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Kelly By Callie Messenger The flash that I saw and the shock that I felt when Carmela placed her ring on my finger were the end of our marriage. I asked her what it was immediately after the wedding and she finally admitted that she had allowed her mother to cast a spell to ensure my faithfulness to her daughter. Carmela could not reconcile the action with the implicit trust required to make a marriage work. I walked straight back into the church and asked the priest for an annulment. Apparently the reception was a total disaster. I was careful to be faithful to Carmela until the annulment was granted. She wouldn't tell her mother about the annulment until it happened, and she couldn't remove her mother's spell. Witchcraft does respect the power of religions, so the end of the marriage signalled the end of the conditions required for the spell to work. Following the end of our marriage Carmela begged and pleaded for another chance, then just asked, then finally resigned herself to a few friendly dates. It was a wary friendship, held only in check by my resolve. In the face of her Latin beauty and sexuality, her enthusiasm, excitability and appetite for fun (presently dampened), and her all round loveliness, my resolve was not a lot to hold back the possible flood. Carmela's family and friends were unhappy with me over the annulment. (Us normals who know witches do take a lot of care with things like hairbrushes and clothing - it comes naturally.) They respected Carmela's feelings for me, but they wanted our relationship to end. I couldn't agree more. It was hard to get on with a life under the sad eyes of your ex-fiance (wife?). Only Sebastien, a cousin or something, seemed to see my side of things and stayed a friend. Complications occur in life. I was passed over for a promotion at work and spent the night drinking only to find Carmela drinking in one of my haunts. She took me home, and we ended up in bed. I sneaked out of her flat the next morning with a stinking hangover. When the phone woke me up at home a couple of hours later, I expected Carmela, but got Sebastien. "We need to talk." He urged. I agreed to go visit. Sebastien's apartment could be called minimalist if you were being kind. I called it empty. He managed to find two cups and made us both coffees. Black, as he had no milk. "Carmela called." He began. "We talked. She wants to know what's going on. Before you answer, I need to know one thing. Are you going to get back together." I think there was a lot of stubborn pride in my answer rather than contemplated thought. "No," I decided, though I really wasn't sure. "There is something I can do, jf you really want to be out of this relationship. You could still be friends with Carmela, but she won't want any more." "Are you going to cast a spell on her?" "No, on you, but I can't do it without your co-operation." "How will that help? She's the one who needs to change." "You want things to change, not her. Whose fault was it really that you ended up in bed with her last night? Do you think you're really helping things acting like that? Of course not. This is magic, and it can help in situations like these. Give it a shot." "Magic can't stop the way we feel for each other, right." "It can affect it indirectly. It can help you stop sleeping with her." "I'll give it one shot." We sat in pentagrams inscribed in touching circles chalked onto the bare floorboards. I'd seen these rituals before, though never partaken. I wasn't surprised at Sebastien's suggestion that we be naked, though I was reluctant. There were candles at the pentagram points. There were pewter bowls of water inside the touching points of our stars. Sebastien judged I was positioned correctly before he got up to bring a few items. He cut a lock of my hair and put it in his bowl. He took a sword, a book, and my trousers into his circle. Into my circle he threw a set of women's underwear and a strip of silk material. "These aren't Carmela's, are they?" I asked. Sebastien smiled. He sat down, opened the book, held the sword in one hand and my trousers in the other, and began to recite a chant. I felt the energy grow in the room. Nothing whizzes round, there is little wind, but there is a rising charge associated with these rituals, especially the powerful ones. I felt that charge building in me and sat stock-still. I couldn't move soon, even if I wanted to. Slowly I felt myself being stripped, as though I was becoming even barer than nakedness itself, and I began to feel more and more self-conscious and uncomfortable. This magic was more powerful than any I had witnessed. For the first time, things did move. The knickers blew into the air behind me and rested against my back. Then the bra was whipped up and pressed against my chest, quickly followed by the strip of silk that laid itself over my mouth. The three items felt like the only three items in existence around my naked mind, and I relaxed into their comfortable embrace. I was roused and looked around the room. Sebastien was sitting in a chair watching me, wearing my clothes. I looked again as I woke, and saw that it wasn't Sebastien, it was me. "I'm sorry," he explained, "but I have fixed all our problems." I was compelled to listen to Sebastien using my mouth and voice. "I love Carmela, she loves you, you don't love her. So I am now you and we're all happy." He stood up and walked over to me, still frozen in place. "Unfortunately I couldn't just swap bodies with you. You couldn't pass as me, and I have no idea whether you would gain a talent for witchcraft, which could turn out to be embarrassing. So you're kind of neutral at the moment. Only I don't want you developing a male form, as you might just be able to use your old knowledge of Carmela to win her back somehow. Thus the only constraint I've placed on your form is that you will be female, taken care of by the underwear. The rest of your form will be decided by your function. Over the next few days the clothes that you wear, the people you meet, the jobs you undertake will all determine the development of your form. Don't worry, I've arranged something with a special friend. "The gag? That just stops you talking about all of this. I could have removed your memories entirely, but who knows, I may need you. We can't be specific about memory removal so I just had to use the gag. You know who you are, but you can't talk about it." He waved his hands and said a word. I found myself free to move. "Put on the clothes next to you." I looked beside me and saw a pile of new clothes, most still on hangers. Without wanting to I reached for the bra that had fallen from my chest and put it on. It fit my new breasts that I was just becoming aware of. I stood up and slipped on the knickers. I stepped out of the circle, and reached for what looked like a shirt. I buttoned up the plain white item to just below my collar. There was a tie too, striped in burgundy and gold. It was something I wouldn't have chosen to wear to work but I fixed it easily around my neck. There was a black skirt. It was very small. "Don't stop." Ordered Sebastien. I stepped into the skirt and pulled it up over my hips. It was made of a stretchy material that hugged my hips and backside. "I didn't tell you the last little bit of the spell." He offered. "Until your form is fixed, you'll find yourself doing as you're told. It's an effect that ensures you quickly settle into a role. Don't worry, it wears off." I glared at Sebastien. "Very cute!" He said. "Now finish dressing. We have to go." I put on the last item, a burgundy sweater, and then slipped into the thick-soled, high-heeled black shoes. I was dressed like a schoolgirl. "Why this, Sebastien?" I asked him. My voice sounded softer, much higher. "You didn't have to do this!" "Whatever." He responded with a shrug. "The opportunity arose and I took it. Carmela is expecting you over tonight and I'm going to apologise for all the mistakes you've made. It will all turn out perfectly." "What about me? You've taken everything from me." I was beginning to feel like crying. "Yeah, but then I don't really care. You took my girl, kept her, and then broke her up. You annulled the marriage. Shit! She must have felt great about that and still she wanted you back. Why didn't you just jilt her so that her mother could've turned you into a rat or something? At least you're human, though I've a feeling that you might not feel that way in a few days. And a brand-new start! Fresh out of school! Think of the possibilities!" I gave up and began to cry. There wasn't much else to do. "Here, put this on." He handed me a denim jacket. "Step over here." There was a mirror on the door of an old oak wardrobe and he stood me in front of it. I looked at the reflection of a schoolgirl. She kind of wore my face, but everything was softer, less defined. She wasn't slim or overweight, not at all curvy. I had breasts, but they didn't show greatly under the sweater. My hair was much longer than before, but unstyled, and in a shade of brown that seemed to change depending on the light, from blonde to dark. My legs were pale, slimmer, and hairless. The heels were high, but I was still shorter than my own body standing behind me. I might have been about five-four now, at a guess. Sebastien crooked my tie, pulled a shirt corner out of my skirt, and ruffled my hair. The look generally was that of a girl skipping school. As he drove me away from his flat he told me to stay quiet. I tried to stay composed despite the tears. I still felt that feeling of nakedness, even now I was clothed, as though I wasn't really wearing the clothes, or that I wasn't really wearing a body yet. He drove round the city to a town house in a rough area. "This is a guy I sometimes do business with." He said, taking me up to the top floor flat. Before he knocked he muttered a few words and waved his hand over his face. He suddenly looked like the old Sebastien again. A woman opened the door. She was wearing a bathrobe and looked like she'd just got up. "Hi, Seb. Hi, honey." She said to me. "Dev is out. Could be a while. You want me to take this one off your hands and you sort it out with him later?" "Sure," said Seb. "I'll give him a call." He gave me a nudge forward. "See you around, honey!" The woman took me by the hand and I followed her in to the flat. She sat me down in the living room and sat with me. "What's your name?" I paused. I couldn't really say Ian, could I? Even without trying, I knew that I couldn't. "Make one up if you don't want to tell me." She misinterpreted my delay. "Would you like me to make one up?" I nodded. "Okay, how about Holly? No? Susie?" I shook my head again. "This ain't a guessing game, hun. Kelly. I'm going to call you Kelly. Get used to it." I nodded again. "Right, Kelly. We don't ask much here. Girls come and girls go and we don't keep in touch. So we don't need to know your story. You ran away from school and you ended up here. What are you, sixteen? You look about sixteen. As far as we're concerned, you are sixteen, and you'll say that if anyone asks." I nodded mutely. "You're lucky Sebastien picked you up. Dev runs a good show and we're treated well. He runs a club, and most of us dance there. Can you dance?" I thought about it and shook my head. "I'll teach you the moves. You'll pick it up in a day or two. It's better than putting out for Johns, so I'll tell Dev you're a dancer. Got that? From now on you're a dancer." I nodded my head. She reached for a pack of cigarettes on the table and took one out before offering me the packet. I refused. "Good girl," she smiled. "It's a disgusting habit." She lit the cigarette and took a long drag. "You're a quiet one, aren't you, Kelly? My name's Helen. Let's go grab some breakfast." Dev gave Helen some money and she got me some clothes. Mostly they were wispy bits of lace that were supposed to pass for underwear, but there were exercise clothes, a couple of tiny skirts and tops, and a couple of pairs of shoes. I owed Dev the money for the clothes. I also owed him for the food and bed while I stayed with Helen. Dev himself was never there. I was told to stay in the apartment during the day. Helen woke late but then went through a brisk exercise routine with me and showed me a few moves. I picked them up quickly. Dev's girls, and I met a couple of them besides Helen, were 'exotic dancers'. They were prostitutes too, but I figured Helen was saving that piece of news until an appropriate time. Some were runaways. One looked no older than fifteen. There was the possibility that she and I would dance together as schoolgirls. I was being set up to strip and then perhaps to sell myself for sex. Knowing my curse, I watched my body change to become much more curvaceous over the first three days. Helen didn't notice because I kept wearing my sweater, hiding my burgeoning breasts. Also because by mid-afternoon she was usually in some degree of chemical induced stupor. Because of this more than anything I was desperate to get out, but since I had been told not to leave, the front door had become like some kind of invisible barrier which flipped me round as I approached with no recollection of why I had gone toward it. My hair became thicker and heavier, more of a mane, and settled into a dark blonde, which Helen took great joy in highlighting. My face became defined, but stayed very soft, with my blue eyes brightening, my lips reddening, and the rest of my skin paling. Paling, except in spots, with which I began to have a little trouble. Helen bought me a couple of skin soaps and creams to combat the spots, and made sure that I cleansed properly. She showed me how make up could hide anything, just so long as it was caked on. On the fourth day, we headed to the club at six. I was dressed in my uniform, as I had been the day I arrived; only there were subtle differences. Gone was the fresh face and on was the lipstick and blush. If anything, I looked even younger, trying to look older. Under the blouse was a pure white lace bra with matching knickers under the skirt. The set was completed by a white suspender belt, holding up white stockings that slipped into a pair of sparkling silver stilettos. My hair was held off my face in a loose ponytail. Tonight, as soon as I was told to, I would dance for an audience. I don't think Helen knew the power of her stated commands. They weren't meant as orders exactly, or they were, but with a choice. I had no choice yet. It was just my luck that Helen was a natural boss and saw herself as a big sister to me, with all that entailed. Dev was worse. I first met him at the back door, which he filled. He was black, six-five and built. He had a nice smile, but not for his girls, or bits, as he called them. When he said something to me it was an order, and meant to be obeyed. I'm not sure I could have disobeyed him even had I had the will to. I would have been petrified of him had I had my own body. With this little girl's outfit that my mind was wearing, I jumped when anyone barked. He liked me, he said, first off. He wasn't so keen on Helen's idea that I dress as the schoolgirl that I appeared to be. He reckoned that the uniform was for the slimmer girls with the childlike bodies. He saw me more brazenly dressed. He strode into the dressing room which was full of half dressed women, momentarily shocking me. I wasn't even used to seeing my own body undressed, even though I spent time trying to get to know it. Other women's bodies still reached for the fading man in me. He went straight to the hanging outfits and thumbed through, quickly pulling out a few contraptions that couldn't have been clothes. He called me over and told me to undress. Completely, he added, when my face showed my ineffectual reluctance. I stood in front of him uncomfortably bare, but naively unaware that I should be covering myself with my hands. He ignored me except to use me as a mannequin, telling me to step into a ribbed garment that laced up behind me and cupped my breasts up almost to my chin, where I could barely hide from them. He pulled the laces so tight the breath was squeezed out of me. I could barely bend to pull on a pair of black fishnet stockings so Helen helped me. They clipped to the suspenders inside the garment, at the back of which was a kind of bustle to make my ass look bigger fitted with a fluffy pom pom tail. Towering heels almost pushed me over my own feet. Dev pushed a hairband with big white floppy ears down onto my head, and told me to pirouette, which I did on the tippest of toes. "You're not dancing tonight," he said. "You're out front waiting on tables. You don't have the bite my dancers need, you look too soft. But you have got what it takes to make the punters stick up their hands and call you over. Go introduce yourself to Joe behind the bar and work the night." After two days of working the bar I was getting up later than Helen, who was always waiting to take me home after work. There wasn't much comfortable to wear in the flat but clinging halter-tops and tight Lycra skirts. As I showered and dressed I could see the effects of my new position on my body. Not only was my backside covered in small bruises from the pinching, but also it was more prominent, with a softer covering, and sitting on wider hips, and perhaps on longer legs. My waist had shrunk quickly, and my breasts were now full and round. My face was still soft and girlish, but my mouth was wide with a bright smile. I practised Helen's routine with her for an hour after breakfast, easily coping with high kicks and the splits. I watched TV in the afternoon, while she slowly got herself drunk enough to look good. When she could face heading out to the club we did. Dev was at the bar that night as I came out of the dressing room. "There's something about you that makes you the perfect little bunnygirl," he noted as I reported for duty. He wasn't a bad type, I figured, but he had decided to take all my tips to pay for my clothes, food and rent, and hadn't seen fit to offer me a salary yet. I was stuck with him for the moment. "You seem to be exactly what the punters want," he continued. "Young girl, fresh face, but with a knockout tush. You wanna stay here working?" As he was talking, something seemed to be changing in me, as though a weight was being lifted and I felt stronger. No, more like I was dressed again, fully, with no shame or embarrassment or incompleteness. Yes, that was the word, I was complete, and I felt fresh and strong. I heard the question clearly, given with a choice, though I knew that Dev was expecting a yes so I told him yes. "Good girl! From now, Joe'll count your tips at the end of the night and you'll get half. Okay, Joe?" The bar manager nodded. "Sure, Dev," he replied. He smiled at me. "Welcome aboard, Kelly!" Good girl! I looked down at myself. I could feel the push of my corset stretching the skin on my chest slightly and I could see the cleavage presented. I took a lock of my hair and tugged slightly. All real. No way out. At least the last few days had been leading me gently to this. I was a girl, in a girl's body, wearing girl's things, accepting a girl's job. I would be leered at, commented on, stroked and pinched as I served a crowd of men driven wild by the antics of a parade of strippers. I was reliant on a probable pimp for my livelihood. I lived with a drug-fuelled stripper. I could feel the tight elastic of my thong sitting uncomfortably between my cheeks. It warned me that there was little protection anywhere on my body. I was to look as though I enjoyed what was happening to me, a guy acting like a girl acting like she was enjoying herself. But what could I do? Get Sebastien to change me back? He would never. And I would never get close to anyone else who could as long as he knew where I was. And what if he did something to make it impossible for anyone else to change me back? I turned at the sound of Dev's voice. "Sebastien is a good man. You're lucky he found you and brought you here. You really can make something of yourself here, if you want to. He always brings me good girls. Hey, I'm seeing some new friend of his tomorrow sometime. I'll let you thank him yourself." He smiled and walked out back. Dev's words reminded me that Sebastien hadn't seen me yet, and as I was sure that the spell had just completed, he was timing his visit to see what I looked like. Perhaps Dev wasn't supposed to have told me he was coming. Sebastien wouldn't have told him I was a man, probably. Whatever, if I was going to escape Sebastien's plans for me I needed to make my own, and quickly. While I considered, I went round behind the bar to help Joe fill the tills. I wanted to scream and cry, but my mind was becoming distanced from the torture it was receiving. The physical abuse my body was receiving was occurring in places that didn't quite relate to what I could clearly remember so I could pretend that it wasn't happening to me, that this wasn't really my body. It made logical sense. The sensations that I felt tried to make me think otherwise, but I could dissociate myself enough. The problem was the mental abuse. I couldn't avoid the stares. Perhaps the comments weren't aimed at me really, but at my body, but the stares got into my soul. Men were being lecherous over me, and I could see it. Even if this body wasn't mine, I couldn't avoid the results of having it. So I served the drinks with my eyes down, flashing smiles where necessary and ignoring the touches. I still got tips. These guys couldn't touch the strippers unless they were next to the stage or catwalk. Me they could reach anytime, and if they wanted to cop a feel of my tits all they had to do was push a note into my cleavage. I dropped the tray down onto the bar and quickly stepped into the toilets. The worst shock for me so far was when I had first come into the toilets and discovered the facts about my new plumbing. Perhaps tits, and arse, and hair, and clothes are all aspects of the feminine, but only a vagina makes you a physical woman. And peeing out of one is a messy business. Still, this time as I entered the toilets, I intended to delve a lot deeper into it. Of course, I wasn't just doing this for kicks. As I gently pushed a finger into the tightly shut entrance to my vagina I was struck by how true that was. A long nail and a dry finger are not the most pleasant of ways to investigate your womanhood. I licked my finger wet and tried again, unpleasantly surprised by the smell my finger had brought up to my nose. This wasn't fun. Second time it slipped in more easily, with a little wiggling. I really knew what I expected to find, which was a large cavity behind the muscled lips. What I hadn't counted on was the feelings elicited by wiggling the finger around in the smooth walled entrance. They could be pleasant given time, perhaps, like masturbating as a man, only not quite so sensitive. I resolved to try some time, but I didn't feel like it right now. The reason I was checking inside myself was I was looking for a safe place. I had heard that people smuggled things in body cavities. I pulled out from under my corset a change bag from which Joe had earlier emptied a load of coins into the till. I took out two tens from my thong straps and a bunch of fives from my bust, rolling them up into the bag and folding it over to seal it. I spread my legs wide, coated the bag with spit, and slowly pushed it into the hole. I gathered the remaining notes from my two hours so far and handed them over the bar to Joe. He put them into a pint glass that had my name on in permanent marker. I returned to the fray. Forty-five big ones in two hours wasn't bad for serving drinks. I could do well here if only I could trust Sebastien to change me back or at least leave me alone. And if I wouldn't one day have to start putting out for Dev's 'friends', or trying some of his 'stuff', or even if I knew that one day I would have the choice to leave. No, I didn't trust Dev, or Helen, and if Sebastien had his way, I was sure that his best way to keep an eye on me would be to magically make sure that I stayed here. Every time I thought about it, I was more determined to leave quickly and silently. So guys, watch out! Because if I think letting you paw my spare flesh will earn me a ten, you're going to get the full two handfuls and I'll let you think I love it. Tonight being a Saturday the licence ran till four, from eight. Usually by normal closing at two the patrons were happier than pigs in shit. By four they were ecstatic. I guess Joe weakened the beers as the night progressed as the house wasn't rowdy. Everyone was good-natured in the 'I really love you' kind of way. I was more than happy for them to really love me. I visited the toilet four more times, quicker each time, except the last. I had been invited to sip champagne all night, and almost as soon as I had started being unable to refuse, the bubbles had gone straight to my head. The last time, when I pushed that thick roll of notes into my vagina, I kinda forgot to remove my finger all the way and enjoyed the sensation of pushing it slowly in and out. A second finger quickly joined the first, and I was leaning against the door before I realised I needed to get back out. A really musky smell rose as I withdrew my fingers, so I washed my hands well, but I felt like I was wetting my pants as I stepped back into the bar. A bouncer had to ask one guy to let me go so that I could fetch his drinks. When another pulled me down astride his crossed legs I felt the need to clamp his top one tight and rub my crotch against it to satisfy some unfulfilled urge. The act earned me a twenty, and a kiss, at which point I quickly got up. Soon all the punters were gone, and the cleaning was almost over before I began to sober up. The four other girls took their tips and left. Joe pulled down my glass and counted it out. There was a clean two-fifty in there. He handed me two fives. "Dev told me to hold back what you owe him so far. Sorry, Kelly, you didn't do so well tonight, so you'll be working a few more nights before you clear your debt. Take the ten for fags or something. And I'm walking you home, just in case." I knew I could never trust Dev. And just in case of what? In case I got any ideas of course, not for my safety. It was all a scam. I kissed Joe on the cheek at the door to the house but he escorted me right up to the flat, which he opened with a key. I smiled and closed the door behind him. I slipped off my shoes and tiptoed to the kitchen. I pulled out a bin bag from under the sink. I made a hell of a racket in the silent flat but I was hoping that, as usual, nothing would stir Helen from her drug and alcohol induced coma. I went to my room and packed every item of my clothing into the bag, followed by my bed linen. I went into the bathroom and removed everything that I had used, even including Helen's hairbrush for good measure. I returned to the kitchen and removed the rubbish from there. At the door again I stopped, and switched my stilettos for my pink 'Barbie' trainers. I picked up the two bags and walked out the door. The rubbish I wasn't too concerned about. There wasn't likely to be anything of mine in there, so I just dumped it with a neighbour's trash. I hefted my bag over my shoulder and began to walk. An hour later I found an underground station, slowly opening its doors to the day of rest. I borrowed the employees' restroom, and soon I had a ticket out of there. In less than an hour more I was on a train out into the country, feeling just safe enough to smile. It wasn't my life, but it was the one I had been given, and I was just beginning to feel free to live it. At the largest place on route, Manerham, capital of a province that I'd never visited, I got off. I'd slept and I felt clear-headed. I had enough money left for food for a few days, but not enough to find a place to live. The choices weren't plentiful. I could roam the streets until I found work of a similar but probably much more seedy nature than the employment I'd just left. Or I could take a slight risk, dependent on how much Dev really wanted to find a runaway that ran away. Sebastien might try to persuade him, but what would he say? I walked into the police station in the centre of town. "I'm missing," I told the greyshot guy at the desk. Of course, he didn't know what to do. I spent the next two days at the station, in the care of P.C. Williams, a slightly dippy girl with a great, though sometimes unintentional, sense of humour. In that time it was discovered that I wasn't on any missing persons list, and that you can't find out anything about anyone if they don't give you a name. I gave them a name, but it was made up. What can you do with just Kelly? I said my surname was my own real one, Scott. All the Kelly Scotts of fourteen to eighteen years old were safe in their homes or schools. The police just shrugged their shoulders and handed me over to social services. A new file was opened. I think that was the beginning of my new life. I was sent initially to foster parents and thence to the local school where I joined in the exam year. Within a month I was at a more permanent home, and dropped down a year in all my classes except maths and English language. By the end of that school year, I was almost back on track for the exams, though I didn't let it show, and moving in with a family who had agreed to adopt me. I didn't really want to be adopted, but the social services had explained that without a birth certificate, an adoption certificate was really the only way to get legal documentation such as a passport. What with my position in classes and no other benchmarks to go by, it was agreed that the date of adoption, midway through the summer, would be set as my sixteenth birthday. Gale and Jim, my new mum and dad, laid on a nice welcome party come birthday for the day I became Kelly Scott Harris. They were great to me. Not many people want to adopt grown kids, but their youngest son had died three years before in a boating accident. He was fifteen at the time. In a sweet irony, I was replacing him. They felt they still owed someone a life, but were too old to start right over. Their other three sons were at the party. Mike was thirty and married with two kids of his own. David was twenty- eight and still single. Jonathan was twenty-four and doted on his very attractive girlfriend. All were excited by the prospect of having a sister. I failed completely over the next few weeks to set some distance between my new family and myself. I had a mum and dad already, and other family, but as I failed to find any idea for how to get back to them they slowly eased into the background. School wasn't great. I wasn't the typical teenager and I wasn't the typical schoolgirl. Boys liked me and the girls didn't. I didn't want boys, and I wasn't going to get involved in the girls' petty power struggles. I was too square for the bad girls, and I didn't like the good girls. Oh, except a couple, whom I found attractive. But what could I do with that? It made me nervous when I tried to talk to them, both because I get nervous talking to attractive girls and because I didn't want to let them know I found them attractive. That would be the end of life at school for me for certain. It also showed me how much I still felt for Carmela, and I finally admitted to myself that I'd been an arsehole. So she made a mistake. Why couldn't I just have blamed her mother and got her to reverse it? We'd probably have been celebrating our first anniversary by now. I worked hard at home. I don't think my new parents were as proud of me as they made out. I think they had been dreaming of a little excitement. I tried to turn to my brothers; a group of guys who I would probably have been drinking with were I still a guy. But they just treated me like a stereotype kid sister. Especially Jon, whose girlfriend Katy wanted me for a doll, I'm sure. And I could hardly string two words together to speak to her, as she was so gorgeous. Perhaps teen rebellion is caused by people who think they are mature being treated like they're not. I was mature, and being treated like a child. My rebellion was justified. I began not to skip school, but to skip home. I joined every club going at the local youth club and leisure centre, and got a weekend job as a chambermaid at a local hotel to pay for it all. I had to give that up when one of the teams I had joined started taking me round the country on weekends. I saw my family some weeknights. My end of year exams didn't go as well as they had the first time around. Instead of carrying on at school I went to a college on the other side of the city for my last two years of higher education. I completed a certificate in Business Administration and Law, and brushed up my French and Spanish. I made friends there. There were a few older returnees among the vapid teens training to become somebody's secretary. Some of the kids of my outward age were far more mature than they would have been in school. I had a boyfriend. Gary and I were together for the best part of a year before we split amicably for the summer. I tried my best, but I just couldn't give him what he asked for, let alone what he really wanted. We stayed friends through the second year. He joined my Frisbee team, and was soon in the first team ahead of me. Frisbee, now there was a great atmosphere! The sport was called something else, but everyone I knew called it Frisbee. It was a sport which women and men played together, but dominated by men who wanted to play with the women. I was never going to be great at it because of physical deficiencies. I slimmed down a bit, lost some weight, and got fit, but my body was fixed in tits'n'ass formation, and five foot four and a half was never going to compete with the average guy in a jump. Still, I was supple, and fast, and I had a natural sportsman's eye for the flying bit of plastic and the play occurring around it. This meant I got picked for the national women's team in the college summer hols, and took a ten-day trip with them to the Netherlands. The trip involved about an hour of sport per day, but mostly drugs, alcohol, and the friendly, humorous but persistent attentions of the other sex. I lost my female virginity. I was drunk, I was a little high, and he was a Danish blond Viking who hadn't shown more than the slightest interest in the girls who had approached him. That night he approached me, and I was swept up on a wave of awed congratulation as my teammates nudged me onto the route to his tent. The next morning I was hungover, and sore, but couldn't stop smiling as I recalled the pleasure invoked by the care, attention and respect that he paid me, caressing me like a china figurine until I could stand no more and began to smash myself against him. We stayed together for the last few days, and I learned what a man wanted while wondering how I could be doing such a thing. I didn't find men attractive, and the thought of sex with them was mildly repugnant, but my feelings for Sune were out of control. What I could relate to was a whole new paradigm of sexual thought. As a man, I felt it more practicable and pleasurable to have sex with a woman. As a woman, the same applied with a man. I was a woman now. When we left the fields, packed up on our minibus, I cried. I don't know why, I just did, and I couldn't help it. As the baby of the team, I had a lot of older sisters to help me over it. That summer was also the summer I lost my other virginity. Not the behind one, but the same-sex one. I never want to lose the behind one! I got friendly with a jazz dance instructor on a training camp - I was still a dancer. She invited me back to her room, had me drink a bottle of wine and thought she was seducing me. As a younger man I'd never refused sex with a willing woman, so her attempt made me a little uncomfortable. I finally had to drag the attractive brunette in for a kiss. Everything was going well until we got to bed. Sex was slow, and way too touchy-feely. I love massage, and I love kissing and caressing, but I never got the passion or the feeling that Sune wrung out of me. In my drunken state I complained about my dissatisfaction, and upset Jacqui. She barely spoke a word to me for the rest of the camp. Summer taught me some good lessons. Maturity as a man does not mean maturity as a woman. When I started to imagine that my ideal partner would look like a beautiful woman but have a man's cock and a man's mind, I knew I had a lot more to learn about myself. The dilemmas I had to understand to be able to live with myself were what forced me back into the bosom of my adopted family. They had seen me on occasion over the previous year, certainly most mornings and some nights, but I hadn't spent time with them. I began to do so, and began to bring my friends around on occasion. I think real acceptance, perhaps you might call it comfort, came the first night that Gary visited. Mum and Dad knew about Gary and about our previous year together. Gary just came round to see if I wanted to get out. Dad invited him down the local and me, Dad, Mum and Gary spent the evening talking about college, the future, my family and even relationships. Gary took a bed in the guestroom that night while I stayed up with my parents talking about how the year had gone and why it had gone the way it had. They wanted to see more of me, now that I was maturing. Can you believe it? Maturing? But I really wanted to do them proud now. I said I finished the certificate. I did, and well, and that was the year that Gary joined me in the Frisbee team. I introduced him to Sophie, the women's team captain, and they got on very well. Like chalk on a blackboard, or crackers and cheese. I spent more weekends at home, and cut my interests down to just Frisbee and dance. I applied to a couple of universities for a variety of courses. Across the final term and the summer I trained hard for the upcoming World Championships. I had once again been chosen for the women's team, and we were off to California for three weeks in August. I managed to get sponsorship from a couple of local companies, or rather their managers, which paid for my kit and my flight. Mum and dad managed to squeeze out the rest. Gary didn't make the Open squad. The men's game is more competitive, and Gary probably had a couple of years of practice before he made it yet. Gary's absence meant that Sophie and I were virtually inseparable for the entire three weeks. Sophie is older than both me and Gary, but only by a couple of years in my case, and a year in Gary's. We got on well. I said virtually inseparable, but we did get separated. Sophie decided to spend one night in a club chatting to a black bodybuilder. We played the first six points of our match the next morning without her before she rolled up. By way of return I met Sune again, and we relit our relationship. There was one moment in America when I would have been happy to resign all hope of ever returning to my old life. "Sune," I asked him, as we lay entwined, "can I come to visit you after this is over?" I thought his pause for thought was encouraging, as though he was seriously thinking about it. Perhaps he was, but the answer wasn't quite what I expected. This time when we departed for the airport I didn't cry. The next time I slept with Sune, he was married. Of course I didn't tell Gary about Sophie's dalliance. That wasn't in the spirit of the game. Their relationship fizzled out but for weekends soon into university as she was up North and he was near me in the Capital. I returned home to find my results were good and all my choices had been trying to get in touch with me to see whether I wanted to take up my place. I accepted the offer from City University to read International Business Administration. Why was I headed back to the Capital? It kept my options open. Sebastien had not come after me in over three years, so while I guessed he hadn't forgotten about me, by now he must have given up on me. As long as I steered clear of Dev, (and how would he recognise me?) I would be fine there. There was more opportunity there, and more opportunity for revenge. Why leave it till now to get my own back? I would leave it as long as it took, but I would always hold a grudge. It reminded me of a relationship I had the first time I went to university, as Ian. At the end of the first year I met Susan. I had just finished a relationship and wasn't initially willing to commit but we very quickly became serious. Two weeks later the term ended, and I took up an overseas volunteer post in Southern Africa. We wrote heavily, in the days before the Internet and email, but a week or two before my return her letters stopped completely. She met me at the airport, and I stayed with her for the few days before the study year began. Over the next few months we became incredibly serious again, but finally I got her to admit why her letters had stopped. She had met someone else and spent a couple of nights with him. Three years later I dumped her. The reason was that guy she met in those couple of weeks. You see what I mean about holding a grudge? I knew that I was now equipped to find and deal with Sebastien, even if I didn't yet know what I was going to do. Three and a half years. Carmela and I would be approaching thirty. Did we have kids? As the question played on my mind I realised that if we did, I would leave well alone. It wasn't something about the way I felt about children now, but the way I had felt when I had wanted to marry Carmela. We wanted children together, and we knew that they would always be happy with us. Where Carmela was I would find any answers I needed, as well as Sebastien. Of course I had chosen City for its proximity to our old haunts. The hall I was staying in - all first year girls got into halls - was on campus, right on the edge of the main shopping strip. I joined the dance hall right above our old gym, and went to a couple of aerobics classes too. I made some friends, and took them round all our old pubs and clubs. The whole search was expensive, so I went for a job in a nightclub. I wanted to work behind the bar, but I let it slip to the manager that I was a dancer so he tried me out for a podium spot. I got the job, four nights a week, with only Friday and Saturday lates so I didn't miss out on too much sleep. That was useful, because most of my lectures and classes were mornings. I tended to sleep a lot of afternoons. I was a big favourite with the guys on my course and in hall. It didn't take very long for the word to spread that I was a nightclub dancer, nor that the standard costumes were black, tight, and often kinky. They couldn't believe I attended classes in jeans and sweats. Once again I was really enjoying life. I don't think it was easier, or better than my old one. It was different, and difficult to compare. I was still getting things wrong. You might think that all that old male experience would mean I could take my beautiful body and make a million with it. But all my old male experience told me never to sell my looks for money, because it would be money for someone else. And I can tell you that all those girls who've been living with their looks all their lives know exactly what they can and can't do with them. My old male experience still told me that I should be doing particular things, but I couldn't carry them off the way girls who were confident in themselves could. Sure, I was podium dancing, but I treated it as dancing. I know it was sexy, so be it, but it wouldn't have been if I'd tried to start thinking about what I was doing. I know I had guys after me in college, but after more than three years of practise I still wasn't confident in dealing with them. If anything, the first few months of college and work made me less confident around men. I had friends, but I worried about those men who I didn't know. I had had guys in the club climbing onto the stages and surrounding me, feeling me up. They were drunk, and thought it was just fun, but not for me. I always got escorted from the club by one of the doormen who caught me a registered cab. In the hall, there would be parties that I would be invited to join. I got to know the guys who could be trouble and tried to stay clear or in company. This was a fear that I knew I didn't have to have, if I could find my way back to my life. But I couldn't find Carmela. I needed to go to where she used to work. One Monday afternoon I had no classes and dressed up a little tidily for a trip into her old law offices. At the reception I found Megan still looking prim and proper. I had a momentary heart stoppage as I thought she would recognise me, but of course she couldn't. "How can I help you, miss?" She asked. "Does a Carmela Santiago still work here?" "The name rings a bell. Carmela? She's not listed. Santiago, you say?" "She may be called Scott now." I hoped not, but there wouldn't have been much stopping Sebastien. "Scott. Oh, yes, Carrie Scott! Yes, she was here a few years but left shortly after the marriage. Now, Jenni Carlisle was in her office, she might know where you could find her. Would you like to leave her a message?" Jenni had been one of Carmela's bridesmaids. I didn't think Carmela liked being called Carrie that much. It puzzled me slightly. I thought quickly. Would a message be any good? "Yes, please. It concerns a case she worked on a few years back. State vs. Moody? I'm a student and I'd be very grateful if she could get in touch to talk it over. My name is Kelly Harris and this is my number," I said, writing it down for her. I remember her fucking my brains out for a week after winning State vs. Moody. She'd found a document in government trash heading for the incinerator that had cleared her client of negligence charges. I hoped she'd swallow the line. I got the call some days later, early in the evening. I was just out of the shower before getting ready for work. "Am I speaking to Kelly Harris?" The voice was perfect, exactly as I remember it, with just that touch of the Spanish inflection to the aitches. I sat back slowly onto a chair next to the phone. "Yes, this is Kelly." "Hi, Kelly, this is Carrie Scott. I understand you would like to talk to me about one of my old cases?" "Mrs. Scott!" I was putting it on a bit, but what else could I do? "Hi, yes. Er, I'm studying contract law at present and I wondered if I could go over this case with you. Could we meet to go over some questions I have." "I'm sorry, Kelly, I'm not really sure I have time. Could you go through the questions now?" The towel was slipping from my chest, exposing my breasts at a time that was very disturbing for my mental state, let alone the fact that I was sitting in a public corridor. I was talking to my girlfriend and looking down on my own bounteous melons. I pulled the towel up hastily. Hell, I had to get her to meet me, or at least find out where she was. "Mrs. Scott, you're paying for this call when I should be, and I have to get off to work now. Could I perhaps come to meet you at your offices, or at least call you at a more convenient time?" "I haven't really got the time to spare, Kelly, but then perhaps if you have an afternoon you could come over and I'll get someone to show you round until I can make five minutes." "That would be great!" "Settled. I'll call you tomorrow with a day. Good night." "Good night." I put the phone down before I said her name. I could barely get to sleep that night for wondering about my next move. By the time the day of the office visit had arrived I was settled on the plan of trying to make friends with Carmela as Kelly. I had never had an opportunity to test it, but Sebastien's words had returned to me - "You know who you are, but you can't talk about it." I was determined that eventually I would reveal Sebastien's duplicity, but I had to wait for the opportunity to present itself, and would only take it if my Carmela would not be hurt. I still didn't know how I would take the opportunity if it arose. Magic tended to be a hard thing to overcome by normal means. I wore my grey suit to the office, and French braided my hair. Of all the ironies in life, the wearing of high-heeled shoes is one of the worst. Height is taken seriously, but men take high heels sexily, unless the wearer has already made an impression. I put on three-inch heels, my highest, and still didn't make it to five-eight, Carmela's barefoot height. Carmela never wore flats to the office, but men didn't notice her shoes as most, like me, respected her intelligence and expertise. Here I was walking into a male environment in high heels, blonde, and the rest. First impressions would count everywhere. That's why I wasn't wearing a skirt. Esther, a post-graduate student doing her examinable year with the company, met me at the reception of the building in Wharfside. A tour of the offices followed, with explanation of what various departments were dealing with. There were a couple of introductions, where people were interested in my visit to their company, with friendly banter concerning whether I might take a career in law. I realised one other mistaken assumption. Just because I had always checked women out in my office, it didn't mean that all guys did. Or, just because I was re-experiencing student life and morals, didn't mean that offices were the same, right? I was returned to the reception area just before three where 'Mrs. Scott' would meet me. I picked up a copy of The Law Review and realised that it was just as uninteresting as it had always been. I put it down and felt that I was being watched. Carmela was standing in the doorway to the offices. I caught an odd expression on her face before she moved towards me. "Miss Harris?" She presumed, holding out her hand. I took it and shook it. "Call me Kelly, please." "I'm Carrie." She responded, "but if you ever start working for me, I'm Mrs. Scott." I smiled with her. We sat in her office. She sent her secretary out for coffee and it arrived hot. "I cleared a couple of hours for you, Kelly. I hope you've got some pleasant questions for me." "Yes, I do, but first, why did you react the way you did when you saw me?" Her face didn't change. She was a better poker player than she used to be, no doubt. "For a moment I thought I recognised you, or maybe I'd seen you somewhere before, but I haven't." "Like deja vu?" I pressed. "Yes, something like that. Can we get on now?" She reached for a file and opened it. "Carrie doesn't suit you, you know?" I had never allowed Carmela to get too businesslike with me. My nature, I guess. "I think Carmela is a far nicer name." She smiled at me. "Miss Harris. Did you come here to discuss this case or not?" "Not really, no. I know the case. It's you I came to learn about." She leaned her chin on her hands and looked at me for a moment. Then she leaned back in her chair and waved her hand for me to continue. It took a while for me to break down the barriers that were naturally raised in her office. I didn't try particularly; I was just myself, rather than trying to be some awe-struck student meeting a corporate lawyer. We talked through her job initially, then moved onto her leisure time. I didn't push her to come back to the gym but I let her know when I was there. We talked local pubs, so I found she was now living in the upcoming area of Redwich, just across the river from her offices, and a train ride from the city. I didn't take her on to the subject of family, but she asked about mine so I asked about hers. One husband, no children. Things were looking up. I just had to be careful not to go too far. Fortunately Carmela's secretary prevented that, announcing that one of her clients had just arrived. "Did you get everything you need?" Asked Carmela. "Not yet," I replied, getting up and reaching for my purse. She raised her eyebrows and waited. "I do need a drink." I smiled. Then I waited with my eyebrows raised in a caricature of her expression. It was something I used to do. Perhaps she didn't remember. "Sarah can show you to the machine. If you think of anything else, here's my card." I took it and put it in my purse. Obviously she wasn't going to offer to meet me in the pub later. Damn. Just when you think you're getting somewhere. I walked out in a bit of a huff. What the hell was I going to do next? So I rang her. I didn't know what I was going to say, other than "hi, it's Kelly." "I had a feeling you'd ring." "You did?" "Call it intuition." "Are you sensitive or something?" Of course I knew, but I had to ask. "Or something. Can I ask you a straight question?" "Sure." "Are you a lesbian?" Well how do you answer that? "I'm not sure why you're asking." "Kelly, I don't date girls. I don't know why you picked me, but I don't." "Would you meet one for a drink?" "I.why not?" So I met her after work the next day, in the bar next to her building. We got on well, until I had to go to work, by which time we'd both had a couple. But Carmela didn't just wave goodbye, she came with me. I sat her at one of the club's bars while I got dressed and then came out to join her. She couldn't believe the black shiny latex catsuit that I donned for the early evening, or the difference to my face with strong make- up, and my hair let down my back. The club began to fill, and another dancer and me climbed into our cages and let ourselves go. When I came down for my first break Carmela came off the dancefloor with three guys following her. They quickly latched onto me too. "Aren't you married?" I asked her. She took on a faraway look in her eyes. "Yeah," she sighed. "But I'm enjoying myself." With that she ordered her and me tequilas, and downed hers in one. As I headed back to dress for my next set she was escorted onto the dancefloor. I danced a much cooler hour in a white minidress that glowed brightly under the ultraviolet lights. Occasionally I glimpsed Carmela watching me, parading past with a smile. When I finished my second set she was at the bar again, and looking quite drunk. It was approaching midnight, and I was ready to head back, but she didn't look like she could make it home without trouble. There were certainly enough guys desperate to offer her a place to stay. I asked Leyton at the bar if he could call out and get us a cab. Little Jim came in from the door to tell me when it got there. I cajoled Carmela into leaving. I finally got an address out of her, and the cabby found the route. I asked him to wait as I pulled her out and took her to her door. I rang the buzzer for her number and heard a male voice. He came down to open the door. It was Sebastien. Or rather it was me. I had expected that, except that I hadn't recognised my own voice, which threw me. "Thank you for bringing her home." He said at the door. He didn't recognise me. My heart was pounding and I took a deep breath. "Would you like to come in for a coffee?" He asked. Okay, so it wasn't recognition, but I recognised that look in his eyes, no matter how well he tried to hide it. He'd had a couple of drinks too. "No thanks, I've got a cab waiting." "Some other time. Thanks again." "Good night." I turned and left. My heart felt like it was going to come out of my chest. I got a knock on the door and a message of a phone call early the next afternoon. I was just getting into bed so I threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Kirk, who brought me the message, got an eyeful of my unconstrained breasts as I bounded down the hall after him. Ignore everything when guys see something like that. Anything you say or do will be taken as an invitation. I just slipped past him and ran to the phone. "Hello?" I asked. "Kelly? It's Carrie. I just wanted to thank you for taking me out last night. I really enjoyed it." "So did I." "And thank you for getting me home safely." I smiled. "It was the least I could do." "I wasn't in a great state, was I?" I laughed. "No, you weren't." "Well, I haven't let off steam in a while. Listen, Ian was organising a dinner party for Saturday next. One of my friends has gone off to South America, so I was wondering if you'd like to come?" "I'd love to, but I work Saturdays." "Oh!" She sounded disappointed. "Could you take a night off?" "I suppose I could ask." So I did. I wasn't going to lose my place over it, though I wasn't going to get paid, of course. Still, I had a fair bit of cash piling up in the bank. No need for another student loan if I didn't want it. I spent a bit on a new black dress that I found down on the Queen's Road. I even spent the Saturday afternoon in a little beauticians' a couple of streets away from my hall. I really just wanted my hair relayered and highlights put in, but that takes two hours on my head, so I got a manicure, pedicure and facial while I was in the seat. With my hair done, Sandra went to work on my face. I told her it was a dinner party so she went dark, muted shades. I ended up looking incredibly elegant with my hair pinned up on my head, my nails done in dark scarlet, in my little black dress and heels. I put on my coat and picked up my purse and went out to catch a cab. Before I got to Carmela's I realised that she had said nothing about bringing a partner. When we used to do these things, which was rare, we always invited couples. When she met me at the lower door she complimented me on my efforts to look good. Carmela had never been a snob and if she even noticed that one of the diamonds in her earrings cost more than my new dress she wouldn't care. She swept me into the flat and dropped my coat and purse off behind the door. Charging through the huge lounge she threw names at me of the people seated on her vast suite. But we flew into the kitchen, and there was Sebastien, relaxing over a counter chatting to a young brunette. "This is Ian, my husband." Said Carmela, and he took my hand and kissed it. "I believe we met briefly." He said to me. "The blonde angel." "Yes, we met." I replied. "And this is Liz." Carmela said, as she introduced me to the brunette. "Liz, this is Kelly." We shook hands lightly. "Liz passed her law board exams last year and stayed with us. She came out of City University, which is where you're taking International Business Administration, right, Kelly?" "Yes," I responded, and proceeded to continue the conversation with Liz, as intended. Carmela dragged Sebastien back to the oven and had a brief, quiet conversation with him before she returned to us. She brought me over a glass of white wine and a fresh one for herself. Liz explained that I was studying Spanish, and gave Carmela the opportunity to test me, but she sidestepped and took us into the lounge where she called everyone up to the table. There were ten of us. Carmela sat at the base, furthest away from the kitchen. The guy to her left was Joseph, a partner at her firm, and his wife, Jan, was sat to Sebastien's left at the other end of the table. To her right sat Kam, an old friend of hers from college, whom I knew slightly. He had apparently been getting into computing just before our wedding. Judging from the platinum blonde hair and implants he called a 'partner' sitting to Sebastien's right, he must be making some money out of it. I sat next to Kam, opposite Liz. Next to me sat Mark, a stockbroker, and next to Liz sat Henry, a management consultant who I think I'd seen before, and perhaps had as he was from my old firm. The food came almost as fast and thick as the wine. The food was decent but from the murmurs of approval around the table I guessed the wine was excellent. Somebody was doing very well in this household. I knew Carmela had a good job now, but I never did, unless Sebastien had made something of my life. The conversation was mostly legal, technical, or company oriented. Implants, or Caroline to give her her real name, was the only one who looked lost if Sebastien was otherwise engaged or Henry was with Liz. If I talked to Henry she shot me some really dark looks. Mark caught them. "She's jealous." He explained to me, quietly. "What do you mean?" I asked. "You're prettier than her, which destroys her whole reason for living." I almost spluttered out a mouthful of wine. "And you can hold a conversation with anyone around this table. How come a first year business student knows so much about law, for example." "I study law as part of the course." "And management consultancy." "That's just the theory of what we put into practice." "What do you know about the economy?" "That I don't want to talk about it over dinner." He laughed. "Damn. There goes all my conversation." I looked at him. Dirty blond hair combed smartly where it didn't want to be. Hazel eyes with a firm nose and a firm jaw. I bet he spent a few years in the army before joining daddy's bank, but he didn't sound like it. "The army is right." He allowed. "Three years. But it wasn't daddy's bank. It was a friend's daddy's bank. My 'daddy' wanted me to go back north to carry on fixing cars when my elder brother went into estate agency. Fortunately my younger brother is the natural mechanic. What about you? Where's your family?" The sticky conversation of history. At least I had some now. As long as he didn't ask me what I did evenings or I'd get slammed into the blonde sex-object bucket with Caroline. "Manerham." "Really? You don't have the accent." "All my life, except for what I've spent here." Damn, I'm a clever girl, I smiled to myself. "And how did you get here?" He asked, paving the way for me to talk over my complete history, embellishing my earliest days a little to cover gaps, and prompted with a variety of nods and agreements. It wasn't a long story, but by the end of it I realised that conversation outside ours had disappeared into the background and I was catching and holding Mark's eyes. I felt attracted to him. I don't know how to explain that, or what to put it in context with, but I was beginning to feel something for him. Maybe the way he was interested in me? Maybe the way he drew me out softly, smoothly and respectfully, until I was confiding in him. I tried to look from his point of view. He was talking to a young, pretty girl. She was a student so she was probably casual about sex. Was that what he wanted? Or, as a man, from a masculine upbringing and in a masculine job, was he looking for a relationship with someone who could be still encouraged into a safe, feminine role at his side while he mastered the universe? A free spirit to be broken and moulded? What was I thinking? Was he just having a conversation? Dessert was all chocolate and cream and I loved it. It also gave me the opportunity to stuff my mouth and shut up. Mark just carried on cracking jokes with which he attempted to make me spit out more of my food. I looked up at Carmela. She caught my eye and smiled briefly before turning back to Joseph. Coffee arrived, and I discovered that Mark was 26, single, lived nearby and had met Carmela when she represented his firm in a dispute over a rights issue. I couldn't quite get whether this meant they'd slept together. I looked at Sebastien at the other end of the table, in conversation with Caroline. There was some edge to this relationship of his and Carmela's. He was chatting to Caroline perhaps a shade more intently than was decent. I gazed at him just a moment too long and he turned and caught my eyes for a second before I looked away. It was definite. He knew I'd been watching him. The smile in his eyes said it all. He wanted me for one thing. It scared me. Dinner evolved into games. We had all drunk some large amount and eaten well so everyone was in the mood. The ten people were split into teams for Pictionary. Carmela, Jan and Caroline in one, their partners in the second, and us remaining four made up the third. We moved to one end of the table and Henry moved to sit at the head from which position he elected himself team captain. His behaviour became a little boorish, and Liz began to ignore him and converse with Mark. I began to feel a lit