”

At that point, his mother returned, obviously hearing the end of their conversation.

“You didn’t mention yesterday, did you, Jarod?” Her words again came out firmly.

“No, mother.”

His mother paused for a moment. Both Mrs. Highsmith and Jarod looked at her expectedly awaiting comments. Finally, she said:

“I guess I better tell you, Helen. This has bothered me all night.”

“You know you can confide in me, Nancy.”

“Should I leave, mom?” Jarod asked.

“No, honey, you can stay. This involves you.”

His mother then told about the invitation that Jarod (as Jane) become a model for Claudines. “They had no idea he’s a boy,” she said to end her comments.

“Oh my, Nancy. I can understand that. I know Wanda considers him to be more of a girl friend for her.”

“They said I was a natural as a model,” Jarod added.

“What are you going to do?” Helen asked.

“We could just forget about it. Jarod didn’t give them our last name or address, so they don’t know who the pretty girl was.” His mother smiled at Jarod, as she said this last phrase and used the words “pretty girl.”

“There’s good money in modeling, Nancy.”

“I know.”

“You could call that store manager up and tell him the truth. Let them decide if Jarod would fit their plans. If they do, fine.”

“But he’s still a boy.” His mother reached over, caressing his shoulders.

“Oh Nancy, I think they’ve used boys to model girl clothes before, particularly when they’re as lovely as our girl here.” She also reached over, to massage his shoulders, the two women looking fondly at Jarod.

Jarod grew excited at hearing the praise for his femininity; but his joy became unbounded when his mother agreed she’d call the store the next day to talk about the modeling invitation.

“Now don’t get too excited about this, Jarod,” she warned. “It may not happen, particularly when they find out you’re a boy. And, we can’t let the modeling job interfere with your schooling. Besides, it’s up in the big city and that’s a 45-minute drive.”

“I know, mom,” he said, kissing her.

“Let’s each have another piece of strudel, then, to celebrate this,” Helen said.

“So what’s another pound of flesh,” his mother said, laughing.

Jarod tilted his head, flicked his hair and sat demurely on the chair, feeling like a happy young girl.

*****
“Call me Jacques,” the store manager said a few minutes into the phone call that Jarod’s mother made Monday afternoon to Claudine’s Apparels.

“Ok, Jacques, that’s a nice name,” she replied, somewhat taken aback by this friendly man on the line.

“So, you want me to believe that lovely young lady I saw Saturday is really a boy . . . ah . . . your son?”

“Yes, Mister . . . ah, Jacques.”

“There was nothing that gave that away, Mrs. Pinkerton. By the way, what’s your first name?”

“It’s Nancy.”

“Nancy, both Miss Holland and I thought Jane was perfect for our needs. I know boys have been used before to model girls’ clothes, though this would be a first for us.”

“I’m uneasy about this, Jacques. We’re fairly certain Jarod is possibly a transgendered child and may someday want to live as a woman, but he’s only 14, and I hate to push him into that direction too early in life.”

“Nancy, I’m well aware that some boys have such tendencies, and you’re right to take it slow.”

“But maybe doing this modeling would push him into being a girl too soon.”

“Nancy, let me assure you, we use a very professional photographer and I’ll let it up to her to decide whether Jane (or, Jarod, if you’d like) is suitable. We’ll do nothing to embarrass Jane or to compromise her in any way. Besides, we’ll want you present at every shoot.”

Nancy had called Jacques Marcineau from her school office, and waited until getting home that night to relay the news to Jarod.

“He’s a very nice man,” she began. “And he assured me that they do their photo shoots in very private settings, and that I can be there.”

“Oh mom, you mean you’re going to let me try out?”

“Yes, honey. We’ll go into Milwaukee Tuesday night to meet the photographer. They said they’ll find some nice outfits for you to wear.”

“Oh mommy,” Jarod gushed. He felt like Jane again.

“It doesn’t mean you’ve got the job, honey. It’ll be up to the photographer and the art director for the advertising agency.”

“I know, mommy, but I just feel so lucky to be able to pose as a girl. They really liked me.”

“I know, dear. Mr. Marcineau thinks you’re a beauty and is eager to work with you, but we’ll see.”

“Oh mommy, I love you so.”

*****
Jacques Marcineau urged Jarod’s mother to get Jarod to the photo studio, located in the rear of the store, on a lower level, as close to 5:30 p.m. as she could. She told him it would be a tight time for her, since her last class on Tuesday ended at 4:30.

Jarod was able to get Marquise to drive him to the Community College after school, so that they could save time by leaving for Milwaukee directly from his mother’s work. Even though Marquise was two years older than Jarod, the two boys had cemented their relationship during the early weeks of school, finding unusual common interests in the literary magazine. They were busy in recent days trying to figure out a new design for the publication, and were deeply involved in discussion and computer programs. It was a fact that the two boys kept to themselves, largely due to the teasing they’d likely get; in Marquise’s case, his friends in his African-American neighborhood would likely find knowledge of that particular fodder for harassment.

“Why you going to Milwaukee?” Marquise asked as they got into his car. The boy had recently gotten his driver’s license, and occasionally drove his mother’s car to school, particularly when he had an after-school activity.

“Oh, we have an appointment,” Jarod said, a tentative tenor to the answer.

“An appointment? A doctor?”

“No, just something.”

“Something?” Marquise was not to be denied an answer, it seemed.

Marquise was stuck at a stop sign where cross traffic had blocked the intersection; it was his first time driving into the busy downtown area, and he found he had to concentrate on the traffic. With cars stopping suddenly and turning right and left in front of him, Marquise had all he could do to keep his mother’s car from being struck. By the time, he dropped Jarod off at the community college, his determination to learn what kind of “appointment” was drawing Jarod to Milwaukee had been forgotten.

Jarod breathed a sigh of relief, pleased that he did not have to reveal to Marquise, the only boy whom he could consider a real friend, that he often dressed as a girl. Nonetheless, he was worried what would happen on the day when Marquise would have to be told.

*****
“So you’re the young lady that has Jacques all ecstatic,” said the photographer, an excitable, middle aged woman who could easily be mistaken for a bag lady had she not been surrounded by thousands of dollars in photographic equipment, lighting and gauzy, bright backdrops. The woman was tall, maybe close to six feet in height, and her long once black hair, now streaked with grey, hung in straggly links. She wore oversized trousers, a dark turtleneck and a vest full of pockets stuffed with papers and film cartridges.

Jarod merely nodded to this strange woman. This was the famed “Sylvia,” he was told, one of the area’s premier photographers. He had seen some of her photos hanging in what the store called their “Green Room” where he had waited along with his mother and several teen girls (all several years older than himself) and their mothers. One by one the girls had been called out for their audition sessions or for fittings of the outfit they’d wear for the shoot.

“This is Jane, girls,” Jacques said as he introduced Jarod and his mother to the girls waiting in the Green Room. “This is her first time, so be kind, girls, and she’s no competition for any of you, since she’s in the middle school area.”

The girls barely looked up, all four of them busy checking their outfits or redoing their makeup, under the watchful and sometimes nagging direction of their mothers. These girls, he felt immediately, were old veterans at the model business, all frighteningly slim and with almost perfect skin and complexions.

Two girls muttered “Hi Jane,” a third nodded and the fourth said nothing.

Sylvia, it turned out, was all business. She was accompanied by a plain-looking young woman in a brown skirt, white blouse, scuffed two-inch heels and a clip board. The young woman was called Steph and was identified only as the “art director,” and she stood quietly during the shoot, eyeing Jarod critically.

The shoot, it appears, was under the firm control of Sylvia, the unkempt photographer, and she was having no backtalk. “First of all,” she began by addressing Jarod’s mother. “Because Jane’s so young, I have to let you be here in the shoot. You stand over by the door and sit down in that chair and don’t say a word. If you do, Jane’s outa here, you understand?”

“But,” Jarod’s mother began, only to be cut short, but the firm husky voice of the woman.

“No buts, I’ll not tolerate second-guessing or you telling me she has a better side. All you can do is yell ‘Stop’ if I’m doing anything obscene or that you object to. If you do that, I’ll stop and the session’s over. You got that?”

“Yes,” his mother replied, sheepishly moving to the designated chair.

Sylvia then asked Jarod to stand near before a drapery and to make several turns, do a curtsey and to flick his hair.

“OK, you’ll do,” was all Sylvia said after several minutes of this modeling posing.

The store had dressed Jarod in a short party dress, the kind that might be worn for a spring outing. Since this was now late October, it was apparent the store was creating advertisements for the spring outfits. Jarod’s dress was a crisp white material, with pink and light blue piping along the hemlines and on the thick straps that went over the shoulders. They had tied Jarod’s hair into two pigtails with matching ribbons of pink and light blue.

Jarod found it surprising that the makeup crew applied only a foundation and natural lip gloss, keeping his face very natural and plain.

“You have a really pretty face, dear,” said the slender man who did his makeup. “No sense in covering it up with lots of junk.”

The actual photo shoot was done in about 10 minutes, with Jarod being told to dip low, straighten up, flick a pigtail, curstey, give a teasing smile and on and on, with each pose being accompanied by a click of the camera.

The lights were hot and the shoot had to be interrupted as beads of sweat developed on his face and neck. Sylvia yelled, “Gary, you bitch, come here and fix this girl up,” and the skinny makeup artist arrived to sponge Jarod down.

Twice Sylvia yelled angrily at Jarod when he didn’t do exactly what she wanted, and Jarod got tense, but the photographer just kept demanding poses and shooting away.

“You’re done, Jane,” Sylvia said. “Go wait in the Green Room. Jacques will get you.”

Without further ceremony, she ushered Jarod and his mother out, directing them back to the Green Room.

*****
“I don’t think she liked me, mom,” Jarod said as they sat waiting.

“I don’t know, Jane,” she said, using his girl’s name in case the other girl in the room and her mother overheard them talking. “She’s certainly all business.”

“I tried so hard, mom, I really did.”

“I know you did, honey.”

“Oh hi,” the other girl in the room interrupted. “I’m Heather. You must be Jane.”

“Yes,” Jarod nodded.

“Was this your first time with Sylvia? Were you auditioning?”

The girl was a milky-white complexioned blonde with a tall willowy body. She had a round face with absolutely stunning blue eyes.

“Yes, my first time. I don’t think I did very good. She yelled at me.”

The girl laughed. “No if she yelled at you, you’re in, Jane.”

“Really. She seemed so mean,” Jarod said, picking up the conversation with the other girl.

“If she didn’t like you, she wouldn’t have said anything, and would have kicked you out of there in two minutes,” Heather explained. “If she was yelling at you, she thinks you’re going to be good model. You’ll see.”

Jarod thanked Heather, and soon the two mothers were talking, too. Jarod could hear his mother refer to him as “my daughter,” and the words thrilled him. Hearing his mother begin to accept him as a girl were the highlight of the day, even more than hearing from Jacques a few minutes later that they’d like to hire Jarod (as Jane) to be a regular model.

“Didn’t Sylvia know that Jane here is a boy?” his mother asked Jacques when they were discussing details of Jarod’s budding modeling career.

“Yes, she knew, but all she cared about was whether Jane would photograph as a teen girl and do justice to the clothes. As far as she could tell, Sylvia said Jane would be one of the best models she ever had among 13 and 14 year old girls.”

“Oh, Jacques, this is both good news and troubling news,” he heard his mother say. “It just means I must accept my sweet lovely child as a girl sooner than I wanted.”

“Nancy, please, we won’t rush this,” Jacques said. His voice had become low and took on a confidential tone. “Just think of it as a job for your lovely child. As long as she poses in a professional manner, we’ll ask nothing more.”

“You’re so kind, Jacques. I’m sure I can trust you.” His mother smiled, and, it seemed to Jarod, was almost flirting with this elegant man.

“You’re kind to say that, Mrs, Pinkerton,” he said, assuming a more formal manner. “Once we get Jane here on a regular shoot schedule, we’ll be seeing more of you too. We like our parents to be involved and supportive.”

“That’s good to hear, Jacques,” his mother said, still keeping it more personal. He could see his mother’s face redden. The final details concerning hourly pay rates, parental permissions and rights were completed. Jarod and his mother were about to leave, but Jacques urged them to stay a moment longer.

“I think what really helps Jane to be so charming and girlish are those pigtails,” Jacques said. “I want Steph to come in here for a minute.”

“Oh, you mean the art director?” Jarod asked.

“Yes, she’s really very talented,” he said, as he left the room, obviously to summon the art director.

“I wonder what he’s got on his mind, Jane,” his mother said while they waited.

“I don’t know, mom. It’s something.”

When Jacques didn’t return immediately, Jarod looked at his mother, whose usual worried looks were replaced with a smile, as if she was satisfied about something. He pondered that for a minute, and began smiling himself.

“You like Jacques, don’t you mom?”

“He’s nice man, Jane, and he’s been nice to us. That’s all.”

“He likes you too, mom. I can tell.”

She brushed a hand in his direction, in a motion of dismissing his comment as nonsense.

“And he doesn’t wear a wedding ring, mom.” Jarod persisted.

“That’s enough of that now,” she said firmly.

“Mommy, I just want you to be happy.”

“I am happy, dear. Now that’s that.” Her smile turned to a scowl, but soon, Jarod could see, the earlier contented face returned.

“This is Stephanie Johansson, the art director,” Jacques said, returning with the young lady, who Jarod could see was a mere slip of a girl.

“Hi Jane and Mrs. Pinkerton. Just call me Steph.”

“Now, Steph,” Jacques began. “You watched Jane’s shoot. Tell me first what you thought about it and if there was anything unique about Jane.”

Jarod froze at hearing the question, wondering if Jacques was attempting to see if Steph noticed his true gender.

“Well she was a natural. I liked how she posed and she has such a lovely body. It’s toned, but soft looking. Very natural for a 14-year-old girl. And she could photograph as a younger girl, too.”

“Anything unique, different about Jane?”

“Well I love her ordinary, old-fashioned name. But, something else? I don’t know.”

Jacques persisted: “Look at her closely. What is she wearing?”

Steph’s face lit up: “Oh, pigtails. How obvious.”

“Yes, and she wears them so charmingly!”

“Yes, she does,” Steph said.

“Well,” Jacques said. “We’re trying to develop a theme for our Spring campaign. What’s wrong with spotlighting girls in pigtails? It would show all of our Spring outfits to great advantage.”

Steph’s face lit up. “Oh yes, pigtails make me think of fresh young girls, all cute and bright and lively and pretty. What an idea?”

“See Jane, you have given us the idea,” Jacques said. “And we’d have only noticed it because you’re everything a pretty little girl should be.”

“She’s a delight!” Steph added.

Jarod and his mother sat shocked at this conversation. Where was it headed?

“I can see our theme now, ‘Pigtails are for spring!” Jacques said.

Steph paused: “How about ‘Pigtails are for girls!?”

At that, both Jarod and his mother burst out laughing.

Both Jacques and Steph looked at them in puzzlement. When she settled down, Jarod’s mother said merely: “It’s just a joke between Jane and myself.”

(To Be Continued)