 
Jane

Kay Hemlock Brown

Copyright © 2013 by Kay Hemlock Brown

Smashwords Edition

Notice: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Contents

Prologue

Zsuszana

Deanna

Heather

Thunder

Keeping Busy

Going Home

Gabe

Deanna Visits Pennsylvania Again

Jane Alone

A commission

On Location

Life as a Makeup Artist

Jane Learns a New Art

In bed at last

Gillian Makes a Date

Angela

Visiting Stephanie

Learning about Scorpia

Scorpia Rides Again

Angie finds Love

Trio

England

Calling from England!

Christmas

Thea again

Another Commission

Sherrine and Omar

With Gillian Gone

Heidi in the Big City

New Year's Eve in the Big Apple, Sort Of

Back on the Set

A Road Trip

Stacy

The Twins on their Own

A Party Dress!

Stacy Watches

A Scorpia Movie?

Premiere!

Afterword

# Prologue

Jane found herself a 'glamour' photographer by accident. As a sophomore, Jane had broken up with her boyfriend Jay. It so happened that a certain retired couple in New York City, the Morans, friends of Jay, got to know Jane and Jay, and got to like Jane a lot better than they liked Jay! Wanting to relocate in Florida, they arranged with Jane that they would give her the use of the house, provided Helen paid the taxes on the house.

Jay had already begun to work for the porn industry. As his last act of kindness to Jane, he got her started with so-called _glamour photography_. Jay was getting to be quite rich through the Internet. Jane carefully asked the, the couple, the Morans (who had already left), whether she may use their home as a studio, and they had said yes.

Most female models responded better to a man than to a woman. Jane knew that she made a very handsome young boy. So, without actually saying that she was a boy, she allowed her young female models to assume that she was a guy. She introduced herself as "Jan", and got started with the photography.

# Zsusana

Her first model was a young woman called Zsusana, very foreign, who was accompanied by a beautiful older woman. Jay had provided Jane with blank forms which the models had to fill out and sign, after which Jane took between twenty and a hundred photographs with both a film camera and a digital camera, and negotiated how the photos would be shared between the model and herself, paid the model for her time, and saw her off. The studio was a simple one: just backdrops placed in the large dining room, with a lovely old sofa as the only furniture, and some basic lighting, in addition to the three beautiful chandeliers on a dimmer.

After a simple meal of leftovers, Jane looked around the house. She needed company, and there was no one she could call. At one time she had had Jay, but that was a long time ago; that was back before Jay had recognized that he was homosexual. He had been an intelligent, sensitive, fun-loving boy. But he had discovered gay sex just about the same time that he had discovered greed.

_I have to get to know people_ , Jane told herself. But where could she go to find people she could stand to be with? People who would understand that she was a porn photographer, and not despise her? Everybody loved porn, but hated so-called glamour photographers. Glamour photographers were sleazeballs.

Heading back to the studio, Jane began to look over the images from the shoot. After fiddling with them for a couple of hours, she set them to play in an endless slide show, fading from one into the next, and lay back on the couch to watch.

# Deanna

The second model came alone, a couple of days later. She was a voluptuous green-eyed strawberry-blonde originally from California, of medium height—about five-foot-five. She wore a sexy one-piece in a halter style that left her back bare, and medium heels in which she moved with perfect balance. She began to flirt outrageously with Jane, but in a sweet, childlike way that didn't disgust her. Her name was Deanna, and she had the most sensuous lips Jane had ever seen. They weren't heavy, but they were full and soft, and ready to curve in a mischievous smile at the slightest excuse. And she had large, full breasts that stood up on their own. "All natural," she said, seriously. "I'll never fool with them. I hate that."

Jane suppressed an urge to agree; after all, she was masquerading as a young man.

"But, after a few years ..."

"No," Deanna said, firmly shaking her head. "I'll just stop modeling."

"What will you do then?"

Deanna shrugged. Their eyes met, and Jane tried to see if the girl seemed to be prepared to join the sex trade. Perhaps she was already available, for the right fee? The number of nude models who kept aloof from prostitution was significant, Jane knew, but the temptation had to be great.

"Deanna, will you ... touch yourself for me?"

Deanna giggled, and proceeded to accommodate Jane. Jane made her stop smiling with some difficulty. Surprisingly, it was easy to make Deanna look turned on. Jane asked her to think of her boyfriend, and her eyes de-focused, and she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and proceeded to caress herself, and Jane caught it all. Afterwards, she looked at Jane with an odd, searching look that made Jane anxious for a few seconds, until she sighed softly and smiled, a smile that reached all the way to her wonderful eyes.

Deanna disappeared into the dressing-room, and Jane heard her singing to herself in a high, sweet voice. She came out fully dressed, and they smiled at each other, suddenly awkward again. She had a handsome raincoat that would keep her warm; it was getting to be a chilly October.

Unexpectedly, Deanna pulled out a piece of paper, and began to scribble on it. "Here," she said, "give me a call sometime!"

Jane took the paper and glanced at it. For the first time she noticed Deanna's handwriting: small and curly and well-formed. Jane would have expected it to be big and bold, with flourishes. Deanna dimpled at her, as if she could read Jane's mind. They shook hands —a ridiculous thing to do, after the intimacy of a nude photo shoot, but customary— and Deanna left. Jane watched her walk down the street from her window, the feeling of loneliness crashing down on her once again. They were only women; why did she feel so abandoned when they left?

# Heather

The fourth model was a stunning beauty. Like Jane, she had her hair cut short, but in a more feminine style, but she filled out her jeans beautifully. She undressed right in front of Jane, peeling away her Levis, and her musculature was so gorgeous, Jane found it hard to breathe. The girl was more beautiful than most men Jane had seen.

Her name was Heather, and she was a lesbian. She made it plain from the outset that not only was Jane—still masquerading as a guy—not to touch her, she wasn't to come too close, either. With this one, Jane had to think of completely different kinds of poses. Heather's idea of posing was closer to that of a gymnast, or a body sculptor. After they exhausted the possibilities of that, Jane tried to persuade her to relax, to pose like a girl.

There was initial reluctance, but Jane had the money, and therefore the control. They took a break, during which the girl insisted on seeing the images Jane had taken thus far, and a look of pleasure came into her eyes. She smiled at Jane; suddenly they were friends.

"You're good," she said, in her lovely, warm contralto.

"I'm a girl," Jane said, before she could stop herself.

There was a long silence.

"Get out of here!"

Jane nodded, and looked down at her camera. When she finally looked back at Heather, her lips were parted, her eyes were wide with interest.

"Are you butch? Are you a dyke?"

Jane blushed furiously.

"No ... I'm straight, actually."

Heather laughed, not ridiculing Jane, but genuinely amused.

"Got a boyfriend?"

"I'm between men, right now," Jane said, smiling.

Heather cursed, not in anger, but in wonder. "You're some looker, you know that? Man, I'd like to see you—all of you!"

Jane shook her head. "I'm not into girls," she said firmly, though she couldn't stop herself from blushing.

"Yeah, right; that's why you take pictures of girls, sure!" Somehow Jane found that she wasn't hurt by Heather's amusement.

The rest of the shoot went well, except that Jane was acutely embarrassed. Heather was quite delighted to display her charms for Jane's camera, and do things that she would never have considered until Jane had revealed what she was. Jane was utterly confused; in spite of Heather's willing exhibitionism, there was a certain dignity about the girl that made her seem fully dressed, even when stark naked. She was of medium height, but she had incredible legs, muscular and sculpted, and a hard, flat stomach that made Jane weak with excitement. As much as she told herself that she only liked men, she had to face the fact that Heather's abdomen was far sexier than that of any man she had seen.

"Ever been kissed by a woman?"

"Why, of course," Jane protested. "Lots of times!" Jane was putting things away, but Heather sat on a table, still gloriously nude. How could she be so unconcerned about her nudity?

"No, I mean _really_ kissed!"

"Heather, let's leave it. I'm not interested. Really!"

"Then why did you tell me?"

"Because you looked so uncomfortable, that's why!"

Heather did not crowd her, did not push herself into Jane's space. She simply kept talking, _asking_ Jane repeatedly. There was a faint smile on her face, and an eagerness, but Jane knew Heather was not desperate for a kiss. She was just curious.

"One little kiss," she said, softly. "I can't go without a kiss from you," she said. "I like you, Jan ... man, I gotta get a kiss from you, girl!"

Finally, perhaps something showed in Jane's face. With a triumphant grin, Heather came to her. Jane noted her prominent canines; how sexy they made her look!

She tried to keep herself from melting into Heather's kiss, but it had been a long time since anyone had held her in their arms. Her arms went round Heather's back, and she felt the strength there; she felt Heather's pubic mound press into her belly, and her soft lips against her own. She felt Heather's tongue in her mouth, and she gave into the full pleasure of the kiss, the strange wonder of Heather's smooth, whisker-less face against her own, and the feel of Heather's excitement, her strong buttocks under Jane's hand, and then Heather's hard leg between her own.

Jane pushed away, snatching her hand away from Heather's breast, where she it seemed to have ended up all by itself. Heather caught it and held it, looking thoughtfully at her.

"Okay," she whispered, releasing Jane gently. "I wanted you to know what it's like," she said. "It isn't so bad."

Jane shrugged, her eyes lowered. It took a second to compose herself, and smile. "You're beautiful, Heather ... thank you for modeling for me."

Heather smiled, this time a soft, warm smile, not predatory, not amused, but something else. It made Jane warm inside, and made Heather look utterly irresistible.

Heather put her jeans back on, and Jane asked her to stay for a little snack. She found herself telling Heather everything; how she was a painter, and had begun taking photographs as part of her portrait-work, and how she had wound up in the erotic photo business.

"But I want to get back into painting," she confided. Heather invited trust; Jane felt as if she had finally found someone she could talk to. "I'd like to paint you, if you don't mind, Heather," she said. She hadn't consciously decided to do so; her subconscious mind had a way of getting what it wanted.

"Sure," Heather said, with a shrug. "Do you have anything you've done?"

"Well, it's all packed away; but I have images of them."

"Let me see."

Heather's reactions to her paintings were all that she could have desired. Heather was far from ignorant about painting; she wanted to see more and more, pointing out this feature and that. She knew little about oil painting, as such, but knew all about composition and light.

It was only after Heather had taken her leave, promising to look her up again, that Jane realized she hadn't asked Heather about herself.

# Thunder

Jane was delighted to have Deanna back for another session. This time Deanna wore a sexy black velvet dress and very high-heeled sandals with thongs that tied up her calf. She had beautiful feet, and Jane took scores of shots of her undressing. Her golden hair was perfect, falling in soft waves to the small of her back, and she knew exactly how to make love to the camera. And those amazing breasts!

She felt more comfortable with Deanna than with her other models, though she had spent more time with Heather, and confided to her many things she had never discussed with anyone else. Deanna was warm and comfortable and accepting, and despite her obvious interest in Jane, she never let it become uncomfortable. They cooked together and had supper, but when it was time for Deanna to leave, a huge thunderstorm sprang up, almost a hurricane, and there was no question of Deanna heading back home in it. Jane got a spare bed ready for Deanna, having first made sure she was comfortable staying the night "with a man."

"Oh ... it's okay. There's no way I'm going home in _that,_ " she assured Jane.

Quite by accident, Deanna discovered Jane's secret. Jane had undressed for bed, and put on a nightie without thinking. She was just looking at herself in the mirror, wondering whether she was getting to be a little too masculine, when there was a loud thunderclap very close by, and she heard a shriek, and Deanna burst into the room, her eyes wild. She came to an abrupt halt, seeing Jane in her negligee. She herself was wearing only a terry robe Jane had given her. Just then there was another thunderclap, and forgetting her surprise, Deanna threw herself into Jane's arms.

"Oh god ... I didn't know you were a girl!"

There was yet another thunderclap, and Deanna's body stiffened in Jane's arms momentarily. Then all the lights went out, leaving them in total darkness, together with the entire neighborhood. Several blocks away, there were lights still on; in their immediate vicinity, though, the power was out.

Jane remembered the length of time with Deanna in her arms as stretching for hours, though it must have been mere seconds. When the crash of thunder died down, Deanna's frightened clutch eased, and she let out her breath slowly in a sigh. Her fingers felt sensuous through the buttery fabric of Jane's negligee, and she felt almost an ache of loss as they briefly drew apart to allow Jane to put on a wrap. "Come on," Jane said softly, "let's go get some candles."

"Okay," said Deanna, breathlessly.

Jane's heart was thudding in her chest, as she wondered how Deanna would take the surprise of seeing Jane in her nightie. Outside, in the distance, they could see more lights going out; it was a bad outage. They could barely see their way around the room. Just as Jane despaired of ever being allowed to touch Deanna again, she felt Deanna's hand brush her arm, and slip down into her hand.

"Whew, that was strange," Deanna said, with a brave laugh. _She's still frightened,_ Jane thought. They slowly felt their way into the hall, where Jane kept such things as candles in a closet. "What are you doing?" asked Deanna, softly.

"Looking for matches," Jane muttered, and then said, "Got them. Here, hold this."

She struck a match, anxiously, worried about setting something on fire. Deanna's eyes appeared in the light of the match, and Jane's heart nearly stopped; she had never realized how beautiful were the girl's eyes. They lit the candle, and gazed at each other, at a loss for words.

"Is it okay? May I still stay?"

Jane was surprised at Deanna's question. "Of course! Why?"

"I ... I don't know; I don't want to intrude on your privacy, you know ..."

"Please stay!"

The smile Deanna gave her warmed her inside. _I can't get too fond of a porn model,_ Jane's sensible self warned her.

Deanna begged to be allowed to sleep in Jane's room. The storm was not letting up, and the thunder was a constant rumble in the background.

They dragged a sofa into Jane's room, and Jane told Deanna to sleep on Jane's own bed. "I'll sleep on the sofa."

"Are you sure?" Deanna asked. "There's plenty of room for both of us!"

Jane observed Deanna's suppressed excitement, somehow accentuated by the candlelight. Her body hungered after Deanna, the feel of her still fresh in memory. Somehow Jane managed a smile that took the edge off her refusal.

"I'll be right here," Jane said softly, "and the couch is comfortable! Would you like something to drink before you go to bed, Deanna?"

She didn't. Leaving a candle burning in a safety lantern out in the hall, Jane got comfortable on the couch. She could see vaguely in the darkness Deanna getting out of the terry robe, hanging it on the bedpost, and slipping into Jane's bed. The storm settled down to heavy rain.

"I love the rain," Deanna sighed, and Jane thought to herself how Deanna's voice conveyed all that she was, her soft lusciousness, how she approached Jane, cautiously, but not easily turned aside. Jane was still shocked at how strongly she was attracted to, and affected by the other girl.

She waited impatiently to hear Deanna's breathing settle into a regular pattern; her mind was seething with illicit fantasies of the feel of Deanna's body under Jane's greedy hands. After some 200 photographs, Deanna's body should have had no secrets from her, but the look in Deanna's eyes as she struck the match was burned into her retina. From merely a girl with a beautiful body, she had become a beauty in Jane's eyes. Gradually she became aware of soft rustling sounds, and she realized that Deanna was trying to comfort herself. Here, in Jane's house, in her room? But why not? After all she was in the sex business.

The uneasy calm did not last; there was a flash of lightning, followed by an enormous clap of thunder almost right above them. In the split-second between the lightning and the thunder, Jane saw Deanna's body arching in her self-induced pleasure, only to collapse in shock. Deanna's shriek and the thunderclap came together, and Jane saw her pop upright, her eyes wild, bright against her darkened face, and in a trice Jane found herself in bed with Deanna, holding her tight. The lightning seemed so close, even Jane was shaking. They hardly breathed for a few seconds.

Deanna let out her breath slowly. "Jesus!" she whispered. "That was right in the room, practically!"

Jane laughed nervously.

"You stay right here," Deanna instructed her, firmly. From inches away, the force of her personality hit Jane hard. She could not fear the storm, distracted by Deanna's presence. Her warm, musky fragrance filled Jane's lungs, and her irregular breathing excited Jane past bearing. After what seemed a long time, her breathing settled down into a semblance of regularity. "I'm glad I'm not at home!" she said.

"Do you live alone?"

"Uh huh," she said, nodding in the darkness. "Oh Jan!" she whispered, "Thank you for letting me stay the night!"

"Sure!" whispered Jane back, patting her arm.

After a few long seconds, Deanna softly kissed Jane on the lips.

"Do you mind?" she asked softly.

Jane shook her head, struck dumb with love. The little candle was plenty bright enough now, as their eyes grew accustomed to the dark.

Deanna kissed her again, and then again, more urgently.

It was utterly different from any kisses Jane had received from anyone. These were soft, soft, and even as Deanna's excitement rose, they were still soft. "Oh Jan!" she cried in a whisper, "Tell if you want me to stop!"

To stop was the last thing Jane wanted. Her heart sang when Deanna threw a leg over her, and proceeded to kiss her thoroughly, on her entire face and the hollow of her throat, her breath coming in soft pants. The feel of her heavy breasts on Jane's body was something new and incredible, and Jane was amazed at how pleasurable it was.

Deanna's progress was interrupted by yet another thunderclap, evidently some distance away. Deanna buried her face in Jane's pillow, while Jane comforted her with soft words and her hands. Deanna genuinely did not like thunder, it was very clear. The rigidity of her body gradually ebbed once more, and Deanna's legs relaxed their grip on Jane's body.

With a sigh, very slowly, she rolled off Jane's body, keeping only her arm across Jane's body.

"I'm sorry ... I guess all the thunder got me ... excited!" There was a giggle in her voice that made Jane want to smile. "Are you into girls?"

"I don't know," said Jane, confused, "It's never happened before ... like this, anyway!"

"It's my first time, too."

Jane laughed awkwardly. "I don't think a little kissing counts, really," she said, more to convince herself than anything else.

"You want to stop, then."

Jane's heart went cold. She remained silent. Deanna turned to look down at her face. She cupped Jane's cheek with her hand, and her breast lay heavy on Jane's own. "Jan ... you're so beautiful ..." she breathed, "... Please! Please let me ... let me touch you!"

"Okay," said Jane.

Deanna's hand slowly moved down Jane's face and onto her breast, through the thin fabric of Jane's nightie, and Deanna took in a sharp breath, as she explored the texture of Jane's breast, which had been neglected for so many months. Deanna was clearly as turned on with Jane's body as Jane was with hers. It was exquisite pleasure to feel Deanna exploring her body, gently moving aside the fabric of Jane's nightie.

Deanna made love to her. It was sweet and tender, tinged with an edge of fear. Jane surrendered to Deanna's hands, closing her eyes. It was as if Deanna knew Jane's body better than she knew it herself. All night long, they took turns to bring each other to little climaxes, as if they were little girls, experimenting with sex.

Hours later, they were lying side by side, with Deanna holding Jane's hand in both her own, caressing it.

"Is it your first time?" Deanna asked again in a soft whisper.

"With a girl, yeah," Jane replied, awkwardly.

"It's different," Deanna said, presently. Jane only nodded.

They fell asleep in each other's arms, and Jane was happier than she had ever been in her life. To lie like this, with Deanna's chubby legs intertwined in her own, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. It stormed most of the night, but Deanna lay calm in Jane's embrace.

Jane struggled to wakefulness, feeling Deanna's body gone from beside her. Deanna was dressed in her borrowed robe again, staring out of the window.

"Let me buy you breakfast!" Deanna said, affecting a cheery briskness that Jane saw through at once. Jane realized that the closeness they had felt must have affected Deanna as much as it had Jane. She had imagined that the models she worked with were no strangers to all kinds of sex.

"Nonsense," Jane replied, "there's plenty of food in the refrigerator; I'll make breakfast for us."

Deanna silently watched Jane cooking eggs, and then they ate.

"The best eggs I've ever eaten," Deanna declared with a shy smile.

Jane grinned. "I'm okay with breakfast," she said, pleased.

"Are you happy to live alone, or ... or do you like company?"

"Like you, for instance?"

"Well, yeah?" Deanna said, blushing furiously. "I mean, I just wondered, that's all."

"Sure! You can stay over ... whenever you want to, really. Like, I don't have anything to do today."

"Really?"

"Uh uh. I guess I'll do a little painting."

"Oh." Deanna looked at Jane, her eyes wide and thoughtful. "I'd better go home and take the mail in," Deanna said.

"Would you like to come over for supper?" Deanna nodded. "I'll fix up the room for you."

After Deanna helped wash up, she went back upstairs and carefully dressed. Jane tried to leave her alone, but it was too much temptation; in the end she watched it all. Deanna took her leave, and Jane watched until Deanna walked out of sight down the street. How gracefully she walked! Feeling utterly confused, Jane walked about the house, ending up in her bedroom, trying to imagine Deanna in her bed, what she must have looked like when they touched each other, when they kissed, when Deanna whispered secret words of desire in her ear. But all she could remember was Deanna's face, the moment she struck the match.

Jane found herself before a canvas she had been saving for something—she couldn't remember what. And Deanna's face looked back at her, lit by a single match, and the cold light of far away lightning.

She laid down her brush, and hurried away, her throat suddenly parched. After a long drink of water, she sat down in the living-room, trying to figure it out.

It was amazing how successful their impromptu experiment in sex had been; Jane still thought of it as mutual masturbation. It had been far more satisfying than lying in bed alone, trying to give herself the sensations that she remembered when she had had sex with Jay. She was getting better at it, but last night had been simply incredible. _They were just two girls, having fun,_ she told herself.

If Jane found her feelings confusing, things were worse for Deanna. It had been a shock to see Jane in women's clothes, and she had surprised herself by making love to Jane. After touching and tasting Jane, it was impossible to think of her as anything _but_ female.

As she took the subway to the part of the city in which she lived, being jostled by sundry smelly men trying to feel her up, the desire to hurry back to Jane grew almost to a compulsion. But Deanna was a proud girl, and it seemed as if the right way to do things was to ease into the blossoming relationship slowly. She neither wanted to hurt Jane, nor be hurt by her; and the more slowly she proceeded, the less chance there would be of anyone getting hurt.

Her apartment was as perfectly tidy as it always was. The only note of discord was the few pieces of equipment that had belonged to her late pet cat Maggie, who had taken ill and died just days earlier.

She did her laundry, sorted through the mail, listened to her phone messages, and more or less semi-consciously, set about preparing for being away from the apartment for a few days. She packed the essentials in a little back-pack—a suitcase would frighten Jane—wrote out some checks and mailed them, and tried to eat a snack lunch. She tried to watch TV, which was tuned to a porn channel, but seeing a girl who looked too much like Jane, but spoke and acted differently, she turned the TV off. She read her e-mail, browsed the web for a while, and then impatiently got to her feet. Minutes later, she was on her way back to Jane's.

Jane opened the door, dressed once again in jeans, as she always was, much to Deanna's disappointment. But the look of pleasure on Jane's face made Deanna's heart take flight!

"So, how was the mail?" Jane asked, laughing. "You've brought a backpack!"

"May I stay, for like, a couple of days?" Deanna stammered out. So much for taking it slow! She knew she must look pathetic, but there was no help for it.

Looking quickly up and down the street, Jane motioned Deanna to come inside, and closed the door and leaned back on it. Deanna now saw the outline of her breasts against the black T-shirt. Jane looked a little tense, and Deanna's heart fell. But she need not have worried; Jane smiled immediately, saying yes, of course, she could stay—as long as she wanted.

"There's a shoot tomorrow," Jane warned. Deanna nodded; she understood. She had to persuade Jane that she would not get in the way. She was falling for this girl; she did not want her out of her sight.

Jane was as good as her word; she had prepared a guest room for Deanna, with linen and towels and everything. And so Deanna moved into Jane's house, and they did not have sex again. Somehow, each girl had decided, for her own reasons, that she would not ask for sex, but perhaps for that reason, the tenderness between them grew.

Jane Schultz, our heroine, was hiding from her family, and at the time this story begins, has not spoken to her parents or her numerous siblings for three years.

Deanna, one of her first models was a Jewish girl from Los Angeles. Another was Isabella, a young Italian woman settled in New York, and as we have seen, the first was Zsuszana, a Hungarian teenager, whom Jane was eventually able to persuade to take up legitimate modeling instead. We've also met Heather, who was a body sculptor and athlete. It was Heather who had been lost on 9/11. She had left home that morning, and they had never found any trace of her since then.

Before that, though, Jane had decided that she, Heather, Deanna, and as many of her models as she could persuade, should get themselves checked out carefully by a friend who was a doctor, Mary Ellen, the girlfriend of Gabe, whom Jane had known back in high school in Pennsylvania. They had discovered that Deanna and Heather both had HIV; that had shocked them utterly. Miraculously, Jane, herself, was clean. Young Zsuszana, though, had been found to be anemic.

Jane had had, at one time, a passionate relationship with Zsuszana' s mother, Maria, which had ended amidst the agony of the events of 9/11. After the dust had settled down, only Deanna, who stilled lived with Jane, young Zsuszana, who was now in college, and actually doing brilliantly, and faithful Isabella, were left. Deanna and Jane loved each other dearly, but they were afraid to be intimate because of the fear of Jane, too, becoming infected with HIV.

Keeping Busy

Jane forced herself to keep busy. She worked in the supermarket (using the pseudonym Jane Doe), and tried to get some pleasure by smiling at the young kids who came shopping with their mothers. But there was a complaint that Jane was leering at the children, and she was politely told to cut it out. "People must feel safe in the store, Doe. Concentrate on your work."

"Yes sir," Jane had said.

She took out her tennis clothes, and all her wonderful costumes, and began to sell them off at used clothes stores. What she couldn't sell, she gave away to the Salvation Army. It was as if she was preparing to die.

Deanna saw it, and began giving Jane her own things to sell off. Jane broke down and wept. Deanna took them back, exasperated. "But what will I do with them?"

"Wear them!" Jane cried.

"Okay! All right!" she yelled back. But she put them in an old suitcase, and Jane went into the bathroom and cried until she was sick.

There was finally a call for _Scorpia_. ("Scorpia" was an imaginary personality Jane and her friends had invented. Jane had begun attending annual Metal Fetish gatherings that were held in New York and Baltimore around Halloween and Easter, wearing a mask and fanciful leather outfits, and had become quite famous under the pseudonym of Scorpia, inspired by the black vinyl attire she had preferred. The conventions had started actually _paying_ Scorpia to appear.) Deanna insisted that Jane should go. Scorpia was invited as a special guest to a Metal Fetish convention in Cleveland. This time her travel expenses would be paid, as well as a handsome fee for attending. Jane pestered Deanna into coming with her.

Jane simply could not any longer relate to the frivolity that pervaded the place. Isabella had decided not to go; Heather was dead; she noticed many other faces missing. There was a list of past attendees who had been victims of the attack (on 9/11), and Heather's name was on it.

For the first time, Jane had a glass of wine before she went on. She took a break and drank a second glass, and finally felt loose enough to make the kind of wisecracks that worked. She found a sarcasm in her that was just perfect. She was interviewed right on the floor, and Jane was sure that such a sarcastic interview had never been given. It was broadcast on radio by syndicated shows, and clips were put on the news. While she was talking, though, Jane only wanted to be the Queen of Sarcasm.

In the hotel, Jane and Deanna were finally able to make love, though very cautiously. It was gentle and tender, and Jane felt herself come alive again. It was as if they were rediscovering each other. Deanna was inspired to dress in some outrageous costume, and go out on the floor again. Why not? Jane thought. Deanna had, in her bags, a costume consisting of just a front panel and a back panel, held together with links at the neck, and a broad belt. Deanna looked sensational in it. She said she would wear it without underwear.

Dee was the hit of the circle that surrounded Jane. She refused to walk on the runway, for obvious reasons, but otherwise she had a great time. Jane wondered whether she tired more quickly than before, but that was not an expected symptom of HIV. Deanna was healthy, but depressed. They both were.

Still, it was survival; not a triumph, as Scorpia's previous appearances had been. She hardly danced, except with Deanna, and when Scorpia was given the dance championship out of kindness, she refused it, and gave it to another woman. That was not appreciated.

They left as soon as they gracefully could. There was a little follow-up business, but then things settled down to the point where all Jane did was work at the smile-free supermarket.

One day she sneaked into the public library, to spy on (Zsuszana's mother,) Maria. She saw her working, beautifully dressed, as vivacious as always. It broke her heart to see how beautiful Maria was. Most of all, it broke her heart that her memory of Maria was marred by her inexplicable inflexibility, her unforgiving attitude, her callousness. There was beauty in character, too, and it seemed to Jane as if Maria had vandalized her own soul.

Then their eyes met, and Maria looked across the vaulted hall at Jane in confusion a long time, fooling around with the things on her desk. Finally she got up gracefully, and came over.

"I'm sorry!" Jane said, her tears ready to come.

"I'm glad you came," said Maria, kindly. "Wait here; I'll take a few minutes off."

A few moments later, she came to where Jane waited, her heart in her mouth, and led the way outside, and into a coffee-shop. It was late November now, just before Thanksgiving, and she found a small table for them. They ordered coffee.

"Jane," she said, "Can you forgive me?"

"Yes," breathed Jane, "a thousand times!" She could barely get the words out. Maria held out her hand, palm up.

"Please, Jane ... I'm not asking you to take me back." Jane's vision went dark, and she could just see Maria's eyes fill with pity. Evidently the despair Jane felt was clear to her. "But I need you—as a friend."

"I just can't forget ... two years, Maria." Jane managed to keep a stiff upper lip. "You were my life, for two years!"

"And you were mine!"

"How can you throw that away?"

"I don't know ... but I must. I have someone now." Jane nodded, wanting to take her hand back, but not wanting to be boorish. "She ... she lost someone in the ... you know."

"I did too."

"I know ... I know. How is Deanna?"

"Fine."

"Good. Zsuszana seems to be doing well. Our child, Jane ... _your_ child ... there is too much of you in her ... when she visits, I'm reminded of you, and those planes again, hitting the tower ..."

" _I_ remind you of that?" Jane asked, incredulous.

Maria took a deep breath and dropping her eyes, nodded. "I'm stupid," she whispered. "Hungarians are stupid, you know. Ask anybody."

Jane forced herself to breathe slowly for several long seconds.

"If you could look into my heart, and see the love and desire that burns for you there," she said, her hand trembling so hard that Maria held it tight, "you could not possibly turn your face from me! Oh, love me again, Maria! My world is so dark!"

"I can see your love, Jane ... I want to love you, but I can't, not in that way! I respect you, I admire you, I trust you with my child ... but my love ... our love was poisoned by ... that _thing_. I don't understand it, and I hate that it is so!"

_I learned Hungarian for you,_ Jane said, feeling desperate.

Maria snatched back her hand, and covered her eyes with the napkin.

"Goodbye for today! Goodbye ... Thank you for coming to see me!"

Jane staggered out, forgetting to pay.

Life dragged on. Deanna and Jane treated each other with kid gloves, afraid that if they were to have any differences at all, there would be no one to turn to.

"What were you and Maria doing, that day ... with the candle and stuff?"

"We ... we ... we were about to exchange rings."

"So late? You'd been going together for ... for _years!"_

"It was very slow. We just flirted for a while; we petted; oh ... it was a long ... courtship."

Deanna thought for a while.

"I'd like to exchange rings with you, Jane. Something is telling me to do it."

They lit a candle, a couple of days later, and solemnly exchanged rings. These were new rings, and they were wedding bands. Deanna wanted wedding bands. For many weeks, Deanna went about in a kind of euphoria, and Jane felt wonderful. Deanna's slightest mood affected Jane, and to a lesser extent, Deanna was sensitive to Jane. But it was as if Deanna had something inside that kept her happy even when Jane was in the dumps.

"Remember how you made me go home?" Deanna asked one morning.

A few months after Jane, Deanna and Heather had settled in together, Jane had got the idea of reconciling Deanna with her estranged family. They had taken several weeks off from work, rented a car, and driven across the continent, and met Deanna's family, most of whom had been delighted to see her again, especially her wonderful mother, who had taken a liking to Jane and Heather, though they had been acutely unhappy to learn of Deanna's sexual orientation.

"Yes?"

"Now it's your turn. If I ... when I die, nobody will make you go. Now is the time, Jane. I feel brave right now."

# Going Home

At least, it wasn't so far to travel. They rented a car, once again, and slowly drove down to Southern Pennsylvania, along the Turnpike. Jane had not been there in such a long time, but things looked the same; the billboards were mostly the same, the odd signs for tourist attractions. Deanna studied it all with interest or amusement. She thought Pennsylvania Dutch folk were a riot.

"Are you nervous?"

Jane's stomach was in knots, she had severe heartburn, and gas. She nodded. "A little, yeah."

"It can't be anything like what happened to me," Deanna said, wryly.

Jane smiled. "It was worth it, to meet Mimi, and your Mom," she said.

Deanna laughed. "Mimi still calls, and asks for you," she said, "but you're at the store most of the time. She's a junior now. She's in social work."

"Really?"

Suddenly, they were driving along the gravel road to the farm; Jane had no time to get ready emotionally. She parked the car, and saw her father on the stoop, reading a newspaper. He looked exactly the same as when she had last seen him.

Seeing the car, he got to his feet, and came to meet them. Jane was trembling, and Deanna was holding her hand tight.

"Janie?"

"Yes ... it's me, Dad!"

"Where in heck have you been, child? You may as well have been dead, for all we knew!"

"I've ... I've been living in the City ... working there ..."

He stared at Jane, frowning, unable to figure it out.

"Anyway ... and who's this?"

"This is my friend, Deanna," Jane said, relieved.

"Hi, Deanna. Well, come in and sit down ..." he led the way into the house. "... I guess Jane has a little explaining to do." He took the steps two at a time, as he always did. Nothing was changed.

Then her mother came out.

Deanna saw a lovely woman, with rosy cheeks; it was like looking at herself in a mirror, only older. The woman had the fluid grace that Deanna was proud of, a sharp contrast to Jane. She knew her daughter instantly.

" _Where_ have you _been?"_ she asked, evidently delighted to see Jane. "And who is this?"

"Deanna," said Jane's father, his face creased between a scowl and a frown. Jane's mother smiled a brief greeting at Deanna, and turned to her daughter.

"Jane!"

"Yes Ma," said Jane, bemused.

"I just can't believe it!" She pulled Jane into a hug, kissed her on the cheek, and held her away to study her.

"You look terrible," was her verdict. "I'll set two more places for lunch."

"Fine," said Jane's father. "Sit, sit both of you. Deanna, you have to excuse me; I want to know what's going on." Deanna nodded solemnly. The man gave her a brief seated bow, then turned to his daughter. Jane was the image of her father, except in a dress.

"Where did you go, _why_ did you leave, and what have you been doing?"

With a few white lies, Jane managed to give an explanation that satisfied her father. But then things got difficult. She had to reveal that she and Jay had split, and she lived alone, then Jay had turned gay, and had died of AIDS. And then, Arthur had died. Arthur was Jane's younger brother; they were the two youngest in the family of ten. Jane had not known that Arthur had run away, too, after Jane had disappeared off the family radar, until Jane had seen Arthur in New York City quite by accident, and it was Arthur who, they learned later, had infected Heather and Deanna with AIDs. Arthur had died the previous summer, and Jane realized belatedly that she had not called home with the news.

Of course, the family had not known. Jane's disappearance had obviously upset them greatly, but they had been certain that she would come back eventually. They had not expected her to be gone for five years. Arthur, however, had worried them sick. The news of Arthur's death was hard to tell, and Jane's father was stunned.

"Not because he was a favorite, you know," Jane's father said, when he finally spoke, sweating profusely, and dabbing at his face. He was broken; his speech, from being firm and annoyed, became slow and halting. "He was just ... not ready to look after himself. You knew that, Jane!"

Jane nodded, silently.

"All right," called Jane's mother from inside, "lunch is ready!"

"Come out here, dear."

"Why?"

"Sit down."

"What? Charles?"

"Artie is dead!"

She fainted.

Artie _was_ a favorite, the apple of his mother's eyes. They had both been favorites, Deanna realized, but Jane had been rather a more consistently rebellious child, at least by their standards, while Artie's behavior was always condoned as mere high spirits.

Jane's mother sat and watched them eat, looking blank. Jane and Deanna were both famished, and Jane's father ate mechanically. They ate mostly silently, as the old couple tried to persuade Jane to come back home. The house was empty, they were lonely, and they wanted her back. Deanna found herself dabbing her eyes. She knew Jane would never leave her alone, but suddenly this visit seemed a terrible idea.

Despite the stormy reception in California, there had been a sense of accomplishment in that visit. Here ... there was no open aggression, but there was a feel of impending disaster, like a traffic pileup in slow motion.

"Mom ... Dad ... there's more."

Jane's mother looked at her, her face screwed up in anticipation. Jane's father simply looked at her expressionlessly.

"I'm ... I don't know how to say this, folks, but ... Deanna and I are in love. We live together ... we have a home ... and I hope you can accept her as ...my ..." Jane's voice became softer and softer, and she swallowed. " ... as my partner, and my ... love."

Jane's mother's eyes grew wide, and she covered her mouth and looked at her husband. Her father's mouth grew grim. He slowly got up, and left the table, and went and stood out on the stoop.

Jane's mother turned back to her, covering her cheek.

"You're gay?"

"Yes."

"Good heavens ... Lily Hutchins is gay, too. And I thought Artie ..."

"Yes, he was too, Mom ... sort of borderline. It doesn't matter, now ..."

"Why, darling?" she asked softly, her eyes going between Jane and Deanna.

"No reason, Ma ... one day ... there was a thunderstorm, and ... we grabbed each other ... and I've loved her ever since!"

A rueful smile curved the older woman's lips, and Deanna loved her from that minute.

"Maybe you girls will find two nice fellers ... and you'll forget about ... you know."

"Maybe," said Deanna, shrugging, but Jane shook her head. "I've slept with boys, Ma, and ... no boy or man will take me from Dee. Maybe another woman, but ... never a man."

"Never say never!"

"Very, very unlikely."

Jane's mother took a deep breath, and picked up a sandwich. "Finish eating, anyway," she said. "When I'm upset, I eat."

"Honey," Jane's father called, "bring me a glass of whiskey ... just a small glass."

Jane's mother got up, with a quick look at the girls. "I'll be right back," she said.

She gave Jane's father his glass of whisky, and hurried back to the girls. "Why don't you come help me in the kitchen?" she asked, in an uncanny echo of the scene in California.

She had been in the middle of rolling dough, and she washed her hands, floured them, and resumed.

"You don't look real happy and healthy, you two. Why stick to it ... I'm sure Deanna's family wants her back as bad as we want you, don't they, dear?"

"Yes, ma'am. But I love her, and that's what we told them. They thought I had gone back because I was sick of it. But we only went back because ... I'd run away from home, just like Jane ... and now it was time to bring her to my folks, and make her part of the family. And my sister Mimi likes her ... they all like her, except my dad. And I can't help that."

"What about your mother?"

"She likes Jane."

"Come now, I find that hard to believe!"

"Jane is the most loving, patient, loyal girl I have known ... and my mother saw that ..."

"That's not what I meant; I know Jane is wonderful. But she's hardly a husband, is she?"

"They don't expect her to provide for me, ma'am."

"And what do you do, Deanna? Jane, I know you're set up as a—photographer? Yes, but tell me about _your_ work, Deanna."

"I ... I was a model, ma'am."

"Was?"

"Yes. I still am, sort of."

"Oh."

At that Deanna pressed her lips together, and refused to look at the mother and daughter.

Jane's mother rolled out her dough, and began making jam tarts, somewhat distractedly.

"It's so hard ... to lose two children, Deanna ... if only you had children, you'd understand ... I'm sorry ... I didn't mean to throw that in your face ... I can imagine that ... you think you love each other ... maybe you actually do ... maybe Deanna's family is ... okay with it ... but can you imagine what you're up against? How people will hate you?"

Jane was distressed that her mother was sincerely concerned that Jane would be persecuted. Of all the things that Jane feared, persecution was not one. She patiently told her mother that alternate lifestyles, as they were called, were not considered threatening. "Among teachers of young kids, yes, parents get paranoid. But otherwise ... people leave you alone, or—they treat you like anybody else! The mailman knows we're a lesbian couple; the models know, and we don't behave like space aliens, or anything; we don't _do_ anything weird to freak people out ... I just want the right to love whom I please, that's _all_ I want!"

Jane's mother was really torn apart by the whole thing. She looked from her daughter to her daughter's lover, utterly stumped by the whole business.

"Go talk to your dad," said Deanna to Jane.

"Why?"

"If I can't talk to your mother, what use is there in my having come?"

"I don't think I _want_ to talk to my dad, after he's had a glass of whisky."

"Do it anyway. Go on!"

Jane reluctantly left, looking suspiciously at Deanna.

"If you hate me, I'll give you another reason. I'm Jewish."

Jane's mother looked up, startled. She smiled.

She chuckled. "Why did you assume that that would—make a difference? I don't hate Jewish folk ... I'm kinda fascinated by them!" She smiled at Deanna, starting to relate to her as she would have to any girl friend Jane brought home. That they were friends was obvious, and that they were lovers was easy to overlook, after a while.

"There is ... another thing you must know." Jane's mother looked up from her pastry cautiously. "I've got HIV."

Jane's mother dropped the knife from her nerveless fingers. Then her face grew hard.

"How would you go about getting a thing like that?" she demanded quietly.

"You sleep with someone who has it."

Jane's mother looked very bleak, and Deanna found something in common between mother and daughter then.

"Deanna ... my daughter does not fit into your world. She was not taught to sleep with scores of people. The Jane I knew ... was not that kind of girl. How can you love her if ... if you treat her this way? Does she know?"

Deanna's eyes flashed.

"Neither she nor I sleep around, Mrs ... ma'am ... there was just the one boy! One boy! And I paid the price!"

"How can I believe you? I don't know you! What is the word of a woman infected with HIV worth?"

Deanna trembled with fury and shame.

"Doesn't it mean anything to you that ... Jane and I have known each other for three years ... and that she, at least, trusts me? Don't you trust _her?"_

"But you admit that you—were with—a boy behind her back!"

"One boy! A boy we both knew and loved ... I had pity on him, ma'am! And he's dead, now ... you know who it was, I'm sure!"

"Arthur!" Deanna nodded, wiping her eyes angrily. " _Arthur_ gave you this thing!"

"I forgave him long ago!"

"You were _Artie's_ girl ... and Jane's taken you in!"

"No, no, no ... I was Jane's girl ... Artie was a troubled boy ... he'd never been with a girl ... you get the picture."

"Oh Christ, ... what a cost you have taken ... for being kind to my boy!"

Deanna saw the moment that Jane's mother's heart melted, and she couldn't find it in her heart to take advantage of it.

"I enjoyed it too, ma'am ... he was a sweet boy ... I imagined he was Jane ... I can't lie to you; I can't tell you I've never slept with ... other people. But I'm not—promiscuous, you know? And since I was diagnosed, Jane and I haven't really ..."

"Oh god, that's the other thing ... has Jane got it?"

"No. We had her tested carefully. She's clean."

"But living in the same house!"

Deanna shook her head. "It isn't airborne. There must be, well, blood contamination ... if he's got a scratch on his penis ... and I have a scratch in my ... you know ... blood carries the germ ..."

"Do you kiss?"

Deanna nodded. "Very carefully," she whispered.

"And one day, you will leave my Jane ... all alone."

"I don't want to, ma'am ... but everybody dies sometime."

"Thank you for telling me. Though ... though my heart is cut in pieces, dear; not a word of good news have you brought us. And after this terrible thing in New York City ... there seems to be no use in living. We lost so many friends there; bright young people, with promising futures. Charles has a weak heart ... no amount of whiskey can make it easy for him."

"What did you tell her?" demanded Jane, when she returned a little later. She was already crying, her face wet with tears. Her father followed her, dragging himself along.

"Everything," said Deanna, her eyes huge. "She's sick to death of it all ... I feel miserable ... what with everybody who's died ..."

Jane nodded, as her father came and stood by her side.

"How do you feel?" he asked Deanna, gently.

"Me? As anybody _would_ feel, seeing as how wretched I've made _you_ feel ..."

"No, girl, I mean, with your sickness, and all!"

"Oh!" She grinned. "Sorry, misunderstanding alert!" She giggled. "It doesn't work like that. I'll feel fine, until I get flu, or a bad cold, and then ... I won't get well. And it won't happen right away, either; I don't know ... I could last a long time!"

"And Jane can't get it?"

"She _won't_ get it. We're very careful."

"What kind of a way is it, to live ... two girls ... and now this .... Jane ... I wanted you to be happy!"

"Well, ... I was happy for a couple of years ..."

Deanna dashed her tears away. Jane looked guilty.

"Let's see your hands, girls ..."

Jane's mother bent over the girl's hands, and smiled softly, having noticed the rings. "Look, Charles!"

"I see them," he said, unimpressed. "Playing," he said. "Just playing, like kids."

Jane looked like thunder.

"Come on, Dee," she said, politely. "I want to go home."

"Charles! What a cruel thing to say! The girl had been gone for five years, and she's brought a friend home, and all you can think of doing is to insult them?"

"Martha, I feel sorry for them, but ... I won't say another word. I just don't understand any of this. I won't say another word." He headed out the front door. They heard him mumbling about not saying another word all the way out.

Deanna was determined to establish a relationship with Jane's mother, and she worked hard at it. But she didn't have it as easy as Jane had with Deanna's mother. There were more issues here, because of Arthur. But the fact of the matter was that Jane's mother _did_ trust Jane's judgement, and she admired Deanna's spunk, and secretly found the girl beautiful and attractive. More than anything Deanna did with her: cooking, baking, gardening, she was impressed with how the girls treated each other. She could see that they had been lovers for a while, that there was love, respect and admiration between them. In the abstract, for those to whom love between two women seems depraved and disgusting, it is so because they cannot imagine it. How will they behave in public? Will they be embarrassingly demonstrative?

Well, Jane's mother found out. Demonstrative—well, maybe occasionally, but usually no. Embarrassing? No. They were protective of each other, considerate, and there was a pride, of each in the other. Each girl seemed to rejoice in the other's beauty, her intelligence, the charm with which she dealt with difficult people. Gradually she began to regain her pride in Jane, and with it, pride in Jane's girl. And, on the third day, she gave Deanna a long, slow hug, and a kiss on the cheek.

"Why, Ma?" Deanna asked softly.

"Because I'm proud of you—my daughter's girl!" she said, her eyes twinkling.

All the questions about Deanna's health made Jane finally decide to call Mary-Ellen, the young lady doctor who had performed the tests of the whole set of young people who lived at West Chestnut, or went through there, and had diagnosed Heather and Deanna, and later Artie, with HIV. It was time to have tests done again; and Jane had not intended to neglect Mary-Ellen so long. And she wanted to ask Mary-Ellen about depression ... was it possible to get treatment?

# Gabe

"Hello?"

"Uh, it's Jane, ... is Mary-Ellen available?"

There was a long pause.

"No, Jane ... Mary-Ellen ... disappeared on 9-11. She's dead, dear."

"Oh Gabe! I'm so, so terribly sorry! May I come and see you? Please?"

"Sure ... if you want to ... but really, there's nothing. She just ... never came home again."

"Heather ... it was the same way! She went out that morning, and ..."

"Shall I come over?"

"I c-can t-take a taxi!"

In the end, it was Jane who went over. She never left home now without giving Deanna a tender hug. It was a ritual that Deanna enjoyed. But now, with Mary-Ellen gone, suddenly life seemed precarious. They would need to find medical advice, and soon.

Gabe looked very changed. His hair had turned grey, and the light had gone out of his eyes. Seeing Jane made him cheer up a little. They hugged long and hard, not speaking.

"If you want a woman, Gabe ... I'm here. I owe Mary-Ellen at least one life."

Gabe looked at her, tears in his eyes.

"I just need my little Janie, and you're here," he said gently, his voice a little hoarse. "Talk to me ... tell me about Mary-Ellen ... whatever you want."

Jane found it easy to talk to him. She had always admired him and looked up to him. But now, they were just friends, and they held hands, and Jane told him about making love to Mary-Ellen.

"I can't face the idea of going out and finding a woman, Jane ... but ... after a couple of years with Mary-Ellen, I ... I just can't function on my own. I just exist ..."

"Shall I fix you supper?"

"What ... what sort of supper?"

"Anything you like!"

"How about fish? Would you like that?"

"Would _you_ like that, Gabe? You just sit and eat when I'm done!"

"No, no; we always cooked together. I could pretend for a bit ... that Mary-Ellen is back ... no, that's kind of sick."

"I'll be right back. I'll get some fish."

"I want to come along. We always went together!"

In the end, they did go to bed. But he only wanted to stroke her body and kiss her; his passion didn't rise, but he wept for the sheer pleasure of touching female skin.

"I know how you feel," whispered Jane, holding him close. He felt different, with his tightly curling body hair, his penis flaccid, on the brink of an erection, but never quite reaching it, his great hairy hand cupping her breasts, as if he was afraid of hurting them.

"Mary-Ellen loved your body ... and she loved you, did you know?"

"Yes," said Jane. "It was mutual."

"May I touch you ..."

"Yes ... please do ..."

It gave him pleasure to touch her so intimately. And suddenly he was hard. They scrambled to put on a condom on him, and they finally had intercourse. He kissed her, trembling, and laughed. Then he wept.

Jane told Deanna what had happened. They all loved Gabe; he was such a pleasant, cheerful, _fatherly_ fellow. Just a year older than Jane, he seemed far more mature.

"He put it inside?"

"Yes ... we used a condom."

"Oh. ... Was it nice?"

"Yes, Dee ... it was wonderful ... and sad. I miss her, Dee ... and you must, too ..."

Deanna nodded. Mary Ellen and Deanna had been occasional bedfellows. Mary Ellen had loved Gabe well, but she had been bisexual, and after much begging on the part of the young doctor, Deanna had consented to give her some female company, all this before Mary Ellen had done that fateful test, which had spoiled it for her and Deanna. Despite the somewhat casual relationship she had enjoyed with the doctor, Deanna was missing her very much.

Mimi, Deanna's sister, with whom Jane had made friends on their California visit, called, and chatted to Deanna for a while, and then asked for Jane. Deanna was always highly amused at Mimi's requests to talk to Jane. She was of the opinion that Mimi had a serious crush on Jane.

Jane took the phone, and greeted Mimi with as much pleasure as always. Mimi was an oasis of sweetness and pleasure in their dull existence, and Jane found herself flirting with Mimi outrageously.

"I wish there was someone in your house that I could relate to, like you relate to my sis," Deanna said wistfully. "It's as though I love you twice as much, since that trip ... Oh Jane ... I wish I could be as charming as you! I tried so hard ..."

"Well ... they're nicer on the surface, but ... they're hard to reach, my folks are." She thought for a while. "You'd like my sister. She's the oldest, and she has kids, and everything."

"Is she like you?"

"Exactly like me. "Me, ten years older."

"Did you notice how much your mother looked like me?"

"No, I didn't! She does not!"

"Uh huh, yes she does! Green eyes, oval face, big tits, sexy walk, big poufy lips!"

Jane smiled to herself, imagining her mother and Deanna side by side.

"She doesn't look like me at all, does she!"

"Uh-uh! Oh god, you're so cute ... you look just like your _Dad_."

"I know I do ... it's like he bullied away all Mom's genes, or something."

Zsuszana and Isabella visited briefly for Christmas, and brought a little gift to Jane from Maria. (Isabella and Zsuszana had gradually become a couple.) Jane was too heartbroken to enjoy the visit, and the girls left feeling miserable. Jane opened up the gift, and it was a recording, of two of the Brandenburg concertos. Jane played it after Deanna had gone to sleep, and she knew her heart would not mend for a long, long time. Now that Maria had asked for forgiveness, even that immense flaw in her character was transformed into something Jane could overlook. Maria was a passionate woman, and Jane had said something that set her off. Well, at least she wanted to be friends.

Then, in February, Deanna caught something.

# Deanna Visits Pennsylvania Again

For a while, Jane and Deanna pretended it was nothing. Then Jane called Gabe in desperation. Gabe came running, and got his medical contacts over. Deanna was kept in the house, but again they protected her with special screens and medication. Deanna was gradually more frightened by all the paraphernalia. Jane began to understand that no matter what they tried, Deanna would not improve.

Mimi called. Jane broke down and cried. She told her Deanna was sick, and probably dying.

The girl was incredible. She asked if she could visit. Jane said yes, of course. Mimi arrived the following day. Apparently airlines had special arrangements to fly people on such occasions.

With Mimi's encouragement, Jane requested that the equipment should be removed. Gabe hugged the girls, and agreed that Deanna should be allowed to call the shots. Soon they were alone in the house, the three of them.

Deanna improved. She told Mimi in detail how their visit to Jane's family had gone. Mimi smiled at Jane. There was something utterly trusting in that smile.

"Which is your favorite brother or sister? Other than Arthur?"

"Oh, my sister Joanna," said Jane, with a watery smile.

"Call her," said Mimi.

"Why?"

"Well, she's like an in-law; in Jewish families, in-laws are part of the family. And Sis is sick, you could ask Joanna to come visit, ... it's better than they never meet at all, right?"

Jane smiled at the kid's fanciful idea.

"Call her, Jane," Deanna said, suddenly. "I'm hungry to see your folks again ... I want to see your face everywhere I look!"

Jane somehow found Joanna's number, and called.

"Jo? It's Jane. Jane!"

"Janie! You visited Ma, and never came to see me!"

"There were some ... issues."

" _I'd_ say! Well, where are you?"

"Here ... at my place. Jo ... did they tell you about ... my girl?"

"Er, actually yeah ... it's true, right? Like, she's gay, and she's Jewish, and she has HIV?"

"Yes ... Jo, could you come here? She wants to see you ... it looks like there's not a lot of time."

Joanna appeared to be stunned.

"What? So soon?"

"Yes."

"They can last for years!"

"Okay, we did something wrong, then."

"Tell me how to get there. David and I are coming."

David was Jane's brother-in-law. They had an enormous SUV, and when they saw Deanna and Mimi, they wanted to transport Jane, Mimi and Deanna all down to Pennsylvania. "This is no place to be sick," said David, and Joanna nodded. Deanna could hardly take her eyes off Joanna: she looked just as Jane said. She had the kindest eyes Deanna had ever seen, a lovely soft brown.

The SUV was luxurious, and Dave drove so smoothly, Deanna hardly knew they were moving, until they arrived at the farmhouse. With many hands helping, Deanna was established in one of the rooms in the many-roomed house, with the entire clan standing around, smiling awkwardly at Deanna.

"What are your names?" Deanna asked, smiling. "You all look alike!"

Deanna lived for two weeks at the farmhouse, and died in that room. She was buried in the Jewish cemetery in the closest big city, and Mimi was hugged and kissed by everyone, and finally by Jane. When the clods of earth hit the coffin, it finally sank in to the girl that her sister was really gone. She turned to Jane, and cried her heart out against her breast.

Joanna and Dave dropped Jane and Mimi off a couple of days later. Suddenly Jane was alone with a girl who had lost her sister, and who had had a crush on her at one time. But, to Jane's relief, Mimi did not throw herself on Jane. But they cried a lot, and comforted each other in traditional ways. They would always have this bond, but this would not be the occasion for making important decisions. Mimi had made Deanna a part of Jane's family, and now she had to go back to school.

# Jane Alone

Finally, Jane was alone with her grief. The house that had seen such happy times was big and empty, just as it had been before Deanna came into her life.

Jane went to look for Maria in the library.

"What happened?"

"Mary-Ellen is dead. And Deanna is dead."

Maria's shock and sorrow was genuine. "Oh Jane ... I can't believe it ... you mustn't be left alone ... I will come."

"No. No, that's asking too much."

"Come stay with us, for a while, then!"

"No, Maria ... it's time I learned to manage on my own."

"No, it isn't. I owe you this simply as a human being. I will take the afternoon off. Sit and read for a bit ... then come home with me!"

Jane was deeply touched by Maria's offer. She found that Maria lived in a smaller apartment than she had before, and she met her apartment-mate and new lover, a sweet, charming Indian girl. The Indian girl was embarrassed, but her heart was touched by Jane's plight, and soon the three of them were cooking together, and for a few hours, Jane managed to forget that she had lost her beloved.

But the following morning, once the other girl had gone to work, Jane could not bear to sit and talk with Maria. And Maria could see the pain in Jane's eyes, and that it was more than she could help with.

"I must go home," Jane said, holding back tears of grief that had never made it out.

"Let's walk; walking always helps," urged Maria, with more than just a touch of her old loving tone in her voice. Jane tried not to stare at her former lover, but she simply could not understand why, after longing for a reunion with her for so many months, the urge had suddenly left her. Much as she hated the fact, Maria had become nothing to her; a stranger. They were strangers who knew all about each other, but had lost the keys to each other's hearts. And Jane's heart broke yet again at the knowledge.

It was good to have Maria there, to help clean up, tidy the place, organize it a little better, so Jane could manage on her own. It also hurt to see Maria there, knowing there would be no kissing, no touching ...

"Be kind to yourself ... don't set impossible goals ... be good to Zsuszana if she comes by ... keep busy ... Come see me, Jane; I could use a friend ... give my love to Stephanie and Edita ... Don't go it alone." She wiped her eyes. "Don't make me feel guilty!" She quickly left the house, and hurried off. Jane felt annoyed. It was just too weird.

A year rolled by. The only thread of continuity with the old life was the occasional model who dropped by, and of course Isabella. Isabella was gradually getting into the lingerie modeling business. She initially modeled for lingerie put out by a subsidiary of a men's magazine, which specialized in provocative lingerie, and then moved on to a similar assignment for a more mainstream mail-order company.

Zsuszana had a triumphant year, but not most of the rest of the world. Troops had been sent out to Afghanistan, there were conflicts all over the globe. Earthquakes, mudslides, wildfires, ... Jane simply could not avoid being aware of things out there that she had been able to ignore all her life. Maria visited one time, unexpectedly. She seemed glad to see Jane, but her thoughts were clearly elsewhere. Presently, after they had eaten a snack that Maria had brought along, the intense little woman began to tell Jane about foreign news that Jane had not heard through the ordinary media. She seemed to imply that the US was the source of conflicts all over the world. Jane patiently listened, unwilling to alienate her. It troubled Jane that Maria was sympathetic to the plight of those infernal Palestinians. Jane, for Deanna's sake, was on the side of Israel, though she and Deanna had never talked about it. Any Jew, Jane assumed, would be for Israel. On the other hand, at least Jane and Maria could agree that the plans to invade Iraq made little sense.

The year dragged on, with scandal after scandal. Mimi called regularly, and Jane looked forward to the calls; it was like having Deanna back for a few minutes. Joanna called, too, and so did other members of the family, but they were rare. Farming was busy work, and Joanna had a brood of seven or eight kids, though the rest of the siblings had none. Over the summer, Zsuszana visited Jane with Isabella, and Jane was delighted to see her. She was as beautiful as Isabella, and as tall. She was a serious athlete, and was hardly ever at home in Maria's tiny apartment. She had just won a Tennis tournament, and had come to show Jane her trophy. But when the girls left, Jane felt more alone than ever. After that, for two agonizing months, there were no visits at all from anyone except Isabella. No calls, no e-mail, and no company, except for Isabella.

It was now September again. Presumably Zsuszana was back in school. Isabella had come by on the weekend, but they had done no shooting. They had simply looked at the website, and Isabella had decided that she wanted some of the uglier photos taken out. Jane had agreed that she would. The girl was so angelic that there was hardly a bad photo among them, but Isabella was nothing if not a severe critic of her own work. Seeing her, Jane felt a spark of creative energy, but before she could think, Issy had given her a wave and a smile, and left.

Jane began to realize the sheer emptiness of her life. She became aware that there was practically no one who really needed her. Of course, there was Zsuszana; despite the fact that the girl spent less than a dozen hours with her, per year, Jane knew that she represented a constant factor in her life, something unchanging that she needed to come and check out every once in a while. Otherwise, she might as well be dead. It was a cold thought. Even her mother did not call her; but she was so involved with Joanna and her little ones that it was understandable. All her fooling around with Scorpia: what use was it? She laughed bitterly at the thought of the people who were entertained by it; people who probably never cared about Jane, just the fiction of Scorpia; a mere name.

# A commission

One day, when Jane had invited a few friends over to dinner, just to distract herself for a little while, Isabella suddenly turned up unexpectedly. As always, Isabella was dressed impeccably, and Jane had only the fact that her guests were not serious internet surfers to thank for the fact that no one recognized her as a so-called glamour model.

"You have so many visitors," Isabella murmured to Jane, when they were finally alone.

"I just have a few friends over for dinner; I'll tell you all about it sometime! It's good to see you!" she said, genuinely pleased to have the model back in the house. "Where have you been?"

Isabella squirmed, smiling awkwardly.

"You are so unhappy, Jane, I leave you alone for a little while...how are you feeling?"

"I'm just fine! Won't you come in?"

"Oh, no no..."

"Can I help with something?"

"Well, I have to talk to you, about a job, Jane; I come tomorrow?"

"Certainly!"

"What time?"

"Oh ... anytime, Isabella! Are you sure you won't come in?"

"No, Jane. I see you tomorrow, okay?"

Naturally, they all wanted to know who she was. "She's one of my models," Jane said calmly.

Isabella arrived early, at a little past eight, and refused any breakfast. She got right down to business.

"You know, those paintings?"

"Yes? What about them?" It had been a long time since Jane had thought about them; Arthur was the one who had managed the marketing of them. Jane had one time decided to paint an erotic portrait of a nude girl, studying her vagina in a mirror. Her models had been Deanna and Heather, both kneeling in almost identical poses, holding the same ornate mirror. Digital copies of the painting had been rolled out in two limited editions, a 40" print, and a 24" print, and sold on the Internet, making Jane an enormous sum of money. She had signed the painting Jane Doe. Sometime later she had done a similar painting of Deanna, wearing an evening gown, which had made a little less money, but which had paid for Deanna's treatment. It was those paintings that enabled Jane to live now, when she had no income except from working at the supermarket.

"You know Gillian Jones?"

Jane frowned and shook her head.

Isabella made an impatient sound and, shaking off her slipper, tucked her leg under her, getting comfortable in the breakfast nook. "Gillian, you know _Gillian?_ Swimwear, lingerie, and sometimes music videos, and ..."

"Oh!" Jane recognized finally one of the most sought-after one-named models, The Gillian. "Yes, I know who you mean. Really pretty blonde, right?"

"Yes, Gillian! Okay, well, she–she is my friend, you know?"

"Oh! Okay?"

"She saw that picture of Heather, remember?"

"The first one."

"Yeah! I got one, and she saw it, and ..."

"She wants one? I think I have one she can have ..."

"No, listen, Jane. She wants you—to draw _her._ You understand?"

Jane frowned. Gillian was as far above Jane as it was possible to get. In any case, Isabella was probably the most recognizable model Jane had ever shot; she stuck to less expensive models mostly because she had more control that way. The big names might be more lucrative to shoot, but there was also a _lot_ more overhead. But Isabella gradually made Jane understand: Gillian did not want a photo session _as such;_ she wanted a painting. She wanted to commission Jane to do a nude portrait of Gillian herself.

"To sell? Make prints, like we did for ... Heather?"

"No, dear, just a one drawing. Just for herself. She's like that, you know? She's different." Isabella labored over explaining that Gillian was somewhat of a recluse. The painting was just for herself.

"I don't know, Isabella ..."

How could she explain the utter lack of energy and motivation she felt? The dinner of the previous night had kept her going only until everyone left. Then she had _crashed_. It was the only word to describe the utter shutoff of strength in all her limbs. She had not even shut the lights off, but fallen asleep on the studio couch.

"... I just don't have the energy, sweetheart," she said, lacking even the energy to explain.

Isabella was not to be discouraged easily, Jane knew already. But even she hesitated to bully Jane into it. Jane noted absently that Isabella was most beautiful when she was animated. Her blue-grey eyes were sorely troubled, and Jane wondered just how much the kid could see into the wasteland of Jane's mind.

"Just one little picture, Jane, please, ... I _like_ Gillian, she is a good friend. She's ... she's funny, but she's very decent, you know? You will like her." Decency was big, in Isabella's book.

"I don't want to meet any new people, Isabella ... it's too much effort, you know?"

Isabella took a deep breath, but spoke softly. "For my sake, just talk to her?"

Jane's eyes opened wide. "Did she come with you?"

"No, Jane, of course no! But I can bring her in ... half an hour?"

Jane's sleeping libido woke up enough to remind her that it might be fun just to see Gillian Jones in the flesh. From the moment this idea penetrated her stubbornness, she was lost. Isabella was so happy that Jane was amazed. She wondered whether Isabella had developed a crush on the side, to keep her busy while Sue was in college. The girl kissed Jane softly on the lips and whispered her thanks. Goodness, Jane thought, Isabella really looks up to this Gillian.

Jane happened to be watching when Isabella turned the corner, accompanied by an equally tall girl. Half a block away, Jane could not recognize Gillian, except that she seemed to have a beautiful walk. They both did; Isabella had broken into the runway model business successfully, though she did not have the classic runway model swagger. But both girls were certainly models...

To Jane's surprise, Isabella introduced her friend, and left.

Gillian Jones was an attractive girl even without makeup. Almost five-foot-eight, dressed in an Indian skirt and a matching tunic, she was gracefulness personified—a different kind of grace from that of Maria, she had to admit.

She stepped inside and shut the door behind her, her face still grave. She took off her sunglasses and held out her hand.

"Hi, I'm Gillian Jones," she said in a low contralto. "Isabella has told me a lot about you."

Jane smiled, and the visitor flashed a small smile back. She was clearly not much into small talk. "Isabella is a good kid," said Jane, suddenly thinking that Isabella wasn't that much younger than Jane was.

"Did she tell you what I want?"

"Well, a portrait, she said."

Gillian nodded. She stood awkwardly, and glanced quickly around the house and back at Jane.

"Come, let me make you some coffee, or something. Would you mind sitting in my kitchen?"

"Oh no. Lead the way."

Just from the sound of her breath, Jane knew her visitor was anxious and excited. It made her smile inside, that the great Gillian was anxious in Jane's house. But since Scorpia she had lost her awe of the rich and famous; being a celebrity was not _that_ big a deal anymore.

Gillian looked about cautiously, and carefully sat down on one of the straight-backed chairs. Jane wondered what her caution was all about, but she wasn't left ignorant for long. Once Gillian got started, it was difficult to stop her.

"Thank you so much for agreeing to see me, Jane ... may I call you Jane?" She smiled shyly. She had an awkward smile that Jane had never really seen in any of her pictures. But it was only for a moment; her face immediate took on its customary serious expression. Jane set the kettle on the stove and joined her at the table.

"I'm ..." Gillian turned red, and dropped her eyes, and then looked about the room acutely embarrassed, before she got herself together. Then she looked directly at Jane and began to talk. "What I'd like is a nude of myself ... I really don't care what size; I'll leave that to you ... but not just _any_ nude, you see? That's the problem. I want it a little extra–I guess extra lewd, is what I want." She looked into Jane's eyes anxiously, and the confusion there was plain to see. The confusion was that Jane did not see the problem with an extra-lewd painting; she was all _about_ extra-lewd paintings. But Gillian could not stop talking.

What it boiled down to was that Gillian had certain sexual peculiarities, and she could only find release in masturbation. And she was finding it increasingly difficult even that way. And she wanted to fill up her bedroom with erotic images, and she was turned on by images of herself in the nude.

"I've taken a few shots of myself, you know, touching myself ... but they're terrible, really; I just can't really loosen up ... do you see what I mean?"

Jane only shrugged, and Gillian looked devastated.

After half an hour of Gillian's sordid explanations, Jane only felt utterly sorry for the famous model. It came out that she was still a virgin in every sense of the word. Being unable to masturbate was, as far as Jane was concerned, one of the greatest miseries she could imagine; she realized that one reason she was so incredibly depressed was that since Deanna had died, her libido had ebbed to an incredible low. But to be in that state all her life?

"Gillian," she said, "why don't I just do a nude shoot of you, and you pose any way you like? I'll print out the images and mount them for you, and you take them home, and see whether ... whether they're any good?"

Gillian looked at her intently, wide-eyed. God, she had the most beautiful green eyes! The look of desperate hope only made her look even more beautiful. But she could not see _Jane;_ she only saw an agent of hope.

As Jane's words sank in, her face reflected her disappointment. But at least Jane held out the offer of some simple images she might be able to use.

"No painting? Just a little one?"

Jane laughed. "For what you need, Gillian, it shouldn't matter, should it?"

Gillian clenched her teeth and winced slightly, a characteristic expression of doubt for her.

"If I could only explain what I want ... I don't know ... but some photos will be good for a start, I guess ..."

"I could manipulate them digitally, you know?"

Her eyes widened in excitement.

"Do you know how to do that?"

Jane nodded, with a rueful smile. "I've spent far too much time fooling with that kind of thing. Yes; I know how to do that, if you're interested. When can you come by? Or is now a good time?"

Gillian said that it was a good time right then, but—there were other problems. She was also neurotic about germs. Everything had to be absolutely clean: the props, what she ate and drank out of, the costumes, everything. Jane realized that Gillian had suffered greatly in not cleaning off her seat first. She asked permission to clean it immediately, and Jane said she was welcome to do it.

Jane found her lethargy fading significantly. Gillian was, despite her neuroses, a really nice woman. She approved the studio, looking very doubtful indeed, until Jane laughingly told her that she would accommodate her cleanliness guidelines as closely as she could, and that Gillian should feel free to tell her what she wanted. Gillian inspected the place and said it was actually pretty clean.

"I hadn't vacuumed in a while, but I had visitors yesterday, so I cleaned," Jane confessed.

"Let's clean up together," suggested Gillian, again rather anxiously, concerned that Jane would take it amiss. "And there is an antiseptic spray I use, which is really mild _and_ effective ... Oh, I should have brought it with me ..."

In the end they went out to the shopping center round the corner, and bought some fifty dollars' worth of cleaning equipment Gillian thought Jane should have, all at the model's expense.

Gillian was pathetically pleased that Jane was willing to play along with her peculiarities. Together they cleaned the house as it had never been cleaned before. Gillian found dust and 'germs' in places Jane had honestly never bothered about cleaning, such as the lampshades and bulbs, which had a thin layer of dust. "This is a huge house, and hard to clean, isn't it?" she asked, busily vacuuming the detailed woodwork above all the doors in the first floor. "But I do love your house," she added, sensitive to Jane's feelings. After the whole house was cleaned, including every single corner—the laundry-room, behind the washer and dryer, everything—Gillian asked politely whether she might take a shower, and whether Jane would wash and dry her clothes. "And you should shower, too; all the germs are probably on your clothes, by now!"

Jane found it no chore to follow instructions. The house simply gleamed. She sat on a stool wrapped in a dirty towel, waiting for Gillian to finish showering, and looked around the second floor, admiring the newly-cleaned woodwork. She had given Gillian a robe to wear until they had both showered, after which they would pop their clothes into the wash.

Presently, they were both showered and dressed in clean clothes, and Gillian was all smiles. She thanked Jane endlessly, and apologized for all the work Jane had put into cleaning the house.

"I hardly go out, because of the germs," she confided, as Jane and she ate a healthy lunch together. (The refrigerator was shiny inside and out, as well as the compressor and assorted filters under and behind the refrigerator.) "I'm not silly about germs in taxis and so forth; but I have to get clean before a shoot, you know? I guess it's all in the mind, really, but you won't believe that I hardly ever get sick!"

"Gillian ... I have to confess that ... two women I lived with were infected with HIV." Jane looked straight into Gillian's eyes. "If that bothers you, I'd rather you found out now than later."

"Oh, don't worry," said Gillian with a casual wave of her hand, as she chewed on her asparagus. "Germs are germs. They say that as long as you don't get their blood on you, you're okay."

Jane nodded, not sure what to make of that casual attitude. "Just so long as you know, that's all."

"This asparagus is really good! You're a good cook, I have to say."

Jane only smiled. She was beginning to understand Gillian, and to understand the odd friendship that had sprung up between Isabella and Gillian. Though it seemed attractive, on the face of it, to befriend this confused but delightful woman, from bitter experience Jane shied away from taking on one more project that could hold out the promise only of heartache. Deanna was gone, and it still felt like physical pain to remember the wonderful, wonderful girl who had slipped into her life and become such a major part of it. But there was another ache that was still raw: the spot in her heart from which Maria had been wrenched out. Maria had been closer to the love of her life than any other woman Jane had loved, despite all her efforts to hate the memory of her. Gillian, of course, had no clue that all this was passing through Jane's mind.

In Gillian's roomy purse there was one all-important piece of equipment: her make-up kit. In contrast to the fashionable, expensive make-up worn by everyone else, she used little-known, chemically and hygienically sound make-up from all over the world, mostly Europe and Japan. "I'm not paranoid about allergens," she remarked, "but certain substances can really hurt you...harm your skin...you know? And some of them don't make you look a whole lot better, either. I have these freckles, so ... I need to do my face..."

She invested some time and effort into showing Jane how to put on her makeup perfectly. Now, Jane was no amateur; being Scorpia had taught her a great deal about how to use makeup. But Gillian's makeup was simply superior; it applied more easily, and stayed on better.

"You do know makeup, don't you!"

"Yeah ... I've helped to make up lots of models..."

There really wasn't anyone else in Gillian's league as a model; she modeled high fashion as well as lingerie and swimwear, as Isabella had said, which meant that she was in the greatest possible demand. It made Jane wonder how she got away with her odd demands about hygiene. She dared not bring it up just yet.

Gillian was well aware of the famous line of makeup that separated the face from the body and neck; in other words, when makeup was applied inexpertly, it resulted in a skin color for the face different from the color of the rest of the body. So the face had to be colored to match the body, and the minute differences that remained had to be blended smoothly.

Gillian bared her breasts, and Jane had to keep from gasping. She had the most magnificent breasts she had ever seen. They were full but firm.

"Yeah," said Gillian, with a sigh, "I've got implants."

"It's impossible to tell," said Jane, sincerely.

"See here?" She raised her breasts and showed the incredibly fine hairline under them, right in the crease. "I have to have a little makeup right there. I've only done one topless shoot, for a magazine, and they had to blend it out."

With a sigh, Jane got to work with her usual deftness. It was hard to keep her focus on the makeup rather than the beautiful breasts, but she managed. What a waste of time! She could easily fix all these imagined flaws digitally, using her software.

Gillian tried to shave herself; she wanted no pubic hair at all. When it looked as though she would cut herself, Jane took over, and Gillian was very pleased indeed with the result.

The moment was here. The velvet fabric was laid over the sofa and the cushions, providing a neutral, contrasting background for Gillian's body. With the makeup, with her hair pulled back, with her beautiful eyes, she was heart-stoppingly lovely. Jane got her camera ready. Every shot was to be taken with a normal lens, as well as a close-up with a wide-angle lens.

"I'll feel a lot more comfortable if ... if ... would you mind ..." Gillian looked utterly upset.

Jane knelt close, frowning. "Anything; what do you want, Gillian?"

"Would you take your clothes off?" she asked, in a whisper.

The house was mostly dark, and they were shooting in quite low light. But Jane being dressed was inhibiting her. After all, she had to masturbate, or at least go through the motions. This was _not_ a porn star, Jane reminded herself.

She did not show her frustration, but calmly undressed. She did not usually do so, simply because she did not like to put herself through having to listen to remarks about her figure. But she had come too far to stop now. She stepped back to the camera, quite naked. Gillian smiled her thanks.

"Okay ... I'm going to try and get in the mood," she said.

"I'll just start shooting right away," Jane said.

"Okay," said Gillian.

It was extremely awkward. Jane shot away, but she simply knew that Gillian would have rejected all of those images. It was not easy to pose for the kind of picture Gillian wanted, and yet get one that was artistically satisfying.

It was out of sheer frustration that Jane began to talk to her as she shot. "Oh, that was beautiful ... hold that ... open your lips just a little more ... moisten your lips ... there you go ... maybe if you raise your knee just a little bit ... look into the camera ... now close your eyes ... arch your back ... imagine that you're about to come ... now this time, from behind ..."

Once or twice, Jane had to actually show Gillian what she wanted. The girl had an excellent imagination, but she simply was not familiar with the coarser aspects of so-called glamor photography. She was working in a vacuum.

"I'm tired," she said at last. She was breathing heavily. "I'm so horny ... I want to ... do you mind if I ...?"

"You want to masturbate to a climax?"

"Yes," said Gillian, blushing.

It was the most heartbreaking thing Jane ever saw. As hard as she tried, Gillian went bright red, but simply could not give herself an orgasm. She worked at her pussy until it was almost raw, but though she found her tension mounting, there was no release. She put her head in her hands and wept silently. Jane sat close to her and held her close, cursing to herself. _I do NOT want to get emotionally involved,_ she told herself over and over again.

Gillian finally pulled herself together, and walked over to the sink to wash her face.

"You've been great," she said, her voice under control, but still sounding drenched. She touched up her makeup at the mirror. "What time is it?"

"It's nearly four," Jane said.

"I've blown your whole day!" she said with one of her rare smiles.

Jane shrugged and smiled. "I've not worked for months," she said.

Immediately Gillian's face showed concern. "I'm going to pay you for two whole days, at the rate I'm paid," she said seriously.

"Oh no, I don't make that kind of money, Gillian!" said Jane.

"Let's get some clothes on first," said Gillian quickly, glancing at Jane's body. "I think you have a beautiful body," she added awkwardly.

Jane laughed. "Thanks; coming from you that really means something!"

Gillian was a bleached redhead. Her present hair color was almost platinum blonde, but her pubic hair was bright red, hence the reason for wanting it removed. Jane was fairly sure that she would have preferred to have it waxed off if she could have had that service.

Her clothes were dry, and after a polite compliment about how nicely Jane's washer and dryer had done their work, she dressed herself, and pulled out her checkbook. Jane was shocked when she presented her with a check for thirty thousand dollars. "I get paid a lot!" she said, smiling. "I would give you cash, but this way there isn't the temptation not to pay your taxes!"

"What is this for? I haven't given you anything yet!"

"It's all work, isn't it?"

"But _you_ did all the cleaning!"

Gillian blushed. "Please, let's not talk about that, okay? I don't want everybody to know that I'm, you know ... a little odd!"

"Gillian, all I will charge is $1000, until I give you the prints, and then you can pay me whatever you think they're worth. I don't think you should go around paying out this kind of money for one day's work. It isn't–it isn't _decent!_ "

"I really can afford it," she said softly, her eyes boring into Jane.

Jane shook her head.

Finally, Gillian was persuaded to tear up her check, and give her a check for two thousand instead. Jane had to scold her, accusing her of trying to buy her, body and soul.

"I know it's an imposition, but ... I might not have the guts to come out here and pester you again," said Gillian, "but ... could you show me how you do your digital things?"

Suppressing a sigh, Jane made Gillian comfortable at the kitchen table, and went through the images, and selected one of the better ones to transform digitally. Gillian was so pleased with the result that, having queued it to the printer, she asked for another one.

They worked through the night, stopping for a simple supper. Jane stubbornly managed to keep a certain distance between them, and to her surprise it was not hard. Despite the unbelievably sexual context in which they related to each other, Jane found herself relating to Gillian at a very platonic level. The interesting thing was that Jane was not a sex object for Gillian at all; it was Gillian herself who turned her on the most. She had been absolutely honest about it; images of herself engaged in masturbation turned her on. She was keeping herself under control with a valiant effort, but Jane could tell that she wanted to get herself off very badly indeed. Finally she offered to shoot a few shots of Gillian masturbating while looking at the prints.

Once again, Gillian stripped naked, hung up her clothes carefully, her hands trembling, and Jane set up an image on a tripod that Gillian could look at. Gillian was, by now, accustomed to having Jane nearby; she began to touch herself according to her usual habits. Jane found that she could admire the physical perfection of the woman without being affected by the emotion—at least not _very_ affected. Her breasts were really perfect, full and firm, with the most beautiful, rose-pink nipples. The freckles on her breast had been all blended out with makeup. Her mouth was perfect, a rose that matched her nipples, and her eyes, the most beautiful of all, an unbelievably clear green. Her legs, arms and feet were all models of perfection, but Jane considered them rather clinically; having taken photos of Isabella for three years, she was inured to physical perfection. Gillian's hair, though, now parted in the way she usually wore it, hung forward, and it did make a big difference.

But Gillian was close, very close. Jane was shooting two frames every second. On impulse, she dropped her shorts and began to stroke herself. Gillian's eyes opened wide, and with a gasp, she climaxed. It lasted a long time, and she hugged herself, laughing and crying with pleasure and relief. Jane found herself, finally, feeling something in her heart—something she had avoided feeling all day long.

"Oh, _thank you! Thank you!_ Oh, you can't understand how I feel!" Gillian laughed through her tears. "Oh Jane ... that did it!... That did the trick..."

"I'm happy for you," Jane said, kneeling, her fingers still working at her sex.

It was a strange scene. The two women knelt before each other, masturbating, and Jane was as grateful as Gillian that she, too, was able to relieve herself. It broke a dry spell that had gone on for far too long.

"Did you get any shots?"

"Lots," said Jane, after she had caught her breath.

"Will you show me, just quickly? It's really late," said Gillian, worried. "What time is it, really?"

"It's almost two in the morning," Jane said.

"Oh golly, ... I have to work at five!"

"In the morning?"

"Yes! I have a ticket for a flight at five!"

Half an hour later, Jane found herself in Gillian's little apartment. As she expected, it was spotless and ostensibly germ-free. Gillian had all sorts of things she needed for the next day, but had been afraid to go across town on her own. Gillian had a single bed, but a large one, which she insisted that they share. After a quick, chaste kiss, she left Jane alone, and fell asleep. Jane too, felt utterly relaxed, after her success of earlier in the evening, and fell asleep in seconds.

# On Location

To Jane's surprise, she was hauled along on Gillian's job. Gillian introduced her simply as Jane Schultz, a friend. She bought Jane a full-fare ticket to accompany her, first class, and they were presently en route to Mexico. Jane was beginning to resent being hustled by Gillian, but she clamped down on it. After all, she was not earning any money these days—she had absolutely no personal income that year at all—so what was she complaining about?

"I apologize for everything," Gillian said. "I'll make it right with you when we get back, okay?"

"That's all right," Jane said, unable to quite keep out the frost in her smile. "You don't owe me anything."

Gillian shook her head. "This goes way beyond money, Jane. I owe you big time ... I owe you ... something; I don't know what. I owe you two days of my time."

She was so unbelievably sincere; that was the amazing thing. Jane could not help forgiving her. She found that the major reason Gillian wanted her along was to help with her makeup. Apparently, she preferred Jane's work to that of all the usual men or women who attended to her. Jane protested that her work would have to be approved by whoever was directing the shoot. Gillian nodded agreement, but said she was sure it would be acceptable.

"Do you think you could do me a portrait in oils of that last picture?"

"In oils? Why?"

"Why, I want to have it framed and hung in my apartment!"

"In your apartment? It'll have to be a small canvas, then ..."

"Well, about yay high..." she indicated a height of about thirty inches.

"A framed print won't do?"

It wouldn't. She gave all the proper reasons why a painting would be more appropriate than a mere printout. She didn't care if the painting was just a copy of the print, but it had to be done by hand. Jane reluctantly said she would do it. Privately, Jane wondered what it would cost, in terms of her emotional involvement, to do the painting. She always fell a little in love with her subjects, and with Gillian, it would be far too easy. Gillian obviously was coming to love Jane at some level very, very much. She was a lonely woman, and she trusted Jane, and Jane appeared to be unattached; it was an accident waiting to happen.

Jane's make-up work was deemed excellent. Once Gillian was done, all the other girls wanted Jane to do them for at least one time.

It was Jane's first time working with professional commercial models (in contrast to glamor models, or artist's models), and there were some instances of the legendary ego of such women. On the other hand, some of them were very unassuming. Two of the women were clearly attracted to Jane, and she couldn't think why. Compared to the kind of beauty they were usually surrounded with, Jane looked very ordinary indeed. One of them, a model known as Eve, began to touch Jane's leg, and she had to firmly pull her hand away.

"A one-woman girl, huh?"

"I can't work when you're fooling around, honey," Jane said, in her best Scorpia voice. The girl was drop-dead gorgeous, but Jane was still annoyed by her presumption.

"Was she trying to get fresh?" asked Gillian, afterwards. "I could talk to her, if you like! I could make life really difficult for her if I refuse to work on a shoot with her, Jane."

"I dealt with it," she said simply. "I've been pawed by girls before." It was as Scorpia that she had been touched by determined girls most often. In that situation, it had been a turn-on, but here, it was the opposite. Gillian stood by, shaking her head. She had to stand in the shade to avoid her freckles getting worse, but even at her most exhausted and annoyed, Gillian was graceful. Jane was accustomed by now to her grave expression; she smiled very rarely, and even when she did it was an awkward smile. But Jane knew when she was happy, and she was happy on this shoot because Jane was there. And she was furious at the two offending models.

For whatever reasons, Eve, the model who had been fresh with her came to Jane at lunch and apologized. She had a rather foolish expression on her face, and Jane was annoyed that Gillian may have threatened her.

"It's fine," Jane said, explaining that it spoiled her concentration.

"No ... it was out of line."

"Did Gillian threaten you, or something?"

"Well ... no, she asked me nicely. Gillian is special, you have to understand."

"I know," Jane said, awkwardly.

"You do a fantastic job, you know!"

Jane took a deep breath, allowing herself to feel a little pleasure. She was feeling a little light-headed. The apology did mean a lot to her. The girl seemed genuine about her admiration.

They were back home by six, and Gillian dropped Jane off by limousine, and thanked her profusely. There was a lot left unspoken in her amazingly expressive eyes, and Jane promised herself that she would do that painting for her without delay.

Jane found a canvas of the right size, and began to paint. The two thousand dollar check as well as another check for one thousand had been deposited in her bank. Jane dreaded to think how much Gillian would consider the painting worth. What did Jane need money for? Her groceries cost less than a few hundred a month...the utilities cost almost a thousand; she was well off for a month or two. The taxes on the house– that was the real problem.

The painting was not one of Jane's best. It was not as inspiring as the other paintings she had done, but still it had its own peculiar dramatic tension. By changing the lines of the image, she was able to make Gillian look as graceful masturbating as she looked walking; her skin and muscle tone, of course, was perfect, and her face was beautiful. And she had given Jane full permission to take artistic license; she could add color, she could change the background, anything Jane wanted.

When Gillian came to see the work, Jane had two images ready for her; one of Gillian's orgasm just exploding into being, with the angle exaggerated digitally, to emphasize the hand inside her vagina. It was pure pornography, but Jane felt that it also appealed to the emotions, and had aesthetic values of its own, but tied to the subject. It was by no means an abstract work of art. It was Gillian, having an orgasm.

"Oh golly... _two_ of them!"

"You like them?"

"I _love_ them! They're perfect!" Gillian stared at them, unable to comprehend how they could be so wonderful. Jane had to admit that a mere print could never have the impact of the oils. As before, she had used broad strokes on the outside of the image, and successively finer strokes for the face and the hands. And though the colors were basically peach and red, she had taken liberties to add fine strokes of color to enhance the erotic effect. Jane honestly felt that the paintings were worth a couple of thousand on their own, maybe more.

As she expected, she had to fight Gillian to cut down her check to a mere $10,000.

"Everybody on the shoot thought that you were the greatest!"

Jane shrugged. "You models get way too carried away with makeup," she said. "Come, sit, I'll brew some tea."

"You know who said she wanted you to do makeup on the next shoot? _Eve!_ "

Jane laughed. It was impossible to get serious about Eve. But Gillian insisted that Eve was one of the most important lingerie and swimwear models working. Eve was of African heritage, but her accent marked her as being either British or West Indian. She was devastatingly beautiful, but Jane had been put out by her boorish behavior.

"I don't like her attitude," Jane said, frankly.

Finally, Gillian headed home with the two canvases carefully packed, and the prints also packed for transporting. Jane had even got her frames for the prints, and told her she would supervise Gillian in mounting the prints. Gillian called as soon as she got home, and with Jane's help over the phone, she successfully got the prints mounted and hung. She now had her bedroom decorated with two canvases of herself masturbating her brains out.

Isabella stopped by, all smiles, saying that Gillian could hardly stop talking about Jane.

Jane was alarmed. "Does she tell people what I did?"

"No, only about the make-up. Jane, I didn't know! Can you do makeup?"

"Of course!"

"Will you come for the magazine shoot on Wednesday?"

"What magazine shoot?"

There was a phone call for her that morning, while Isabella was still there. Would Ms. Schultz do the makeup for a shoot on Wednesday? They would pay her $100 an hour, or $1200 for the day, whichever was higher, meals and transportation included.

This was a shoot for a company that marketed lingerie by mail. Copying a famous company that had pioneered the lingerie-by-mail business, their main means of marketing was their lavishly and titillatingly illustrated catalog. Once again Jane found herself surrounded by fabulously beautiful girls, doing their makeup, including body makeup. It seemed a straightforward procedure, but everyone simply loved her to death, the models as well as the photographer and the shoot director. It was a lot of work, but it was indoors at a beautiful mansion in Philadelphia, all cherry furniture and satin upholstery.

Once the models got to know Jane, they tended to express their affection in very physical ways, leaning on her, pressing their breasts against her, kissing her, and so on. Isabella could see that Jane was unhappy and uncomfortable. She talked to Jane and said that they were not being obnoxious; it was just the way they behaved usually. It was part of the culture, even if Isabella did not express it in those words.

Isabella, dressed in the signature nightgown of the company, looked like an angel. Her usual pout was notably absent, and the director managed to get her to wear a dreamy expression that was just perfect for the mood they were trying to evoke. Afterwards, she, too came and leaned against Jane, but stepped back as Jane turned to her with a severe look.

"What will Sue think?" she hissed.

"I'm sorry!" Isabella said.

Jane cursed silently; it wouldn't have been so bad if she didn't enjoy it so much. The feel of young skin against her body was driving her mad with lust.

There was a certain amount of drinking going on towards the end of the shoot, and Jane found that she had to take a small drink. Until she got accustomed to this business, the proximity of the girls was a little difficult, especially as many of the models seemed clearly attracted to Jane.

"They like boys _and_ girls," said Isabella, once they had been dropped off in their part of the city. "And if they like you, they don't care, you know; they will come and rub on you just like that! Did you see Andrea?"

"No, what did she do?"

"Rubbing on me! Very lightly, but still ... I don't like, you know? I am finished with all that."

Jane smiled at her, and she blushed. She indignantly repeated that she hated that kind of touching. Jane kept smiling, and Isabella smacked her arm, laughing in frustration. But then, they hugged, and went to their respective homes. Jane's relationship with Isabella made her warm all over. Issy was one of the sexiest things on legs, but the fact that Issy's heart was given to Sue, and that somehow Jane respected that, made Jane feel good.

# Life as a Makeup Artist

Life began to settle into this new and unfamiliar routine. Calls came in regularly for Jane's assistance as a makeup artist. They were usually for commercial shoots, but occasionally for a special job such as for a magazine cover. Gillian asked for Jane every chance she got, and gradually Jane earned a reputation as one of the best make-up artists in the region.

In between jobs, she was commissioned to do nude portraits of some of the best known models; evidently it was fashionable to own a nude portrait of oneself, which one showed only to special visitors, or lovers.

Isabella often visited. She finally broke down and admitted that she wanted a hug. They headed out together one weekend to visit Sue, and spent an unforgettable two days together.

Stephanie Johnson was an Olympic diver who Jane had gotten to know. Her husband, Angus had also died on 9/11, and she had turned to Jane for comfort. But once Jane had got her on an even keel, somehow Jane did not find the prospect of seeing Stephanie on an ongoing basis attractive. Stephanie lived in an enormous house, with an Olympic-standard indoor pool, her live-in cook, her swimming coach from when she had started out competing in her teens, and three little boys. Helen had tried to set her up with Gabe, but that didn't work out.

She had called Jane, and asked her to visit a number of times, and finally Jane went out to meet her, and helped her to decide to move into a more modest home. The house was put up for sale, and Stephanie thanked Jane profusely.

"Why can't you ... why won't you ..."

They were at the gate, and Stephanie was blinking back her tears.

"Because ... my life is so unbelievably complicated, you would be miserable with me, my friend ... and I would never forgive myself!"

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" Stephanie asked, sniffing loudly. She no longer looked a wonder-woman; she looked very much the girl-next-door. A girl Jane would have enjoyed knowing, though.

"Once my life settles down, okay?"

"Soon?"

"Yeah."

Then, one day, Eve turned up at Jane's front door.

"May I come in?" she asked. She wore sunglasses. Jane nodded.

She came inside, and Jane led her to the little front parlor. Eve sat down, as gracefully as she always did. She took off her sunglasses and covered her face with her hands for a minute.

"Jane ... will you sleep with me?"

Jane was momentarily struck dumb.

"I don't do that, Eve."

"I ask you—as a friend. It isn't for ... for payment."

"Why me?"

"You don't want to, do you?"

The fact was that Jane had lusted for Eve for weeks. She had not only an amazing, muscular, sensuous body, but a beautiful face, and wondrously expressive eyes.

"I just don't sleep around; I don't do casual sex."

"Neither do I!" The reply was slapped back, and Eve's eyes flashed. "Just because I'm black doesn't mean I'm a whore, Jane. You know?"

"Being black has nothing to do with it!"

"Jane ... just one night ... I swear to you, I'm clean; I can prove to you that I don't have any infectious diseases, you know? Girl, I can make you feel like you've never felt before! You know you're an artist? Well, I'm an artist, too! And I want to show you what you can do! Just one night!"

# Jane Learns a New Art

It was an incredible offer, and Jane could never explain to herself why she took it. The best reason was that Eve was just so beautiful–everything about her persuaded Jane. They went out for dinner–a light meal, Eve insisted–and retired to the big old bed that Jane had not slept in in a long time. She put on new sheets, with Eve helping, and they turned the lights low. Eve said there had to be some light.

In the morning, Eve got up very early, before dawn, and showed Jane how to clean all the equipment she had brought. "And don't forget: gargle with salt water; it's one of the big secrets. But always make sure that your partner is clean. You understand?"

"How?"

"Just ask. That's all you can do. Don't sleep with people you don't know; don't sleep with liars. If someone wants to infect you, you're finished!"

"That's worse than no advice at all!"

Eve locked eyes with her.

"Always ask. You hear me?" Jane found herself nodding. Eve had that kind of a presence. "If they're infected, you can still make them feel good. I taught you how; remember?" Jane nodded. An enormous number of things could be done without getting infected. Jane's mind was filled with so much sex technique that she thought she had probably forgotten everything else. When would she ever get to use any of this knowledge?

Eve held her tight, pulled away and smiled into her eyes, and Jane was startled at the genuine love she saw there. Then Eve walked out of the house, and headed up the street.

Life went on. Jane was escorted to the home of the boss of the underworld, one time, to take some photos of a young girl. Jane turned to the man, her heart in her mouth, and said the girl was too young. "Don't worry about it," she was told. She was too afraid to protest any more.

Jane got very precise directions about what was needed. The young lady was very precocious, but in the end Jane got some good shots. She showed them to the boss, trembling in fear, and he coolly picked out one.

Then they insisted that Jane must paint it right there, in the house. She complained that all her stuff was back home. The man glared at her in fury. With a snap of his fingers, someone rushed out to buy what Jane needed. They came back with almost an entire studio of materials.

"Is this good enough?"

"Er, yes," said Jane.

"The light good enough?"

"Yes, thanks."

"Get to work!"

He loved it. He sent her home with $20,000, but kept her camera. Jane was furious for a month, but there was absolutely nothing to be done about it.

Meanwhile, she met Gillian at photoshoots all the time. She was learning to love the model more and more all the time. She met Eve, too, who gave her a warm hug on every occasion. Eve seemed to be growing steadily more beautiful every day. Somehow, her silly, careless personality seemed to have disappeared, and Jane wondered whether it had been her own encounter with it on that very first occasion that finally put the last nail in the coffin of Eve's immature self.

One day, just as Jane was puzzling over how Gillian seemed not to attract her in a sexual way, Gillian came up and flashed her one of her rare smiles.

"Jane, what are you doing tomorrow?"

"Nothing much! Why?"

"Would you like to spend the day together?"

"Sure!"

"Shall I pick you up at, say nine?"

"Come at eight, and I'll fix you breakfast!"

"Oh, okay!" She was very firm about what she ate for breakfast, and Jane regretted already having said that she would provide breakfast. But Jane knew now that she was a sucker for any beautiful girl or woman.

Their day together went well. Gillian was mainly interested in buying Jane pretty clothes to wear. She was, she said, tired of seeing Jane in nondescript clothes, and wanted her to dress beautifully. Jane had to confess honestly that she longed to dress well, but her thrifty upbringing made it impossible to do so.

"Well, let's go shopping at used clothes stores, then!"

Without another word, Gillian showed her some of the stores which sold used clothes of good quality. Evidently Gillian had bought a great portion of her wardrobe in her younger days at such stores, and was pleased at the opportunity of visiting them again. As they bought clothes Jane felt happy with, she insisted on making Jane wear them right away. Soon Jane felt almost feverishly happy, decked out in youthful, lighthearted styles that flattered her body shape and hair, and sexy little nothings that hugged her underneath. She had always worn heavy, sensible underclothes, but the new, wispy underwear made her feel utterly sensuous.

They had a healthy lunch, as was to be expected, and headed out for more fun. They set the shopping aside, stowing their purchases in a big department store, and simply went about, enjoying the sights and activities of the city. Then they collected their loot, and went down to Jane's home, where Gillian insisted on a shower for each of them. They laundered their new purchases, at Gillian's insistence, and then dressed for the evening in their new evening clothes.

Gillian smiled almost all the time. Jane found herself feeling incredibly wonderful. When Gillian wanted to visit a rather risqué nightclub, she agreed. They had often talked about Gillian's sexual dysfunction, and Jane was happy to accompany Gillian, since there was a possibility that the model might be inspired by the floor show.

As it happened, the floor show was spectacular. Gillian turned a lot of heads, in her sexy black dress. She had done her hair in such a way that she could not be easily recognized. Jane felt once again the thrill of going out on the town with a beautiful woman, and she knew Gillian was also excited by the way she clung to Jane's arm. The floor show featured some of the sexiest girls Jane had ever seen, and Gillian watched it open-mouthed. Best of all was when one of the beauties came to sit on Jane's lap. The entire floor chanted, _kiss, kiss, kiss!_ Jane found herself kissing the girl enthusiastically on the cheek. In return, the pretty young thing squeezed Jane's breast, and leapt away laughing.

"Did she hurt you?" Gillian asked, half smiling, half alarmed.

"Oh no!" Jane laughed, massaging her breast.

"You'll stay the night with me, won't you?" Jane asked, anxiously, hoping Gillian would say that she would.

"Are you sure?" asked Gillian softly. Jane had worn higher heels, and they were about the same height. Jane felt worried that they were looking into each other's eyes as if they were lovers, when they had tried so hard to keep their friendship platonic.

"Of course! You're welcome any time!" Jane said, emphatically.

"Let's dance!" said Gillian. "I haven't danced in a long while!"

Gillian was a fair dancer. They danced together, and Gillian laughed gaily. When a young man asked to break in, Gillian sweetly said that they would rather not change partners.

"Do you mind?"

Jane shook her head, dumb again.

Then it was a slow dance, and they clung to each other, and Gillian felt so soft in her arms,... Jane could hardly think.

Meanwhile, Gillian was engaged in a mighty battle against her conscience. She had plotted for weeks to make Jane sleep with her, but so sweet was Jane to her, and so straight-arrow, that she felt intimidated by what she perceived to be Jane's character. Not confused by the kind of philosophical quandary that Jane had created for herself, Gillian only worried whether to sleep with Jane would hurt her in any way. Abstract principles were not relevant to her, at least in terms of personal relationships. Dancing cheek to cheek, she could hardly bear the thought of the dance ending. But it finally did. She heard Jane sigh as they pulled apart to applaud.

"Let's go to your house," Gillian said. Jane's eyes were shining like stars.

"Okay," whispered Jane.

They were just a few blocks from the main road to Jane's house, and the night was so balmy, they decided to walk. With no warning, four kids surrounded them, knives showing prominently. They began to swear at the girls in dialect, almost impossible to understand. They got aggressive when it was clear that the girls had nothing on them worth stealing.

"No!" said Jane.

"No?" The boys got angry. "Who says no? I'm the boss, here, chickie! You have one thing I can always take, you know?" The leader put his arm on Gillian, and Jane found her heart become ice cold. She realized that she had been planning what to do all the while. She had mentally rehearsed carefully stepping out of her heeled slippers, and pulling up her skirt; now, smoothly, she did it, kicked three of them before they knew what was happening. Before the only fellow standing could react, she had punched him in the neck, hard. He fell without a sound. The younger ones yelled _Shit!_ and ran off. They were only kids, except for the leader.

Gillian was still in a daze.

" _Take your shoes off and let's go!"_ Jane cried, picking up her new slippers. She had never run so fast, and Gillian ran, too. They came to a taxi stand, and got in a cab. _West Chestnut_ she said, and the cab took off.

"What happened back there?" asked the cabbie, curiously.

"They tried to mug us," Jane said, trying not to cry.

Once they were inside the house, with the door locked, Gillian sagged against the wall. Jane looked so beautiful, in her black ankle-length skirt and strapless black bustier, with just a touch of color on her lips! Gillian blamed herself for everything.

"Oh Jane!"

"Try to forget the whole thing happened," said Jane, still breathing hard. "Come on, let's go to bed!"

Gillian let Jane pull her upstairs, to Jane's bed, a simple, Queen-sized bed. It was amazing how similar their tastes were. Jane turned out the lights.

"Can you see enough to undress?"

"I need to use the bathroom," Gillian said, still breathless. Jane followed her, all the way inside, and held her hand while she did her business. She washed up carefully, as always.

"I have to tell you something," Gillian got out, somehow.

"Later," said Jane. She was still boiling over with anger. "Come on!"

In the light of the open doorway, Gillian undressed, and slipped into bed in just her slip. Jane did the same, carefully taking out her panty and bra.

"Okay ... what is it?"

With many false starts, Gillian confessed that she had been planning to seduce Jane tonight.

"Oh god!" Jane said, and Gillian could hear the tears in her voice. "I've been trying to do it since I first saw you naked!"

# In bed at last

Gently, gently, Gillian reached out to Jane, and began to touch her. Jane closed her eyes, immersing herself in the sensuousness of Gillian's exploration. From experience she knew that these first moments were unbelievably precious. Gillian kept asking: does this hurt? Do you mind if I do this? Does this feel good?

_Do anything you want,_ said Jane, softly, _I trust you!_

When it was Jane's turn, she started slow. Artificial though they were, Jane decided Gillian's breasts were wonderful. Unlike the vast majority of so-called glamour models on the internet, who seemed to have obtained their breast implants at an army surplus store, Gillian's breasts were a work of art. But she was so much more than her breasts ... her eyes, her lips, her arms, her legs, they were all natural, and Jane made love to her using all that she knew, tempered with her knowledge of what the gentle girl would like.

The first climax came easily. After that, it was difficult. Clearly Gillian's problem was not a psychological thing, but rather a physiological thing, which strong psychological stimulation could partially overcome.

Still, despite the elusive climaxes, Gillian received a great deal of pleasure out of their night together. She was a warm, loving girl, as Jane had known all along, and she responded to Jane with all that her body would allow.

"Are you tired?" asked Jane.

"Yes!" whispered Gillian.

"Sleepy?"

"No!"

"Want to talk?"

"Yeah!"

"Gillian ... I'll make you come in the morning, okay?"

"All right ... I can wait!"

"Good girl."

"I can't get over how you thrashed those boys!"

"They're poor kids, trying to survive in the slums ..."

"I know ... but I thought they were going to r-rape me!"

"That's when I saw red," said Jane.

"You fucked me thoroughly!" whispered Gillian, changing the subject.

"Did you like it?"

"Oh god! It was my first time!"

"You must always remember it!"

Gillian hugged Jane so hard that she could barely breathe, and then kissed her on the lips. "Always," she said, "I'll always remember!"

In the morning light, Jane looked Gillian again, memorizing every detail of her body. Gillian was in her mid-twenties, in the prime of her womanhood, and it was funny that she had been a virgin up until the previous night. And Gillian stared at Jane's body the same way, hungrily. She marveled that Jane could work such magic. Tentatively they reached for each other.

Stephanie called again, and Jane answered in much the same way as before. They had a buyer for the house, and expected that it would be sold by the end of the month.

"Well, I have to go house-hunting ... Jane, I wish you had a few minutes to come with me!"

"Don't you have any old schoolmates, Stephanie? Cousins? Aunts?"

"I guess that's a _no_ , then!"

"I'm sorry ... I'm really busy!"

Jane's reputation as a make-up technician continued to spread, and brought her a comfortable living. Her artwork began showing up in auctions, and began a whole new cult. Commissions came in slowly, by word of mouth, since she did not care to advertise on the internet. In any case, she worked on a typical painting almost a week, and so she could not simply churn them out. And the painting of the beautiful women was more pleasure than getting paid. Jane refused to paint women who were not beautiful in her judgement. She earned quite a reputation for being brutal about whom she painted.

The way she had left Gillian was quite satisfactory, as far as Jane was concerned. Gillian smiled more, now, especially at Jane. She was starry-eyed whenever they had a moment alone, but Gillian talked and acted as she always did with Jane in public. Jane decided that whenever Gillian asked her to sleep with her she would oblige. But she would not actually seek an invitation.

More alarmingly, Jane was being invited into the beds of all sorts of beautiful women she did not know. It started with Vonda, Eve's lover and apartment-mate. Once night Eve asked Jane to come entertain Vonda. No money was involved; it was simply a favor.

Some week later, Jane was contacted by one of the greatest film actresses in the world, and one of Jane's favorites, a beautiful British woman called Thea Underwood.

"I would like you to paint my portrait, Miss Schultz. Did I get that right?" Jane had said yes, breathlessly. "I've heard a lot of good reports about your portrait-work. But first, I'd like you to have dinner with me, dear; ... will you?"

Dinner was at one of the best restaurants in New York City, and she insisted that Jane must dress up. She was instructed to go to one of the oldest and most expensive couturiers in the city and be outfitted, all at Ms. Underwood's expense. She was picked up from her home in a lovely Bentley, in her new evening gown, and given one of the most perfect meals of its kind.

Thea Underwood was beautiful. She had a presence that was unbelievable. She was a great lady, and she made Jane feel very special indeed. Jane had expected her to be cynical and worldly, but she was a little reserved at first, even a little shy. But, as the long meal went on, Jane found that she was genuinely interested in Jane, and knew a great deal about her.

She drank moderately, and Jane drank just a little, to keep her company. After a while, Thea Underwood judged that it was time to reveal a little more about herself.

"I've had—some painful disappointments in my friends," she said, conveying a great deal with her eyes. "This is why we're having this dinner, Jane. No, don't feel uncomfortable; you passed!" Her smile was warm. "Passed within a minute or two, I might add." They continued to eat in silence. "I'm quite unattached now, but I'm ... not a hermit, you know?" Jane nodded, stunned. Thea Underwood paused, looking solemnly at Jane, giving her time to absorb what she was saying. "I like the company of artists and musicians, but ... level-headed, down-to-earth people, rather than—I don't know—the highly-strung, volatile, undependable kind!" She smiled slightly, and continued to eat. Jane squirmed in her seat, turning red. "All right," she said, glancing round, to see if Jane's discomfiture had been remarked by their fellow-diners. Her voice had been pitched so low that they could not possibly have been overheard. "I'm still interested in having my portrait painted," she said in an even quieter voice. Jane relaxed a little, and resumed eating. "I understand that Gillian Jones is one of your friends!"

Jane said that, yes, she was. How had the famous actress learned about her? "Did Gillian tell you about me?" she asked, not quite succeeding in keeping all the suspicion out of her voice, though she did try.

"No, no," Thea said, smiling. Jane found it easy to trust her, but then, she _was_ an actress ... "No, it was, well, someone else; someone who thinks you're a very, very good artist!" It was clear she wasn't going to encourage any guessing as to who it had been.

After dinner, they drove out to Thea Underwood's New York apartment, a spacious, but beautifully understated space in an older neighborhood, quite close to where Jane lived. The owner of the apartment was quite evidently pleased to entertain Jane in her home, and showed her the whole place, not as if Jane would be a mere employee, but as she would have shown round a friend. She kept asking whether Jane needed to hurry home, and Jane assured her that if she were back by eleven it would be fine.

"We could set up for me to sit here," she said, indicating a corner of the music-room. "But anywhere at all would be fine; I've noticed that you prefer to keep your backgrounds very simple, so it hardly matters where I sit, does it!"

"No, it doesn't; but Miss Underwood, I would ..."

"Thea!" she insisted, smiling.

"Thea, I'll be happy to include the background!"

Thea looked around, thoughtfully. Jane was interested that the woman was so small-built in her bare feet. She had left her shoes at the front door, and so had Jane. Gillian would have approved. Jane followed her, and they came back to her bedroom, an untidy mess of clothes that she must have tried on and rejected. Jane grinned when her host blushed and began to pick up her clothes, apologizing all over again. Finally, she settled on her couch, which she said she would set up against the drapes over one wall.

"Would you do two?"

"Two portraits?"

"Yes, if that's not too much trouble?"

"Not at all!"

"I was refused any information about how much you charge! Would you tell me?"

Jane swallowed uncomfortably. She'd have preferred to do the paintings first, and see how it —or they, in this case— came out. But that was obviously not fair.

"Two thousand for the first, and a thousand for the second?"

Thea Underwood was shocked.

"You've _got_ to ask more, Jane! And you know why, don't you?"

Yes, because the paintings will be valued partly based on how much I charge, thought Jane. The strategy was to charge unreasonably high; she would know it was _really_ unreasonable if she got no commissions.

Her musing was interrupted by Thea Underwood. "Ten thousand for each isn't too much, but you can discount the second one to five." Jane shook her head in amazement. Thea nodded, smiling.

Jane was dropped off by the chauffeur. Before Jane left, she was asked to bring all her equipment; Thea wanted to watch.

The first portrait was a formal one in a gorgeous ruby evening gown. As always, Jane painted it from several careful photographic images. It took two whole days. Thea mostly left Jane alone while she painted in the room with the best light, which was the music room, while Thea read nearby, with music playing in the background. They became firm friends over the two days.

The second portrait was to be a nude. Thea posed for it on her bed, and, and it was during the painting of this that Thea cautiously indicated that she wanted to sleep with Jane.

"Hence my veiled warning during ... during dinner the other night!" Jane took a deep breath, and said she would rather not.

"Why?"

"Because ... I want to think of myself as someone who doesn't–do that!"

"I'm not offering you anything in return; the portraits are not a bribe, either, you have to believe me!"

"Well, they could be! Anyone would think so!"

"But what do _you_ think?"

"I think they were!"

Thea was deeply upset, even though she smiled.

"May I tell you my reasons for having them done?"

Jane nodded. She felt terrible for casting aspersions on Thea's character, but her moral code could not quite expand to absorb the great woman's behavior.

"I needed ... _time,_ to see whether I really liked you, and I wanted something to remember you by!"

Jane was tempted. They liked each other very much, but Thea Underwood was not, well, someone Jane would choose to fall in love with.

"What happens afterwards?"

"Nothing. Not unless ... I want to see you so badly that I'd risk hurting you a lot, or you want to see _me_ so much that ... you'd do the same." Her beautiful hazel eyes were utterly vulnerable. "I know that won't happen."

The nude turned out beautifully.

They made love with style and taste and tenderness, with the grace of ballet, with the passion of swans, swooning with desire. Jane felt a wonderful sense of accomplishment when the famous actress sighed in her arms.

"I can't see you again," Thea Underwood whispered, afterwards.

"Why not?"

"It'll destroy us both."

They dressed, and sat eating ice cream together. "I have traded _love_ for good sex and good friendship," Thea Underwood said, already clearly clamping down on her feelings. "Let's meet ... in about a year, quietly, ... give ourselves a chance to cool off. You see what I mean?"

And Jane did. It would have been kinder to Jane to cut it off cleanly, but Thea wanted to see Jane again. She could not be that callous, even if it was easier on them both. She wanted to have her cake and eat it.

It was the first of numerous nights with famous women. Word was spreading somehow, but the women who begged Jane to sleep with them were above all discreet. They knew that with the first hint of Jane's reputation being made public, it would all come to a stop. Most of all, they appreciated Jane's unspoiled, unassuming manner. They could give her nothing except their desire and their admiration, in addition to a modest fee for a portrait, and they knew Jane worked to make their night together as pleasurable as she could.

Many of the women who called Jane, apart from actresses, were supermodels. She had worked on their makeup on many occasions, and Jane was especially on call for fashion shows, working behind the scenes before the models went on the catwalk. At such shows, she had be dressed beautifully–everybody was beautifully dressed–and be fast, and remember all the special effects needed by particular dresses.

Often, major models knew her from these occasions, and called her at home, having somehow found out that Jane would go on a date just for the asking. Sometimes they asked her right after the show, at the celebration that followed.

It was hard to refuse a model. They were often ethereally beautiful, and desperately unhappy. Jane took a great deal of pleasure in whisking a girl away from the desolate high-pressure environment of their ordinary existence, and giving her a night of pleasure.

Jane got a call from a teenage tennis star. She was a wild little Italian thing, climbing her way up the rankings using a mixture of speed, power and excellent observation. Jane had watched her on television, and was stunned to hear her voice.

"Can I come and see you?" she asked.

"Why, Floriana? You don't even know me!"

"Trudy told me about you!"

This was the first instance in which Jane learned how the caller had obtained her number.

"I ... just can't do it, dear," Jane said, "I'm tied up for the whole week!"

"Shit!"

"I'm sorry!"

"Okay. Bye!"

Jane breathed a huge sigh of relief. The girl was very attractive, she knew, but Jane just didn't have the energy to keep up with a teenager just at that time.

# Gillian Makes a Date

Then, one fateful day, Gillian met her right after a shoot and asked if she could come home with her "Just to ask you something." Jane tried to keep the desperate joy out of her voice. The two of them had grown steadily closer, and Jane recognized what amounted almost to a hunger for Gillian's undemanding companionship. They saw each other all the time at shoots; and since Gillian worked very hard, Jane was at every event at which Gillian was working, and they saw each other practically every day.

Jane couldn't help thinking that she had made a change for the better in Gillian's life, though she couldn't quite express how it had been done. She could hardly tell herself that she had made it easier for Gillian to _masturbate;_ that seemed a rather dubious distinction even to Jane, who had by now become thoroughly accustomed to the depravities of life in the city. Gillian's behavior towards her had always been polite in the extreme, just as it was towards everyone. Jane was filled with pride at being able to tell herself that Gillian was a personal friend. The girl was an aristocrat in the best sense. But there had always been a certain reserve in their relationship. Models were of two kinds: those who were completely reserved, and kept to a small group of friends, maintaining relationships of no more than maybe cheerful civility with everyone else, and those who were quick to make friends indiscriminately, to the point of taking any and every one home with them to party, and often to bed.

Gillian was–well, Gillian. She was very approachable, once you knew that her serious expression was not intended to be forbidding. She actually did smile, an awkward, shy smile, if someone appeared to need reassuring. She was quite friendly with everyone she worked with, except that it did not extend to socializing. There was an inner circle, yes; it seemed to consist exclusively of Jane, and possibly Isabel.

For Jane, it was a puzzle whether it was Gillian's beauty that attracted her, or whether she was attracted to the person. Gillian was stunningly beautiful, certainly, but Jane had come to take it for granted long ago. Without her careful makeup, Gillian was actually quite ordinary-looking. A couple of times Gillian had taken her out to a private beach on some of the warmest days of the year, and she had seen Gillian in a simple swimsuit. Jane had to lather sunscreen on her, because she burnt so quickly. But she had a body that attracted attention, even when no one could recognize her as the famous model. Later, they had changed into evening clothes and attended the opera — Gillian had a few favorites that she could not resist— and then, with the makeup and the carefully done hair, Gillian was a stunner. Jane thanked her makeup skills and her natural nondescript face when the occasional paparazzo caught them, but they were caught too rarely together for anything to be made of it. But one thing could not be denied: Jane loved Gillian's company. Even going to bed together was never as good as the first time; Gillian was a joy to make love to, simply because she was so utterly grateful for being pleasured. Jane was learning that she was one of Gillian's closest, most beloved friends, but that she was not _the one._ Was Gillian's great love married, or out of reach, or even—dead? That might explain the graveness of Gillian's usual bearing.

After the shoot, and the little celebration that invariably followed, they took a taxi home to West Chestnut. "It's so good to have you to myself for a little while!" Gillian said, once they were inside.

"So what's this all about?"

Gillian seemed flustered.

"Someone is arriving —a good friend, and I was hoping you would come to the airport with me. Are you busy tomorrow?"

"N-no, not really," said Jane. She had promised Stephanie to stop by at the new house, which Stephanie had finally taken Gabe over to have checked out. She had not seen Stephanie for a long time.

"Well, the plane comes in around ten in the morning," she said, sounding very nervous.

Gillian was very jumpy all evening, and restless all night, though Jane tried her best to soothe her. Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, Jane found herself saying, "Gillian, I think I look forward to being with you more than with anyone else!"

Gillian had gasped. She turned towards Jane, and slowly took her hand in her own. "Don't say things like that," she whispered.

"Why? If I mean them, why can't I say them?"

"I don't know ... I'm so confused; I feel guilty for ... for making you do all these things ... as if we're ... you know? Almost married, or something..."

"Come on, Gillian; you're a modern girl! You don't care about those kinds of things, do you? Anyway, we aren't being talked about in the papers, or anything."

"Yes, we've been lucky, I suppose." She reached out to caress Jane's face in one of her characteristic tender gestures. In the pale light Jane could see her full breasts lying one on the other, two sensuous mounds of pleasure. Jane wished with all her heart that Gillian had never had her body tampered with. She smoothed her hand down Gillian's leg, and she could feel both their bodies respond. "Don't, Jane ... I want to talk ... about how I feel about you!"

Jane laughed awkwardly. When together they always talked quietly; from their very first moments together, there had been a feeling of intimacy between them, untouched by rowdiness of any sort. And in bed, they talked in low voices.

"You don't have to say anything," Jane said at last.

"You know ... there really isn't anyone else. You do know that?"

Jane's heart leapt inside her. "No ... I thought there was!"

Gillian caught her breath, and released it only after a long pause.

"No ... anyhow, you'll know all about it very soon."

Jane could get nothing out of her after that. Gillian turned her back to Jane, but softened the gesture by drawing Jane's hand under her arm, so that Jane had to cuddle into her back. It was her favorite way to sleep, anyway, but it meant that she didn't want to talk anymore. _I know her so well,_ Jane thought to herself, _we may as well be a couple._ Having enjoyed the state of having a lover, Jane was ready to enter that state again. Oh, she was so ready! Being alone was like a kind of death, particularly when Gillian was so, so close!

In the morning, Gillian dropped her bombshell. She begged Jane to meet her visitor on her own.

Jane could not understand it. She repeatedly asked why, but Gillian only got redder and redder. She only begged, please, please, and Jane finally agreed, only because she knew Gillian would never do something to harm her.

At ten-fifteen, she found herself in Kennedy airport, outside the customs barrier, waiting for someone she had forgotten to ask Gillian about. Her name was Angela; that much Gillian knew, but that was all. Jane studied each person that came out closely; she knew that it would be a woman, of course, and that she would be looking to be met.

The last passenger out was being brought out in a wheelchair, and Jane just knew this had to be the person. The girl in the wheelchair pointed straight at Jane, and the next thing she knew, she was looking down at Gillian's face, freckles and all.

"Are you surprised?" asked the girl, with a typical British intonation, but it was Gillian's voice.

"Completely," said Jane, trying to smile. She looked uncertainly at the attendant wheeling the chair, who smiled back patiently. There was some confusion; whose wheelchair was it, where was the baggage, and so on. Finally, Jane found herself hauling the large suitcase, while the girl managed the wheelchair quite easily by herself.

She had introduced herself as Angela, not surprisingly, and except for the accent, the smile, and the flaming red hair, it _was_ Gillian. She sat tall in the chair, but it was clear that her legs could not support her. So far, what was wrong with them was a mystery.

"We're going to Gillian's flat, aren't we? That's what she said on the phone," said Angela. "Do you have a mobile?"

"I do," said Jane, recognizing the reference to a cell-phone.

Angela smiled–she smiled just a rarely as Gillian, Jane realized; it was just that she was trying to put Jane at her ease. "We arranged this little surprise for you–I asked Jill to stay behind! I hope you aren't upset!"

Jane smiled and shrugged. "I'll go get a taxi," she said.

The words were hardly out of her lips than a taxi sailed right up, and presently they were all safe inside it, with the bags stowed in the trunk, headed to Gillian's little 'flat'. It was such a little place, that Jane had a hunch about what was going to happen: Angela would have to stay with Jane.

Once they had reached their destination, and the taxi had been paid and sent off, they saw Gillian hurrying out to greet them. Jane stood back while the Twins–for twins they certainly were–greeted each other with a big hug and kisses and a few tears.

"Did you like your surprise?" Gillian asked Jane, wiping away a stray tear and smiling.

"I never knew you were English!" Jane exclaimed, looking at the two faces so utterly alike in features, and so similar in expression. But in Angela's face she thought she saw curiosity, excitement, perhaps a little anxiousness, while in Gillian's face she saw happiness, a little worry, and –was it love? Or was that wishful thinking?

"Let's go upstairs," Gillian said, taking the wheelchair, while Jane brought the bag. It was a large one, and it was probably going to be a long visit. They were quickly settled, and decided to get out some snacks. Angie had already had lunch on the plane, and of course Jane and Gillian had only just had breakfast.

Angela immediately demanded the television remote-control, while Jane and Gillian got the snacks ready. As Angela surfed the channels, Gillian explained. They had been very close all their lives, until Angela had been badly hurt in an accident. Gillian had moved to America about a year ago, though Angela kept an apartment for her in London. This time, they decided to get together on this side of the Atlantic, especially since Gillian was very busy indeed with the late summer and early fall work.

Jane sighed. Gillian was not being straight with her.

"Do you need me to help?" she asked, so only Gillian could hear. Gillian nodded, turning red. "Can you manage with both of you in here?" Gillian shook her head, no.

"I thought I'd try for a week or so until I found a place for her, but ..."

"Would you like her to stay with me?"

"It's too much to ask," said Gillian, but her eyes said, yes, please, could you?

"Only on condition you come there, too!"

Gillian sighed and nodded.

As the day wore on, between Gillian and Angela, Jane began to learn more about just how badly Angela was hurt. Her legs were quite useless, but everything else worked fine. There had been careful surgery to repair the nerves down to the legs, and the surgeons seemed to think that the sensation in the legs would come back. Angela was clearly very angry with her legs, because she had been instructed to keep them healthy anticipating that she would regain their use. But it had been more than a year, now, and she simply could not see it happening.

# Angela

It took most of the rest of the day to move them all out to West Chestnut, move a bed downstairs for Angela, and set up the television where she could watch it conveniently, and get things out of the way, so that Angela could get around the house freely.

She loved the house, and accurately dated it as from the mid-eighteen hundreds. She explored the place like a curious teenager, while Gillian and Jane once again went through their germ-hunting routine. Angela thought that Gillian was "rather fixated" on germs, but she cheerfully allowed her twin to do what she wanted, while she looked into all Jane's accumulated artwork. She pronounced all of it "very good, very good indeed, I know whereof I speak, you understand? I am by way of being an art historian!" Gillian nodded from on top of her ladder, confirming Angela's claim.

It was interesting to watch the two sisters interact. Angela was the leader, and seemed always to have been. In matters exclusively American, of course, Angela had to yield to Gillian and Jane. Gillian talked far more animatedly with her twin than she talked with Jane; she knew very little about Jane's interests outside art and the modeling business, but Angela and she shared a thousand interests.

Suddenly, around eight, Angela crashed.

"Poor thing, it's two in the morning for her, isn't it?"

"Something like that," Jane agreed.

Angela was fast asleep in her wheelchair. They picked her up carefully, and laid her in the bed they had prepared for her, and pulled off the sweatpants she had worn on the plane. Gillian and Jane exchanged glances when they saw the sweat-soaked underwear, and without a word, they got a basin of warm water and a towel, and bathed the sleeping girl.

It was hard for Jane to look on the naked body of Angela; it was so like Gillian's body. For the first time Jane saw what Gillian might have looked like: Angela's breasts were somewhat smaller, obviously, and less firm.

"Don't stare!" Gillian chided Jane in a whisper, as she tenderly washed her sister. It was almost painfully sweet to watch them together.

"Do you like her?" Gillian asked in a whisper, when they were in bed together.

"I love her," Jane said, warmly. "It's so confusing to have two of you!"

"We're not that much alike, really; she's a little more outgoing."

"I like you better, though!"

Gillian giggled. "That's because I let you fuck me!" she said, shocking Jane.

"I let you fuck me, too!"

"Such language!"

They were quiet for a while. _It's as well that I don't know all about them,_ Jane thought, _once I do, life would become boring!_ She knew that more than anything, she wanted Gillian to tell her that she loved her. But the more she saw the two sisters together, the more she suspected that, at least on Gillian's side, their relationship went much farther than the simple love between siblings. God only knew that it had been that way for Arthur and Jane.

"What happens if she needs to —you know— go in the night?"

Gillian at up at once.

"I forgot! We ... we usually leave a potty for her, but—you don't have one, do you!"

"A bedpan?"

"Yes!"

"No ... what will she do?"

Gillian thought for a while, and then lay down again. "She'll probably call us," she decided. "I'll keep an ear open; you sleep, Jane."

They did not make love, but Gillian held Jane in her arms while they slept.

It was Jane who awoke.

"Jill ... Jane!" It was a plaintive call that floated up the stairs. Jane rolled slowly out of the clutches of the sleeping Gillian and padded down the stairs, and the calling stopped at once. Angela had excellent ears.

"Oh Jane ... I need to use the loo ..."

"Come on. I'll take you," said Jane, and picked her up in her arms. Angela gasped. "You're strong," she murmured.

"You're heavy!" Jane gasped, as she laid Angela gently on the toilet-seat.

"I know!" she sighed. As Jane turned on the light, she blinked, half-blinded, and made a sound of pleasure, seeing the pretty nightie they had put her in. She struggled to raise the hem of the garment, and Jane helped her. She looked up into Jane's eyes. "The simplest things are tricky," she said softly, frowning slightly, as she released. She found the toilet paper, and wiped herself dry. "You're going to see a lot of this, Jane," she said.

Jane laughed. "It doesn't bother me much," she said.

"Good," said Angela. "Look, if you just hold me up, I can use my legs just a little bit; I'll show you ..."

Jane hoisted her up from under the arms, and Angela was able to balance on her legs, as long as Jane kept her centered. "Now ... one leg at a time, I sort of ... swing them, see? It's good for them to have some weight on them. You're getting impatient!"

"I'll just carry you!"

"Okay, then," said Angela, with a sigh.

"Stay with me a little," she asked, once she was settled in.

"Sure!"

"Jane ... are you and Gillian ... sleeping together?"

Jane was shocked at the directness of the question.

"Tonight, we're just sharing a bed, that's all." She thought sounded a little more prim than she had intended to, but the question had taken her unawares.

"You're not ... you know what I mean ..."

"No, I don't think so ... you should ask her!"

Angela's expression was impossible to read in the dark.

"She talked about you a lot," said Angela, finally. "All the time, actually."

"I talk about her, too ... she's wonderful!"

"She's gorgeous," whispered Angela.

"Yes," agreed Jane. What could she say? _It's just a bunch of salt water?_

They were quiet for a while, as Angela thought to herself, and Jane wondered what Angela was thinking.

"Is Jill asleep?"

"Yes; she might wake up, though, when she finds I'm gone ..."

"Maybe you and I could cuddle ... just a bit?"

"Okay ... for a little while," Jane said, reacting to the request as if the girl was a younger, sick sibling. Just so had Artie begged her when he had been sick. Jane had to help her move, and slipped in beside her. Angela pulled Jane's arms around herself, and let out a long, long sigh.

"You smell nice!" she whispered.

In about half an hour, Angela was asleep, and Jane extricated herself carefully, and headed up the stairs. It broke her heart to realize that the girl could not even roll over in bed without the greatest difficulty. One depended on one's legs so much!

Gillian was still asleep, but Jane was thoroughly aroused. Slowly, delicately, she began to stroke Gillian, slipping her finger between Gillian's legs, caressing her, feeling the slight roughness where her pubic hair had been shaved. Jane did it all the time for her, now; she wondered what Angela would think of that. There was no doubt that they were, indeed, lovers, even if they refused to admit that they were in love.

Gillian moaned softly in her sleep, and her legs fell apart, inviting Jane's hand deeper inside. Softly, like a feather, Jane continued the rhythm, careful not to hurt her, spreading the natural lubrication that Gillian's own body supplied, sliding the ball of her fingertip in a lazy circle about the hardening nub of Gillian's clitoris. With her cheek, she caressed Gillian's nearer breast, and she could feel her slowly moving towards a climax, like a snowball rolling down a long, gentle slope.

Jane was patient. There was a certain pace she had to keep; too slow, and nothing would happen, too fast, and Gillian would wake up. She was turning her head from side to side, now, and her hands had slid up to her breasts, and she was breathing hard. Jane watched, fascinated, as Gillian moistened her dry lips. Oh God, asleep she was so beautiful!

"Jane?" The soft cry floated up the stairs.

Jane was startled into stopping the rhythm. Gillian, still asleep, moaned a soft complaint. Confused, Jane started again, picking up the rhythm, and Gillian's breath came in soft pants. In seconds, Gillian heaved a huge sigh, and Jane felt her body move under her hands in a long, slow climax. Then Gillian awoke.

"It was you! Oh Jane ... why didn't you wake me?"

"I felt so horny ... I'm sorry!"

"It was wonderful ... I love your hands, Jane ..."

"Jane?" came the soft call, just a little impatient now.

"What does she want?" asked Gillian softly, suddenly quite awake.

"I don't know; I helped her to the toilet just a few minutes ago!"

"I'd better go," said Gillian, rolling out of bed.

"No! Not like this, Jill; you smell like ..."

"Oh!" Gillian clutched her soggy nightgown to her crotch. "Can you go?"

"Okay," whispered Jane. "I'll be right down!" she called, just loud enough to be heard in the studio, where they had set Angela's bed.

"Okay, I'm here!" Jane whispered, catching her breath.

"I need to go again," said Angela, acutely embarrassed. She had pulled herself upright, and was trying to get her legs under her.

Jane bent down, and picked her up. Angela sighed in remorse. "This feels like ... a major deal," she said.

"It's okay," Jane said, out of breath. "There, ... wait, lift up your gown before I set you down ... ready?"

Angela sat, knees together, like an embarrassed little girl. How did she do that, Jane wondered, if she had no control over her legs?

"It must be embarrassing to talk about bodily functions to strangers!"

"Oh ... it gets easier after a while ... nurses are great, that way." She looked up, blinking at Jane sleepily. Her face showed acute concentration, but then there was a loud passage of gas, and a few small plops, heralding a very small motion. "Mostly gas," she said, frowning. "I don't know why!"

"It's probably having to sit still for six hours," Jane said, with a smile.

"Oh!" said Angela, rewarding Jane with a soft, dewy-eyed smile that made her feel wonderful.

Angela cleaned herself up with the greatest care. "Otherwise," she said, "I get very uncomfortable ... comfort is everything," she added, emphatically.

When Jane picked her up, she pulled herself close, and kissed Jane on the lips. "Thank you again," she said.

"It must be daylight in England," Jane said with a smile, setting her down, the kiss still warm on her lips.

"I imagine ... what time is it? Five ... I've only slept five hours ... I've kept you up as well!"

"So, what, it's ten? Eleven?"

"Ten," she said. "I'm going to watch the television."

"Will you be okay?"

"Yes ... thanks!" Jane was rewarded with another hug, after which Angela settled down to surf the channels.

Gillian came downstairs soon afterwards, and their day began. Jane knew it was difficult for Gillian to ask her to stay home and look after Angela, so she begged off work on her own, got Gillian ready and sent her off to her shoot, and settled down to keep Angela company.

Angela's habit of watching TV would get on her nerves, Jane knew, it she gave it a chance. She also realized that Angela was well aware of the problem. While they were in the breakfast nook, they decided that Jane would take Angela down to the park, for some fresh air, and to give her a chance to see the city, and then they would think of what to do next.

Once they had got the wheel-chair down the front steps, Angela said "I can manage now, until we hit steps again, or cross the street, Jane."

"Okay, we always go this way, once we leave the house ... and this brings us to the main street."

"Aha!"

"Now, to get to our little park, we turn left ..."

All along the road, Angela had lots of questions. Is that a school? Is that a hotel? Where do people buy food? Where are the pubs? Where can I get batteries, if I want them? Can we go inside here, just to look?

She really had quite a different personality from Gillian. Where Gillian was calm and patient, Angela was eager, and easily frustrated. But she rarely sulked for more than a few seconds, if at all; once one way was closed off, she headed another. Every minute was an adventure waiting to happen.

She was resigned to being unable to participate in lots of things. She watched the children go on the little carousel, her lips curved in a happy smile. She followed the children as they ran around with her eyes, and Jane tried to remember how Gillian had acted around kids. When they were at the beach, she had always been gravely polite to the older children, and smiled indulgently at the infants. Jane observed the other adults in the little park; each one was a fascinating study.

They picked up a couple of hot dogs for lunch, which Angela munched with her eyes glowing. "These are terrible!" she declared, chewing away.

Early in the afternoon, she ran out of energy. She did not say anything, but her eyes appealed to Jane mutely.

"Let's head home, and let's give you a shower!" Jane said, smiling.

"Oh, good!" She looked confused. "How did I get clean last night? Did you girls give me a shower while I was sleeping?" she laughed.

"Just a sponge bath," Jane said.

Angela was quiet, thinking. _I bet she hates to be a nuisance,_ Jane thought to herself. _I would, in her place._

"I think we'll hire a nurse fairly soon; that will be less work for you," said Angela, the words dying away towards the end of the sentence, as she realized it could be taken amiss.

"I don't mind," said Jane, softly.

She picked Angela up, and walked her up the stairs. "The bathtub is upstairs," she gasped, "We should remodel the downstairs bath ..."

"Oh Jane ... I know, I weigh a ton!"

"Let's see," said Jane, balancing her on the scales.

"A hundred and twenty! I've lost weight."

"We'll soon fix that!"

Jane had found a little stool that fit inside the bathtub, and having carefully undressed Angela down to the skin, picked her up and settled her on the stool. "This is just perfect," said Angela, blushing.

"Shall I condition your hair? Do you think it might be too much?"

"Oh, that would be perfect! It hasn't been treated in the longest time!"

"I think I have something here for red hair ... here you go: you hold this, while I get the water ready."

The process of washing and conditioning Angela's hair was perfect for letting the girls relax and feel comfortable with each other's bodies. Then Jane stripped –having asked Angela's permission, which was immediately granted– and having Angela's hair covered in a shower cap, Jane adjusted the water temperature to her guest's preference, and proceeded to bathe her. "Don't let go, no matter what happens," Jane cautioned her. So Angela clung to Jane with one hand, and clung to a handhold on the shower stall wall with the other. Jane found that she balanced remarkably well, but that it was hard to do, because of the lack of sensation in her legs.

It was strange to see Gillian's face without Gillian's breasts. Jane simply could not keep her eyes away from Angela's body, and in the end, she mumbled an apology and gave up trying. Angela had done the same. To Jane's surprise, the girl was as fascinated in Jane's body —and as uncomfortable about showing it— as Jane was in Angela's. Still, neither of them took any liberties with each other, except that, of course, Jane did have to soap her down, and later rinse her off. Angela had a thick patch of bright red pubic hair, which Jane soaped and rinsed with a mischievous grin.

Angela's legs had lost a great deal of muscle tone. Her legs were beginning to look shrunken all over, especially the calves. It was particularly sad to notice how pretty her feet were, all rosy from the bath.

Using common sense and a bit of physics, Jane efficiently dried Angela off, wrapped her with a couple of towels, and settled her on her bed, to look for something she could wear. They were about the same size, and Jane had Angela pick out what she wanted. She selected very much the kind of clothes Gillian liked to wear: skirts and blouses in soft, open-weave fabrics, which Jane had acquired at the time when she and Maria were a couple. Maria had hated her wearing jeans all the time, and had bought her lots of skirts, which had been kept in Maria's house.

Angela was quiet while Jane dressed her, her thoughts evidently far away. Jane carefully styled her hair dry, until it looked shiny and beautiful. All it needed now was a good cut, to neaten it up.

It was disconcerting to find that the identity of the girl before her flickering between Gillian and Angela. Jane laughed at her own confusion.

"What's funny?"

"I keep forgetting that you're Angela!"

Angela laughed politely. Even her polite laugh gave Jane pleasure. They were like fairies, the two sisters; fairies trapped on Earth, prevented from returning to their own world!

"What do you normally do, then?" asked Angela, once Jane had got her comfortable on a recliner.

"Well, there really isn't a _normal_ day for me; some days I go out on a shoot to work makeup, other days, I stay home and paint," she said, too tired to worry herself about hiding the countless little secrets she had juggled for so long.

"If you're going out on a shoot, then what time do you set out?"

"Oh, anywhere from seven, if it's here in town, to five in the morning, if we have to fly somewhere!"

"And then?"

"Well, there's usually some kind of enclosure just for makeup, and I just get started. I usually get a list of everyone who needs anything special. All through the day people need their makeup touched up, or completely changed ... it's pretty much as you probably imagine it!"

"Sis says you're really good!"

Jane laughed. "She taught me, did she tell you?"

"No, she didn't!" Angela laughed. "I know she taught herself to do it, and she's usually a pretty thorough study, is our Gillian."

Jane shook her head, bemused. In spite of all she had learned by herself, the techniques of digital image processing that she knew were close to brilliant, it was as a lowly make-up artiste that she had made her reputation. And as other things even less worthy.

"You looked almost angry, there, for a second!" said Angela, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Does Jill make you angry, with the things she does?"

Jane shook her head. "Never her ... but it's a peculiar bunch of people, with their own strange — values, I guess." She barked out a humorless laugh. "I should talk about values; I don't really have any left!"

"You're really bitter, aren't you?" Angela asked, softly, looking sorrowful.

"A little," confessed Jane.

It didn't take Angela long to drag the most recent parts of the story out of Jane. They were seated in the spare room upstairs, with Angela on an old recliner, and Jane on the spare bed.

"And then you met Jill!" she prompted, softly.

"Yes ... I've neglected Stephanie completely, but ... Oh Angela, you ... you know plenty about me; let's stop there!"

"What does it feel like, to be a lesbian?"

That question shocked Jane. She had assumed that the Twins had come to terms with homosexuality long since. Angela's questions about whether Jane slept with Gillian seemed to suggest so. What did the girl _want?_

"Feel like? How do you mean?"

"Well ... like when you're walking down the street, or getting your hair permed, or say you're going into a ladies' room ... do you feel: wow, there's a lot of girls in here, or do you say, ho hum, same old same old?"

Jane had to laugh. Every moment it became clearer and clearer that this was most definitely _not_ Gillian.

But in between the myriad questions, Jane got a strong sense that Angela, despite her incisive inquiry into everything, was firmly in Jane's corner.

Sadly, Angela was so heavily affected by Jet Lag that she was barely awake when Gillian came home. They ate quickly—though Gillian had already done some serious snacking at work, and after Angela had been taken care of and made comfortable in bed, Jane and Gillian went upstairs to catch up.

Gillian was anxious and curious about what Angela had said and done all day. Jane gave her a fairly detailed account, except for the intensely personal discussion they had had about Gillian and Jane.

"I'm off tomorrow; I'll take care of her, and I'll look into having a nurse come in," Gillian said.

"May I share the cost?"

"Why on earth should you?" Gillian's intonation had reverted to British very strongly, after several hours of Angela. Jane had to smile.

"I'd like to," Jane said. "I like to pretend that ... I'm a part of your family," said Jane, her heart in her mouth.

Gillian looked at her, non-plussed, a long time.

"I don't know what to say!" she said softly.

Jane took a deep breath.

"I've been like a drowning person, and you've been like a solid rock, and I cling to you! And ... and you act as if _I'm_ the one helping _you_ , but it's the other way round, Jill ... our friendship means so much to me, I don't think you could quite understand it!"

"It absolutely _is_ the other way round," Gillian said, presently, red-faced. "I'm not going to let you go any time soon!"

They were suddenly in each other's arms, feeling very emotional. For the first time, Jane believed that Gillian cared for her in the ways that mattered; even if as lovers, they were on again, and off again, they would be always there for each other. There was no talk of sex; that was really quite a different thing: whether they could comfort each other successfully in a physical way. The answer was: yes, but did their mutual support depend on it being that way? No.

Gillian wanted Jane to do her hair the following morning, just as she had done for Angela. Jane laughed, saying that they were too old to compete for favors. Gillian took a quick shower, and they went to bed.

It turned out that they could have a nurse for three times a week at rather considerable expense, but it enabled Jane to work. (She now had a good reason to turn down all offers from women to be entertained in bed.) The nurse came to interview a couple of days later, and they settled into a pleasant routine. Once Angela's Jet Lag had run its course, they had a lot of flexibility about what they did during the week. Angela knew lots of places that she could go with the nurse, once Jane had shown her all around the neighborhood, and Jane was back again doing Gillian's makeup, and that of anyone else who asked for it, steadily depositing a few thousand each week into her bank.

# Visiting Stephanie

"Why don't you ask Sis to go with you when you visit Stephanie?" Angela asked one day.

"That would be a lousy trick," Jane had replied at once.

Angela had shrugged. Jane had thought about it, and the more she thought, the better it sounded. It brought things out into the open, she had to admit. If Gillian begged off from going, that would settle some issues; if she agreed to go, Stephanie would really have to be persistent to believe she could prevail despite Jane's steadily developing relationship with Gillian.

"Stephanie ... I've met someone," Jane said, when she called.

"Oh ..." Stephanie sounded unhappy, but not upset. "...is she the, er, model you were talking about?"

"Yes, that's her. I'd like to bring her out to meet you, if you think that's a good idea?"

"Yes, I'd like to meet her," Stephanie said, fairly cheerfully. Jane had to admit that Stephanie was a great girl. There was a lot of depth to her. "What about Friday?"

"Lunch on Friday?"

"Good. Jane, I can hardly wait to see you! How have you been doing?"

"A little better ... I don't look quite as shriveled up!"

"I'm glad. I'm ... holding together. Gabe visits now and then ..."

"Steph, you know what I think, so I won't pester you!"

"Well, you get over here, and we'll grab a few seconds to talk. Bring a swimsuit; we managed to get a house with a small pool!"

"Inside?"

"No, but it's heated!"

"Okay!"

Stephanie's new home was further from the city, as was to be expected, than her older one. It was a four-square, no-nonsense home in suburban New Jersey, with seven rooms; plenty of space for when the boys grew up some day. At the moment, three of them were filled with the pieces of furniture she couldn't bring herself to part with, and closed up; Stephanie, Edita, Tiffany and the boys lived in the remaining four rooms quite comfortably. The music room was now a workshop, fitness room and sewing-room combined, and the rest of the house was fairly traditional.

She greeted Jane and Gillian with evident pleasure, though there was a momentary look of sorrow when she saw Gillian. But both women laughed it off in good humor, and they proceeded to meet the boys and the other two women, and then were taken on a tour of the house.

"It's a standard-length pool," Gillian observed. "That's not common, is it?"

"No; Stephanie takes her swimming seriously, though," Jane said.

"Did you bring your swimsuits?" asked Stephanie, "Or we could swim in just our skin, if you like!"

Jane and Gillian exchanged a blush and said no, they had brought swimwear. In short order they were all in the pool, including Gillian and the boys.

Stephanie efficiently enforced rules; the boys had to stay on the shallow side of the divider, or they had to hang onto the gutters. The adults would be swimming laps.

Angela had assured her that Gillian was a fair swimmer, but she had not taken it seriously, until she saw Stephanie and Gillian racing each other. Stephanie had an enormous advantage, but willowy-limbed Gillian was a very strong swimmer indeed.

Jane also got an opportunity to show off her own skill, modest though it was, as well as her powerful figure.

"All she needs is practice," Stephanie declared, admiring Jane in the water, as they sat on the edge of the pool. Edita, seated on her deck-chair, leaned over to study Jane, and nodded sagely. Jane felt wonderful, what with the exhilarating exercise and the praise all round.

Stephanie and Gillian stole looks at each other all afternoon, and Jane could hardly wait to hear what they had to say about each other. But she didn't have to wait long. Gillian murmured to Jane while they showered that Stephanie was built like a goddess, and Stephanie told her the same thing about Gillian shortly afterwards. Jane could not help giggling, much to Stephanie's indignation. But the fact was that Gillian simply had a perfect figure, for everything a model could possibly be needed for.

Lunch was distinguished more by the pleasant company than by the outstanding cuisine, though little Tiffany had outdone herself. Still, Jane approved of the modest style in which Stephanie entertained. Having gone from middle-class to upper-class millionaire and back to middle class, Stephanie had managed the transition back with dignity and good sense.

After lunch, Stephanie, Gillian and Jane found themselves alone. With a small sigh of resignation, Stephanie asked whether Jane and Gillian had settled down together. Gillian was startled, as was Jane, but Jane recovered sooner.

"We haven't talked about settling down, Stephanie ... we're good friends, and Gillian knows ... knows how I feel about her." Stephanie looked heartbroken, but was keeping very calm. "Every time I ..." Jane was interrupted by leaky eyes and a lump in her throat. "Every time I ... sat facing a—lover, and took out a ring, ..." Jane took a deep breath, determined to get it off her chest, "... and said: I give you this ring ... something terrible happened!"

"What happened?" whispered Stephanie, hoarse-voiced. She was already dabbing at her eyes, simply from seeing Jane in that condition.

"The first time was Maria and me ... that was September 11th —you know how that turned out ... the second time was a—a couple of months before Deanna died."

Jane wept for only a few seconds, but both girls could see how broken she was.

"I'm through with one heart, one love. I just live one day at a time," said Jane.

Stephanie let out a long, shuddering breath. "You have the luxury of having choices, Jane; for me, it's you, or nobody."

"What about Gabe?"

Stephanie simply pressed her lips grimly together and shook her head.

"Who's Gabe?" demanded Gillian.

"He's a family friend of Jane's, whose wife disappeared on 9/11, like my husband," explained Stephanie. "He's really sweet, and a nurse."

"And you hate him!"

Stephanie became angry, but characteristically did not blow up.

"Why is it that every other girl who prefers to be with women get to do that, but _I_ , I have to have a guy?"

"Have you tried the singles lesbian scene?" Gillian asked, shyly.

Stephanie shook her head, and said she didn't know how to get started, and she didn't know if she could stand it.

"And it doesn't help that I have feelings for ... a certain _somebody,_ who has feelings for ... a certain somebody _else._ "

"It isn't fair to accuse me of messing up your life, Stephanie, it's not as if I did it de _lib'_ rately!" protested Gillian, looking upset despite her awkward smile.

"It isn't your fault, and I know it," said Stephanie, resignedly, "but Jane, you never came to see me for months and months and months, and I sure could have used a little comfort!"

Jane got up and walked over to where Stephanie sat, and softly asked forgiveness. "It was mean of me, and there was no excuse ... I was doing nothing that important!"

"Then _why?_ "

"I don't know ... because you were so rich and famous ... I think I felt intimidated. I guess it scared me, that you would compare me to — to Angus, and here I am, just a little nobody, trying to help you with your enormous house and garden, and three little boys ... it was just too much!"

"It was too much even for me," admitted Stephanie, big-heartedly.

They parted feeling much better. Jane explained that no matter who she partnered with, she would stay in touch with Stephanie, and was ready for moral support in the future. Some of her reluctance to come to Stephanie's aid had come through her subconscious, and now, seeing Stephanie in her new, far more modest setting, she felt much more confident that she could help.

Gillian and Stephanie had hit it off very well. Gillian promised that if Stephanie called Jane, she would personally encourage Jane to come and help. In return, once she had heard of Gillian's injured twin, Stephanie said that Angela was welcome in her pool at any time.

"Tiffany, are you ready for a safari?" asked Stephanie, slyly.

"Oh, _yes!_ We're going _out!_ Get your shoes on!" yelled the boys.

"Where are you headed?"

"I was thinking of dropping you off, and meeting Angela at the same time!" She asked Edita in German whether she would like to accompany them on a visit to West Chestnut.

Jane grinned. She knew Stephanie's improvisational style very well. She turned to Gillian and suggested that she call Angela and give her some warning.

"Here, use my phone," suggested Stephanie, but Gillian had already called. She told Angela to fasten her seatbelts.

Nothing but a minivan would fit Stephanie's size. It was a modest one, but there was room for six adults and two children, which worked out very well. They stopped on the way at a delightful suburban supermarket that had simply everything, and they got supplies for a fabulous supper. Tiffany rolled her eyes as they walked along filling the grocery cart with all sorts of favorites of Stephanie's and the boys'.

"If she feels comfortable with coming out to our pool, just give me a call, and I'll come down and get her," said Stephanie. "I can fit a wheelchair in the back, did you know? This thing is amazing!"

"Stephanie is a trained masseuse," Jane confided to Gillian quietly. Gillian looked impressed.

Angela, though predictably overwhelmed by the onslaught of visitors, bounced back quickly, to chat with the boys and Tiffany, as well as with Edita in fair German. Gillian and Angela both spoke French and German quite fluently.

By the time the visitors left, everyone had eaten a fabulous supper, and Stephanie had given Angela a thorough massage. She also showed Jane how to move Angela's legs, making sure that she did not hurt anything, because the girl could not feel pain. "You must see a therapist, and be taught how to do it correctly," she said, "But the basic movements are probably safe." Angela confirmed that the ones Stephanie had showed Jane were the ones they had taught Angela's father.

"How can I compete with _her?_ " was Gillian's first question, once Stephanie had driven off with the rest of her household.

Jane had broken up laughing.

"Easy," she replied, once she got control of herself. "Stephanie is all sunshine and laughter, and happy children! But I have a dark side, and I'm attracted by people with pain, and difficulty; Stephanie's problems are not the kind that interest me, you know?"

"And my problems are?"

"In a word, yes."

"Now Stephanie knows that ... you're providing a home for me and my ... crippled twin sister."

"Did you want to keep it a secret?"

"It's a matter of pride, Jane ..."

"I'm sorry!" Jane understood better than Gillian could imagine, but she was surprised that Gillian had reacted that way. "What can I do to fix things? You know that Stephanie is not one who would take things that way!"

Gillian was silent, her head hanging in embarrassment. The outburst had hurt Jane more than she had intended it to. After all, what could be done about Angela? Was it shameful, that she had an injury? Was it shameful that Gillian had a friend who was generous enough to offer her home? And Jane had far fewer resources than Stephanie did, for one, or even Gillian, for another. Gillian could rent an apartment larger than Jane's house, but all the money she had saved up, for herself and for Angela, would all be used up.

She turned to Jane, who looked crushed, and began to realize just how much they meant to each other. She was beginning to realize just how much she, Gillian, meant to Jane, and it made her humble. She had earned an international reputation as a top model, through hard work, controlling herself, emotionally and physically, and of course, her physical beauty. But Jane's love for her was close to devotion, something that went far beyond the mere adoration of a fan. For the first time, Gillian had a significant relationship outside her immediate family, and she had to learn to cherish it, and deal with Jane with tact and kindness.

"You're right ... it probably doesn't matter with Stephanie, does it."

"I'll be careful with everybody else, though," Jane said, anxiously.

"I'm sorry for—making such a fuss. I'm grateful for letting us stay here, and for taking care of Angela — and me, too! I'm really, really sorry!"

"What are you two whispering about?" Angela asked from some distance away, before Jane could think of an answer.

Jane put her arms around Gillian, and looked at Angela solemnly.

"Jill was rather overwhelmed by Stephanie ... she tends to put people on the defensive, sometimes ..."

Angela rolled her eyes, and hauled her wheelchair closer.

"You're not arguing over me, are you?"

Jane looked at Gillian. It was not a time for prevarication.

"I was feeling bad that I couldn't look after you by myself, Angie. But you don't mind, do you?"

"No, not at all ... I'd be a burden anywhere, I know ..."

"No, you're not!"

"... I was just going to say that here, I don't feel quite as bad as ... if you had to do it all yourself, Sis."

Gillian knelt next to the wheelchair, and pulled Jane down, too.

"I could afford a larger apartment, but ..."

"Here's two reasons not to do that!" Jane thought furiously. "One: you need to spend your money wisely, for both your sakes!"

"Absolutely!" interjected Angela, nodding.

"... and two: you make me feel as if ... you want me with you, ... you make me feel ..." Jane bent her head and wept for the umpteenth time that day. It was so hard, no matter how much you loved someone, it was so hard to explain what it meant! Gillian would only understand if she had to suffer far more than Jane ever wished on her. So Gillian would not understand what it meant for Jane to be a sister to Angela. "I can't explain it ... Oh, it's been a rough day, ... a rough day!"

"It's all right!" said Angela, feeling bad for Jane.

"It's like ... being a sister to you, Angela, though, of course, I have no right to do it!" said Jane, controlling her sobs with an effort.

There was a long silence. Jane realized that these girls simply did not blabber nonsense; they were thinking of something to say that made sense.

"I understand, a little," said Gillian, comforting Jane with her arm. She looked at her sister, her eyes pleading for understanding. "I'd rather stay with Jane than with anyone else," she said.

"Me too," said Angela.

"How do you feel, after the massage?" asked Jane, wiping her eyes.

Angela brightened up.

"Look, ... it's turned a little pink ... I can almost feel the circulation! Can it be? Could I feel blood flowing, but not feel anything else?"

"Blood had been flowing all along, hasn't it?"

"But the massage ... doesn't it increase blood flow?"

That kept them talking about a safe subject for a while, and gradually, as they calmed down, they prepared to go to bed.

They decided to let Angela sleep upstairs, in the spare room. Though initially she had not been quite happy with Jane and Gillian sleeping together—she had spoken to Gillian about it, but Gillian had refused to discuss it—things had moved beyond that issue. In her own way, Angela stole some comfort from Jane, by asking her to cuddle with her after she had helped her with her toilet, or by being affectionate in little ways. Jane learned how it was possible to survive emotionally on very little indeed. Jane was growing to love both twins very much.

# Learning about Scorpia

Jane had neglected her e-mail for months. It took several days to clear up her mailbox, and when she finally read some of the messages, she learned that Scorpia was being requested to appear once again at the MetalFest in the City, and was being made an offer she simply could not refuse.

But there was a problem: how could she do it, without help? With her heart feeling like lead, Jane realized that it had been Heather, Deanna and Artie who had helped her pull it all off.

Having thought long and hard about it, she decided that she had to have _some_ confidante. Maria knew, of course; but Sue and Issy did not. Whom should she confide in?

"Jill ... I need your help!"

"What's up?"

They were in bed, after a long day on a shoot. They were looking forward to two days free.

"Have you heard of Scorpia?"

"No ... who or what is it?"

Jane giggled. "It's a fictitious character, this masked leather domina, who attends fetish shows, and ..."

"Oh, yeah, _that_ Scorpia. I know who you mean. A really bad babe, yeah?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

"Can I ...? No! _No way! You're not going to tell me that_ you're _Scorpia!"_

It was a much more gratifying reaction that Jane could ever have dreamed of. She collapsed in giggles, while Gillian kept shaking her.

"Tell me! Is it true? It was you _all along?"_

Jane got control of herself, except for a giggle now and then.

"How do you know about Scorpia? I've been Scorpia for ages; you've only been here, like, a year or something!"

"Oh Jeeze, we knew about Scorpia back home! We thought it was some crazy Yank gimmick, but we knew _about_ her! Are you serious?"

"Well, yeah!" Jane proceeded to explain how they had pulled it off, but Gillian was more interested in hearing Jane _do_ Scorpia. It was all very frustrating, but at least Jane knew Gillian was on board.

"Not too close honey, you're scuffing my bra."

Gillian buried her head under her pillow and laughed.

"God, it is you! You're a genius, you know that?"

Jane grinned in the dark. "Why?"

"Because the costumes were fabulous! Do you remember that one, kind of a renaissance thing with black tulle in a full-flared skirt, with black leather bodice ..."

"Oh, yes; that was the prettiest one we came up with."

" _You_ came up with it, not some designer?"

"Heck, yeah! What's the big deal? We sewed it downstairs!"

"Golly! Do you have the one I mentioned lying around? I'd give anything to wear it!"

"Sure! You wanna sneak downstairs with me?"

It goes without saying that Gillian looked absolutely stunning in that costume, skimpy vinyl underwear and everything.

"What did you do, wear a blonde wig?"

"Of course! It was the best one I could get. It's real hair. Right here ... see?"

"So this is your, well, your Bat Cave, as it were!" Jane smiled mischievously.

"Take pictures! Please! Go get your camera!" urged Gillian, posing in the garment. Jane tiptoed out to where she kept the camera, and returned with it, and started shooting. Gillian made some wonderfully lewd poses, and they were shooting for a long time.

Finally, having put the costume carefully away, and Gillian having inspected it closely and exclaimed at how beautifully it had been put together, they settled down to plan.

Jane insisted that Gillian should be involved only indirectly. "If it's found out that you're Scorpia's buddy, people will know where to look!"

Once Gillian heard who else had been involved in it, she agreed that Issy would almost have to be brought into the plan. No one of the original gang was left, except Issy and Maria, and, of course, Sue.

"Is she just a child?"

"Oh no; she's a junior in College, ... you know, she's old enough to attend MetalFest ..."

"Oh, wait, is this Zsuszana, Issy's little girlfriend?"

"Oh! Have you met her?"

"No, Issy just talks about her all the time! You and her!"

Jane explained how close she, Maria and Zsuszana had been, hoping that Gillian would be tactful about how she mentioned the girl Jane considered almost an adopted daughter. Gillian thought how amazing it was that Jane picked up all these people to make projects out of, and got hurt in the end. And here she was, again, taking on Gillian and Angela.

"Okay, I think you need, like, three new costumes, at least one should be a real stunner; you need to figure how to get there, and once there, you need to have a team to cover for you."

Jane nodded.

Gillian was too excited to be able to sleep without Jane's help. Smoothly, like a well-oiled machine, Jane leached out Gillian's nervous energy, and they lay kissing.

"I never thought I'd fall in love with a girl," Gillian confessed in a soft whisper. Jane was so happy that she went straight to heaven.

"I thought you had gotten past that?"

"So far, it's been just sex, Jane ... but it's becoming something that comes from my heart, girl! I'm very slow, I suppose..."

"Maybe Angela is unhappy about us?"

"I'd say _very_ unhappy!"

"I love you!"

"Oh Jane!"

"Oh my angel!"

Angela was puzzled when, having called for Jane or Gillian, as she often did in the morning, Jane walked in, clearly tickled by some secret.

"What's up?" she demanded, while she relieved herself, squinting against the bright bathroom light. Jane's face had a grin, instead of the usual affectionate smile.

"Up? Nothing!" she said.

Angela fell into a better humor, despite her determination to be angry.

She knew now that she resented the intimacy of the other two, despite the fact that they did their best not to exclude Angela from anything—except, of course, their bed. (If she had only realized, it would have taken hardly any persuasion to for Jane to allow her to share the bed, though it was hard to tell with Gillian.) This was a daily occurrence: Angela started the morning resentful, but in minutes, Jane had won her over with her affectionate ways. (She wasn't very demonstrative, but her eyes told what was in her heart, plain as daylight.)

Shortly after, Gillian arrived at the door of the toilet. Angela groaned.

"Take your time," encouraged Jane.

Gillian stopped her hand in mid-rub of her eyes, and her mouth, too, opened in a grin, as she suddenly remembered something.

"What _is_ it with you two?"

All Gillian's attempts to suppress a broad grin failed.

"I have to go; I'm going downstairs," said Jane, disappearing.

"Okay," said Gillian, before Angela could say anything. "I learned something very, _very_ unexpected last night!"

"And?"

"Remember, when we were over at Eric's place, and he was showing us, you know ..."

"Oh yeah—so?"

"Remember _Scorpia?_ "

"Yes?"

"You'll never guess!"

"Jane? Oh, you've got to be kidding!"

" _Yes!_ Can you believe it?" Gillian was doubled up in amusement, her eyes shining.

"She's _so_ not the type!"

Gillian shrugged, still grinning. "I don't know; still waters!"

"How did you find out?"

"Well, apparently she gave it a bit of a rest, while she was dealing with —you know— Deanna."

"Oh, yes ... Scorpia went underground just about when you left, I remember."

"But now they're calling for her, and—there's money, you know? They pay her for appearances ... you'll never believe the details: there's a corporation, and everything!"

"Crikey!"

"Crikey is right! Guess what! She let me wear that really fabulous frock she wore on TV that one time—remember, a full-flared thing in tulle?"

"The kind of net thing?"

"Yes!"

"Oh _Sis!_ I'd love to see that!"

"Ask her?" Gillian said, indicating the direction of the sound of Jane's footsteps up the stairs.

Jane appeared at the door, still grinning.

"I can see you've told her!"

"Help me up, you two! I want to come down!" she said, pulling the flush.

It turned out that Angela was far more excited about Scorpia than Gillian was. Their interests in the phenomenon of Scorpia were different, Jane found out. Angela was interested in Scorpia as a personality, while Gillian was more focused on the image and the costumes. Angela was the more straight-laced of the two, and she loudly defended Scorpia's morals to the other two, though Gillian by now had acquired far more tolerance about lifestyles than Angela could possibly have been comfortable with, even if Gillian herself—despite her relationship with Jane—was a girl with quite traditional values, for herself. This was something that Jane and Gillian saw in each other, and drew them together, though they did not quite realize it.

Isabella was finally invited over to meet Angela, and as a special bonus, was told about the secret of Scorpia.

" _You!_ Are you serious? I don't believe!" Her incredulity was positively comic. She was usually so understated, but Scorpia was one of her serious interests. "I don't believe! I was there ... _Jane!_ " her voice rose in a threatening, accusing glissando. "I'm going to kill you, you know that?"

Jane was helpless with laughter. Angela had to observe that Jane was very attractive, especially when she laughed. She had beautiful teeth! And she saw that Isabella was a stunner, as pretty as Gillian, if not prettier.

"Jane, why you don't tell me? I am your friend, no? Jane?"

"I'm sorry, Issy; I thought you might tell everybody. I'm sorry; I should have trusted you!"

Isabella turned to the others, suddenly all smiles and excitement. "Did you know, _I_ am Scorpia, for a short time? Did she tell you? One evening, I was Scorpia! I had the whip, and everything!"

"It's true," Jane confirmed. They were quiet, anxiously watching Jane, who had hunched up, covering her face. She had the kind of presence, despite her unassuming manner, that when she needed quiet, she got it immediately. But this time, she was not upset. "Oh ... it's so good to remember ... some of the happier times!"

"Are you okay, Jane?" asked Isabella softly. Angela could see that the girl cared for Jane very much.

"I'm fine," said Jane. "You cheered me up," she said with a smile.

"So, will you do some more Scorpia stuff?" Isabella asked, coming right to the point.

"I want to; there's a convention in early November, but ... but Artie is gone ... Deanna and Heather helped me a lot ... I can't do it without help!" said Jane, angrily wiping away a tear.

Isabella looked at the Twins, and Jane shook her head firmly, and Isabella nodded; it was clear to them all that Gillian and Angela could not help—at least, not actively.

"You know Eve? Eve will help, I am sure, and Zsuszana!"

"Eve?"

"Oh, yes! She's just a lovely person!" said Gillian, enthusiastically.

Jane shook her head. "I don't think she can keep a secret," she said, grimly.

Gillian was puzzled, but Jane refused to talk about it. She was still confused about that whole affair. In her heart of hearts she was grateful for the lessons in love that Eve had given her so inexplicably. But she resented the round of evenings in which she had to play the courtesan. She still got calls begging for her favors. She vowed to herself that Gillian would never know.

"Zsuszana is too young," said Jane, her face creased in a frown.

"Maria will help, if you ask," said Isabella. "Jane, I know some of your brother's friends. They are nice guys, Jane, shall I talk to them?"

"How do you know them?"

"I was helping a little in Cleveland, remember? It was a lot of work, you know?"

"I know it was ... you know their e-mail addresses?"

"Yes! Jane, we can do this, if you are Scorpia ... or I could be, if you want!"

Jane winced through her grin, and closed her eyes in resignation. She sighed. "I guess that's a yes, then ..."

" _Yes!_ " they cried, unanimously.

A lot of the work got done on that first day. Isabella had to remind Jane how to navigate the website—after all, Jane owned her own domain name, and had her own mail server—and she could reply to all her messages completely anonymously, as scorpia@scorpia.com. They all sat down at a sketchpad and designed a knock-out costume for the television appearance, and another couple of outfits that essentially cannibalized her older costume elements, with a few imaginative touches from the girls. Isabella and the Twins were far more into it than Heather and Deanna and Jane had ever been; Angela, though quite a layman in the fashion world, had a feel for the kind of bold statement that Scorpia stood for. "Scorpia is a major fashion phenom," she declared, "but of course, that's entirely incidental."

They pored over all the photographs of Scorpia that they had saved, which somehow was not a great deal. Isabella impatiently took over the mouse, and searched the Web for Scorpia images, and found some really good ones. Jane was indignant that other sites had more Scorpia photos than she did, herself. (They were surprised to find that the Net search actually yielded some of their own pictures that they had overlooked in a folder Artie had set up and never really linked to.)

"Is this really _you?_ " demanded Angela, looking from a photo back to — at present quite modestly-dressed— Jane.

"Yeah! Of course!" insisted Isabella, who was an expert. " _This_ one is Heather, and ... this is me!" They had to Oo and ah over the images, of course, but Angela could see that Jane was pleased at all the attention. It really took a dramatic costume of the kind that Scorpia wore, to bring out the qualities of Jane's fine figure, she realized. It was an understated figure, whose main strong points were her beautiful, muscular arms and legs, in contrast to her very modest bosom. Jane, of course, had shamelessly worn push-ups in her bustiers.

Angela was so excited she could hardly bear it. Jane tactfully introduced the idea of visiting Stephanie for a swim, just to give Angela an opportunity to work off steam. She was becoming a positive menace, whizzing around the house in her wheelchair, the equivalent of pacing. Stephanie was sent for, and happily agreed to come by. Before she arrived, Angela made everyone promise that no more planning would take place for the TV appearance until she got back. "Okay, you can get started on the frock, if you want," she said, generously.

The wheelchair fitted neatly inside the minivan, and Stephanie was more than able to get Angela comfortable in her seat. Despite Angela's initial awkwardness, Stephanie got her to relax by simply not overwhelming her with too much talk. She described the countryside through which they drove, and Angela was soon relaxed enough to remark on the turnoffs to Princeton and other such places with which she was familiar. She had expected Stephanie to be a typical ignorant athlete, but Stephanie surprised her with her quiet, but knowledgeable conversation.

Somehow the talk drifted to the subject of Jane.

"She's lovely when she dresses up," Angela said, enthusiastically, secretly worried whether she would let the cat out of the Scorpia bag.

Stephanie sighed. "Yes," she agreed, "Jane has a beautiful body, but I think her face is just perfect for her. She's ... she's one of a kind."

"But it's amazing how she–kind of disappears when she wants to; like, the other day we went out to a children's park, and I wandered away, and I just couldn't find her!"

Stephanie laughed and said that it could easily happen. "She likes to dress down, doesn't she!"

"Exactly!"

They talked about how a little working out would improve almost anybody–including, of course, Jane.

"They have this exercise machine in the cellar, and I've been working out my upper body, just so that I just don't go to hell completely, you know."

"Really? I didn't recall that Jane had something like that!"

"A very modest one, of course."

"Does she use it?"

"No, she doesn't! That's the thing!"

If Stephanie thought it sweet that Angela was so concerned about Jane's physical tone, she said nothing. After all, muscle tone had to be a major part of what concerned the young lady. On the other hand, Stephanie recalled how big an impact all the swimming they had done in Belgium had made on Jane's carriage and posture. In spite of being distracted by Maria at the time, a couple of years ago, when the three of them had gone to Europe in search of Edita, who had been Stephanie's personal swimming coach when Stephanie had been a child. She still recalled how proud she had been to walk down the street with Maria and Jane at her side, each of them beautiful physical specimens in their own way.

It was strangely satisfying to undress Angela, dress her in her swimsuit, and look after her as she splashed around in the pool with Tiffany and the boys! After some initial playing around, Angela tried out various things in the pool, including a dead-man's float, and an awkward crawl, with which she could barely manage to cross the pool using only her arms.

" _That_ was an exercise in futility," declared Angela, clinging to the edge of the pool. It was hard to say, under the circumstances, whether she was crying. "I was a good swimmer, you know. I could beat anyone in my school, boy or girl!"

"Those legs _will_ work again! I'm sure of it!" said Stephanie, feeling suddenly sorry for the girl. She did _not_ have the manner of someone who was a hopeless case. She asked Angela whether the diagnosis had been a certain specific one, but Angela did not know the answer. Additional questioning only frustrated her.

Stephanie suppressed her sorrow firmly, and invented some pool exercises that would help Angela's muscles and nerves, as well as give her some satisfaction, and a feeling of making progress. After about an hour of it, she tenderly helped her dry up, and they all broke for a meal, which Angela ate as voraciously as the boys. Then they let her watch television for an hour, after which Stephanie gently worked Angela's legs according to the instructions Angela had been given by her therapists at home, after which she thoroughly massaged her all over.

"Stephanie, do you think you could give Jane a crash workout course?"

"Why?" asked Stephanie, cautiously. "I don't believe in that kind of instant workout for the beach, kind of approach. It can actually do harm," she added, instantly going up an additional several notches in Angela's estimate.

"Well, we've got to keep her at it, obviously, but ... er, um, you see, we're trying to get her to do a certain project, Jill and I, really; it's sort of a secret. And, ... and she's got to _look good,_ you see?"

"A project?" asked Stephanie, her eyes twinkling in amusement.

Angela blushed. "You've got to promise you won't tell! Promise, please!"

"I promise! It's a secret project, right?"

"Okay, it's modeling," said Angela, inspired. What was it, if not modeling?

"Oh!" Stephanie laughed, wondering what the fuss was about. She assumed that it was modeling of some risqué sort, probably sexy lingerie. "Well, sure; if you can persuade her to get started, I'll help and encourage her. It'll be easy, since she has a weight system at home, as you said."

"Oh, yes, absolutely. It used to be Heather's ... do you know Heather?"

"Yes," said Stephanie, her face solemn.

"Well, that's whose it was, and it really is a good one. You could look it over when you drop me off—you could drop me back, couldn't you?"

"Of course I will! You relax, now, and tell me when you're ready to go back. We could have a little snack around three, and we can leave any time after that."

Meanwhile, down at West Chestnut, the first of Scorpia's costumes was taking shape beautifully. It was a cartoon-inspired evil queen type costume, again with many layers, topped with a cloak, but they used very light fabric, with a weighted hem, which made it behave like thick, heavy material. This was the least ambitious ensemble, put together out of pieces they had on hand, principally. The next piece was much more imaginative, consisting of contrasting left and right parts. Each section of the costume would be either black vinyl or enamel, or transparent plastic, worn directly over the skin. It would be extremely risqué, but the plan was to use heavy body-makeup, or skin-toned pasties to cover the more delicate parts of the body.

"It's going to be hell to wear!" exclaimed Gillian, as they sat down to design it.

Jane nodded, looking grim. "I'm used to it," she said. "It's one of the few things I can be proud of; most metal models don't have to wear this stuff for more than a few minutes!"

"You're going to look like Bat-Girl gone mad," said Gillian.

"What about a cute outfit, like a hipster dress and skirt, with all silky material, black on one side, and sheer on the other side?" asked Isabella. The plan had been to alternate panels, checkerboard fashion. Isabella argued that it could still be done. "With a really wide belt, worn low, across the hips?"

Jane looked at the other girls, uncertainly.

"It's not really the metal scene, is it?"

"So what? It'll be a shock!"

"Wait, what about if you wear a metal-and-glass bra, and everything else is all cute and silky?"

"Glass? So I'll be bare-breasted?"

They had to study Jane's torso, then, and to the girls' amazement, they saw that Jane's breasts, small as they were, were really flawless. The skin was smooth and unblemished, and if stuffed into a glass cup of the proper shape, it would be perfect. The other side, of course, would be stuffed into the identical shape, only molded out of vinyl, or metal.

The struggle for perfection never ends. By the time Angela had called in, saying that they were at the top of the road, they had one dress actually completed, to their own amazement, and two more dresses planned out. They rushed to hide everything from Stephanie's innocent eyes.

Angela was carried in by a smiling Stephanie, who had left the rest of the crowd behind. Angela immediately called for tea, saying she had to tell everyone how wonderful Stephanie had been, and how great she felt. "And guess what?"

Everyone looked a question at her–she sounded so excited.

"I wanted to wait until you were all here: I can feel a little something in my legs!"

Pandemonium broke out, and Angela had to calm them down. "I can't feel the skin, okay? I can only feel that the legs are _there!_ But that's a start, isn't it? Stephanie?"

"It isn't ghost legs?" asked Stephanie, afraid to hope too much.

"No ... at least, I don't think so; it's as if my legs extend down to ... like maybe a few inches ... there, see, I can feel up to here, where before it stopped way up _here!_ And that's the skin! It's almost as if I can feel the _bone_."

Gillian looked pathetically hopeful. She was unable to say anything, from hoping too much. But a glance at Angela's eyes confirmed that there was _some_ difference in her sensations from her legs, and it could only be for the better.

After the excitement had died down, Angela brought up the issue of working out. Since _she_ was working out, she suggested, she would feel so much more encouraged if they _all_ worked out. "You too, Isabella!" she said, making her blush. Stephanie, as Angela had coached her, said she would be glad to get everyone started, and they should start off by everyone going down to the basement to admire the exercise machine.

"Oops," said Jane, coolly, "I'd better check that there's nothing too compromising down there. Give me twenty seconds!"

She headed off down the basement stairs, cool as a cucumber, shaking her head as Isabella made to follow her down. "Haven't been down here in ages," they heard Jane remark to herself, "Gillian, bring down a roll of paper towels and the spray cleaner, dear."

In actual fact, Gillian and Jane had cleaned it pretty thoroughly, since Gillian had said that germs liked to lurk below stairs. When they trooped down with the paper towels, Jane had successfully hidden away all the incriminating evidence.

"A universal trainer! A good one," said Stephanie.

"Show us some basic exercises!" said Angela, excited.

"Have you used it before?" asked Stephanie, looking at Jane.

"Sure!"

"Show me everything you used to do, one at a time?"

Each time Jane showed her one of the exercises, Stephanie tuned the weights a little. Over the three-odd years, Jane's arms had gotten stronger, and her legs weaker. Jane had to admit that Stephanie really knew what she was talking about. Gillian, too, decided that she would work out in the house, instead of going out to the spa she used to visit. She went out three days a week to work out, paying out almost $200 a visit, which included many features not available in Jane's basement, but Jane could certainly give her a massage, said Gillian.

"For you," said Stephanie to Isabella, "I'd suggest very few repetitions for the arms, but about thirty for the legs." Isabella kept in shape with calisthenics, but she had confessed that her mother had developed fat legs in her early thirties. "Moderate weights, and many reps," said Stephanie.

"Can I try?" Stephanie asked, with a grin. No-one was surprised that she could press 200 pounds with a little effort. In the water, and on the bench, Stephanie was irresistible. She must have been somewhat muscle-bound at one time, but now, she looked merely a big-made woman, with very little excess fat. Angela was kept busy, trying to figure out all the emotional currents in the room.

Still, if Jane could carry her up and down the stairs, and manage Angela's wheelchair down the basement steps, with Angela still in it, she had to be in fair physical shape, Angela told herself. It was just a matter of putting on the finishing touches.

# Scorpia Rides Again

Once Stephanie had been safely sent off, Isabella brought all their designs upstairs to the kitchen table. Angela caught a little of the excitement of Gillian and Isabella, as they showed her Jane's sketches for the costumes that remained to be completed. Angela was agitated about the last one, muttering that it was a little too revealing.

"Only one breast," said Gillian, firmly. "Everything else will be over skin-toned tights."

"But the breast ..."

"Even that, we can fake," said Jane, calmly. "All we need is a realistic-looking nipple, to wear over tights."

"Oh!" said Angela, thoughtfully, staring at the sketch.

"I'm going to meet Sue at the station," said Isabella.

"Is it safe?" demanded Jane and Gillian anxiously, together.

"We'll all come with you," said Angela. Sue had been involved all day helping with incoming freshmen. She was now a highly-respected rising junior, as it was described, and was paid $100 a day to counsel freshmen, and help with their orientation.

All throughout the walk, Angela kept muttering that she could feel things in her legs, and she kept trying to move her toes, frustrating herself thoroughly.

It was a ten-minute walk, but the train had been right on time, and Sue was striding out just as they arrived. She smiled at her welcoming committee, and Isabella stepped forward and gave her a shy but loving embrace. Angela had heard all about Sue, and had been curious to meet her. Sue shook hands with a smile and a courteous greeting, and they turned back to walk home, putting some of her things in the storage space at the back of the wheelchair.

"You've told her about—you-know-what, right?" Gillian asked Isabella, with a mischievous grin.

"Yes, yes," said Isabella, turning to excitedly explain to Sue. It was their habit to converse in a variety of languages, including French and Italian, and that's what they were doing, but carefully avoiding use of the word _Scorpia_ , substituting 'hm-hm' instead.

"Tell her that we've got some super designs for hm-hm to wear!" said Gillian, smiling.

Isabella faithfully translated, not seeing the humor in the request. Angela could see Jane almost choking in silent laughter.

Clearly Jane was very fond of the two young girls, from her indulgent smiles. Jane had a heart as big as the planet Jupiter, Angela was learning, and she was appreciating Jane more all the time. She was impressed at how Jane approached the whole business of getting back into the Scorpia business with humor and patience. Jane let the others enjoy the process to the fullest, taking quiet pleasure in their excitement. Jane caught Angela's eye, and they exchanged a secret look that acknowledged that it was fun to watch Isabella and Sue carry on.

The relationship between the two girls was fascinating to study. They were clearly good friends, though later Angela saw that they were definitely bonded sexually. In London, before the accident, Angela had often seen lesbian couples going about their business, shopping, going to restaurants, saying farewell at the Tube; and there seemed to be something almost boring about them; when they were demonstratively affectionate, they were obnoxious, and when they were being no-nonsense about it, they seemed too unfeeling. But with Isabella and Sue, half the time they were just having a wonderful time, like two kids in a toy shop, and the other half of the time, it was as if something deep inside bubbled out, and they were utterly tender towards each other, sometimes just a look, sometimes a touch, and very occasionally, a little kiss. It was hard to be hard-hearted towards their relationship, since it was so _inoffensive!_

Angela studied Jane and Gillian, comparing them as a couple to the other two girls, and it was clear that though the two were greatly attracted to each other, they were not yet _a couple_. There was an occasional shared secret smile, there was the way Gillian's expression melted occasionally into tenderness as she watched Jane doing something or other, but generally, it was as if Gillian was on her guard. Angela realized that it had to be so; clearly, Gillian was determined that when they worked together, no one should imagine that they were lovers. Was it because Gillian would be ripped apart in the so-called tabloids? Or was it because they were still learning about each other? _Were they lovers, or weren't they?_ What did they do at night, in bed?

Sue was full of ideas, Angela found, and very articulate, and beautifully spoken. They were seated round the kitchen table, eating, and planning how the Television appearance should go. Isabella was all for finding the earlier television appearances on the web, but Jane dismissed that politely but firmly.

"It was very political, and Scorpia uses these occasions as a liberal platform; you know that, don't you?"

"Oh yeah," admitted the Twins.

"Like what, for instance?" asked Sue. She was barely eighteen, and had probably missed the Scorpia phenomenon, Angela thought.

"Oh, like civil rights, fair trials for detainees, wiretapping, government waste, everything. This time I'm going to say something about deficit spending."

"Why, Jane? Why does Scorpia have to be liberal?"

"Because firstly, I say so, secondly, everyone else is conservative, and it fits with Scorpia's 'love-me-or-leave-me' attitude, and finally, she's for sexual expression, and I think it's screwy when people who want sexual expression turn around and adopt conservative agendas!"

Sue blinked. "What about gay marriages?"

"She's for it."

"Flag burning?"

"For it."

"Child molestation?"

"Against it. Who could possibly be for any sort of molestation? She's all for molestation of Congressmen, how about that?"

They laughed, except Sue.

"You're so like my mother," she grumbled, "she has absolutely no respect for the government. I think that if you don't have respect for the government, you can't expect it to function properly. Respect has to come first."

Jane smiled. "That's a very extreme position, love! I know Scorpia's extreme, but this is too far in the other direction! We'll just have to disagree on that!"

Angela had never before heard Jane talk about these matters, and evidently, neither had Gillian. Though she disagreed with Jane very strongly, she realized that, despite her limited education, she was by no means a girl without a thought in her head except makeup and women.

Still, despite Sue's disagreements about how the television program should go, Jane was strongly influenced by Sue's ideas. Sue had lots of ideas for the costumes, as well, and lastly, she suggested that Jane should try and lose as much of her healthy tan as she could, the better to enhance the contrast between the black 'enamel' parts of the costume, and the transparent 'skin through glass' parts. She was crazy about the unusual hipster design, saying that Scorpia could win a whole new generation of fans with a more feminine look.

Angela was surprised at how seriously Jane took her daily workouts. At her suggestion, Jane decided to thin her legs a little, rather than strengthen them. "I want to get away from the 'pretty boy' look," she said. "I want to wear women's clothes, and grow my hair ... I've been a boy too long."

"Is it because of ... any particular person?"

Jane smiled and shook her head.

"That never works, love ... it's fun for a little while, to be the one someone else wants, but in the end, any kind of sham hurts. The kind of person I'm attracted to will like _all_ the different Janes I like to be, you know?"

Angela smiled awkwardly, and shrugged.

One night, Angela couldn't fall asleep, and a strange idea came into her head. All the lights were out, and Jane and Gillian were quietly talking in their room, with the door half open. Angela slowly pulled herself out of bed, and found that she could inch her way along the wall. There was definitely sensation in her feet, now, and she was getting adept at moving her legs using her hips.

Silently, she made her way to Jane's room, using all her strength to be absolutely quiet. Triumphantly, she rested against the wall watching the two girls with one eye. She schooled herself to breathe quietly, despite the thundering of her heart, and her straining lungs.

Jane was on the further side, and Gill was on the nearer side, and they faced each other.

"Are you happy?" Jane was asking, softly.

"Yes," said Gillian. "Everybody's being wonderful ... including Angela ... it's as if I'm discovering ... this wonderful girl, and she was my sister, all along!" Gillian reached out to touch Jane's cheek, dimly illuminated by a tiny square of light through the curtains, and stroked it along her neck and shoulder, pausing to caress the shoulder strap of Jane's nightie. "I've always loved her ... in a strange, weird kind of way ... I've almost been in love with her, really ... is that sick?"

"No ... how could you know what being in love is? You learn love by ... loving someone, to start with! And why not her?"

"Oh Jane! You make me feel so good!"

There was such tenderness in her voice that Angela felt dirty at overhearing all of it. But she had to hear it all, now. She felt her knees weakening, and she marveled that she could feel it. What a time for it to happen!

Jane was sighing. "Life ... love ... it's precious, Gillian," she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. "I've learned to cherish happiness wherever I find it! And you have to learn to find pleasure in other people's happiness, too, just because ... it's easier, you know? I see Isabella look at Sue ... it's enough to keep me going for another day or two!"

It was getting just a little too disgusting for Angela's taste. She had to turn herself back towards the wall. She would never make it all the way back.

In the end, she made her way only to the bathroom, and lurched across the hall. No longer trying to be quiet, Angela turned on the light, and stumbled to the toilet, and sat down.

"Angie? Is that you, love?" called Jane's soft voice.

"Yup!" said Angela, trembling. She calmed herself down. "I made it to the bathroom by myself!"

"Oh my god!" said Jane to Gillian, just loud enough for Angela to hear. She grinned. "Golly!" said Gillian, and she heard them scramble out of bed. Angela was tickled to think of them, like little kids at a slumber party. They appeared at the door, looking amazed.

"You did it! You _did it!_ Oh Angela!" sang Jane, eyes shining.

"How did you do it?" demanded Gillian, her eyes enormous.

"Wait ... I've got to get my gown up... but I'm exhausted!"

Jane flew up to her, and hauled her up, and raised the hem comfortably high for Angela to do her business. Mercifully, she felt able to produce a little, to establish her bona fides. She dried herself off, with slow deliberation, and grinned at the other two.

"Hang on, let me catch my breath," she said.

Then she showed them.

Angela was well gratified with the delight of her audience when she demonstrated how she moved along. Jane grabbed her and danced around, while Gillian hugged her, and looked at her as if she was some miracle. She could not help thinking how Gillian had declared that she had almost been in love with her, Angela. It gave her so much pleasure, it almost hurt.

The long-awaited day arrived, and Jane arranged to be picked up by limousine at a cheap hotel out near the airport. She wore her costume, except that instead of her mask, she wore dark glasses and a scarf, and a raincoat over the dress. Inside the limousine, she put on her mask, and arranged her hair. It was carefully glued on, and arranged in a loose bun. Now she pulled it out and braided it carefully. She was going to wear it in a long braid.

The adrenaline hummed in her veins. All her doubts about whether she could pull it off were gone. The limousine driver smiled through the partition, telling her how lovely she looked. She wore the silk-and glass costume that was the riskiest of her new creations, since it was such a departure, but the driver could only see the raincoat. He joked about the raincoat, and Jane laughed. It was so incredible to be admired and flirted with by everyone! She could hardly wait to get to the studio.

The raincoat was a beautiful thing in black microfiber. When they arrived at the studio entrance, the chauffeur opened the door for her and helped her out, and she appeared in the stunning outfit, looking around at the sizeable crowd that stood to watch. The imitation-flesh parts looked thoroughly convincing, including the little fake nipple they had sewn on, which was merely a bit of rose fabric, colored to match her lips. There were little touches here and there that were just freaky enough, like little skull beads along the hem of the skirt, and spikes along the upper seam of her shoulders. It had been hard to fix it so that she could wear the raincoat on top of them, but Sue's ingenuity had come in very useful.

Today, Jane affected a high, sweet voice. She gave a few autographs, signing them Ms. Scorpia, and when someone remarked on her 'new look', she said that she could be feminine if she wanted to.

The event was a triumph, once again. After a minute or two of disgusting femininity, the steel and the acid crept into her voice.

"I was just having a little fun," she said to the audience, tossing her braid, "no deception intended; sorry if you were fooled."

"So what's your take on all the militarism you see around us?"

"You know what?" she snapped back, "it doesn't pay to be a Democrat anymore. It's like having to change a dirty diaper every eight years."

"Ho! That's a mouthful! And remember, you heard it right here, folks!" said the host, as the crowd went wild.

"I don't want to talk about politics. What else is on your mind?"

"What about gay marriage?"

Jane paused, to let the noise die down.

"I'm not going to make fun of this one," she said.

"Good," said the host.

The rest of the West Chester gang was watching at home, except for Sue and Maria, who were stationed at a diner a few miles from the studio, with a friend standing by in an unremarkable Accord at a gas station close by. They watched Jane, holding their breaths. Somehow, Scorpia's voice had not been quite right.

"If ... and I'm saying _if_ , you understand?"

"Okay, for the sake of the argument, if ...?"

"If ... I happen to fall in love with a woman, ... I'd like to be able to do the things a man and a woman can do, legally: inherit, visit, have a family. Equality under the law, for couples, as well as individuals. It has got to come, and some people want to force us to wait until they're dead before we can have it!" There were quiet cheers in the studio, but loud cheers in the home, and in the diner, too. "If they want to copyright the word 'marriage,' I really don't care, you know? Call it civil union. But I want every reasonable legal privilege given to mixed-sex couples, short of religious ones."

"Sounds fair."

"Go on."

"So, what's with the new look? Is that really what I think it is, behind the glass window?"

"My breast?"

"You said it, not me!"

"No, it's somebody else's breast, used here by permission of the owner."

Angela screamed with laughter. ("I never knew she had it in her!" she gasped.)

"But seriously, it's fake, right?"

"I _am_ a woman, you know. I wear it like a banner."

It was the old Scorpia, all right, even if her dress was sexy in a more conventional way. They had a clip of the famous tulle dress, and they showed it now, but Jane got to her feet, and stalked up and down in her impossible platforms, showing off her legs, one black and one nude, and her impossible, conical breasts, fake nipple and all. She actually had tasteful metal collars on both nipples, which appeared to pierce through the bra cups. Somehow, once she was dressed up as Scorpia, Jane moved with a kind of inhuman grace. But tonight, her microscopic skirt was so beautifully flared that she looked a lot more human.

They wanted her to dance, and she said she didn't mind dancing _with_ someone. This had already been set up with the studio. Jane was asked to select a partner, and she went into the audience and picked a pretty woman who seemed willing. Some of the women who really could dance, and were willing to dance, wore a tiny sticker, but Jane selected one who caught her fancy, a lovely Indian woman, in a traditional saree.

"Can you dance?" Jane asked her, gently.

"Oh, yes, I mean the _usual_ dances!" she replied. Her accent was so slight that Jane suspected that she wasn't straight off the plane, as if were.

"Let's ask for a usual dance," Jane said, smiling, "like maybe, a samba?"

The woman nodded quickly. Jane called for a samba.

Jane led, and the woman tucked in the ends of her saree, so that she could dance, and they danced beautifully. The cheers were deafening, as Jane curtseyed to her partner, and led her to her seat.

"More?" asked Jane.

The audience, and Scorpia fans everywhere, of course, loved to watch her dance. This time a pretty young thing begged to be allowed to dance with her.

"Okay, come along, then," said Jane, her voice gaining back its edge, but her smile still encouraging. This time, it was a more energetic contemporary dance that Jane happened to know, with lots of silly motions. Jane had got the knack of doing this without looking like a perfect idiot, which the other girl did instead.

"God, I love her legs," Sue said to her mother.

"She's been working out, she looks really thin," said Maria. "Or she's gone on a diet."

"No, she's been working out. They eat very sensibly, because Gillian is a model, Mama."

"Also, the skirt makes the legs look pretty. She hated to wear skirts."

"She wore skirts when you asked her to."

Maria made an annoyed noise.

Sue sighed. There was no point trying to get her mother back with Jane; too much water had gone under the bridges. Still, Sue often dreamed of Jane and her mother in bed together. It was a sick dream; at least if she had dreamed having Jane in her own bed, it would be reasonable. This way, she had to wonder how she felt about her mother. Maria had never been more beautiful than when she had been in love with Jane. Even tonight, the sight of Jane in a short skirt made her mother look more beautiful herself.

"Best of all, she can really dance. Scorpia is cool."

Maria nodded, almost resentfully. Sue wished she had beautiful eyes like her mother.

At long last, Scorpia made her exit. She looked utterly desirable in her little-girl skirt and in-your-face bra-and-bolero outfit. The bolero part of it, in alternating black-and-nude panels front and back, were all in a silky material, which showed beautifully Jane's sexy stomach and pretty hips. It was as if the unapproachable persona had turned into the girl-next-door-with-a-really-bad-attitude. It was a whole different Scorpia.

"Okay, get ready to roll," said Sue, and the Accord started up, and headed towards the diner.

Scorpia kept one eye on the clock, as she gave out a few more autographs on the way out. Her raincoat had already been put in the limousine. Photographers were everywhere, blinding her with their flashes.

Her makeup, too, was different today, bright rose lipstick, and pale skin with a silky transparent makeup. At the end of the summer, everyone had a tan but Scorpia. Her arms, encased in sheer fabric, were utterly sexy, just as her legs were. She got into the limousine as a score of onlookers lusted after her, fantasizing that they could actually have her, if they had been just a bit lucky. Her tongue peeked out shyly between her teeth as she smiled farewell and waved at her fans, and then the door shut on her.

"Slight change of plan," she told the driver. "Could you drive slowly south along Broadway?"

"You mean, circle round?"

"Yes, please, I promised to meet someone at ..." she mentioned a well-known intersection.

Sue and Maria saw the limousine coming in good time. They had been double-parked, obstructing all sorts of traffic. Now their friend slid into the northbound lane, and slowed down as the limousine approached them. Right in the middle of the intersection, partially obstructed by the Accord, Jane unhurriedly stepped out of the limousine, around the back and into the Accord. They weren't noticed by the paparazzi who were eagerly following the limousine.

Jane found herself seated next to Maria. She managed a smile for her.

"Thanks for supporting me" she said softly, "all of you!"

"It's the only excitement I have, except when Zsuszana is late getting home," she said, graciously.

"You looked fabulous!" breathed Sue.

"Well, it was your design!"

"Mama, what do you think of the skirt?"

"It's like any other miniskirt that these teenagers wear!"

"No, the cut!" exclaimed Sue and the driver, together.

They were a happy and excited crowd that gathered at West Chestnut that night. Isabella had taped the whole thing, and they watched it over again. Angela just couldn't believe her eyes and ears, and there, large as life, was Jane, looking like a million pounds!

Jane was accustomed to taking these things in stride. When Deanna was alive, she had taken her cue from her; they would be giddy as long as Deanna was giddy, and when she tired, they would all go to bed. Who better than Deanna to be the time-keeper of their days?

She looked around her, not quite seeing, as the excitement swirled around her. How much joy did anyone deserve in a lifetime? Could anyone have been as happy as she had been, off and on in those two wonderful years? Gillian's smile intruded on her musing, and then Angela's slightly bemused gaze, which quickly turned into a smile, as she caught Jane's eye. She could not bear to look at Maria, or Isabella and Sue. She dropped her eyes, looking at the chair she leaned against. Her feet hurt like hell. She felt grateful to the Twins, for making her house into a home for her, for however brief a time. She smiled at the thought that they had never in their wildest dreams imagined being a part of this particular adventure.

"Issy, does Jane have dance music?" she heard Sue ask. "Did she give me all her CDs?"

"She has some," said Isabella, in her inimitable voice. It was a lovely contralto, but her intonation was just delicious. Issy would just _never_ talk American, not in a million years. It was not just the cartoon Italian accent and pronunciation; her pronunciation was quite reasonable. But the _intonation_ , the little tune that she spoke with, had its own Italian rules.

"Okay, clear the furniture, we want to dance with Scorpia!"

They danced. The only boy, Arthur's friend, vouched for by Issy as a nice guy, was as much in demand as Scorpia herself. He was rather a jokester; when they asked his name, he had said that they should just call him 'Libro', presumably in analogy with the bent gender of 'Scorpia'. He really was a delightful fellow, all awkward smiles and boyish charm. Jane wasn't sure whether he quite realized that he was in a nest of lesbians, tame though they were, but he managed to relax after a while, after they'd plied him with diet sodas, and finally a beer, which Gillian fetched all the way from the market.

Everybody wanted to dance with Jane. She danced just a couple of them in character, but that was enough for her. After all, she still had her crazy costume on. Isabella insisted on holding her breast through the glass. They all laughed, and Jane slapped her hand away, but in a few seconds, it slipped right back. All subsequent dances were danced like that; even Maria sneaking in a feel, laughing like a kid. She was a good dancer, too; she had known how to dance all along, but she had learned a lot more dancing with her various lovers, Jane guessed. It still hurt that Maria had left her. It would always hurt. Once Maria took her hand away, they communicated with their eyes; what they felt was too complicated for words.

Gillian grabbed her breast, too, as they danced. It was a rare pleasure to see her grin.

"Don't, hon," Jane begged, "it turns me on in the wrong kind of way ... I want to enjoy myself, not run off to bed with you!" Gillian had laughed and put her hand on Jane's shoulder, on the safe part of it. For a few seconds, as they danced, their smiles both twisted strangely, as if they were both poignantly reminded about how madly happy they were, and the realization filled them with suspicion.

"Angie wants to dance so much!" Gillian whispered in Jane's ear, seeing her sister's forlorn expression, inexpertly camouflaged with a brave smile.

"Will she dance with me? It might be a bit of a circus!"

"Well, ask her ... or shall I?"

They drifted over and sat by Angela.

"Are you game to try dancing with me?" Jane asked her quickly, with an encouraging arch of her eyebrows.

"How?" demanded Angela, frowning.

"You know ... you stand on my feet, like ... like kids! I used to dance with my Dad that way!"

"Okay, sure! But take of your pretty platforms!"

It was awkward, but Jane knew that Angela was unbelievably happy to dance, even in such an awkward manner. Gillian sat and watched them, starry-eyed, and Jane's heart soared, proud of her friend, and her generosity. Angela clung to her, at first out of nervousness, but after she got the knack of it, and knew Jane held her firmly, she held Jane as close as her awkward dress would permit, as they came to a slow dance. Her sighs were almost unbearable, and Jane knew Angela could not help herself. As the dance drew to a close, Angela softly kissed Jane, and stared into her eyes, as if they were all alone on their own planet.

"Dance with Jill?"

"I guess!"

"Have you ever done it?"

"N-no, not with Jill ... I don't remember ..."

They laughed as Jane walked Angela to where Gillian waited, and Angela stepped onto her twin's feet.

Jane was snapped up by Zsuszana, and it was another slow dance. "You're a class act, you know that?" Zsuszana said softly.

"Don't say things like that ... it sounds as if I won't see you again, or something!" Jane grumped at her. The girl danced beautifully, and she was leading, too. Her hands were firm on Jane's body, and she really danced, her knees flexed just enough to make her glide along. It forced Jane to do the same.

"You've taught me so much ... I can't even think where to begin! ..."

Jane felt a little worse than she had been feeling, which was just a little poorly. She had done it all out of love for Maria and Sue, but recounting it all rubbed in the finality of their forced parting, putting some of the happiest times of Jane's life firmly in the retrospective.

"Someday," Jane said, her bitterness winning out over her gratitude, "you'll do the same for some lucky person ... shower all your love ..."

"Stop, Jane ... please!"

Jane stopped, her eyes brimming. In her bare feet, she was shorter than Sue. Sue bent to tenderly kiss away her tears.

"I'll do it a hundred times!" promised Sue, solemnly. "I've learned your lesson, you see. You've forgotten the point of the whole thing!"

"What's the point, Sue?"

"Jane, stop beating up on yourself! Stop acting as if ... I've turned my back on you!"

("Why is everybody so glum?" demanded Libro, scowling at Jane and Sue.)

Jane dropped her eyes, frustrated because Sue resented her feeling sorry for herself.

It was humiliating to admit that not _everything_ she had done had gone horribly wrong. Isabella and Zsuszana were an unqualified success, a happy fly in the ointment of her feeling of martyrdom. She could always depend on Sue to put her firmly in her place. What else was a daughter for? She looked up at Zsuszana and smiled, pleased at the thought.

"What is it?" asked the girl, returning the smile, with interest.

"I realized that daughters are always rough with their ... step-moms!"

"God ... I just don't understand you!" Jane laughed.

"Now comes the ceremonial ripping out of the hair!" announced Zsuszana after they had given up the dancing for the night. Gillian had even bought an expensive bottle of champagne.

Gillian was seconded to do it. Jane was seated, the alcohol was brought out, and painfully the blonde wig was peeled off. There were cheers, and they toasted the wig.

There was much discussion of whether Jane looked more beautiful as a blonde or as a brunette.

"I like her both ways," said Angela, blushing. There was another toast to that.

"And now, the bra comes off!" said Isabella, giggling.

Jane protested, but there was no helping it. "Okay, I do it," declared Isabella, coming forward. She had a serious look on her face, and Jane hoped there would be no funny business.

There were a number of fasteners, all of which Isabella knew, having being mainly responsible for the engineering part of its design. "Cover his face," she insisted, pointing at Libro. Sue obediently covered the poor fellow's eyes. With a 'Tadaa!' Isabella pulled off the infamous cones.

"Can I look now?" asked the boy, and everyone yelled, "Sure!" He got an eyeful before Jane covered herself up with the bolero blouse.

The phone rang. Sue answered it. (When she was present, she invariably answered it; she was the designated phone-answerer of their extended family.) "Hello, Jane's house; how may I direct your call?" They all sniggered; it was a departure from Sue's usual polite greeting. "This is Zsuszana; who may I say is calling? Oh! Hi, Stephanie!" she grinned round. "What? Oh, we're having a little get-together! Eaten?" She looked round at everyone. "Have we eaten?" she asked, covering the receiver. "It's almost ten!"

"What does she want?" asked Jane. "Let me talk to her! Steph? Hello!"

Steph's voice came over rather subdued.

"I hear you're got a crowd there!"

"Yes, but what's up?"

"I ... well, I suddenly decided I wanted some company, so ... I ordered pizza, enough for, well, all of us, but if you've got company ..."

"It's just Sue, Maria, Isabella and, er, Libro, a new friend. We ... well, it's a long story," she said, a laugh in her voice.

Stephanie's mood did seem distinctly low.

"I don't know ... perhaps it's a bad idea; maybe another time, then!"

"Stephanie, if you're feeling down, you should come over. Forget the pizza. Better yet, I'll cook something. We haven't eaten yet; I've been completely remiss, here." Behind her, Zsuszana and Gillian were running off to the kitchen, presumably to check on the food supplies. Libro ambled after them.

There was a long silence. "I'd really like to see you," said Stephanie.

Jane looked around at her friends. Maria nodded, and so did Angela, with no hesitation.

"Come on over, Stephanie, love ... tell you what? If you're already ordered pizza, bring it along, and we'll get more over here."

"Thanks, Jane!"

"See you in an hour or so!"

"Oh ... we're actually halfway there ... I sort of called you from the pizza parlor."

"Good!"

By the time Stephanie and family arrived, Jane had put on a decent top in place of the kinky Scorpia bolero blouse/bra combination. Libro knew where to get what he called a fabulous pizza, and both pizzas arrived together.

Somehow, magically, everyone found someone to talk to; Isabella and Sue wound up with the three little fellows and Tiffany, while Libro sat and chatted to Gillian and Angela. This left Jane talking to Stephanie, with Maria listening gravely.

Jane had just figured out what was upsetting Stephanie. It was –almost– the third anniversary of Angus's death. It was September 10th.

"I just realized what day it is! Oh Stephanie! I should have planned!"

"How could I be so upset to remember a guy who I didn't even ..." Stephanie's eyes were red, but she looked angry at herself.

" _No one_ deserves to die like that!"

"I know!"

Jane looked at Maria, and saw that her eyes, too, were filled with tears.

Everywhere she looked, these days, it seemed as if people were crying. She wondered whether, perhaps, when you've cried enough, it gets to be a habit. Like if your friend has just bought a Volvo, you saw Volvos everywhere. Jane dropped her eyes, and bit down hard on her lip. What good was it for Maria to remember that awful day, when Jane's heart was broken already? It was the one memory that made her angrier than any other: that fate had put the idea into Maria's head to hate Jane. She couldn't bring herself to be angry at Maria quite as much.

"You've lost someone too, haven't you, Maria?" Stephanie said softly, not realizing the reason for Maria's tears. Without a word, Maria indicated Jane with her chin. You had to hand it to her: she was brutally honest. Jane couldn't help admiring her. "Oh ... I think Jane told me; it was the same day, wasn't it..."

They sat in silence. The joy of the Scorpia appearance had been quite successfully erased. Everyone there had realized that it was the anniversary of 9/11.

"I feel better, just having come here," Stephanie said. "I guess I'm just lonely." She lowered her voice. "I can't talk to Tiffany; I'm afraid that if I start ..." Stephanie had always been deathly afraid of beginning a relationship with Tiffany. Jane could understand that; Tiffany was so sweet, Jane could easily imagine that calamity.

"Let's eat before it gets too cold," suggested Libro, hopefully.

"Yes," agreed Stephanie and Maria together, though Maria added that she'd eaten a couple of hot dogs.

The pizza successfully distracted them for a while. Stephanie had mostly cheered up; she even noticed Jane's sexy skirt, and said that she looked really pretty in it. "Is this the famous project I've heard about?"

"What project?" asked everybody. Stephanie quickly backed down.

All the pizza got eaten, not a scrap was left. The girls left pieces of crust behind, which Libro solemnly consumed. Everybody talked with everybody else; Tiffany said shyly that Jane's was the most fabulous skirt she had ever seen, and she wanted one just like it! Libro said he had thoroughly enjoyed himself, and he should be considered on board for the convention. He thought the girls were really cool. Edita was pleased at Jane's improved muscle tone. Isabella said that Stephanie was a really sexy lady. Angela told Jane confidentially that Zsuszana and her mother were two of the most beautiful women she had ever seen.

Across the room, Jane saw Maria talking to Stephanie, and she felt a sudden cut of envy; it was clear that their flirtation of a couple of years ago had been sparked again. Stephanie had sworn that she had never felt more than the mildest attraction to Maria; and Maria had said the same. Well, Stephanie was a child, and Maria was a big liar.

Libro offered to drive Isabella and Zsuszana home to Isabella's apartment. She had long ago moved into her own apartment, and the girls had probably begun the next step in their relationship not long after Zsuszana turned eighteen. Isabella had promised Jane that she would wait until then, and Jane trusted Isabella. Stephanie herded the kids into the minivan; the youngest was already asleep in Tiffany's arms. They usually were asleep by eight, Jane knew; this had been a crazy day. And Jane was not surprised when Maria told her she was going home with Stephanie. "I want to make _somebody_ happy," she said, looking into Jane's eyes. _I can never make you happy now, Jana ... when I saw you, so beautiful ... I knew you were not for me! So many times, tonight..._ She dropped her eyes and sighed, ignoring the curious looks of Gillian and Angela, who of course could not understand Hungarian, and couldn't even guess what language it was _– I will talk to you another time ... what I felt tonight will fill several books!_

_Why do I find myself forgiving you over and over again?_ asked Jane, struggling to find the words in Hungarian, which she had learned with such great difficulty, out of her mad love for Maria, which was now no more.

Because I am a stupid woman, and god is punishing us both!

_Is it too late for us?_ Jane asked, hoping against hope that the answer would be yes.

It had been. It was incredible how two people could be so drawn to each other, and so capable of torturing each other in fighting their attraction. Jane prayed that Maria would be the answer to Stephanie's prayers.

When she turned around, only Angela and Gillian were left.

"We cleaned up everything, the girls and me, and Libro," said Gillian.

"Come on, I'll carry you upstairs," said Jane, in a businesslike voice.

"Let's do this together," said Gillian. "Let's make a fireman's lift!"

It was pleasant to feel Angela's arms around her neck. Jane deplored how depraved she had become; almost any touch could arouse her. She had even felt horny dancing with young Libro. It had been almost five years since she had been excited by being with a boy. Libro had been so sweetly enchanted with Jane, after which he had been enchanted with everyone else in turn.

They carefully lowered Angela onto the chair in her room, and she had shooed them off, saying she could look after herself, now that she could get around in her room. She had done that for most of the week, and Gillian was optimistic about a full recovery. Jane was working on her to take Angela to a specialist, just to make sure that they were doing all the right things.

When Jane got to the bedroom that they shared, Gillian was seated on the bed, looking upset.

"Why, love? What's the matter?"

Gillian smiled awkwardly.

"I can't get over you dancing with Angela!" She kept playing with the bedsheet, clearly distracted. "I have you, Jane ... and she ... she has all the needs of a healthy girl ... and ..." Jane nodded.

"What do you want me to do, darling?"

"Just ... just talk to her, one on one ... tonight's the night. Just give her a chance. If she asks you–whatever happens, happens, ... you know?" Jane nodded silently. "Do you think there's something wrong with me?" Jane shook her head. Gillian very obviously cherished Jane's good opinion of her; that both amused and deeply moved Jane. It was a brave gesture, to open the possibility that Angela might get so attached to Jane that Gillian would lose her—lose them both! "I don't know ... I'm just a little afraid that something will go wrong ..."

"I'll take the responsibility," said Jane softly. "I'm used to things going wrong," she said, with a smile.

"No, I have to bear this myself ... Jane ... this is the time to tell you that ... I love you!" Jane stared at her. She was a beautiful woman, but she had never looked so utterly beautiful as then. "Oh god! You can't imagine how good it feels to say the words!"

She got to her feet, and hugged Jane tight, trembling with happiness and fear. Then she pulled away, and gently shoved Jane in the direction of the door.

# Angie Finds Love

Jane found Angela still in her jeans, staring moodily at the wall. Seeing Jane, she pulled herself up to her feet. "I was just taking a little rest," she said, blushing for no reason. "You haven't undressed either!"

Jane felt weak at the knees. She sat on the edge of the bed, and managed a smile. It didn't matter anymore; both twins had to take what they got from her; it had been a long day, and it was too much effort to make nice.

"I really ought to get my makeup off carefully," she said.

"Would you like some help?" asked Angela, eagerly.

"Sure!" She came over, and Angela put her arm around Jane, and they made their way to the bathroom.

"Gillian's got your door closed," observed Angela.

"Uh huh," said Jane, non-committally.

Angela made Jane sit on the stool, and carefully removed the makeup. Then she asked whether Jane would like to shower. Jane said she would. Angela took a deep breath. Her eyes slipped up to meet Jane's with an amazing mixture of not-quite-suppressed worry and not-quite suppressed eagerness. She moistened her lips delicately with the tip of her tongue–it was painfully erotic, but a quite unconscious gesture. "I'll help you undress," she said, with a little smile. She had a hundred different smiles, unlike Gillian, who only smiled with great difficulty. Jane gave an awkward giggle, and came closer. Her top was already off; Angie carefully took off the scrap of skirt. It was a powerful sensation, to be so obviously desired by Angela. Jane was no stranger to being desired, but it had been a long time since she had last felt it. When Jane was naked, she ran her hands over her body sensuously and shivered. Taking a deep breath, Jane stepped into the shower. She hardly knew how to behave, with Angela watching. She used the hand-held spray, and showered quickly, reluctant to make a big production of it, despite the intense pleasure she knew that Angela was getting out of it. She stole glances at her own body, shocked at how shapely it was, how neat her legs were, how high and firm her breasts. She breathed in sighs, trying to relax. It was done.

"Jane?"

"Hmm?" Jane's heart was racing, and she was sure she would faint in the tub.

"Will you let me ... touch you?"

Jane turned to face her, her face red.

"Sure, if you want, Angie ..." Oh God, she exulted! "I know it's been hard for you ..." Her voice sounded strangled.

Angie held out her hand, and Jane put her wet hand in it, turning off the water. They were alone in the bathroom, with the door shut. Angie drew her close, and seated Jane astraddle the edge of the bathtub. From where she sat, on the toilet-seat, she could reach all of Jane. She touched Jane's breast, almost reverently, and then squeezed it, kneaded it, thoroughly acquainting herself with the feel of it.

"You are so beautiful!" she said, her eyes shining. And in Jane's heart, the feeling of her own beauty that had been building up over the evening grew into a powerful certainty. The words did not strike her as flattery, but as the simple truth; this girl had lived with beauty from her birth; her opinion was surely worth something!

Inevitably, what Angie wanted most was to explore Jane's crotch. Jane made it easy for her, as Angela inserted a finger, and then another. Jane watched, fascinated, at her first steps in sexual communication, the incredible difference between having your hand inside yourself, and inside another living human being, such a wonderful, intimate, feeling; such a privilege, to be cherished, and savored!

She withdrew her hand, and Jane felt an aching sense of loss.

"Come on, let's go to my room!" Angela said, impatiently. Jane stepped out of the tub and carefully picked her up. _One of these days, I'm going to hurt my back,_ she thought, with a twinge of fear. When she was safe in Jane's arms, Angela pulled herself close and kissed Jane on the mouth, forcing her mouth open with her tongue. Jane tried to walk as quietly as she could, and stumbled into Angela's room. Angela leaned over to turn out the light.

They got Angela's clothes off somehow. Finally– _finally!_ They were naked together. Jane lay back on the pillows, and pulled Angela's dead weight onto herself. She was no longer in control, her body had taken over.

"Kiss me again!" she begged, dying of the pleasure of feeling Angela's weight on her body. Angela's joy was clear even in the near dark. Angela kissed her long and hard, and as well as she knew how, she made love to Jane. She was intelligent, and she tried very hard to give Jane as much pleasure as she could. Her hands were insistent but tender, and Jane marveled at her sensitivity to Jane's feelings and sensations. She learned incredibly fast, and Jane taught her, delicately, skillfully, how to pleasure her, without words, but with a touch, gentle encouragements with her hands, her thighs, her breathing. That had been a large part of the skill she had learned: to make your lover feel the triumph of her success.

Now it was Jane's turn. She gently rolled Angela on her back, spread her knees, and covered her body with her own. She began to kiss her. For an unforgettable hour, Jane gave Angela as intense pleasure as she knew how. She realized that, at the end, Angela could only be helplessly in love with her. And it was so.

She lay on her back, with Angela cradled in Jane's arms and legs. Angela was exhausted, but happy, but no happier than Jane was, at that moment. Jane loved to make love to any beautiful woman; she had found that out a month or more ago. But she loved Angela–how could she not love her? The seeds of her love for Angela had been planted the very first time she had laid eyes on her twin.

"Do you do this to Gillian–every night?" asked Angela. There was jealousy, curiosity, love all rolled up in her eyes and her words. Jane reached out to smooth her silky hair, surprisingly red even in the near dark.

"No ... just a couple of times ... mostly we just cuddle, sweetheart!"

"Do you love each other?" breathed Angela. Her little breasts were swollen from Jane's touching.

"Yes!"

"When did it happen?"

Jane laughed silently. Such questions!

"Oh ... I did those nudes of her; I guess you saw them in her apartment?"

"Well, yeah, just one; did you do it with her right after?"

"No ... but I just thought that ... sooner or later ..."

"I know; she's hard to resist, I imagine."

"And I was very lonely, love. I was ready to fall in love, and when I saw Gillian ... it was like being saved from drowning." Jane smiled, wondering whether it could make sense to Angie.

"How could you have been, surrounded by Isabella, and Sue, and Maria?"

"And Stephanie!"

"Yes, her too!"

Jane sighed. "I don't know," she said, honestly. Yes, Gillian's beauty had been a large part of it. But it had been some odd moment, while they had been cleaning the kitchen that it had happened. "I think it had to do with the germs," Jane said, and they giggled, understanding each other perfectly.

"Did you tell her you were coming over to ... do this with me?" she asked.

"Would you be hurt if I said yes?"

Angela turned her head, staring at the wall with her eyes far away.

"I knew you did ... it was a kind thing, that you both did for me," she said, and the note of resignation or resentment was balanced with something else—gratitude, a sort of quiet satisfaction, a feeling of having achieved something, at a time when achievements were few, and far between. "... but you have to have guessed I wouldn't be satisfied with just once!" She laid her cheek against Jane's cheek. "You were unbelievable!" she whispered, with sincere admiration. "You have no idea what it's like ... when you've almost given up hope that .... that your body is _any use,_ you know?"

"I can guess ..."

"It's like, you're so sure your torch has a dead battery, you know, and bang, it's so bright that you're almost blinded!"

Jane laughed, and Angela giggled with her.

"Your body's going to be perfect some day! Have faith! This is only the beginning! You have no idea how incredible it is, to hug someone's legs between your own, to feel the pressure on your crotch, to feel the muscles of her thighs, the strength and beauty of her!" Jane couldn't stop herself, it came out almost like a prayer. "One day, I know your legs will come back! Can't you believe it will happen?"

"You make me believe it!"

It was a long, memorable night. Angela was an extremely considerate, gently brought up, well-mannered girl—indeed both sisters were. But she made Jane make love to her all night long, apologizing all the time, cajoling her, asking her so prettily, as Jane got gradually tired. Making love for so long brings forth special resources in people; it has a dream-like quality that many couples experience only on their honeymoons. It's almost like giving your soul away to your partner; and it feels as if only the loan of her soul in return keeps you alive, after such exhaustion. Jane was almost asleep when Angela whispered to her, "I think I'm feeling my legs, Jane!" Jane barely had the strength to smile fondly, with her eyes closed. Angela continued to give her little kisses on her face. "I don't know ... I'm so tired ... no, look: I can move my toes ... Jane, are you asleep?"

It was the beginning of a wonderful, complex relationship between the three women.

Jane had not imagined it; Angela could really move her toes, but it was several weeks before she could use her legs. Every night Angela begged her twin to let Jane come to her bed "for a little while!" Most of the time, she was as good as her word; an hour later, Jane would drag herself back into Gillian's bed.

"I'm jealous," Gillian had said, when Jane crawled into bed the first time. She was not entirely being facetious, either. "Are you up to a little more?"

"Yes," Jane had said. Once Jane and Gillian had made love that first time, and Gillian's dry spell had been broken, Gillian came quickly and easily. She was gentle, sweet and undemanding, and willing to satisfy Jane as well as she was able. Like Jane had been for so long, she preferred the feel of full body contact, and to kiss, over oral sex. Of course Jane had to rinse her mouth out with salt water, but that was becoming a habit anyway. They were both getting comfortable with the thought of sharing their bed with a few germs.

But Gillian could not sleep until Jane was back in bed with her, no matter how late it was. One night Jane was dropped off in the early hours of the morning after a shoot in California. Jane had called in to ask whether she should stay the night, but Gillian had pleaded in her own way, asking Jane to come home. "Stay if you have to, Jane; but I'd feel so much better if you got back tonight...I think Angie misses you!"

Gillian seemed to grow more beautiful each day. She blossomed under Jane's loving eyes. It was very hard not to show their special relationship when they were at work together. As long as Jane was working on Gillian, it was easy; applying makeup was an intimate thing, especially if model and make-up artist had worked together for a long time. But watching a shoot was hard; keeping that look of love out of your eyes. It helped if Jane wore sunglasses. The Gillian's glow could not, of course, be hidden. But they managed not to allow it to be connected with Jane.

Angie, too, was blooming, literally. Once she was able to get about the house with the aid of a walker, she gave up some of her television-watching to work out—infinitely carefully—with the weights machine. After a while, they sold it off secondhand to a friend, and bought a better system. Angie could hardly wait until she could walk around the town.

The exercise made all the difference in the world to the shape of Angie's legs. Angie was just a little shorter than Gillian, but her legs were getting just as shapely as those of her famous twin. Still, her legs were weak even a year later, though they looked perfect.

# Trio

Once Angie was able to walk, however awkwardly, it was impossible to prevent her from getting into bed with Jane and Jill. For the longest time, Jill hated to make love to Jane with her sister watching. "Go away!" she would say, half laughing, half serious. But Angie was patient, and coaxed Jill into cuddling with Jane at first, and gradually, after several days of that, allowing Jane to make love to her. By Christmas, they were comfortable with each other.

As before, Angie made Jane do her first, while Jill tried not to watch; then Jane would feel Jill's hands tugging at her, and she would turn to her, eager for the taste of Jill's kisses, so different from those of Angie. Except for that first night, there was never a question about whether Jane loved one of them more than the other. It was usually Angela who, in the throes of passionate sex, would cry out, "Oh Jane, I love you!" And, inevitably, Jane would hear a soft sigh from Jill, and feel her soft hand against Jane's back, an ever-so-gentle reminder of Jill's claim to her. Part of this strange harmony was the sisters' stubborn, almost fierce love for each other. They admired each other intensely, though they were not demonstrative in the least, and revealed their feelings only privately to Jane.

In their home, they each carved out little spaces for themselves; Gillian now owned the big bedroom, and gradually brought her most beloved possessions into it from her apartment. Jane's heart filled with joy on the day she brought the oil that Jane had done of her, and hung it up, opposite the bed. Angela's refuge was her room, filled with pictures of Gillian, as well as a large poster of Scorpia. She begged Jane for a nice portrait of her, but Jane simply couldn't get up the motivation for it.

Jane's corner was the portion of the studio in which she painted, which had been screened off from the area in which she had done her photo shoots, and which now served as a sort of den, as well as where they got together to work on such projects as sewing Scorpia's costumes. They rarely needed privacy, though occasionally one or the other of them felt put upon, or they got into an argument. It was usually Angela who needed to be alone, but sometimes it was Jane. Not even the two sweet sisters could perfectly heal the wounds left behind by Deanna, Heather, Mary-Ellen and Artie, and even Maria.

In some ways, Maria was the hardest of all, because Jane had worked so hard at it. Her love for Deanna had been a simple thing, except for the texture imposed on it by their long history together, and by Heather. In contrast, Jane's love for Maria had been passionate and stormy. Occasionally, Jane would be reminded of Maria, and she would get to thinking how things might have turned out if not for that awful tragedy which had twisted Maria's personality so inexplicably. It seemed to Jane as if they could have been utterly happy for a long, long time, if not for that ... _event._ It was at times like that that Jane could not bear the thought of being comforted, and hid in her studio, making herself deliberately miserable.

Gillian was the one least likely to sulk; when she did, it was either some petty incident from work, or occasionally an argument with one of the others. It was rarely that her bad mood extended until bedtime, but when it did, Jane would sleep on the couch downstairs, and Angie would sleep in her room, anxious not to add to Gillian's misery by sleeping together.

# England

The sisters invited Jane to England for Christmas. She had long wanted to meet their father, and their small extended family, which included one sister on their father's side, and her husband and two children, and a brother and sister on their mother's side, and their maternal grandmother. They had lost touch with their school friends, though Angie was determined to connect up with them, having avoided them all after her accident.

Jane was only a good friend, as far as the family was concerned, and they would have to be careful while they were in England, because evidently they were very conservative, despite a somewhat more liberal attitude towards homosexuality in Europe, generally, than in the US. There was a slight possibility that Jane might get work while she was there, to help defray some of their expenses, and give them some money to have fun with. Both Jill and Jane gave Angela money, which embarrassed her, but which she graciously accepted. She had confided to Jane one day that she had hoped to become a policewoman, but of course the accident had put that goal out of reach, at least temporarily.

Jane found herself packing for the holiday, or rather, trying to prevent Angela from packing on her behalf. Angela's idea of what would be appropriate to take was rather unrealistic; she drove Gillian to despair, as they watched her. Over the weeks and months, they had become so close that each of their bags contained a combination of all of their things. "You have to take the cameras," the sisters insisted, "both of them." They would get film over there. "And the computer." This was Jane's lap-top. Gillian's was already packed, and Angela didn't have one. Angela also wanted to take most of Jane's collection of music, though Gillian cringed in embarrassment, and promised to buy her some music of her own once they got home. While Jane and Gillian were out working, Angela had listened to almost every single recording that Jane owned, more than a hundred of them. Often what Angela bought on their shopping trips was clothes she wanted Jane to wear, and more records for Jane.

For the first time after the legendary pizza supper, Stephanie and Maria came to visit, to wish them a safe trip. Angela had been out with Stephanie numerous times, and had kept Jane tactfully informed of how things were progressing there. But now Jane saw for herself that something was coming together for the unlikely couple, though by Angela's account, it hadn't been easy. The biggest change Jane saw was in the more feminine, flattering clothes Stephanie was wearing, and in the noticeable increase in the tranquility of Tiffany's smile. Both Maria and Stephanie, of course, looked radiant, and the boys looked wonderful.

Later that day, the old crowd gathered, Isabella and Zsuszana, as well as Ann, and a couple of other models Jane had not seen in a year. They loyally visited just before Christmas, something that never failed to touch Jane. They were all surprised to see Gillian Jones there, someone whom they knew well by reputation. Jane explained that she had got into make-up, and given up photography, though Angela hissed a vehement denial of that, and blushed when the models laughed.

The next day, they closed down the house for a couple of weeks, having asked Stephanie to check in on the place while they were gone. Soon they were flying out to London, due to arrive early in the morning. Jane sat between the Twins, with Gillian on her left and Angela on her right, holding hands under the throw they had been given by a smiling flight attendant. Gillian slipped into a troubled sleep, hugging Jane's shoulder, while Angela kept her awake for several hours, talking. Even deciding to use the toilet was an adventure; could Jane come with her? Oh no, Jill had a death grip on her arm...would the flight attendant help her? Ah, here was the call button! Finally, once she had visited the toilet and thoroughly enjoyed herself, Angela settled down to listen to her portable music machine, and to watch television on their little screens, leaving Jane to sleep.

Gillian was no stranger to air travel; earlier that year, Jane had learned, a lot of her work had been in Europe. Magazines had been just as likely to fly her over for a shoot to Rome as they were to send a team down to New York. Since Gillian had met Jane, somehow, she had stayed on that side of the Atlantic, something which could have been coincidence. On this flight, she graciously gave her autograph to the flight attendant, and subsequently to a couple of fellow-passengers, who studied Jane and Angela with curiosity, but were not enlightened about them by Gillian, at any rate. It was not obvious that Gillian and Angela were sisters, let alone twins, unless you knew to look for it; if you did, of course, it was clear. It was Jane who confused the matter.

They came out of customs and immigration to find the Twin's father waiting for them. He was a frail old gentleman, beautifully dressed in a suit, leaning on a large umbrella, blinking shortsightedly at the passengers. He missed the Twins entirely until Angela went up to him and gave him a hug. He was clearly delighted to see her on her feet, even if Jane had a firm grip on her arm. Jane smiled to see the two sisters with their father, whose face, too, was wreathed in smiles. Seeing Jane, he focused on her at once, the soul of politeness.

"Dad, this is Jane Schultz, in whose house we stay in the US! Jane, meet our Dad, David!"

"Very pleased to meet you, er, Jane, is it? David Jones! Welcome!"

"Hello! Pleasure to meet you too, sir! They've told me a lot about you!"

"Have they!" He looked at his daughters and grinned. He glanced at the trolley in which Gillian was wheeling their baggage, five bags of assorted sizes. "Hmm. Let's see ..."

"Did you come by train, Dad?"

"Yes, actually."

"Oh, let's take a cab," said Gillian, excitedly, while Angela held out to take the train.

"The traffic's gotten worse than you remember, Jill," she said quickly. "Come on, it's only five bags!"

Mr. Jones was clearly getting up the courage to offer to take on the task of bringing the trolley of baggage, but the girls firmly kept it out of his reach. In the end they decided to take the train.

Everything was new and different for Jane; the people, the clothes, even the smells of the city were different and wonderful. They got her and the bags loaded into a carriage, and seated her near a window, with the old gentleman next to her, and all three of them pointed out items of interest as the train moved along. In their natural habitat, as it were, the Twins seemed much more similar, acting like excited teenagers, while their father gradually became more animated and relaxed.

"It's good to see you on your feet again!" he said to Angela, finally, his eyes glowing.

"You have to thank these two," said Angela, her face warming, her eyes shining. "You look well, too, Dad!"

The old gentleman chuckled. "I feel a lot better, seeing you here! I had been feeling rather poorly, you know, aches and pains, the usual thing!" he said to Jane, as if she were the adult, escorting his daughters. "I've been looking forward to your visit, young lady!" His shy smile was the same as Angela's; it was funny how one learned one's smile from one's parents.

Jane could see the old gentleman regain some of his youthful energy before her very eyes, as he began to believe that his daughters were back with him. The girls were barely out of their teens, but he was clearly past sixty, and looked much older still. Jane had been told that he had married late, and to a woman a lot younger than him. But they had been deeply in love, and her death had been a huge blow.

Changing trains in London, they took the commuter train to the modest suburb in which they lived. Both girls fished out little hats from their carry-on luggage and put them on, much to Jane's amusement. Angela even had a smart hat for Jane. When they got to the exit, they saw that it was raining. "Wait here," Gillian said to the other three, "I'll be back with a cab."

The cabs were a fascinating sort of vehicle, not just an automobile, but a specially designed conveyance, with lots of space for both passengers and luggage. The bags were hauled on briskly by the driver, whose comments were completely unintelligible. Fortunately, though, he seemed quite undismayed by the weather. Presently they found themselves outside the tiny Jones family home.

They had hit on the strategy of setting Angela and her father to help each other, while Jane and Jill handled the luggage. They got everything in, while Angela and her father settled accounts with the cab driver, and they found themselves inside the little foyer, not too wet from the half-hearted rain. "It's going to be snow tonight, can you believe it?" said Dad, shaking his head. The Twins, of course, were delighted.

"Oh, it's so good to have you here, at home!" said Gillian, with a little shiver of pleasure, grinning at Jane and Angela.

"Yes, it is!" agreed Angela, equally happy.

"Where shall we put her?" asked Angela from her sister and father.

"What about a little tea?" asked he.

"Dad, we can't leave the bags out here while we have tea!"

"Well, ... all the rooms are ready to go," said the old gentleman, looking as if he was feeling a bit rushed.

"All right, put on the water, we'll be right down, Dad," said Gillian affectionately, while she urged Jane and Angela towards the stairs.

The stairs were steep, but Gillian and Jane got Angela up with little trouble. Jane was surprised to find that there were four sizeable rooms upstairs. "Oh, he's moved into my room, look Gillian!"

"He has, hasn't he ... he's moved all his stuff here."

"He's put my stuff in mother's room. Why?"

Gillian's room was small, decorated with early photos from her work while she was still a teenager. There was a lot more character in those early photos, Jane thought, before the modeling business had got its hooks into her. Gillian was still far from being just a plastic face and body; there was a unique personality that looked out of those green eyes. It seemed to Jane that some of the character that Jane saw in those early photos had been sort of airbrushed out, somehow, in the Gillian she knew now.

They decided to put all the bags in the large bedroom in which Angela's things had been put. It was far enough from the room that their father presently occupied that it held out to Jane the promise of a little privacy, just for the three of them. Jane carefully did not say a word.

Jane brought up the two heaviest bags, and Gillian brought up the rest. She had finally come to terms with the fact that Jane was much stronger than she was, though she was no weakling. But Gillian had hurt her wrist so often that Jane refused to allow her to do anything that would sprain it. Once all the bags had been brought up, Gillian grinned at the other two, her eyes shining the way they had ever since she had seen her father waiting for them, and told Jane excitedly, there he is, with his umbrella! Gillian was so different now, from the restrained girl to whom Isabella had introduced Jane! Gillian, bursting with happiness, leaned over to place a soft kiss on Jane's lips, her eyes shining. Then Angela grabbed Jane and kissed her thoroughly, as gravely serious as Gillian had ever been. The two sisters stood side by side, looking at Jane thoughtfully. Jane smiled back, at a loss. "Welcome!" said Gillian softly, squeezing Jane's hand.

"Tea's on," called out Gillian, after she'd run ahead down the stairs. Angela grinned at Jane, as they started down. "We tend to be a bit boisterous when we're at home together," she admitted. It was slower work going downstairs, and Angela did it sideways, like a crab. Downstairs, Gillian and David were laying out quite a substantial spread of bread and sundry snacks. "We're going to have Chinese for lunch," Gillian revealed, glancing a little pointedly at her sister. "I know you don't mind, Jane."

"That'll be nice," said Angela.

Gillian and Angela both wanted to sit next to Jane, she knew, and they compromised by neither of them sitting next to her, but sitting together on one side, while Jane sat across from them, with David Jones at the head of the table. It was a pleasant meal, with lots of passing jam back and forth, while they busily discussed what they would have for dinner, which was early. Jane was kept pretty much out of the planning at this stage, the girls being eager to make her feel the honored guest.

"Jane!" said old Mr. Jones, at last, smiling shyly. "That's an easy name to learn!" Jane smiled back. It wasn't hard; the sweet old man was enough like his daughters that Jane loved him already. His thinning hair was completely grey, but neatly combed and parted. A look into his bedroom and study combination had shown her that he was methodical and particular, much as Gillian tended to be, and Angela, too, except that she hadn't had much opportunity to show it. "How do you like England so far?"

"Very much," said Jane, honestly. "It's wonderful to travel outside the US!"

"Is it your first time?"

"She's been to Mexico and Canada," revealed Gillian, unexpectedly as forward as Angela.

"Let her talk, Jill," chided Angela, much as Gillian might have chided her. Their father grinned at Jane as he took a sip of tea.

"Are you familiar with our way of brewing tea?" he asked next.

"This is how the girls fix it back home–in our home in the US," Jane said, before Gillian could interrupt.

"Have you lived with Jane very long?" he asked his daughters. Jane observed how he treated them exactly as he treated her, with an easy respect.

"Since ... anyway, since Angie arrived," said Gillian.

"Her flat was far too tiny for both of us to fit, and besides, it was, what? On the fifth floor?"

"But there was a lift, though. Still, it really was tiny."

"A thousand pounds a month, Dad!"

David Jones's face showed his alarm. "Good heavens!"

"It doesn't get that high even in Kensington, I wouldn't think?"

"Well, you'd be surprised," said Gillian, rolling her eyes. "But New York is getting really silly that way."

"You don't have to look frightened, Dad; Jane doesn't charge rent, but we've promised to pay her taxes, which are impossible. Aren't they, Jane?"

Jane agreed that they were her biggest expense, bar none.

All three girls suddenly began to feel tired. "No wonder," said Gillian, looking at her watch, "it's just six in the morning in New York; we're not quite up, yet!" They laughed, still not quite sure why they felt so tired.

"Wait, we only slept six hours last night!"

"Only two," said Jane, fixing Angela with her eye.

"Angie kept Jane up all night," revealed Gillian.

They looked so _young!_ Jane could hardly control her delight at being a part of this reunion, but she kept a firm control over her face. They decided to take a short nap until around three, at which time they'd have lunch. Angela offered to go get the food, forgetting that her mobility was hindered by her injury. A lot of the excitement the Twins were feeling was based on the illusion that it was the old days, before Angela had been hurt.

Unexpectedly, once they had taken Angela upstairs, she fell asleep at once, leaving Jane and Gillian to carry their things out to their respective rooms, supervised by Gillian's father.

It was both chilly and rainy. The heating system bravely struggled to warm the house, but Jane decided to get into a flannel nightie that Angela had encouraged her to pack. She washed up quickly, to get some of the grime from the plane out of her skin, smiling to herself that the process of decontamination would keep Gillian busy for a while. As soon as she lay down on her bed, she found herself falling asleep.

When Jane awoke, it was dark, and she felt a familiar weight on her breast. A glance at the clock said that the local time was eight p.m. Gillian had come by to check on her, and fallen asleep in Jane's bed. Downstairs she could hear voices.

Jane felt too tired and content to move. The feel of Gillian's body against her own, as always, filled her with a great reluctance to get out of bed.

"Jill!" she whispered softly.

"Oh ... what time is it?"

"Eight!"

"Wow ... in the night?" Yes, said Jane. "Oh man ... a couple of hours, and it's back to bed, isn't it!"

"I hear Angela and your Dad talking downstairs!"

"What're they saying?" mumbled Gillian, still not quite awake. She tended to start talking before she was quite awake. Most of the time she made so much sense that it was hard to tell.

"Wake up, Jill!"

Gillian startled up, now fully awake. Jane had to tell her the time again.

"I feel a lot better," said Gillian, scratching at her eyes.

"Did you clean out all the germs before you plopped on my bed?"

"What? Oh. Yes, I took care of that. Now don't go fussing about that in front of Dad and Angie."

"Why not?"

"Oh ... they tend to ... not quite understand." She slowly rolled out of the bed. "Do I smell Chinese?" She walked to the doorway and sniffed. "Yup," she decided. "We'd better get down there."

Apologizing profusely for being late, they joined the other two. There was indeed Chinese food laid out, and Jane and Gillian began to eat hungrily, while Angela washed the plates.

"And do you have a big family, Jane?"

"Yes; there's ten of us ... or nine, really, now; I'm the youngest. There's Joanna, the oldest, and seven boys, and then me. We had a brother, who died," reported Jane, briefly.

"And your parents are alive and well?"

"Yes, sir! They all live in Pennsylvania, around Lancaster."

She pronounced the name in the way she was accustomed to, prompting Gillian to say it the way her father would understand.

"Do you all get together for Christmas, or isn't that the custom over there?"

Gillian's eyes were troubled, but she kept silent, encouraging Jane with her eyes. Jane was relieved that the girls suppressed their tendency to run interference for her. It was a measure of how much they loved and trusted their father.

"I haven't been home for Christmas for, oh, five years, now," Jane said. "We didn't get along very well; but ... if we had been home, I'd probably have taken the girls down to visit," she said. She should have taken them for Thanksgiving, she thought to herself. Jane's mother still occasionally called and left a message. Jane suspected that she carefully timed her calls to miss. The last time they had connected had been in April, and they had fought. And then Joanna had called and yelled at her. Jane sighed.

David Jones smiled, with a twinkle in his eye. "Big families can be a little difficult," he admitted.

"Dad, are Uncle Frank and Aunt Ursula Mother's only family?"

He nodded. "Our family is small," he told Jane. "They are, by the way, anxious to meet the girls, and when I said they were bringing a friend, all the way from New York, they expressed a desire to meet you too!"

"They aren't too bad," said Angela, coming to the table, taking a stern look at Gillian's plate, and sitting down. "Aunt Ursula, especially, is a decent sort."

"They don't much care for my sister, apparently," said Mr. Jones, sarcastically.

"That's Aunt Penny," said Gillian, at once, giving her father a reproachful look, "We like her quite well, except that Aunt Ursula has always been our favorite, and Dad knows! Dad, please don't tell Aunt Penny that we don't like her, or something silly like that, because you know it isn't true!"

"Do you two look like either of your aunts?" asked Jane, changing the subject.

"We look exactly like Aunt Ursula!" said both twins at once, drowning out their father, who was trying to say the same thing.

The Chinese food was subtly different from New York Chinese, though New York Chinese varied considerably from one restaurant to another. Once the meal was done, the girls and Jane explored the house from corner to corner. It was almost as good as hunting for germs, and Jane said so.

"We'll get the germs in the morning," said Angela, with a straight face, while Gillian looked at Jane reproachfully. Compared to Jane's home, there was very little in the house. They had been a family of modest means for generations, and it had been Gillian's great good fortune that had brought them a degree of financial stability. She diligently sent money home to her father, who had recently retired from a very minor desk job at London Transport. He was an avid reader, and his room was full of his books, which mostly had to do with Italian racing cars. They had never owned their own car. In contrast, the girls' mother, Vivian, had had wide interests, and the attic was full of boxes in which she had collected newspaper cuttings from her youth: stories of Queen Elizabeth and Princess Margaret and the royal children, stories of the Kennedys, photographs of TV personalities and film stars, notably Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, and Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, among the faces Jane recognized.

"She was a great volunteer," Gillian explained. "She worked in the hospital, and with teenage girls." She sniffed. "We only found out much later how wonderful she had been. We're proud of our Mum," she said, and Angela nodded solemnly. There was one really good photograph of her, showing a pretty woman with a surprisingly aristocratic face. Though Jane compared her own mother with the late Mrs. Jones and decided she was equally handsome, the mother of the Twins had a certain style which Jane's mother could not have hoped to match. Still, Martha Schultz had been a great beauty in her time, as startlingly beautiful as Deanna, as Deanna herself had recognized.

It was the Friday before Christmas, which fell on Monday. When they looked out the back door, they were delighted to see several snowflakes float down. The Twins were beside themselves with excitement.

It was really too late for a big dinner. Angela had set some soup going while Jane and Gillian were still asleep. They had that at ten, for a late supper, after which Angela and her father sat down to watch a bit of late night television, while Jane and Gillian played a game of Scrabble. Jane was allowed to spell words her way, but Gillian insisted on spelling the words according to their dictionary. They had never played before, and Jane was fascinated to see yet another facet of one of the people she loved most.

# Calling from England!

The game was over, and Angela showed no signs of wanting to leave the television. It was just about eleven.

"We're going up," said Gillian, which received a sharp look and an impatient wave from Angela. The two girls slowly went upstairs.

"Jane ... what about calling your mother?"

"Now?" asked Jane, doubtfully.

"Why not? Let's use my phone ... it's on the charger, so you can talk as long as you want."

"Won't it cost an arm and a leg?"

"No, we have a good plan ... anyway, it's not as if I can't afford it, Jane! Okay, tell me the number; we have to dial carefully to get the USA."

They were soon connected. Jane could hear the rings clearer than when she called from New York.

"Hello?"

"Dad? It's Jane!"

"Jane?" There was some confusion, while her father was probably announcing that the prodigal child was on the phone. They would all be seriously underwhelmed, not knowing where she was calling from.

He didn't even care to stay on the line. Her mother's voice came on.

"Jane, is that you?"

"Yes, Mom," she said, suddenly feeling a lump in her throat. Gillian slid closer, and put her arms around her. "I thought I'd call and say Hi."

"I'm glad you did, darling," said her mother, sounding so warm and loving that Jane's eyes began to leak in earnest. "A hundred times I've scolded myself for letting you go so soon, after ... after, you know?"

"After the funeral?"

"Yes, dear. When do you get off for the holidays?"

"I'm already off. Mom, guess where I'm calling from!"

"Where? Are you here, at the 7-11?"

"No!" she laughed, and paused to tell the joke to Gillian, who giggled. "I'm visiting my friends Gillian and Angela, in England!"

"In New England? Where in New England?"

"England, Mom, in the UK!" She turned to Gillian, asking in a whisper where they were, exactly. _Near London, tell her,_ whispered Gillian. "Near London! Can you hear me?"

"Really? Are you all the way out ... in England, did you say? Charles, she's calling from England! Yes! ... I don't know what she's doing there! Jane, what are you doing there, your Dad wants to know!"

"I'm visiting my friends Angela and Gillian, who're English, obviously!" Gillian giggled again, quite gratifyingly.

"Won't the call cost them a lot of money, Jane? We'd better make it quick, then, huh?"

"No, it doesn't matter! Oh Mom, it's so good to hear you!"

"You too, sweetheart! How are you doing, dear?"

"I'm fine, Mom ... oh, I wish I had brought Gillian and Angela to meet you ... they're twins, you know, identical twins!"

"Are they, now! Are they there?"

"Yes, uh huh!"

"Give them my wishes, dear, and tell them I'd like to see them when they get back to America. Are they coming back?"

"Yes. I'll bring them. Mom, how's Joanna? Is she still mad at me?"

"No, Jane; she's right here ..." she apparently asked Joanne directly, while Jane winced: "She wants to know if you're still mad at her. Why would she think that, Joanne? What? ... Now why would you do that? The child is calling from England to ask me if you're upset with her! No, Jane, she says no. Oh, here; it's Joanne."

" _Jane!_ "

"Hi, Joanne!" Jane pointed at the phone and said it was Joanne, and Gillian rolled her eyes and nodded. "I'm told you're not mad anymore!"

"No; I can't remember what that was all about. So what are you doing out there?"

"Just visiting for Christmas."

"Oh. When do you get back? The children are asking after you."

"A week after New Year's."

"Listen, when you get back, you get yourself over here and visit, you hear? Or tell me, and I'll come and get you. But you know how I hate driving in the City."

"I will, Joanne."

"What's wrong with you? How come you don't even visit Deanna's grave? It's been long enough!"

Jane felt tears coming again. She tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind.

"Mom has been putting flowers on it," said Joanne, after a pause.

Jane simply could not stand it anymore. "Thank her for me," she managed. "I'll call again soon!" She could barely hang up, her hand trembled so much.

"What did she say to upset you?"

"Mom's been putting f-flowers on D-Deanna's g-grave," whispered Jane.

Gillian just held her tight.

That first night, after taking a shower, Jane went back to sleep in her bed, as the sisters wished her sweet dreams in their nighties and socks, and went to kiss their father good night. Jane lay in bed, smiling to herself at how tenderly Gillian had comforted her.

"The year Mum died, we didn't really know what to do," she had told Jane. "We were just really blown away by it. But once we had the idea of visiting her, it helped a lot. I feel that she's there, but she's also in heaven, or wherever, so it isn't as if she's just disappeared, you know?" Jane had nodded. "Before that, I'd been a little angry, as if she'd moved away, and hadn't told us where she'd gone, though of course we knew she was dead. Only after we started going to her grave that it sort of sank in that she just couldn't ... couldn't _help_ it." Gillian dashed away a tear. She raised her wonderful eyes to Jane, as green and as beautiful as Deanna's eyes, but such a different person behind the eyes! "If you died, Jane ... I can't imagine what I'd do!"

That took Jane completely by surprise. It brought home just how much a stranger the two girls were to love. Jane, of course, had imagined the horror of being parted from Gillian a thousand times; it was something she had put herself through as soon as she had realized she was falling in love. It made their love more immediate to her. For Gillian, obviously, it was a frightening new idea. She wondered how Angela would react to it all.

Predictably, when she woke up in the morning, Gillian was under the covers with her, while Angela was seated on the edge of their bed, indignantly trying to wake them up.

"That was just so inconsiderate," she fumed, her eyes blazing. "I thought we were going to be, you know, civilized about this!"

"Shh! Why don't you slide in?"

"There just isn't _room!_ "

But there was, when Jane had pushed Gillian all the way to the wall. Gillian just heaved a heavy sigh, and got comfortable astraddle Jane's leg. To her amusement and delight, Angela did the same on the opposite side, the girls having ended up in reverse order.

"Jill told me about ... Deanna's grave," Angela said, in a low voice. "That was thoughtful of your Mum," she added, studying Jane's face.

"Yeah," Jane said. "They keep surprising me."

"I'll come home with you," Angela said. "Gillian will, too." She looked at Jane thoughtfully a long time. "We're ... we're not ones to play with your feelings, Jane; at least I'm not. I'm—I'm serious about you ... you know?" Jane nodded, struck dumb. "And I'm sure ..." she dropped her voice very low, "I'm sure _she's_ crazy about you too!" Jane nodded again, her mind in a whirl. Neither girl had ever even had a crush on anyone, she guessed, and they had to figure out what to do, what to say, how to act with a girl that they'd both fallen in love with at the same time. "I know it's hard on you to deal with two of us ... but I'm ... I'm trying so hard to make it easier for you ... but sometimes ... sometimes I feel as if, if I don't push, I just won't _get_ something, you know?" Jane kept nodding. "It just goes with being twins, and ... we've learned not to push _too_ much, so that we both lose, you see?"

Gillian was waking up, from the whispering, she was sighing, trying to get more comfortable. Angela eased off, letting Jane closer to the middle of the bed, and Gillian settled down on Jane's breast.

"She can't sleep without you," whispered Angela, smiling fondly at her sleeping twin.

Jane felt as if her body was floating on air.

"What time is it? Where's your father?"

"It's early, around nine. He's gone to try and get fresh bread!"

They began to kiss, each sensing what the other wanted, from the unique telepathy they had built up over the months. Angela worked the hems of their nighties up, until they were bunched up around their waists in front, and they were skin-to-skin.

Feeling her body roaring towards bliss like a runaway locomotive, Jane relaxed and let Angela have her way. The girl seemed fearless, unconcerned that they would be discovered by her father. On her right, Gillian was being infected by the lust of the other two. Angela was now sucking at Jane's breast, leaving Jane's lips free. Far away, they heard a door slam. Angela began to furiously ride Jane's leg.

"Girls?" Their father's voice floated up the stairs.

"Coming, Dad!" called Angela, red-faced, not pausing in her rhythm. Her eyes were wild, and Jane knew she would finish in seconds.

Gillian climbed to wakefulness, and quickly realized what was happening, as Jane watched them both. She simply lay there, watching Angela wide-eyed.

"Come down," called David Jones, "I've got hot bread, straight from the oven!"

"C-coming, Dad!" cried Angela, gasping for breath. With one final heave, her eyes rolled up, and she sank onto Jane, seeking Jane's mouth with her own.

"What did you say?"

"She'll be right down, Dad," called Gillian, impatiently.

Angela kissed Jane fiercely, and then lay spent, her head turned towards Gillian. Jane wondered what Gillian would say. Gillian put out her hand and tenderly stroked the hair back from Angela's face, Angela pulled Gillian close, and kissed her, too.

"It'd better go," she said, out of breath, and slid down from the bed. "At least," she said, raising her nightie to inspect the damage, "I know my legs are working!" She hobbled out, clutching her nightie to her crotch, and shut the door behind her. They heard a shouted conversation up and down the stairwell, while Gillian pulled herself up and got comfortable on Jane.

"She's insane," said Jane, her heart still pounding wildly, unable to believe what had happened.

Gillian grinned, and kissed Jane on the lips.

"I've never been in love before," said Gillian, looking into Jane's eyes.

Jane nodded. "That's an easy guess," she said.

Gillian carefully rolled off Jane, and turned to face her, taking her hand. "Did you know that you're the most completely perfect human being alive?" she asked softly.

Jane chuckled to hide her confusion. "That's a new one!"

"I'm totally serious."

Jane searched Gillian's face for a clue about what she meant. But Gillian was picking up her hem, obviously with the same idea Angela had had. In seconds, she was astraddle Jane's leg, and was riding her.

"This feels good," she whispered, riding harder. "How long does it take?"

"About seven, eight minutes," said Jane, alarmed, hardly believing she was encouraging it. She steadied Gillian, filling her eyes with the utterly erotic vision. She crushed her free breast, longing for release, wishing it was her riding Gillian. She closed her eyes, remembering how it felt to have both twins lying on her at once.

Gillian's breath came in gasps, she pressed harder, and she bent her head to suck at Jane's breast, and her hand fumbled at Jane's crotch.

"It's all right, take care of yourself," Jane gasped, her heart filled with love for Gillian.

Suddenly, Gillian was there. There was a look of absolute triumph on her face, and then she, too, collapsed on Jane, kissing her, kissing her like crazy.

"Let's go down," she panted, "God, that was good!" She was laughing at the look of indignation on Jane's face.

Jane closed her eyes, and quickly brought herself to orgasm, while Gillian watched, fascinated. "Okay," said Jane, "let's go."

Jane washed up in record time, sharing the bathroom with Gillian. Angela had worked some magic to clean herself up, and had managed to get most of the way down the stairs by herself. They saw her fiery red hair bent over her plate, as she made appreciative mmm sounds to appease her irritated father, who was—understandably—hurt with their tardiness in getting downstairs.

Anyway, all of them were still in a glow of pleasure to be there, and their sexual adventures only served to spice up their already pleasant anticipation of the joys of the holidays. Mr Jones was infected by their cheerful mood, and they soon fell under the spell of the fragrant bread.

"Now _this_ is _bread!_ " exclaimed Jane quietly, before Gillian could say the same. "This would be a couple of dollars in New York!"

"Well, it's a pound here, too!" smiled Mr Jones, "But worth every penny, in my opinion!" Jane shamed herself by eating several slices with just butter. There were all the ingredients for a good old American breakfast, and the three girls insisted on taking over the kitchen, to which Mr Jones was only too happy to agree.

"Mrs Swanson will come in by and by," he said; "she was supposed to be in yesterday, but she didn't show up."

"Mrs Swanson does for Dad when we're gone," explained the Twins to Jane. "Dad, she doesn't fix breakfast too, does she?"

"No, no, it's just bread, jam and tea for breakfast, I'm afraid!"

"Well, not unless you like it better than scrambled eggs," said Jane, quietly smiling. She was very reluctant to take over the kitchen, but Gillian kept encouraging her. In the end, they all helped.

"No one makes scrambled eggs like Jane does," declared Angela.

"High praise indeed!" smiled her father, who presently endorsed the proposal of thanks after his first mouthful.

Once breakfast was over, Jane quietly made a list of things to do: set up a schedule of events they had to be ready for, including meals, getting the place decorated, and so forth. Once Angela saw what she was doing, she kept adding things, until they had a fairly efficient list all ready to be put on the refrigerator door.

Soon they were on their way out to the neighborhood general store to buy odds and ends for Christmas decorations. There were a few things in the attic, but Gillian wanted more, and Angela had gotten permission to buy a nice little stereo for the house, so that they could put on holiday music. And of course, that meant going to the record store to get more records, too.

They came home loaded with packages, despite Jane's earnest attempts to hold them back. It brought back memories of Christmases past, with Deanna and Heather, but somehow Jane found that the memories were bearable, since Christmas in England was such a contrast to anything else she had experienced. There were many things that were familiar, but so many things were just a little different that Jane realized exactly how strongly Christmas in Lancaster County was influenced by how the holidays were celebrated in Europe, especially Germany. Still, Santa Claus and his elves were very much in evidence in British Culture, too.

How Jane missed having a child around! She remembered taking Zsuszana Christmas shopping a few years ago, when she had been young enough to be excited about buying gifts for everybody she knew. She wondered whether the Twins had any young cousins.

"Does your Aunt Ursula have children?"

"Why?"

"Sure; there's Sarah, Jeremy, Will and the baby, ..."

"Angela, isn't she? After you?"

"Really? I thought it was some American-sounding thing ... come to think of it, 'Angela' ..."

"Why, Jane?"

"Well, gifts, for one thing, ..."

"Crikey ... we've never bought them gifts, have we, Jill?"

"No, we tend to give them a Christmas hamper, rather; isn't that what you do, Dad?"

"Oh, I don't know; a hamper seems nice, too ..."

Jane was confused for good reason, since in her family a _hamper_ was a large basket of holiday supplies for either a disadvantaged family, or people you didn't know personally, like new neighbors. It seemed very much as if, despite the twin's fondness for their Aunt Ursula, they didn't know their cousins well at all.

The Twins put their heads together, and decided to give the Jenkinses—that was Aunt Ursula's husband's family name—little individual presents in addition to the hamper Gillian had already planned with her father. They were visiting that afternoon, and the Joneses had been invited out for a return visit after Christmas.

They finished their shopping as fast as they could, and got home to wrap presents for the children, and then decorate the house. Jane let the Twins take the lead, since she was not certain what was usual. It turned out that holly and mistletoe and other evergreens were used for decorations, but pine boughs were really not easy to find in that part of the country.

A little before noon, before the decorating was quite done, there was a knock on the door. Jane was closest; she opened the door, and there stood a bright-eyed young lady of about ten, leaning slightly forward in her eagerness, her eyebrows raised in excited anticipation.

"Oh, hello," she said, stepping back in puzzlement. Then, looking around Jane, she spotted her cousins, and grinned.

Looking up at Jane, she asked "Are you the visitor?"

"Yes!" answered Jane, having stepped aside. Looking out to the street she saw two more boys, just arriving behind the girl, and the parents coming up behind. The gentleman wore a leather jacket, while the lady was dressed in a blue woolen coat and a simple hat for the rain, and pushed a stroller in which sat a little girl, sitting up straight and gazing at her intently.

Uncle Frank took charge of the stroller, grinning at Jane in the friendliest way, while Aunt Ursula offered her hand to Jane at once, with a warm smile and said, "Hello, I'm Ursula, Gillian and Angela's aunt! And this is my husband, Frank, with little Angela," she said, making room for them to come in. Uncle Frank smiled, and shook Jane's hand once she had relieved him of the folded-up stroller.

Aunt Ursula was, as advertised, very much like an older version of the Twins; not quite so tall and willowy, but with similar features, and the same smile. She had lovely auburn hair, and Jane was immediately won over. The children were rather a rowdy lot, but not rude. After a polite greeting for Jane, when they were introduced, they turned their attention to the Twins, asking them all sorts of questions about everything under the sun. They seemed particularly interested in whales.

"That's all Frank's doing," said Aunt Ursula with a tolerant grin, "he fills their heads with all sorts of information about whales and penguins, and they talk whales to everyone. Last year it was dinosaurs! Gillian and Angela have forgotten," said Aunt Ursula to Jane. "You just wait until you've got nephews; dinosaurs are a major topic of their small-talk."

Jane was tactfully silent about the fact that she actually _did_ have nephews and nieces. Then, there were Stephanie's boys, she realized; and they were at the dinosaur stage, too. She made herself a solemn promise that she would pull herself together, and make every effort to enjoy the kids in her family, before they became dull adults.

The two oldest of the children were unbelievably full of energy, but so good-natured that Jane was instantly in love with them. Will, though as energetic as his older brother, was more of a spectator, as was little Angela, who was quite able to walk about on her little legs. She was about three, and simply could not follow the 'look, don't touch' rule. All the children had medium-brown hair and brown eyes, like their mother, though Baby Angela had a little grey in hers, like her father, who clearly doted on her.

Jane tried hard to fade back and disappear, for the simple reason that the little house was crowded. She found herself with Uncle Frank, who was doing the same thing, and they got to talking quietly, and making the occasional sprint to prevent little Angela from destroying something. Luckily she was content to walk about; if she had been more active, it would have been hard.

Uncle Frank was pleasantly surprised at how much the Twins were paying attention to their younger cousins. "That's a welcome improvement!" he laughed, smiling with Jane to soften what might have been taken to be criticism.

"Oh, that's great," said Jane, seeing that Gillian and Angela had persuaded the older kids to help them decorate, having also roped their father into the job.

"Frank," he called, turning to his much-younger brother-in-law, "help me get the ladder out, will you?"

"Oh, sure," said Frank, jumping to his feet, and excusing himself with a smile from Jane.

Presently, Gillian was out in the living-room with the cousins all helping to put together a really ancient artificial tree, each of whose branches had to be hung on its artificial stem. They had taken the tree out front, to shake out all the real and imaginary dust from every part of it, and were now back inside. Sarah was quiet, furiously concentrating on hanging the branches. Jane was called over to join Aunt Ursula and Angela in the kitchen.

"Jane, if you help Aunt Ursula lay the table, I could finish the curtains!"

Angela looked wonderful in a pretty green skirt and a handsome shirt under a cardigan. Under her blue coat, Aunt Ursula was revealed to be wearing a matched skirt and top in a pretty dark red. She gave Jane a cheerful smile.

"I guess you've been formally declared to be family, Jane! Help me with this tablecloth, and then you lay out the cutlery, while I get the china."

There wasn't a single crumb on the old tablecloth they had used for breakfast, thanks to the Twins. The creamy new one was duly spread out, ten place mats carefully laid out, and Jane was told to lay out the silver any way she wanted. Angela had been muttering about a little set of knife, fork and spoon for the baby as she headed out.

"I imagine they said something about it, but I can't remember: are you in the fashion business, Jane?" asked Ursula, her face showing cheerful interest. Of course, Jane thought to herself, they couldn't possibly imagine exactly what she did, but she got the impression that even if she had confessed to a humble profession such as a seasonal agricultural worker that would have been all right with them. There was a no-nonsense air about Ursula that Jane liked. (In fact, she got the firm impression, that the fashion business did not rank very high in Ursula's book, and she wondered how Gillian had got away with it.)

"Well, in a way; at present I'm working as a make-up artist, though I'm really a photographer and a portrait artist." Jane paused to take a breath. "I know that sounds a little ambitious, but ..."

"I know; it seems preposterous to claim to be an artist, but if you say you're a _painter_ , they think you paint houses, don't they!" Ursula said at once, laughing, and Jane laughed with her, feeling relieved. "Have you sold a lot of your work? Or, I suppose, I should ask whether you've got any commissions; that's probably how it works, isn't it?"

"Yes, quite a few, actually." Jane wondered whether using the word 'actually' would be considered an affectation, but Angela's speech habits were rubbing off on her a little. "I've done, let's see, ... about twenty, all together."

"Oh!" Jane was gratified with her wide-eyed reaction, though her heart sank when asked whether she had any samples of her work. She had a photograph of her Thea Underwood portrait, which had been shown at several famous galleries. Jane, when asked, told her how much had been paid for it, and Aunt Ursula whistled.

"Would you do a sketch of Angela and Gillian for me? How much would you charge for that?"

"Oh, nothing at all! I'd love to do that for you; it wouldn't take more than a few minutes!"

"Please! I want to have one, and I'd like to know that I paid for it! Look, I can just about afford a hundred pounds; I've been saving up for a little original art, and this is perfect. How elaborate a piece could you give me for that much?"

"What if I charge only for the materials?"

Aunt Ursula thought for a while, really excited. She was all red-faced at the prospect of acquiring a piece of real art, but too proud to get it for free. Jane already knew that it was no favor to give away her work.

The table was ready, and everyone was out in the drawing room, as they called it, the big front room where guests were received, though people kept returning to the kitchen for snacks and drinks.

"All right; for a hundred pounds, I'll do a _nice_ pastel of the Twins, as long as you let me throw in a digital print of a family portrait!"

"Oh, that sounds marvelous! Oh, thank you _so_ much! That really sounds just the job!" Aunt Ursula thought about that, pleased no end. "What exactly _is_ a digital print?" she asked.

"Oh, just a digital photograph, except I take the liberty of cleaning it up with computer software, and then print it on nice paper. Almost as nice as a photo portrait."

"The whole family? Oo, now that would be great; we're really overdue for one with all of us, with the girls and David!" she said, quietly excited. "You have a camera with you, don't you? You should take pictures of everybody individually, too!"

Once Jane was sure everything was going smoothly, she got her cameras, and quietly took pictures of everyone and everything, as Aunt Ursula had suggested, including a nice family portrait just before their late lunch, and a separate one of just the Jenkinses, and finally, one of the Twins, and one of the kids alone with the Twins.

"I should have thought of that," Angela said, after lunch, "a nice way you could give everybody something for Christmas, isn't it!"

"Yes, you're right," Jane said, going through the images.

Little Angela and her mother had been put to bed in her namesake's bed, and Frank and Gillian had taken the other three out on some pretext, to give their mother and Uncle David—and, Jane suspected, Jane herself—a chance to catch their breath. Jane had asked to come along to get some good art paper for pastels, but Gillian and Uncle Frank had said they would bring some.

"What's the pastel paper for?"

"I promised Aunt Ursula a pastel of you and Gillian. I should have asked, huh?"

"Oh, not at all! That would be lovely! I've often thought of asking you for something like that, but ... you know I start thinking of ... you know? Other things!"

"What kinds of other things?"

"You know—nudes, and stuff!"

" _Oh!_ Oh, why didn't you ask? A nude of yourself?"

"Well, yeah, or even ..." Angela shrugged and blushed. Jane looked back at the camera. She began to think of the possibilities ...

Uncle Frank hurried back by himself with a whole sheaf of good art papers. "So you can get started early!" he laughed. They'd gone all the way to one of the better stores in the area, and he had come back, leaving the kids and Gillian still shopping. "No hurry, but I wanted to get back and give you this, just in case you were getting bored!"

The girls laughed as Frank hurried off. Jane really liked him. He made a really perfect uncle, though he was barely in his late thirties. David Jones had married late, and to the eldest of a family of three. The other sibling, also named Frank, and his wife were expected in the afternoon.

"Well," said Jane, "I'll get my pastels."

"You don't have to! He's just being Frank, you know! Aunt Ursula's mere whim is his sacred quest!" But Jane was already halfway up the stairs.

It was quite rewarding to actually do the pastel while they watched. It was not her best medium, but the Twins were close to being her best subjects. Jane knew their faces intimately, down to the little differences in the shapes of their mouths. Everyone had been in a good mood, most of all the Twins, and it had come out beautifully. Presently, in the middle of the afternoon, baby Angela appeared after a long nap, clearly feeling cranky, but still creditably well behaved, and climbed up on a chair and watched, not touching anything.

Jane soon forgot her surroundings, concentrating intently. Angela was watching, keeping an eye on the little girl, who was presently joined by her mother, who had come downstairs talking loudly, but kept silent as soon as she saw what was happening. When Jane was almost finished, she looked up for a minute, and was startled to see that everyone in the house was watching—indeed, had been watching for a while.

"I can't believe how it comes together!" exclaimed Ursula, flustering Jane.

"It's not quite finished yet," said Jane, flushing. "I can't do this with everyone watching me!"

"My room's free, go on up," said Angela, looking as solemn as the little girl who was named after her.

"She can finish it here, couldn't she?"

"No, sweetheart, she's feeling funny. Go on up, Jane," said Ursula.

"It won't take long," promised Jane. "I don't know whether you'll like it, but it's really turning out well, I think!"

"Oh, it looks perfect already!" said baby Angela, her eyes as big as saucers.

No sooner had Jane gone upstairs, than Ursula's brother Frank arrived, with his wife Dorothy and one of their children, Brian, whom Jane met later, once she came downstairs with the finished pastel drawing. (She came down halfway, and went back upstairs hearing unfamiliar voices. She was hiding in her room until Angela climbed upstairs to fetch her.)

Frank Henderson was the middle child of Vivian Henderson's family. When Jane was introduced, she discovered where the Twins got their grave manner. David Jones was all smiles, but Jane imagined that, like her brother Frank, Vivian Henderson Jones must have impressed her daughters with her grave countenance.

Gillian and Angela were not dull or glum in any way. They were as fun-loving as any average person. But they were not likely to smile even while preparing some practical joke, though they would smile—even laugh— once the joke went down. And their expressions, even when not smiling, were not sorrowful; their faces were simply neutral. Baby Angela had Uncle Frank's face down pat.

Frank's wife Dorothy was also rather quiet, as was Brian, a young fellow of the same age as the Twins, maybe just a little younger. Unlike his father though, he had a twinkle in his eye that made up for his taciturn disposition. Still, Uncle Frank Henderson took time to sit with Jane and talk to her, much as Ursula had done, but a little more seriously. It was like talking to a clergyman, and Jane found it difficult to loosen up very much.

"Where's the drawing, then?" asked Ursula, who was sitting on the arm of her brother's chair, clearly very fond of him.

"Oh," said Jane, looking around in embarrassment, "come on upstairs; it's almost ready."

Ursula sprang up, her eyes alight, and pounded upstairs with Jane, closely followed by baby Angela, who, like her cousin, had to climb one step at a time.

"Oh, Jane!" breathed Ursula, hardly daring to touch the drawing. "Oh, Jane!"

"It came out well," Jane admitted, pleased.

"Well? It's just perfect!"

"Can I see?" asked Brian, almost the first thing Jane had heard out of him. "Oh, I say," declared he, "You're really very good! Have you done any others?"

Jane, though she tried to keep out of the center of things, was always made to feel very welcome. Of course, she was asked to take pictures of the Hendersons too, which she patiently did. The family was initially confused about whether Jane was there in her professional capacity because Gillian was a celebrity, or whether she really was a friend. She went out of the way to convince them all that she was only a friend, despite having to counter the weight of her clearly professional skills as a photographer.

Frank Jenkins, Gillian and the older kids got back in time for tea. Jane was amazed how Angela was able to tell lots of stories about their adventures with Jane that did not involve anything that the family would consider disgusting or depraved. Somehow she managed to portray their life with Jane as utterly wholesome, while Jane nodded confirmation to the stories, internally dizzy with all that Angela had left out, which would have certainly made them ill. It was all in the point of view, she realized; though there was a great deal of lust in how Jane interacted with the Twins, there was also a good deal of plain love, affection, and comradeship between them.

Mrs Swanson had done them proud. The Jenkinses left around seven, leaving the Hendersons to enjoy supper with the Twins and their father. Gillian begged them to stay, but it was plain that there just wasn't enough room. The space issue made Jane anxious, since she was certain that things would have been better if she had not come along. Since she didn't share her feelings with anyone, no-one was able to disabuse her of her misapprehension.

At long last, the Hendersons finished their meal, exclaimed over the fact that there were gifts for them under the tree, and set off for the station.

"Oh dear," said Angela, once the Joneses were alone with Jane, "I hope they don't think they have to buy us presents, too."

"Are we going to see them again?"

"Yes, for Christmas lunch," said the Twins.

"Oh."

The next day was Sunday, and the Twins made it clear that going to church was optional, since they would go on Christmas morning.

"I'd like to go, all the same," said Gillian, and her father echoed her sentiment. They looked and Jane and Angela.

"You don't have to come," said Gillian emphatically.

Jane had never known that Gillian was religious. But she suddenly felt that Gillian wanted to go with Jane, and she wanted Angela to go, too.

Angela looked at Jane and raised her eyebrow just a tiny bit, so only Jane could see. Jane nodded.

"We're coming," said Angela softly, turning to her sister.

"I didn't know you went to church at all," remarked Gillian to Jane that night, when they all met in Angela's room after having showered and changed into their bedclothes. "We could have gone in New York, couldn't we?"

Jane nodded. "But it's different; here you know everybody!"

"That's true," nodded Angela, looking at Gillian. "Don't analyze it too much; we'll end up not going."

"Would you like to ... fool around a little, before you sleep?" Gillian asked Jane softly, right in front of her sister.

Their father had gone to sleep already, and they had locked up for him.

"Dad's fast asleep, poor dear," said Angela, looking out into the hallway, and turning back, closing the door behind her. "Oh go on, use my bed."

"You go first," whispered Gillian to her sister. Jane watched the two of them, filling her eyes with the tenderness between the two girls.

"Okay," said Angela, climbing in with Jane, while Gillian slipped in on the other side, "I get you first!"

"I've been feeling horny all day," said Jane in a whisper, playing with the hem of her nightie. "All those stories you told!"

"They weren't lies," Angela protested, peeling off her sexy nightie.

Jane watched Angela, and felt her libido rising. Angela's legs had become incredibly sexy, and she had waxed off her pubic hair. Both sister's tried not to stare at Jane's clitoris which was protruding from its sheath, and her high color.

"God, I'm going to fuck you silly," breathed Jane, squeezing her own breasts, barely able to contain herself. "Just the memory of this morning, what you did!"

"Now don't be too rough, Jane," pleaded Gillian seated up on the far side of the bed, "the beds can get noisy ... you don't want to wake Dad!"

Angela pulled Jane down on her, tugging Jane's hand into herself. "Come on," she begged, "hurry up ... I want you, Jane!"

Jane's face took on a determined, almost grim expression, as Gillian watched wide-eyed, chewing on the edge of her nightie, wondering whether things could get too crazy. Dad was a light sleeper, and she remembered one day when Jane had gone berserk with lust. She was usually glad that Angela bore the brunt of Jane's need, but tonight ... she felt almost as if she'd _like_ Jane to be rough with her.

Well, Jane was rough with Angela, and Angie loved it. There wasn't a lot of dirty talk; Jane inserted two fingers inside Angie, and let her have the full blast of her strong arm. Angela's crotch was raised high in the air, as she purred with the pleasure of being taken that way. Gillian watched it all, imagining she was Angela, as her hand stole into the darkness inside her own nightie, stroking herself gently to relieve the ache.

Angie gasped as she came hard. Jane was considerate, milking Angie for every last shudder of pleasure. It was as if she had to do it thoroughly, as if they were her own tremors of passion.

"I'm not done, okay? I'm going to turn you around."

"Sixty-nine?

"No ... just from the back," Jane bit out.

She flipped Angie over, and mounted her, slipping her hands under Angie, cupping a breast here, bracing against her belly on the other side. She fitted the full, fleshy mound of her pubis to Angie's exposed buttocks, and began to thrust, for all the world as if she had a penis inside her. Gillian watched still, now crazy with desire for Jane, identifying with Angela completely.

The rhythm was completely erotic. It was beautiful in its regularity, in its brutality, in its raw sensuousness. Jane breathed with each thrust, through her mouth, almost like a grunt, but not quite voiced. Angie's legs were beautiful; even Gillian had to admit that they were incredible. But Jane's legs were like the legs of a stallion, mounting his mare, or the legs of one mare mounting another, not an uncommon sight.

When Jane came, she kept going through it, until she was completely wiped out.

Angela managed to turn herself around with Jane still on her, and began to kiss her, softly now. And then Gillian was kissing Jane from behind, feeling every inch of her back and the back of her arms with her mouth and tongue.

"In a minute, Jill," Jane gasped, out of breath. Gillian obediently peeled off, watching them kiss, her hand inside her vagina, her fingers swirling slowly around, which was her style.

Jane kissed Angie tenderly, as if to ask forgiveness for the rough handling, and then another several times, for the sheer pleasure of it, then turned to hold Gillian in her arms.

With her, she was different, her lust sated, she made love gently though eagerly. But tonight Gillian had other ideas. She mounted Jane this time, and rode hard, but face to face, her legs astraddle Jane. Her rhythm was much more deliberate than Jane's had been, but it was no less determined to bring her the pleasure she craved.

Oh, her breath was so sweet in Jane's face, her mouth so soft! Feeling tender towards Angela, she reached out to her, and she came closer, becoming a part of Gillian's lovemaking with Jane, kissing Jane, rubbing her sister's back. At last Gillian was still, relaxing into satiety.

"Can I sleep here?" she asked softly. They all were beginning to love sleeping together in a pile, like puppies.

"Yes dear," whispered Angela.

# Christmas

The Church the family attended was not the closest one. It was a 10-minute walk away, and Jane walked with the sisters, all of them bare-headed, for Jane's sake, since she refused to wear a hat. Jane looked radiant. The Twins took turns to squeeze her arm in a surfeit of love for her.

All the complicated church routines confused and put Jane off, but she enjoyed listening to the girls sing. She joined softly in the singing of familiar carols, but stopped when she found that their words were just a little different. The sermon was very brief, and Jane enjoyed observing all the different types seated around her.

The Twins met a full dozen people of their own age, who had come home for the holidays, and introduced Jane to them all. Jane could see that, rather than her fame having made Gillian embarrassed to meet these former classmates and friends, she was pleased to show them off to Jane, and Jane to her friends. The two girls had all the same friends, who all remarked how happy they were to see Angela on her feet again, and how pretty she looked. Gillian had gone out of her way to minimize her full bosom, to look more like Angela.

The undercurrent of sexual tension between the three of them was not hard; it was a pleasant ache for each of them. It was as if Jane was in a constant state of low but noticeable sexual arousal, even when they were not quite touching, or were even talking to different people. One of the Twins' friends was a nice boy called Jim Woods, and Jane found him quite attractive, and she could see that he found her attractive as well. She managed not to blush too much at his gentle admiring remarks, but she did enjoy it. He was just a little younger than Jane, the same age as the Twins, obviously. When the Twins revealed that Jane was interested in getting some prints made, he immediately volunteered for the job. "We'll call you when we're ready," said Angela, once again standing close to Jane, as if establishing ownership. Jim didn't seem to notice; he nodded eagerly.

They were invited to two carol festivals that day, one in the afternoon some distance away, and the other in the early evening, at the little school round the corner from where the Joneses lived. They also got the Sunday papers, which Gillian searched avidly for a schedule of special events in the City.

"Oh, Angela," she said, pointing, "there's some really good stuff coming up, right after Christmas!"

"Every year," agreed her father, as they walked along, "it's a musical concert season in London."

"We've got to take Jane, haven't we?"

Jane enjoyed the Christmas programs; the one in the local school was delightful, since many of the children on the street were involved, some of whom the Twins knew (inspiring remarks such as, "Goodness, how tall he is, now!", or "Jill, is that really Jennifer Hambly?")

A lot of the time Jane found herself having rosy dreams of coming to live here in London with the Twins. It was all so charming, and the people so friendly, especially to her, that life in New York seemed harsh and impersonal. Jane did love the City, but mostly because of particular people and shops and places she liked. She did not like the crowding and the violence; in fact, she did not like the City as a whole. She knew that she could not do the work that paid her bills as easily in any other place, and she resented it.

Christmas, as celebrated by the Jones twins and their father was a simple, happy holiday. All night, the three girls wrapped the little presents they had bought for each other in London, or brought with them by plane, as the case may have been, and their father had a wonderful time, collaborating with each of them to pack presents for the others, especially with Jane. He kept shaking his head, saying the gifts were too elaborate, but she could tell that he was pleased with her choices for them. He was grateful for her help with his own presents for the Twins, while the two of them had no doubt that the Twins were packing presents for them. The radio played carols all day long, sung beautifully, and Angela, for once, did not watch television.

Once again, the three girls slept together, on Jane's bed this time, quietly pleasuring each other. It was as if the furious sex on Saturday night had leached out all the violent lust from them, especially Jane.

They woke each other up early on Christmas day, and gave each other the presents they had kept ready. There were some surprises, more for Jane, since she was a stranger to what was available in England. As she had, all her life, Jane bought the Twins only small gifts, except for one major present for each of them—a little stereo for Angela, and a camera for Gillian.

After a breakfast of milk and bread and butter, they dressed and hurried to Church again. It was a special service, filled with music, with less of the liturgical parts that Jane found uncomfortable, and more simple reading of passages from the Bible. Afterwards, of course, Jane got to greet her friends from the previous day, including Jim, who was most definitely pleased to see her again.

Then it was home again, to set up a buffet lunch for the family, including David Jones's sister, Penny, and her husband Philip. It was eleven, again, when they arrived, just after Aunt Ursula arrived with the Twins' only surviving grandmother, Grandma Ruth Henderson.

Jane had half expected Grandma Ruth to be a solemn-faced woman like her son, but she was a merry lady of around eighty-five, with all her own teeth, and fully aware of the world in which she lived. Jane was both amused and touched by the way the Twins managed to get the sweet old lady seated near Jane and their father.

Jane saw at once how fond David Jones was of his mother in law. He danced attendance on her hand and foot, despite Jane's efforts to get her what she needed before he could run to get it. It was a remarkably close family; David's side of the family seemed to know all the Hendersons well, and vice versa.

Aunt Penny was just older than David, and her husband Philip somewhat older than her, and not so much younger than Grandma Henderson, which seemed just a little odd to Jane. Things were similar in her own family, where some of her father's siblings were younger than Jane's cousins on her mother's side. But then, their families were large, and Jane had an uncle who was younger than she was.

What a wonderful thing family was, Jane philosophized, when everyone was at peace. The Twins had alerted Jane to the possibility that Aunt Penny's children might resent their parents coming to visit Gillian and Angela. After all, they had grandchildren now, since Aunt Penny's kids were all grown, the youngest being at least thirty, to the best of Angela's recollection.

There were photographs to be taken of Aunt Penny and Uncle Philip, and of Grandma Ruth, and one of everybody present, taken with a self-timer, so that Jane could be squeezed in on the floor, between the Twins.

As predicted, there was a call from Aunt Penny's grandchildren, asking when they would be arriving back home, but at least voices were not raised, and Aunt Penny smoothed over the ruffled feelings quickly.

"David, this was wonderful; thank you so much for having us over! Angela, dear, it made me so sad to see you when you were in your wheelchair! It's a miracle, and no one deserves it more."

"It feels great to be able to get about," Angela agreed with a smile. "Thanks for coming, Aunt Penny, and Uncle Philip!"

The kids had opened their presents, and Jane was full of admiration to see how graciously they received them. Little Angela came all by herself and thanked Jane, and gave her a sweet kiss as a reward. She had a lovely smile, which was even better. "And thank you for the drawing of Gillian and Ang'la," she said, pronouncing the tricky names as well as she was able. "Did you know I'm Ang'la too?" Jane said she did, and it was one of her favorite names. "I think I'm Gillian, too, but I'm not sure," she said, thoughtfully. She had taken her leave on Saturday, saying she'd see Jane later. She said the same as Ursula strapped her into the stroller as they prepared to leave.

The four of them flopped down in the drawing room, exhausted, but thoroughly pleased with the day.

"Dad, I think I really like Aunt Penny," said Angela, smiling, and Gillian nodded agreement.

"They're such nice people, all of them," said Jane, sincerely.

"And they adored you, could you tell?" said Gillian, as grave as usual.

"I tried not to hog the limelight," said Jane, anxiously.

"Oh, you never could! No one hogged any of the limelight; except perhaps little Angela, who was too precocious for words," said David Jones, smiling.

"Oh Dad, she was just perfect! She just has an enormous vocabulary, that's all!"

"Is her name Angela Gillian?"

The Twins looked at each other, and at their father.

"It's quite possible," he said. "Ursula has always been very fond of the two of you, and she's not likely to have used one name without the other."

"I'm so pleased!" said Gillian, looking surprised. "I _had_ been feeling rather left out!"

They took their time cleaning up after the big Christmas lunch. Aunts Ursula and Penny had helped with a lot of the cleaning up, as had Brian and Sarah.

"Is this a good time to go to your mother's grave?"

"Will you come?"

"Of course!"

It was a good distance, but finally they arrived at a little grave with a tiny gravestone that gave Vivian Jones _nee_ Henderson and her dates. The girls knelt by it silently, looking pale but composed.

"We haven't cried in the longest time," said Angela, looking at Jane, and suddenly a large tear trickled down. "And now I'm crying, aren't I!"

Both girls were crying, but smiling at Jane. Then first Gillian, and then Angela bent their heads, and laid a little posy on the grave, evergreens from their yard.

"Why did you cry?" asked Jane, though honestly she felt like crying, too.

"Because you never got to meet her, and ... she would've loved to meet you too, Janie," said Angela. She called her Janie only when she was feeling especially tender.

They went home, and took up cleaning once again. After a while the house looked spotless once more, just in time for a simple supper of the excellent soup Mrs Swanson had left for them in the pantry. The old refrigerator was packed with leftovers.

After supper, they played a silly British board game, and then watched _A Christmas Carol_ on television.

"Call home!" said Gillian to Jane.

"Hello, Mom, is that you?"

"Jane?"

"Merry Christmas!"

"And the same to you! Is it Christmas already over there?"

Jane took a few minutes to explain that Christmas day was almost gone in Britain. Her mother wondered whether it was Japan where it wasn't yet Christmas Day. Jane left it alone.

"Here's your father! He's going to be nice."

"Merry Christmas, Jane. I hope you're having a good time."

"I am, Dad! Merry Christmas. How is the farm doing?"

"Oh, as well as can be expected. The dairy is doing well; lots of milk. Jim's wife had a girl last night."

"Really? A Christmas baby!"

"Yup, just after midnight, Eastern Standard Time. They're doing fine!"

"What shall I bring you from the UK, Dad?"

There was a brief pause. "Some of their good gin would be nice, but you don't have to!"

Joanna came on the phone, and asked Jane to get over there right now. Jane laughed; it was good to be kidded and bullied, after five years of nothing except Artie dying. Then Jim came on, and said that the baby had been given Jane as a middle name, after her aunt. "I miss you, kid; come visit us when you get back, okay? And bring me some of that fish and chips they talk about! And Emily wants gin, too!"

Jane had to tell Gillian everything afterwards.

"I'm trying to imagine them ... It was so much fun to have all our family come visit and meet you! I'm all excited. I can tell they're nice. They _must_ be nice, they're your family, after all, and you're a saint!"

Jane was shocked.

" _Me?_ "

"Of course!"

"Why on earth would you say that?"

Gillian looked at Jane bemused. She couldn't quite understand why a saint would not be aware of her sainthood.

"You ... you seem only to care about everybody else, never about yourself!"

Jane turned red.

"Well ... I know I'm not terribly selfish, or anything, but neither are you and Angela!"

The two girls stared at each other, pleased on the one hand, but thoughtful. Jane wished it hadn't come up; it was so much to have to live up to.

Angela complained of a hurting back and legs, and Jane took the opportunity to give her a thorough massage. It was the start of some love play, but Angela was drowsy, and the other two girls covered her carefully, and slipped off to Jane's bedroom.

"Do you think Angie's beautiful?" asked Gillian.

"She's a stunner, just as you are," Jane said, feeling a little uncomfortable. They kept their voices low, since Dad could shut off the television and come up at any time. Jane wanted to keep Gillian with her all night, but each night was an adventure, since they never did things the same way two days in a row.

But the subject of whether Angela was beautiful had never come up between Jane and Gillian. (Jane and Angela, though, talked about Gillian a great deal.)

"Before I began to be in demand, as it were," said Gillian, blushing, "Angie and I were identical. In every way. We're the same person, split into two!"

"Somehow, not quite right down the middle, I'd say; you have more of some things, and she has more of the others."

"You mean like breasts."

"No; I mean, you're calmer, more relaxed, more resigned. She's more eager, more determined, harder to distract. More focused. Don't you think?"

"She has beautiful breasts, Jane ... I feel unbelievably stupid!"

"I like your breasts," said Jane, really blushing now.

"But I know you hate implants. You've said so!"

Jane sighed. "I used to, until I learned about you!"

"They did a brilliant job on me," Gillian admitted. "Do you really like them?"

"Yes!"

"Would you like to make sure?" she asked, turning out the light and slipping in beside Jane.

Jane got comfortable against Gillian's body.

"How long can we stay happy like this?" she asked in a whisper.

"Why not forever?" whispered Gillian, taking Jane's hand and placing it on her breast.

"What about when we're old?"

Gillian sighed. "I try not to think about it ... I worry about looking like Aunt Ursula, or Grandma Ruth..."

"They both look absolutely wonderful!"

Gillian took a long time to nod agreement. Jane learned most directly just how much models fear aging. Jane held her friend close, as if by doing so she could slow down the passage of time.

Jane sighed. Gillian knew, by now, what Jane's occupation had been. For a while she had kept up the freelance photographer and closet artist fiction, and that was almost all that Angela still knew. But gradually, as the barriers between Jane and Gillian had fallen away, she had told Gillian all. She knew Gillian avoided thinking of it—and Gillian was good at that. Angela was the one who confronted her problems head on, and Jane was afraid that once she was told, she would initiate a full-scale attack against Jane even _thinking_ of going back to her earlier life.

"The plight of a ... a girl like Zoe, for one—is even worse," Jane said. Gillian knew Zoe as a seasoned porn model who had worked for Jane a couple of times, but now only came by to check up on her.

"That's why you set up that fund for them, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Jane.

"How much is there in it?"

"I don't know; there was a huge stock market crash in late 9/11, and another one just this Spring ..."

"Oh no... is it all invested in stock, then?"

"Yes, most of it. All Scorpia's money is in it; we put in I guess about ... a couple of hundred thousand ..."

"So it's worth about ... 150,000 now?"

"Much less," said Jane. "I keep paying out, Jill."

"Why didn't you tell me?" demanded Gillian, propping herself up on her elbow in agitation.

"Why love? You never asked to know!"

" _I_ would pay into it!"

"Well, all my money goes into it, so when you give me money, that's where I put it!"

"No, all my savings...all the money I've put aside for Angela! It should really be invested, not kept in a savings account, Jane." Gillian pulled slightly away; it was something she did when they were talking seriously in bed. Jane suppressed the urge to touch her. "I've got close to a–a million, saved up. I know it isn't hardly enough, but I send a lot home, too." She moved restlessly. "We don't live extravagantly, and by the time I can't work any more, I— _we_ —could live on my savings, couldn't we?"

"I'm sure we can," Jane soothed her.

The following day was as wet and gloomy as Christmas day had been bright. It was a steady, relentless rain that made Jane inexplicably angry. "I wish it would really rain and be done with it," she said testily.

"No, this is winter rain," said Angela, "it's always drip, drip, drip."

"Remember, Mrs Swanson had the day off. If you want to cook, this is your opportunity, isn't it. Pity it's so bad outside; there isn't anything interesting in the larder, though we can take a look..." Mr Jones got to his feet, grinning briefly at Jane, and headed to the little larder, turning back to nod at Jane to follow. By now he knew that Jane was the brains behind his daughters' improved cooking skills.

The Twins were dressed alike in crisp calf-length wrap skirts, and blouses in contrasting colors, and had given Jane similar clothes, at her request. Mr Jones had looked very appreciative, making Jane blush with pleasure. Everyone she met had seemed determined to make her out to be a great beauty, and a look in the mirror that morning had revealed that her plainness was gradually fading, somehow; Jane liked the way she looked.

The larder was, indeed bare; there was a lot of canned goods, flour and potatoes, but little else. Gillian declared that they had to make a trip out to the grocery store. The wet weather was bothering Angie's legs, somehow, but she insisted on coming along as well. They insisted that Mr Jones stay home.

They headed out to one of the larger supermarkets, with Jane's disgust at the wet weather and dirty streets offset by the fascinating people she saw around her. There were scores of refugees from Eastern Europe, the beautiful women often wearing scarves, revealing them to be moslems. In many ways their features and manners reminded Jane of Maria and her daughter. Though superficially the supermarket itself was much like the ones Jane was accustomed to, what they stocked was interestingly different. The brands were, of course, often different, and even when they were familiar, the labels and the packaging were different. And there was a great deal of what would, in Pennsylvania at least, be found only in specialty stores and ethnic food supermarkets. For a long hour, Jane was absorbed in the wonderful world of the supermarket, lost in fantasies of fabulous dishes from exotic materials. Her own supermarket, round the corner from West Chestnut, of course, was quite unremarkable, and Jane was only vaguely familiar with the more interesting food stores in the City, all of which she had once visited in the company of Heather. As always, the memory of Heather awoke a fresh wave of grief. She had learned a lot from Heather about generosity.

Gillian followed close behind Jane, urging her to select all sorts of things. "Dad would love to try this," she would say, or "Now _there's_ something Mrs Swanson wouldn't touch!" Angela limped along ahead of them, her glorious red hair neatly combed out and tied at the neck with a pretty green scarf. By now Jane was beginning to feel like a sister, or at least a cousin. Soon Jane's cart had a rather large pile of groceries, including staples which Angela had quickly and efficiently led them to.

"A lot more heat-and-eat things than before, I notice," Gillian remarked, and Angela agreed, saying it was progress. The rain paused, just long enough for the girls to walk home with their bags, and promptly started up again once they were inside. "That was convenient," remarked Gillian, with unaccustomed sarcasm. "Everyone leave their wet shoes right here!"

"Let's turn up the heat, shall we?"

"No, we'll be warm in the kitchen, with all the cooking," declared Gillian, pausing to look in the hallway mirror. "Oh dear ... I'm getting a little red at the roots..."

"I'll help you whenever you're ready," said Jane, smiling. She had helped Gillian color her hair twice already. She personally thought Gillian should simply decide to be red, but Gillian was too cautious to take chances.

They had a wonderful time cooking both dinner and lunch, after which Gillian started to arrange for them to attend concerts and operas. Jane had almost never attended live concerts of classical music, until Gillian had invited her along. Gentle and not pushy, Gillian never insisted on anything, but Jane found herself doing what Gillian wanted anyway. The best of all was how much Gillian appreciated her company.

After a brief surprise visit to Mrs Swanson's home with a hamper, when they got to meet her three little children and her shy husband, they headed out to the tube station. They were dressed in their best; they were going to the Royal Albert Hall.

It was a wonderful concert, and the Twins, eagerly searching Jane's face for her honest reaction to it all, were pleased. Jane was starry-eyed with the sheer sumptuousness of the surroundings and the variety of the clothes worn, and the sounds of everyone talking British around them. The music was mostly familiar, and well performed.

Jane was thoughtful enough on the way back for Angela to remark on it. The fact was that Jane was coming to resent the fact that, at twenty-three, she was preoccupied with survival, and reduced to feelings of guilt on the few occasions when she went out to enjoy the arts. She had not known until recently that she had the capacity to appreciate the finer things in life; art, for her, had been a good movie on television. But Gillian was showing her things that made Jane see her life up to that point as the desert it had been, colored only with the tiny oases of the women Jane had loved. The first few months of a new love, you didn't need anything else. She and the Twins were still in that rosy state. But Gillian's instinct to teach her to love music was having its effect.

The next day, they headed out to shop in the City. "Oxford Street," said Angela, eyes shining. "I've got a hundred pounds I'm going to splurge, all on Jane!"

"All right, then, a hundred pounds it is," said Gillian, looking in her purse.

"And how much do I get to spend?" asked Jane, laughing.

"Nothing!" exclaimed both sisters at once, kissing her from either side. They had fought Jane's insistence on buying her own air ticket, but they had insisted—or rather Angela had made Gillian insist—that Jane would not spend a penny more, before they ever left the ground at Kennedy.

For the first time, they saw someone recognize Gillian on the tube. Instead of mobbing her, though, they nodded and smiled politely as they got off the train. Jane had remembered in the US, in contrast, how obnoxious fans had been on one occasion when they had been spotted shooting in a hotel in Florida.

Author's Note: Please use this coupon code to get Prisoner at half-price: **XT42P** Thanks for reading this far!

Shopping in London was a lot of fun. Angela used up her money, and Jane persuaded her to accept a loan. Gillian was the born shopper, looking but never buying. Angela and Jane found themselves seated comfortably while Gillian studied some jewelry with painful intentness.

"You've made her very happy, Jane," said Angela, watching Gillian thoughtfully. It might have been the tenth time she had said so.

"It works both ways," Jane replied.

"She's buying you a ring, did you know?"

"Are you _sure?_ " asked Jane.

"Just a guess," said Angela.

Jane shot to her feet, and hurried to where Gillian pored over a glass case. As Jane approached, Gillian blushed, confirming Angela's guess.

"What are you doing?" demanded Jane, red-faced.

"Go sit down," said Gillian, trying to be firm. Her face suddenly lost its smile, as Jane's eyes filled with tears. "What's wrong?" Gillian asked softly.

"No jewelry; not for me, Jill," she replied. The counter clerk looked at Jane with deep dislike.

They stopped for a snack after they left the store, and Jane tried to explain. It was only a superstition, but she had lost Maria and Deanna after exchanging rings with them, not to mention Jay, the first one to whom she had given a ring.

"What about just ... some other token, like ... I don't know ... an earring, or a necklace, or something? A bracelet?"

"No, Jill ... don't take any chances," said Angela in a low, frightened voice. And that was the end of their plans for exchanging tokens.

# Thea again

The first week passed pleasantly. On New Year's Eve, they went dancing with some of Gillian's model friends, all of them rather quiet-living girls, as far as Jane could tell. Jane got hit on by lots of men and a few women, too, which made the Twins furious. "That's disgusting!" they said when they were leaving that particular place, while one of Jane's female admirers watched her go sorrowfully.

At one rather exclusive establishment, they saw, to Jane's great surprise, Thea Underwood.

"Look! It's Thea Underwood!" exclaimed Angela, softly.

"Now's your chance," said Gillian, who knew about Jane's acquaintance with her, but not any of the sordid details. "Go ask her to dance!"

"Jane? Jane knows Thea Underwood?"

"Oh yes; ask her later!" said Gillian, looking enigmatic.

Just at that moment, Thea Underwood's beautiful eyes wandered round the room, and fixed on Jane.

All this while Jane had believed—quite correctly—that she was only one of many girls Thea had persuaded into her bed. Since then, Jane had learned that the great actress was not alone in her habit; almost all men and women of a certain degree of fame, especially those who had some moral sensibilities, found it necessary to find partners carefully, and to change them frequently. It was more a hardship for the other partner than for the celebrity to be in a long-term relationship, since word got around, and public attention and curiosity focused on the 'lucky' outsider, bringing out the worst in everybody. Jane had imagined—wrongly, as it happened, in this instance—that Thea must hardly think of her anymore.

With a word and a smile to her dance partner, Thea Underwood made her circuitous way towards the three of them, as the Twins speculated under their breaths whether or not it was they who were the target of the actress. A long two minutes afterwards, they were left in no doubt.

"Gillian Jones!" she said, in her warm, sweet voice, offering her hand. "We've never met; I'm Thea Underwood!"

"I'd know you anywhere!" said Gillian, equally warmly, with almost equal poise. "This is my sister Angela ..." Thea shook hands with the overawed Angela, and exchanged 'how-do-you-do's; "... and you've already met Jane, I believe; Jane is a friend from New York!"

"Hello Jane! It's lovely to meet you here!" She looked at Angela and explained, "Jane accepted my invitation to do my portrait! Did you know it's at the Royal Gallery at this moment?" Thea could not hide her pride. "A friend of mine saw it at home, and insisted that it should be shown over Christmas ..." She looked at each of the Twins. Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial level, she said, "You'll be interested to learn that it has been insured by Lloyds for a very large amount!"

"You've arrived!" whispered Gillian to Jane, as Thea's eyes watched their interaction with interest. Was there some relief in that look?

"Word is getting around," said Thea to Jane. "I'm being asked who Jane Schultz is! Where are you staying, in London?"

"With us," said Angela, just a little more firmly than the occasion warranted. She told Thea exactly where. Gillian and Thea arranged between them for Thea to have the phone number, since none of them carried much more than their train tickets.

The music was wonderful, and Thea presently looked up and around, clearly longing to get back on the floor. She spotted her partner waiting for her, and turned back to the girls.

"Will you be here for a while?"

They looked at each other.

"We might as well stay 'til midnight?"

"Then I'll see you again," said Thea. With a smile she glided off.

"Guess who _she_ has the hots for," said Angela to her twin in the low voice that usually delighted Jane. Angela indicated Jane with her eyes. They giggled; Jane was relieved that Thea Underwood did not arouse the furious jealousy that attention to Jane from other women usually aroused in the Twins.

"There's two of us, isn't there. We'll give her a good account of ourselves, sis. Sharpen your nails!" said Gillian, and they burst into helpless giggles.

"Let's try and look normal," said Angela, urgently. "Look out for a cute, harmless guy for Jane!"

Jane was thankful that the girls were comfortable around men. Gillian, however, tended to try to estimate how many germs each one had with him. Angela, in contrast, looked for tall men. She was very particular about dancing with someone at least three inches taller than her, heels and all.

It was about twenty minutes to midnight, when Jane noticed a figure lurking in one of the darker rooms off the main dance floor. The floor was entirely ringed with these darkened rooms, for couples who might want to dance in just a little more privacy. Jane saw a tiny hand beckon to her urgently.

Jane excused herself, and slipped off to meet Thea. Wasting no time, Thea slipped her hand into Jane's and said "You lead. I saw you dancing with Gillian!" It was a rather sedate waltz, and Thea was an excellent dancer.

"You didn't have to come over," Jane said, as Thea's body fitted comfortably against her own.

"Come over? Oh. To come talk to you."

"Yes!"

"I didn't say I would avoid you for ever, Jane!" Jane could almost hear her thinking what to say. "I just ... I just wanted time to cool down, that's all."

Jane's pulse raced. She hated the fact that she felt attracted so strongly to this woman.

"Did it work?"

"It's a matter of degree," said Thea. They danced. The next dance was a slow one, and Jane wished she could be with the Twins, but the feel of Thea Underwood in her arms was indescribably delicious. Suddenly Thea Underwood spoke again. "For a couple of days, I couldn't eat," she said.

"I'm sorry," said Jane, softly. Suddenly the shoe was on the other foot. Jane had not been so affected with Thea; not even close. It put a different perspective on it entirely. "Are you seeing anyone now?"

"Oh no; I never see the same person for more than a couple of days. I told you this." Jane murmured that yes, she had forgotten. "The last one was before Christmas, a lovely English girl ... It's a lot harder with our English girls," she went on, "I feel as if I'm hurting them far more!"

"You should pick ones who've already been hurt bad," said Jane.

"I'm sorry," said Thea softly. "You never told me!"

"How many have you had, since ... you know?"

"Since you painted my portrait?"

"Uh huh."

"Six ... five ..."

"Oh. I thought about twenty!"

"Twenty dates," Thea confessed.

The announcer informed quietly, at the end of the dance, that it was a minute to midnight.

"You'd better go," said Thea, squeezing Jane's hand.

Impulsively Jane bent and kissed Thea hard. Thea's response was complete.

"Now look what I've done," said Jane, pulling her to the light, wiping at Thea's smeared lipstick. She stood still, while Jane repaired it skillfully, and then returned the favor.

"Call me!" said Thea, as she pushed Jane away.

Jane looked frantically for the Twins, not sure she would find them together. She need not have worried; Gillian grabbed her from behind, and pulled her to where Angela was waiting.

"Where did you disappear to?" they asked her.

"Oh, I was dancing ..."

"No you weren't! You weren't on the floor!"

"Did you go off into one of the side rooms?"

" _Jane!_ I can't believe you would have done that!"

"Who was it? Boy or girl?"

"Girl," said Jane, getting red. It was evidently the wrong answer. Gillian looked stricken. "It was ... it was Thea Underwood," she said under her breath.

"Oh." Gillian seemed relieved.

"She _does_ have a thing for you!" said Angela, eyes shining.

"Now listen, you two: in the US, at midnight, you're supposed to ..."

"Ladies and gentlemen, fifteen seconds, thirteen, .... , five, four, three, two, one, and it's Happy New Year!"

The three of them somehow exchanged a single three-way kiss.

"Oh, that was _perfect!_ " cried Angela, eyes shining. "Now, prop'ly! Sis, come here!" Jane watched as the Twins kissed tenderly. Then Angela kissed Jane, and said, "Happy New Year, Jane, I love you!"

Then Jane was in Gillian's arms, and Gillian was laughing, but there were tears in her eyes as she kissed Jane gently. Her face twisted in the most beautiful expression of happiness Jane had seen on her face; she wished she could have taken a photograph of it. Gillian had said Jane was the _most completely perfect human being alive_ , and her eyes told Jane that she still believed it. She looked at the Twins, as they stood, the three of them, with their arms around each other, and felt deliriously happy.

# Another Commission

They managed to contact Thea Underwood quite easily. Usually celebrities were hard to reach, but each one left word with their agent to allow the other to reach them, and it was done.

"Humor me," said Thea to Gillian, "get Jane to paint a formal portrait of the two of you. A large one, life sized."

"Golly! That will take an enormous while, wouldn't it?"

"It might. Look, I have lots of space in my place, if she would like to work here. She works out of computer images, you know? She can paint anywhere."

"I know. I'll talk to Angela!"

"Let me talk to her!"

Accordingly, the Twins found themselves dressed in formal gowns, posing for Jane in Thea's beautiful home in an exclusive suburb a little outside London. Still modest, by American standards, it was roomy and well-lit, and when they got there, there was a large seven-foot canvas waiting for them. Jane protested she had never done anything that big, but Thea said quietly that there had to be a first time.

It would be a simple, representative portrait in oils, of the two girls standing side by side. Jane took a score of photographs until she got just the pose and the expression she liked. The lighting was part daylight and partly from a chandelier that hung out of sight. Gillian had one arm around her sister, and Angela stood with Gillian's other hand in both of hers. Both girls were completely relaxed, their faces in repose, Angela's lips curved with a slight smile, and Gillian's face was as serious as ever, but with a certain brightness in her eyes that Jane knew passed for a quiet smile.

Once the photographs were taken, Thea insisted on taking all of them out to the Royal Gallery, where Thea's portrait was part of a special exhibit of portraits from around the world. They left Jane alone, while she studied hundreds of portraits, her eyes narrowed.

"I imagine it takes planning," Thea told the Twins, as they watched Jane from a distance. "The larger the canvas, the harder it is."

"Does she have to use bigger brushes, or something?"

"Well, there are big brushes. For mine, though, she used some of the tiniest brushes I've ever seen!"

"Can we see it again?"

"Certainly!" Thea laughed.

The portrait was only five feet by three feet, and showed Thea seated. "She's done a brilliant job with your hair!" Angela breathed, and the others murmured agreement.

"She's got an amazing talent," Thea remarked. "You must encourage her."

"She never listens to me," said Gillian blushing, while Angela continued to study the painting. Thea knew that it had been Gillian's eyes that had captured Jane for her. But Gillian was an intellectual lightweight, she thought, and Jane would soon be bored with her.

"Exactly how much is the painting insured for?" asked Angela, adding,"You needn't tell us, if you'd rather not!"

"No, I want to, you see? It raises the value of the painting! Well, it was a million dollars."

"Holy smoke," said Angela, stunned. "She didn't charge that much for it, did she?"

"No. She asked for two thousand dollars. She has no idea of the value of things."

"Yes ... that's what she asks—if you force her to take money."

"But she obviously likes you both!"

Gillian managed to suppress her blush a little better than Angela.

"Well," continued Thea, "What have you been doing since you got here?"

"We spent a lot of time with our family," said Angela quickly, less suspicious of the question. "We've been out shopping, and Jill took us out to a few concerts! We all three like music," she finished.

"Good," approved Thea, honestly. "I'm glad I brought her here; look how interested she is!" They turned to look at Jane and nod.

"We'll take her round the galleries," Gillian promised Thea.

They planned how they would divide up Jane's remaining time between having a little fun around London, and painting. There was clearly not enough space in the Jones home for a six-foot canvas, let alone for painting it. "And I have a car and driver," Thea said to Gillian, as the one who she expected to call the shots, "don't waste time dragging her around by train. I should have thought to send the car for you this morning."

"I think I'll take her out to art suppliers, and get her set up with all she needs," said Gillian, sounding worried.

"Don't worry; I've already seen to that. We'll just stop by on the way now, to see if there's anything I've missed. I got advice from the expert at the shop; I got the best materials they had. They have paints now that are really better than what Sargent and crowd used, you know?"

Thea saw Gillian's distress despite the girl's brave attempt to disguise it. In fact, the two of them probably earned similar checks for their work; it was only the fact that Thea had been around for a lot longer that made the difference. Still, it looked very much as though the girls—both of them— were very fond of Jane indeed, and Thea was putting them at a disadvantage.

A group was coming by, escorted by one of the expert guides. Thea turned aside before they could be spotted by the crowd. She led them to a secluded spot.

"I really don't have any designs on her, you know," she said to the younger women, who were quite taken aback by her directness.

"I—we—didn't mean to accuse you!" said Angela, awkwardly, blushing, looking at her twin in alarm. "Whatever you do for Jane is fine—fine by us... isn't it, sis?"

"Oh, of course!" said Gillian. By now Thea had got both of them thoroughly confused and upset. Thea's own calm began to crack a little. With great tact, she suggested a formula whereby they could split the costs of the project, emphasizing that she had greater financial resources, after having worked for twenty years.

Jane was a little dazed at what was available in the art supplies store. Thea and the department manager explained what had already been bought, and there was very little more that Jane needed. There were a few unusual kinds of brushes she was eager to try, and a few more colors, and they were off to lunch, and then home again.

Thea came in to meet Mr Jones, carefully hiding her reluctance. Being a recluse was a habit hard to give up. Mr Jones was overwhelmed, but managed to charm her anyway with his shy manner and courtly speech. Ms Underwood simply had to stay for a cup of tea, after which she managed to escape, having stolen a hug from each of the girls.

"She's going home and sending the car back," Angela reported, rolling her eyes. "I wish we had a car; it's so embarrassing!"

"We can easily take the train," said Jane, frowning. She was aware of the tension between the Twins and Thea, though sometimes she thought she saw Thea look almost avaricious as she glanced at the girls. _Thea should date a model,_ Jane thought. But then, few of them were concerned with more than just clothes. (When the subject came up, as it invariably did, when photographers and models got together off duty, models always responded with the opinion that there was a lot more to clothes than people imagined. It made Jane deeply sorry for them.)

It took Jane several days to plan how she would attack the enormous canvas. Her training had not prepared her for anything close to a project of this difficulty, and she had to both think long and hard about what she would do, not knowing any better, and also to read. Luckily there were a couple of books in the library they went to which explained the basics of how such large portraits were painted, enough for Jane to fill in the gaps. There really were a few ideas that she would never have stumbled on herself.

Jane did several studies on paper, especially of the faces of the girls, learning the curves, and how their hair lay; and of their hands. She was very serious about how she painted hands and feet, and she simply had to get them right. She now needed a large-format printer, for all the printing she needed to do; both to get a life-sized detail from her photograph, as well as to print the several family portraits she had shot.

Finally, by the end of the week, she told the others she was ready to begin. They were flying the following Monday, and time was short. Everybody was chased off while she painted. She was resigned to making lots of mistakes, and she wanted no witnesses.

As she had expected, she had a terrible time painting the grey drapes against which she had shot the portrait. Over and over she tried, until by dinner time, the drapes were finally satisfactory. But it had taught her a lot about how to approach the problem. She finished most of the floor in a few minutes, and began laying out the figures. Just as she ran out of energy, Thea appeared, as if by magic.

Thea had dressed simply, in a lambswool sweater and skirt. She walked up to the canvas, asking permission with a look. It was shocking disappointment, despite her experiences with the two portraits which Jane had done of her earlier, which had also looked rather unpromising after the first day. Jane looked rather bemused, and she quickly schooled her expression to show a little satisfaction.

"Where are the Twins?" Jane asked. It was the first time Thea's guess had been confirmed that they were not just sisters.

"They went down to the river," she said. "It's still a little light."

"Well ..."

"They're staying to dinner, it's been settled."

"But Mrs Swanson ...."

"Who's that?"

"Their cook; she was going to make something special tonight!" Jane frowned. "You didn't check with Gillian and Angela, did you!"

"No, I ... I just called the house, and spoke to Mr Jones!"

Jane insisted on calling, and learned that Mrs Swanson had, indeed prepared a special meal, but it was quite all right.

"I think I can persuade Ms Underwood to let us go," Jane told David Jones, as Thea nodded slowly, her breast rising in a disappointed sigh.

"Actually, let me speak to her, if I may; I wonder whether she'd like to join us? It was an excellent effort!"

"Mr Jones would like to speak to you," said Jane, smiling.

"Hello, Mr Jones, this is Thea! It appears I've overstepped my bounds!"

"Oh, not at all! But I should have asked: would you like to join us? We seldom have the privilege of entertaining Gillian's friends! There's plenty of food, though it's rather simple fare!"

Thea could not resist agreeing to come. She talked a little more with David Jones, and hung up.

"I keep making stupid mistakes," she said. "Why don't I ever learn?"

Jane quickly put her arms around her, and squeezed her tight.

"Why don't you find someone to love you ... and tell you that mistakes are okay? What you do is trickle out your—your love to a dozen girls a year, and get none of it back! How can you _live_ like this?" Every year, Jane was discovering that brief love affairs were far less satisfactory than a relationship.

"I don't have a bra on," said Thea, softly.

Dinner was a far pleasanter meal than Thea could have ever imagined. She was seated between Jane and David Jones, facing the Twins across the table. She enjoyed the peculiar mix of innocence and wisdom that the girls threw back and forth, once they had relaxed. They were completely different in their own home than they were outside: relaxed, outgoing, and wonderful hosts. Even Jane seemed perfectly at home, a fact that Thea deeply resented. The sheer presence of Jane next to her, the occasional touch of her arm or hand, the sound of her voice, the gentle burr of her speech, it all made Thea relax and almost forget how much she needed to be in control, not to give in to the temptation of the homely atmosphere.

Jane was physically exhausted, despite the vivacity she had shown during dinner. Thea quickly took her leave, apologizing for leaving so soon after eating.

Saturday started early. Jane called Thea around six, apologizing profusely. The car was there in half an hour, and she was at work by a little after seven. The Twins had to finish up some visiting, and delivering the prints Jane had made on the new printer Thea had bought. Thea stayed away, knowing that she had the power to distract Jane after all.

Today, Jane actually painted the girls. She focused on getting their skin tone right, all the way down to the slight suggestion of blue veins on their arms and breasts. She depicted Gillian's breasts a little less full than they really were, and Angela's breasts exactly. That was done by mid-morning. Thea peeked around the doorway at the end of the hall, and Jane waved her away. Thea could hardly stand not to see it, but Jane had other worries on her mind than satisfying Thea's curiosity. Everything was forgotten, except the hands.

She had the image blown up on the computer screen, as well as the sketches of the hands she had done over the last several days, often in the nights, with Gillian fast asleep at her side. Angela invariably squeezed in in the mornings, so she had to make sure the sketches were out of danger before she fell asleep. But, during a painting, Jane could manage with very little sleep.

After fifteen minutes of work, Jane had to pace. The fine work actually hurt; she was so tense that the muscles in her hand could not help cramping after a while. The limited time she had was causing problems. One solution was to drink; a little beer or a vodka drink would be perfect, but she didn't want to ask.

"What do you want?" asked Thea, who had come up unnoticed.

"Do you have any beer?" Jane asked.

Thea had wine. It worked; suddenly the hands were done. Even in her drunkenness, Jane knew enough to look at the hands later more carefully; a lot of things looked a lot better than they were when you'd had a drink or two.

"Oh Jane ... it really is coming along!"

"I just finished the hands, see?"

"Yes. People have been noticing the hands."

"Oh, yeah?" Thea nodded. The portrait in the gallery had been attracting attention, both good and bad. The worse accusations had been that the style was too photographic, but other critics had said that the style was _not_ photographic in the least. There was a subtle surrealism, they said, that one could not quite put one's finger on.

"Break for a little food, Jane; something light, if you like. Fruit, or soup, or both?"

"Okay," said Jane with a smile.

It was late afternoon, by the time Jane had finished her soup. Thea watched her drag herself upright, and head off down to where the canvas was on its easel. She hadn't been told to go away, so she made herself invisible, and watched.

Jane got her computer set up, and pulled out sketches from a folder. She had rehearsed drawing the faces beforehand, at the house. With great economy, Jane laid out the faces on the canvas. Thea watched spellbound, as Jane drew the faces in, erasing here and there, changing a line, until the faces looked out, calmly in outline.

With a few swift strokes, the faces were all filled in, then, changing brushes, Jane began the painstaking process of smoothing out the complexions of the girls, and adding the detail that made the faces and their expressions leap out. This was the part that Thea had never seen. There was endless mixing of colors, then tiny, tiny, tiny strokes, with Jane standing awkwardly. After a while, she gave up, and laid her palette down.

"I didn't see you there!" Jane exclaimed, surprised.

"Do you mind?"

"I guess not," she said, a strange look in her eyes. Thea had learned not to worry about being defensive with Jane. There was not an ounce of aggressiveness in her. Finally, here was a girl she respected, but whom she also completely trusted. "I get all tight, squinching down like that," she said, showing how she 'squinched.'

Without a word, Thea went to stand behind her, and massage her shoulders. Thea was hardly strong enough for the job—massage took great strength of both arm and fingers. But her very touch made Jane sigh with pleasure. Jane sat, making it easier for Thea. After much pounding, Thea succeeded in loosening up the knots that she most wanted to.

Then it was back to the hardest things: eyes and lips. Thea found a high stool, at Jane's request. Suddenly, the faces were both done, and Thea regarded them bemused, as Jane laughed. "I'll do the hair next," she said; "I was going to do them last, but the faces look more reasonable with the hair on!"

By eight, the painting was done. The Twins were watching while the last few brush strokes finished up their gowns, draped almost exactly as they were in the photograph. Jane had shamelessly improved both of them, from their posture to the draping of the gowns, to the tidiness of their hair. But the improvements were minute, too minute for the girls themselves to notice.

Thea hurried in from some inner region of the house. "I've arranged a little surprise," she said, smiling impishly.

"Something nice?" asked Angela, still looking a little dazed. The painting had frightened her with its startling faithfulness.

"Wait and see!" said Thea, as her butler brought in a pizza.

"Oh, _pizza!_ To celebrate!" exclaimed Angie, as Gillian surreptitiously licked her lips, her eyes bright. Gillian loved pizza, but rarely allowed herself to eat it. Over Christmas she had put on a little weight, and Jane grinned, knowing the fight that was going on inside her.

They ate right there in the room in which Jane had been working. It still smelled of paint, despite the aggressive ventilation system that Thea had set up to exhaust the fumes. At a distance, the painting was even more impressive, turned to face the middle of the room.

Jane had just told the others that they could argue over who owned the painting, but they told her, quite correctly, that it was her duty to establish that. The Twins insisted that Thea should have it, and that they would be satisfied with a good copy. Thea laughed, saying it made absolutely no sense for her to own it. But then, there was no room in the Jones home for it, which was the logical place for it. "It really is enormous," the Twins said, trying not to look at Thea too reproachfully.

"Mr Grimes, Ma'am," announced the Butler, cheerily, ushering in a casually dressed middle-aged man, followed by a rather short woman who smiled at everyone, looking about with interest. Thea rose to her feet with a gracious smile.

With a murmured word to her Butler to bring in some wine, Thea turned to her new visitors.

"Which one is the artist?" he asked in a rather rasping voice, but with a pleasant smile.

"Jane, this is Dr Kenneth Grimes, an old friend, and a well-known portrait artist, and this is Cecily Brown, his wife! Kenneth, Jane Schultz, a friend from New York. Jane, he's already seen the portrait in the Gallery! And this is Gillian and that's Angela Jones!"

"How d'yo do!" said Grimes, bowing briefly to the Twins, and advanced towards Jane, his hand outstretched. "Good to finally meet you! I like your work very much, young lady." He looked about the room, and nodded; "Good, you've cleared away all the, er, impedimenta, as it were!"

"Yes, Kenneth, I know how you hate paint _and_ computers!" Thea laughed. She was being very gracious, but Jane got the impression that they were _not_ close. Thea went over to the other visitor, and they greeted each other in a friendly way, speaking inaudibly.

Kenneth Grimes walked slowly towards the painting, and stood watching it for a long time, walking closer and closer, until he was inches from it, scratching the whiskers on his face all the time. Jane watched, her heart in her mouth. No one had ever studied a painting of hers so closely in her presence. The man noticed _everything_ , every detail that would normally be ignored by anyone, details that would nevertheless have affected the look of the painting.

"You haven't signed it!" he said at last, turning to smile at Jane, his face relaxed in a smile.

"No, sir," she said, feeling shy and embarrassed. "I will, in a bit!"

Grimes turned back to the painting.

"In a bit!" he laughed. "Some of our speech habits have rubbed off on you, have they?"

"I guess!" said Jane, making them all laugh.

"Well, enough, Kenneth, tell us that it's a brilliant piece of work!" insisted Thea.

Kenneth turned to Jane, grinning.

"Where did you learn to paint?" he asked her, not at all threatening, but she knew it was not an idle question. She explained that she had gone to college for a couple of years, but had dropped out without a degree.

He shook his head, turning back to the painting. "Nobody can teach you anything now, Jane... and a good thing, too." He turned to look at Thea and his wife, who waited for his verdict. The Twins could tell that the woman liked the painting very much, and that she knew about such things.

He launched into a complicated explanation about the balance between technique and style, and finally said that all Jane needed to do was paint more and more. "Your eye for face and figure completely transcends your technique, you understand? Ultimately, the eye is everything! And you've got one of the most amazing eyes to come along in ... in a long while. Look at the hair!" They all nodded, while the Twins blushed, holding onto Jane from either side.

After they had left, much later, having looked at the painting for a little more than an hour, with additional lamps brought in, Thea told the others that he was an influential man, and a trustee of several art museums in London and New York. It was he, who having seen Thea's portrait in New York, had insisted on having it insured so high. It might not be that valuable, but, he had said, they dared not insure it for less, especially for such a young artist.

The question of who would get to keep the work was now moot. It would be hung in whichever of the leading British galleries would bid the highest, both for the importance of the subject—though fashion models were not usually considered important subjects—as well as the intrinsic value of the painting. His parting words were that Jane should paint a self-portrait. In spite of his unbearably harsh voice, Jane thought she really liked him. He put on no airs whatever, and when Thea said that he had professorships at a number of famous universities, she was not surprised at all.

Sunday was spent quietly, packing and tidying the house, and taking gift certificates to Mrs Swanson's children, who, the Twins' father was sure, were very intelligent and good. They made one final trip out to Thea Underwood's home, so that David Jones could see the painting which Jane had finally gifted to him. He was stunned by it, shaking his head. Jane, in her heart, knew she had actually painted it for the Twins and for Thea, but it was impossible to give it to them. They would have to be satisfied with good prints. Jane had signed the painting under Kenneth Grimes's watchful eye, with the date below.

The return flight to the US was complicated. The flight had been overbooked, and there were only two seats; one of them would have to fly later. The Twins asked immediately whether they could fly together if they waited, but _all_ the flights were overbooked, and they could only fly with two seats together, at most. In the end, they decided that the Twins would sit together, and Jane would sit by herself; it was the only fair way, because the Twins had very strong ideas about doing what was fair by each other. In addition, Angela was returning on a work visa, and she wanted no risk of having to face immigration without her sister by her side.

At last, Jane kissed the Twins goodbye, and went in through the doors.

Jane waited at the airport in NYC for nearly four hours before the flight on which the Twins were on landed. She was watching for Gillian and Angela at the gate, and she was so pleased to see them, she was almost in tears. The Twins looked upset as well; Jane could hardly bear to hear everything that must have gone wrong after they had parted.

After a lot of hugging, with people recognizing Gillian everywhere, they got their baggage—all mercifully safe—and got in line for immigration. The immigration employee was polite to the sisters, and Angela breathed a sigh of relief. Without a specific offer of employment in the US, it had been difficult to get a visa. In the end, Angela had been allowed in as a personal assistant to Gillian, who evidently earned enough for that to work.

Even in the sheltered sidewalk where they caught a taxi home it was freezing cold. They stumbled into the house at West Chestnut in the wee hours of the morning, exhausted. None of them had been able to sleep, for different reasons, and the house was freezing cold. Jane adjusted the temperature to a cosy 68 degrees, and they all got into bed together, and went straight to sleep.

# Back at West Chestnut

Life resumed slowly. Jane was called out as soon as she reported in, and Gillian a day or two later. Angela's legs were losing their stiffness fast; she was now working out diligently and carefully, and was able to go up the shallower stairs at Chestnut much more easily than she had at home. They called and talked to Mr Jones, and were told that Thea Underwood had called.

"Hmm!" said Angela, while Gillian was still thinking it over. Jane was not surprised. But evidently the Twins were not at all sure that Thea Underwood was the right woman for their father.

The three of them went out grocery shopping, to stock up their larder. There had been snow for more than a week, and it was all melted and grey and slushy, and the Twins hated it with a passion. The fact that all three of them went together said how much they were anxious that Jane should not feel as if she was just a housekeeper for them. Jane felt the same way about Angela, since, not having work, it was easy to make her the maid.

Still, Angela was taking responsibility for housekeeping. She kept track of the supplies, using a simple method based on paper on the refrigerator door, and often made quick trips by herself to stores near the house if she thought it was necessary. (She tried, with some success, to wean herself from watching television all day long, since she knew Jane detested hearing the television running, and would not allow it to be on if no one was watching it, a habit Angela had fallen into.)

It was a miserable walk to one supermarket, and a miserable ride to the better one. They were going to the closer of the two. The mood at the supermarket usually reflected the mood of a definite sector of the city population. When times were bad, there were arguments and whining throughout the store, among the customers but also among the workers. In good times, people were cheery and friendly. Angela was lucky, since everyone was nice to her—perhaps it was the red hair, they speculated. She knew lots of workers and regular customers by sight, and they all knew her as Angie.

It was a bad time. Faces were glum, and the supermarket was clearly low on help. The shift manager was standing near the door, and managed a smile for Angie and her friends.

"Hey Angie, how's about bagging for an hour or two? Give ya $10 an hour, and some free groceries!"

Angie gave him a smile.

"I'd love to, but you know I'm not on a work visa, Greg! Oh, wait!"

"What?"

"I have a green card!"

"Great! Legal help! That's a change! You're up for it?"

"Oh, sure!"

While Jane and Gillian shopped, Angela cheerfully bagged. The line was long, and Jane wished she could offer to run a second line, but of course that wasn't as easy as offering to bag. Besides, she had to report for work at noon. They picked up as much as they could before going back to Angie for the shopping list.

Angie soon had the hang of it, and could easily study the customers while she paid minimal attention to the bagging. The manager himself opened a second line. Angie saw a clearly foreign couple in line, a handsome young fellow with a natty little beard and mustache, and his very pregnant wife, both in middle-eastern costume. It took a lot of courage to go about dressed like that, but now, a few years after 9/11, already the resilient citizens of the City had accepted Muslims among them once again. It had been very bad, Angie had heard, right after the attack on the Towers.

Angie caught the eye of the girl, and they exchanged a smile. It pleased Angie to make friends with an Arab girl. She had thought things over, and had come to the conclusion that it didn't make sense to condemn entire nations; there were always the good and the innocent among all peoples. So though she knew nothing of the politics of the matter, she was firmly resolved that as far as she was concerned, the little arab woman was going to be a friend until she gave cause for Angie to think otherwise.

They exchanged smiles for a minute or more, while the line slowly shrank, and the couple were at the register. They had scarcely ten dollars worth of groceries chosen, and Angie was moved to pity.

"I'll pay for that," she told the clerk, who looked at the manager.

"What's up?" asked the manager, seeing everyone staring at him.

"She wants to pay for these people's stuff," he said, quite uninterested. Angie was looking frantically for Jane and Jill, who had the money.

"Okay," said the Manager, and passed over a card, which the clerk swiped and handed back. So simply it was done, and Angie wondered how it had happened. As she bagged the few purchases of the stunned young couple who held out a bedraggled $20 bill which no one seemed interested in, the manager explained that he would deduct it from Angela's account, which he hadn't quite set up yet.

Angie gently moved the couple out of the way, and handed them their groceries neatly bagged. "It's yours," she said, "for the baby!"

That set off a spate of discussion between husband and wife, with the girl blushing furiously. Angie resumed bagging, splitting her attention between her work, the couple's frustrated attempts at communicating with her, and the sad attempts of the $20 bill to stay intact, despite additional onslaughts on its integrity.

"I can't understand what you're saying," Angie said, making eye contact, while keeping the bagging going, "But talk to my sister, over there, she'll explain!"

The couple was hustled out of the way by Angie herself, at the manager's insistence. His grin told her that he only wanted an efficient checkout; Angie could deal with her new friends at her leisure. Luckily, Jane and Gillian saw the tail end of the little incident, and took over.

The couple was evidently from Iran, one of the few words they clearly got. The baby was due in February, and the girl's name was Sherrine. Beyond that they could understand nothing.

"She's a little small, isn't she, for eight months?"

"They probably don't eat well," Jane said, eying the girl. She wasn't that small a woman, and the kid should have been proportionately sized. Jane was touched by the helpless expressions of the couple.

"Anyway," she said "you're welcome to the food! Angela has paid for it!"

The couple nodded, smiling shyly, and gestured to them, pointing towards the door, and miming leaving. Gillian assumed that they were taking their leave, and nodded graciously. "Good luck with the baby," she said gravely, and the girl nodded, as if she understood. The couple made their way to the exit, the girl pulling her hood over her head. Gillian shook her head; with the wind chill, it was almost down to thirty outside.

Angela said she would stay the morning, and Jane and Gillian paid for their groceries a few minutes later, and headed outside. To their horror, they found the Iranian couple waiting for them outside. The man bowed and began to talk to them rapidly.

"What does he want?" the girls asked each other, getting alarmed. But the young fellow indicated that they should walk ahead, and mimed that they were cold. He was grinning, so they assumed it was not too cold for him.

"Are you coming home with us?" Jane asked, alarmed.

"No, no, not home," he said, pointing at the girls, "Home," he said, pointing at himself and his wife. He wanted the girls to come home with them.

Jane and Gillian had to be ready to be picked up at noon, and it was past eleven. There was no time to go visiting! While they continued to argue with absolutely no chance of any resolution, they walked along at a furious pace, fortunately in the direction the girls wanted to go anyway. Suddenly the couple stopped, and opened a door into an apartment building. Despite non-stop refusal by both Jane and Gillian, they were conducted into a little first-floor apartment consisting of a single room and a private bath. "Home!" said the young fellow triumphantly, as if he were ET.

Jane and Gillian were served sweets, which was all they had in the apartment, and then the girl pounced on the groceries Angela had bought for them, and was about to pour them glasses of milk.

"No, no, that's for you!" said Jane, now getting angry. "We have to work at twelve!"

Somehow that got through. Jane hugged the girl, and the two of them hurried outside, waving farewell, and ran home as fast as they could. Luckily, the taxi was late, too, and so they made it to work without too much fuss. They were very annoyed with Angela that night, who laughed heartily when they told her the story. She, too, had been waylaid by the couple, and forced to eat sweets, but she too had put her foot down at the milk. She guessed that the couple thought that all three girls couldn't stand milk.

One day Isabella had come in, to wish them a New Year, and finding everyone gone but Angela, she had shown Angela how to get on the Scorpia site, and keep track of what was going on.

"Don't look here, and here," she said, grinning at Angela, "it is yucky things that are old and useless. But here, and here, you look; if there is something new, tell me or Jane."

"What do you mean, something new?"

"Oh, okay; this is the mail program, ok? Click on this one .... like that, and, see?"

"Oh, just like Hotmail, or something!"

"Yes! And you can see the dates here, and you can see, Jane has not looked here, and ... look, this is new; this is ..."

Isabella looked worried. "Shall I look?"

"Is it private?"

"It is for Scorpia ..."

The problem was that Isabella didn't want to expose Angela to the seamiest aspects of the internet. Scorpia often got some rather filthy mail which had to be taken seriously, from important people in the business who simply had never learned to write a decent message.

"Angela, I think I should do this. I think of a way that you can help, ok?"

"You could read this mail at home, couldn't you?"

"If I had the password. I must ask Jane."

"Why doesn't it need a password here?"

The reason, of course, was that the computer had been set to fill in the password by itself. Isabella had learned a lot about computers because of Scorpia, but she hadn't learned _everything_.

As it happened, there was an invitation from a well-known porn star for Scorpia to make a sex video with her. Isabella read it through several times, and wondered what to do.

Generally, Scorpia had a blanket policy of no porn videos. She hosted erotic images on her site, but that was about the limit of what she would do. There had been occasions when Scorpia had indulged in things that were preposterous in their 'badness', but Isabella wondered how Jane would react to this one.

When Jane got home, Angela alerted her to the supposedly exciting e-mail that awaited her in the Scorpia mailbox. "And Isabella says she'll check the Scorpia e-mail if you give her the password. But she didn't know what to do with that one, there."

_That one, there,_ was an invitation to Scorpia to make a movie with one of the best known porn stars in the business, Lisa Love. This woman was stunningly beautiful, but she was an interesting anomaly in the porn world in several ways. Firstly, she had never had implants; secondly, there was absolutely no controversy about her in the gossip press, she had never bleached her hair, and she was never quoted as saying a single vicious thing. She was a veritable saint of the adult entertainment business, except for her stated intention of having sex with every beautiful woman alive. Her standards were quite high; and most of the big silicone-inflated, dirty-talking porn stars did not qualify.

Scorpia was rather a different case. She had been known to indulge in sex-talk on occasions, but never gratuitously. And everyone knew that Scorpia had sworn off hardcore sex. But what Lisa Love was suggesting was a fascinating idea: to make a movie with hardly any explicit sex at all.

Lisa herself was writing; that much was very clear.

_You probably don't know this,_ (she wrote,) _but I have never made a sex video, for the simple reason that they're so fake! I want this one to be different. I want it to be made like a cross between an R-rated movie, and a music video. I'd like it to be both tender and kinky, romantic and hardcore, visually satisfying and natural, as natural as possible given that we're going to be almost fully dressed. I know you don't show your tits, except that one time when you wore a glass bra, but I'm up for bare breasts. I'll stop there, but I think we have enough ideas for a 20-minute to a half-hour video._

"What's it about?" asked Angela.

Jane took a deep breath.

"It's an idea to make a sex video," she said. Gillian had got herself a plate of spaghetti, and came to listen.

Jane explained what the woman was asking, and then waited for comments. "Angela, I haven't told you, but at one time ... I was involved with nude photography and a certain amount of sexploitation. I've slowly got out of the business."

Angela looked stern.

"Sex pictures on the web?" she asked.

"Yes," said Jane grimly.

"Poor, underpaid girls?"

Jane shrugged. "A few hundreds an hour, but I think the websites made several times that."

"What did _you_ make?"

"I cleared a couple of thousands a month."

"But that would have just covered your living expenses!" Jane nodded.

"I'm glad you got out of it," said Angela, firmly. Gillian nodded. "At least, now, you earn your living without exploitation," she added.

Later, Jane showed Angela the e-mail, which she read without a comment. Jane was sad for the lost opportunity, but she was more concerned about Angela's comfort level about the project.

She replied to the e-mail after she had 'put the Twins to bed,' and promised Gillian she would be right up.

Lisa,

Thanks for the message. I really love the idea. But as you know, I'm not in the mainstream of the sex industry, and I'm submitting to pressure from my very determined immediate family. If I have the chance to sneak off and do it on the sly, I'll let you know!

Love and admiration,

Scorpia.

Jane sighed. Lisa Love was someone Jane had always wanted to meet. She was as sensuous as Thea Underwood, but was middle class American in contrast to British. She was reputed to be highly intelligent, if you could trust the opinion of reporters on the porn scene, who considered Scorpia to be a genius. Jane had laughed to herself when she read the entry on Scorpia in _Who's Who in Porn:_

"Scorpia, who hit the Metal scene like an earthquake in the summer of 2000, is a 5' 10" powerhouse of a smart-talking, whip-toting, cool-dressing domina. Scorpia is a fixture at all Metal events, fearlessly tongue-lashing hypocrites in the porn establishment and the government alike. She considers herself an extreme liberal, and is a cult figure on college campuses around the country. Scorpia's fans admire her most, after her outspokenness and intelligence, for her dancing talent, and for her fashion sense. While the exact identity of the masked enigma is still unknown, she is suspected variously to be a showgirl from Las Vegas, a transsexual, and a retired Olympic figure-skater. Scorpia maintains a web presence at Scorpia.com, where she can be reached by e-mail. Her IQ is estimated to be 180, the highest of anyone in the sex business."

Of course, while every porn star's current vital statistics were provided, allowing for plastic surgery that could be occurring at any given moment, Scorpia's was quite unavailable, since she had neither a press officer, and nor was her data was reported on her website, not to mention the fact that she had been three different women, at different times. (Indeed, Jane did not quite know what her measurements were, off the top of her head.)

# Sherrine and Omar

On their way to the supermarket on their next visit, this time in better weather, the three friends ran into their Iranian friends. The girl looked even less healthy than before, but even more pleased to see the girls. After they had all shaken hands with the boy, who looked to be about twenty-five, and hugged the girl, who seemed to be about nineteen, they were subjected to even more awkward attempts at conversation. While Jane bravely tried to communicate using a mixture of mime and speaking slowly, the Twins talked to each other.

"I'm not sure she's being seen regularly," said Angela to Gillian.

"Who do we know who speaks Arabic?"

"Not Arabic, Persian!" said Jane, overhearing. The couple nodded, saying it was Persian that they spoke.

That morning they had more time.

"This time, you're coming with us!" said Jane to the couple.

"Home?" asked the girl, pointing at Jane and smiling.

"Yes, home! Would you like some tea?"

"Tea?" The girl turned to her husband and asked what tea meant, and he grinned eagerly, and expressed willingness to come to tea.

"Later we can all go to the store together, in a taxi," said Angela to the girl. They quickly quashed the girl's suggestion that they stop at their apartment to pick up some sweets. She was a fun-loving thing, willing to laugh at anything. And she had the loveliest smile and laugh, and beautiful teeth.

They caught a taxi home, to save time, and meanwhile Jane called Gabe.

"It's Jane."

"Hi, sweetheart! You're lucky, you caught me on a little break!"

"Gabe, do you know a doctor who speaks Persian?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You do? Gabe, we have an Iranian couple here, the girl's pregnant, and I don't think she's being seen!"

"Hmm," he said. "What you need is a lady doctor. An Iranian lady doctor ... Try the yellow pages. Let me ask around; I'll call you back."

It seemed the obvious thing to do, but once they got home and got the girl comfortable and tried to look up the yellow pages, they realized that, of course, doctors were classified by specialty, not by nationality. While Jane waited for Gabe to call back, the Twins decided to try Thea in London. Gabe reported back that he could get an Iranian male doctor to come by in the evening around 6, but he could not find a woman. "The guy is busy, so I can't talk to him. But I left him a message to call me, and I think I can bring him along."

"Thanks, Gabe!" said Jane.

Meanwhile, Thea had delivered. All the way from London, Thea had contacted an Iranian lady doctor, who called them up from her office.

"Hello, this is Dr Mona Sharif, and I speak Farsi—is this the number of Jane Schultz?"

"Oh, yes, doctor! My name is Gillian Jones, and we've made friends with this Iranian couple, and she appears to be very pregnant, but of course we can't speak the language!"

"I see. What seems to be the trouble?"

"Could you please talk to her, and see if she needs to have a checkup? I know there are monthly checkups and weekly checkups and so forth, but of course we don't know enough to be able to say how far along she is!"

"Let me talk to her," said the doctor.

It was a bit awkward, since the husband wanted to talk. The girls said it was women's business, and gave the phone to Sherrine.

It was fascinating to watch Sherrine talking on the phone, occasionally glancing at her husband. Her expression was serious after a while, and she nodded, as if agreeing to instructions. A long time afterwards, she handed the phone to her husband, who had a brief conversation with the doctor, and then handed the phone to Angela.

"Hello, who is this?"

"This is Angela Jones, doctor! What can you tell us?"

The man had come over to work for a wealthy Iranian businessman, but for various reasons, the business had folded, and the couple were in dire straits. They could not afford heating. They were down to their absolute last $20 dollars, and Angela had given them the free groceries just in time to give them an extra week.

"If you girls would somehow give them a little money, I'll see that you get it back. They need $500 for rent and heat, they tell me. That is a lot of money, I know! And also, they should be taken to a doctor fairly soon, I would say before the end of the week. I don't know how you'll get an appointment that quickly, though!"

"Can you, yourself, see her, please?"

"I'm calling from London! I'm sorry, I should have made that clear!"

"Oh, of course! We'll certainly give them the money, and work on the other thing!"

"Thank you so much for looking after them! They are very grateful, and _I_ am very grateful! Thank you! I will check back, if I have a little time!"

Angela thanked her, and looked at the others, baffled. "She has to be seen before the end of the week!"

Jane bit her lip. An additional burden of $500 a month was more than she had the courage to take on. It made sense to do it until the girl delivered the baby, after which they could probably rough it a little. The girl seemed exhausted with the effort of trying to talk, and nourish the baby.

Meanwhile, Angela was bravely learning Farsi. She already knew the words for baby, doctor, money, and food. Gillian had parked the man in front of the television, so that he did not have to deal with four women at once, and Jane was putting together a meal out of whatever they had in the house, which was not much.

She needn't have worried. The Iranians could hardly contain their hunger, and Jane understood just how starved they were, literally. The man clearly had starved himself to keep his young wife fed. They were really just kids, and getting pregnant was obviously a very bad move. But Jane had learned that such decisions were not made in the same intellectual environment as that in which Jane would have made them!

It was pure pleasure to see Sherrine come to life. Jane wondered whether it would be too much of an invasion of privacy to offer the girl a bath later that day. It was probably not easy to bathe in their tiny apartment.

Jane cut up a lot of vegetable remnants that had not got eaten, and made a dip, and set it out, for them to eat as needed. Then they split the group, leaving Angela behind with Sherrine, and taking Gillian and the man with her, to settle the rent and utilities, and pick up the groceries.

Stopping by the apartment, Jane wrote a check to the building manager for the rent and utilities, already overdue for January, as well as the money for February. She would keep paying, she thought, until something came along. Looking into the little bathroom, Jane decided that it had hardly been used for showers; clearly the man washed himself at the sink, and so did the girl, as well as she was able. She pointed to the shower, asking whether they used it. The clear reply was that the water was too cold.

"How do you cook?" Jane demanded, frowning.

"Oh, they seem to have a little propane stove, look!"

Jane groaned as they headed out to the supermarket. She was learning far more about foreigners than anyone in her family must ever have learned. And she was learning that all sorts of odd things cropped up, making the tiniest little details into enormous problems.

"Let's buy supplies for both homes," she said to Omar, as the man's name turned out to be, without any hope of being understood. But he had clearly gotten to accept Jane as the leader of the little group, which meant that he didn't argue with her all the time.

Once they got into the supermarket and had been going round the shelves for a few minutes, Omar shyly began suggesting things. "I think these are things that Sherrine likes," said Gillian blushing. "They have cravings, don't they, at least I've read that much."

"I bet she's been asking for them, and he hasn't been able to supply them!"

"Yes, ice cream would qualify as a luxury..."

"God, she probably needs calcium."

"Lemons?" Gillian asked, shrugging, as Omar insisted. "And peppers, and bananas ... and whatever this stuff is ..."

"Just get it," said Jane, laughing, "she'll know how to fix it!"

It was an enormous pile of things, and Omar was so embarrassed, he stood far away, his face red. On their own initiative, the girls had also bought things they assumed the couple could use, such as bags of rice, a large gallon container of oil, and large packets of wheat flour and sugar.

They arrived at the house, just as Gabe and his doctor friend were leaving. They turned back, and stayed long enough for the Iranian doctor to harangue his young fellow-countryman for various errors that Jane could only guess at.

"Now don't go yelling at him," Jane chided. "He probably feels like a worm already!"

"I'm sorry," said the doctor, blushing, "it's a little embarrassing for me! So what have you got? I'm only an internist, but I can tell you if you've got the right nutrition ... oh, very good ... what is all this for?"

Jane explained that the man had selected the items: odd fruits and sweets. A few more words to the blushing couple revealed that Gillian's guess was right; in fact the doctor could interpret the cravings as a need for Calcium, Potassium and Vitamin C. The mineral deficiencies could be critical.

Once Gabe had been rewarded with a big kiss, and sent off with his friend, the girls put Omar back in front of the TV, and got to cooking. Sherrine was a wiz. She was not only a fund of Persian recipes, she was good at improvising with the supplies and equipment they had. Angela and she were beginning to talk a little, with Jane joining in. Meanwhile, the telephone was ringing off the hook, and Gillian was doing phone duty.

"Florida, Jamaica, Atlantic City, and Rome."

" _Rome?_ "

"Yes, next Tuesday; I'll take you if you want to go!"

"No, she can't, she's got to stay with me and look after _you-know-who._ "

"Angie, you can't decide things for Jane!" objected Gillian.

"Jane, it's a complete waste of time! There's bound to be a perfectly good Italian girl who can do the job!" Angie insisted.

"She has a point, Jill," said Jane.

"You could also learn a lot watching an Italian professional at work!"

"I'm going to decide later," said Jane, preoccupied with her present problems.

"Problem?" asked Sherrine, one of the few words she had picked up on her own.

"Oh, no; no problem! How's everything coming along?" asked Angela. Everything was ready.

It was a feast. Everyone enjoyed the food, most of all, Sherrine herself. In addition, her hair shone, with the care Angela had lavished on it. While she was bathing Sherrine had been nervous, but once she had begun to feel truly clean, with Angela helping to dry her off, and with a nice big white towel wrapped around her beautiful hair, Sherrine had finally relaxed and allowed herself to feel the pleasure. Angela had trimmed her nails, and done the little things for her that Omar had not known to do, and Sherrine had dared not bother him with. Things had been as hard on him as on her, since she, at least, had a little pile of fabric, which she was using to sew little tunics for the baby. Omar had simply sat on the steps of the building, annoying all the other tenants.

Then Joanna called. Jane's sister was impatient with her for not coming to visit promptly.

"We have a young Iranian couple here," Jane said softly to her sister, "he's out of work, and she's eight months pregnant; it seems heartless to send them back to their cold apartment, sis; it's a mess, financially; their heat has been cut off, and they were on the brink of getting thrown out of their apartment..."

"Well, they're welcome for the weekend, if they'd like to come along," said Joanna. It was the only possible response, but Jane had been so out of touch with her family that she had not expected Joanna to extend her hospitality that way.

"Oh, thank you so much, sis! That's very nice of you!"

"No pork, I guess, huh?"

"Oh, right. No pork."

"We'll manage. Shall I leave it to you to get here, or do you need to be picked up?"

"We'll manage somehow," said Jane.

It wasn't hard to persuade Omar and Sherrine, since they couldn't talk, anyway. They packed up a lot of the special food Sherrine had made, mostly for herself, they knew, and headed out in a rented car. For the first time, the Twins were seeing Pennsylvania, and were exclaiming that the scenery was almost as beautiful as the lower Alps, especially with the covering of snow. The Iranian couple sat together, softly exclaiming over the sights they passed. Sherrine, especially had a lovely, low, expressive contralto. Jane thought it was sweet how the two clung together for mutual support.

It was still mid morning when they arrived, and were welcomed by Joanna and her husband Dave. As soon as Gillian was introduced, everyone knew who she was, despite Jane's hopes that they could be incognito.

Joanna's eldest, a handsome girl of about fourteen called Heidi, took Angela and the Iranian couple under her wing, leaving Jane and Gillian to bear the brunt of the family enthusiasm. Jane had dreaded that Gillian would find them utterly provincial and uninteresting, but Gillian surprised her by showing an interest in everything. Jane had also wondered whether her parents might subject Gillian to an inquisition. That, too, didn't happen. Since they stayed at Joanna's, which was a large modern farmhouse with lots of room, Jane's mother didn't have to worry about allocating space for the visitors.

"Thank you for looking after my baby!" said Jane's mother to Gillian and Angela, smiling, with her arm around Jane, who was rolling her eyes. Gillian laughed, saying she didn't know who was looking after whom.

The meals were quite mainstream rural USA: a lot of meat and potatoes, with cheese and winter vegetables simply and tastily prepared. There was a lot of fresh dairy produce from the family farms, and lots of handsome American guys to admire the Twins.

On Sunday, before they left, the visitors were taken out to the Jewish cemetery, and Jane sat hear Deanna's grave and laid flowers on it. Someone had left a photo of Deanna on it, and Jane began to softly weep. The Twins waited until Jane had cried herself out, while the Iranian couple and Heidi watched from a distance, not sure exactly whose grave it was, but clearly understanding that it was a Jewish cemetery, from the symbols. "Oh my beautiful, beautiful girl," Jane whispered, looking sorrowfully at the little photograph. It was a photo taken during lunch on their previous visit, right after Church. Jane stood up and turned to Gillian and Angela, and was taken in their arms, until she had calmed herself down. Angela looked at the grave, remembering it for Jane's sake. She knew about graves, and was ready to help Jane with this one.

"All her photos show her smiling," remarked Gillian, softly, as they walked over to Heidi and their friends.

"She was from California; oh, I loved her sister and her mother; such sunny people. She was Jewish, did I tell you?"

"Yes," they said.

Jane shrugged. "I don't know ... she smiled for photos. She smiled to make me happy. She always tried to make me happy, and there were times when that took a lot of work." They headed back home in silence.

At least, Omar and Sherrine were looking a lot better. Sherrine had put on a little weight almost instantly, her cheeks were fuller, and her color was good. And best of all, they had learned the name of a lady doctor who spoke Arabic, in which language Joanna's friends were almost certain Omar and his wife could manage. The woman was American, but Joanna's friend said she was marvelous, and a woman who understood middle-eastern women very well. Jane was eager to meet her.

On Monday, they took Sherrine to the lady doctor's office in New Jersey, not very far from where Stephanie lived. The doctor, already warned by Joanna, had made sure she was available. She was a big-boned woman, of Joanne's generation, with a friendly smile, already greying a little. She spoke to Sherrine in Arabic, and after a moment of startlement, Sherrine replied. It happened that she was moderately fluent in Arabic. She went into the doctor's office, and a little later Angela was sent for. Angela was becoming Sherrine's particular friend.

"Everything is fine," said the doctor, "but perhaps you intervened just in time. She needs a little drastic help if one of the tests comes in under the line. I'll call," she promised.

Jane did not go to Rome, but Gillian did, leaving the other two at home. Omar and Sherrine were eager to go home, now that they had heat again, and a hundred dollars they could spend. Jane could understand what it meant, because there had been times when she had no money at all until Jay walked in with a pitiful check for her.

# With Gillian Gone

The house seemed empty, with everyone gone except Jane and Angela.

"Would you like to come along to the store?" Angela asked, sensing Jane's mood after Gillian had been dropped off and they had returned home.

"What do we need? I thought we were pretty well stocked up?"

"No; I'm bagging again. I said I'd be late."

"Oh." Jane shrugged. "Okay." It seemed a good idea to get back on the payroll, so that she could join Angie whenever she had the time, and maybe get the Iranian couple groceries at a discount, as Angie was doing.

Jane was welcomed back at the supermarket. It wasn't the one where she had worked before, nor the same chain, but her experience counted somehow. She was immediately shown around the store, and put to work at a checkout line under the manager's supervision.

As always, Jane's eyes seemed to register every woman who came into the store, though she had it down to an art now, and the manager did not notice anything out of the usual. Mid afternoon, the traffic in the store increased, and Jane had to work faster. There were more frequent problems with wrong prices, careless shoppers who hadn't checked what they had put in their carts, as so on. Jane had become accustomed to listening carefully, so that there were fewer misunderstandings, despite the terrible speech habits of some of the customers. The manager was impressed, and gave Jane a promotion in rank, and a raise. Towards the end of the shift, the two girls were allowed to work together, because the manager liked Angela, and they were polite, and paid attention to the customers even while they talked to each other intermittently.

It was dark when they went off duty, and they had to ride a taxi home; Jane could not think of submitting Angela to the possibility of being mugged. After a quick supper of leftovers, the girls got into bed feeling thoroughly aroused and ready for sex. The two of them were sexually very compatible, and similar in their needs. They found the bed too unsupportive for the strenuous lovemaking they wanted, and so they spread a pad on the floor, a felt and fiber pad that Heather had owned. For the first time they could get as physical as they wanted.

It didn't mean that they weren't tender to each other in between; Angela was becoming just as tender and loving as Gillian, as she came to know Jane well, and came to know herself. The more they knew about each other, the more there seemed to be to learn about. It was an ever-fascinating process of discovery.

"I'm so proud Jill and I have you, Jane!"

"I'm so lucky that we met, too, sweetheart ... I was so lonely; if I was just a little different, I would have killed myself." She gazed into Angela's eyes, but then Jane's eyes de-focused, clearly seeing the desolation of her life before Gillian. "Life without love is hell, for me."

"Because Deanna was so important for you."

"Yes ... they all were."

"You're a girl of love and desire, aren't you, Jane?"

It was such an apt observation that Jane could only hold Angela tight and nod. It was Jane's greatest strength, as well as her greatest weakness. She could make so many happy, and fill herself with such great despair, too. She wondered how many women reached such heights of ecstasy as she did! There was joy in sexual pleasure, making love, joining with a woman physically and emotionally. It was a craving so strong that life without its fulfilment was worse than bleak, it was intolerable. She just _had_ to make love to Angela again, though they were both exhausted after a long day of work. With what seemed like her last ounce of strength, she brought Angela to a climax, and it felt as if they were both dying of love and pleasure.

"I always imagine being married, someday," whispered Angela, so close that their faces were just inches apart, and she just breathed the words. "But I never imagined loving someone so much! Jane! Oh, hold me tighter!"

It was a particularly intense time. Gillian called in the morning and talked to both of them. Angela took the phone into her room, and Jane knew that Gillian was being given an inkling of what was going on between Angela and Jane. Gillian encouraged them to go out and enjoy themselves. Go to the movies, or a concert, or go dancing, she said. A romantic soul herself, she must have felt that being together outside the home would be just as intense as making love all the time. So they went to a concert, all dressed up, and enjoyed the sheer pleasure of being seated next to someone who turned so many heads. They went dancing at a club they discovered that was exclusive, where the music was good, where no one minded if they danced together. Of course, they had to dress for dancing, and the dancing was taken seriously. There was one ballroom reserved for classic dances, in which the women wore fantastic dance costumes that would have driven anyone mad who wasn't accustomed to seeing them. Angela loved the place, and began to learn to dance all the harder dances.

They returned to that dance club again and again in those two weeks. It seemed to be the done thing to wear fabulous costumes for dancing there, and the two of them put some together, and were thoroughly pleased with themselves and the result. Jane was turning out to be a fabulous dancer. Soon, Angela thought, someone would notice Jane dancing, and make the connection with Scorpia. Luckily for them, they were not alone; as was to be expected, more than half of the couples dancing there could have advanced to the final rounds of a dancing competition anywhere in the world, and a half-dozen of them were couples of women.

The dancing, of course, served as foreplay for sex when they got home. They often had sex without eating supper. They were careful about taking off the expensive costumes first, though it was agony to be restrained enough to do so. But then it was down on the pad, and sex for a furious hour.

The Iranian couple was doing well. They kept in touch by the simple expedient of waiting on their doorstep to catch the girls as they went by to shop at the grocery store. They could see Angela and Jane coming from their window, and by now could guess on what days they worked and on what days they came shopping. Angela loved them, and delighted in giving them all the groceries they could use.

Despite what must have been a great temptation, Sherrine was careful in her diet, and gained weight steadily. Her breasts filled out nicely, and when they were taken in for a checkup the week following the first visit, the doctor did some tests, and said the baby would be coming out within a few days, probably within a week at the most. Sherrine's belly was enormous, but the doctor said the baby herself was not very large. And it was a girl. Arrangements were made for the delivery to be at a hospital in New Jersey, where the doctor worked.

Two days later, around eleven at night, Omar turned up at West Chestnut, and managed to convey that the baby was coming. A taxi was called for, and the four of them headed out to the hospital. Sherrine was having contractions, but Jane suspected that there was still time.

Angela and Omar took turns at Sherrine's side during labor. Omar was so exhausted, Jane took him down to the hospital cafeteria for some food and a cup of coffee, and the baby chose that time to make her bid to escape the increasingly inhospitable womb. They quickly gowned Angela, and the bewildered young Englishwoman was present when the tiny little Iranian-American was placed in her mother's arms.

"Oh she's so perfect!" Angela sang, almost as delighted as exhausted Sherrine. Sherrine hugged the baby to her breast, and kept her composure only long enough to thank Angela in Persian and in English, and then burst into tears of gratitude.

When Gillian returned home, Angela had moved in with the Iranian couple, a step that boggled her mind.

"She's taking care of all the germs, if that's what you're worried about," Jane said, laughing.

"But what if ... what if he ..."

Jane took a long breath and finally shrugged. It would be irresponsible to presume to guarantee to Gillian that Angela would be safe; after all, they did not know Omar that well.

"Sherrine is there; Angela wouldn't encourage him, and she has her phone. I'm hoping that's enough to keep her safe. Jill, she's done so much for them both, it would be the worst kind of ingratitude if he forces himself on her."

"And we know where they live, and I'm sure ..."

"Yes." _I'm sure we'd be believed by the police over Omar, even if we lied._

They simply _had_ to visit, both to see the baby and Sherrine, as well as to make sure Angela was safe. And Gillian wanted to know that the place was properly sanitary, despite all Jane's insistence that a certain level of germs in the environment was good. Jane remembered reading about such things back when she and Maria had been together; Maria had been a voracious reader, and had passed the habit onto Jane.

Omar was happy to see Gillian. He was all smiles as he led them inside, where the baby slept peacefully in a tiny little baby bed, while Sherrine slept in their bed, so fast asleep that nothing could wake her up.

"Was she up all night?"

" _Yes!_ " whispered Omar back, "All night, yes!" he nodded vehemently.

The room was spotless, there were clean drapes in the windows, the floor had been washed, and a spanking-new vacuum-cleaner was in the corner. Inside the little bath, all the fittings shone, and fresh towels were in the little linen closet, and a British-style diaper pail stood in the corner. Omar showed off the apartment with obvious pride, and said repeatedly, "Angela, Angela! Yes! Yes!"

Gillian went closer to admire the baby. She had a thick head of medium-brown hair, and her thumb firmly stuck in her mouth. She was a lovely pink, perfect in every detail.

"She looks like Sherrine," Gillian breathed, and saw Omar pointing at Sherrine with a wide grin.

"Look like! Look like!" he said.

Gillian smiled and silently shook his hand. He had one more thing to show her: a magazine from the previous August, with Gillian on the cover, modeling a stunning evening gown.

"Oh!" said Gillian, smiling at the magazine and up at him. "Yes, it's me," she admitted. He managed to ask for an autograph, using sign language alone, and Gillian obliged him.

They found Angela at the supermarket, assigned to shelving. The manager gave permission for a little visiting. The sisters hugged, and talked fast, in dialect, so that shoppers wondered what country they might be from. Jane could figure what they were saying some of the time, simply because she could guess most of it.

"Nice job cleanin' up," Gillian said.

"Took two days, but I go' it done," said Angela, "knew you'd be by, checkin' up!"

"Washing machine?"

"Why not? One of them front-loading combination jobs?"

"Do they have them here?"

"Bound to."

"Right, then, I'll see to it."

"Need anything?"

"Bread and milk," said Gillian.

"'Ere," said Angela, holding out her card.

"No, let's use mine," said Jane. "You have to use yours for the baby and Sherrine."

That first month set the pattern for the months that followed. Eventually, and with great difficulty, Omar got a Social Security card, and began working in the supermarket. He had to be persuaded to wear American clothes, which he vehemently resisted, but Jane bought him some conservative jeans and several flannel shirts, which he liked, and several changes of underwear and socks, and a waterproof jacket. They visited the couple in their apartment at least once a week, after Angela returned home.

While she was gone, Jane found her relationship with Gillian going through the same cycle of intensity. Gillian was rarely as physical as Angela, and begged Jane not to be rough with her. "I can't afford to bruise, you know that," she said gravely, when Jane had tried. But, soft and tender as their lovemaking was, it was nevertheless long and sustained, and emotionally intense.

Gillian questioned her closely about her relationship with Angela, though Jane knew it was not out of jealousy, and not out of ignorance, either, because the sisters talked about Jane constantly while Gillian was away. It was all part of their total relationship; the price they paid for it, and one way that Jane was able to satisfy both girls.

"I think of the future a lot, Jane ... what will happen to us?"

"Well, what do other models do?"

"Well ... acting, ... sponsoring products, fashion products, perfume, that sort of thing, ... sometimes they go into television, you know, marketing things, advertising, ... charity work, ... most of them get married and give up working."

"What would _you_ like to do?"

"I don't know!"

Jane loved talking to the Twins. They were so utterly affectionate, and so aware of Jane's needs, and endlessly attentive to her, more attentive than Jay had ever been, even when they thought they were madly in love. There was an honesty in the two girls that Jane loved, as much as she loved their deep love for each other. They loved that about Jane, too, that she understood how the Twins felt about each other, and accepted it completely. And Gillian could no more imagine planning out her life without consulting Jane than she could go out the door without clothes on. She would consult with Angela by and by, but the brainstorming had to be done with Jane. But she did not lay it in Jane's lap; she was fully involved.

"Whatever I do, I must get a degree," Gillian said, after some serious thinking. "I've thought about that on and off for more than a year."

"What would you do?"

"English, music, art ... one of those, I think."

"Not fashion?" Jane asked, surprised.

"Oh no. Not for a degree, I mean." She snorted. "You can't learn fashion like that. You could learn dress design, which is not the same thing, exactly. That's more about, you know, executing, in real fabrics what you have in your mind."

"Sounds interesting!"

"We should all do that, Isabella, too!"

They, too, went dancing. Gillian, of course, would have been recognized at once. But by the ploy of having her wear a red wig, they got around that problem. Gillian was a better dancer than Angela, simply because her legs worked better. She was a quick learner, too, and both twins had an excellent sense of rhythm, and great musicality. Jane was no slouch in the rhythm department, but did not have the natural memory for dance steps that the Twins seemed to have. Jane had to study hard and concentrate. But Jane's strength was that she had an intuitive picture in her mind of what her body was doing, almost like having a mirror all the time. All her angles were just perfect, simply from the feel of the tension in the muscles. Gillian was full of praise for this ability. As with Angela, Gillian loved to dance, and it was almost like sex, to hold Gillian in her arms, when she was all excited, and her heart was beating, and her face was shining with a smile that came more easily to Gillian now. And occasionally, when she was unbearably happy, she would kiss Jane, right on the dance floor, and blush furiously. It was something that Jane feared would disappear as they grew accustomed to each other, and settled into their relationship. But months later, it never did.

When the three of them went dancing, it was always hard. They alternated strictly, each one taking turn to sit a dance out, or dance with another partner. Once in a while, Thea Underwood visited, and the four of them went dancing together. It was easy for Thea to be unrecognized; despite her celebrity status, she looked rather generic, and she could make herself disappear. She loved to dance, and was a fair dancer, but she had never made a film in which dancing was a significant feature. Those were happy occasions, since the four of them could dance all the time.

During the long, hot summer, they watched baby Shiraz become a real person, with a personality and recognizable features. She had soon grown hair long enough to part, as early as three months later. They attended fireworks for July Fourth with the baby wearing ribbons in her hair. Sherrine, now beautifully slim, though full-breasted, gradually allowed herself to be dressed in American style, though she sternly refused to wear overly beautiful clothing. She could talk a little now, and she said she only needed to be beautiful for her Omar, and no one else. She clearly suspected that the three girls shared a very intimate relationship, and only the fact that she loved them so much prevented her from denouncing it. She constantly urged Angela to have her father arrange for her and her sister to meet suitable men. (Angela had explained that marriages were not arranged in their society.) Angela reported that Sherrine was concerned most of all about Jane, and thought that Gabe was a good choice. Jane had told Angela not to explain about non-traditional lifestyles, so Angela had to respond to Sherrine so vaguely that neither girl was satisfied. But, to Sherrine's credit, she was fiercely loyal to Angela and her friends, and very appreciative of all Angela's sterling qualities.

Having worked steadily through the summer, all three girls had saved up enough to take time off in the Fall to take evening classes at an open-enrollment university. They all took two courses, one in English composition, and the other in music, psychology, and art, respectively. Meanwhile, as they puzzled about how to invest their savings, Isabella reminded them that young Zsuszana had a minor in Investment. This fact had completely skipped Jane's mind; she barely remembered that the kid's majors were English and Philosophy, and that she was pursuing a career in law. Zsuszana took great interest in how the finances of Scorpia and her foundation were set up, and took over all their investment as soon as she understood it all, with guidance from Sasha, who had kept a loose eye on matters for the simple reason that he was a partner. Once they conferred with him, he was again motivated to take a more active interest, and when he learned who Zsuszana was, exactly, he was pleased that she would take over the investment responsibility, an area in which he had little or no expertise.

"At last I have real money to invest!" exclaimed Zsuszana, who was just about to get her license as an independent broker on Wall Street. For the first time, she saw how much money Jane had set aside for her and her mother, and was struck dumb at Jane's unbelievable generosity. Jane shrugged and was silent, her face expressionless. All she wanted to know was whether Zsuszana could do it. It was a sophisticated legal setup, involving a number of trusts, none of which Zsuszana had the power to interfere with. But the fund owned stock in a dozen companies, about half of which were doing well, and it seemed to be time to begin moving the assets into newer and more successful companies, as well as to invest the several hundred thousand they had presently uninvested, as well as to create tax shelters for them all, beyond the simple ones Sasha had set up. Gillian, in particular, needed one very badly.

With Zsuszana on the job, they could relax for the first time. They paid her for her time, and the kid set things up so that on paper it looked like an enormous amount, but most of it was what Jane had been channeling to her all along. "It looks good on my resume," Zsuszana said, grinning.

Then Jane received an offer as makeup artist for a movie. She was now being handled by Gillian's agent, a level-headed woman who really had the best interests of her clients at heart. Jane complained that she had little or no experience in the area, since movie make-up, as far as she knew, was a different art altogether.

"Two things. First, I want you to learn it. Second, they've asked for you specifically. People have been asking for you for film work for months, but now it's time to jump in. It's a bit of an interesting movie, you'll see!"

Gillian had been resigned to doing without Jane, so Jane was picked up and taken to the location, which was in Atlantic City. There, to her shock and dismay, she was introduced to Lisa Love.

"Hi! How are you?" asked the famous woman. "I've heard lots of good things about you!"

"Miss Love, I must tell you that I have no experience in movie work at all!"

"I know, but it's easy. They tell us what they want. Most of the time, its just the same as fashion makeup. Of course, theater, I believe, is different."

"Oh, of course!"

Lisa Love was, if anything, more beautiful in person than on the screen, even fully covered with a robe, and with no makeup on at all. She had lovely, vulnerable-looking dark grey eyes, and kissable lips. She simply had a perfect mouth, strong, expressive, sensuous, perfect.

"Ready? Here comes The Guy."

The Guy was the assistant director. He explained that Miss Love was going into a casino. The dress she would be wearing was revealing, so there must be absolutely no waterline, even under the floodlights. Jane looked overwhelmed, and Lisa and The Guy together reassured her that they'd cover for her if she messed up.

Jane decided to pretend it was a fashion shoot. Lisa's hair had already been done, and Jane got to work. Sheer habit enabled her to concentrate on the makeup, but every once in a while, Lisa's personal magnetism would sneak into her awareness, especially when she was doing her beautiful lips. They allowed her to use the make-up she had brought with her, the expensive stuff that she obtained, especially for Gillian. Lisa Love had a naturally exotic tan complexion, probably courtesy of native American ancestry, Jane thought, just as she herself had. She had to ask to see Lisa's breasts, to match the tone, only after which she had started.

When Jane was finished, Lisa got to her feet and dropped her robe. She looked stunning in her sexy dress with Jane's makeup, and she was pleased. She complimented Jane graciously, after which Jane followed her to the set, which was in one of the real casinos, and watched the shoot. All through the shoot, Jane was called upon to touch up her makeup, and when she was attending to her, Lisa often asked her to touch up her hair as well.

The scene was shot, as often was the case, in segments, some of which involved Lisa, others which involved other actors in other parts of the large casino. When Lisa was not on camera, she beckoned to Jane to come sit with her and watch. Most of the time she was interested in the take, but occasionally she found time to talk to Jane. Several times Jane was on the brink of forgetting that Lisa did not know that Jane was, in fact, Scorpia.

Lisa insisted that Jane join her for lunch. Jane readily agreed, assuming that they would eat the catered food on the set, but Lisa had other ideas.

"You'd better put on your shades," she warned.

"Where are we going?"

"Oh, I thought over there; I was told they have an excellent seafood salad!"

'Over there' was a little restaurant across the street, to get to which they would have to run the gamut of the paparazzi at the casino entrance. But this was Lisa Love! To have her picture taken with her was almost worth the trouble it might cause. When Lisa put her arm on Jane, it was impossible to resist. She was a slave to sex, and Lisa Love was sex personified. Jane went along.

The paparazzi followed them across to the restaurant, but were not allowed inside.

"Whew!" said Lisa, all breathless, once they had got their table. "Does this happen with your other clients?"

"No," Jane admitted, "not usually!"

"Thank you for joining me; I never do this usually!" She sat down and took a seat, graciously indicating a seat for Jane. She ordered, and Jane asked for the same. Lisa shook her head, blushing. "I might have caused you some trouble," she said, looking out the window at the paparazzi, who looked like a nest of stirred up hornets.

The seafood salad was good, though not so good as to put oneself to any serious exertion. "They were right; you have a talent," said Lisa, after they'd eaten. She had a healthy appetite, and Jane noticed that the salad was low in greasy dressing, something that might have made it attractive to Lisa. She had exquisite manners, and it turned Jane on to watch her eat and drink. Her mouth was a never-ending source of pleasure to anyone who watched.

"You're cute, too," said Lisa, her eyes twinkling in amusement.

"Was I so obvious?" Jane asked, laughing, feeling at ease.

"No, not at all; I just have ... an observant eye!"

Jane loved how Lisa's eyes danced around, checking out their fellow-diners. She noted how her eyes would immediately fly away from any men who seemed to be too interested. She never said anything, but Lisa Love clearly did not enjoy attention from men. Men, of course, constituted the vast majority of her fans.

Shooting continued after lunch, after they had managed to get back by using a back entrance, and walking around the block. There had been a couple of paparazzi at the back, too, but they had been detained by some restaurant personnel. The afternoon's shooting did have an interesting variation, in that it involved Lisa looking just a little dishevelled. All Jane knew, up to that point, was how to make someone look good. For their present purpose, Lisa had to be made up as if she had run some distance. Using a strong fan and a little water spray, with the help of The Guy, Jane managed to get Lisa look just right. "Not too messed-up; just enough to be realistic," said The Guy.

Jane watched, learning what a good actress Lisa was. She made herself feel what she was supposed to be feeling; but her gestures, both facial and other, were generally understated. She also had heard Lisa talk for the first time that day, and realized that she was Southern. Not that she was from the deep South, but that her upbringing had been Southern. She was a true Southern Princess; all her bearing and her carriage shouted that she was Royalty, accustomed to being treated with respect, but not necessarily demanding it. It was an odd combination of great pride and great humility, and Jane delighted to watch her interacting with everybody, the couple of male actors involved, as well as the camera crew and the director. Jane was never introduced to the director, but she soon saw that he was an excellent director, able to get what he wanted with the least amount of fuss and disruption.

It soon became clear, though, that it was not an adult movie, or at any rate, not an X-rated movie, where the entire plot was just an excuse for a series of sex scenes. It seemed more about a simple love story of a woman who gets rescued from her gambling habit. Lisa's portrayal of a woman with a gambling addiction was very convincing indeed.

"Are you really a gambling addict?" Jane asked her afterwards, while she was getting her ready for a bedroom scene.

"No, uh-uh," she said. "You know who I am, right?"

"Well, yes," said Jane, blushing. It didn't seem right to admit to such knowledge; Jane still found it hard to reconcile her self-image and her background with the adult entertainment business.

"Nothing turns me on, not money, not danger, not anything, only ..."

Jane waited, but Lisa didn't finish her sentence.

"Sex?" Jane offered.

"Yes," said Lisa, finally. But Jane suspected that she knew the word she had intended to use: _women._ Well, thought Jane, that makes two of us.

For the bedroom scene, Lisa had to come out of the bath looking as if she had taken a shower, having removed all her makeup.

"Here's where you have to learn something a little different. Can you make her have a little color, and still look as if her makeup is off?"

It was easy. Lisa had naturally rosy lips; they were dark and sexy without a scrap of makeup. But she would have looked terrible under the somewhat harsh lights, so Jane tried a combination of things, tricks that professional movie makeup artists would know, but which Jane had to improvise, for Lisa to look good under the lights. Lisa herself gave some hints about things that Jane would never have guessed. Somehow, it all passed muster.

Jane watched the scene from behind the cameras—not the hand-held ones near the actors, but the ones on the periphery. The scene was shot not really in a room at the hotel, but in a set improvised in an empty ballroom. The bathroom was completely fake.

It was a love scene, that did not involve anything more than a kiss, that left Jane filled with emotion. Lisa came back to Jane just as shaken, and Jane took her in her arms, while she let out a heavy, gasping breath. She looked up at Jane and smiled, grateful for Jane's obvious appreciation.

"What did you think, really?" she asked, searching Jane's face.

"Beautiful!"

"Not overdone? I'm deathly afraid of overacting, and then everybody will hate it!"

"No, just nicely understated," Jane insisted.

"Not even at the end?"

The end of the scene had the woman abandoning her reserve and opening up to her rescuer. Even that had been done beautifully.

"No, the end was perfect," Jane said. "Won't they show you?"

Lisa nodded, pulling away. "Later on, in the hotel; I can go if I want. I plan to go." It was the first day of shooting. "Want to come?"

It was the end of Lisa's shooting schedule for the day; there was more shooting with the other actors. Lisa's invitation hung in the air. During fashion shoots, Jane was accustomed to going with the entire team to a little party at which the models got a certain amount of food, and drink if they wanted it, they looked at video of the shoot, and hung out. Here, there was food always on hand, and it was a different atmosphere entirely.

In addition, Lisa's invitation was a little more than what it appeared on the surface.

"To look at the takes?" Jane asked, to give her a chance to make it clear.

"No; well, not just that," Lisa clarified, sounding flustered. "I thought maybe a little dinner and something to drink, to celebrate our first day of shooting, and ... and you working for me, and my try at movies?"

Jane took a deep breath. "I'm not really dressed to go out," she said. Of course Lisa had said nothing about going out, but Jane thought it a little chancy to have breakfast in her room, given her reputation.

Lisa picked up the ball fairly well, and ran with it.

"I could change, and then we could drive out to your place, and then go from there?"

# Lisa Love

It was a great feeling to have Lisa Love put her evening in Jane's hands. She wondered what would happen if the Twins were at home. It would be revealing to Lisa a lot more about her than she had been prepared to. But if Lisa Love had designs on her, she would understand that she was up against stiff competition. Last of all, Jane realized that she wanted Lisa to meet the Twins. She liked Lisa a lot; she wanted Lisa to be a good acquaintance, if not actually a close friend.

"You don't mind? I live with some friends, and you'll meet them, if you come home with me!"

"Oh. Well, I think I'll probably like that, if ... if they are, well, you know, nice people ... I'm sure they must be!"

They both refused a limousine; they were driven out in an inconspicuous Lincoln with windows tinted so deeply that they were essentially invisible. It was the same car in which Jane had been picked up.

Only Angela was in; Gillian was still at work. Jane had knocked and waited, and had not called ahead. Lisa had waited on the street, in her lovely evening dress, until the door had opened, and now she came up.

"Oh, Jane ... you've got company haven't you!" said Angela, softly, stopping herself, about to ask why she hadn't just come in.

"This is Lisa Love, Jane said, trying not to look too embarrassed. "Lisa, this is one of my roommates, Angela Jones."

"How d'you do! Please come in, you're all beautifully dressed up!"

"Hello, I'm Lisa Love; pleased to meet you! Jane hasn't said anything about you, so you'll have to tell me!"

"Please sit anywhere; I'll get some water on!" Her eyes told Jane to come help her, and tell her what's going on, but she was too polite to say it out loud.

"She's English, isn't she?" asked Lisa softly, eyes shining with interest.

Jane said yes, she was, and she'd better go talk to her. Lisa nodded.

"What's she doing here?" demanded Angela, looking a little indignant. She had recognized the visitor instantly, though she had given no sign.

"Guess what? She's the one I was hired to work with!"

"Is it going to be a ... you know? A funny sort of movie?"

"No, it's a regular movie; she's trying to work in mainline movies!"

"Oh. Good for her! How's she doing?"

"Fantastic! I hope it's a hit; it's kind of a Hallmark Special."

"Oh dear!"

"Why?"

"A sappy movie for Valentine's Day?"

"Oh ... not necessarily; but it's, well, on those lines. I don't know whether it's being made for TV, or what. No, I think it's being shot on film."

"What happens now?"

"I'm supposed to dress up, and we're going out."

" 'Going out?' What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know—dinner, and maybe drinks somewhere, or ..."

"Dancing? Bed?"

"Dancing, but not ... not bed, anyway."

Angela stared at the kettle. Jane laid her hand gently on her arm.

"I'm not upset ... not really," she said; then, "Go on, take a shower; I'll look after her until you dress up."

Jane could hardly concentrate on her shower; she fantasized about having sex with Lisa Love. In person she was unbelievably beautiful and desirable, and appealing. She had been coming onto Jane, but had stopped herself. That alone made Jane desire her.

She tried to think of Gillian, and succeeded after considerable effort. But with Gillian's eyes firmly in her imagination, she managed to cool down. Gillian trusted her so much, depended on her, loved her. She might have a roll in the hay with Lisa, but never fall in love. And not if it would hurt the Twins. And Angela seemed definitely unhappy with the prospect of social intercourse with the famous porn star.

When she shut off the shower, she heard footsteps upstairs; definitely the sound of heels. Angela had brought Lisa upstairs. Jane stepped out cautiously, wrapped in her towel. She heard voices in her bedroom.

There were Angela and Lisa, going through her clothes! It was preposterous.

"This one," said Lisa, firmly, holding out an olive-green gown Jane had not worn for almost four years. It was a sexy thing she had worn for some forgotten date, back when she was a little slimmer around the chest.

"I don't think it'll fit me," said Jane.

"Let's see," insisted Lisa, unexpectedly backed by Angela.

"Since when have you joined Lisa's team?" demanded Jane, looking at Angela reproachfully.

"Don't argue, now; try it on, we'll stay outside. Come on, Lisa!"

Lisa left; in her own home, Jane thought, Lisa was no match for Angela.

Jane sighed with satisfaction. Her breasts really were tiny still; The dress went on easily, and it really did look good on her. The cris-crossing panels drew attention to her flat stomach, and gave her narrow hips just a little more interest, and the brief skirt showed off her legs. Dark stockings completed the ensemble. Jane pulled open the door.

"Fabulous!" breathed both girls together, clearly delighted. Lisa was in her thirties, but was as excited as a teenager. The two women pushed their way inside, and Jane found them rooting through her jewelry. They found a collar of black semi-precious stones, and pretty earrings in the same shade as the dress, probably ones she had bought just for it. She had stopped wearing olive green a while ago. She had also stopped wearing skirts this short.

Angela was now a full conspirator with Lisa. They dressed and outfitted Jane in every detail, down to the sexy straw sandals she was to wear, and the makeup, and Angela sent them off.

"What did you say to her?" Jane laughed. "She didn't look too happy about my going out, to begin with!"

"Oh, nothing ... I said just dinner and drinks, maybe. Why was she so ... reluctant?"

"Well, she's ... she's very protective of me."

"I see," said Lisa, with a sly smile. Jane blushed as Lisa glanced at her legs in passing. Jane now remembered how the hem rode up rather high. The stockings were barely enough to cover her skin. Lisa looked at her own legs, fashionably thin. She had lost weight; was it just for the movie, Jane wondered.

Dinner was simple and nutritious. "Choose whatever you like, but I'm having something light," Lisa said. "My stomach can't deal with anything too rich this late. I'm a terrible dinner companion that way!"

But Jane found something she liked, not too rich, and they ate concentrating on their food, in companiable silence.

"Well," said Lisa, choosing her words, "you made it easy for me today. Very easy. You're a great girl."

"Thanks, I think," said Jane, laughing.

"Well, I meant it as a compliment. I know some actors had personal assistants, but I've never had one." She ate some more, cleaning up her plate. "I know the answer to this, but: you wouldn't consider being a personal assistant, would you? No, I should have known better than to ask!"

"It's an honest profession," Jane said, fairly, "but I've been around too long to be able to ... submerge my personality the way a personal assistant should do."

Lisa nodded. She shook her head. "I wouldn't know how to act around one of those, anyway. I'm comfortable with you, Jane; I hope you stay, to finish the movie with me. It could ..."

Her voice faded out, and Jane saw her look through the corner of her eye with a peculiar expressionlessness that conveyed distress somehow. Jane resisted the urge to watch.

"We've been spotted," she said, looking at her food.

Jane could tell that Lisa was furious, though she showed hardly a sign. At long last, she moved her empty plate a millimeter away, and looked into Jane's eyes. "I don't care, for myself, but you know they're interested in who _you_ are."

Jane shrugged.

"I should have known. I don't know my way around New York. I mean, I do; but usually it's with other girls in ... you know, in the business." Jane nodded. Lisa's friends were some of the prettiest women in porn, and they probably enjoyed frustrating the tabloid press. "We have to figure how to avoid this nonsense. I want to take you out every day after shooting."

"No, not every day!"

"Why not? What can I do? Watch TV by myself?"

It didn't seem the right time to argue about it. It was touching that Lisa considered Jane good company, but she wanted a little time off from her, after several hours of work. Only eight hours, she realized; they had stopped shooting at four; but Jane valued her free time.

"Go get in the car, leave your purse with me," Lisa instructed, looking determined. Jane did so. A minute later, a smiling Lisa joined her. She had ordered dessert, and left it on the table. "It's all paid for," she reassured Jane.

What's a good place with good security, to have a little dessert and some drinks, and some dancing, maybe?" The driver mentioned a place that Jane had never heard of. They drove straight into a garage in the basement of a building, and took the elevator to the penthouse. It was a restaurant with a dance floor and a live orchestra, and from the clothes people were wearing, unbelievably expensive. Jane gasped.

"They'll pay for it, don't worry," Lisa said, looking confident. "Come on."

Dessert was perfect, they had just two glasses of champagne, to begin with, since it was still early in the evening, and they danced.

"Yes, I'm from Texas," Lisa confirmed, 'we're an old Southern family from Georgia, originally; quite well off. You know I'm in the ... glamour photography business?" Jane nodded gravely. "I didn't do it because I needed the money; I was pretty, and I just wanted to be admired. Now I know that I'm not the prettiest thing that breathes, but ... I love erotic photography, you know?" Jane nodded. Lisa seemed to need to talk, or at least to justify herself to Jane, and she talked sense, so Jane let her. "There's something incredible when sex and beauty come together. Jane, I must confess something."

Jane looked at her, feeling nervous.

"I ... I think I own two of your prints. You know the ones?"

The two paintings Jane had done had yielded prints that had been sold by auction. They had been signed Jane Doe, but Jane had come to learn that certain art collectors had learned her name. It was still not common knowledge, and she knew that it was still a very closely guarded secret. But the information was out there, especially among owners of the most valuable prints. And here was one: Lisa Love.

"How did you find out?"

Lisa took a deep breath. They had stopped dancing. "A lot of the owners of those paintings are ... women. Did you know that?" How could she? How could Lisa know? Jane shrugged. Lisa squirmed, and started to dance again, and Jane followed. "And I know a lot of them." She knew a lot of rich women, it turned out.

Like Thea, Lisa felt wonderful in Jane's arms. They were very similar in many ways, but most of all in how Lisa was all sunshine and delight, and Thea was the opposite: dark and defensive. They were both perfect ladies, though, attentive to Jane's wants and sensitive to her needs. And they both carefully controlled their lust while dancing, something Jane had also learned to do. Unlike Thea, Lisa was not above telling Jane that she was the sexiest girl on the floor.

Jane found that the mini-dress was easy to dance in, provided she didn't splay her legs in some of the moves required by a male dancer. Keeping her legs together demanded more balance, but Jane managed it. Lisa was game for anything, as long as they kept to the darker side of the floor where they would not be observed.

"Oh, that was so much fun!" she exclaimed softly, as they headed off to collect their purses and their check. "Jane, who were the models in those prints? Do you mind telling me? Not their names, but ... something about them?"

"The models ..." How could she explain that there were two models for the first one, and ...

"Neither of them is Angela, is it?"

"Oh, no."

"Is it the other girl, then, your other roommate?"

"No, not her, either. They ... well, they're both dead," said Jane.

Lisa froze in her tracks, and turned to look at Jane in horror.

"They had to have been special to you!" she breathed. Jane nodded.

Lisa took her by the hand, and slowly led the way to the cashier, paid silently, her face fixed in a look of deep sorrow and sympathy. She graciously thanked the cashier as she handed back her credit-card, which had the name of the movie studio on it, and led the way to the elevator.

"Was it recently?" she asked, almost in a whisper. Her concern was no act.

"No ... well, one was about a couple of years ago, the other ... even earlier."

"Oh ... not a plane crash, or something? I thought they had died together, but of course they didn't." Jane shook her head, determined to say nothing more. Somehow it didn't seem right to color her relationship with Lisa Love with her own personal tragedies. They both deserved better.

"I know you're still hurt. I can see sadness in your eyes. All the time!"

"In _my_ eyes?" She nodded, as they headed out to the car with the driver.

"Let's drop her off, Mr. Driver," she said to the driver. It was not intended to be funny, but it cheered Jane up. "Do you remember the way?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, pulling out, and paying the parking fee with his own card.

Lisa came in to drop Jane off, and was introduced to Gillian, whom Lisa recognized instantly. Gillian smiled briefly and shook hands, with a polite word of greeting.

"Well, you're in the news, did you know?" said the Twins.

"News? Bad news? Good news?"

"It's still going on ..."

The headlines read: Lisa Love seen having lunch with mystery brunette. That was the long and the short of it, and there was a blow up of Jane's face, covered in her oversized sunglasses.

"She can't be recognized from _that_ ," Angela said confidently.

"I _hate_ them," said Lisa, furious. "What was I thinking?"

"Well, you have to eat," said Gillian, being fair.

"They almost got us at dinner," Jane said.

"They were calling out to tell someone, too, did I tell you?"

"No! Good thing we lost them!"

"Look!"

The TV screen was showing bigger and bigger blow-ups of the image, and experts were circling every visible feature of Jane's face; her eyebrows, her ears, and so on. They were saying it was a teenager, and probably underage. Lisa doubled up with mirth. "Well," she said, after she had recovered, "They're not going to identify you in a hurry _that_ way."

Lisa left, after parting hugs of Jane and Angela.

They helped to undress her, saying that she looked lovely, and pulled her into bed, naked. They had all just had their periods, and they joked that there was no fear of pregnancy for a day or two. But there was a look in Gillian's eye that made Jane uncomfortable.

She, as always, turned to Angela, once the lights had been turned off, and after some heavy kissing, got down to Angela's brand of sex. She was turned on by Lisa, Jane guessed; she was all over Jane, and came to a climax quickly. "Go on," she murmured, still kissing Jane, "I want you after she's done..."

Jane got closer to Gillian.

"Are you sure? Not too tired?"

"We only danced, Jill," Jane said, in a conciliatory tone.

"Don't tell me you didn't—imagine things—with her!"

"Yes, I suppose I did ... I'm sorry!"

Jane pulled her close and kissed her.

"That's a big difference between us, you know? I never fantasize about other women!"

"Oh Jill," said Angela, interrupting her making love to Jane's back. "You don't _own_ her, you know? You know she doesn't sleep with anyone but us; what does it matter if she dreams a bit?"

"Dreams a bit? I imagine she does a lot more than dream a bit, Angela, and you keep out of this!"

Gillian slapped away Jane's reaching hands, and Jane clasped them together, shocked and sorrowful. Gillian began to cry softly.

"She doesn't mean that," said Angela, in a whisper. "She really doesn't."

" _I do! No, I don't! Oh, I don't know!_ " said Gillian, her face twisted into an ugly grimace. She climbed out of bed with difficulty, since she was against the wall, and stumbled off, and they heard her running down the stairs.

" _Go! Go on!_ " said Angela, pushing at Jane. "Put on some clothes!" she called, after Jane had already followed Gillian down the stairs.

Gillian was in the basement, kneeling at the weights bench. Jane gently knelt by her.

"I'm so sorry," said Gillian at once.

"Don't be hurt!" said Jane, not knowing how to comfort her.

"You don't know what it feel like ... to ... to imagine that you and I, ... you and me ... you know what I mean! That ... we have something! I don't know _what_ we have! I don't own you, she's right, but ... I get so insanely angry when other people look at you!"

"I know, I know," mumbled Jane, stroking her arm.

Gillian turned to Jane in the dark, and put her arms gently around her, as if she were something fragile.

"I know you have your little faults ... still you give me—me and Angie—so much! Not just money; anyone can give money! But love, and more love, and still more love! I _despise_ myself for feeling jealous, but I _do!_ I just _hate_ that Lisa person; I hope she chokes and dies!"

There was nothing for it. Jane had to decide what was best for the three of them, and at that point in their lives, to go out to work with Lisa Love in defiance of Gillian would have been too destructive. It wasn't as though Jane had been a professional make-up artiste before she had met Gillian. It had been Gillian herself who had introduced her to the craft.

"All right; I'll call and let them know," said Jane.

Gillian stopped crying.

"You will?"

Jane nodded. Gillian kissed her softly on the lips.

"I know it means a lot to you," she said, and Jane's hopes rose a little.

"But it means more to you for me to stop," Jane said.

"You understand!"

"Yes. I'm spoiled, because you don't have a wandering eye, like I do. I expect that, if you had affairs with girls, I'd be upset, too!"

"Thank you Jane! I love you like mad!" She got to her feet, light as a feather, and tugged at Jane's hand. "Come on, do it now!"

She listened while Jane spoke to Lisa.

"Lisa ... I must apologize, I'd like to be released from my contract!"

"Oh no! Is it one of the girls? Gillian?"

"Yes. But ... I think it's wise. I have too much invested in her. Please don't mention our relationship to anyone. We're not open with it."

"I won't. I think I'll manage somehow. Not even one more day, until we find someone?"

"Only if you insist. Call me if you absolutely must have me. But you know there are others who can do it!"

"Yes ... there are; oh Jane!"

"I'm sorry!"

So quickly, Jane was out of the movie job. Jane and Gillian made love that night with greater urgency than before. It was as if Gillian was determined that Jane would never miss not having Lisa.

"She wanted you," said Gillian, afterwards.

"Everyone wants a piece of me," said Jane, facetiously.

"No, she did," said both twins together. "I can tell that kind of thing," said Gillian. "Thea did, too, but I knew she wouldn't do it if she said she wouldn't. And you know who else?"

"No, who?" asked Jane, puzzled.

" _Aunt Ursula!_ " cried the Twins, laughing.

So the following day, Jane found herself at home, with nothing much to do. There was a standing offer for her to work at the supermarket, but it just wasn't the same. Jane stayed home and surfed the web, until around noon, she was called by Lisa, on her break.

They talked for a long time, and before she knew it, they had talked for an hour. Lisa rang off, and Jane moped around, until Lisa called again at four.

It was easy to talk to Lisa. They thought in the same way about a lot of things, and had lots of the same prejudices. Unlike Jane, Lisa was not broad-minded about foreigners; she tended to think that everyone from the East was a potential terrorist, and she despised them for making the lives of Mexican immigrants difficult. But in lots of other ways, she and Jane were very compatible.

"Are you into phone sex?" she asked, quietly.

"You mean, like call a 900 number?" Jane asked, innocently.

"Oh silly! Get comfortable, and I'll tell you!"

"Will this take long?" Jane asked, looking at the time. Angela would be back soon.

"It depends on you," said Lisa, laughing.

"You have a pretty laugh!" said Jane, smiling. She did. She never laughed in her sex photos; in fact Jane had never seen a photo of her except thoroughly intent on her partner. She had been pleasantly surprised at how stunning Lisa looked when laughing.

"Okay ... I've got my hand on my breast ... go ahead and touch your breast, Jane ... you have lovely, tiny, perfect breasts ... touch the left one now ... run your finger around it, along the line under it!"

"Oh God! You're trying to make me come!"

"Why not? What's wrong with touching yourself? What's more perfect than using your own beauty to make yourself happy?" she said, softly. Jane did as she suggested. It was strange to think that Lisa had noticed her breasts, and was probably imagining them. "Imagine that I'm sucking on your breast, stroke it towards the nipple, suck your breast with your hand, softly, ever so softly ... how does it feel?"

"It feels good, ... Lisa, you shouldn't do this ... _I_ shouldn't do this!"

"Slip your hand down your smooth, hard stomach, inside your waist, ... into your crotch, rubbing your clit with your finger ... softly, don't hurt me ..." Hurt _her?_ "It's getting harder ... slip a finger inside ... Oh Jane ... it's too quick ... I'm coming, I'm coming ... oh shit ... I came ... I wanted to come with you, so bad!"

Jane was left high and dry, while Lisa was having a twenty-second orgasm in her hotel room. She was annoyed; Jane felt very put upon.

"That was not nice," she said, keeping all but mild reproof out of the tone of her voice. "I don't think we've gotten quite ready for that, Lisa; we're just friends, and I'm not trying to get—intimate with you behind Gillian's back. You misunderstood me, I guess."

"I–I did," said Lisa, in a low voice. "I know I did ... it's just habit, Jane; I...I'll hang up; I feel terrible, and I want you to forgive me. Jane?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you please forget about this ... this phone call?"

"I'll try."

"I want you to forgive me ... I want you to think that you can trust me, so that if I ... if I persuade Gillian to let me borrow you until we finish this movie, you'll know that I won't try something like that again!"

"I said I'll try ... but I don't think Gillian will be easily persuaded, Lisa. I'm sorry to have run out on you like this."

"It was miserable today."

"Weren't they any good?"

"Oh, they were okay ... but ... well, I better get cleaned up, here. Love you!"

Jane said bye, and heard the line cut off.

Jane did not hear from her again for a long time.

That night things got crazy. The gossip columns were all about who Lisa Love's mysterious companion was. And some genius on the internet had decided that it was Scorpia. Apparently the lips and chin matched perfectly, all the way down to a little mole on the chin. Scorpia's famous beauty spot could easily be a stick-on, was the claim (which it was, of course). Jane's little circle was shaken. But since neither Scorpia nor Lisa Love responded to the speculation, it died over the next week or so.

The classes were interesting. This time through, Jane was interested in writing, and the assignments were interesting. She hated the instructor, not because he was critical, but because he seemed to have a terrible attitude. He assigned an essay on the Harry Potter books, which everyone in the class at least liked—and some of them adored the books, and then proceeded to tell them why they were wrong.

"They're not written for American kids, anyway," said the Twins, after they had left the classroom. "They just wouldn't understand what it's all about! It's about boarding school, to begin with, and you don't _have_ them here!"

"Oh, we do," said Jane, with a laugh.

"Well, there just aren't enough of them, then, so that people write about them, are there?"

Jane had to agree; boarding school was outside the mainstream American experience, and books for children in America were _usually_ , if not exclusively, about generic children, or essentially generic children. Jane found herself agreeing with the Twins at least that the reviews should be taken as valid expressions of opinion.

The other classes, which they took separately, were just as interesting, since each of them reported on them to the other two. Angela's descriptions of what she was learning in psychology were fascinating, and Jane remembered a little from her Freshman year. Gillian was taking a course in music, and the other two, just as interested, hung on her every word. She brought home recordings to go along with the classes, and they listened together. Jane's class had a lot to do with actual drawing and painting, and she had to take what she drew to class, having started it there.

In the middle of the fall, Jane received a call from Mimi, Deanna's younger sister. She sounded very upset, and she begged Jane to pay them a visit. She said she would buy a ticket, if Jane needed it. "It's kind of important, but ... I'm asked not to say why!"

"By whom, darling?"

"Please, Jane! Will you please come? If you do, I'll owe you one, and ... like, if you ever call me and say come, I'll come. It's a promise!"

Jane was rather impatient about the whole thing. Obviously it had nothing to do with Mimi, because she would have had no hesitation in telling what she needed. It was something to do with their parents. But what?

Jane had guessed right. Deanna's mother had developed a cancer, very suddenly, and wanted to see Jane.

"Why couldn't you tell me? Did you think I wouldn't come?" They were alone; Mimi had brought her in, looking teary-eyed, and gone.

"I didn't want you to come out of pity!"

"I'm here, anyway," Jane said, sitting by her. She took her hand, and saw the seeds of Deanna's beauty once again in her face and her eyes, and even her speech. She memorized her face, determined to paint a portrait of her, if it happened that she never saw her again.

"I want to thank you for loving my daughter," she said. It was amazing; she looked perfectly fine. But she was talking as though she was about to die any second! "I know how it feels not to be sure whether someone loves you, you know?"

Jane was horrified. "Deanna loved you, Mimi ..."

"Oh, the children. Of course they love me; they have to!"

Jane was always taken unawares by her mean sense of humor. It was then that Jane realized that she was talking about her husband.

"You know," she continued, in the same dry tone of voice, "I'm not sure he cared for Deanna. He keeps saying he misses her, but it's a big lie. If he loved her, he would love you too. _Every night_ I asked him: call her. Tell her you forgive her!"

Her eyes were bright now; the joking was over.

"I was proud of her, _proud!_ How you both held yourselves! How you talked, so bravely! When I meet God, I have something to talk about! I'll say, I'd like to talk about my girl Deanna, and her girls Heather, and Jane. I know I'll see her there, Jane! She had no time to sin, did she? No time at all!"

And they held each other and wept.

Somehow, everybody cheered up, after Jane had talked to Deanna's mother. She cheered up, too. Various cousins and nephews and nieces came by, ostensibly to play with Mimi, but Jane guessed that it was really to see her, and squeeze her hand. They all had Deanna's dimple and her smile, and Jane wondered how they could stand to be so cute. Jane hung on until Thanksgiving, calling the Twins every night, which was around five, Pacific time. She instructed the Twins to make a nice meal, and invite Gabe and Omar and Sherrine and the baby.

Every night, Jane was apprised of their progress; how Stephanie and Maria had invited themselves; how Isabella and Zsuszana were coming, how Gabe was going home for Thanksgiving, how Joanna had called to invite them all, and was disappointed, how they couldn't find a goose, but it appeared that Turkeys were the things to have, and they didn't know anything about them.

It was terribly lonely in a physical way, all those days alone in bed, but it wasn't so bad when Mimi hugged her, which she did every morning and every night. And, of course, Deanna's mother hugged her every time she went in to see her. They talked about the Thanksgiving plans at West Chestnut, and chuckled over the misadventures of the Twins. They felt bad that Jane wouldn't be there, but were pleased that she would be there in California for the holiday.

The single unhappy note was that Deanna's father kept completely away. Straight from work, he went to a sort of pub, and only came home after everyone was in bed. Jane only saw him once, getting up from breakfast, and he scowled at her and left. Jane learned to stay away from the dining table in the morning after that.

They even got Deanna's share of the money after her death. Sasha had arranged for it, and it was paid to Deanna's mother, according to Sasha's best advice. The money was being put to good use. Mimi and her brothers and sisters pointed to various repairs that had been made with Deanna's money. But evidently Deanna's dad said that no amount of money could repay them for Deanna's death. Jane realized that the man considered Jane to have personally killed his daughter, which amused her. But she knew fathers were funny about daughters. She had been utterly afraid in London that David Jones would catch her in bed with his daughters.

Thanksgiving was a showdown. Deanna's Dad showed up, and asked, calmly, "Why is _she_ still here?"

"Benjamin, sit down and be quiet," said Deanna's mother, sparks flying from her eyes.

Jane got to her feet. "Please don't fight! I'll wait until you're finished eating!" Jane glared at him, angry and scornful. At least her own parents had compromised at last; they had even extended hospitality to Deanna when she was dying. Jane felt sorry for these wonderful folks, that their patriarch was such an asshole. Jane walked to the front porch and sat down, her heart aching for how Mimi must be red with embarrassment.

She heard old Benjamin cursing, and suddenly, there was a heavy scraping of chairs on the floor, and everyone except Benjamin seemed to have left the table. Mimi was the first to hurry up to Jane, her face wet with tears of fury.

" _That ... that is not a representative of the Jewish people!"_ she bit out, barely able to talk. "From this day, he is not my father! I have no father now!" She burst into tears and collapsed in Jane's arms, bawling in her misery. Soon Jane and she were surrounded by an assortment of her siblings and nephews and nieces.

"You are more a part of this family than him," they said awkwardly. And presently, Deanna's mother came out to sit with Jane.

"You tried. God knows you tried, Jane." She heaved a heavy sigh. She held out a hand to Jane, and they sat, without words to express their anger and their disgust.

Benjamin ate slowly, belched loudly, and walked out of the house.

"I should never have come," said Jane, bitterly.

"What difference did you make?" they all asked. Apparently all Jane had done was drive him away, so that he couldn't make them miserable all day long. "Now, at least, we have someone to share the meal with," Mimi said, "whatever he left of it."

But he had eaten hardly anything; the plate had hardly been used. They simply could not understand him at all.

They ate, and managed to be cheerful. The food was excellent, and the girls were delighted that Jane appreciated their cooking. It was different enough from the Thanksgiving meals Jane had eaten all her life to be a whole new experience. There were lots of middle-eastern recipes, which Ruth and her daughters had gone out of their way to learn and preserve. The grandchildren were soon out of their funk over grandfather's bad behavior, and were a delightful counterpoint to the melody of their parents.

Everyone declared it one of the better Thanksgivings. Jane was told that it had always been a problematic feast. Benjamin was always out of sorts with _somebody,_ and he invariably, of late, brought up Deanna's defection. They all apologized that they did not come up with Mimi for the funeral, or for Deanna's last days. They were not a wealthy clan, and had been uncertain of their reception in rural Pennsylvania. Jane said, honestly, that their absence had not upset her greatly. Mimi had been wonderful. "If things had been better," Jane said, "well, they would have been much better all round!" They laughed and agreed.

When Gillian called her on Friday, to report on how everything had gone, Jane was waiting to board her flight, with Mimi seated next to her. Mimi's eyes began to tear when Jane said that their California thanksgiving had been 'fine'. Mimi have her a long hug, and then a tender kiss. "Pray for us," she whispered, and Jane went out onto the plane.

At West Chestnut, despite Jane's absence, the event had been evidently a major triumph. Maria had taken over the supervision of it, tactfully orchestrating the various parts of the meal, since Sherrine wanted to make some Persian delicacies too. Gabe had called, from Pennsylvania, with wishes from Jane's family, even knowing that Jane would not be there. Jane was very pleased with that. It wasn't so much that Jane's parents were better people, but that Jane and Deanna had managed to bring them round more easily. Perhaps it was the competition, wanting to appear more reasonable and civilized than ignorant Jewish folks. It had all been a lesson both in the fallibility of the older generation, which had not been a new idea to Jane, but one that had been made real far more brutally than Jane had ever expected.

There were left-overs for Jane, which she ate with relish, and they were really as good as the Twins had claimed. Stephanie and Tiffany had taken over the actual Turkey, while the Twins had been assigned a variety of accompaniments, such as yams, corn, and assorted traditional vegetables that they had managed with great panache.

The academic year was a triumph for all three girls, and they registered for the following semester with great enthusiasm. They began the Christmas season right away, this time promising to be in Pennsylvania for the holiday. When Christmas rolled around, they headed out to the farm, where Jane's mother pleasantly surprised Jane with the style with which she conducted the celebration. There were numerous music festivals in the vicinity to satisfy the Twins, and there was an early snowfall, which permitted them to show the English girls the kinds of activities that were not common in England any more. They thought nothing of traveling a hundred miles, of course, into the mountains, but that year, there was snow even close by.

Gillian, who had gotten accustomed to thinking of the US as sort of the wilder side of London, was quite bemused, to see how different Christmas decorations and observances were in rural Pennsylvania. For one thing, people went absolutely crazy about hanging their homes with light strings. For another, there was a lot more space to put seasonal lawn ornaments outside homes. And that year, as if in special response to the guests in their midst, every little town in the neighborhood went out of its way to present a cheery front.

The family's own Christmas celebration had to do with electric lights for the boys, and food and crafts for the girls. Joanne's girls made wreaths for every door and window, supervised by Heidi, who had been through all that several times. The Jane, her mother, the Twins and Bill's wife Emily made cookies and gingerbread, and a gingerbread house. A couple of nights before Christmas, Joanne and her kids joined their church youth group to go caroling. The Twins were delighted when the carolers turned up, and insisted on going with them, dragging Jane along.

Unlike the Twin's father, Charles Schultz very definitely suspected that if allowed to do so, the three girls would have, maybe, an orgy. So the girls talked until late in the room the Twins had been assigned, and then Jane went off to sleep. In the early morning, though, the Twins usually slipped in, and they stole a few moments of intimacy.

Instead of turkey, they were having a large roast; it was easy to look after once it had been put in the oven. The younger folks helped with their share of the cooking, and took the Twins with them to the closest cities in search of those last-minute gifts that were so elusive. The Twins were taken in had by Heidi and supervised very closely, perhaps at Aunt Jane's insistence that they should not be allowed to spend too much money. This Heidi managed to accomplish very easily, since she was a very assertive young lady indeed. The Twins were fascinated with her, since unspoiled girls from the farms were not among those that the Twins usually met. While modeling, or while shopping for groceries, they usually met the hothouse flowers of American society, or the hardened urban poor, or immigrants and transients, just as much strangers to American society as the Twins themselves.

Shopping in central Pennsylvania was utterly different from shopping in England or in New York. (Not really different, probably, in some ways from shopping in rural areas in England, but there was very little shopping to be found there, and it was not the habit of the Twins to waste time looking. They knew as little about what went on far from London than any American did.) The airs some salespeople gave themselves were comic, while the open-hearted generosity of others heart-warming. The antics of the frantic shopping crowds, far from being annoying or irritating, were fascinating, and when the younger shoppers saw the smiles on the faces of the foreigners, they responded in kind. And of course, there were pretzels and spiced hot cider everywhere, as well as Santa, waiting patiently to talk to kids. Everyone was grateful to Santa for getting the kids out from underfoot; everyone except the Twins.

The midnight service was a big event for the folks in that region. The Twins went with the family, and sang happily, being careful to sing out of the sheet they were given. ("They have the words printed out, so they don't get the hymn-books dirty," the Twins told each other.)

Jane began to enjoy the visit only after Christmas. By that time, her parents had warmed towards the Twins, and had come to know them as individuals, rather than as _the redhead_ and _the blondie._ Jane's mother preferred Angela's company, while her father preferred Gillian's grave manner and cautiously honest conversation. Gillian was usually nothing if not polite, and that worked out well, because he judged people on their manners. (Deanna had had beautiful manners, but she had the bad manners to come home with Jane, which outweighed everything else.)

Heidi was not so distracted by the commercial aspects of Christmas, and now showed herself to be the interesting and interested person she had rather failed to be thus far. She sat and listened to the Twins, having figured out their accents, and was pleased to take them to see whatever interested them, such as the dairy, the Amish, Hershey Park, and so forth. She was permanently assigned cousin Zach, who had an old Mustang, and took the Twins and Heidi wherever it was that she took a fancy to taking them. Jane stayed behind, talking to her siblings, something she had not succeeded in doing very much at all before. Joanna, of course, had always been good to her. But her older brothers, to a man, had considered her just a tiny nuisance. Now they wanted help with everything: how did you install a new telephone? How did you get a new computer working? How did you get an e-mail account? All their cousins knew, but being young, they did not have the authority that Jane wielded so effortlessly.

A couple of days later, when Jane and the Twins decided to head back, nobody seemed to mind. New Year in their part of the state was not a big deal; they all wished they could come to New York. Heidi begged to be allowed to go, but Jane, in anticipation of adult entertainment, declined. Joanne knew what the issues might be, and supported Jane, even if she was disappointed. Just for once, she thought, Jane could put away her selfishness.

"Well," said Jane, "so long!"

And Heidi began to weep.

"Oh Jane!" said Angela, and in a short time Heidi was seated in the back of the rental car, bouncing up and down happily, her tears drying on her cheeks.

# Heidi in the Big City

It was only once they had dropped off the rental car and returned home, that Jane really spent any time with Heidi. Joanna had looked, ten years ago, exactly like Jane looked right now; this was thrown at her every single day. Jane could easily imagine that Heidi was her own child, and at a little under fifteen, everything Heidi said and did struck Jane as being normal and proper.

There had only been time for Heidi to fill her backpack with one dress, a bra and a couple of panties in addition to her toothbrush. She carefully put them away in the visitor's room, which she had been assigned, and came downstairs to get further instructions.

"Slice onions?"

"Okay, sure!"

"Any clothes to wash?"

"Uh-uh . . . oh wait, these I'm wearing. I wore them all day. Aunt Jane, we need to go back and get another pair of jeans, or something! I forgot to bring clothes to wear around the house. Can we go?"

Jane looked at her sternly. "You haven't been too far from home, have you?"

"Well, I've been to sleep-overs, and Hershey Park, and Penn State!"

"Overnight, kid."

"Um, no?"

"Come on!"

She was about Jane's size, only a little shorter. Jane's jeans fit her perfectly, with the cuffs rolled up. Jane was able to lend her lots of clothes, including T-Shirts and bras. She looked google-eyed at the nudes all over the house, but when asked whether she was upset, she said that Aunt Jane probably drew them, didn't she. It was like _art,_ or something. She had been to the Art Museum in Philly, and knew about such things.

Heidi thoroughly enjoyed every tiny little detail of her stay with Jane. She loved the supermarket. She loved the arguments with the louts on the street, who wouldn't let them pass. She loved Stephanie, her minivan, her kids, and she adored Tiffany. She loved Zsuszana when she came by, and she positively fell in love with Isabella. Maria was cool.

Best of all, Heidi said, was Omar and his family. Heidi begged to be allowed to carry the baby, and never let them set it down. She talked up a storm with Sherrine, and reported to Jane that the lady needed help to buy bras.

As New Year's Eve rolled up, everyone had plans for Heidi. Jane wanted to take the Twins dancing, and Isabella and Zsuszana wanted to join. And, of course, it was a natural to bring Heidi along, never mind that she was too young to drink in New York.

The Twins were firm that it was time Heidi got an outfit that was a bit more grown up, but not _too_ grown up. They mentioned designers and fashion lines that Jane knew nothing about, but which Isabella endorsed enthusiastically. Jane trusted all three of them; all three models really had impeccable taste. Of course, they came back with two outfits, and when Heidi modeled them for Jane, she had to admit that she looked fine in them, and not at all slutty. The girl was beautiful, Jane had to admit.

"They say I look a bit like you did," said Heidi, grinning. That wasn't true; Heidi had lovely, curly wheat-blonde hair, while Jane was definitely a brunette. But in other ways, such as how she held herself, the expression in her eyes, her speech most of all, reminded Jane of herself.

They had also bought Heidi sexy underwear, which Jane did not know.

Places had been reserved at several of the better places where they went to dance, including the penthouse club which Jane and Lisa had discovered together. They were warned that the doors would close at eleven, and stay closed until the New Year.

The phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Jane, it's Thea," she heard. "Will you be home for the New Year?" There was a smile in Jane's voice as she called out, "It's Thea!"

Gillian, of course, had told Jane, off the record, that she hated the actress. Angela took a much more moderate attitude towards her; she knew that many of the female acquaintances that they shared with Jane did have crushes on the latter. Heidi, though she listened attentively, had no idea whom they were talking about.

Jane told her where they were going, already a list whose length made Heidi dizzy.

"If my date and I see you there, may we join you for a drink?"

Suddenly, Jane knew not only who that date was, but how Lisa Love had learned so much about her.

"I'm bringing my little niece along," she said, "I thought you might like to know."

"I see." Jane felt sorry for Thea, but she was being honest.

Zsuszana and Isabella turned up. They hustled Heidi upstairs to dress her. "Make sure she looks fifteen!" she called up, frowning. The last thing she needed was some drunk college kid running off with her. Jane and the Twins went off into their room, and started getting ready. The taxi was coming by at eight, and there was plenty of time.

Heidi looked just sweet. Luckily the girl was not eager to look older, since she didn't know anybody in the New York City. Mercifully, she was not quite boy-crazy, though many of her friends were, had been for a couple of years. The dress they had bought for her was deep red velvet, and with black hose and pretty slippers with a medium heel, she looked a picture. Luckily, too, Heidi liked the way she looked. Isabella and Zsuszana, of course, looked fabulous. They were now the same height, tall and willowy, and both wore dresses with short skirts, and pretty stockings.

# New Year's Eve in the Big Apple, Sort Of

The Twins wore fantastic creations, Gillian in deep red, and Angela in deep blue. They fully intended to dance every chance they got, with Jane, preferably. Jane wore an equally fantastic costume in green and gold, with her hair put up, and firmly pinned. And all three girls had dusted themselves with metallic spangles, just for fun.

Heidi could only stare. Zsuszana and Isabella, were just as surprised, since the girls had just never appeared to her in their dance costumes.

"We go dancing every now and then," Jane explained, "and these ..."

"Oh, we know," said Zsuszana sardonically, "but who knew _you_ had them?"

The taxi arrived, and they piled in, all six of them. They all carried shawls, just in case it was necessary to walk outside for any distance. The first destination was a place where the younger crowd gathered, and already people were dancing, mostly girls. They joined the throng, with Jane escorting Heidi.

"Oh, I want to dance!" said Heidi, her face shining. "Are you dancing with me?"

"Yes!"

"Oo! I don't even know much dancing!"

"Here we are! Just go like everyone else!"

It was lovely, watching Heidi trying to dance. Apparently there was not a lot of dancing back home, or at least the kind of dancing Heidi got to do didn't fit the music. Isabella and Zsuszana joined them, and showed Heidi a fairly easy dance, which she could fancy up when she was ready. Close by, the Twins were gyrating with a lot of verve. Jane remembered the bad old days when she would not have dared to dance. She still felt a little uncomfortable with these teen dances.

Presently, Heidi got asked to dance by a cute young fellow, and she went with him, blushing away. Jane was beginning to get nervous, but Zsuszana said she was on it. True to her word, the girls kept an eye on Heidi from far enough away that the kid did not feel crowded. Whenever she saw Jane, she gave a little wave and a grin, and Jane felt wonderful. She simply could not believe that she had neglected this girl for so long. The Twins had as much as told her, the very first day back; it was Jane's job to spoil the kid, they said, and Joanna's job to swear at Jane when she did it. "We'd still be dull biddies if Aunt Ursula hadn't spoiled us a bit. Oh, we love her so much!"

Heidi was then asked to dance by a pretty young woman of about twenty, and Jane's blood went cold. Zsuszana gave her a warning look, and when Heidi looked over her shoulder at Jane, Jane nodded. She heard the woman ask whether Heidi was with the woman in green, and she saw Heidi nodding. There was nothing in Heidi's face to betray that she was alarmed at being asked to dance by a woman. As was common with a certain kind of woman, she danced awkwardly, but kept up a cheerful conversation with Heidi, who occasionally shrugged as the two of them turned to look at the others in the party. _She isn't giving away much,_ Jane thought, with satisfaction. The dance ended, and the woman brought Heidi over to Jane, and grinned and walked away.

"Phew!" they all said, as the short-haired brunette strutted away, her jacket swinging from her padded shoulders.

It was time to move along. The club was getting crowded, and the crowd was getting noisy. Outside, a cabbie was looking for the Schultz party of six. "That's us," Jane said, and they piled in. The cab driver was talkative, and kept up a line of patter all the way to the next place, which was a restaurant. They had a reserved table, and they ate a light meal of appetizers and such delicacies as vegetarian pizza. Heidi was famished, and ate heartily. Jane sighed and let it happen; she hoped that Heidi had as much of a cast-iron digestion as Jane had had at that age. It was uncanny how Jane could almost predict what Heidi would do every single time! And she was so pretty, it was almost painful to look at her. Jane put her arm round her, and Heidi scrunched up her nose at her.

"This is fun!" she said.

"Why?"

"'Cos I'm with _you!_ " she said. "And the pizza is great, too!"

They caught another cab, and headed to the favorite dance place of Jane and the Twins. It was an education for the younger girls, just to watch the dancing going on. Spectators were allowed; but you were allowed on the main floor only if you were at least competent. As they watched, a waiter politely steered a couple that seemed not to know how to waltz into one of the smaller rooms around the main one.

"That was rude!" exclaimed Zsuszana.

"No, it is a dancing place," said Isabella, "You have to dance on this room. Heidi, come, you must learn a waltz. Jane, we teach her, okay?"

"I'll join them," said Angela, giving Jane and Gillian an opportunity to go dance on the main floor.

In the learners' area, as it were, the girls soon had Heidi dancing competently. "This is easy!" she said. There was a series of waltzes, and they danced with abandon.

"My turn," said Angela, cutting in, leaving Zsuszana to dance with Isabella.

"What're we going to do?"

"Same thing, only you've got to learn to navigate. Let's try to dance over through the doors!"

Heidi had a natural sense of rhythm, like her aunt, and far less self-consciousness. Like Jane, her arms were strong, and Isabella had taught her to dance left-handed, as a man would. Angela played along, and soon they were whirling in perfect time, exactly where they wanted to go. Heidi, after the first few steps, did not take enormous steps, but learned to whirl to their destination rather than jump there.

"Wow," she breathed, "look at the people!"

In the few minutes they had been in the other room, dancers had taken the floor, and there were numerous couples, all dancing the waltz beautifully. With a little effort, it was easily possible to synchronize with the couples around them, and soon Angela and Heidi were floating like flowers on the breeze. Heidi saw Jane and Gillian, and her eyes went wide with appreciation. The dance was a simple one, but their costumes were beautiful.

Heidi learned most of the important dances right in the heat of battle, as it were. After she had got the basic idea of the dance, there was either Aunt Angie, or Aunt Jane, or best of all, Aunt Gillian, so pretty, who taught her the exact way to set her feet. It was a little like ballet, which Heidi knew something about, where the foot had to be placed just so, with the knees flexed a little. Heidi was a pleasure to teach, since she listened until she was sure she had got the whole thing. With two couples doing it in parallel, it was easier to see how everything went. After she had mastered each dance, Heidi was taken out to the center floor, and was never once asked to leave. Today, there were free drinks of wine, and little snacks for everyone, and Heidi was able to sneak some of each. Jane had said before they left the house that a little wine was okay, and damn the torpedoes.

Finally, it was almost time to go, and Heidi and Zsuszana watched the other four doing the tango, looking envious.

"Want to learn?"

"No way," said Heidi, shaking her head. "That is one crazy dance, Sue. I seen it in movies and stuff. Uh-uh. It's a Paso Doble, or something."

"It's a tango, dear. Jeeze, where do you get these crazy ideas?"

Heidi giggled, highly amused. "You sound just like Aunt Jane," she said, and Zsuszana blushed.

Heidi was both excited and sleepy as they headed towards their final destination. She had wanted to go to famous Times Square, to see the ball come down, but Jane had laid down the law: they would be on the top of a skyscraper. If Heidi could see it from there, well and good, otherwise, tough luck.

"That's a little mean, isn't it?" Heidi asked Zsuszana as they walked into the club. There was not a single kid of her age anywhere; it was all people in tuxedos, and snooty women. Oh, there was a kid, after all, ... Heidi was feeling amazed that the place only had adults, and two kids, herself, and one other bored looking girl, who looked desperately happy to see her, but already they were walking away.

It was dancing all over again. Well, at least she knew most of the easy ones now; feeling resentful, Heidi looked for anyone but Aunt Jane to dance with. Here was Isabella (she knew better than to call her Aunt Isabella, because she was Zsuszana's girlfriend, or whatever, and Zsuszana was not an Aunt.

It was a waltz. They were led to their table, laid their stuff down, and began to waltz. There was a live orchestra here, with violins and flutes and everything, even a harp. The bass was going _ping, bong,_ back and forth, and Heidi could feel the note through her feet, almost. Heidi took a peep at Isabella, and caught her looking down at Heidi.

"Tired?" she asked.

"No," said Heidi, smiling. She thought Isabella was the best. She had trouble with English, but she was drop-dead gorgeous, and had the most amazingly sexy legs. She loved the way Isabella smiled at her. "Do you want to dance with Sue?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling, and there was a hint of a dimple. "Not right away, okay?"

Heidi chuckled. She appreciated that Isabella would babysit her. She sighed, letting Isabella do the work. She remembered how Aunt Jane wanted her to stay behind; she realized now what the deal was. Heidi was a burden on Aunt Jane's friends, who were being very nice about it, though.

"There's another kid," said Isabella, as they danced close to the other young girl.

"Hi!" Heidi called out, as they sailed past her. She looked around fourteen, and thoroughly bored. She seemed to have hunted Heidi down. _Well,_ thought Heidi, _I'll go catch her in just a bit._

When Jane looked around for Heidi, she saw her dancing away with a girl of about her own age, a beautifully dressed brunette. They were waltzing pretty well, and she guessed that Heidi had been teaching her. That meant that somebody was left out: there she was; Isabella was coming for Zsuszana. Jane handed Zsuszana off, and Gillian cast off from Angela, who looked relieved. Jane and Gillian started to dance as Angela got back to their table, when Jane saw Thea advancing on her. Jane smiled when Thea looked her way.

"Thea is here," Jane said to Gillian, who had just gotten settled into a slow dance.

"Where?" she asked.

"With Angie."

"I'm too comfortable to look," said Gillian, chuckling. They danced slowly towards Thea.

"Can I borrow her for a bit, if I give her back before midnight?" Thea asked, smiling.

"Well, all right, just this once," said Gillian, sliding into a chair.

"Oh Jane," said Thea, feeling light as a feather in Jane's arms, "you look gorgeous!"

"So do you," Jane replied sincerely. Thea wore a lovely, simple gown in black and grey, and Jane felt gaudy and overdressed beside her. "I'm not sure it was a good idea to dress this way," she said.

"Oh, it was an _excellent_ idea," Thea said, worshipfully. "When you get to be my age, you won't regret the times you dressed up, only the times you didn't!"

"Then I'm going to regret most of my life!"

"Isn't it a good thing you dressed up?"

"Is that one your aunt, the woman in green?"

"Yes, in the cocktail dress, with bits of gold."

"Gosh, she looks fabulous! And that woman she's dancing with looks just like Thea Underwood!"

Heidi had already verified that her new friend was British.

"Let's see," she said, expertly turning them around. "I don't know her; she did mention Thea when they were talking on the phone..."

"It must be Thea Underwood! It _has_ to be!"

"Okay, maybe she is!"

"Your Aunt _knows Thea Underwood?"_

"I guess!" said Heidi, amused. "Is she famous?"

"She's just the most famous film star in Britain, that's all! She was in all the big movies, like Harry Potter ..."

"Which one was she?"

"The beautiful woman, you know ... well, there she is, look!"

"Which young lady is the niece? Oh, don't tell me, the blonde with the lovely hair. She has to be!"

"Why? I'm not blonde!"

"She has your face, and your eyes, and your eyebrows ... she could be your daughter, girl; look at her!"

"I know," said Jane, as if her power line was unplugged. Seated by herself, watching Heidi, was Lisa Love.

"Lisa and I have known each other for a couple of years," said Thea.

Jane nodded, not knowing what to say. Suddenly seeing Lisa, she didn't feel any of the indignation she had felt the last time they talked. There was no doubt, if she had known Jane was bringing a niece, that she had spotted the niece in question.

Jane and Thea danced for a while. Time seemed to stand still, though, of course, the handsome clock that stood just off the orchestra dais ticked away the seconds. The lighting burnished everyone and everything with a golden sheen, as around and below them, the city watched a million human beings trying to find just the perfect place from which to welcome the point of time that separated one year from the next. Heidi and her friend had tired of dancing, and were talking, oblivious to everything else. Zsuszana and Isabella were also seated, just enough away from the others to give themselves a little privacy, and Jane could not see what they were doing, or whether they were just holding hands. The Twins were dancing together, like a beautiful pair of butterflies, keeping a suspicious eye on Jane, Thea, and Lisa.

Thea had given up trying to talk to Jane. She had laid her cheek on Jane's breast, and was letting Jane lead her. It had been a long year, and Jane's feet hurt. But it felt good to hold Thea; small and insubstantial though she was, physically, she was a comforting presence. She lost herself in the dancing, for a while; when she danced with more attention, her feet seemed to hurt less.

"You dance beautifully," Thea said softly. "Like you make love."

"Someone will hear you," Jane chided her. Thea looked up and smiled sleepily, and laid her head back on Jane's breast.

"Would you like to join us?"

Lisa was startled by a voice she did not recognize. A tall girl with an European accent and a shy smile was addressing her.

"I'm waiting for my date," said Lisa, graciously returning the smile.

"Is that her, dancing with Jane? Yes, we're all with Jane. Come, we have ordered champagne for you!"

Angela Jones appeared next, and added her encouragement.

"Maybe I shouldn't," said Lisa. "Hello, Angela!" Angela smiled, not too enthusiastically, and said Hello. "I don't want to intrude."

The two teenagers, whom Lisa had been watching, said a few last words to each other, and Jane's niece joined Gillian Jones and another pretty young thing at what Lisa was thinking of as Jane's Table. A large bottle of champagne was being brought over.

The dance came to a close, and Jane and Thea were sharing a kiss. They turned and came to stand somewhere between the two tables. Thea turned to Lisa and said something she could not quite catch, as the emcee quietly announced that it was almost midnight. There was a subdued countdown.

Lisa found herself at Jane's table, seated next to Thea on one side, and Jane on the other. The champagne was being poured; a generous serving. Across from her, Jane's little niece was gazing at her with honest admiration. It made her happy, that she must look pretty even with her clothes on. She felt light-headed; she hadn't eaten anything all evening. Someone pushed a plate of canapes towards her, and she picked one up, and ate it. It had been the little girl. "You looked hungry!" she said, and giggled.

It was midnight, and they were on their feet. They toasted the New Year, and began to sing _Auld Lang Syne_. Her arm was around Jane's waist, and Jane's arm around hers, and Lisa felt sick with longing, but also happy. They were all looking at Lisa.

"Happy New Year to you all," she said softly, and they drank a toast to that.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we shall remain open for two more hours of dancing! And now, Music!" Happily for the customers, the club had been only one-half to one-third capacity. It was never crowded, being so exclusive in its clientele, but it might had been the least-crowded establishment that night. A few more guests were arriving, and the music began again. Jane had spent an enormous amount on this evening, but she hoped she might be able to get it out of Scorpia's funds.

The Twins, Jane observed, had become somewhat reconciled to Lisa's presence, but were watching Jane closely. Thea was hard to read; she could play the aloof, untroubled lady very well, and she was doing so now. Isabella and Zsuszana were amusing. They had not recognized Lisa, and were evidently charmed by her rather vague behavior, beautiful manners and pretty face, as Heidi was.

There was only about half an hour more dancing left in Jane, and possibly in the younger couple of Isabella and Zsuszana. Gillian would like to dance, if she could only relax in the face of the perceived threat from the predatory Lisa, and the same probably went for Angela. Heidi was recovering a little of her bounce.

"In the mood?" Jane asked around the table. The Twins exchanged glances, and Gillian rose with an offer in her raised eyebrows. Unlike Jane's dramatic, skin-tight, sexy costume that had very minimal draping elements, Gillian's costume—though it had a skin-tight foundation—had a skirt, or rather, a half-skirt that left her right leg bare to its skin-tight inner layer. The costumes were indescribable; in Gillian's case, the black mesh foundation was overlaid in a design of red-and-flesh-toned butterflies that beautifully revealed her figure, while the black mesh skirt, gathered all the way up to the hip on the right, gave great femininity to the profile. Jane's costume had no skirt at all; her sleeves and bodice had soft, sheer parts that softened the outlines.

Gillian's eyes, however, went below Jane's waist, to admire her beautiful legs.

"So!" she said, as they danced away. Jane had carefully done Gillian's make-up, to emphasize her eyes. They were extended out to the edge of her eyebrow in the style of a swan, and accented with glued-on strips of glitter. Gillian looked a dream, but then they all did, except for Heidi, who had been given a little glitter, and some costume jewelry to wear, and that was all. In costumes such as Gillian's, bad dancing was highly noticeable if you danced into the brighter-lit parts of the floor. Jane danced seriously, and Gillian followed suit.

"You look stunning," Jane said, putting emotions into her eyes that she dared not—or didn't know how to—put into words.

"You look smashing, too!" Gillian said, with an awkward smile. "When I look at your legs ... I want to go home!" she laughed. "I used to be so ... so _cool_ ..."

Jane laughed softly. "You shouldn't have worn red; but you do look cool, if you'll take my word for it!"

She _was_ cool. Her style of dancing was all icy elegance and cool, liquid grace. Jane danced perfectly, but her moves were just a little understated, a foil for Gillian. Isabella and Angela had taken the floor, leaving the others to talk at the table. Jane saw that Heidi and Zsuszana were keeping the other two amused. She wasn't worried about Heidi; everything would be fine.

The four at the table rearranged their seats so that they could watch the dancing. The floor had been taken over by those who really liked to dance. There was no television, and no interest in celebrating the New Year with the folks across the various time zones; everyone here was where they wanted to be, with the possible exception of the children. Heidi's friend waved to her, as her party left.

They watched Jane and Gillian, easily the best dancers on the floor. They saw some of the other couples eying the pair in red and green. It was some latin number, and Gillian and Jane were like poetry in motion. The moves of the male and female partners was strongly asymmetric, unlike, for example, a waltz.

"Where did they learn to dance like that?" asked Lisa.

Heidi exclaimed, "That's what _I_ want to know!"

"Lessons, I guess," suggested Zsuszana, with a shrug. She realized, shortly after she spoke, that Jane was Scorpia. Still, Scorpia had a different style. It was mind-boggling to realize just how much Jane put into that masquerade. Since she had been a love-sick teenager, fantasizing about the handsome photographer Jan, Zsuszana realized that her understanding of Jane had evolved dramatically. Still, underlying every role Jane played for those she loved, there was her basic _Jane-ness_ , an indescribable, sweet, honest soul. Zsuszana smiled at the expression of sad admiration on the face of their lovely guest, Lisa. Another conquest for Jane, she decided, not to mention little Heidi. She also noticed enigmatic signals passing between Thea and her date. Jealousy could be a great aphrodisiac, Zsuszana knew very well.

"Would you like to dance?"

Lisa was startled at the courtly invitation being extended to her by Jane's little niece. A look at Thea revealed cautious approval. Lisa rose with a gracious smile.

"It's been a little more than a year and a half," Gillian whispered to Jane.

"Yes, I've been keeping track, too!"

It was a slow dance, and they were not trying very hard. They were not aware of it, but their bodies clove together like a single mythical creature of green and red and gold, swaying to the music. No one who saw them could doubt that, at that moment, they were as one, and at peace. But appearances could be deceptive.

"If she asks you again, I won't stop you," said Gillian.

"No ... I don't want that. I know how it will end."

Gillian heaved a long sigh. "I've been talking to Angie," she said. "The more I get in your way, the more ..."

"You're not getting in my way, trust me, love; you can't imagine the feelings I get when I'm ... when I'm around her!"

"Talk softly, Jane! People are listening!"

Jane's reply was to kiss her. They were some distance from their little group at the table, but it was seen by them all, and their conversation stopped. It was the first that Heidi had really seen Jane and Gillian kiss like that. There was a look of wonder on the girl's face.

Lisa naturally assumed that the couple was talking about her, and this time she was right. Her frustrated desire for Jane was a fire deep inside her, but she had fought her impulse to pursue Jane, and won. Her upbringing was conducive to assigning importance to people based on their social status, on their wealth, on their breeding and education. According to those measures, as far as Lisa knew, Jane was nobody, despite the money she had undoubtedly made from her art. But some instinct in her insisted that it would be a fatal mistake to be more aggressive. And so she had simply endured her longing in smoldering silence. It had carried through into the movie, and the director was getting anxious. She had to relax, now; no film could work if the actress smoldered in every scene.

Lisa was startled out of her stream of thought by a voice close by.

"Would you like to dance?" asked Jane's niece, brightly.

Four pairs of eyes followed the unlikely couple around the floor. To the credit of Lisa Love, no one expected Heidi to be in any jeopardy. Still, it was a relief to see Lisa get her turn on the floor, after having sulked all evening. Jane looked around, wondering whether Lisa had been recognized outside their little circle, but expected to see nothing; even Thea herself had been left strictly alone, and she was highly recognizable. Jane had wondered that she would risk being seen in public with her notorious companion. But everything was going smoothly; it was one of the dances Heidi had successfully learned, and the couple was evidently enjoying themselves, chatting away about who knew what. Then the dance changed, and they all watched Lisa trying to show Heidi the steps to one of the less-known dances. It was perversely gratifying to see that Lisa was not doing too well.

Jane was now dancing with Angela, and they had no time for anything but the dance, and did not notice Heidi watching them intently. Lisa also watched, while her partner figured out how the dance went. The kid was phenomenal if she had the ability to unravel the mysteries of complex dance steps by simply watching. But Jane and Angela were all light and grace; Lisa could never remember seeing the dance performed so effortlessly. The desire she felt inside was a familiar pain, and she paid it no heed.

" _Who?_ Are you _sure?_ _"_

Zsuszana had finally found out who the mystery stranger was from Gillian. Zsuszana knew the name well, having been an insatiable browser of internet porn in her teen years. Now she remembered the enigma that Lisa Love had been, the beautiful body, the golden skin, the patrician face, the fiercely-controlled lust. Only still photographs of Lisa Love had ever been taken; all the hardcore sex she indulged in was sequences of stills, which could only hint at the grace of the real thing. Zsuszana knew very well that many graceful women lost their grace and control in bed. She herself was probably one of them, she imagined; who knew? She was dying to tell Isabella, who was dancing with Thea. Neither of them had known that Thea was one of Jane's numerous friends until that very evening.

"Oh yes. And guess who she wants?"

"You? No? Angela? _Isabella?_ _"_

"It's Jane!"

"Of course ... Jane worked for her on the movie, just one day, wasn't it? I never heard the whole story; what happened?"

"I ... I asked her to get out of it!"

"Oh. I understand," Zsuszana said, giving Gillian a look of sympathy. "I've learned a lot about Lisa, you know? And she gets these ... sort of cravings for young porn starlets, and she announces that she's going to get them! It was all in fun, really; she never stalked them. But I get the feeling that it was real for her."

"What do you mean, _stalked?_ _"_

"You know, go to their homes, go where they hang out, pester them, send them letters, e-mail, you know?"

"Well, she called Jane."

"Really? Wow!"

"Just a couple of times, I think."

"Oh." They danced for a few seconds in silence. "That's not stalking. Depends on what she said, I suppose ..."

"Jane wouldn't tell me!"

"Hmm! But you know, Jill ... there's never been a single case of Lisa Love ever annoying anyone! She's like, Miss Perfect in the porn world, not a hair out of place, not a harsh word, she dots her i's and crosses her t's, you know?"

"So what does that say? Jane is the big love of her life, and I must roll over and play dead?"

Zsuszana was completely taken aback at Jill's outburst, quietly though it was made. The look of dismay on her face made Gillian instantly sorry, and Zsuszana scolded herself for being so insensitive.

A while later, as the night was winding down, Gillian found herself dancing with Lisa Love. For a while they danced in silence, with Gillian struggling to lead, something she was rarely called upon to do. Lisa smiled every time their eyes met, and from the heart, Gillian could see. She knew better than to smile herself; the best she could do, most of the time, was a sort of half-hearted grin, a caricature of a smile that Gillian found ugly in photographs. The one time she had smiled to her satisfaction was in the sketch Jill had done for Ursula, and she suspected that Jane had 'repaired' her smile.

"You look radiant," Lisa said, at last, in her soft, Southern accent.

Gillian took a deep breath. "I want to thank you for ... being patient with me," she blurted out.

Lisa let out her breath in something not quite a sigh. "It's taught me self-control," she said. "It's one of the few times when I didn't ... when I didn't get what I wanted!"

"I thought it was the first time!" Gillian laughed, unable to maintain her anger towards the woman. Indeed, she had lost all her anger some time ago, and some of her fear of her. But she knew better than to lose all her fear.

"Oh," said Lisa, shaking her head, "there have been others; I keep them quiet, of course."

They danced away as the club gradually emptied, and their little party took to the floor en masse, in one last giddy whirl. As Gillian and Lisa had begun to dance, it had been as if the blanket of gloom that had enveloped them had quietly lifted. Gillian was getting more confident in the role of leading the dances, and the dances were the more common, easier ones, to finish the evening. Closing time had been extended for an hour, and it was close to two in the morning.

"At least I'll see her once a year," Lisa joked.

"Why didn't you ask her to dance?" Gillian asked, managing a smile at last.

"I don't know ... at first I was too upset, and now there's no time." They danced some more. "I really like you and your friends," said Lisa. "A very comfortable group!"

"High praise!" said Gillian, grinning.

Lisa took her courage in both hands.

"The movie is almost finished filming; would you let Jane work for me again? What if I promise not to touch her—more than we have to, I mean?"

Gillian looked at her in her grave way. "I've already told her she might."

Thea and Lisa took their leave at the elevator. There was no room for them all in Thea's beautiful car, but Jane and Gillian had arranged for transportation. Their limousine whispered up just as Thea's car drove off, and they got inside, barely maintaining the elegance their conveyance demanded, until the doors closed.

"Whoo!" said Heidi, sighing, "That was _too much!_ _"_

"Enjoyed yourself, did you?" asked Angela, smiling.

"Ooh, yes! Aunt Jane, you can really dance!"

"She tries," said Gillian, laughing.

"And that Lisa! Oh, she is _beautiful!_ Isn't she? Huh, Aunt Jane? Huh? _Anybody?_ _"_

"Yes, she is, love," said Jane, finally, "but she's got a few serious flaws, like we all do."

"Oh. Is she, like, you know, a piece of work, or something?"

In Heidi's world, there was nothing worse than a _piece of work;_ women who earned that description were universally despised. Heidi herself was not personally familiar with the genre, as it were, but now she felt the excitement of discovery: she had _actually danced_ with one! What a night it had been!

"I don't personally think so, but I think the jury is still out, isn't it?"

"Does that mean what I think it means?" demanded Zsuszana.

"I suppose ... where have you been, kid? I thought you were learning the language! Don't they talk trash in the Ivy League?"

"In that case, no, Heidi; Lisa just isn't married, and she ... likes to date lots of ladies. Some of us are not in the position to point the finger, you know?"

"Uh-oh." Heidi was faced with a number of fingers on lips, and pointed glances at the partition.

But Heidi was too excited to keep silent. She was all enthusiasm about Aunt Thea, and her friend Amber, who was the kid of a famous couple whose name she could not remember. She kept up a constant stream of chatter, until Zsuszana and Isabella were dropped off, and they finally arrived at home. The driver was given his money, and they went inside.

Once Heidi was put to bed, exhausted, the girls wound down, and finally went to sleep at an hour before dawn.

# Back on the Set

They had a week before shooting on Lisa's movie started again, and Jane had to leave early in the morning on a Monday for California. Jane knew there was no way she could resist falling into bed with Lisa Love. Each of the remaining nights, she made love to the Twins as if she was going away to die. It had been so long, she couldn't even remember what it felt like to hold Lisa, or even to look into her eyes. It was just the thought of being unfaithful to Gillian and Angela that filled her with dread, and also pumped up her libido. They tried all sorts of experimental arrangements, going absolutely crazy with sex. The night before she was to set out, she took a series of photographs that she had longed to take, but hadn't the nerve to suggest: of the Twins, nude, embracing each other.

But it was Gillian who suggested it. They were lying side by side on Jane's body, and had started kissing each other. They had always been close, but this was a significant step; to kiss open-mouthed.

"Oh, that feels so good," said Angela, kissing Gillian again.

When they finally pulled apart, Gillian had suggested, a little breathlessly, "Would you let Jane take a picture of me kissing you?"

"Nude?"

"Yeah?"

"As long as it never leaves the house, I guess it's okay!"

Jane slipped out of bed to get her camera, while Angela and Gillian waited patiently, looking thoughtful. When she returned, they were tenderly tickling each other's faces. With great difficulty, Jane got comfortable standing on the dresser, with the Twins lying across the bed. Gradually they got closer, and kissed.

"Stop at any time," Jane said, a feeling almost of fear running through her.

While they kissed, they occasionally turned, as if to include Jane in their mutual loving. Slowly, Angela began to stroke Gillian's body, and Gillian opened up to her. Jane clicked away, thankful that she was using a real film camera, and ultra-fast film.

"All right," said Gillian, "Angie ... I can't take any more!"

Angela rolled away, covering her burning face with one hand, and the other gripped between her legs. Gillian watched with shock at how aroused Angela was; she was rolling about in a frenzy. Jane kept shooting, though her good sense told her that it was a private moment that should not be invaded. Gillian's eyes pleaded with her, and she stopped. Gillian moved closer, not touching her sister, but watching with silent sympathy, until Angela had release. Then Gillian cautiously embraced her, expecting rejection at any moment.

"Would you do one more for me?" asked Jane, as they shot her an indignant glare.

1Jane was seen off by the Twins at four in the morning, on the rain-drenched second Monday of the New Year. For a week they had cleaned, with Heidi helping until she was picked up by her parents. Jane had not even bothered to ask her not to report on her adventures too closely. Heidi was a heavy sleeper, just as Jane was, and probably knew just about as much about the amorous activities of the three girls as she had known before she came for the visit. When she had left, they had felt a serious loss; they had all come to love her dearly. Jane's own departure probably made it a lot worse on the Twins.

She had wanted to bring the roll of film with her, but she hadn't dared; if it fell into the wrong hands, there would be a scandal, and the tragic end of Gillian's professional career, so important to so many people, not least Jane herself. At least, she thought, they could find comfort in each other while she was gone. It was the first time she was leaving them alone for more than a couple of days, since they had begun to live together.

She had plenty of time to ponder over her life, as the plane battled against the heavy headwind that brought the stormy weather of the central plains out to the East. Behind the line of storms lay cold weather, and the plane climbed higher and higher, determined to make it up to the calm above the storms, and stay there. An involuntary cry broke out of her, as she saw the bright sunshine outside, and the thick, curdling clouds below. Her mood improved at once, but not enough to make her stop worrying entirely.

After lunch was served, Jane asked for an alcoholic beverage, one of those that were touted as least likely to give her a hangover. After all, it made no sense to turn up for work drunk! She tried to relax, and was able to take a nap briefly. It was disconcerting that the sun appeared to stay just at the horizon for the entire trip.

She was picked up right outside security by a handsome young fellow, holding a placard saying _Schultz_ , and holding a photo in his hand. An id photograph of Jane had been taken the last time she had showed up for work, and he must have been looking at that, she thought.

"I'm Schultz," she said, walking up jauntily.

The boy looked cross-eyed for a second, and then smiled, as if she was a pleasant surprise. Evidently she didn't match his image of a make-up person. "Jane Schultz? Welcome to California! I was sent to pick you up!"

"Great!" said Jane, enthusiastically, the alcohol still humming. "I'm not drunk, really, I just had a drink 'cos I was feeling a bit down. No, nervous! Ha ha!"

"I couldn't have guessed," he said, seriously, looking down at her. He was tall and slim, and Jane wondered what he did when he wasn't picking people up.

The rigmarole of getting established on their payroll once again was not too different from what it had been in Atlantic City, and even some of the people were the same. She had to be registered in various lists that she did not understand, but she was grateful that it wouldn't cost her anything. And then she was checked into a hotel room, because she didn't have to work until after lunch!

Jane was awoken from a wildly erotic dream by a knock on her door. She called out that the door was open, but realized that the door was locked. She hurried to open it, and there stood Lisa Love, looking radiant.

"May I come in?" she asked politely.

"Oh, certainly! What time is it? I'm late, aren't I!"

"No, I just wanted to welcome you, and ask whether you'd like a little lunch!"

"You look wonderful!" said Jane, rubbing her eyes and smiling. "I don't know about lunch, I sort of had one," she said, yawning. "Oh, forgive me; I must wash my face!"

"Go ahead, I'll wait here," said Lisa, standing at the door, clutching her purse a little nervously.

"No, please sit; I shouldn't be long."

Jane was flustered. She wanted to change into something nice, instead of the dull jeans and jeans jacket she had worn. God, if only she could wean herself of dressing like a damn dyke; wouldn't that be something? She wasn't entirely clear about what exactly a dyke _was_ , but she knew they had terrible dress sense, so she couldn't be one. Now she would be forced into selecting a dress in front of Lisa herself, and that was humiliating. It brought back bad memories of that last occasion, when Angela and Lisa had selected a dress for her.

She brushed her teeth carefully—you had to, when you were breathing in the face of people. All she ever heard about other make-up artists was how bad their breath was. The alcohol had made a mess of her stomach, and she knew her breath reflected the sour smell of it. Her face already a bit red, Jane looked through her things, and could only find a rather plain skirt and shirt combination. Well, that would have to do. She grabbed the first pair of panties and bra she found, and ran into the bathroom to change. As luck would have it, the underwear was super sexy, a mere scrap of plastic tubing and a cup for her pussy, and a bit of fabric for the bra. Anyway, this was California.

"This will have to do," she said, coming out.

"Sunglasses," reminded Lisa, still smiling, and still seated where Jane had left her, her purse still on her lap.

Jane filled her working purse with everything she had in her carry-on luggage: chap-stick, band-aids, panty-liner, condoms, sunscreen, insect repellent, cell phone, coin-purse, house keys, credit-cards, checkbook, wallet, ...

"Leave the money behind, Jane; you shouldn't have to spend any money at all; you're traveling for the company. Leave the keys and the credit-cards; just bring the hotel key."

"Oh." Jane put the money back. "I guess it'll be safe?"

"Yes. This is where we're all staying; we have our own security."

"Oh. You're staying here, too?"

"Yes ... Jane, I wasn't trying to pull one over on you, believe me; they've basically just booked a bunch of floors of the place. It's cheaper that way."

Jane blushed. "No, ... I guess it makes sense; you don't live here, either!"

"Oh, no; I live in, well, I guess I can tell you: near Dallas."

Everything was going wrong. Jane bit her lip and simply got her things together. That would teach her to try to keep up a conversation while drunk. She hurriedly brushed her hair, and pulled it into a ponytail, and tied it off with a piece of ribbon. The heavy cotton skirt tugged at her legs, but it was probably a good choice for the job.

As good as her word, Lisa took her out to one of the restaurants in the hotel itself, now closed off to the public, and they ate a simple lunch. Jane's stomach began to settle. For the first time, she began to notice Lisa. She was dressed beautifully in matching blouse and skirt, both in bright red, her dark-blonde hair in barrettes. It would have looked silly on anyone else, but they looked fine on Lisa. And Jane's approval must have shown, because Lisa's face reflected her pleasure.

Jane knew she was staring, but she couldn't help it. She noticed how Lisa cut her food up into tiny morsels, and carefully ate them up, occasionally licking her lips like a careful little girl. She used her knife and fork carefully, in the best American style, which Jane had been taught by Grandma Hoffstaeder when she was little, keeping her wrist lower than her knuckles.

"Well, I suppose we'd come round to that incredible New Year celebration sooner or later!"

Jane grinned.

"I know one person who had a wonderful time!"

"I bet I know who, too! Your niece? Heidi, wasn't it?"

"Yes!"

"And what did she say about me? Anything?"

"She said you were _beautiful,_ exactly like that!" They were no longer the only ones in the restaurant; people were coming in, and bowing a respectful greeting to Lisa, and a friendly nod to Jane.

"That's good; I wasn't at my best, as you might have guessed."

"Good thing, too; I shudder to think what she might have said if she saw you in all your glory!"

Lisa's face instantly clouded, and Jane bit her tongue.

"I know you didn't mean that the way it sounds," she said softly, looking at Jane not quite reproachfully, and not quite hurt, but rather gravely, nevertheless. "Have you actually seen—you know—any of ... what I might call 'my work'?"

"Yes," said Jane, blushing, "quite a lot of it, actually ... I have a collection. From back before, you know," she said, blushing even more.

"I'm proud of it," she said, her chin up just a little defiantly. "Not too many of the, you know—my fellow-workers—can say that. At least they wouldn't, if they had the tiniest bit of taste."

Jane nodded. That was all true.

"And you ... where did you get that costume?" she asked, lowering her voice, looking at Jane with wide-eyed intentness. "You looked like an incredibly beautiful boy, but ... you were all girl, too!"

Jane laughed. It had been a complex combination of clever tricks; the costume itself had been a masterpiece, and on top of that, Jane had made herself up in a very feminine style, so that depending on which angle you looked from, she looked both feminine and masculine. She explained briefly, but Lisa could not quite understand.

"Anyway, I'm glad you liked it!"

"Well, everyone seems to be heading out. Take your time; I'm not going to eat any more."

Jane had been around far too long to miss the hint. She took a few sips of water, and they set out for the lobby.

The shoot involved a few scenes in a home, in which Lisa had to have several changes, from night clothes, to house clothes, to street clothes, and Jane began to work. The work was easy, so far. In between work, she could call home, and she did; Angela was home, and she was glad to hear from Jane.

"How is Lisa doing?"

"Pretty well," Jane admitted. "She says she's glad to see me; what else can she say?"

"Oh, be nice; I for one don't want you to be mean, just to save my feelings."

Jane felt instantly contrite. She knew her remark had not been sincere. "I know; well, she's been very nice. How is Gillian?"

"She's fine ... Jane ..."

"What?"

"Oh ... nothing, I guess ... Will you call again tomorrow?"

"What's the matter, baby?"

"Nothing I can put into words, Jane. I love you!"

"I love you too, sweetheart! Bye."

In between scenes, Lisa sat with Jane, and smoked.

"I know it's a horrible habit, but ... this part of the story is so sad, I'm getting depressed. And anyway, she smokes in the movie, and once I start, I tend to keep smoking."

"What's it about?"

"Well, it's about this guy who sees this girl in a casino, and he falls for her. They fly out West, and he has a rather poorly-paid job, and she takes a job to help out; and it's ... one thing after another, you know?" Jane nodded, alarmed at Lisa's emotion. She was actually beginning to tear.

"Stop, now, you're starting to cry!"

Lisa laughed through her tears. Jane hauled her off to the make-up station, pretending to be angry at her. It took quite a bit of work to fix her up again.

"I was like this the whole time, and worse ... I was bitter at having to ... what's the word? Break-up is wrong ... Having to give up your — _presence_ with me, how's that?" Jane shrugged. "And— anyway, I was a mess!" she laughed, awkwardly.

The Guy came over, smiling his synthetic smile. "Your scene comes up in 1 minute, Ms. Love! It's shopping time!"

Lisa sighed, and stubbed out her cigarette. "They said I have to smoke _their_ brand of cigarettes." She made a vicious sound. "I wouldn't, even if I liked the taste of them. Ugh. I told them to take it out of my paycheck. I bet it's the whole damn thing."

"Gosh ... those emplacement things are a lot of money! All you have to do is take _your_ cigarettes out of their packet!"

Lisa froze, staring at Jane wide-eyed. She frowned. "It's the _principle_ of the thing!"

"Look, you have to make money on this movie, if you want to make a second one!"

"I'll ask them; will you stuff the cigarette packets if they say yes?"

"Sure, if I have to!"

The word came back: officially, no; if the company heard about it, the deal would be off. Unofficially, though, if the cigarettes looked the same, it would be fine. But there would be a representative on the set, and it should be done without him seeing it.

Jane began watching the takes again, and when she asked The Guy, she was quietly passed the screenplay. It was easy to see why Lisa had taken the part; the characters were utterly lovable. The writing was brilliant, and when the girl made mistakes, they were honest ones, made out of ignorance. Lisa was playing the part of a woman just a little older than she was, in love with a younger man, but in many ways the woman was 'right' for Lisa; a girl given to sensuality and a sybaritic lifestyle, determined to change herself in gratitude to her man. The man was a likeable young fellow, an idealist, who just didn't have the skills to earn enough to keep them happy.

In the end, Lisa's character, Lydia, steals the family car, and heads off to the Midwest, where the young man Gene was originally from, to a small village in Illinois, where she hides out, with the help of a hitchhiker she picks up on the way. She gradually buys a small house, and manages to get settled, living frugally, until her man traces her, and they're united. As plots went, it wasn't much, but the details were brilliant. You had to believe that the writer—a woman—had lived the story. Every page of it, moreover, shouted anger at society, but an irrepressible optimism about human nature. Jane was half in love with the author by the end of the screenplay.

"Done already?" asked The Guy, astonished. Jane laughed. It was only a hundred some pages, double-spaced. They must be slow readers around here, she thought.

Shooting continued until eight at night, but Jane managed to keep awake and working effectively. There was food constantly around, and it was hard not to eat all the time. By the end of the day, she wasn't hungry enough for a meal, so all she had to do was go to her room and sleep.

But first, Lisa was waiting to have her makeup taken off. Jane hurried over, and bent over her, and slowly, carefully, got it all off, finishing with Lisa's own special routine, which she knew worked.

"Oh," Lisa said, stretching mightily, "it was like night and day!" Jane raised her eyebrows in inquiry. "Having you here, I mean."

Jane concentrated on her work. It embarrassed her to receive so much praise about her performance at a job she didn't care about in the least. "You're a very emotional girl, and you like to have someone you know, Lisa."

"You hate what you're doing, don't you?"

"Hate is too strong a word," Jane laughed, sorry to have upset her. "I don't care about makeup; it's just something that comes in useful once in a while ... something for someone to do who pays attention to details, remembers instructions ..."

"I know. It's second fiddle to the nth degree."

Jane paused. "I wouldn't put it quite like that!"

"I know, Jane. You belong behind the camera. You belong _in front_ of the camera!" She hunched over, physically expressing her frustration, as if it were a bellyache.

Jane laughed uncomfortably. The conversation was going astray. She had started the day drunk, and was ending the day tired and careless. "I promise to be a lot more diplomatic tomorrow!"

Lisa got to her feet, collecting her things. "I wish you knew me better, Jane. I can stand undiplomatic. I can't stand a fake."

"You're forcing me to be fake, by overreacting to—everything!"

"Only with you, Jane! Please, let me overreact with you, so I can be polite with _them!_ Will you do this for me, please? You be yourself, I'll be myself. Being polite takes a lot of energy, you know?"

Jane nodded. She understood now. Lisa could act, but it cost her a great deal. And she wasn't temperamental, on the outside, but it cost her not to be. And it had cost her for four months.

They took the shuttle out to the hotel. Once they were in the hotel, Lisa drew Jane aside.

"I promised Gillian that I wouldn't make you touch me more than you needed to!"

Jane was utterly embarrassed. She looked around, afraid they might be overheard. "Yes, I know," she admitted, dry-mouthed.

"Can I have one hug ... just so I can believe you're really here?"

Jane said nothing. She dropped what she was carrying, and hugged Lisa tight. When she released her, Lisa's face was twisted in misery. Jane bent to pick up her things, and was amazed at how bitterly Lisa's face was distorted.

Silently, Lisa fished out her room key, and showed the number to Jane. She nodded, still crying, and hurried to the ladies' room. When Jane turned to follow her, she gestured her away impatiently.

Jane was heavy-hearted when she got into her room. It was around nine, too late to call home. And anyway, what could she tell them?

She undressed and showered, feeling the toll the day had taken on her. As much as she tried to convince herself that she had little in common with Lisa Love, the more she was attracted to her. She was a creature of strange contrasts, of deceptive appearances, but who insisted on honesty. She was, on one hand sincerely grateful to have Jane around, yet often demanding emotionally. On one hand, she wanted Jane in a rather menial capacity, as a make-up attendant and unpaid part-time shrink, and on the other hand, she was honestly of the opinion that Jane was worth more than that. On one hand she was at pains to emphasize that there would be no sex between them, and on the other hand, she asked for a hug, and broke into tears when Jane released her! And what was that little thing with the room number?

It didn't take Jane long to decide to go up to Lisa's room and force herself on her. If it was _she_ , Jane, who initiated the contact, Lisa was off the hook, wasn't she? She had promised not to ask more of Jane than was professionally required. But she hadn't promised to fight her off!

Jane saw the refrigerator in the corner. Inside she saw a bowl of ice, and on top, a full selection of one-use sized liquor bottles. She made herself up a little cocktail and drank it down. That felt good. There was a little booze left over, and she drank that down, too. She picked up her key, still in her underwear, and walked out the door, not quite aware of how she was dressed. Too impatient to take the elevator, she went up the fire escape to the fifth floor, marched up to 514, and knocked politely on the door. It was only then that she realized that she was practically naked.

Lisa opened the door, wearing a snow-white terry robe.

"Get in here!" she hissed, staring at Jane. She blushed furiously. "What were you thinking, coming here in your—your underwear?"

"I—I ... I guess I'm a little drunk," said Jane, also red. "I wanted to come up, and—ask whether I could go to bed with you."

Lisa doubled up with laughter. Jane just stood there, grinning. They were in the lobby of Lisa's suite. Inside there was a nice little parlor, and Lisa went and sat in the love-seat, and turned to look at Jane sternly, her face struggling with laughter. "Oh Jane," she said finally, "if that doesn't beat everything!"

Jane sat, feeling odd in her panties. The fact was, it was the skimpiest panty that had ever been invented; it was mostly tubing, a string bikini to beat all string bikinis.

The initial wave of good humor was gone, now, and Jane felt angry as well as horny.

"Would you like a bit of Jane, now that I'm here? I could pretend to force you, so that you could swear to Gillian that you kept your side of the deal!" She stood up, and walked up to where Lisa sat on her little love seat. Lisa's smile turned to disbelief, and then to alarm. Jane sat close to her, and put her arms on either side of Lisa, trapping her.

"Don't be silly, Jane; you know you wouldn't hurt me!"

Jane frowned. "Hurt you? I was thinking more of showing you a good time!" Jane bent, and picked her up, effortlessly. She felt as if she was bursting out of her underwear; her skin felt too tight for her; the little morsel of female flesh in her arms felt like a little kitten, all eyes and fragility. She strode into the bedroom, and gently placed Lisa on it. She undid the waist tie, and unwrapped the robe, and looked at Lisa's nakedness.

But Lisa, the queen of nudity, was red with shame. She pulled her robe around herself, and slid away from Jane. The move penetrated the drunken haze of Jane's mind, and she stopped in her tracks. Then she saw that it wasn't fear that had caused the move; Lisa was making room for her on the bed.

"Jane," she said softly, persuasively, "I meant what I promised, Jane; you know I want you! But not this way! Okay? No, not this way! Come, sit down ... let's talk; here, ..." She dug out one of the myriad pillows, and laid for Jane to lean on. "I'll go get drinks for us ... what were you drinking?"

"A Bloody Mary," said Jane.

"I'll fix you one; I make a good one, everybody tells me!"

"I think I'm fine; maybe just water will do."

"Are you sure? I'll get you both, a Bloody Mary _and_ water, how's that?"

"Lisa, I'm not in a drunken frenzy, you know; I'll go quietly, just lend me your robe, ..."

Jane got to her feet, and without thinking, took Lisa's robe from her. Lisa let her take it without protest, and stood naked in front of her refrigerator, looking pathetically upset. And god, she looked beautiful.

"I'm sorry!" Jane said, as Lisa slowly crouched on the floor, into a little ball of embarrassment.

Jane was now thoroughly befuddled. She had the robe off, and covered the quivering Lisa with it, and sat on the floor by her, head in her hands.

"I don't know what to do anymore," she said, honestly. "I'll never drink again, I swear." She looked up at Lisa Love, who had turned her into this trembling mass of stupidity, and tried to hate her.

"Oh Jane," she said, her eyes full of tears, "I'll get you a robe ... I have lots of them! Well ... actually—this is silly—I have _two_ , but this other one isn't much use," she said, showing Jane a sheer robe that wasn't worth much to cover nakedness. "Pick one!" she said, smiling, like a model on a game show, holding them out.

Jane smiled and took the sheer one; at least she had underwear on.

"You didn't come here to ravish me, after all!" laughed Lisa, settling down on the floor near the refrigerator.

"Do you really have the makings for a Bloody Mary?"

"Yes, I'm sure I do ... I'm going to make us two of them."

Lisa wouldn't let Jane go. Her specialty, she declared, was to invent pornographic stories. "I can spin one on for hours. Want me to tell you one?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"Well, once upon a time, there was the most beautiful fairy in fairyland. And her name was—Evelyn. And you know fairies don't have the same kinds of cunts that human girls, have! Evelyn ..."

Jane listened, spellbound. The story drew on all the fantasies in Jane's own mind, and revealed huge volumes from Lisa's own imagination, and the slow alternation of excitement and sex and desire and fulfilment kept Jane's attention until Lisa began to wilt.

They were both comfortable in her bed, and most of the lights were off. Jane bent over her, as her words slowed to a stop. "And they live happily ever after," said Lisa softly. Jane gently kissed her, and her eyes closed. Jane got out of bed, picked up her key, and slipped away.

Once again, Jane was awoken by a knock. Jane had slept in the nude, and now came to get the door in nothing but her skin. Lisa slipped in, and leaned against the door, her eyes closed and breathing hard. "God, you're beautiful! What _is_ it with you? Don't you believe in clothes?"

"I sleep like this," Jane said. "Last night was an accident."

Lisa began to pick up Jane's discarded underwear and the various clothes she had thrown on the floor. "Go get showered, or whatever you do! I was going to take you down to breakfast!"

Jane frowned, and made to take the clothes from Lisa, and suddenly she was on her back, and Lisa was kissing her, and her hand was slipping between Jane's legs, and Jane was opening up to her, gone crazy with wanting her hand there.

As sanity returned, her eyes flew wide open. She knelt, snatching her hand back, clutching her hands together before her face in shock.

"It's okay," said Jane, getting to her feet, and picking up the clothes. Her heart was thumping like crazy. "We can handle ourselves like sensible adults. I'm not a slave to my hormones, and neither are you. We're just ..."

"I'm sorry! Oh Jane, I'm sorry!"

"We're just ... a little attracted to each other ... a little lonely ... a little ... crazy, that's all. You can do your job, and I can do mine; I'll go shower ..."

"Jane ... If you only knew ... Jane, leave the clothes. I'll take care of them. Jane!"

"Take care of them?"

"Oh, just _give_ them here! I'm not going to ... what did you _think_ I would do with them— _sniff_ them?"

Lisa put them in the laundry bag that Jane did not know about, and chased Jane into the shower.

It was a good day down at the studio. Jane had bounced back well from her jet-lag, especially since it was an early day, and really she was a lot more awake than the rest of them. Lisa was in peak form. Jane understood a lot more of her needs, now, and when she asked for a hug, Jane knew it was not for salacious reasons, but that Lisa found Jane's embrace to be somehow healing.

"Last night ..."

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't talk about it."

"Jane ... you have the most incredible body I've seen in a great while, girl. You should be in porn. I'm not kidding!"

"I was, you know."

"You _what?_ "

"I'm a photographer. That's what I did."

"Oh. Never a model?"

Jane shook her head, avoiding her eyes. She didn't feel superior; she would have defended Lisa's hardcore work with _anyone._ But this was not the place to bring it up.

"I hate it when you ... treat me with kid gloves," said Lisa, resentfully. "I'm not fragile, Jane; and I'm just smart enough to see that you're doing it. And was anybody else, it wouldn't hurt, I wouldn't care."

"You don't _really_ want me in porn. _Do_ you?"

"No," she said, very softly. "Okay, you win!"

Jane felt very sorry for her.

"If it's any comfort: I'd feel the same way!"

Lisa was having a hard time not staring at Jane; in the end, she just gave up. It was a wonderful feeling, being ogled by her. She walked slowly into the shower.

It was when Jane came out of the shower that it hit Lisa.

" _The cigarettes!_ "

Luckily, Lisa said she could manage with four packets of the fake featured kind. They ran down to the hotel store, bought both kinds of cigarettes, and stuffed the good ones in the bad wrapper, and put that bad ones in the ash trays. Jane was all for flushing them down the toilet, but Lisa refused. They hurried down and got the last shuttle out.

Filming started at seven, and continued until noon, at which time, Jane took a break and decided to call Mimi.

"You're _where,_ doing _what?_ "

"Yes! Mimi, I want you to come over and say Hi. It's kind of important."

"This is not a good time, Jane," Mimi said, and there was something odd in her voice.

"Oh no! Your mother ..."

"Uh huh ... it was just after Christmas. But yesterday—-it was my Dad."

"I wish you'd called me!"

"I did, but you were out, and ... I didn't want to leave a message. I told everyone that you were busy, and couldn't come. For Mama's, that is. For Dad, I didn't bother."

"Okay, then ... Do you think I ought to come by, for your Dad?"

"Not for my sake, but ... I think he liked you."

"You've got to be kidding!"

"No ... he got a lot of kicks out of cursing you. You were the last one he ever talked about."

"Oh really?"

"You ready for this?"

Jane took a deep breath. "Okay, shoot."

"Where's the fucking gentile bitch, he wanted to know. And he wasn't angry."

Jane shook her head. "Well, that wasn't too bad..."

Mimi laughed. "Jane, I'm still here, you can always come by!"

"Okay, sweetheart; and remember, if you need help over on that side, you know who to call!"

"I will! I love you!"

"I love you, too. Bye!"

"Bye."

Jane turned around, and saw Lisa, close enough to have heard some of the conversation. But she couldn't be angry; it appeared that the two of them were destined to be in each other's business.

"Who was that?"

"Deanna's sister."

"Deanna was ..."

"My girl ... who died recently ... two years ago. They just lost their Mother at Christmas, and their father a couple of days ago."

Lisa sighed. "Is it a big family?"

"Actually, yes."

"Do you want to go? Shall I arrange to take you?"

Jane shrugged; it was a thought. "I haven't quite decided; her Dad called me a gentile bitch just before he died."

Lisa giggled, and Jane had to laugh. "They're just never sure whether we can take a joke! But they keep trying," said Lisa.

"Did you have Jewish friends?"

Lisa nodded, her eyes shining. Jane smiled. It was a good feeling.

Jane was kept busy in the afternoon; Lisa had lots of running to do in the back lot, and lots of scenes with her co-star in the house, some of them ending in tears, or beginning with tears. Jane learned the ropes fast, and in between, she hugged Lisa.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," whispered Lisa. "You just have to imagine Lydia's feelings when little things go wrong ... I don't know; I'm a bleeding heart, Jane." She looked up into Jane's eyes. "That's your genius, you see? You don't get impatient with people like me."

The continued in that vein, and wound up with the last scene where Lisa —or rather, Lydia— plans to run away.

"There's a major story conference tonight. Do you want to come?"

"Am I invited?"

"I'm one of the co-producers. What I say goes, love."

"Then what was all the bitching about your paycheck for?"

Lisa sighed. "As a producer, I make money if the film sells tickets. As an actor, I get money up front. As a producer, I get paid as soon as the sponsors ante up the money. The sponsors ante up the money as soon as they see the product on the screen. This is my retirement money we're playing with, here, Jane. Well, about a third of it."

"I understood some of that."

"Oh yes. I want my paycheck. So, would you like to be there?"

"Actually, yes."

"This is where they fool around with the story line. And you read the whole script, The Guy told me!"

"Yup!"

The story conference was fascinating. In the story, on her way to Kansas, Lydia picks up a hitchhiker who becomes an important player in the story. The director and the screen-writers had talked about it earlier, and wondered whether Lisa would support a brief romance with the hitchhiker. The only problem was that the hitchhiker was a woman, supposedly, a teenager with long, long blonde hair.

"Why? What's the advantage? It's a perfect story as it is, why would you want to 'improve' it? This story is not about gratuitous sex; it's about two people trying to make each other happy! You guys are missing the point!" said Lisa, red-faced. She obviously felt that the writers were trying to work in what they perceived as her forte, to have her make love to a woman, whereas the friendship had been completely platonic.

"Lisa, we're not talking about a big sex scene. We're not. There will be the tiniest suggestion of something, and there need not be total nudity, _and_ , we can use body doubles. Neither of you need be in that—very brief, as I said—scene at all!"

"But _why?_ "

"Because Lydia and Melanie are so close. They are so close, and Melanie is so loyal, it would make more sense if there is something more!"

"That's because you gentlemen are unable to imagine a close relationship between women that doesn't have a sexual basis."

"Bingo."

Lisa was frustrated. She excused herself, and beckoned to Jane to walk out with her. In the hall, she stood for a long while, breathing deeply. "I have to calm down ... they're all guys; it just isn't fair!"

Jane nodded and said nothing. One reason was that the argument of the men did make sense. As she looked at Lisa, she realized that Lisa knew it too.

"Why don't you want a change?"

"Because it would be a _different movie!_ It wouldn't be the movie I signed on to do! I might not have gone for it, with the sex!"

"There's no sex in the movie at present?"

"No! None!"

"Completely rated G?"

"Rated PG, for a little strong language, and not much of that! This is a Disney Movie in disguise!"

"Excuse me," said a voice, "is this where they're having the story meeting?" A shy woman with greying hair was standing behind them.

"Yes! Hello, I'm Lisa, one of the producers. Are you here for the meeting? I just came out for a little air!"

"I'm Delia Denham, the author! Pleased to finally meet you, Miss Love! I must confess I've been a fan for some years!"

"Likewise, Ms Denham! This is Jane Schultz, a friend from New York. Have they talked to you at all?"

"Only vaguely. They want to discuss the role of Melanie, I know, but how I can help ... I don't know!"

"They want to introduce a brief romance between the women."

The change in Delia Denham's face was startling. It was as if she was melting. She staggered back against the wall, and covered her face.

"I should have known it would happen," she muttered.

"It wasn't my idea, I promise!" said Lisa, angrily.

It was hard to make Delia talk after that. Jane and Lisa guided her to the hotel restaurant, and bought her a cup of coffee, and ordered some themselves. Delia finally revealed that the story was very autobiographical, and worst of all, that there really was a Melanie Baker, and that Delia and Melanie had been lovers for many years. Jane was startled to hear the story, and more startled to hear Delia confessing it to strangers. But it was as though she simply had to tell it; as if the story wanted to come out.

"I love her still," said Delia. "When my husband found me, of course, it was the end for Delia and me. I was torn between them, and I felt I had to choose. I think I chose well, and it wasn't the end of Delia's life, but it was the road again, for her, and for years I had to keep that sorrow shut in. And to this day, she must think I'm the most ... callous person in the world!"

"It was not a happy ending at all, then!"

"Not the happiest of endings, no. Not for her. Not for me, I admit to you, but ... probably not to the world, Miss Love ... I don't know what to advise. You could agree to do it, as artistic license, or refuse, as artistic license; I'm not going in there. I couldn't face them; I'm going home. My presence will only confuse your options!"

Lisa was in agony. She looked at Jane and sighed, and hung her head. "I should never asked you to come to the meeting!"

"Is she one of the producers?" asked Delia Denham softly, mildly curious.

"No ... she's a friend ... my Jiminy Cricket ... Jane?"

Jane had been thinking hard. "Well, if you made it, with the relationship with the two women, and nude scenes and everything, I bet you could still edit it so that none of that is left, yes?"

They thought for a while, and Lisa agreed slowly.

"Well, do it that way, and have the editors edit it twice, and _then_ decide. Make sure you have control over the final cut."

While they were talking, they saw a couple pass them, walking towards the meeting. The girl, in her late teens, had long, blonde hair, and was dressed in the latest teen style.

"Oh. I think that's Stacy Sinclair ... she's headed to the meeting. I wish she had come in sooner; she's seriously affected by this change!" said Lisa. "Well, Miss Denham, if you're determined to play hooky, I better get back, and see what Stacy has to say!"

"I know this is just my biased opinion, but ... you've bought the rights, and there's a clause that allows you to make changes. If you were to make one of the characters out to be a scoundrel, I would protest, but a sensitive portrayal of Melanie ... I think I would be grateful for that. And I can say it was license. I have it both ways."

"Who is Stacy Sinclair? I've never heard the name before!"

"Oh, she's new. She took a lot of persuading, once she learned who I was. But you never know; some of the youngsters want to get naked the first chance they get." Lisa's lips twisted in a little sneer. "And a lot of movies just show skin for kicks. Can't you see how the relationship can be established without any nudity at all?" Jane had to nod. Unfortunately, Jane felt that if a movie had Lisa in it, how bad could a little skin be? And she knew that was the wrong attitude completely.

When they got back to the meeting, the screenwriters and the producers were trying to explain to Stacy Sinclair why it made sense to introduce some Lesbian interest.

In the movie, the Melanie character was a teenager, about sixteen. Stacy Sinclair looked closer to eighteen, just old enough to be legal for a sex scene, without special legal arrangement. But it appeared that it was going to be a tough sell. They were now talking about using a body double.

"Oh. So, I really don't have to do the scene at all?"

"It's more than just a scene; it's a whole story line," said the director.

"Oh, sure; I think I can handle that, so long as there's no actual _physical_ sex, you know?"

Jane took a dislike to Stacy Sinclair. She had come with a man, a boyfriend, or husband or agent, and that person was talking to her, and then to the Director, and seemed to be saying that if using a body double was not a problem, Stacy had no artistic problems with it. After much talking in circles, they finally turned to Lisa.

Carefully, Lisa outlined Jane's strategy of making two cuts. Jane felt a thrill of excitement. It was a sort of sell-out, really. But she knew it had been done before, and was not a new idea by any means. Everyone would be paid, regardless of whether their skin was on the final release or not, and what would be released would be what the producers wanted, nothing else.

"I want control over the final cut," said Lisa, quietly. "I want it in writing, now. Or we do any lesbian scenes fully clothed. Don't tell me lesbians are affectionate only in the nude. That's nonsense, and you know it. Two girls fully clothed can kiss in such a way that no one is in any doubt whether they're just friends, or lovers. That's my ultimatum."

They were angry, but the director took Lisa's side. The screenwriters, seeing their nude scene getting edited out by Lisa, said that it was too much to give away. A fully clothed kiss would not convince an audience that anything romantic was afoot.

"I'll kiss Stacy, here, and you decide! Stacy, get over here; are you ready?"

But Stacy panicked, and backed off, blushing. "She's trying to scare me!" she said, laughing, but clearly intimidated.

"Okay, just a little kiss, but we'll make it _seem_ like more's going on! That's what acting _is!_ "

It was a brief, tender kiss on the lips, and the men watching Stacy knew that she was not acting; her heart was beating fast, and her face was red, as Lisa held her close.

"You okay?" Lisa asked, and Stacy nodded.

"Well?" Lisa asked the men, confident that her point had been made.

"Do we have to decide now, or after the editing?"

"I control the editing no matter what. You get to throw in a fully clothed kissing scene for free, which I won't ask to be cut, and I am certain if you write it, and we do it, that it will stay in. So there's no need to negotiate about the clothed scene. I will do it, and I know Stacy will do it. Right, Stacy?"

"I think so, Ma'am," she said. For the first time, that evening, Jane felt some respect for the young actress. Perhaps they learned to be spineless in acting school, she thought.

"What a night!"

"I thought you were wonderful, persuading all those guys!"

"I nearly asked to kiss _you_ , but I'm glad I didn't, for many reasons!"

"At least you've settled some of poor Stacy's fears!"

"God, yes. What a droopy girl. Not the kind I'd expect to try to hitchhike cross country. But she did a good screen-test. And I just adore her hair!"

"Can someone who doesn't have that kind of heart in her, still act as if she does?"

"Oh yes. Actors are mimics. After a while they persuade themselves that they are what they mimic. Like, can an actor pretend to be brave? You tell me."

"I guess," said Jane, thoroughly disillusioned.

"Want to hear another story?"

This time, Jane undressed, and wore a nightie and a gown before she set out, with her key in her pocket. Lisa was ready with a Bloody Mary, and they got themselves comfortable, and Lisa told her story. This time, Jane was quite awake, but the story made her hornier and hornier. It was about an innocent young actress who was made to do increasingly more perverse acts for the unscrupulous producers of a sleazy movie. It was incredible how Lisa could spin out a yarn with just the things that turned you on the most.

"I can't stand it; I have to go back to my room," Jane said.

Lisa was disappointed. "Stay a bit longer! I'll stop the story; let's talk about something else!"

"Lisa! You _know_ why I have to go!"

"Why?"

"I have to get myself off!"

"Do it here! Okay, do it in ... in the shower, or something!" and then she kissed Jane, and Jane melted. Lisa pulled Jane under her, and Jane felt her insides come out between her legs. She shook her head and moaned, and Lisa was also breathing hard. They had given each other orgasms with a silly story. Or, was it that they simply got each other aroused so much to begin with, that the story only triggered what was waiting to happen?

"Go on ... clean up enough to —take the elevator down; and I'll come down a little later... Jane, I want to talk some more, please?"

It was highly embarrassing, and also erotic, to rinse out the stain in Jane's nightie. The fragrance of it aroused Jane even more, until it was washed out with soap. Holding the fabric bunched gingerly, Jane took the elevator down without being seen. She wondered what would be made of her close friendship with Lisa Love, even if she was known to be her make-up artist. So far, she was being treated as a cross between Lisa's make-up artists and her personal assistant, and, of course, since the story conference, as her personal friend as well. But at the moment she was not being treated as Lisa's lover. She was very grateful for that. It was one reason not to remain in Lisa's room all night, and be seen leaving it in the morning.

Jane no longer though in terms of love; Lisa was filling her emotional world, love or no love, and Jane was enjoying it. And Jane was becoming an important part of Lisa's world, and Jane was enjoying that, too. Lisa was a captivating, interesting woman, and Jane was full of admiration for her. And when she was not with Jane, she felt utterly desolate. She could only manage brief periods without the oxygen of Lisa's presence. And the same went for Lisa; in between shoots, it was as if she was gasping for a breath of Jane.

There was a knock, and this time Jane had daringly left the latch on to prop the door open. Lisa slipped in like a thief, and jumped into Jane's bed.

"What's going on?" Jane asked, her heart instantly rising with joy.

"Sleepover!" Lisa said, breathlessly.

"You know we can't do that," Jane said softly. And she heard the tenderness in her own voice, and she knew she had lost a long battle. And she was glad to lose it. So much for Jane's faithfulness to her twin lovers. She turned to Lisa for sympathy, because there was no one else.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Don't you know?"

"Jane!"

"I am so weak, and I thought that I could be faithful to the Twins here, with you near ... no, I _knew_ I would be lost, and I was ready for it. I came here, ready to fall in love with you, and I have!"

"Do you want me to go, my Jane?"

"My Jane? Already you talk as if you own me!"

Lisa shrank back as if burned.

"That was unfair! I just said 'my Jane' because I loved you!"

"Are you _in love_ with me?"

Lisa took a deep breath, and began to cough and choke. When she finally got control of her breathing, she croaked, "Not yet ... but I know it's going to happen. If you hadn't gone and done it ... I could have held out! No ... Jane ... go turn the lights off, and we'll talk, shall we?"

"Won't it make things worse, to lie here in my bed, in the dark, together, talking?"

"I don't think so, no," said Lisa, calmly.

Jane turned out the lights, and came to bed, and they kissed for a while, something they had to do to get it out of their system. Lisa explained that she had always had a fantasy about a friend who would have certain attributes: humor, honesty, an appreciation of female beauty, a sensitive spirit, a love of children, intelligence, style, and so on. And when she had met Jane, she had found that person. That Jane was also beautiful (in her eyes, of course) made it difficult; she was attracted physically, and that made Jane angry and suspicious.

"But, take that away," said Lisa, "and you're still my fantasy friend; someone who understands me so well, almost better than I understand myself! And you never said a word about my career as a pornstar—how can I let you go?"

"Don't you love Thea?" Jane asked, desperately hoping. If Lisa and Thea were to be lovers, it seemed to Jane to be the perfect solution to their problems. It would make it easier on Jane's conscience to maintain an intimate relationship with her, and Thea, as well. As it was, Jane felt guilty when she made a gesture of intimacy to Thea, or to Lisa.

"I do, Jane. It's the same thing with her; she's falling in love with ... someone I'm not allowed to talk about. I love Thea, but not like I love you. I'm not in love with her, I'm not in love with you, I don't _want_ to be in love with anybody. I've only been heartbroken that way. Ask anybody."

It was Jane's turn. She could only say that she had been in love several times, and had lost. And this time, it had been hard to stay in love with both girls, but so far they had found an equilibrium, which seemed stable. She loved the Twins dearly, and she had been accepted by their family as a close platonic friend, and she was content to play that role.

"You saw us, on New Year's Eve ... what you saw, that's what we are. It's crazy, but if it goes away, I think my heart would break."

"If we make love ... do you think we will fall out of love?" asked Lisa, cuddling close, but not so close as to feel she was inviting an intimate touch. Gillian's instructions did not make any sense any more; it was unbearable not to touch. But they were so satisfied not to be intimate! Just holding each other loosely was beautifully satisfying. Was it just the preliminary to passionate sex? Would it remain like this forever, a warm, loving, tender feeling without the destructive passion?

"I don't know ... with Gillian, all we did is kiss, for months."

"Ah!" breathed Lisa.

It was utterly pleasurable to hold Lisa close, and to kiss. They kissed, and kissed, and stuffed towels between their legs, because they found themselves responding to the kissing just as if they had been making love. There was no doubt about how Jane felt. The only question was: when she went back home, would she be the same Jane? Could she keep up the lie?

"I can't sleep," Lisa admitted, at around three in the morning.

"I've been sleeping on and off," said Jane.

"Oh darling, I can't bear to see you unhappy!"

"I'm desperately happy, Lisa! I'm just afraid!"

"You love those two girls, don't you!"

"Like my own life, Lisa ... I can't even imagine hurting them!"

"And they come first ... and Thea comes first, but Thea and I have been through this; we're not easily hurt, you know? Because I know what she needs, and how she goes about getting it ... she's crazy about you, and she had fantasies ... but she knew it wouldn't work. But I don't feel for her the same as I feel for you, Jane! I can't help feeling what I feel for you, no matter whom you want to belong to!"

And there it was. Lisa's feelings for Jane had evolved into something that wasn't conditional. Jane, on the other hand, was plagued by doubt about what the fallout of falling in love with Lisa would be. And she wanted Lisa all to herself, and she wanted herself all for the Twins. And she sobbed in Lisa's arms as if her heart would break.

It was morning, and Lisa was still in Jane's bed, waking up.

"You did get some sleep," Jane said, relieved. "How do you feel?"

"Rested ... a little drained.." Jane winced, "... full of love for you! And for your twins, too! What about you?"

Jane felt a little light-headed, but unreasonably good. "Everything still works," she said, testing her arms and her legs.

# A Road Trip

Jane persuaded Lisa to take a shower with her. It was the most intimate thing they had done together, but it left them shaking. It was clear that a lot more of that would most certainly lead to sex.

Jane dressed carefully, in nice clothes, after which she went upstairs with Lisa, and helped her dress. Lisa had to check in with wardrobe, anyway, so her dress was only useful to get out to the studio and back. Still, Jane savored the intimacy of dressing and doing each other's hair and makeup.

This was the day they started to shoot the cross-country trip. They were going to shoot it on location, right on the interstate, going through Colorado. Jane was to pack her things, and they would be sent ahead to their first overnight stop. The same went for Lisa. Meanwhile, as Lisa drove, she would be followed by a camera truck, or she would ride behind a camera truck, which would shoot her. Normally, she would not drive the car at all; the car would be mounted on a flatbed, and she would only pretend to drive. But they were anxious to try it this way, with the truck following, or possibly a camera mounted on the car.

Once everyone was in place, and Jane had done minimal make-up on Lisa, they headed out to the little house on the lot that was the home of the couple, and filmed Lisa leaving the house silently. The sun was just coming up, with a little bit of frost on the mountains, a little after seven-thirty. From then on, they drove out, through the thickening traffic, to the interstate. The last several miles just getting onto the interstate, they allowed Jane to sit hidden in the passenger seat, and shot the car from behind, while Lisa actually drove.

"I love you!" Jane said, and Lisa said, "Oh shut up, I'm acting!"

"Don't move your mouth!"

"They're far behind ... they're shooting against the sun, and this is the last time I'll let you ride with me!"

"It isn't, and you know it!"

"Great. I'm going to pull over. We're going to have to do that again!"

"Stay in the car, you're doing fine, keep driving, we got lots of footage. We aren't going to fool around until the road gets a bit clearer. I'll tell you when to pull over, Lisa. Jane, you're doing great. We can't see you. Don't let Ms. Love freak out, you hear?"

"Shit," whispered Jane, "can they hear us?"

"No, idiot, that's why _you_ have the damn unit! If we want to talk to them, you press the other fucking button, weren't you listening, idiot child?"

"So, all the threatening to pull over was just pretense?"

"God, you're so gullible!"

"Oh Lisa, you're the most marvelous, disgusting person alive!" Jane said, laughing.

"Oh Jane ..." Lisa had no words to describe how she felt.

Finally, word came, asking them to pull over. There was a long stretch of road where the whole cavalcade of vehicles could stop. Jane and Lisa were transferred to a minivan, while the car was driven up on top of a flatbed truck.

"Hi, all!" said a voice in the back.

" _Stacy_! How're you holding up?"

"Scared as shit, but I guess I'm ready!"

"Have you met Jane Schultz? She was being quiet last night!"

"Yeah, I mean, no! Hi, I'm Stacy!"

"I think I get to do your makeup, too!"

"How come you were riding with Lisa?"

"Just for company," said Lisa, "and to operate the walkie-talkie."

"Oh yeah? Is it hard?"

"I guess it's just a safety thing; both hands on the wheel, etc, etc."

"So what do you do when an actor gets really nervous? Do you pull out the booze, or what?" laughed Stacy.

"Well, you just need to hitch a ride, I think you can pull it off!"

"What happens? Do we go on ahead, and wait by the side of the road, until you guys come by? Nobody's telling me anything!"

Eventually, of course, Stacy was told how it was going to happen, and it was pretty much the way she had guessed. In fact, they sent the three of them on ahead, so Stacy could practice how she would do it. Her glorious hair was shortened by means of a knot, as girls with long hair often did. She begged to have Jane keep her company, and what they did was to let Jane ride on the little buggy that had the camera on it, while Stacy kept thumbing away, with nobody picking her up. It was around Noon, with the sun blazing down, when the pickup was set up, as they headed across Utah.

The pickup of the hitchhiker was a crucial scene, and was shot several times, and from several angles each time. Despite the simplicity of the situation, Jane was asked to touch both women up, with the same dust smears in the same places. The full sun made it harder, with some things more visible, and other things invisible, and it was hard to guess which was which. Finally, a card-carrying make-up artist was brought up from L.A. to do the job, leaving Jane to be used as a communications person and babysitter. Still, there was a lot of work for Jane, simply helping with Stacy's hair.

Lisa shrugged when she was alone with Jane. "Things change as we go along; Lydia and Melanie get out, get cleaned up, get coffee; I want you around when I'm looking normal."

"I guess I will too, if I'm allowed to look normal sooner or later," Stacy grumbled. But Stacy seemed to feel comfortable with Jane around, and Jane felt she was earning her keep that way. Meanwhile, just watching the Hollywood man, Jane was learning how they expected that kind of desert shot was managed from the point of view of makeup.

Once the pickup was done, there was some filming to do with Lisa and Stacy in the car. The same scene was shot with cameras mounted on the car, the car on a flatbed, and the car with cameras on either side. Luckily, no fooling with the makeup was required. But they might have to do it over again in the studio, with blue-screen, which they shot for the purpose, in which case, the make-up would have to be perfect. Jane rolled her eyes when she was told of that possibility. She had not been involved with any blue-screen shots yet, but it was hanging over her. For this movie, it was a last resort.

# Stacy

Lisa and Stacy would spend their first night in the Utah desert. In the original script, it was a lyrical scene, in which Lydia discovers the beauty of the desert night sky, while Melanie lies fast asleep. The rewrite had a potential scene where a little tenderness emerges between the women. Lisa wanted nothing at that time, but they compromised by having Lydia tenderly cover the younger girl who lies sleeping in the back. Lisa argued for this fiercely. "That's not how it happens!" she said firmly. "Unless the woman is some kind of established mainline lesbian, it comes out of ordinary tenderness!"

Part of the problems between Stacy and Lisa was precisely that; Stacy had expected Lisa to be a mainline, aggressive lesbian, and was both relieved and disappointed that she wasn't. And Lisa did not know how to deal with the issue without making the situation worse. Jane decided that the best thing to do was nothing at all.

Shooting took place from dusk, as the women drove into the rest area, through the process of warming hot-dogs on their engine hood, to looking for water for their radiator, to settling in for the night, and Lisa watching over the girl, as the stars came out. The lyrical nature of the scene, as it drifted into stillness, was sealed by the emerging tenderness, though still there was no hint of sexuality present.

After the scene was shot and done with, it was time to eat and sleep in the trailers. There were two trailers, one for Lisa and one for Stacy, and Jane had agreed to sleep in the minivan, or whatever was available.

"Would you guys like to talk? It might be fun to sleep all together in one trailer!"

"You're not afraid of the dark, are you?" asked Jane, laughing.

"Well, kinda," said Stacy.

"What have they got for dinner?"

"They're fixing spaghetti, for Pete's sake!"

"Nothing like spaghetti in the desert."

"No hamburgers?"

"That's tomorrow night!"

The food was actually very good, and there were some hamburgers, too. The women ate heartily, while the guys sat around belching, and making terrible jokes. It was really a lot of fun, but it was miserably cold. Jane was pleased that she could appreciate male company and humor on occasions such as this. Since she hardly spent any time with the men, it was difficult to know what they thought of her, or of Lisa. During that day's shooting, though, she had to work with several men, including sound men, with whom she rode during some of the shoots, and logistics men, for whom she helped operate the walkie talkies.

They were grateful to get inside the trailers, and snuggle into their sleeping bags.

"Can't we zip these all together?" asked Stacy, shivering.

"You wanna cuddle with us? You're not afraid of us big bad dykes?" asked Jane.

"I was hoping you were, like normal" said Stacy, sounding worried.

"I am," said Jane quickly. "Get over here, there's plenty of room!"

Stacy scrambled over, and slipped in, wearing her boxer shorts and Tshirt. On Jane's other side, Lisa wore the same, Jane alone wore a nightie and socks. The women on either side of her felt nice and warm. The important thing was not to frighten poor Stacy. Lisa was waiting until Jane had made the girl comfortable; she would take her cue from Jane, whom Stacy was beginning to trust.

"So tell us all about yourself; where are you from?"

Stacy started at the beginning; she was from San Antonio, and so on and so forth. Jane simply murmured the occasional word, and hummed when appropriate. Lisa mentioned that she lived near Dallas, which got them talking to each other.

"What about you?" asked Stacy, nudging Jane, who was very sleepy by this time.

"I grew up in Pennsylvania Dutch country—you know what that is?"

"Sure!"

"Just a little south of Hershey, where they make chocolates ..."

"Uh huh! Got it."

"And ... I got hitched in my freshman year to this guy, and we split the next year. I bummed around for a while, doing freelance photography, until, out of the blue, one of my paintings ..."

"I was about to say, when do we hear about the paintings!" interrupted Lisa.

"Yeah, I sold one on Ebay, and then another one, and then ..."

"Yes?"

Stacy was a good listener.

"I got a call from Thea Underwood, to paint her portrait."

"Holy cow! She's fabulous! Jane, is she really gay?"

"Stacy, that's not very cool. I'm getting all set here to spread the word what a cool gal you are, and you ..."

"Okay, okay. So you paint her portrait. Then what?"

"Okay, back to the adventures of Jane, and no interruptions? Anyway, Thea liked it, and guess what, they exhibited it in the Royal Gallery! And the next thing I know, Gillian Jones—you know Gillian Jones?"

"Like, the model?"

"Yes. She asks me to paint a portrait. Then I got started doing makeup for her, because I only get a portrait job like two times a year. Makeup is steady work, and Gillian asks me to work for her whenever she can. And then Lisa asked me. I know fashion make-up better, but I'm picking up movie make up as I go along."

"Lisa, why did you ask for Jane?"

"Because," began Lisa, thoughtfully, turning towards them, "Jane is a restful person to have around. This is a pretty emotional movie, and, unlike, you know, hardcore porn, you're left with all the feelings still inside you. And with Jane, I ... just ask her for a hug, and I don't feel like crying any more!"

"Yeah, Jane ... I have to agree. You're cool."

"That's nice to hear, girls ... I don't know whether I can make a career out of being the 'feel good' person."

"Sure; it's called doing makeup!"

Jane laughed. "Stacy, I'm pooped; I'm going to sleep like this, like King Tut, so I don't freak anybody out, ok? Sweet dreams, hon. Good night, Lisa. Wake me, girls, whoever gets up first."

"I love you, Jane; did I tell you that tonight?"

"No ... I love you too, Lisa!"

"Good night, Jane!"

"Good night, Stacy."

Luckily, Jane actually did fall asleep at once.

In the morning, it was Stacy who woke Jane up.

"Hey, I'm going to pee," she said, and scrambled out of bed. Jane sighed. Some women were compulsive early-morning pee-ers, including many of her girl cousins. Deanna had been one in a mild way; she didn't fuss about it, she simply got out of bed and went to the bathroom. As far as passing water was concerned, Jane adopted more of a 'Don't ask, don't tell' policy.

On her right, Lisa was cuddled right into her, one leg thrown over her, and her arm snuggled under her. She was so perfectly fitted to Jane that Jane could not get free to wake her up.

"Hey, wake up! You're going to be needed on the set in a second!"

"Shit ... what time is it?"

"After six!"

"Okay, let's go."

The director wanted everyone in their places _now_. That meant that Jane had to be out of sight, while they shot Lisa and Stacy coming out of the car. There wasn't a lot of dialogue, but Jane remembered how their interaction had been described, in beautiful detail, and Jane realized how Lydia's growing affection for the teenager had been unconsciously depicted, so that, despite the subsequent sterilization of the relationship, the roots of intimacy could be seen, if you knew what to look for.

That was from the point of view of Lydia. But, Jane wondered, was it all one sided? Could Melanie have been so heartbroken when Lydia's husband showed up if she, too, had not fallen in love with Lydia? Where were the roots of that? Could they persuade Stacy to portray it? But this early in the story, Melanie is focused on not being left behind. Her one fear is that Lydia will abandon her, and she bends every muscle to making herself be helpful, and not the Melanie who hated her home enough to run away.

That much Stacy did beautifully. There was some more filming once they got on the road, which they did, and then everyone came back to camp for breakfast.

"No showers for Lisa and Stacy; Jane, you can shower in the trailer, ma'am."

Jane gleefully showered before breakfast, and changed.

# On Location

Filming on location was an interesting procedure. There were agents who had gone ahead where they intended to be shooting, who made all the arrangements. Then barriers would be set up, locals, if needed would be hired as extras, so that all would be ready when the actors arrived. When Jane arrived with the crew, all this work had already been done. She was already becoming settled into the mind-set that the women did not necessarily have to look _good_ , but to look _right_ (something she had always known, but which was, of course, going against the grain for a fashion make-up artist). In addition to Lisa and Stacy, the owner of the town store had to be made up, as well as the odd visitors to the store while the girls were there. And so on for any little encounter they chose to film.

Watching Lisa and Stacy interact in the movie as Lydia and Melanie was fascinating; the relationship was building up as she watched, as the clever screenplay created that relationship with actions and words and gestures. Now, what had initially been possibly a lascivious idea gave depth and reality to the relationship, which must have initially started off by offering Lydia someone to relate to outside the couple consisting of herself and her husband. The entire road trip had two functions: the main one, to develop the relationship between the women, and secondly, to allow Lydia to create a home and an environment, mean though it was, over which she had control.

All through the day, of course, the trailers traveled ahead to where they would be needed for the principals at the end of the day. By the second day, in the rewrite as in the original screenplay, the two women had realized that they needed more equipment than they had money to buy, and began a campaign to beg some, and steal the rest. Lisa was all for begging all of it. "Why not? If people will give when you ask, why steal?" Jane spoke out for it—she was tolerated everywhere now.

For the first time since she left high school, found herself flirting with men, or rather, being subjected to flirting. Many of the camera crew were pleasant company, and she kept out of their clutches by saying that she had a boyfriend in the East, who was in the movie business as a writer. But, now that theirs was an isolated community, it was a lot harder to avoid being identified as a special friend of the two actresses, even if she wasn't branded a lover.

In Colorado, Lydia and Melanie slept the night just across the Rockies, and the process of camping in the woods, in the snow, was shown in detail. Snow was readily available, and so were woods. Once the filming was completed in the night, a story conference was called. From that day on, the director and the producers decided, they would have a conference every night.

The men had decided that it made little sense for the romantic impulse to come from Lydia, the main character. This left young Stacy to bear the burden of bending the relationship. They would take the first step with a simple kiss in the morning. In the confines of the car, Stacy would wake, seeing Lisa asleep, and kiss her, and Lisa would only sigh, and snuggle a bit closer. "That shouldn't be too hard, I don't think."

Having found the arrangement of the previous night good, once again, Jane was doomed to sleep between the other women. Stacy was clearly distressed by the upcoming scene, and all night long, Jane found herself being woken up by the younger girl's restlessness.

"Can't sleep?" Jane whispered.

"Uh-uh ... is she awake?" Stacy asked in a whisper about her co-star.

"No. Why?"

"Oh ... just thinking ..."

"Are you a good kisser?" Jane asked, with a smile in her voice.

"I don't know ... I don't think they want a big one this time."

"So practice on me! Okay, I'm asleep."

Stacy rolled over her and gave her a soft kiss on the lips.

"Now, how hard was that?"

"But you're normal; with her ..."

"Oh come on; she likes you and respects you, and she isn't going to make you feel uncomfortable!"

"She's been real nice so far ..."

"She's great. Relax, hon." Actually, thought Jane, it probably isn't such a disaster if Stacy got herself into a state. It'll probably give the scene a little additional zip.

They were woken up early, as arranged, by the simple expedient of calling Jane on her phone, which woke them all up. Jane had taken the responsibility of getting the girls up and ready in the morning. Lisa woke up, as always in a good mood, professional that she was. Once Stacy had run to the toilet, she was lethargic. Jane encouraged that, assuming that it could only help. Very cleverly, the scene was shot twice, once inside the car, with great difficulty, and once back in the trailer, using the same blankets. Jane could not believe how the second shot could possibly be useful, but it allowed the camera to come up really close, which was impossible in the car.

"Was that hard?" Jane asked Stacy privately, as they headed from the trailer out to meet the others.

"Not as hard as I expected," was the whispered reply.

"You're doing great, girl! And you're easy to work with. That's a big plus."

"Spread the word!" said Stacy, with a friendly grin.

Someone had had the idea of hiring a body double in Denver. They parked all the equipment in the parking lot of a hotel in the outskirts of the city, and checked in for a blast of comfort and luxury until they got on the road again. (While their road accommodations were not very rough, still they were not up to the levels of comfort commanded by the major studios.) While Jane and Stacy soaked themselves in warm baths, Lisa was helping to view body doubles.

It was pretty clear very soon that there was only one girl that looked anything like Stacy at all, in face and build. But she, by some oversight, had not been informed that there might be a scene with another woman. She was looking acutely unhappy about the whole thing. When she was shown with whom the scene would be played, she was a little more comfortable, because Lisa did not usually look threatening. But Lisa herself felt reluctant to work with the girl, since she was sensitive to earning a reputation as a sexual bully.

The producers and the cast director exchanged glances.

"We'll run through the scene, Kelly, and see how comfortable you are with it, okay? If it doesn't work, we can't use you, dear. We'll pay you for your time, though." The girl was reluctantly agreeable. A nightie was produced for Kelly, and Lisa got dressed in hers. Then the women got on the hotel bed, and the director told them what he wanted. As soon as Kelly felt Lisa's body around her, she pulled away. "Whoa," she cried, "this is just a _little_ too much for me!" Lisa smiled, and made the best of the rejection, but it hurt. It was becoming clear to her how different it was, being an actress.

Privately, Jane was wonderful at giving her positive feedback, and honest opinions about various aspects of how the movie was going. Just then, Lisa could have used Jane very much. She took a moment while she wasn't talking to someone to call Jane, who had just got dry.

"What's up?"

"Just tried the semi-nude scene with the body-double ... she has a big problem with ...."

"Don't tell me: she thought it would be with a guy?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, you poor thing!"

"I want a hug."

"Be right there!"

"You want to see your body double?"

"Sure! Where?"

"Come on!"

When they got to the room on the lobby level, Lisa was smoking outside in a back porch, wearing just a robe in the 40-degree temperature. Jane joined her, and pulled away the cigarette, to hug her. Stacy joined them. "Where is she?"

"In the room across the hall, I think it's 102."

"OK, I'm fine," said Lisa, softly.

"Why are you upset?"

Lisa shrugged. "I guess I'm not much of an actress!"

"I think I know what you mean. You never had to worry about your partner's feelings before; they were all there for what you wanted to do!"

"Yeah ... that sums it up, I guess. Puts me firmly in my place."

"Don't beat up on yourself; you gave it every chance! Come inside, sweetheart. Here; I guess we can recycle this one ..."

"Oh, just throw it away ..."

As they came in through the doors, they came face to face with Stacy coming out, followed by the director, the casting director, and Kelly. And then the casting director stared at Jane, and stopped walking.

"Lisa," she asked in a sweet voice, "would you introduce me to your friend?"

"Jane, this is Karen McChesney, our casting director; Karen, meet Jane Schultz, portrait artist, still photographer, and ... and part-time make-up artist, and babysitter!" Lisa looked suspiciously at Karen and Stacy, who were looking thoughtfully at each other, and Jane. "What's up?"

"This young lady looks a lot more like Stacy than ... some of the other young women we've looked at," she said, as Kelly was tactfully shepherded away by The Guy.

Lisa looked from Jane to Kelly, and Jane did the same.

"She's older, her hair is different, she's bigger!"

"Look at the face and the body, that's all. Just look! And you know her!"

"I'm not an actor, Miss Karen," Jane offered.

"I don't see why not; everybody's acting these days!"

"Jane," said Lisa, exchanging glances with Stacy, "she's right." She masked off Stacy's hair, and it really was Jane's face, with a different expression, of course. The eyes were a different color; Stacy was very blue-eyed, and her face was a little squarer even than Jane's, which was pretty square to begin with. From other angles: the profile, for instance, the resemblance was even more striking. It was thoroughly disconcerting to Jane to have Karen McWhatsit walking round her as if she were a used car.

"There's money in it, dear; a lot more than you earn in makeup!"

Jane's eyes lit up, because she was earning quite a bit in makeup as it was, and Lisa had assured her that she would be paid extra for the responsibility of being both Stacy's and Lisa's special assistant, even if she didn't care to be recognized as such.

Jane was hustled into the room, and a new nightie was found for her. All the men suddenly arrived in the room, to watch. Jane and Lisa lay on the bed, and cameras were brought in.

"Oh god, I hope my folks never see this!" Jane said in a small voice.

There was much laughter. Lisa assured her that the credits were often cooked up for this sort of situation.

What they wanted, for Jane, of course, was no hardship. It was a long kiss, with their arms and legs entangled, and Jane's hand on Lisa's breast.

"Oh yes," said the director. As he walked away, he was heard saying that they could use that very shot, with the marvels of modern science.

"Absolutely not," snapped Lisa, as she and Jane got out of bed. "You need a wig, and contacts, and it has to be done on location!"

"She doesn't look like me very much, though!" complained Stacy.

"I think the cameras get very close up, and they slice your face in, before and after, and that sort of thing."

"Oh."

"But I hate the thought of wearing contacts!"

Later, when Stacy was able to hunt Jane down alone, she asked, "How can you stand to do that? Eugh! Isn't it _disgusting?_ "

Jane frowned. "It isn't disgusting, no! It's Lisa, and I love her to pieces!" She produced a confused smile for Stacy's benefit, thinking that she wasn't that bad an actress after all. "I'd kiss you, no trouble; matter of fact you _did_ kiss me. Didn't it freak you out?"

"Nuh-uh." Stacy's comfortable homophobic world was falling apart. "But that's different!"

"It's exactly the same! See, you sleep on my left, and I sleep on Lisa's left all the time!"

"Will you stop kidding for just a moment?"

Jane laughed, and went back to trimming her toenails. "Okay!"

"Jane ... is it okay to kiss a girl?"

"Only if you like her." That earned her a painful slap by Stacy, who apologized afterwards, before Jane administered a counter-slap that promised to be a lot more enthusiastic.

With Stacy around, Jane and Lisa had to be very circumspect indeed in their sleeping arrangements. In fact, Lisa and Jane had a tryst in the mid-afternoon. It was made a little easier because they had connecting doors. Just as soon as Jane had come in, nude, as she often was, there was a knock on Lisa's door.

Lisa furiously asked Jane to get out of sight behind the door. She edged open the door, and there stood Stacy, staring at her through the crack. The girl behaved like a little kid, sometimes.

"Can I come in?"

"Stacy ... I have a visitor; this isn't a good time."

"Oh. Is it a girl?"

Lisa smiled frostily. "I'll talk to you later, dear! Go talk to Jane."

Jane almost laughed out aloud. They heard knocking on Jane's door.

Within seconds, Jane and Lisa were rolling on the bed, naked, kissing and hugging, rubbing their bodies together. It was as if they had been apart for weeks. Still, they managed to satisfy themselves with simple stroking and kissing, no oral sex, no penetration, even if there was almost fierceness in how they made love.

"It's hardly enough," whispered Lisa, as Jane sucked Lisa's breast, and began to kiss her, on her neck, and drifting downwards.

"What do you want, Lisa ... just ask!"

"I have a strap-on! God, you would look incredible in it!"

They teased each other about it for a while, a kind of lovemaking in itself, something that was new to Jane, but which aroused her.

"I've seen you wear one ... you almost came just strapping it on!"

"Does that seem funny to you? It's all in the mind, Jane ... you have to train it to be aroused quickly, and stay aroused!"

"Suck my breasts!"

There was something about the moment that told Jane that she could ask anything, anything reasonable, and Lisa would do it. Jane rose on her arms, so that her breast, —- her small handful of breast that some women scorned, and other women lusted to touch— so that her breast hung directly over Lisa's lips. Oh God, she had the most sensuous lips in the world ... she reached out with her tongue, and licked Jane's breast, and Jane closed her eyes in bliss. Lisa licked harder, getting turned on. "Stroke yourself ... I want to see you come!" said Jane, through gritted teeth.

Lisa took a deep breath, and slipped her long, long fingers between her legs, her thumb softly caressing her hard, prominent nub, and two of her fingers slipping inside her, stroking as Jane had never seen before, a gentle, erotic, hypnotic motion. Jane's eyes traveled over her body, devouring it, savoring her legs. She had seen those legs oiled until they shone, when she was making love to some beauty. She never cared about making love to someone more beautiful than herself—-there were a few women out there, who could give Lisa a good run for sheer good looks. And Lisa would bring out hidden beauty in her, the blinding beauty a woman wore when she gave in to rapture!

Lisa was touching herself more deeply, her muscles tensed, her hips thrusting upward in sensuous rocking motions that were almost lewd.

"Am I turning you on? Does it drive you crazy to see Lisa come? Are you turned on to see me ... fighting my way ... up and up ... OH my god, I want to see all of you ... get up ... spread your legs for me ... yes, like that ..."

"Stop now! Take your hands away!"

"I'm almost there!" Lisa cried softly."

Jane trapped her hands in her own, and simply held them. Lisa was crushing her legs together in an agony of need to come. Jane hld her hands firm, and lightly kissed her legs, legs she had longed to kiss for a while.

"Why?" Lisa asked.

"Go get your strap-on!"

Lisa stumbled out of bed, and rooted around her large bag, cursing. Finally she found a soft leather bag. Out of it came a complex piece of harness and a beautiful black phallus.

"Would you like to strap it on me, Lisa?" she asked softly.

Lisa was almost crazy in her desire to see Jane in the thing. Her fingers, her hands burned on Jane's skin. There were a million buckles and fasteners and toggles, that fit tight around Jane's waist and legs and trunk, and parts that went around the breast, and beneath them, pressing cruelly into the flesh. And the phallus fit on and around Jane's pudendum, its edges biting into Jane's sensitive labia, and most cruelly, into her clitoral sheath, and the engorged clitoris within.

Lisa sat on the edge of the bed, eyes narrowed, watching Jane strutting up and down the room, her face fixed in a frown of concentration. This was not a game for Jane; the girl felt the power of the phallus almost as if were a part of her. She would not enter Lisa, but she was _thinking about it._ Lisa touched herself slightly, and the frustrated orgasm roared into being. Lisa fell backward, clutching at her breasts and her crotch, wishing she had touched herself just a bit more firmly.

Jane sat on a chair, and seated Lisa on her lap, the phallus thrusting out between Lisa's legs, but not entering her. She pulled Lisa back, to rest against Jane's breast, and began to softly make love to her, stroking her, caressing her, kissing the back of her neck, whispering soft words to her. "I love your legs ... I love your thighs, I love your beautiful breasts ... I love your lips ... I love your eyes and your hair," she said, enumerating every little part of her. Lisa had never been loved quite like that before. How Jane's passion found its way out of her in such gentle ways! The violence that made her dangerous and exciting was always in control.

"Let's put everything away," Jane said, softly, holding Lisa close.

"Some day ... you have to use that thing on me."

"It will be my final descent. Lisa ... I still want Gillian! I know she isn't as beautiful as you, she isn't as smart as you, and she doesn't have your fire! But I love her ... I must find a way to make her believe that all our fucking here didn't mean a thing ... and that's a bigger lie than I've tried to lay on anyone."

"We're not evil, Jane ..."

"No ... just weak, that's all."

Jane undressed, and Lisa cleaned off the harness, and did some elaborate maintenance routine, and put it away. Then they lay together, whispering to each other, like a loving couple.

"If you only knew the number of women who're only waiting to ask you out ..."

"Waiting?"

"Oh yes. I just happened to get you first, that's all."

"For portraits, ostensibly?"

"Well, of course." After that, one imagined, it would be bedtime for Jane. "I'd like a portrait, too ... but I'm happy with photos. I've got hundreds ..."

"I'd like to paint you, anyway!"

"Well, let's think about it carefully. Maybe we'll find an interesting idea for a portrait!"

Stacy was furious with Jane for going off and leaving her. Jane had to bear her fury for a good ten minutes, until she cooled down enough to play a game of pool with her. Word has spread that Jane would be her body double, and everyone thought it cute that they spent so much time together. It was partially Jane's responsibility to find a wig to wear to make her look more like Stacy, as well as contact lenses. Once the game was over, it was work for Jane. They would wait a couple of day in Denver, while everything they needed was flown out to them.

Jane took time to call the Twins, and found the two of them as upset as Jane was. It finally struck her that their own relationship was getting complex, and that the sisters were not happy with it.

# The Twins On their Own

The very first night, Angela had stayed late downstairs. Things had been awkward between them all evening, until they had begun to talk about Jane, and how they missed her already. They'd eaten mostly in silence, and then Gillian had gone up to bed, alone. Unable to slee, she had come down to look for her sister, who was browsing the internet. "Come to bed," she had asked, feeling very strange.

When Angela hadn't come up an hour later, Gillian had come back downstairs. "What's wrong? Why won't you come to bed?"

"I'll be up in a bit," Angela had said, a little testily.

"What're you looking at?"

Angela had quickly shut down and got up. They had smiled at each other, awkwardly, and somehow Angie had kissed her. "Come on," she had said, and taken Gillian's hand, as she had done when they were little.

Gillian had watched by the light switch, while Angela stripped down to the skin. Gillian always wore something; today it was a simple nightie in pink.

"Okay," said Angie, slipping under the sheets. Gillian turned off the light and crawled over Angela to her side.

After they had lain in bed side by side for several long minutes, Gillian, unable to bear her feelings any longer, had slid closer to Angela and kissed her. And they had started making love. For a good while, it was wonderful. From that first kiss, Gillian had found the taste and feel of her sister intensely pleasurable, Angela had responded, increasingly more passionately.

"Be gentle," Gillian had whispered, as Angela sucked hard at her breast. She spread her legs, and Angela moved against her, sending waves of pleasure through her. The confusion of pleasurable thoughts and feelings that went through Gillian's mind was bewildering. The passion between them spiraled higher and higher, and Gillian almost forgot that Angela got rough when she got aroused.

It was the confusion between guilt and Gillian' tendency to bruise that frustrated Angela. She tended to take Gillian's protests, softly though they were phrased, very hard. Neither could leave the other alone for very long, and so they argued after each bout, and there were tears.

In the morning, the two sisters woke almost at the same time; Angela a little earlier. She found Gillian asleep next to her, with her arms around her, as she would have usually put them around Jane. She barely had time to enjoy the sensation before Gillian woke up, and quietly took her hands away. Angela was facing away, and knew only by Gillian's changed breathing.

After her night's sleep, she felt good, though a little light-headed from lack of sleep. She turned around to face Gillian, and was warmed by Gillian's smile. (It struck her that it was funny, Gillian learning to smile; or was it tragic, that she hadn't smile much as a child?) She had been afraid that their relationship as sisters would be damaged permanently; she had fallen asleep deeply frustrated with Gillian's whining, and feeling thoroughly guilty. Apparently Gillian had not taken it too badly, or had forgiven her all.

Gillian moved closer to kiss her. Angela felt tears in her eyes. Why, oh why had they never felt this way before? Perhaps it was that they saw each other clearly now as women, not just twins. It was all too complicated to unravel, but that Gillian loved her still—that was wonderful.

"I'm sorry for everything," Angela said, quickly, but softly. If it meant the end of sex together, it was worth it. She would look among Jane's things; if there was some sex toy that would help her get off without hurting Gillian ... "Are you bruised, Jill? Let's look..."

Gillian raised her nightgown, in her oh-so-sexy way, to look at her legs. There was a very faint bruise across her hips, which they looked at anxiously. Angela felt awful. She bent to kiss the spot, to make it well—something they had never done since they were four. Gillian laughed softly, and ran her fingers through Angela's fiery hair. For a few seconds, desire heated her, and she turned her lips to Gillian's crotch, only to kiss. Gillian smothered a gasp, but the hands in Angela's hair did not push her away; they, if anything, pulled her just a little tighter. They had stayed away from oral sex—that seemed rather depraved. Only Jane used it, on either of them, but Gillian hated the feel of risk associated with it, Angela knew. But from Gillian's reaction, she might change her mind ...

"Stop, stop now, Angie ... I have to work, and you do, too, don't you, love?" she said, so softly. It was so delicious to feel Gillian's hands tugging at her shoulders, to pull her up. Her fingers had nails, unlike Angie's, perfectly shaped and smoothed and polished. Jane had learned how to do it, and did it for her every once in a while. God, Angela wanted to just lay her down, and crush her with her body! There was lust in Gillian's eyes, too, but she was so easily satisfied with kissing and stroking!

"Yeah ..." Angela said, feeling sullenness slipping into her manner. "Shower together?" she asked, hopefully.

"Okay," said Gillian, doubtfully.

But they had made love in the shower, and Gillian had been turned on, and come with loud moans. Angela wanted them to be horizontal, but Gillian was turned on by the water. She hugged Angela's hand to her, and it was crazy and mind-blowing to watch her face. Once Gillian had let her have her hand back, she did what she had never done before, which was slip down into the tub, and slip all four fingers inside herself, and brought herself to orgasm with enormous effort. Gillian had watched, wide eyes, getting red in the face. Then she had crouched over Angela, who was still shaking with the effort and it's result, and kissed her like crazy.

"Look, I'm wrinkling ... this isn't good ..."

"Come on," Angela said, as Gillian took a wobbly step to turn off the water, "I'll help you with your lotion."

It was not exactly Angela's style, but Gillian's pleasure —unspoken, but clear to her sister— in feeling Angie's hands on her was irresistible. Angela did not believe in lotion, but it was an important part of Gillian's look. She let Gillian put in on her, too, and it felt sexy. All in all, the hour in the shower had been infinitely more pleasurable and satisfying than the entire night.

But the evenings and the nights were always hard on them. They cycle of fighting at night, and making up in the morning continued for several days, until one night, they had fought so hard, that Angela had gone off to sleep in her own bed, and Gillian had cried all night. Neither had slept, and the morning had been frigid with more than just the snow and sleet outside. They had apologized to each other before separating that morning, but it had been mere form. Gillian's day had not gone well, but Angela's day had been worse. That night, Gillian had come to her, as usually, begging her to come to bed. And she had complained that it was always she who had to do it; why couldn't Angela be the one, just one night, who came and called her, Gillian, to bed? Did it make Angela feel superior, to know that Gillian needed her like this?

Jane was told hardly any of the details; as far as the sisters were concerned, it was family business. At any rate, until she returned home, at which point, of course, they would forget that Jane wasn't family. Hearing the strain in Jane's voice over the phone made it easier.

"So ... how's Lisa?"

"She's fine," Jane reported, off-handedly. "It's getting a little messy, on location, with all the fragile egos, you know? At least Lisa doesn't play the Big Star, at least not with me. But some of the smaller stars are more trouble."

"Is it going to be a big movie? We thought it would be rather a minor thing."

"I have no clue, really. It's definitely a mid-budget movie; they have a little over a million to spend, but we might not spend all of it."

"That's different!"

"Both Lisa and Keith are down-to-earth types in their own way. But everyone is bored, and we might blow some money just to have a big party."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know; for the crew it means getting drunk; for the actors ... I don't know. Keith's girlfriend is a big Hollywood queen, ... I don't know. I just don't know. Oh, I got a bit part in the movie, did I tell you?"

"No. Is it interesting?"

"Not really," Jane said, after a brief pause, and refused to elaborate on it. There was little else to say, and they hung up.

# A Party Dress!

Keith Harrison was a wonderful fellow, handsome in a guy-next-door kind of way. Jane really liked him; he was what Gabe should have looked like, if he wanted to be in movies. Keith could really act, but what was more, he was a really decent man. His girlfriend, on the other hand, was rather a pain. She was the daughter of a big Seventies movie star, and an oil billionaire, who simply didn't need the enormous paychecks she received from her movies, and constantly carped on the excesses of Hollywood. But she was well known to be extravagant in private, and even better known for castigating Keith for being cheap in not-so-private circumstances.

Keith had been notably absent after each day's shooting, and privately Lisa had confided in Jane, a few days after Jane had come out to California, that she suspected that Julie had it in for her. Still, there was no positive evidence for the suspicion, except that she had stayed away. On the other hand, any girl who was entirely _happy_ about her boyfriend co-starring with a well-loved porn queen was probably very strange, Jane thought privately. Now Julie was in Denver, with Keith in tow. They were ready to start filming again in a couple of days. The wig and the expert had arrived that afternoon. But Julie wanted to throw a party for all of 'Keith's people in Denver,' which meant the entire cast, the Denver logistical team, and crew, about thirty people.

Meanwhile, Stacy had got it into her head that a certain fellow on the crew, Bradley Hogan, was in love with Jane. Every night, at dinner, she would whisper to Jane that Brad was watching. Jane was thrown in with Stacy a lot of the time, since Stacy despised the staffer who had been assigned to her. This was generally not terrible, since Jane had taken a liking to Stacy after the first few rough moments. She had a lot of good sense, but numerous hangups, which Jane tried to live with, or address when it got impossible. But the Bradley thing was just a little too annoying. More so, because Jane's relationship with Stacy depended on Stacy not knowing just how close Jane and Lisa were. With one thing and another, Brad was persuaded to bring Jane to the party as her escort. Lisa had already told Jane that she would come alone, in preference to looking for some neutral escort, or, worse, one of her real friends.

In the afternoon, Stacy insisted on taking Jane shopping. Stacy's mother had arrived days earlier, and was in the very same hotel, but Stacy spent very little time with her, and she was most definitely not along on the shopping trip. Stacy had been provided with a credit card by somebody, but Jane was embarrassed by the whole thing because, impoverished as Jane felt, relatively, she was infinitely better off than the young starlet on her first movie.

"Oh, Jane, honey ... I wish I could wear _that!_ " The dress was a barely-decent crocheted creation, truly a work of art. It was silky and clingy, perfect for a teenager with a good figure, if one was allowed to wear it. "I'm going to try it on! Come on, help me!"

The store was packed, with the usual Saturday shopping crowd, augmented by visiting ski enthusiasts. With the dress clutched feverishly in her hand, Stacy dragged Jane into a changing room, and stripped. She had lovely skin, healthy and unblemished, and a nice figure, except for just a little belly that Jane was beginning to see on younger girls everywhere. A hard flat stomach was going out of style. "You're going to have to shave your crotch, if you want to wear that panty," Jane said, keeping her voice low. The panty in question was a matched piece, also crocheted. It really was a daring, stunning costume, for an indoor cocktail party.

To Jane's dismay, the panty was tight on poor Stacy, but worse, the crochet dress did not look quite right on her. She was just a little too pale for it. In addition, she found it hard to hold her stomach in, and if she didn't, the dress made her belly look worse than it really was. Up to her waist, though, Stacy looked stunning in the dress.

Before the crochet dress had distracted them, Jane had found a pretty top for Stacy, in two layers, one which extended down to just above the hip in a mesh fabric, and a contrasting sheer over bodice that just hugged the breasts and left the midriff bare. Stacy had found a hipster skirt for it, and sundry accessories, to put together the look she liked. The crochet dress, in contrast, simply could not be accessorized at all; almost anything such as a necklace would clash.

The other ensemble looked terrific on Stacy, especially with the waist-chain that Stacy usually wore. (The director had been pleased with the waist-chain, since it would come in useful in a nude scene, to distinguish between the two women. Jane had never seen Lisa wearing any jewelry except earrings and rings.) Soon, the crochet dress had been forgotten, as Stacy efficiently and skillfully put her costume together.

"Brad likes sexy sandals, so let's go look for some!" That told Jane what she had been suspecting all along: it was Stacy who was crazy about Bradley Hogan, and had been all along. She wished she could have a chance to talk with Stacy's mother, but Stacy was very successfully keeping her mother away from the entire movie team. Brad was a really nice guy, and from the better class of society; but would Stacy's family approve of him? More to the point: would Brad's family approve of Stacy? The kid's enthusiasm for an affair between Brad and Jane was so great, it overwhelmed Jane's fear that the party would cause a rift between Jane and the girl.

"I'd better just wear heels, or I might be taller than the poor fellow," Jane murmured.

"What are _you_ going to wear?"

"I have a little black dress," Jane said.

"Before you pick your shoes, try ..."

"I have a very nice pair of shoes already!"

"No. _I'm_ buying you proper sandals. Not the clunkers you probably have!"

"I'm best friends with Gillian Jones, Stacy, reality check, dear. I've probably seen more shoes than you'll ever see."

"Just come with me!"

She made Jane try the crochet dress. She made Jane get out of every last stitch of clothing, and stared at Jane wide-eyed. " _Jane!_ Wow! You've been working out, girl!" Jane laughed; she hadn't worked out since she had come out west. She pulled on the panty, which did fit her, and the dress, ever so carefully, and before Jane could look in the mirror, Stacy's eyes told her the facts. It could have been made for Jane.

"I hate you!" Stacy said, smiling glumly.

"But I'm not going to wear it!"

"Yes, you are! Now that I've seen you in it, you _have_ to wear it! Or I'd feel as if I was being childish and jealous!"

That wasn't the end of it, either. The high-heeled sandals had to match the dress perfectly, both in color – all the colors of the rainbow over a base of silver-bronze – and in texture. And Jane had to wear earrings – or rather, something in the ear, to match the dress, and she even found an accessory that would go with the dress, a bronze arm band. Jane had worn something similar years ago, when she was feeling particularly wild; now she and Stacy were both going to wear arm bands.

"Let's go show Lisa!" said Stacy, not much dismayed by the cost of all the merchandise. The crochet dress, alone, had been $550, and Jane's shoes another $200. The total cost was in excess of $2000. It was odd, how far Stacy had progressed from being deeply suspicious and, in truth, afraid, of Lisa Love, Stacy was coming to like and admire her. No one could help admire Lisa's quiet, classy style.

Lisa was just getting back from the hairdressers, despite Jane's offer to do her hair. But Jane could see that she couldn't have done it justice; it was piled up on top of her head beautifully, an effortless, disciplined swirl of soft, dark-blonde hair. Stacy showed her what she had bought, and Lisa made appropriate sounds of admiration. Jane could see that Lisa got as much fun out of having Stacy around as Jane did, which was quite a lot, considering.

Then it was off into Jane's room to shower and dress. "Won't you go and check with your mother?" "No, because I want you to do my makeup!"

The kid now trusted Jane to take care of her hair, which was really quite long, to just above her buttocks, and thick and fine. Her face was genial and intelligent-looking, especially her startlingly blue eyes. She reminded Jane a lot of Heidi, despite being nearly four years older, except that the hair was straight rather than wavy. They conditioned it carefully, after which Jane did her nails for her, filing and brushing away the evidence of careless nail care. They dressed up, and once Stacy had put on her stuff, it really did not look like a lot of trash, as Jane had expected. It looked sexy and stylish. I'll be back," said Stacy, answering a summons from her mother with a roll of her eyes.

Jane put on her dress and the panties and stared in the mirror. It was the least amount of clothing she had ever worn; the dress did not look right with a bra, nor with pantyhose. Feeling almost drunk with arousal, Jane applied the lotion Stacy had bought for the purpose, which contained glitter flakes. She had put on a deep red lip color, dramatic eye shadow and eye-liner, things she hardly ever wore, and stared at herself in the mirror, wondering if she was crazy.

She wondered how Lisa was doing. Lisa had generously excused Jane from all responsibility for the night so that Jane could keep Stacy out of everybody's hair. They would all meet outside Lisa's door sharp at eight, and go downstairs together. She smelled vaguely flowery; the lotion had a bit of perfume in it, nothing to bother anyone, really. Jane had a little of Gillian's hypo-allergenic perfume, and put some of that on. Presently she heard banging on the door.

"Oh, nice!" said Stacy, sniffing. "Did you put on the lotion on your legs? Good. All the way up to your pussy? You _must!_ The skirt rides up when you sit! Come on, hold up the skirt! Oh, Jane, you're silly ..."

Boldly, the girl rubbed the lotion on Jane's thighs, all the way up to her crotch, at which point Jane slapped her hands away. Then she grabbed Jane's perfume bottle, and applied dabs of it on Jane's breasts, through the neck opening.

"Where's the arm-band? It's almost time!"

Lisa looked fabulous in a low-cut black velvet dress, and a black lace shawl over her shoulders. When Lisa saw them, her eyes nearly popped.

Jane was all red. "Maybe a shawl ... or at least a bra?"

"Are you crazy?" both the others exclaimed. Stacy was still trying to get the arm-band on just right. Apparently it _had_ to cut into the skin just a little. Jane wondered whether that could be good for the circulation. There wasn't a lot of fat on her arm. But the excitement of her companions assured her that, barely dressed as she was, she looked decent enough. After all, it wasn't Hollywood, but it was the closest thing to it.

Bradley was waiting just outside, having just finished smoking a cigarette. He just stared at Jane and Stacy, unable to decide which one should be stared at more. It was evidently satisfactory to Stacy, who gave him a quick, unexpected kiss on the cheek, her eyes shining. He told her she looked stunning, making her even more radiant, after which, Stacy turned to follow Lisa inside. Brad offered Jane his arm, his eyes still threatening to fall out.

"Hi!" Jane said, laughing. "Shall we go in?"

The party was warming up just as they arrived, and Julie and Keith welcomed them heartily. The lights were low, but Jane felt as naked as ever.

"Lisa, meet my Fiancee Julie Stern-Davis; Julie, this is Lisa Love, and Stacy, our youngest cast member. Stacy, I've told Julie lots of good things about you!"

"Hi!" said Stacy, with a happy but slightly nervous smile. Julie shook hands, and complimented her on her appearance.

"Hello," said Lisa, coming forward with a warm smile. "A party was just the right thing, Julie! Thank you!" Jane admired her; she could be wonderfully polite and gracious, never usurping anyone's feeling of running a show. In her own immediate neighborhood, she was the queen. But she was letting Julie be queen for a little while.

"This is Jane, one of the members of the crew, and a new addition to the cast! Jane? Come and meet Julie!"

"Thanks for inviting me," Jane said, wondering whether her makeup would cover her blush.

"I've heard about you from someone," Julie said, in a quiet, controlled voice. "Do you happen to be a painter?"

"Oh ... yes; I'm surprised you knew!"

"Oh!" Julie made a dismissive gesture with her hands, and smiled. "It's still a good secret, but I'm glad you could come!"

"Honey, this is Bradley Hogan, from our camera crew."

"She seems nice enough," said Stacy, once they had walked a safe distance away. "She was staring at you just a second ago!"

Jane looked about surreptitiously, after Brad had left to get them drinks. Everyone was staring at her, but with a smile, so she assumed that was okay. Karen, the casting director was here, too, dressed in red and black, as well as a number of other women, dates of the various men, lines producers, wardrobe mistresses, hairdressers, all looking quite stunning, some of them very much so. There were lots of people Jane did not know. The women's clothes were all quite daring, though none of them as daring as Jane's. Jane wondered whether she should have dusted on some green makeup on her body, under the dress, so that she didn't look quite so naked.

Soon, there was no time to think of such things. Stacy, Jane and Brad found themselves in the middle of quite a large group, talking about everything under the sun. The music got more conducive to dancing, and some couples were dancing, already. There were plenty of guys, and so Jane was reluctant to dance with Lisa, which is what she wanted to do.

It was easy to flirt with Brad. He seemed roughly her age, but he was tall, and she wondered whether he might be younger than she. Still, he had to have learned his business over several years, hadn't he?

"Where did you learn to be a cameraman?" she asked him. In her heels she was not much shorter than him, despite her earlier fears. At least, he knew how to dance, which was nice.

"I started while I was in college," he said, pleased to have an interested audience. "Took a bunch of photography courses, and then joined a film crew one summer ..."

Lisa had stepped out of her room just a second before Jane and the kid had come out of Jane's room. Jane's short hair had been put up close to her head with pins and clips, beautifully done by Stacy. And she looked like a _girl_ , for a change, rather than a policewoman, as Stacy had complained one day. Her high color only added to her radiance. Lisa had managed to talk easily all the way down the elevator, but inside she was feeling lust as never before.

She had had severe doubts about how decent the dress would be, since the open-weave crocheted fabric looked like mere netting when she had held it in her hand. But even in decent light, Jane looked perfectly decent in it— but very, very sexy. It registered that Jane was wearing a minimum of foundation, but if you could pull it off without a bra, you simply had to do it. Many women would have felt at a disadvantage to have such small breasts, but Jane looked spectacular. And her legs—those were the worst of all. Brilliantly nude though they were, somehow they looked all right, as if Jane wore a full body suit of some gossamer-weight material under it all. It gave Lisa almost physical pain to watch Jane dancing away—not as she had done for New Year's Eve, but still dancing with pleasure—with a variety of men, including Keith Harrison himself.

Lisa herself had plenty of partners for dancing. She was in no fear of having to sit out a dance; she wondered whether Julie had learned her art at some party school. She could see her orchestrating the event with the skill of a professional. Lisa was impressed. There was a lot more to this woman than met the eye; certainly she was a lot more than a spoiled bitch.

Brad stood against the wall having young Stacy stolen from him while he danced with her. He was getting sick just looking at Jane Schultz's legs. It was startling, how girls you thought were just regular people suddenly put on makeup, and a fantastic dress, and blew you away.

"Would you care to dance?" asked a voice at his shoulder. He turned to find Julie Stern-Davis talking to him. Soon they were on the floor, dancing away. He smiled at her. He felt grateful for being rescued, but was a little too proud to too obviously show it.

"It's a great party," he said. "We should have had one before!"

"You should have asked Lisa Love to have one! It's the responsibility of the ladies, you know."

"I guess!"

"I see that your date is dancing with everyone but you!"

"Oh, no; we danced a bunch early on! She just gets asked a lot, that's all!"

"Been together long?"

"Oh, no, we just came to the party together, that's all! Oh, no, there's nothing like that!"

"Pity! She's an interesting girl, isn't she!"

"Oh, man. She said she's a still photographer, too!"

"Well, there you are! A match made in heaven!" Brad blushed and shook his head. Julie was doing the same, looking as Jane danced past with one of the other cameramen. "She's got style. Anyone with looks like that would have an agent, in Hollywood!"

"Well, she's going to be in the movie, you know!"

"That's what I heard! Is it a speaking role?"

"Well," Brad blushed, "it's as a body double for Stacy, actually."

"I see," said Julie, as they both looked at Jane's legs.

Later in the evening, some of the big names in the movie business turned up, who though they didn't have money in the movie still had put in a lot of effort to bring the thing together. Some of them knew Lisa Love, others were friends of friends, and had some sparkling women on their arms. The word was spread that these were important people, and everyone but Jane seemed to know. But Jane was asked to dance by them all. Bradley Hogan had never had his date kept so busy by other men at any party he had been in. Nor had he ever wanted so badly to dance with her!

At least, little Stacy was happy to keep him company. Jane often begged off dances with others to come over and make sure he was all right, and one time she had politely declined to be asked away. But it was a long evening, and nobody wanted to just sit and talk, certainly not with Jane.

"You want to go out in the lounge and talk?" asked Stacy, later in the night. People had started seriously drinking, and some of the men were getting tired. A small crowd of older guys were seated round a table, talking about the business, and inside, the girls were dancing with each other, a regular thing that happened at these parties. The girls could dance, even dead drunk. Lisa Love was dancing with Jane, and they both looked cold sober.

"Sure," said Brad.

"Are you having a good time?" she asked.

She was a good kid. She was growing up fast, Brad thought. The first day on the set, he thought someone would slap her. She really had a bad attitude. But within hours, she had shaped up nicely.

Brad looked at her, and realized his face was all slick with perspiration. He grinned and wiped his face with his handkerchief, which still left it feeling oily. He had been drinking, just a bit.

"Yeah ... it's a good party!"

"Jane looks fabulous, huh!"

"Yeah! So do you, Stacy, give yourself credit!"

"Everybody else looks so grown-up ... I wish I had dressed up like an adult more, instead of this kiddie get-up."

"I don't know; Julie Davis is dressed in the new style."

Stacy went to look, and came back feeling better. "I didn't even notice!"

"Yeah. It's a nice look; I like it!"

Stacy smiled. Then she looked into his eyes. "Why are you upset?"

"Upset? I'm not!"

"You kind of don't look right, Brad."

"I just need a drink, I guess ..."

"What would you like?"

"Are you allowed to fool around with alcohol?"

Stacy snorted. "I had a margarita, nobody stopped me."

"I could use a gin and tonic ... I'll go get one."

They were presently back, with a Gin and Tonic for him, and a Margarita for her. They looked out over the pool, in which a number of young folks had been fooling around earlier, but had now gone.

Stacy broke a long silence, saying, "I've decided I'm going to hold off on vaginal sex until I'm ready. There's so many things that could go wrong, like HIV and herpes, and everything. I don't know; sometimes you wonder, whether maybe it's worth the risk, you know? Like, if I find a nice guy, when I'm ready, like five years from now, and maybe there were a hundred nice boys who ask me, and I say no, you know? And that's a hundred experiences you trade for a safe healthy life."

"Oh, it's worth it," Brad said, feeling slightly drunk, but still responsible. "A hundred guys aren't worth the mess you could get into, and that's the truth."

"Well, of _course_ you don't think a hundred guys are worth it; you're not gay! But think of it from _my_ point of view!"

"Well, use a condom, and have all the sex you want!" Brad blinked. "Why are we having this conversation? Oh god, did I say ... did I proposition you, and I can't even remember it?"

"No! No, no, you didn't. I was just on ... on some tangent, and got to thinking. No, you didn't say a thing!"

"Phew. I'll never drink again. I'm not that kind of guy."

Stacy was quiet for a while. "I don't know," she said, at last, "if I was a guy, I think I would be that kind of guy." Brad looked at her baffled. He realized what the problem was with him: he was hornier than he'd ever been before, he had a hard-on as big as a howitzer, and the pain was killing him. It was a dull ache in his entire body, now, and he had thought something was wrong with his head. And now he also needed to take a leak.

"Can you hang on for a bit?" Stacy looked alarmed, and Brad's kind heart wondered whether he had hurt her, by taking a brief absence in the middle of something that she wanted to explain urgently. "I'll be right back; I just want to go to the restroom for a second; I'm dying!"

"Oh, I'll come with you. I have to go, too!" Stacy looked around, and saw a pair of toilet signs on the other side of the pool. "Oh, there's a couple, right there," she said, and taking Brad by the arm, set out around the pool, completely missing the rest-rooms that were just out of sight on their own side of the pool.

Brad's pain was not getting any easier to bear, and his bladder was competing with his erection for his attention. But, in his pain-crazed mind, he felt a strange, protective feeling for the young woman who had taken him in tow. She, he knew, felt as protective about him as he felt about her. All her blabbering about condoms was now relegated to the background; she was an open and an honest girl, and she had values, and she confessed her weaknesses fearlessly and even eloquently. And, he had to face it, she was just adorable. She had long, beautiful hair, put up nicely by someone, and she looked just heartbreakingly cute. He had sufficiently many unoccupied grey-cells to appreciate how gracefully she walked around the pool with him in her preposterous platform slippers.

It had been a weird evening for Jane. She had found it easier just to dance with anyone who wanted to, than to keep worrying about her dress. Once they were dancing, the men had stopped staring at her legs, and looked at her face, that had been very nice. And once she got them talking, they were mostly interesting people. After all, she was interested in movies—always had been—and among movie people, these were some of the more intelligent. But there was no denying the strange feel of the dress on her skin. It was a slick yarn they had used, like butter, and the way it slid across her skin did not have the comforting roughness of cotton or linen, or even the smooth feel of nylon. Even the crocheted panty seemed hardly there, except for how it tugged at her most intimate places, without protecting them. It was as if the fabric was determined to make her horny even if nothing else did. Her nipples rubbed against the fabric whenever her dress was caught between herself and her partner, which was not all the time, but still too often. And last of all, the feel of the air against her thighs; that was hard. She was not accustomed to wearing clothes with skirts this short. She had sat for a few minutes, squirming in embarrassment, her legs crossed tightly. But nobody seemed to think anything was more amiss than her dress being just a little sexier than usual.

Most of the time, her thoughts were with Brad. She could see that the poor fellow was infatuated, but to ignore his feelings would be to be a tease, and Jane fought that idea. But every time they began to dance, _someone_ would interrupt them.

After a while, enough of the men had dropped out that the women felt free to dance with each other. It took a certain amount of alcohol, but Jane was asked by many of the women there. Perhaps, she thought, women on the West Coast danced with each other all the time, and there was no stigma attached to it, or any implication that there was something unusual in their orientation. Or, there were a lot more bisexuals out here. Julie Davis had asked her to dance, and Jane got the distinct impression that, if Jane was interested, Julie would be, too. She had praised Jane's beauty the whole time, almost obsessed with it, and hinted that Jane should get into movies seriously. Occasionally Jane caught a good look at herself in the big mirrors lining the room, and was startled into seeing what Julie meant. A stranger looked at her, a drop-dead beautiful stranger for whom Jane would have wet her pants.

Jane found herself free at last, and grabbed several canapes, and headed in the direction she had seen Brad going last. It was a little section with a railing that overlooked the pool. It was deserted, but on the other side of the pool, she saw Stacy, waiting by herself. As Jane watched, she saw the girl look through her little purse, and pull out something that looked suspiciously like a condom.

She stopped in her tracks, and got ready to head back inside, when she saw Brad stagger out, looking like death warmed over. Stacy looked as shocked as Jane felt. Jane gave an exclamation of alarm, and started to run around the pool, her heeled slippers slipping like crazy on the tiles.

"What's the matter, Brad?" Stacy asked, shocked and upset. Brad's face was a combination of shock, too, and acute discomfort.

"I ... I ... I don't know," he stammered.

Brad had hurried into the bathroom, and carefully unzipped his pants, afraid of spoiling his best suit with an accident. He had gently positioned his throbbing penis and tried to urinate, but only a trickle had come out, burning him like acid. After a long minute, his erection was still violently alive, but his bladder was no more relieved than before. He was in such pain that he couldn't think straight. He had dressed himself as well as he could, under the circumstances, and come outside.

"Oh Brad," Stacy said, holding him close, and he winced as her deliciously female body crushed against his erection, which rested upright as comfortably as he could make it inside his nylon briefs.

Stacy took a deep breath, but before she could speak, Jane was hurrying up to them. They turned to her, and Jane hesitated. For a second, just the sight of her drove both of them to forget what they were doing; she was the very embodiment of desire itself, and in her high, sexy sandals, she looked at once angelic and available.

"I don't want to get in your way, only ... Brad, you don't look well."

"Oh Jane!" Stacy said, softly, "We have a ... slight problem!"

"It's okay," Brad said, bravely, "I think I can deal with it ... Stacy, go with Jane. I'm ... I'm going upstairs."

"I'm coming too," Stacy said at once, frowning. Jane followed, knowing that she should leave them alone, but unable to tear herself away.

Brad made his way agonizingly slowly to the elevator. One was waiting on their floor, and they got in together. Brad hung his head.

"Brad has got ... You're going to laugh, but you shouldn't; I think it's very painful."

"Don't tell me—you've got an erection. Is that all? There's something more!"

"This is weird, but ... I tried to take a pee, but ... I just couldn't. It happens, sometimes, but this time ..."

"You mean, you can't pee when you've got a hard-on?"

"I tried. It was really painful."

"So what do you do now?"

"I don't know ... take a pain-killer and lie down, maybe?"

"Good idea," said Jane, frowning. "Shall I try to hunt down some help?"

"No, Jane!" said Stacy, wide-eyed, "they might think it's funny, and Brad would never live it down!"

"I was thinking of asking the hotel staff," said Jane, "without mentioning names.

They arrived at Brad's floor. It was the floor below Jane's, a small private room. Once Brad managed to open the door, he made his way to the bed, and lay down and closed his eyes.

"Do you have a painkiller?"

"Yeah ... lots ... look in the bag." They found the pills, shrugged at each other, and gave him two, with water, and sat on the bed.

The sight of Jane had given Brad additional pain. Even the touch of fabric against the skin of his penis made it hurt more.

"Go on, you two ... I can manage. I need to undress."

He was so vehement that Stacy went away as far as the little lobby just inside the room door. She beckoned to Jane.

"I feel so sorry for him!" she said, her eyes big as saucers. "I don't want to leave him alone, but I don't want to stay here with him by myself! Will you stay with me?"

"Oh darling!" Jane said, her heart melting. "I don't think it's anything to worry about! He'll be fine!"

"I _know_ he will! But the thought of him lying there in such pain! Did you see his eyes?"

Jane had, and she knew the pain was almost unbearable. And she knew that one way he could help it was to masturbate to release, if he could stand to touch that red-hot penis.

"What's he doing?" Stacy asked, staying back.

Jane looked, and was shocked at what she saw. Brad had his pants dropped, and his penis was the largest thing Jane had ever seen, looking purple and bruised. It was clearly too painful to handle, because Brad was trying to touch it, and snatching his hands away.

She described it to Stacy as concisely as she could, and Stacy took a second to show her amusement before her worry broke through. "Wrap it in a wet hand towel!" she suggested. "Won't that help?"

Jane shrugged. She thought quickly, and decided that it was the best idea they had. She slipped into the bathroom, soaked a towel in water, and came up to Brad, who looked too relieved to be embarrassed.

"Is that wet?" he asked hopefully. Jane nodded. Between the two of them, they wrapped it around the offending member, until Brad gave a sigh of utter blissful relief. "Thank you, thank you ... oh, I can breathe ..."

"It was Stacy's idea," Jane admitted.

"Is she here?"

"Yes ... waiting out near the door.

"Oh, she can come out ... I'm past caring, really."

"That's okay," came Stacy's voice, "I'll stay right here!"

Jane sat on the side of Brad's bed, and felt deeply sorry for Brad. He had been Jane's date, and in the end, she had left Stacy to care for him. Jane reached out to tenderly stroke his curls back from his sweating face.

"Stop," he said, "you're making it worse. You started this whole thing, you know."

Jane blushed.

"Come on, don't make me out to be a health hazard for guys."

"Well, you are ... Oh god ... I'm going to come. Get away, Jane, I gotta do this. Shit ... it hurts to touch the goddam thing!"

Jane pushed his hands away, and bent over the swollen penis, and took it in her mouth. Slowly, using long, slow caresses with the inside of her mouth, she sucked his penis, as Brad moaned with pleasure, now, not in pain. The feel of the penis in her mouth was unbearably sweet, hard and soft at the same time. Within seconds, his release came, into Jane's mouth, a vast quantity of fluid, far more than Jane had experienced with Jay, overflowing her mouth onto the towel wrapped around the penis.

She spat out the seminal fluid, and tried to clear her head. How long did they have before he relaxed enough to be able to urinate?

"Take it easy!" she coaxed Brad, who was panting, unable to get a good breath. "Let's go get you comfortable in the bathroom."

Stacy ran up, and together they helped Brad into the bathroom, encouraging him to relax, and not try to pass urine too quickly. Jane did not know why, she simply had an instinct about it. As it happened, when the urine was released, Brad howled in agony.

Jane could not help herself from trying to make a joke of the whole affair, though she felt just as sympathetic as Stacy. Stacy was furious with Jane, who kept chuckling about it. Brad had chased them out, but they had simply stayed in the hallway outside, with Jane laughing, and Stacy glaring at her, tears in her eyes. Then Jane had banged on the door, and Brad had let them in, dressed in the robe the Hotel provided.

Brad could not help himself from telling Jane that it was her fault he had suffered the biggest erection he had in his life. He told her she was the sexiest thing he had ever seen, dressed in that outfit, and Stacy supported him.

They had broken out a full bottle of tequila from his personal store, and were making margaritas, all round.

"You were taking this for a girl, weren't you" Jane asked, grinning slyly. "Mostly girls drink margaritas. Right, Stacy?"

"Yeah, I like them," said Stacy, staunchly.

"You should talk about the dress, Stacy. Brad, you know who picked it out? And for her _self!_ Stacy, of course!"

"But I would have ... I would have worn a bra," said Stacy, thinking that she really would not have. Then she confessed that.

"And panties, too, I bet," said Brad.

"Oh, she's wearing panties. Can't you see them?"

"No way!"

"Show him, Jane! They're the coolest things!"

Jane flipped up her skirt, and showed him. He gasped. The panties, like a second skin for Jane, blended invisibly into the pattern of the dress. In seconds, Brad had to disguise a second erection by bunching his robe in his crotch. He cursed under his breath. Unable to attend to the duties of a host, he begged Jane to make him another margarita. Jane made a whole pitcher of it, having thrown out the water. They sat on the bed, and sipped away, looking at Jane's legs, now tucked under her.

"I don't want to be alone tonight," Jane said, stroking her thigh, knowing that she was getting drunk, and that Stacy shouldn't be drinking, and really wasn't that much, the sweet thing; wondering what the Twins were doing—oh of course, they would be fighting ... wondering what Lisa was doing, and Keith and Julia.

"Me neither," said Brad and Stacy together. They laughed uneasily.

"May I?" Stacy asked softly, before reaching out to cup Jane's breast in her hand, and then her own. Seeing the longing in Brad's eyes, Stacy looked at Jane questioningly, and seeing nothing there, took Brad's hand, and gently placed it on Jane's other breast, and Jane leaned into it, slowly breathing in and out.

"Can we borrow your condom?" asked Jane, stretching out on the bed, looking at Stacy.

"Sure," she said, "if you let me watch!"

# Stacy Watches

It was a long time since Jane had a man make love to her. If she didn't count Gabe, this was her first time. Now she was far more ready for the experience than she had been then. She knew not only how to please a woman —or a man; some things were not very different in the sexes— but her body was now a sophisticated instrument with which to pleasure herself. After Brad had done to her what he wanted, which was to take her, fully dressed, she taught him to pleasure her, not with words, but with a touch, a sigh, a movement. And Stacy watched it all.

"That was wonderful," Jane said, "thank you. I've seldom been so ... thoroughly satisfied. I'm being perfectly sincere."

"Man!" said Brad, "You're unbelievable!"

"I was married for a year," Jane said.

"Just a year?" asked Stacy.

"Yeah ... we didn't get along. He was more interested in men, it turned out, but he didn't know until I had become an ex-wife."

"And now?" asked Brad.

"I have a steady," said Jane.

Jane was beginning to wonder what she had got herself into, when there were sounds overhead, of somebody up the hallway, and then loud knocking.

"Jeeze! At _this_ time offa night?" exclaimed Jane, trying not to slur her speech. "It's gotta be—what'sit?—two—three inna morning?"

Stacy was listening. "That sounds like your door; it would be right above us, yeah?"

"Who could it be?"

"It's almost eleven!"

"That's all? _Eleven?"_

" _Jane! Get dressed!_ " hissed Brad, turning the lights back on. "That was a bunch of ladies up there ..." he dressed faster than they thought possible. Brad was a talented guy in many ways. Jane took her two items of clothing into the bathroom, to splash some water on her face, and clean herself up a little. The room stank with discarded condoms.

Then it struck her: Lisa was looking for Stacy and Jane. After the men had washed out, the ladies were wondering where everybody was. In theory, Jane had every right to have a roll in the hay with anyone she wanted, but in reality, Lisa had a good deal of say about what Jane could and could not do, even if Jane was willing to believe that Jane could get away with a lot.

It was the work of a moment to get dressed. She washed her face, and wiped it dry, and got out her purse to repair her makeup.

There was banging on the door.

"Are you decent?" Stacy came in to ask.

"Almost," said Jane. Brad was already pretending to unlatch the safety bolts.

"Bradley, there you are." It was Lisa's voice. "Everyone is looking for the girls, Stacy and Jane. Are they with you?"

"Oh, Hi Lisa! What's up?" asked Stacy, popping out from behind Brad.

"Stacy! Why are you hiding in there? Is Jane around?"

"Jane," Stacy called out, "Lisa is looking for you!" She turned back to Lisa. "Is the party over?"

"No, dear, which is why I'd like you to come down again, and bring Jane with you!"

Lisa had issued her instructions and gone back downstairs, sounding rather annoyed. Jane and Stacy followed, after Stacy had repaired Jane's hair as well as she could. When they got there, the ladies were still partying seriously.

"Oh, there she is!" they cried, seeing Jane and Stacy. "Come on, give us a demonstration of dancing, now!" They wanted to see a particular dance that was danced strictly by the younger folks. Stacy knew it well, and taught it to Jane while the other women watched. There were almost twenty ladies, as well as most of the men, who were seated around tables, eating their way through sundry _hors d'oeuvres_ and talking films.

So Jane and Stacy had to be entertainers, essentially because Jane did not have the heart to refuse.

"If you'd rather be in bed, I'll help to get you out!" Jane offered Stacy.

"Oh, I'd rather hang out with you," she said at once.

Presently the party wound down. Lisa pretended to be just a little more drunk than she was, and Jane and Julie Davis added their persuasion, and they picked up their things, and said goodnight to everyone, and headed upstairs once again.

Stacy's mother was waiting for her on their floor, looking very unhappy, but Stacy gave her friends a cheery wave, completely ignoring her mother's mood.

"So what was all that about?" demanded Lisa, once they were alone.

"All what?" Jane asked, looking blank.

"The little party in Bradley Hogan's room?"

"Oh." Jane sighed. "You're going to have to ask Brad that; it's a bit personal," she said.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, child, you can tell me, can't you?"

"I would, but—Lisa, it isn't my secret, to tell!"

Lisa was upset, but she covered it up well.

She sighed. "That is a crazy dress," she remarked, looking Jane up and down. "I couldn't think straight all evening."

"Is that a compliment?"

"I guess so ... you're such a chameleon, Jane ... flirting with all the men, smooth-talking the little one ..."

Jane felt a little annoyed. She had not been told in so many words to look after Stacy and keep her out of mischief, but she had read between the lines. It was very unfair of Lisa to turn around and insinuate that Jane had an ulterior motive.

"Should I stop doing those kinds of things? I thought I was being the team player and keeping the guys happy?"

"Yes, yes, you were, Jane ... I only meant that no one could imagine that you are what you are. I found it very tiring to put on a friendly face for that entire cavalcade of self-absorbed men. I do it, but you simply _throw_ yourself into it."

Jane shook her head. "I'm just not ready to be outed at this stage," she complained. "I'll do it when I'm good and ready; and until then, I'm the good little gal who does what everybody wants."

"Don't be angry, Jane ... I know I sound critical, and maybe I am, because I'm just running out of steam. I apologize for everything that went wrong today, especially because of things I might have done. There. Hope you feel better."

Jane scowled.

"Just as long as you know what I'm doing."

"Don't think I'm not aware of—how much of this you do, not out of greed, but as a favor to me." Jane looked up to see Lisa's eyes looking into hers solemnly. "We all owe you a lot. I misjudged how much—abuse—you would cheerfully accept. I've learned my lesson."

Jane was taken aback. "I'm not trying to blackmail you. It's not _such_ a big deal!"

"I know you're not, but _yes_ , it _is_."

Jane was thankful that Lisa let her sleep that night. Jane regretted the little showdown they had had, and Jane did, too. In the morning, except for a hug and a smile, Lisa said and did nothing.

The day was occupied with packing and getting ready, and meeting with the wig expert.

Jane knew how to attach wigs almost perfectly, but when this woman was done, Jane looked just like Stacy. That was the genius of the woman. Stacy and Lisa were both present, and they looked at Jane open-mouthed.

"Think it'll pass?" the director asked with a smile at the others. It was only a joke, at that point. "Okay, get ready to move at sunup!"

The next several days' shooting was rather routine: they took various shots of the car heading off the mountains, down into the Kansas plains, from various angles. Stacy had learned how to operate the walkie-talkie by now. After they were down in the foothills, the story line got a lot more dense. Lisa (Lydia) begins to look for a place in which she can settle down, and initially Stacy (Melanie) tags along, because she has nothing better to do. They get permission to stay in an unused cottage, and begin to do odd-jobs in return. It is at this point that the writers decided to put in the intensification of the feelings between the woman and the girl.

There were story conferences every night, now. After shooting stopped for the first day, Stacy learned about what was planned, and it evidently made a large impact on her. Though, by now, a firm relationship had been cemented between the three of them, that night, Stacy's behavior towards them became subtly different. Both Jane and Lisa saw it, but said nothing to each other. In bed, the three of them together, Stacy hardly spoke at all, but there was a difference; a different, rather tentative feeling between Jane and her neighbor Stacy.

The second night, Stacy was awake a long time, and then put her hand on Jane's arm, and fell asleep like that. Earlier on the trip, she had cuddled with Jane much more closely, but now there was an awareness that was new. Jane knew then that Stacy was sorting out the role of Melanie in her mind.

Finally, on the third day, they arrived at the cottage that had been built on the rented farm, and were joined by the actors who would play the locals. The trailers were set up in a distant field, where there was a power hookup, and filming began for the last segment of the movie. And it was time for the big scene—really a minor one, but the one which could be edited almost completely out. The shooting of it was done in little segments, including the one in which Jane and Lisa were nude.

The nude scene was shot semi-clothed, first, and then nude. Several cameras were used for each take, with everybody watching. Everyone was silent, but Jane blushed as she realized that her nude body was impressing everyone. After she made her blush go away, the highly choreographed scene was shot, over and over. Everyone had expected difficulty with the scene, since Jane had never acted in a movie before, but she did exactly as told, and it was done in an hour. Then the scene was shot again with Stacy, with both women partially dressed. That was the most brilliant piece of acting out of Stacy that had been seen thus far. The desire in Stacy's eyes was just perfect. Jane knew at once that the kid had transformed the movie with that one scene.

(It was fascinating to see how many microphone feeds were recorded, which would be mixed later, to synchronize with the breathing of the actresses, and to represent the sounds outside, in the early morning on the farm.)

Stacy asked to sleep alone after that scene. At first, she slept in a separate trailer, but later preferred to sleep with them, but in the other bed. In general, the kid kept Jane somewhat at a distance. Shooting continued for another week, after which there was an end-of-shooting party, this time thrown by Stacy, Brad and Jane. All the crew on location were there, and a few young people from the town who happened to have made friends with them. Stacy, especially, had dragged Jane out to the town, and insinuated herself and Jane into the social life of the youth of the rather green-collar town. This seemed all that remained of the close friendship that had sprung up between them. The next morning, Jane had been driven out to the closest airport, and taken a plane out to New York. Lisa and Stacy had both been there to see her off. Just before Jane boarded, Stacy had handed her an envelope, with just Jane's name on the cover.

The letter read:

Dear Jane.

Fanilly, last night, I became an actor. I thanked you right after, remember? But I want to thank you again when you can take your time and read this.

Soon as I heard about the nude scene, I didnt wan't to do the movie at all, because I don't like gay people, specialy gay gals. But the money means a lot to my Mom and to me too cos were kind of a little broke right now. Then I thot (sp?) Lisa was so great, and tho she's kind of a porno star my friends all said she's kind of quite a lady, which is why we decided I will do the movie, really. And you were my buddy from the start, and so encouraging (sp?) I decided to try and figger out how to do what they wanted me to do.

The first step was when you asked me to kiss you. Remember that? That was a wonderful thing to do, because I found I could easyly do it, because I liked you so much, and I could pretend you were like a guy. Cos you are, and I said so, and you were not upset that I could see! (I know you midive been, but not too much, cos I know you don't take me so serious.) Next thing was could I kiss Lisa, and the answer was no? And why, because she just isnt like you, she's so girly!

This part is hard to write, becos it is so emotional. At the first party, when you dressed up, then you looked so girly. My not-girly friend, who I could kiss, was now all girly. Could I kiss you now? That was the test, and if I could then I could kiss Lisa too. But I never got the chance. Things hapened, you know all that. In my mind I was asking can I kiss her now, and my mind and my heart said yes? I could kiss you anytime cos I love you, Jane. And thats how I could do the scene this evening.

I no this is a long explination but if we meet again, I want you to no why Im going to give you the bigest kiss ever, right in the smacker, becos you have no clue how I feel about you, and I don't either, but all I no is without you I would still be just another kid trying to be an actor. You always encouraged me. Always. You were always good to me, even if I was being kind of mean. I no you treated me like a kid, but not in a hurting way. You treated me like I was grown up when it was important to me.

Right now, Im all bottled up inside, and I cant show you exactly how I feel. Maybe Im gay, I don't no, becos I love you so much? I don't know much of anything only I can act, and I love you. Thank you for both of those. Always your friend and sister,

Stacy Sinclair

P.S. Burn this, please! S.S.

Jane began to realize just how much Stacy's cooling off towards her—apparent cooling off, Jane knew now—had hurt Jane. It was always like that, when Jane was coming to relate to people in their teens. She seemed to have the ability to inspire great love in that age-group, and it affected her in turn.

Difficult as it was, to read, Jane managed to thread through Stacy's reasoning, and it showed how intelligent she was in her chosen area of acting. It also showed how Stacy's screen emotions were borrowed from real emotion, in this case her growing love and tenderness towards both Jane and Brad, who was not mentioned in the letter, but may as well have been.

The flight eastward was the opposite of the flight westward; this time she appeared to be flying against the Sun, so that it got dark twice as fast as it usually did. When she changed planes in Chicago it was almost noon, and it was quite dark when she went into the bath to change into her sexy crochet dress, and put on her makeup. She wanted to shock the Twins out of their wits. She certainly shocked everyone in business class.

To say that the Twins were shocked would have been a major understatement. They watched and waited for Jane, but forgot why they were there seeing the vision wearing the clinging crochet creation. Each of them were thinking in their own minds that they wished Jane would hurry up, because this woman was quite something. And she had an enigmatic smile on, almost as if she knew them. Then Jane took out her sunglasses, and their jaws dropped.

" _Jane?_ Is that _you?"_

"You are going to _freeze_ in that thing!"

"Have you kids eaten? I'm starving."

Jane changed out of her costume as soon as she could, since her intention was to shock the Twins, and not half of New York City. It would have been considered indecent exposure anywhere outside a private party.

There was a certain amount of catching up to do; most excitingly, Omar and Sherrine's little girl's upcoming first birthday. Except for that, there seemed little to report on the side of the Twins.

"What about the movie?" Gillian asked, after a while. They had finished quite a big meal at a restaurant at the airport, dinner for the girls, and a late lunch for Jane.

"Well," said Jane, and shrugged. "It was pretty uneventful, in most ways." The Twins exchanged glances loaded with meaning. "I'll tell you later; you have to know the whole story."

There was work for Jane right away, the very next morning, which kept her from brooding. Compared to movie makeup, fashion makeup was both easier and more difficult. Jane had thought it would be trivial to switch back, but there were minor annoyances that kept forcing her to concentrate. It was startling to return to the world where perfection was sought so assiduously, whereas on the set, Jane aimed for perfection only if the director wanted it for a particular scene.

In the evenings, Jane found time to go around with the Twins to the grocery stores, meet Sherrine and the baby, who was growing into the most beautiful little child, with the exotic features of her mother and father combined, but heavier on those of her mother. She was uncomfortable in Jane's arms, though she didn't mind sitting down face to face and 'talking' to her, like a human being. She had hair enough to put in ribbons, now, and soon Jane was her willing slave.

The nights were difficult. The girls were awkward with Jane and with each other. The first night Angela asked to have Jane with her privately in her bed, as they had done months ago, after which Jane went to Gillian. With Gillian, physically things were fine, but Gillian struggled with telling Jane all her feelings about Angela. In the end, nothing useful emerged. But the one sentence "I have feelings for my sister" did confirm for Jane a little of what had come over the phone. Angela had said nothing.

Late at night, the second night, Lisa called from California.

"I wish you were here!"

"Why?"

"Oh, the editing ... They're at the nude scene, and all that stuff now, and ... Oh Jane, all of it was really beautifully done! I don't want to lose a single thing!"

"Then keep it all!"

"It'll be two hours long! And the trip would be half the movie, which it really shouldn't be."

"Talk to Thea; she's more intelligent about these things."

"You know, you're absolutely right." Lisa sighed. "You know she's started directing, don't you?"

"Really? I bet she does a great job. She has a remarkable mind, that woman. I wonder ..."

"What?"

"Well ... there was a little interest between her and the Twin's Dad. I wonder whether it ..."

"Well, they're seeing each other, but she's given up the idea of anything further. He's pretty liberal in some ways, but she doesn't want to—you know?—alarm him, by getting too closely involved with him. But she's been, you know..."

"What?"

"Spending the night, if you know what I mean."

"Hmm. I really don't. She might be just spending the night."

"Really?"

"Oh yes."

"And you know, Thea would never tell me. God, I love that woman. If I had to do it all over again ..."

"Oh yes; I have thoughts like that, too!"

"About me?" Lisa asked, presently, and the offhand tone told Jane that the question was not so offhand as it seemed. The answer had been _yes_ , in Jane's mind, and now the answer most certainly was that:

"Well, yes. Lisa, if I had to do it all over again, I'd be five people. At least."

"You're lucky. I'd be an army, I suppose. But mainly two."

"Am I in the top two?"

There was no pause at all before she said, "Yes. Maybe higher."

"Lisa!"

"I know ... we hardly know each other. But it taught me a lot, watching you with Stacy. It almost doubled my time with you, knowing how you started off being nice to her as a matter of kindness, and how it all ended. Oh Jane, don't think for a moment that I can't see beneath the surface of those kinds of human interactions. Sex hasn't been my _whole_ life. Not by a long shot!"

"I still don't know how I feel about her," Jane said, thoughtfully. "I only know that I like her a lot."

"She loves you to pieces. She told me when we got back, and she had to say goodbye. But we'll all get together after post-production; not her, necessarily, but people are interested in what you think! Can you believe that the other producers asked me what _Jane_ thought of the movie!"

Jane did not know quite what to make of it.

They simply had to have a birthday party for little Shiraz. She had to have two, since the traditional calendar they used was out of sync with the Western one. But the couple was satisfied to have just a simple religious observation on their traditional birthday, while the girls were allowed to arrange a more festive event on February 11th, the Western-style date of the baby's birth. It involved Zsuszana, Isabella, Heidi and her youngest sister Kim, who was just two. It had been tempting to invite Stephanie and her family, but Omar and wife did not know them very well.

# A Scorpia Movie?

Already in February, Scorpia's mail was heating up. A lot of it was still Lisa's patient efforts to make a video with Scorpia, but there were also many requests from porn stars for a feature-length Scorpia movie. There were requests going back three years, when Jane had no movie experience at all. Now she not only had two firm friends in the business, she had been involved in a movie herself, and briefly even acted in one, though only in a silent role.

Lisa:

I'm getting a lot of mail about a feature-length Scorpia movie. I'm thinking seriously about it. Now that we hear you've broken into the mainline movie racket, are you interested in getting into comedy? (I can't imagine any angle except comedy, can you?)

I don't have a story idea or anything yet, but I'm thinking. I can hardly wait until your movie is out, so that I can get some ideas!

Scorpia, XO

The reply shot back almost at once; Lisa must have been at her computer.

Yes! Oh, a hundred times, yes, if this means your friends will let you do it! (Are you really Canadian, as the rumors have it?

I think it should be a romantic comedy, and I would really like to play the female lead –you know what I mean, the love interest. And I don't have a problem if there are some other twists, involving possibly other women, even possibly involving me losing out to one of them.

Want me to think of a story idea? I'll get started anyway.

Lisa XOXO

Post production on Lisa's movie did not take long. And on a beautiful day in March, the premiere was held in Los Angeles. Jane and all the group who had been at the ending of the New Year's Eve celebration were invited, including little Heidi. Joanna had disliked the idea of sending the child off into California, especially given the stories she had heard about the event.

"Jane, I don't know what you think I want for her, and what I expect from you, as an aunt and a responsible adult. But to take her around New York, half-naked, with a bunch of perverts ..."

"Joanne, don't exaggerate. She danced with both boys and girls. Nothing disgusting happened; there was _only_ dancing—no drugs, and no alcohol, except a little champagne. I think. Yes, there were perverts. If you think what I am is a pervert, then obviously some, at least of my friends, would be, well, similar! ..."

"All right, Jane, you've made my point for me. You're never going to see her again. I can't trust you with her. You're welcome to visit, but she's not coming out with you again."

"Joanne! I can't let you win this one! Okay, I won't ask to take her out to California. But you've got to take it back about perverts! Ask her, for heaven's sake! Ask her what went on, except dancing! Ask her how indecent the costumes were. Ask her if they were any more indecent than what they wear for figure skating! Go on, ask her!"

"Okay, I will! I'll talk to you later."

So Heidi was not allowed to go. The rest of them went, Jane at the expense of the movie production company. Gillian and Angela were not quite sure whether they wanted to go, but the promise of a week in California was too much of a temptation. Gillian had been out there on jobs, but had not spent any time there, and not gone since Jane and she had been together.

# Premiere!

They arrived the day before the event, a little after Stacy had flown in, and Stacy was there with Lisa and The Guy to greet the New York party. Jane was dressed in a skirt, unusually for her, and Stacy gave her the promised Big Hug.

"Did you read my letter?"

"Yes, and you explained it perfectly!"

"I think I've maybe got another movie deal! Somebody Lisa knew asked to see the rushes, and they thought it was good!"

"I'm glad!"

"Introduce me to your friends, please Jane! I know one of them..."

Jane did the honors. The joy in Stacy's heart lent beauty to her face, which, with her thick long braid of blonde hair, absolutely untouched by color or bleach, made her a lovely sight, despite her awkward little belly, which was just a little too prominent for true striking good looks. Jane thought she could use a little exercise.

Lisa looked wonderful. She had a glorious all-over tan, contrasting with the pale skin on both Jane and Angela. (Gillian used a sun-free tanning lotion, to prevent freckles, she said.) This was really Lisa's usual appearance; she had reluctantly given up her tan for the movie, staying out of the sun the entire previous summer.

"You look great! Jane you should wear skirts more often!"

Jane sighed. Lisa, of course, always wore skirts. "I have a couple," Jane conceded.

"I have news for you!" Lisa whispered, her face alight. "Later!"

Stacy's mother was all smiles for Jane. She was a handsome woman, now that things had gone well for Stacy, and that her fears for Stacy's safety had not materialized.

"Stacy has told me a lot of good things about you!" she said smiling rather artificially. "I want to thank you, for looking after her during the shooting!"

"It was not so much work. Stacy is a great young lady!"

"I'm glad you have a good opinion of her! It counts, you know, when casting time comes. Word spreads, as they say!"

"I suppose it does! Well, I guess I'll see you at the theater!"

"Yes, see you later, dear! You do look pretty this morning!"

Remarks about her skirt were getting annoying. She really enjoyed wearing skirts; she'd just got into the habit of wearing pants back when photography of young girls had been her career. Still, Jane was determined to enjoy her visit. The Twins were looking a little at a loss, having been taken over by The Guy, who seemed to think he had to make sure they were all right.

Jane rescued them from The Guy, and they headed out to the hotel, a different one from Lisa's hotel. This way, there would not be the temptation to hop from room to room, playing musical beds.

The receptionist at the hotel was a striking girl with her ears multiply pierced, and a lovely nose stud. Jane had always liked body jewelry, but her secret life as Scorpia did not allow it, if she wanted to keep her identity a secret.

They were given two rooms, next to each other, and Isabella and Zsuszana went into theirs, blushing a little. Jane was amused; did they think that Jane expected them to be chaste all this while? Jane and the Twins put their baggage inside their room, and the five girls headed out to find food. Jane suggested that they eat right at the hotel, and they ate a large but simple meal of a large sandwich each and sundry stir-fried vegetables. Gillian was spotted rather quickly, but she managed to get away with just signing a travel brochure.

Angela could not stop talking about the pierced receptionist. She babbled on and on about how wonderful it would be to have piercings and tattoos, while Gillian blushed furiously. Jane wondered whether Gillian secretly wanted to get herself pierced, too, possibly in a sensitive place. Gillian blushed too easily.

They went to bed early, since though it was still light, they were tired and sleepy. They turned their room phone off, and slipped into their usual routine of making love. When Gillian and Jane made love, Angela only watched, quietly sighing, and kissing them when they were spent.

"Lucky, aren't you, to have _two_ girls to fuck you!"

"Angela!" exclaimed Gillian, blushing. They had the lights on.

"Well, she is!" said Angela, smiling merrily.

"You're twins, it doesn't really count," said Jane, careless of the consequences.

There were consequences, all right. She got pounded by both of them, Gillian having a surprisingly powerful punch. Still, when she tried to fight back, Angela held her away from Gillian, who giggled and backed away. "No bruises, remember! No bruises!"

The next day, the three of them were up before everyone else, except Stacy, who called while they were trying to order up breakfast.

"I'm up kinda early," Stacy said, "I guess it's the whole time thing. Are you up too?"

"Stacy, we're from New York!"

"Is that earlier or later than San Antonio?"

"Earlier!" yelled all three of them, since Jane had put the phone on speaker. "And London is earlier still!" added Gillian, laughing.

"Who's that? Is that Gillian?" asked Stacy, a wondering note in her voice.

"Yes!" said Gillian, sounding quite rowdy for her.

They quickly got together, having roused the love-birds next door, Stacy once again ditching her mother. (Jane decided she had to have a word with junior about that.) They were directed towards a place that specialized in breakfasts, and they had a wonderful time. And then they went shopping. Jane was firm with all of them. They each had to stay within a budget, in this case $1000 each (which was low for Gillian, but high for the rest of them).

Jane had been careful to impress on the Twins earlier that as far as Stacy knew, Jane was a regular girl, that was to say, she was straight. The Twins were agreeable to the pretense, since it was no more than what they pretended when in London.

Stacy wanted to buy skirts for Jane, and Gillian wanted to buy dresses for Stacy. And Isabella wanted to show Zsuszana Universal City Studios. But what Angela wanted was tattoos.

"No, Angie, no. Wait until you're sure."

"Yes, Angie; tattoos are permanent."

"Then I want to get my ears pierced."

And she did. She got them pierced in three places on each ear, not quite painlessly, and wore her new ear studs with defiant pride, trying not to show how much they stung, and how much her ears burned. The look on Gillian's face was very ambiguous.

"Really pretty," said Jane, a little annoyed with Gillian. The others joined in the approval. Gillian smiled and nodded.

"If you were to get a tattoo, where would you get it?" asked Gillian suddenly, as they walked back towards the hotels.

"Oh, on my back, just above the buttocks, a kind of wavy thing, like wings, or something!"

"Oh, I know what you mean! Just above the bikini line?"

"Yes! Everybody seems to have them!"

" _I'd_ get a barbed wire tattoo on my arm," said Stacy, as she danced ahead. Jane just realized that she'd had her hair permed into tight waves, which made a big difference in the texture of her glorious braid. Stacy, in her belly-baring style attracted all the attention from Gillian and Isabella, which those two didn't really seem to mind.

Jane realized that she longed to get both pierced and tattooed. It had not been something she had been interested in at all, until very recently. It started with that pesky arm-band that Stacy had bought her. The gentle pressure of the thing had been pure erotic electricity. Jane could imagine how other things like it might feel... Still, it wasn't as if she didn't get enough sexual stimulation every night.

Jane had disconnected her cell phone, since her plan was rather expensive when she traveled. Her home phone had a message on it that directed business callers to Jane's new agent and manager, namely Zsuszana Varady, of the Varady Agency. It was just the thing to give young Zsuszana some experience, since Jane had little traffic in the way of business.

Lisa, frustrated from calling Jane all evening, had called her home phone, and got the message: "If this is a business call, please call my agent, Ms. Varady, at the following number."

Lisa was furious. It really _wasn't_ a business call, but why did Jane need an agent, anyway? But she called, curious.

"Hello, Sue here." Zsuszana received calls from the agency on her cell phone, the ring being distinguished by the tune.

"Is this Jane Schultz's agent?"

"Yes, who's calling, please? Can I help you?"

"This is Lisa Love, and I'm looking for Jane everywhere!"

"Oh, hi Lisa! Hang on, just a minute!" She muted the phone, and caught up with the others. "Jane, Lisa is looking for you, and called the Agency number! It's our _first call!_ "

"What agency?"

"What does she want?"

"Tell her we're just getting pierced!"

"Lisa? She's in downtown LA, she's just ... shopping. Can she meet you somewhere?"

"Why isn't she answering her phone?"

"Oh, she left her phone behind at the hotel; and last night they were time lagged like crazy, and went to sleep right after lunch. I'm sure she'll answer the phone the rest of the day when she gets back to the hotel. Meanwhile, er, you could call this number. Would you like to talk to her?"

"Hi Lisa, it's Jane!"

"I have stuff to tell you! When are you coming back here?"

"We're right here at, I don't know, Hollywood and Vine, or something? I guess we'll be back ... er ..."

"I'm going to buy all of you lunch, then I want some time with you!"

They had a nice lunch with Lisa, who had easily become comfortable with their group. She even smiled at Zsuszana, who had incurred her wrath for no good reason. Zsuszana had declared sternly that Lisa had to be good to her if she wanted to get Jane to go into business with her. Lisa had laughed and made a smart remark.

It was easy to persuade the other five to go off by themselves briefly, especially since Gillian had hardly spent any of her allowance, and neither had Isabella and Zsuszana, who were now called the 'long-named-twins' by Stacy. Jane and Lisa slipped into a somewhat exclusive lounge, and found a private corner.

"Well, guess what!"

"Tell!" said Jane, crossing her legs. She had worn a short skirt again, and found it a little strange.

"You're not going to believe this. I didn't tell you, but ... I had asked Scorpia—you know who that is? Yes; well—I had asked her whether she'd—you know—shoot a, um, a ... video with me, you know?"

"Oh."

"Now, come on! I know you're not such a saint as you pretend to be!"

"I'm not! I assumed you wanted to change your evil ways, and this seems a step in the opposite direction, that's all!"

"Change? Of course not! I wanted to be recognized in legitimate movies; I don't plan to give up anything!"

"Wow. You're one brave woman, you know that?"

Lisa shrugged. She frowned. "I don't like being forced into certain patterns. Everyone likes patterns: if you like women, then you hate men. Crap like that. It makes things easier for idiots, but I refuse to live my life for the convenience of idiots, you know?"

"When you put it like that, who can deny the logic of it?"

"So listen! She said first that ... well, I was told not to tell the reasons, but she said no." Jane nodded, honestly fascinated. Lisa was quite clearly very excited. "Now," she continued, "she writes and says, she wants to do a _movie!!_ She calls it a 'full-length feature,' but that means a movie! And she wants me to be in it!"

Jane grinned. Lisa's excitement was contagious. She wasn't jumping up and down, but Jane could see that she was on board 100%, which meant that she would be a full creative partner. Jane had an inspiration.

"Can I help?"

"Sure you can! She's looking for a story, and I said I'd start thinking. You could, too. Listen, if you think of a good story, I'll support you if you want to sell it. A story need not be a full screenplay, you know. Just a story. And Scorpia, whoever she is, is well known for being, you know, honest. She's tricky, but not a cheat."

"Lisa, you know the real Scorpia probably won't want to be in the movie. You'll have to audition for an actor."

Lisa's face fell.

"Why not the real Scorpia? What would be the point?"

"I thought it was like, you know, Superman, and there really was no _real_ one?"

"Oh, there's a real one, all right! Jane, I know she occasionally fields a ringer, to keep people guessing. But it's the same woman every time on TV, and in the news. I know that for sure. And that's the woman who exchanges e-mail with me! And you know what?" Lisa lowered her voice still more, and looked about nervously. "I don't think she's in the porn industry at all. She's really very reserved, and reluctant to get into, you know, like, sex. The bold, rude, in-your-face persona is all an act. She's really a shy person!"

"Who wants to do a movie!"

"Well, yeah; shy people could like to do movies, couldn't they?"

Jane nodded, thoughtfully. Would Lisa recognize her, even with a mask on, when they met face-to-mask? It seemed almost better to get Lisa on board the Scorpia team beforehand. Or, it might be fun to let her find out in the middle of the movie! Jane was amazed that she could be so cool about the whole thing.

Lisa was determined that the two of them should brainstorm for at least half an hour on a story plot.

"What about a simple love story? Like, porn queen is determined to get Scorpia in bed, and stalks her. In the movie, Scorpia has an office and a secretary, and Lisa, the stalker, sweet-talks the secretary into revealing where Scorpia lives, the Bat Castle, so to speak!"

"Yeah! And sets a trap!"

"Oh. I was thinking more like, brings her flowers. Or _sends_ her flowers!"

"I like that! Hundreds of flowers, every day!"

"No, no, just maybe a few roses on Valentine's Day, or something."

"That's perfect. That's good ... then, they arrange to meet, ..."

"Or she guesses where to meet Scorpia, ..."

"Or just turns up at a convention, and simply walks up; it's the easiest thing in the world, isn't it? I mean, she _does_ appear at these conventions!"

"Does she, really? Where are these things? When do they take place?"

"I don't know; I left my computer in the hotel, or I could just look it up."

"I bet they have one right here, if we ask." As it happened, the clerk at the desk happened to know the information off the top of his head.

"There's a _Metalfest_ every Easter Weekend, ladies, and Scorpia attends each one—at least _most_ of them. That's her annual major appearance. Then there's one around Thanksgiving, in New York City, which she has attended pretty regularly, too. And usually a TV appearance early in the Fall. She's pretty predictable!" He tried to get Lisa's autograph, but she danced away, saying he was not supposed to pester the customers. Jane just laughed. Lisa was such a delightfully unpredictable woman!

"Well! I may just turn up at _Metalfest_ , wherever it is, and talk to her!"

" _Perfect!_ " exclaimed Jane, slapping her thigh. "Arrange to have the meeting filmed, and it can go right into the movie!"

"That's brilliant!"

"Okay, so where were we? Lisa stalks Scorpia, and gets her interest. The two keep meeting in secret, and build up a relationship. It can be kind of comic, with the usual clichés, like ... I don't know, when two people start dating, and their assumptions, you know, clash?"

"Like they go on a date, and they don't know what to expect, or something. Oh Jane, I like it. It's kind of sweet, in its own way. Like a Cary Grant movie!"

"I guess! Anyway, suppose we show Scorpia as a bit of a coward, until Lisa really gets in trouble, and Scorpia comes to the rescue!"

"Yes!"

"And then they kiss, ..."

"And then, they really get it on!"

" _Two_ endings, one rated G, and the other R!"

"And then Scorpia takes off her mask, and ..."

"And she says ' _You!'_ and the movie ends!"

Lisa was silent for a while, lost in thought.

"It's a highly predictable story, I know," Jane offered.

"Yes," Lisa conceded, "but it's the best frame on which to hang a lot of really cute details."

"But we couldn't really take credit for the story."

"Credit, yes, money: probably not. Jane, what do you think of putting in a lot of nudity?"

Jane shrugged. " _I_ don't have a problem with it; will _she?"_

They all spent rather a quiet afternoon, while Jane did Stacy's hair in a simple braid, which is the way she preferred to wear it anyway, except that she had two little strands of hair framing her face, and extra-sexy makeup, and a fake belly-button piercing. They all wore sexy clothes, though Jane decided to wear something a little less stunning than her previous attempt. She was determined not to attract too much attention from the press.

They were all picked up by limousine, at six-thirty sharp, and floated to the theater, where there was a major media event taking place. Gillian politely refused to talk on the way in, and Jane and the others were ignored, despite Jane's pretty gown. She boldly gave the Twins her arms, and they went in together, and were greeted warmly by all three of the stars, and of course, Julie Sterne-Davis. Then she was greeted by the other producers, who called her by name, and said they would be happy to hear her thoughts on the movie. "Wish you could have been here for the earlier screenings!" Jane blushed, and said she would be glad to pass her thoughts along to them, but she doubted they would be worth much. "On the contrary!" cried the oldest fellow, one who had danced with Jane a couple of times, and had become kind of a fan.

The movie was a straightforward one to begin with. The early part was carried by Lisa's sheer beauty, and her rather pathetic existence as a store clerk, who spent all her money on gambling. The fellow at the next slot machine, just playing for fun, somehow becomes interested in her, and sees how desperate her situation has become. He takes her out to lunch, and she gabbles at him about how much she supposedly enjoys playing the slot machine. She has crazy theories about how she simply could not lose forever. Meanwhile, she's spent all her food money for the rest of the week. He drops a 20-dollar bill 'by accident,' and she covers it with her foot. Then, the first chance she gets, she runs back to the casino, like a madwoman, and begins playing again.

To cut a long story short, they fall in love, and he persuades her to join him to go out west, to try their luck there. Unfortunately, he doesn't have any skills, and he takes a low-paying job at a bowling alley, while she takes a job much like the one she had back east. But life in Los Angeles–or wherever the story is set–is hard, and expensive. The man, Gene, makes too little, and Lydia, the woman, pays all their bills carefully, and on time, until they run out of money to pay the water bill. Meanwhile, Gene suspects Lydia of going gambling again. Once she proves to him that she hasn't played a slot machine since they came out west, her apologizes to her sincerely. Then she begs him to take her back to the Midwest, where he had grown up. But he can't stand it back there, and he's determined to make it out west.

Their automobile was bought out of Lydia's money. She's sold her little house, all she had in the world, and they had come out west with it, only to find that a car was absolutely necessary, and a good one cost all the money they had. Eventually Lydia snaps, and leaves in the little Toyota.

Oh her way back East, she picks up Melanie, a teenager who's running away from home. Lydia promises to take her to the nearest town, but as she says, she doesn't need more responsibility, and she has little to offer the kid. "Go home," she says, "I ran away from home once, and when I went back, they were nicer to me. Go home, Melanie. Trust me, you'll be happy you did!"

But Melanie is stubborn, and begs to be taken along. Lydia points out that it's a federal crime to take a minor across a state border. The girl swears she's eighteen, and that's old enough to drink in California. However, Lydia is lonely, and the girl is company. They become steadily closer, as they make their way across the Interstate, until Melanie calls home, and resolves a part of her problems. Apparently her parents aren't as anxious about her as Lydia had expected.

Once they arrive in Kansas, Lydia is determined to settle down. The plan is to find a house, get settled, and call Gene. She calls and leaves messages, telling him her plans. But now, Melanie has become part of Lydia's life. The kid babysits, pumps gas, does chores to earn money for Lydia, and together they scrape a living. A middle-aged couple allow them to use a cottage on their property, which they clean up and repair together, and when they move in, Melanie finds herself physically attracted to Lydia, and makes her move. In a scene that is pure poetry, Melanie expresses her feelings to Lydia in pure silence, and waits for the sky to fall. But Lydia accepts her, and the entire theater heaved a collective sigh of relief.

Things get better and better, and the audience is treated to occasional sights of a photograph of a young fellow on the refrigerator door of the farmer and his wife. The photo has on it: To grandpa and grandma, from Gene.

Finally, Lydia calls home. "Come and see!" she says. Gene looks terrible. He says he can't find a job down there. Lydia says he doesn't have to, because she can support them. "But farmer Brown needs help around the farm, he says."

It's the first inkling that Gene is really coming home. When he gives up his job and heads out for Lydia's address in a rented car, he finds himself in his grandparent's farm. And after the big reunion, the camera focuses on the face of Melanie, hiding in a back room, looking at a half-packed suitcase. The credits began to roll, over the tired voice of a country-western singer, singing an optimistic song, about looking on the bright side.

Jane wept openly. Despite knowing the story beforehand, she was utterly unprepared for the emotional power of the finished product. All three main actors did wonderful jobs with their roles, and the sad thing was that everyone, simply _everyone_ in the movie was doing their absolute best for everyone else. And most stunning of all, was the incredibly powerful performance of Stacy Sinclair, which had made Jane smile and weep in turn. Stacy portrayed the evolution of a rather self-involved teen into first a loving foster-child, and then a shy lover. Jane recalled the same process between herself and Zsuszana, and how hard it had been on them both to have that relationship threatened. A quick look at Zsuszana showed that she, too, had identified with _something_ in the movie.

There was the usual business after the movie, after which the first producer, Jane's particular admirer, barrelled towards her through the crowd.

"What did you think?" he demanded, taking in the tears on her cheeks.

"Oh, I loved it! Stacy did a wonderful job! And Lisa—oh, what beautiful acting all through!"

"Kind of a tear-jerker, eh!"

"I guess! It's a nice movie ... I don't know about the box-office, but I don't care! I love it!"

"And you ladies? What did you think?" he asked the rest of the gang, who had all sat together.

"It's a wonderful movie!" said Gillian, eyes wide with earnestness. "It's very honest, isn't it? It shows everybody's weaknesses, and their strengths, and their determination, and they don't have wonderful luck, or anything, except for the two women meeting! I loved it, just like Jane!"

Jane found Lisa and Stacy, both of whom made room for Jane in preference to more important guests. Jane told each of them how much she had enjoyed the movie, and told Stacy that nobody, without exception, could have done a better, more sensitive job of that role. "You were so natural, so ... I don't know; it didn't look like acting, not at all!"

"Most of the time it wasn't," said Stacy. Jane could usually tell when Stacy was trying to lay one on her, but she wasn't now. "I don't think for any movie I could kind of _live_ the role? But being on the road, and off-balance the whole time, except for little breaks with you, I sort of lived it. I really did, so ... The end was hard, of course, and ... I wrote to you about that, so what's there to say?"

"Still, it counts as a great achievement. The directing, the editing ... the nudity was minimal, and the editing was brilliant! I just can't be objective about it!"

"Good! That's what we want, eh? The last thing we want is an objective audience, am I right?"

There was lots of food and, of course, drink, and Jane met and spoke to all her old friends, including the shy Brad, who could hardly stop talking about how wonderful Stacy had been.

"I'm stunned," said Zsuszana afterwards. "I didn't think that Lisa Love had it in her! I mean, it was _her_ , and that was no act, but she got all the feelings across right on the money!"

"It was brilliant writing, too."

They talked long into the night, having politely refused to go out on the town. It was almost one in the morning for the gals from the east. Early the next morning, they flew back home.

THE END

# Afterword

This part of the story ends here. The reader may think this either a strength or a weakness, but I have never been able to start with a plot, and fill it out with action. I start with the characters, and imagine what happens to them, and follow behind. Life doesn't have a beginning and an end, so I have always felt that to impose a story on the characters beforehand is very implausible.

This is just a part of a story; the rest of the story has to do with how Jane becomes increasingly involved with Lisa Love, and Lisa Love becomes increasingly infatuated with Scorpia, and how the Twins regard these developments with increasing dismay, and set out to get Jane back.

Coupon. Please use this coupon code, and read _Helen at Ballet Camp._ The coupon entitles you to 30% off the price of Ballet Camp: GE84T. _Ballet Camp_ is rather an outlier in the Helen series, and presents a much younger, lighthearted Helen than in later books. In case you're wondering, _Ballet Camp_ is not a typical summer camp genre story; it is about a famous young musician, who works _incognito_ at an odd summer camp where _sex is allowed_ between the students of appropriate age. It isn't all about sex; it's very little about sex.
