Another BigCloset TopShelf story.

Joanie's 15 minutes of fame go into overtime. she learns a big secret and is given an unexpected honor from her Iowa friends. Oh, she agrees to go on a date with a boy. What was she thinking?

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

Timeout 2-Pause/Record/Fast-forward: A Whateley Academy Fan fiction

This is fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. It may or may not match the timeline, characters, and continuity, but since it's fan fiction, who cares? To see the canon Whateley Stories, check out either Sapphire's Place,

(http://www.sapphireplace.com/stories/whateley.html) or the Big Closet (http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/taxonomy/term/117)."

This is still sort of my first attempt a TG/sci-fi piece, thought I’m getting better, honest. Constructive criticism and advice is welcome. This is for fun and in appreciation of the wonderful Whateley Universe. Take it in that spirit. Any violations of copyright, trade mark or use of real people or incidents is for purposes of humor or parody, which saves my butt. I love the fair use doctrine. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2005-2006. See my agents new agents 86 and 99 of Control.

Timeout 2

By John from Wauwatosa

Chapter 5-Late One Night and I’ve got a Date for the Prom? Part one

December 14-19, 2006 Whateley Academy, Dunwich NH, Des Moines IA and Burbank CA

Tina escorted me back to Poe and waited while I dressed for supper. She was worried, and she had got a good look at me while I changed out of that hospital gown.

“I feel like I’m on suicide watch. Can’t I have any privacy here?”

“Not ‘til I’m sure you’re okay,” Tina replied.

I put on basic women’s dark blue jeans, a silk blouse, wool cardigan, walkers and my MSG bomber jacket. I clipped some classic teardrop gold earrings to my permanent sleepers — a concession to my regen powers wanting to close the holes — did a quick braid to my hair and was ready.

“How do you do it, girl? I’m so jealous.” She looked at me longingly.

“What you mean, Tina?”

“40D cups with the high, perky look and no sag -- it’s not natural.” She faked a pout.

“So you’re not interested in my mind?”

“I like that too, Miss Strawberry-Blonde all over.” Tina giggled and blushed.

“That’s not fair, I haven’t seen you naked,” I said defiantly in my Wonder Woman, hand—on-hips pose.

With my figure, it’s impressive, but I still come off like a petulant teen, unfortunately. This got me to thinking.

~If I’m gonna intimidate people as auxiliary security, that pose is out, though it might distract the hell out of them, um? ~

Tina brought me back to the living by untucking her blouse and undoing the buttons. She had my attention now, woooh girl, did she.

“Want to now?”

Tina had her top off and was loosening her bra when I stopped her. I nearly didn’t.

~She’s got to be part exemplar with that body, whoa! ~

“No no, just having fun, Tina. Some other time, sure, but let’s not rush into things, okay?”

I was trying to be a gentleman which is not easy when you’re a girl.

“Okay, Joanie, I’ll wait ‘til you’re comfortable. FYI, I’m a real brunette.”

She stuck her tongue out at me.

~Oooh she is tempting me, the minx. ~

I checked my mailbox as we left Poe and found a Fed Ex package from Dr. Sara marked “urgent.”

“Wonder what this is about? Okay if I eat alone, Tina? I love your company, but it’s been a long day.”

“Sure thing, Joanie, but remember the offer to move in with Chris and me stands. Anytime you want, you’re in, cutie.”

She gave me a gentle hug, a quick kiss on the lips and walked off, her beautiful backside speaking a sensual language of its own as she glided into the night. Ooh, am I waxing poetic tonight dairy/journal/whatever; she is a looker though.

* * * *

I got to the Crystal Hall just before the cafeteria closed for the night. I grabbed a meal, carefully; no hamsters in aspic for me, thank you, paid and found a well-lit table. I opened the packet while I let my food cool; my eyeballs nearly did a cartoon double take. A well-known late night TV show was desperate to contact me. Warners passed it on to Dr. Sara, who passed it on to me. They wanted me on the show to sing at a minimum or as a guest. They would provide all transportation, food, lodging, security and pay a sizable fee if I would agree to terms quickly. They included a private number to their executive producer.

Both Mr. Karaoke and Sara thought it was a generous offer, Warners requested that all my songs and rehearsals be recorded for use in the follow up album they kept begging me to do. The show was enthusiastic in their approval. Sara had contacted Senator Joe for me, and he agreed as well.

~That’s the tenth time at least I know of she’s called the Senator in the last few months, um? He is rather good looking, charming and a widower. They’re not, ah, doing it, do you suppose? ~

It wasn’t like I’d be outing myself any more; I was too well known now. As long as the Whateley connection stayed a secret, I was safe, and MSG had insured that any ties to my old identity and family were well and truly buried. Even if word got out of my visit to the sci-fi club, it was Joanie, not John who was there. Ditto for my MSG and Mutant wing stints: few knew all or even most of my true origin, and they would never tell. I ate, returned to Poe, found a quiet pay phone and dialed.

“Jay here, how may I help you?”

~The executive producer is the show’s star; now how do I say no? ~

“Jay, Joan Brown, um Joanie; you wanted to speak?”

“Joanie, thank Ghod you called, you are not easy to get a hold of. Girl, you are the hottest property in the business; do you have any idea what kind of numbers you generate in the polls?”

“I’m well known then, am I?” I asked, dreading the likely answer.

“Joanie, you’re better known than I am, that’s how famous you are.”

~I knew I was recognizable but this? ~

“So my days of shopping undisturbed in the malls are numbered?”

“Your Q rating is in the stratosphere. If you walked in a crowded room with the President of the United States half the crowd would say, ‘who’s the old geezer with Joanie?’” he laughed, I laughed too, though nervously; it was more of a giggle.

“You interested, Joanie?”

“Yah, I guess, but a few questions first.”

“Shoot.”

“One: when? Two: what do I do on the show? Three: how much do I get? Lastly Four: I understand you have a good collection of cars and motorcycles -- want to see my Harley?”

“To answer them in order, Joanie, one: ASAP. From a practical standpoint that’s this Wednesday the 18th. We’ll send a company jet, limo, security, the whole works. Just give me an address and your approval, and we’re on,” Jay said.

“Continue.” He had my attention.

“Two: what ever you want. Sing, talk, dance naked, anything; it’s up to you.”

“The um, naked bit I’ve done already. Thanks but no,” I emphasized no.

“Your rescue from the kidnappers, may I say, nice legs, Joanie,” Jay said charmingly.

~Legs, he noticed my legs? ~

That got him brownie points, big ones. - Stop tittering, I’m not referring to my nipples, you perverts. Ghods diary/journal/whatever, did I just say tittering? -.

“You’re the first man who’s said that to me, and I thank you for not being crude, Jay. Most guys ask, ‘Are those real?’ or ‘I see you’re a natural blonde.’ And those are the nicer ones.”

“It’s not that I didn’t notice all the rest -- you’re magnificent by the way -- but my Momma raised me to respect women. And my wife would kill me.” He laughed again. “Number three: fifteen thousand per song, no limit; fifty thousand if you stay the whole show as a guest, and that’s separate from the money for the songs.”

~Wow, we’re talking serious bread here! Most guests on the show got a few thousand and the chance to plug something. ~

“Sounds good, Jay, as long as you can guarantee solid security. I do need to inform my new employer and get their okay.”

“Where are you working, Joanie? The reports are you went off to some private school out East.”

“I am, and I’d prefer it not be mentioned by its name or location, though it will get out soon enough. You have a deal conditional on my employer’s approval and one last condition.” He must have though I was upping the ante, “I want my entire paycheck donated to the American Cancer Society in honor of my late mother, who regrettably I can’t name as my father is alive.”

“I understand, and I will personally donate an additional 100 thousand of my own money if you come on as a guest.”

“Deal,” I said without hesitation.

“Joanie, what’s this about a Harley? Being from Wisconsin I assume you know I’ve attended many of the anniversary celebrations. What yah got, a Soft-tail?”

“I have a late 80’s Soft-tail stored back at Madison. My other bike is with me in New Hampshire, it’s an F-head twin with original company racing team parts, it was my grandfathers.”

“F-head twin, that’s very old, Joanie; what year?”

“1915 give or take a year due to the racing parts; I last rode it yesterday.”

“Bring it on the show; it will fit on the jet. I’ll make sure they send a large enough one. If you ride it on to the show, I’ll pay you another 100 grand,” Jay offered with enthusiasm.

“For that kind of money, I’ll let you ride it. Make out the check to the Whateley Academy Scholarship Fund, I’ll deliver it myself when I return. They’re my employer and school. I’m an instructor, researcher and a student, among other things. I can talk about it if you like but in general terms, nothing real specific. I have security concerns, one mention of the name or its location and the deals off.”

I gave him my location, and we agreed on a time and place to be picked up.

“See you this Wednesday then, take care, Joanie.”

* * * *
I called Iowa and let Babs know what was coming up so they could watch; I did warn her that my outfits might be a tad racy. I arranged with Ms. Carson for a couple days absence. So that dear diary/journal/whatever is why I rode a 1915 Harley onto a studio/theater stage on national TV, I hear the numbers for that particular show were the highest in years. They had promoted my appearance heavily, they didn’t say who I was, they used the ’special mystery guest star’ gambit. They did say it was my TV début.

I came on stage partway into the opening monolog. Jay’s telling this deliberately lame series of jokes about Midwesterners and cheeseheads when this tall girl — me duh -- roars onto stage on an ancient motorcycle. I stopped the bike inches from him.

“We’ve had enough of these hick cheesehead jokes back home, and it’s time you stopped.”

“Who’s gonna make me?”

“I am.”

I swung off the bike, took off my gauntlets, old-fashioned goggles and modern helmet, flung my long rider style duster and tore off my breakaway chaps. I wore a variant of the Joanie outfit I’d worn on Labor Day, the Steve Zink #11s, nude hose, skin tight Daisy Duke style black leather low-rider shorts, a black leather bikini top and nothing else. I grabbed his opposite arm, spun him into me, bent his head back and kissed him full on the mouth, my left thigh in his crotch. We broke our tryst, and he called out,

“Ladies and gentlemen, Joanie!”

I launched into Black Leather, the Grandmaster Flash rap/song written for Joan Jett. I did the same simple substation of Joan_ie for Joan_Jett I did in Madison. I hoped Dad wasn’t watching; I didn’t think his replacement heart valve would take it. I stayed the whole show singing six times in total. During the first break I changed into a V-neck halter top and Capri pants and this snappy pair of dress sandals with a 3 inch heel.

~I just called a pair of shoes snappy? I’m becoming one of those shoe obsessed women like my aunt or that girl at the bank. I have to admit I did look great in them; it was sexier in a way than the opening outfit for being less blatant. Now I’m critiquing my own outfits; Ghod, I am a girl. ~

After the break I went straight into I Drove All Night, a song written for Roy Orbison by a pair of song writers who were fans. Released after his death, it’s a little known gem of a song, with the cycle, I thought it appropriate. Jay asked all sorts of questions about what I was doing, how I was handling my mutation and my bike of course. I talked a lot about Whateley but in vague terms, nothing too specific like the name or its location.

I got one big surprise that night, in providing Jay with necessary background material on me; Dr. Sara had given him a particularly embarrassing fact. We were discussing my plans for the near future when he made an announcement.

“I’m very glad you came tonight as I understand today is your birthday.” They rolled out a huge sheet cake, enough so the audience and crew could all have some though I noticed a problem.

“Jay, thanks for the cake, but isn’t that a few too many candles? I’m only 49, not 100.” Then I pouted, laughed and blew them out.

Afterwards we talked more about the difficulties a new mutant faces. Although I dared not give out information on how to reach me, I did leave a web address people could contact if they had family or friends who needed help dealing with a mutation.

“It’s so important the new mutant gets a thorough evaluation and training for any powers they have, for their own well being and the safety of others. I was very fortunate Wisconsin has a State Mutant Program; the specialists there turned my life around. I don’t know what I’d have done without their help. My family’s supportive, but since I became famous, I’ve had to limit contact for their safety. I’d like to send thanks out to my new school, my doctors at the Mutant Wing and ARC, my friends at MSG -- that’s the local mutant group in Madison --and to my dear friends in Iowa who have shown me great kindness.” I started to tear- up.

The Governor’s family?” I nodded my head. I had to snap out of this.

“I’d like to do one last song, may I?”

Jay escorted me to my mark. It’s Over, is a song Orbison often ended his concerts with, the vocal soars powerfully and full of emotion at the finish, a fitting way to end a performance. Tears ran down my face by the end, but I composed myself during the break. We ended the show, the credits running with Jay sitting on my cycle as tape of him riding it earlier that day was shown in a split screen.

I left for New Hampshire at dawn on the 19th, arriving at Whateley on my bike late in the morning. Jay was so pleased with my performance he’s doubled the donation to the scholarship fund.

“Think I need to send a thank you card?” I asked Ms. Carson as I gave her the check.

She laughed and said, “Take the rest of the day off but be here 8AM sharp tomorrow. Playing hooky, and it’s only your first week, shame on you Miss Joan. I expect we will not have a repeat of this behavior unless of course more fat checks accompany it,” she said, smiled and sent me on my way.

Finances were always a concern at Whateley between the unusual needs of the students and their ample talent for destruction. Any extra funds were always welcome, my Meridian endowment helped considerably but was not enough by itself.

I unpacked, cleaned up, caught up on my diary/journal/whatever entries, handwashed my delicates — clothes that is, what dirty minds you have. Okay, I did give those a thorough scrubbing too, all in the cause of hygiene -. I waited until it was 6PM Central then called Terrace Hill.

“Terrace Hill, Barbara speaking.” It was Babs.

“Hi, Babs, how are you and Mel?”

“Not bad, how are you after your trip to LA?”

“Tired but it was fun. You see the show?” I asked.

“Yes, Joanie, that first outfit damn near gave me a heart attack. Ghod I wish I could get away with wearing something like that but after two kids…”

“Don’t sell yourself short, I think you’re very attractive, and Bob seems to think so from what I’ve seen of you two,” I said and meant it; Babs was everything I had desired in a woman but never had the guts to ask out as a man.

“He does, from the way he’s been acting. Oh, Joanie, I have something to tell you as you’re responsible, but I’ll get Mel for you first.”

“Phone, Mel!”

“Who is it, Mom?”

“One of your friends.”

“Okay.” Mel picked up an extension. “Hello?”

“Hello? I haven’t seen you in five weeks, and all you can say is hello? I’m hurt, Mel,” I said with a mock sniffle.

“Joanie?” she shouted.

“Take it easy, Mel, that hurt!”

“Sorry, Joanie. Mom let me stay up and watch you on TV, and you rode out on your motorcycle, and you sang so pretty -- Mom said your outfit was risqué -- I don’t know exactly what that means -- I think it means it’s a little naughty, and you looked so lovely -- Eric went ‘round all day telling everyone he’d kissed you and your friends, and Mom said she’s gonna have a baby in August and...”

~What did she say? ~

“Wait a minute, Mel, your Mom’s pregnant?”

Mel called out. “Mom, you didn’t tell Joanie you’re gonna be a mommy?”

Babs came back on her extension. “Um, that’s what I wanted to tell you, dear. Ever since you saved Mel’s life, Bob’s been, well, frisky. I’m due August 11th.”

“Congratulations, Babs, you have such nice kids, third time’s the charm.”

“Thanks, Joanie. Mel’s already picked names depending on whether it’s a boy or a girl. Want to tell her, Mel?”

I had a funny feeling about this.

“Joan Barbara Johnson if I have a sister and John Robert Johnson if I’m stuck with another brother.” Mel giggled.

“You named your baby brother or sister for me and your parents? I’m honored but why not a grandmother or grandfather?”

“But I have to, Joanie. You’re my bestest, friend and if it wasn’t for you I’d be dead and...“

I could hear her sobbing.

~Now you’ve hurt her feelings, stupid. Great! ~

“Mel, Mel, don’t cry. It’s a nice gesture, but you don’t have to. I’m just happy you’re my friend. You don’t owe me anything. This is very sweet but not necessary.”

“But it is, Joanie.” It was Babs. “The moment Mel told me I knew she was right. Bob and I owe you, like it or not, and we will pay you back somehow. Think of them as a way for you to be remembered long after you’re dead.”

~Now I feel like a heal and why did Babs say ‘them’? ~

“Do what you like, Babs, but if you’re doing this so I’ll be remembered, it’s not necessary. I’ll be around for a long time.”

~Should I tell them, I owe them the truth? ~

“Sure you’re a teenage again, but someday you’ll be gone.”

“I want my sister or brother to never forget that they knew me because of you,Joanie,” Mel said. “Please?”

“Okay, okay,” I said, caving in. Mel squealed in delight.

~Teenagers, arrg! ~

“I need to tell you something in strictest confidence. You’d eventually figure it out, but you deserve to know. You can’t tell anyone, ever. Not even your best friend. Promise, Mel, Babs?”

“Promise,” they both said.

“In a hundred years I won’t look a day older than I the day we met.”

“What?” Babs said as Mel gasped.

“My mutation did a real number on me. The doctors say barring my total destruction I can live indefinitely without change. I’ll look, feel and be the same at 50, 100, 500, 1000, 10000 years old and so on. Even my egg cells regenerate perfectly, so I’ll never go through menopause.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Babs.

“Kewl!” said Mel.

“Kewl?” Babs and I exclaimed.

“Yah, it’s so kewl, Joanie, you’ll always be young and pretty, and you can be my friend forever.”

“But I can’t, Mel. You and everyone I know or will ever know will die eventually, and it will hurt me so.”

“But you’ll remember us, and that’s what matters. As long as you live, we’ll never be forgotten, ever. Who knows, maybe I’ll become a mutant and live real long like you, Joanie,” Mel said excitedly.

“It’s possible but rare. Most mutants live no longer than regular people, very few live really long lives. The Fey, they’re like the magic fairy people of Celtic legend only they’re real and normal sized, can live a thousand years, maybe much more. They’re secretive, so we don’t know much about them, but they do exist. Beyond that I don’t know; I’ve got a lot to learn. That’s one reason why I’m at this special school for mutants.”

“You’re at the Xavier Institute?”

“No, but a place like it, you can still e-mail me, I just can’t tell you where I am, okay?”

“Okay, but you see that you do, I miss you so,” Mel said, sounding disappointed that I couldn’t be with her.

“Enough with serious stuff, Mel, tell me what you thought of the show, and pause for breath once and awhile -- you scare me. You did see it all?” Mel and Babs giggled.

“She did, Joanie, but Bob and I had to carry her into bed later, she was so tired. I couldn’t do it alone, she’s too big now.”

Babs was maybe 5’4’, 5’5’ and 125lb, much like I remember my mom.

“How big are you now, Mel?”

“Mom measures me every Saturday, and I’m five foot six. I’m over an inch taller than when we first met. I weigh 95 pounds, and, Joanie, I’ve got real breasts now, full A-cups. Mom even commented I’m getting a woman’s waist and hips. You should see me now, I look so grown up.”

I could hear the joy in her voice and a snicker on another extension. I took a wild guess.

“Eric, are you listening in?” I asked in a serious tone, which came out more of a sexy purr. I can’t help it, that’s the way I sound, honest.

“Sorry, Ms. Joanie. “ I could hear him try and talk in a deeper voice.

~Is he trying to impress me? ~

“I heard Mom and my sister talking on the phone and realized it was you, and I wanted to say hi.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Eric. I hear you’re going around school telling everyone I’m your girlfriend.” Mel snorted and Babs broke out laughing.

“I did not, Mel’s lying! I just said I know you and you’re kind of a friend, and you look much prettier in person, and you kissed me twice, once to tease me and once to thank me. That’s all, Ms. Joanie, I swear.”

“You swear, Eric?” I asked; this was intriguing.

“When I give my word I keep it; Mom and Dad taught me. I give you my word I haven’t told any lies about you, honest, Ms. Joanie.” He sounded very sincere.

“I believe you, Eric.” I had a naughty thought.

“Eric, do you like me?” I heard a gasp and some muffled giggles, I wasn’t sure who from. “Tell me, Eric, please be honest.”

“Yes, Joanie, I like you, you’re very nice.”

~This is fun, let’s turn up the heat. ~

“You think I’m pretty, Eric?”

“I... um... well I... ah...”

“Spit it out Eric, common, please.”

~I am such a tease. ~

“I think you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. I can’t stop thinking about you!”

~Whoa! Eric has a crush on Moi? ~

“Eric, you have a crush on Joanie?” Babs asked in a motherly tone.

“I even dream of about Joanie and me and... it’s so wrong!” Eric sounded upset, fourteen year old love is a bitch.

“Why is it so wrong that you like me, Eric?” I had an idea I thought might help.

“Because you’re older and famous now and have special powers, and I could never get such a pretty girl to like me.” I swear he was crying.

“Eric, calm down, it’s okay to like me, really. You’re a good looking and honest boy; I’m sure you’ll soon be a very handsome man. Look at your Dad and Grandpa Williams. Physically I’m 15 to 17 years old, so I’m only a little older than you. Your Mom’s a lot younger relative to your Dad. Do you think it’s wrong she dated him?”

“But that’s different,” Eric said defensively.

“Is it, Eric? In four years you could legally marry me in any of these United States, sooner in some. I’m not saying I’m your girlfriend, but I wouldn’t mind going out with you. Maybe when you’re all grown up, who knows? If you’re anything like your parents, you’ll be a catch. The women will be fighting over you; I’d better call dibs now. It won’t hurt your reputation with the boys and ... I mean the young men and women to be seen with me.”

“YYYou’d go out with me, Joanie?” Eric stuttered.

I got silly; meantime Babs and Mel remained oddly quiet.

“YYYes, I’d go out with you, Eric. But no funny stuff, you’re not leaving me barefoot and pregnant.”

I waited for his reply and waited and waited.

~Did I go too far? ~

“Eric? ...

“Eric? ...

“You still breathing, Eric? I was just having fun, but I’m serious. If you want to go out with me, I’m more than willing. You’re Mel’s brother after all, I’m sure you’re a fine young man.”

~I’ve just asked a fourteen year old for a date? What’s with me? Am I crazy? Though he is kinda cute ... oh my! ~

* * * *

To be continued.

Revised 09/22/2006

Special thanks to my evil blonde sister for proofing assistance