Chapter 12: More Complications

Thanks to a fairly light class schedule on Friday, Karen was able to schedule lunch with her mother and brother. They agreed to meet about 11:30 a.m. at the Student Union, and Sonny was thrilled to enter the historic 100-year-old building that had become an icon of the State University. The building was built like a medieval castle at a time in the early 1900s when such architecture was popular throughout the country. Its four turrets pointed high in the sky and for years dominated the campus skyline; in more recent years, its outline had been dwarfed by several skyscrapers of nearby classroom buildings and offices, an occurrence that had brought criticism to the University’s lack of restraint.

Inside the Union, the most popular gathering spot for students and visitors was the huge lower level room that covered half of the building, containing a snack bar (even beer was served). Sturdy oak tables and chairs seemed always to be filled; all of the furniture so indestructible that you’d see carvings in the tables with such sayings as “M.K. — S.T . ’41,” “Steve Loves Mary, ’52,” and “Bill D. ’35.” For most of its 100 years, the place was affectionately called the “Dungeon” or “Dung,” even though the room was brightened up by light coming in from full-sized windows looking out on the lake. The din of noise was continual.

Luckily Karen and her family found a table near the windows; they put their trays down. Karen, still feeling stuffed from the snack they had the night before, chose a tomato salad and herbal tea, her mother had a tuna salad sandwich plus coffee and Sonny had two BBQ rib sandwiches (the “Dungeon Special”), a milkshake and fries.

His fingers dripping with barbeque sauce, Sonny announced: “Karen, I’m thinking of going down to visit Mark with a couple of friends from our football team. What d’ya think?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Samuel,” their mother scolded.

“Oh, ma,” he said, still chewing. No doubt he’d been told that thousands of times in his young life. “Would that be OK, Karen?”

“You want to visit him? Why, Sonny?” Karen asked.

“He was so nice to me when he visited you, and I know some of my friends were impressed that we knew him. He really was a star, Karen.”

Karen smiled. Yes, Mark had been friendly with Sonny, even to the point of spending much time with Sonny talking football, while Karen waited impatiently, worried that Mark was using too much of his short visit with Sonny instead of her.

“I don’t know, Sonny,” Karen said. “He’s not wanted to see too many people since he was injured.”

“Oh,” Sonny said, his face showing disappointment. “But mainly, sis, I thought maybe a visit by some of us players might cheer him up. What do you think, Karen?”

“Yes, dear,” Cecelia Hansson said. “It might just do that.”

Karen smiled. Her brother — who had teased her in her “Kenny” days for being “girly” — had shown continual kindness to her now, as well as displaying a caring nature that she never thought he had. The boy was even picking up some of the household chores that Karen had traditionally done when she lived at home, obviously to help his mother out due to her long and difficult work schedule.

“OK, Sonny, tell you what I’ll do. I’ll talk with Patti Hamilton to see if she thinks it’s a good idea and let you know,” Karen said.

“How will you get there, Sonny?” their mother asked.

“Jamie has his license. He can drive.”

“Oh no,” their mother protested. “I’ll drive you boys down if Karen can set it up. You’ll have to go on a weekend anyway.”

“Oh mom, Jamie’s a good driver,” Sonny protested.

“Good driver, ha!” Cecelia Hansson exclaimed. “He’s good at squealing his tires when he leaves the curb. No honey. I’ll drive, or one of the other parents can.”

“All right,” the boy said. “I really want to see Mark, mom, and that’s fine. He’d probably be glad to see you, too.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Karen said. “I don’t think he’ll refuse to see you boys.”

Karen leaned over and kissed her brother, an affectionate sisterly kiss. Sonny, however, stiffened at the show of affection. Karen smiled; he’s still a 15-year-old boy.

*****
Professor Fenstrom demanded that Karen stay overtime that day, forcing her to cancel her planned dinner with her mother and the Roberts. While she was disappointed to lose this opportunity to be with her mother, she was glad not to have to interact again with Whitney. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy him; she did. The truth was she was fearful of becoming fond of the boy, developing a friendship that would further complicate her life.

“Now Karen, I’m hoping you can keep up with me on this,” Fenstrom began. “I’m going to go through my scene directions, page-by-page, and I want you to take notes. Then I want you to type them up, as I’ve given them to you. OK?”

“I’ll try, sir,” Karen said. She knew it would be difficult to follow the professor, since like most creative people his mind raced a thousand miles an hour, sometimes stumbling around and even being contradictory.

“I’ll trust you’ll make sense out of my gibberish,” he said, smiling.

He reached over and gave Karen a light affectionate tap on her cheeks, bringing a flush to her face. The two were close together in his small office, the professor wandering back and forth as he talked, his steps reduced to two in each direction, each time coming so close to Karen she sometimes felt the cloth of his pant leg against her arm as she sat in a chair, a script on her knee. She wore tight-fitting jeans, a camisole that exposed her modest cleavage and two-inch high heeled boots. She had taken off her sweater due to the warmth of the room, exposing her bare arms and shoulders.

The professor completed discussing his directions for Act One of “Picnic” by five o’clock.

“Now I want you to stay and see if you can put these in the computer before you leave,” he said.

“But, sir,” Karen protested. “I need to get to the basketball game and meet my mother. We were going to have dinner together.”

“Well, that’ll have to wait, dear. I need these finished so I can go over them tonight. Tomorrow we need to do Act Two.”

“But . . .”

“No buts, Karen. I need this. I’ll order in for the both of us. Is Chinese OK?”

“I’ll try, but I will go when it’s game time, OK?”

“It’s a deal, I know you can do it. I know a good Chinese place that’ll deliver here.”

Karen nodded, and headed to her desk. She called her mother, gave her regrets about missing dinner. Her mother offered to stop by shortly and drop off Karen’s ticket so that they could meet at the game.

*****
“Karen, I’m happy you decided to work for me this semester,” the professor said. When the food arrived from the Chinese Palace, he cleared a spot on his desk for the food, and set up a folding chair for Karen.

The arrangement felt a bit too cozy for Karen, who already could sense the Professor was getting overly familiar, in spite of his pledges to treat her professionally.

“I know this red wine doesn’t necessarily go with Chinese,” he announced, producing a bottle and two glasses from somewhere beneath his desk. “Would you like some?”

“No thanks, sir,” Karen said when she was seated. “I need to keep my head clear.”

“Good thought. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have offered you any. But, would you mind if I had a glass?”

“Good right ahead, sir,” she said.

“No need to ‘sir’ me, dear. Just Eric is fine.”

“I think I’ll stick with ‘sir,’ sir,” Karen said, giving him a smile.

“Have it your way,” the professor said, turning to serve the food from the two paper containers.

The two ate in silence, Karen purposely concentrating on her food, with a desire to get back to her desk as soon as possible to continue transcribing Fenstrom’s notes. Besides, she wanted to return to her desk quickly, for fear that her mother would show up any minute with her ticket and find the two of them close together in the professor’s inner office.

As she bit into her first egg roll, she heard the outer door open and her mother’s voice from the outer office, “Karen, are you here.”

“Mother, I’m in here. Just stay there I’ll be out to greet you.”

The professor yelled out, however: “We’re in my office, just come in Mrs. Hansson.”

Karen tried to move back to distance herself from the professor, but it was too late; the door opened and her mother walked in, quickly surveying the small, cramped room.

“I’m sorry I had to ruin your dinner tonight with Karen,” the professor said, showing sincere contrition. “I really need to have Karen complete this project before she left tonight.”

“I understand,” Cecelia Hansson said. “I often have to ask my assistants to work extra even when it intrudes on their families.”

“That’s good of you to understand, Mrs. Hansson, but I have found your daughter to be a most valuable worker,” Fenstrom continued. “She understands drama and she has plenty of other skills that I need in the office here. She’s a joy to have around.”

Karen blushed as he spoke, wondering how much the professor said was what he truly believed, or whether he was using his acting skills to impress her mother.

“She loves the theater, though I’m wondering what other skills you’re referring to professor,” Cecelia said, looking sharply at Karen.

Fenstrom blushed and responded, “Oh, Mrs. Hansson, she has other office skills. That’s all I meant.”

She handed the ticket over to Karen and turned to go, but Fenstrom stopped her. “Why not stay and share some of this? I’m afraid I bought too much and we have lots. This’ll make up just a bit for spoiling your dinner plans.”

“Can’t stay, I’m planning to join another couple for dinner,” she explained.

“Surely you have time for a glass of wine?”

Karen saw her mother scowl; then she looked quickly at Karen as if inquiring whether Karen was drinking wine. Fenstrom sensed her critical eye, and said quickly: “Oh, I wouldn’t serve your daughter any wine, ma’am. I know she’s underage.”

Karen could see her mother grow more at ease with the assurance that the professor was not offering her any wine. Nonetheless, Karen was shocked by the ease with which the professor lied to her mother about the wine.

Her mother excused herself. Karen finished her egg roll, small portions of rice, and a curry dish with shrimp, noodles and sprouts. She said little as she wolfed down the food, leaving the room as soon as she was done. Fenstrom, too, finished his eating, and Karen took the remaining food and carried it out to a small refrigerator that was set in the outer office. She was about to leave for the women’s room, when Fenstrom yelled out at her: “Karen, would you come back in here and clean up the rest of these dirty plates all?”

Karen scowled, about to object to being his maid, but thought the better of it. Better to just do it, and not pick a fight. She found him examining a script as she cleaned up the desk area, picking up the dirty paper plates, napkins and plastic eating tools and carrying them out to a trash can in the hall. Neither spoke. Karen went to the women’s room, cleaned her hands, threw water on her face in an attempt to freshen up and returned to her desk to complete the transcribing.

She completed her work about 30 minutes before the game time, giving her plenty of time to get to the game.

“I just forwarded you a file with the transcription, sir,” Karen yelled to the professor. “Check your computer, sir.”

“OK, good. Karen, do you have time to print out the transcription?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, hitting the “print’ button.

A moment later, she plopped the dozen pages of the transcript on the professor’s desk. Surprisingly, the professor seemed little interested in the transcript; instead, he looked at Karen and said: “You know, dear, you’re a gem.”

“Thank you, sir. I must leave now. Hope you find the transcription to your liking?”

“If you did it, I’m sure I will.”

“Good-bye, sir. See you at 8:30 tomorrow morning, right?”

“Karen, look, I know you’re mad at me, but I couldn’t very well have told your mother I offered you wine, you know?” he said.

“Sometimes I wish you’d just be honest,” Karen said, her tone getting defiant. “Look, sir, I enjoy this work and this job immensely. You know how much I’m interested in the theater and I can learn lots from working with you, but I can’t trust you, sir. Perhaps this isn’t a good idea, and I should quit now.”

“Karen, dear, I haven’t touched you, have I?”

“Yes, you have several times, just little touches on the shoulder or arm and once on my thigh,” Karen said. “You acted like they were inadvertent, but I still felt them. Professor Fenstrom, you know I’m going through lots of stuff now with this transition and my boyfriend in the hospital. I just can’t deal with your advances. Really I can’t . . .”

Karen burst into tears and ran out of the office, hurrying to the women’s room. She dashed water on her face and reapplied some light makeup which had been damaged by her crying. The effort settled her nerves; she returned to the office to get her coat.

Professor Fenstrom stood at his inner office door, looking at Karen as she returned.

“That was quite a performance, Karen,” he said. “You’ve got the part.”

“What? You think that was a performance? Ohhhh, you make me so mad.”

She held back tears; she wouldn’t let him see her cry again. Turning her back on him, she put on her coat and hat and grabbed her purse. She headed to the door.

“See you here at 8:30 tomorrow, Karen. We’ve got lots to do then,” he yelled after her.

Karen said a soft “Yes sir,” and left the room.

As she walked in the crowd headed to the University’s monstrous basketball arena, she tried to settle down; she was still shaking from the tirade she had unleashed upon the professor. She was pleased he hadn’t fired her; yet she was wondering if she should quit the job, even though she loved the work. And was he serious about her getting “the part?” And what part would that be, that of the teenager in “Picnic” that the theater was to stage that spring? But was a part in a university theater production worth selling her body and soul to an unscrupulous professor, regardless of the talent the man had?

*****
“You two were awfully cozy in there,” Cecelia Hansson said to her daughter after Karen had settled into the seat at the game.

Karen arrived just after the University Jazz Ensemble played an unusually rousing version of the “Star Spangled Banner.” The music excited an already aroused crowd greatly enhancing the adrenaline of the packed audience. Since their high school team was considered an underdog — even being dubbed the “Cinderella” of the tourney — it had gathered the support of most of the crowd.

“Nothing was going on there, mother,” Karen said, almost having to yell into her mother’s ear in order to be heard.

“I hope not, but he looks like a player, dear. Watch out.”

“He is, mother, but I’ve got it under control. Don’t worry.”

“I didn’t like what he said about your ‘other skills,’ honey. You’re a very special girl, you know, and guys like him may be intrigued by that.”

“Oh, mother,” Karen said, with some exasperation. Yet, she realized her mother’s warnings were probably wise.

Though the two were yelling in each other’s ear, they were confident no bystanders could overhear the conversation. Later, during a timeout when the crowd noise was less oppressive, Karen described how she had withstood the professor’s advances, pointing out that she had been given instructions on how to deal with such men from both Moira, her counselor at the Gender Clinic, and Angela, her longtime girlfriend.

“I must say, Karen, you’ve picked up a lot of feminine common sense in a few months,” Cecelia Hansson said.

Karen smiled, whispering to her mother, “I think I’ve been a girl all my life, mother, so I think it came naturally.”

At halftime, Karen met Whitney Roberts; the two had waved at each other in the stands earlier, and Whitney through a combination of sign language and mouthing invited her to join him for a Coke. She had nodded “yes.”

The score was tied at halftime, and both teams were obviously keyed up for the game, both having played hard, scrabbling for balls and running helter-skelter up and down the floor that made for an entertaining game, if not exactly a model of sound basketball.

“You’re hoarse,” Karen said to Whitney as he handed her a diet drink.

“Too much cheering,” he said. “But I think I heard you squeal a few times too, Karen.”

She blushed.

“Maybe you and I could ditch our moms after the game and go somewhere together,” he proposed. “Would that be OK, you think?”

“Whit, I look like hell, and I promised mom I’d spend time with her,” she said. Actually she liked the idea of going off somewhere with this nice-looking boy who was also so friendly and easy to talk to.

“You look fine, Karen.”

She giggled. “You boys don’t know anything about how a girl feels, Whit. I had to work until just a half hour before the game and didn’t have time to change outfits or freshen up. A girl wants to both look and feel nice when she’s out.”

Karen still wore the tight, faded jeans, a camisole under the sweater and winter boots. In truth she felt grubby; she was convinced her body smelled and that her breath still sent out the residual hints of onion, garlic and spices from the Chinese food she ate. She felt, too, her hair was a mess. Also, she had not renewed her makeup all day long, having only had time to touch up her lipstick. Outside of a single strand of pearls, she wore only simple silver studs in her ears and no other jewelry.

“Well, you’re a pretty sight to me,” he said. “You see how the girls dress around here now? You could wear a garbage bag and still be the prettiest girl here.”

“Oh Whit!” she exclaimed, growing excited at the praise. Strangely, she felt the boy was sincere.

“Tell you what,” he said. “We’ll go someplace where it’s dark.”

“Hmmmmm. I don’t know about that,” she giggled.

“And don’t worry about our mothers,” Whitney said. “I already talked to mom, and she and your mom said they wouldn’t mind us leaving them. I think they’ll go get a drink together somewhere.”

Back in the stands, her mother asked her if Whitney had suggested the two go off together; Karen said “yes,” and her mother agreed she should do it.

“It’s probably best this way, anyway, Karen,” her mother explained.

“Emily and I shouldn’t be seen together so often, since her members and my bosses may think we’re undercutting our bargaining positions,” she said. “I think it’s OK for our children to be friends. So Emily and I will go off for a quick drink, somewhere.”

*****
The game ended badly for the team; it went into the last five minutes with a small lead and the fans cheered mightily for the “Cinderella” team; but soon the superiority in talent from the other school — a perennial favorite for the State Championship — whipped its game together to move ahead decisively.

“Our guys didn’t give up, though,” Whitney said, as he escorted Karen to the Java A-Go-Go, a popular hangout for students who were not old enough to drink. The coffee house had become even more crowded in the new semester, since the University began a crackdown on underage student drinking. The University had an undesireable reputation of being one of the top three “party schools” in the nation, largely due to a long tradition in the State of having loose laws regarding drinking. The new University rules had reached the point where an underage student faced expulsion if they were caught with a drink in their hand, not only in a public place, but even in private campus housing.

“I don’t drink alcohol,” Whitney said, when the settled into two chairs at a tiny table. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t either, Whit.”

Whitney had insisted on buying the drinks and several small fruit and nut treats that they could munch on.

It was inevitable that their knees touched due to the tight quarters and Karen smiled at Whitney as they two young people moved close to each other. Because of the crush of students in Java A-Go-Go, togetherness was actually forced upon them. Karen didn’t mind, since it meant they could sit close to each other to talk, though she was concerned as to whether her breath stunk.

“You know I’m not a complete girl, yet, Whitney,” Karen said. She sensed the boy was smitten by her femininity and felt she must set the record straight, both about caring about another boy and about the fact that she still had many steps to take before she’d be a woman.

“I know that, Karen, but I like you,” he said.

“And I like you, Whitney Roberts,” she said. Already her face was only inches away from his, and she resisted the temptation to kiss him.

“I must confess something to you, Karen,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Well . . . ah . . . ah . . . it’s kinda awkward, and I might hurt your feelings.”

“Oh? But I want you to be honest with me, Whit.”

The boy said nothing for a minute and then began speaking, his face moving even closer to hers and the words coming out softly, but clearly:

“Remember in high school when we were in lots of classes together?”

“Yes, you were always nice to me, when some other guys teased me. I think you even stood up for me a couple of times.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you remembered. I felt so badly for you. What had you done to bother them? It just wasn’t fair and my mom has always taught us to stand up against unfairness.”

“That was sweet of you.”

“I think I fell in love with you back then, Karen, back when you were Kenny,” he said quickly.

“You did?”

“Oh no, Karen, it wasn’t that I was thinking of you as a boy, even then. You had these cute little mannerisms, like the way you’d flick your hair back out of your eyes. It was just like the way the girls did it.”

“You mean like this?” Karen said, moving her hand daintily to move a strand of hair.

“That’s so cute how you do that,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I remember you in gym class too, how lovely your legs were, too. You had softness about you that was so nice, Karen. I couldn’t help but thinking: I wish you were a girl so I could hold you and hug you and kiss you. I never thought of you as a boy, but in all my dreams I never pictured you would be as pretty a girl as you are right now.”

Karen was shocked: “You thought of me as a girl back then?”

“Yes . . . isn’t that weird? And here you are!”

Whitney reached over and grabbed Karen’s hand, burying it into his calloused hardness, and she felt his fingers lightly caressing the inside area of her wrist. Karen seemed to melt into his touch.

Later that night as Whitney walked Karen back to her residence, Karen felt chilled; it was mid-March and the temperature had dropped well below freezing as the wind switched so it came from the north across the frozen lake. He noticed that Karen was shivering so he put his arm about her to keep her warm; the girl appeared to have welcomed the intimacy. Whitney wondered whether Karen’s acceptance of his closeness meant more than merely a need to warm herself. They stopped outside the house and Whitney drew Karen close, giving her a quick kiss.

“No, no, Whitney,” Karen said, breaking away from the comfort of his hug. “We can’t start this, please. I like you. I really do and I think you’re so nice, but I’m in love with Mark. And he needs me now. Please we can’t start anything.”

“I know Karen,” the boy said, his voice soft and sad.

“You’re crying, Whit,” she said, seeing his eyes grow moist in the direct light of a street lamp overhead.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. That’s so nice, Whitney. Boys can and should cry you know.”

She turned quickly. “Please call me again, Whit. I like talking with you and there’s nothing saying we can’t be friends.”

“I will, bye Karen,” he said, watching her bound up the porch steps and into the house.

Whitney Roberts smiled: she was all girl wasn’t she, he said to himself.

*****
“I thought you’d be home sooner,” Ramini said when Karen entered their bedroom. The room was dark, except for slivers of light that filtered in from the street. Karen could see that her petite roommate was curled up in Karen’s bed.

“I’ll change in the dark. I’m sorry I woke you, Rami.”

“That’s OK, I was waiting for you. I thought you’d be back sooner. The game ended hours ago.”

The tone was accusatory, and Karen felt guilty. As much as she loved being with the tiny Indian girl, she was finding Ramini to become more and more dependent. Perhaps it was to be expected, since Karen had sympathized with Ramini’s problems. In transitioning to womanhood, Ramini had become alienated not only from her family, but also from her former Indian acquaintances on campus. Traditions from her native India held a heavy sway, even among those educated Indians in the United States.

“I’m sorry, Rami, but we stopped at Java A-Go-Go for a while, and the time just sped away,” Karen said.

“Karen, give me a hug, please,” Ramini whined.

Karen knelt down beside the bed, and put a gentle hand on Rami, who was cuddled up in a fetal position on her side. Karen leaned in to kiss the girl, the scent of the other girl’s perfume permeating Karen’s nostrils. It was obvious Ramini had prepared herself to induce Karen to sleep with her that night.

“I’ll change into my nighty, Rami and join you soon,” Karen said after a moment, kissing the girl again.

Karen was troubled by Ramini’s advances, even if she felt attracted to the girl’s fragile body, her smooth skin and warm lips. It had indeed been an exhausting day and Karen was tired, while Ramini was as eager and alert as a squirrel on an oak tree.

“You’re the only person who cares about me,” Ramini said as she snuggled into Karen’s arms.

“Oh Rami, you have other friends and you’re a very pretty girl. All you will need is time to get reacquainted into a whole new life style,” Karen said, lightly kissing the other girl, and caressing her tender shoulders.

“I’m not so sure about that. None of my Indian friends will talk to me anymore, and my mom is forbidden to contact me, thanks to my dad.”

“I know, honey, but if it’s getting too hard on you now, maybe you should forget about transitioning for a while,” Karen said. “I’m sure both Dr. Bargmann and Moira told you that you’d have to develop a whole social life and it wouldn’t be easy.”

Ramini nodded her head.

“No, Karen, I’ve come too far. I’d still be the butt of jokes and snide remarks even if I tried to be a boy again and you know I’m not a boy or at least a real boy. Besides, I feel safer as a girl. You know how I faced getting beaten up. I’m so pathetic.”

“It was just a thought, and perhaps we could figure out some way to keep you safe,” Karen said.

“No, Karen. I’m a girl.”

Karen hugged her friend more tightly. “Let’s just hug now and try to get some sleep, dear,” she said.

Life was so unfair, Karen mused as the two girls huddled under the blanket in the chilly room. For Karen, the transition had not been without difficulties but she had a loving family and close friends to support her. By the circumstances of Ramini’s birth, however, it wasn’t going to be easy for her; the traditions of India bore heavily upon her, dooming such persons as Ramini to a life in the closet or rejection by the community of her birth and a life as a ‘she-male’ in the sex trafficking trade.

In Karen’s embrace, the other girl soon calmed down; soon both girls were breathing easily, and they fell asleep.