Chapter 20: Summer Interlude

During the play performances, Karen continued to live at what could be considered a “safe house,” hidden away from the inquiring eyes of protesters and the media. Her friend Jenny found a room for Karen in the off-campus residence where she lived. The protests calmed, with only a token force of objectors picketing the theater, but Karen felt it would be safer to remain at the quarters, and that she would move back to her residence in the building with Angela and her friends after the play performances ended with a Sunday matinee.

She was in a deep sleep on the Sunday morning after the Saturday night performance of the play when she was awakened by the loud, excited voice of Angela.

“Karen, Karen, look at this.”

“What? What?” Karen said, awakening in total confusion as to where she was.

“Look here, Karen!”

Karen cleared the crusted gook from her eyes, finally seeing her friend Angela seated at the foot of her bed.

“Why are you here?” Karen asked.

“I saw the newspaper first thing this morning on my early run and had to show you,” Angela said.

Karen noticed that the girl was still in her running outfit, shorts and a skin-tight top. Angela was glistening with perspiration and for some reason the sight aroused Karen; she loved seeing the girl’s tanned, muscular thighs and strong tendons of her neck.

She sat up on the bed and ran her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to appear less disheveled. She knew her face must look puffy and pale and that she must have exuded a musty, foul odor from the night of deep sleep.

“Here, Karen, read this. They loved you, dear,” Angela said, thrusting a section of the Sunday paper into Karen’s hands. It was folded to show a headline: “An unusual star is born.” The story read:

“All eyes were on Karen Hansson — AKA Kenneth Hansson — as she took the stage Friday night in the opening of William Inge’s ‘Picnic,’ as performed by the University Players.

“No doubt many of the patrons in this sold-out University Theater came curious about how a boy-turned-girl could perform the part of the beauteous Madge, the prettiest girl in this fictional Kansas town.

“Any hint that there was anything weird or strange about Ms. Hansson’s performance due to her gender confusion was dispelled long before Act One ended. She had the audience eating out of her hand by the time she donned the pretty dress her mother (in the play) had bought in Kansas City.

“Make no mistake about it: Karen Hansson is all girl and a downright fetchingly attractive one at that.

“Director Eric Fenstrom had maintained in the brouhaha that grew out of his selection of this transgendered girl that she was chosen as the ‘best girl for the part’ and not as some sort of gimmick to boost the attendance for the play. Karen Hansson’s performance certainly proved the point; she’s definitely a star in the making if this freshman student from Manitowoc chooses acting as a profession.

“In an after-play interview, Ms. Hansson said that her real interest lies in social work and that she hoped to finish her degree in those studies. ‘I love acting,’ she said, ‘but I find it so satisfying to help people resolve their difficulties in life.’ While this reviewer finds her motives commendable, he also knows that based on this performance the stage will lose a real talent if she follows through on her plans to concentrate on social work.

“Ms. Hansson was backed up by a strong cast, proof again that Fenstrom — the onetime star of stage and screen — can mold raw, young talent and create a moving, compelling performance of a play that is 60 years old. . .”

Karen looked up and saw her friend beaming.

“I thought you’d want to see this, Karen,” Angela said. “I’m sorry if I awakened you.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“No, that’s OK. I’ve got to get up anyway, since I have to be at the theater by one and am meeting mom and Sonny for brunch about eleven.”

Karen instinctively reached over and hugged the hot, moist Angela, kissing her and tasting the salt of her perspiration from her lips. She loved being held by her stronger girlfriend.

“I’ll leave you, dear,” Angela said. “When are you coming back to our place?”

“Tomorrow, I think.”

“I can hardly wait to see you,” Angela said with a smile.

“I’ll be happy to get back, even though Jenny and her friends here have been great. I was safe from all the media and protesters, thanks to their help.”

*****
The play was performed three times that weekend and it was sold out all three times. There were demands to extend the play into the following weekend, but the University Administration nixed the idea, noting that students would be deep into getting ready for final exams by then.

As exhilarating as the performances had been for Karen, she was totally exhausted when the actors took their closing bows as the Sunday matinee ended.

*****
The following day, she returned to the room she shared with Ramini in the residence with Angela, Doreen and others. She found that she had settled into her old room comfortably by dinner time; Ramini was studying for exams with some classmates and the residence appeared to be otherwise empty, leaving Karen alone for supper that evening.

It was an unusually warm day for May in the city, and like all the coeds Karen dressed skimpily. She wore abbreviated pink shorts, a teal-colored tank top, and sandals with her hair tied into two pigtails. She felt relaxed and comfortable now that the pressures of the play were completed; she still had finals for which to study, but those did not seem to concern her. She had done well in most of her classes.

Perhaps it was the birds singing in the trees, the hustle and bustle of the campus with its grassy spots showing a warm green where only a few weeks earlier they still showed the brown and stains of winter. The oak and maple trees were in full bloom and Karen felt like skipping as she walked down the sidewalk to the nearby deli for a take-home salad. For a few feet, she did just that, and with her pigtails bouncing behind her head, she looked just like a 12-year-old girl on her way to the playground to play hopscotch.

“What a pretty picture.”

Karen was surprised by the voice as she mounted the stairs into the residence carrying a plastic bag with her salad.

“Oh,” she said, looking at Doreen, sitting on a porch swing and somewhat hidden in the shadows. “I didn’t see you there, Doreen.”

“Come here and sit by me, Karen,” she said, her voice putting on a rare soft tone, replacing her usually tough, masculine speaking manners.

“No, thanks, Doreen,” she said. “I think I’ll eat in my room.”

“It’s hot up there, honey. Just sit by me and eat your salad. Remember, you owe me!”

Karen remembered that Doreen used that phrase (“You owe me”) after catching Ramini and Karen taking a shower together and promising not to tell Angela. She realized that Doreen hadn’t forgotten that promise and she started to bolt into the house, understanding that Doreen’s rare sweet tones were but an act and that the girl was likely planning to assault her. Karen had hardly reached the front door before Doreen, quick as a cat, was upon her. Doreen grabbed Karen, her hard, calloused hand wrapping around Karen’s slender wrist and easily pulling Karen into her arms and hugging her tightly. Karen was too weak to resist, even though she tried mightily, squirming and kicking as Doreen dragged her into the house.

Karen felt like she was a rag doll in the sinewy, hard arms of Doreen; the other girl was panting heavily and sweating profusely as she dragged Karen — still clutching the bag with her salad — up the stairs and onto the bed in Doreen’s own room, a room rank with lingering body odor. Karen became tangled in the dirty sheets on Doreen’s bed and the stench of the other girl’s moist, perspiration soaked body began to gag her. Doreen wrestled the plastic bag from Karen’s grasp, and Karen felt her shorts being removed. Try as she might, Karen could not overcome the strength of the other girl who used one hand to remove Karen’s clothes, while holding Karen down with the other hand.

Doreen said nothing as she attacked Karen until she had finally disrobed her; then she straddled Karen, looking down at her.

“You are luscious, Karen,” she said, suddenly covering Karen with kisses.

Karen squealed out, “Help me somebody.”

Her voice came out squeaky and whiney, but she suspected no one was around to hear anyway. She was terrified and did the only thing a girl could do: she cried.

Doreen seemed not to notice, but continued to run her rough hands over Karen’s satiny skin. “You’re so soft and smooth and so sweet. Just like a grade school girl.”

She closed her eyes and allowed Doreen to lick her and caress her; the girl ran her lips down Karen’s small, but growing breasts and onto her soft tummy, finally landing on Karen’s still remaining tiny penis, now soft from the effects of hormones. She could feel Doreen mouthing the flaccid organ, licking it, apparently in the vain hope she could make it grow hard.

Karen felt nothing but disgust at the activity and tried to squiggle away from the girl’s grasp. In the background, Karen heard a screen door slam shut. Perhaps someone was in the house, she hoped, and as Doreen concentrated on her penis, Karen found a chance to let out a loud: “Help me!”

“You bitch,” Doreen said, aroused from her activity by the scream. She slapped Karen hard across the face, clamping her hand down hard on Karen’s mouth.

Karen became terrified now; there was no way she could battle Doreen who would probably be a strong match in a fight with a football lineman. She looked in terror at Doreen’s flaring eyes.

“Doreen, got off that girl!” Karen heard the loud voice as someone entered the room.

“None of your business, Maggie,” Doreen said. “She’s all mine!”

“You’re hurting her Doreen,” the girl said. Karen recognized the voice of Maggie, one of the other girls in the house. Maggie was generally a cheerful girl who was the “clown” in the residence; she was chubby and good-natured, but Karen knew she was also deceptively strong, having seen her lift heavy items when she moved into the residence.

“Shut up, Maggie,” Doreen said.

Suddenly, Doreen’s pressure on Karen was reduced as Karen saw Maggie approach and push Doreen hard enough so that she lost her balance and fell to the floor, off Karen.

“Get out of here, Karen and lock yourself in your room,” Maggie commanded her voice firm and harsh.

Karen grabbed the bag with her salad and began to leave the room and ran into Angela bounding up the stairs, obviously just returning to the residence and hearing the commotion. It didn’t take long for Angela to size up the situation, and she joined Maggie in subduing the enraged but now somewhat chastened Doreen.

Karen stopped to watch the fracas and screamed when she saw Angela about to punch Doreen hard in the face as she lay on the floor.

“No Angela, don’t hurt her,” Karen yelled.

Angela stopped quickly, her fist poised to strike. “Why not? She tried to hurt you, dear.”

“Just don’t, Angela, please. It’s not right.”

Both Maggie and Angela looked at Karen in surprise.

“What? Did you like it?” Angela said, her voice taking an accusing, jealous tone.

“No . . . no . . . I was scared to death, but it’s not right, Angela. She’s down now.”

Angela shook her head. “Don’t that beat all!”

“Just make sure she’ll leave me alone now,” Karen said.

Angela raised the subdued Doreen into a standing position, and looked at Doreen: “What do you have to say now?”

Doreen began to cry, proving that even this Amazon of a girl could show tears. “I’m sorry, Karen,” she began haltingly. “It’s just that you’re . . . ah . . . so darned attractive to me. I really only wanted to make love with you, dear.”

Karen stood dumbfounded, and said nothing.

“That’s no excuse, Doreen, and you know that,” Angela said.

“Yes,” Maggie added. “And you know she has a boyfriend.”

Doreen nodded.

Angela led Karen to her room, gently holding her in guiding her down the hallway. “I don’t think she’ll bother you now,” Angela said.

“Will the other girls here kick her out of the house, Angela?” Karen asked.

“They should, but with just a week of school left, probably not. Doreen’s OK, she just needs to learn to restrain herself.”

“Thank you and Maggie,” Karen said, leaning over to give her friend and sisterly kiss on the cheek.

“You know you’re a pretty tempting item, Karen,” Angela smiled. “Your Mark is so lucky.”

“I know and I love him so much, Angela.”

*****
“Jeremy, we’re not wanted there,” Karen argued. “Father Neuberger was crystal clear that the Church condemns girls like Rami and myself.”

“I don’t care what the Church wants, Karen. This is also a university-authorized club and they can’t restrict participation in the club,” Jeremy replied, his eyes flashing with determination.

Jeremy had stopped Karen as she left class on Tuesday morning to plead with her to take part in the fashion show scheduled for the following Saturday at the St. Vincent de Paul Center, which was located near the campus.

“But you’ll just get in trouble, Jeremy, and I don’t want to cause a fuss,” Karen said. She was still exhausted from participating in the play, as well as frustrated with all the attention she got in the days leading up to the performances because of her transgendered status.

“Look, I discussed this with the club members, and they all want both you and Rami to model at the show,” he said. “I know how busy you’ve been, but all we’re asking is that you come to our rehearsal meeting Friday at St. Vincent de Paul and help us select clothes to model and then to model for the Saturday show.”

“I don’t know, Jeremy.”

“Karen, I have one of my own creations I’d love you to model for me,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

“Oh?”

“Yes, Karen, I made it just for you. I got your dimensions from Rami. I’m dying to see you wear it. No one else would do it justice. After you model it, we'll raffle it off. I hope it'll be the hit of the show.”

Karen looked at the chubby boy standing before her and smiled.

“OK,” she said. “I’ll do it, but neither Rami nor I want to be identified as the models. Just say we’re members of the Newman Club.”

“Karen, I understand,” he said, hugging Karen, drawing her into his soft body.

The fashion show was a great success, drawing large numbers of women — and a lesser number of men — from the community, along with a smattering of students. Jeremy had drafted a couple of friends to model the few men’s items that were displayed. Otherwise, the majority of clothing shown was for women. Except for two items of Jeremy’s creations, all of the clothes modeled were from the society’s donated supplies.

She and Ramini each modeled three outfits, with Karen wearing two of the donated items and Jeremy’s outfit. Jeremy’s other outfit was for a plus-sized girl and was modeled by one of the huskier members of the Club.

“Jeremy’s dress sold over $1,000 in raffle tickets,” Ramini said afterward.

“I know. I told Jeremy that his creation was the hit of the show, but he just blushed. He’s so cute.”

“I think it was the girl modeling the dress that sold all those raffle tickets, Karen. You did it,” Ramini said. “But did you see the look on Father Neuberger’s face when you stepped out for the first time, Karen?”

“He looked pretty angry, didn’t he? I hope Jeremy doesn’t get into any trouble over this.”

“Don’t worry about him, Karen. Just ‘cause he’s soft and chubby, doesn’t mean that he’s not going to stand up for his ideas.”

Karen loved the dress Jeremy designed, a creation he had sewn in just two weeks.

“I believe in simplicity in my dresses,” Jeremy said. “So many of the top designers, I think, garbage their creations up too much.”

It was a simple design, to be sure, but striking nonetheless. The halter style dress had a plunging neckline and open back. Done in a light blue crepe material, it was gathered in at the waist, with a flowing skirt that accentuated the hipline. The dress ended below the knee, allowing the skirt to ruffle as its wearer walked. “I love how totally feminine this dress is, Jeremy,” Karen said when she first put it on Friday.

“I made it just for you, Karen,” he smiled.

“I’m so happy I agreed to take part,” she said, kissing the boy gently on his fat cheek.

*****
It was a warm, sunny Sunday in mid-June and bright sun streamed through the windows in the den of the Hamilton home in Milwaukee. Karen’s eyes feasted upon Mark Hamilton, who was trying to get comfortable in his wheelchair. She tried to arrange his pillows and doted over him, but with little effect. Nothing she did comforted him, and her inquiries were met mainly with grunts or curt “yups” or “yeahs” or “nahs.” Mark spent most of his waking hours in the den after being released from the rehabilitation center.

His mood as summer began was that of a morose young man brooding over the fact that even after five months of the best care available in the rehab center his ability to use his legs would never be restored. Mark took that realization hard. After all, he had always been an active, spirited young man, eager to tackle any challenge with great dedication. Now, he saw nothing ahead but life trapped in a wheelchair and dependent upon the care of others.

Even the urging of Theresa, the therapist who had nurtured his spirit during his months of rehabilitation, failed to arouse any enthusiasm. At one point Theresa, who had the patience of a saint, got so exasperated that she blurted out, “Dammit, Mark, quit feeling sorry for yourself,” remarks for which she immediately apologized.

Karen was living in the Hamilton home for the summer after Professor Fenstrom had obtained a summer’s internship for her at the Milwaukee Arts Council. The family encouraged Karen to stay with them in the hope that it would help buoy the spirits of the injured young man. At first when she moved in with the family, her presence appeared to have cheered Mark up, but her internship at the Arts required her to spend every weekday on the job, and she rarely returned to the home before dinner time, forcing Mark to spend many lonely hours in the den watching television, reading or working on crossword puzzles. His younger brother tried to get him to play video games, but Mark never found much joy in such ventures.

The long break in conversation became almost unbearable, and Karen searched her mind for something to get Mark talking, perhaps something that might renew Mark’s hopes. Suddenly, she remembered that Professor Fenstrom had asked her some months before to review the play, “Sunrise at Campobello,” to see if it was a potential play for the University group to perform. She had read it and was taken by its story. Recognizing its potential to help Mark gain inspiration, she asked:

“What do you know about President Franklin D. Roosevelt?”

“What? Who?” Mark said, obviously puzzled by the question, seeming to come out of nowhere.

“Franklin D. Roosevelt. Our 32nd President. Surely you know about him.”

“Of course, what kind of a dummy do you think I am?” he asked, grumpily.

“Well?”

“He led us in World War II. That much I know.”

Karen smiled. “He did lots more, Mark, like helping get the country out of the Depression and bringing in stuff like Social Security.”

“Yeah, I know,” his tone continued with some exasperation.

“Did you know that in the last 25 years of his life he couldn’t walk and yet he may have become even then the country’s best President?”

Mark nodded. “I guess I heard something about that.”

“You ought to check that out, Mark.”

If Mark found any inspiration from that conversation, he failed to show it that day. The following day Karen went to the Public Library and found they still had a VHS copy of the 1960 film made from the play. She checked it out.

“I want you to help me out with something, Mark,” she said that night as she joined Mark in the den.

“What’s that?”

“Fenstrom told me to check out an old play to see if it might be good for the theater group next year,” she began. “It won lots of prizes 50 years ago, and I like it. But, I’m looking for a second opinion, and I respect yours a lot.”

“You want me to read it, Karen?”

“No, dear, I want you to view the movie version, which was a close adaptation of the play. I got a copy of the VHS tape from the library. Do you wanna watch it tonight?”

“I suppose,” he said, showing little interest.

The two had made it a practice to spend their evenings together that summer, often renting a movie — or getting it from the public library — and sitting together on a love seat, popcorn and soft drinks before them on a coffee table. Mark, using his powerful arms, had learned to transfer himself from chair to chair or wheelchair with the use of a heavy duty walker. He grumbled a bit as Karen put the tape into the recorder that night, wondering why she’d want to watch some historical movie, instead of their usual fare of romantic comedies or action films.

“Oh Mark, just sit back and watch. This is a good story and you’ll like it,” she said, growing exasperated with his occasional crotchety outbursts.

“Then hurry up,” he said still sounding angry.

“Oh shush!”

Karen knew that his physical restrictions had worn on the young man, and that these outbursts were likely only normal. In the several weeks she had lived with the Hamiltons, the two had become comfortable with each other so that occasional minor arguments ensued. Yet, Karen also knew that the love the two shared for each other had grown stronger.

She snuggled up against him as the movie started and Mark put an arm around her.

“I love the scent of your hair, Karen,” he said. He gave her forehead a soft kiss.

“Mark, I love you, dear, and I hate to see you suffer so.”

“I’m sorry, Karen, I shouldn’t be like that to you. I love you so much.”

As she had predicted, Mark soon became enthralled in the story of a young Franklin Roosevelt, stricken with polio and discouraged that his rising political career was over, finding courage through the support of his wife Eleanor and several others to move ahead.

She said nothing to Mark about what lessons could be gained by watching the movie; she felt the movie spoke for itself and that Mark should draw such conclusions on his own.

“That was a pretty good movie, Karen,” he said when it ended. Nothing more was said.

Several days later, she noted Mark was engrossed in a book about the 32nd President of the United States.

*****
A few weeks later, Karen chose to show the 1962 film, “The Miracle Worker,” which portrayed how a young tutor, Anne Sullivan (played by Anne Bancroft), through sheer determination and tough love got the young blind and deaf Helen Keller (Patty Duke) to respond and eventually become one of the most famous and accomplished of Americans.

Neither Karen nor Mark had heard of Helen Keller until Karen discovered her while researching movies that might help her in her quest to motivate her loved one to respond. Again, she said nothing about the movie before it started, but it didn’t take Mark long to realize what Karen was doing.

“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” he said as the movie began.

She giggled.

“Well no movie will persuade me,” he said.

“Let’s just watch the movie, OK?”

“As long as you cuddle next to me, I will,” he said.

Mark sounded as if he was disgusted with her blatant attempt to show how others overcame physical problems, but as the dramatic movie continued she could tell the film captivated him. There were tears in his eyes when the movie ended.

He held Karen tightly, and the two kissed, both sobbing together for what seemed an eternity. It was a sweet moment, and Karen felt in her heart that Mark was beginning to regain the spirit of life that made him so special.