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Charmed to Know You By Geneva Chicago 1890. It was dusk, and a setting sun shone fitfully between ragged clouds, illuminating the gray buildings with flashes of golden light. A cold north wind whipped the dust and snow into dirty skeins on the cracked sidewalk in front of the store. From the shadows opposite, the lighted stub of a tossed cigarette blew into the gutter in a shower of sparks. Two men stood in the deepening gloom, an older squat man, gray stubble on his face, and a younger, sharp featured, his dark hair pomaded back from his forehead. His fingers tapped his thighs impatiently. "Take your time, Des," said the older man. "Still too many people around. Wait till the sun sets. Have another smoke." Des leaned back against the wall, breathing hard. "You just make sure you cover me, and keep a good look-out, Lou." "Yeah, yeah. This your first job?" "No, I whacked a guy in a barber shop over on a street by the Loop two months ago." After some time, Lou looked up and down the street. "Okay, I think it's good now". The younger man blew on his hands and lifted a package at his feet. After checking round about him, he crossed to the store doorway, placed his bundle at the door, and knelt briefly. There was a brief glow as he inhaled deeply on his cigarette, and then touched it to the object. He then sprinted to the opposite side to rejoin the older man. "Okay, let's get out of here." "Hell! Someone's coming." "Nothing we can do. It will go off any second." They ran into the shadows. A young couple, with a boy between them, had barely reached the front of the store when the bomb blew. The woman, walking on the inside, was killed instantly. The man lasted until hospital, but died on the operating table. The young boy, sheltered between them, was unscathed. *** Baton Rouge 1910 After a brief spell in hospital, I went with my uncle Milton to live with his sprawling family in Louisiana, in the Shreveport area. He and my aunt Rebecca were kind to me and I have fond memories of my days there, but the violent manner that my parents had been taken from me was a continual wound in my mind. When it came time to leave school and go to college, I debated what to do. Milton wanted me to join him in his medical practice, but in truth I was more attracted to the law, and in a few years I graduated with a high standing from law school. I first articled with a firm in Baton Rouge, then, with Milton's support, opened my own office. Another uncle, Morley, was also generous, and directed quite a bit of business my way. In a year or so, I started calling on Diane Carmichael, the daughter of a prominent old established southern family, and when I thought I was secure we got married. If I had thought I was marrying a shy and demure southern lady, I found I was mistaken. Diane was a passionate and inventive lover and we were very happy. It was during my articling year that I had met Bernie Hirsch. Bernie had started law school, as his parents had expected, but rapidly got distracted by the college glee club, and scraped through with an arts degree. Perhaps in some deference to his parents he had then started a detective agency. I ignored my uncle's raised eyebrows and occasional comments at my association with Bernie, he and I became good friends. He referred some business my way, and in turn I used him in a number of investigations. One day we were sharing some beers in a bar and the talk got to our backgrounds. Eventually our talk drifted to my parents' deaths. "What happened?" "It was a gangster affair, in Chicago. Some crooks bombed a little grocery store that wouldn't pay them enough protection. Unfortunately, my parents were walking outside the place at the time, and got caught in the blast. I was with them, but I was walking between them so I was protected, didn't get a scratch." "Did they get anyone for it?" "No, my uncle showed me some press clippings about it later, when I was old enough to understand. The papers suggested a gang run by a crook called Big John Akers, although he wasn't the one who did the actual bombing. He had too good an alibi. It must have been some of his gang." Bernie sucked his teeth. "Too bad. I can see by the way you talk it bothers you." He raised his eyebrows. "Yes, a bit. My uncle and aunt have been very good to me, but I tell you, Bernie, that if there were one thing I could do in my life, it would be to get revenge on those hoodlums. Trouble is, I'm not sure how to get started on finding who did it. And even if I did find out, what could I do about it?" "Then you'd be better to forget it. Get on with your life." "I know, but still, it's eating away at me. I want revenge." Bernie looked at me, tapping his chin. "You know, Barry, I've got some contact with detective agencies in Chicago, and some of them use retired policemen. Do you want me to contact them? See what they can find out? I'm sorry though, it will cost a bit, but they'll be glad of the work. Business is a bit slow with them as well." "Sure Bernie, that's a good idea. Financially, I'm okay and the law business is good." My grandfather had been a shrewd businessman, and his heirs had benefited from his foresight. I gave Bernie as much details as I could, and he said he would see what could be found. *** Three weeks afterwards, Bernie called into my office. "Barry, I got something for you." He closed the door to my inner office. "Keep it confidential. I got a reply from the Trident Group in Chicago. I know one of the investigators there, called Leon Roth. I don't know if it's good or bad news." "How do you mean?" "Well, first, the bombing that killed your parents was almost certainly ordered by Akers, but he's past your reach now. He was killed in a gangland shooting ten years ago, but the police think the actual bombing was the work of a Des Toner." "Should I know that name?" "Probably not. He's better known now by an alias. Changed around his name a bit too, to Tony Dice. There was something about him in one of the papers a month or so back. He's worked his way up in the gang, so he's now the boss. They say he's involved in all kinds of crooked stuff, murder, extortion, prostitution... you name it. He also runs a night club, but that's a front for the rest of the activities." "Has he ever been arrested for anything?" "Just some minor stuff when he was a street punk. The cops suspected he was involved in your parents' deaths, and they even pulled him in for questioning. But they couldn't make it stick, and Tony's been careful ever since. He's a smart bastard." "I still like to nail him." "Well, be careful. You don't play around with these guys. And you wouldn't get anyone to testify against him in court. Besides, it was twenty years ago." "Maybe I don't need a court. I'd be satisfied to just kill him myself." Bernie shook his head. "Barry, just be sensible. You don't know guns. You've had a protected upbringing. You're just a successful young lawyer in a small town, well, compared to Chicago. Besides, he's too well protected, and even if you managed, you'd be a target for the gang's revenge, even the cops. But, tell you what, I could go to Chicago and see what I can uncover. Then if get good solid evidence we'll pass it onto the authorities. That's the legal way. You're a lawyer. You know that. You are supposed to uphold the law." I nodded. "Do you mind, Bernie? Of course, I'd pay you." "Yeah, you'd better. Business isn't so brisk these days." I did not hear from Bernie for a week or so, and then I got a letter from him, postmarked Chicago. "I'd forgotten how cold and windy it gets here in winter. I've been asking around in the underworld, and I may be on to something. One of Tony's gang is called Lou. He's an old guy, but he was with Tony on some jobs a number of years ago. Lou says his wife is badly ill and she has a lot of medical bills, so he's a bit short of money, and might be willing to talk. I'll let you know how I get on. But I warn you. It may cost you money." "That was all right," I thought grimly. I'd give a lot to get revenge on Tony. Then, a week later, I got another letter. "Barry, I'm really onto something. It 's beginning to look as if I can get enough evidence to nail Tony. But now I definitely need money. You'd better start off with $200." I had few qualms about the money. I was reasonably well off, and the thought of finally getting some justice made it worthwhile. Then, a week later, I got a visit from the local sheriff. "Mr. Strong, we had a call from the police in Chicago. You wrote recently to a Mr. Bernard Hirsh, care of Trident Investigations in Chicago? I gather, sir, you had hired Mr. Hirsch on a matter?" "Yes, I did. He was helping me in an investigation. What's wrong?" "I'm sorry to tell you, sir, he was found dead, murdered, about five days ago. He'd been shot. He may also have been tortured beforehand." His words hit me like a blow in the stomach. I had to sit down. "My God! What happened? Do you know why? I mean, is there any information why he was killed." "Off the record, sir, I never told you this, but the Chicago police think Mr. Hirsch was getting into things he shouldn't, too close to some powerful people. Could he have been working on some investigations on your behalf?" "Yes, he was, but how did you know to come to me?" "We were contacted by the Chicago police. Apparently they found your letter in his pocket. So, just be careful, sir. The people responsible for the murder may have sources in the Chicago police, and there is a possibility they could be looking for you as well. You or your wife may be in danger." I felt an icy hand grip my heart. "Do you have any more information?" "I'm sorry, Mr. Strong, you would have to contact the Chicago police yourself, but I do urge you to be careful. That could also alert someone that you are involved, if they don't already know." I watched his parent's distress at Bernie's funeral, and I began to feel a cold fury. I knew it was time I made a trip to Chicago. I would have preferred to keep Diane out of it, but she insisted on accompanying me. I had thought of it as a quick business trip, but she was more enthusiastic. "Barry? I've always wanted a trip to Chicago. Besides, I will then be able to keep an eye on you in the big city. Make sure an innocent country boy like you keeps out of mischief." I knew from our years of marriage that when Diane got something into her head it was no use arguing so I booked space on a Pullman coach, one with a sleeping berth. I was a bit nervous, but Diane was over the moon about the shopping she could do. We took a horse drawn coach into New Orleans for the Chicago train. At one point we passed a procession of black musicians, all soberly dressed, obviously returning from a funeral. Their music was catchy and bouncy, strange for a funeral. I had heard they called it jazz. I must say, it was nice to sit in the luxury of the dining car and be served our meal, while the train roared through northern Mississippi. Diane had insisted we dress formally for dinner. I was wearing a conservative black suit, but she was wearing a lovely dark red dress that complemented her brown eyes. She was in a very flirtatious mood and we were barely back in our compartment when she pulled me to her and pressed her lips onto mine, grinding her body to mine, her hand seeking my groin. "Ooh Barry, trains get me feeling all excited." We made passionate love in our berth while the train hurtled North. The Trident Investigations Agency was larger and more prosperous looking than I had expected, and there was not a whisky bottle in sight, none of the three detectives listed had their feet up on desks, and the receptionist/stenographer was no overly glamorous female, just a friendly woman in her thirties, dressed conservatively in a long tweed skirt and severe white blouse. Her nametag said Mamie Smolicz (Mrs). Maybe I had read too many cheap detective novels. I explained my business. "Good morning, Mrs. Smolicz. My name is Barry Strong. I'm visiting here from Louisiana. I'm a lawyer. A Mr. Bernie Hirsch was doing some work for me, and he gave this office as a contact address." She looked at me sadly. "Oh, Mr. Strong, you've heard Mr. Hirsch was found murdered?" "Yes, That's why I am here. He was also a friend of mine." "I'm very sorry, Mr. Strong. I only met Mr. Hirsh on a few occasions, but he was a real nice man." "Yes, I know. Now, do you know if Mr. Hirsh was working with any one here? Anyone he maybe confided in, or was familiar with what he was investigating?" "He was friendly with Mr. Roth. They worked together quite a bit." "Would it be possible to speak to Mr. Roth?" "I'm sorry sir, Mr. Roth is out on a case at the moment. He said he would be back after two." She checked her notes. "I don't think he has any appointments then. Would you like to wait? There's the newspaper on the table there, and I can make some coffee as well." I looked at Diane. It was only ten in the morning. She shook her head. Maybe I detected some glee in her eyes. "Let's go out and come back at two. I have some shopping to get started on." As I had expected, Diane happily immersed herself in the clothing department at one of the big stores. In fact I had to drag her away for a fast lunch. When we got back in the agency about two thirty. Mrs. Schulz informed us that Leon Roth had still not returned, so we sat down and I read the newspaper. About ten minutes later I heard some feet on the stairs, and a small portly man puffed into the office, running his finger around his high starched collar. "Mr. Roth?" called Mamie, "There's a lady and a gentleman to see you." He looked us over warily, sizing us up. "Mr. Roth, my name is Barry Strong," I shook his hand, "And this is my wife Diane. I wonder if we could take a little of your time?" "Oh yeah, Barry Strong," he nodded. "How do you do, sir. I've been half expecting you. So I guess you want to know about Bernie?" "Yes, anything you can tell us. He was working on a case for me." "Sure, but I think it would be best if you came into my office." He shut the door carefully behind us, and waved us to two chairs. "Mr. Strong, Bernie Hirsch made himself known to some... nasty characters, the kind that don't do the reputation of Chicago any good. In fact he got into some bad trouble, as you know. I had warned him to be careful, but I guess he wasn't careful enough, and now he has paid for it. I gather you had him ask some questions about a hoodlum, Desmond Toner, alias Tony Dice. Just to warn you, Mr. Strong, our friend Tony is now a powerful man around the city. He is into a lot of stuff, controls a lot; he even has a pipeline into the police. So I suspect he may even know that you had sent some money to Bernie." "The police at home warned me about that. Have you any idea what Bernie had found?" "Yeah, he wrote some things down for me, to give to you if you came calling. Maybe he had a premonition." "Did you show the stuff to the police?" "I told you. Tony has his sources in the police too. So no one has seen these except me." He opened a drawer in his desk, but leaned underneath. I heard a click as a hidden drawer opened and he handed me a manila envelope. "Just being careful, Mr. Strong. Good thing too. This office was burglarized earlier last week. Maybe they were looking for this." I shook the contents of the envelope onto the desk. Bennie had made a summary of his investigation, listing sources by some letters and numbers. It only took me ten minutes to read his notes, but it seemed pretty conclusive that Tony and another man had indeed been responsible for my parents' murder. "Have you read this, Mr. Roth?" "Yes, but in case you're asking, the stuff isn't any good for the police. Most of the sources would probably be too scared to talk, even if we knew who they were, because Bernie has their names in code." "Do you know their names?" "No, and he didn't leave a copy of his code either." I bit my lip. "When I heard from Bernie last, he mentioned he had been speaking to a man called Lou." Leon gave a sardonic smile. "I wonder if that's Louis Cantafio. He's pretty high up in the gang. More likely he set up Bernie." He saw the look in my eyes. "Like I told you, Mr. Strong, these guys are vicious and ruthless. They don't fool around." "This Tony Dice, I'd like to get a look at him." "Mr. Strong," said Leon carefully, "I advise you to do nothing foolish. Tony Dice is well protected. Unless you are tired of living, you would not have a chance of getting to him. I advise you to take in some entertainment with your lovely wife here, do some shopping, go to some nice eating places. Then you should go back to Louisiana, to your law practice, and forget all this." "No, Mr. Roth, I will not do anything foolish, but I would like to put a face to this man. What do you know about him?" "Upbringing, if you can call it that, the usual street punk, then a small time hoodlum. A muscleman first, but he has some smarts too, worked his way up in the gangs. May even have bumped off some of his bosses so he could move up. Even if he wasn't directly involved he sure benefited." "What about his personal life?" "He was married about twenty years ago, but his wife has been dead, of consumption, about five years. No kids. Now he has a string of girlfriends. Come to think of it, he had a lot of girlfriends or mistresses before his wife died. He fancies himself as a ladies man. His women are all good lookers, so the son-of-a-bitch may be justified too. Excuse my language, Mrs. Strong." "What about his house?" "He has a house in a ritzy area, but he carries on a lot of his business -and his womanizing- at a suite on the top floor of the Hotel Grande. Your best chance might be to view him at an establishment he owns. I'm not sure what you would call it, cabaret, drinking place, dance hall or what. It used to be a low- class dump, but Tony's put a lot of money into it, and it's gone upscale, maybe even a fashionable place for some of the wilder types to be seen in." "Where is this place?" "It's just a little off the downtown area. It's called 'The Blue Garter', after the dancing girls." "How would I recognize this Tony Dice?" "Oh, Don't worry. He'll be the one that's well surrounded by hangers-on and bodyguards. He often gets there about eleven at night. He'll be dressed quite smart. Likes the way he looks. Quite a change from rags and the back streets he was raised in." Leon recommended a nice hotel, and we had supper there. Diane enjoyed it, but I was too much on edge. Then around nine we dressed to go out and took a cab to The Blue Garter. With the right tipping of the maitre d', I managed to get us a table in a fairly central spot. We ordered drinks and sat back to watch the floor show. True to it's name, in the club's attempt at a French cabaret, the dancers were all clad in various fancy outfits, but, all with prominent blue garters. I was no dance expert, but the show was entertaining and the music bouncy, the dancers appealing enough in their frothy lingerie and blue tucked satin garters stretching over their thighs to black stockings. At first Diane sat back and scowled at the scanty outfits, but was soon tapping her fingers to the rhythm of the music. Just before eleven there was a slight commotion at the door and a group of men entered. As Leon had said, there was no doubt about it. Tony Dice was in his forties, slightly under average height, but with a broad and powerful build. His dark hair was sleeked back, showing just a trace of gray at the temples, and his beard was gray. He was immaculately dressed, in what I recognized was a well tailored black suit, with a dove gray vest and a white flower in his lapel. The girl with him appeared to be barely in her twenties, dark haired, very glamorous, in a fashionable jeweled white satin gown and a large hat, plumed with an ostrich feather. Both were shielded by a group of well muscled men, all smartly dressed also. They moved to a reserved table set at the back, one that gave them a good view of the whole club. I watched him as much as I dared, but he caught my eye once, staring back at me for several seconds. It did not take me long to realize that I would be lucky to get one shot at him before his bodyguards were blazing away at me. Anyway, I wanted him to know why he was dying when I killed him. I watched him all that night, but it was no better. Tony was always too well protected. I even got up and walked past his table, his bodyguards watching me carefully. The dark-haired girl was fawning over him. Then Tony patted one of the dancers on her rear, the girl spoke sharply to him, and a row erupted. In a minute she rose and stamped out. Tony just laughed and switched his attention to another of the dancers. Then several minutes later, I realized he was now watching our table, especially Diane. I decided it was time to leave. "Did you see anyway of getting too him?" asked Diane, as we were getting ready for bed. She was wearing a very attractive new nightgown. "No, I wonder if he's alone any time, other than in bed." "Maybe he's not alone even in bed. It looks like he changes partners often. I wonder if that girl, the one he had the fight with, slept with him." "Probably, Diane. I bet he takes his pick of the showgirls as well. Did you know he was watching you?" "Yes, but relax, Barry, he doesn't appeal to me in the slightest. But I know. Maybe I'll dress you as a girl, in a clinging dress with a low neckline, and you can pick him up in the club. Get him alone, and do the deed." She giggled. "It's no laughing matter. Come here, you insolent wench. I'll show you the deed I want to do to you." "Oh! Please have mercy on me, sir." She flung her arms around my neck and we fell on the bed together. I was first to awake the next morning. I looked down at Diane. She was still naked, her dark brown hair tousled sexily over her eyes. She was so beautiful I did not want to disturb her, but there was business to be done. I shook her gently. "Come on, darling, I'd like to have a look at the hotel and Tony's suite." She groaned and made a face at me. "You rotter, can't you relax and let a girl recover from a night of passion? Okay, but you have to promise to let me do more shopping. I've hardly made a start on the stores on Michigan Avenue anyway." Tony's suite was on the fifth floor of the hotel. It was opulent and tasteful, but a bench in the carpeted corridor was occupied by one of Tony's bodyguards, reading a racing paper. When he looked at us suspiciously as we walked past, I pretended we were lost and beat a hasty retreat. From the street I looked up at the top floor. There was no ledge and there did not seem to be a way in. Diane's shopping expedition distracted me a little, but I was depressed as we returned south. It looked as if I would have to forget the whole business. Even another bout of lovemaking on the train home failed to raise my spirits. Back home, a week or so later, I was catching up on some work by the light of a lamp when I heard a shot and the window by me shattered. I threw myself to the floor, but there was no other shot and I cautiously raised myself as I heard a horse's hooves clattering outside. When Diane rushed in. I pulled her to the floor. Her hand went to her mouth. "Oh God, is that what I think it is. Is someone after us?" There was a neat round hole in one of the stained glass panels. We spent the rest of the night on the floor in each other's arms. "It's difficult to say if anyone wanted to kill you, Mr. Strong." said the sheriff the next morning. "The hole is a bit too high. Maybe it's just vandalism, or, say; didn't I warn you about a Chicago gang? Could they be giving you a message?" Luckily, there were no more attacks, but in the days after, I found the thought of Tony Dice, and our danger still preying on my mind. One day at breakfast Diane took my hand. "Barry, are you still thinking about that crook? Come on, forget it. There's nothing we can do. Tell you what, do you have any appointments this afternoon?" "No, just some property documents to work on. Boring stuff." "Then why don't you come out with me, to the old Johnson place. It says in the paper," she waved it under my nose, "The family is selling the place, and they are auctioning off some of the furnishings. Maybe we can get some stuff that would suit our house. We'll make a picnic of it and get your mind off things. We'll take the carriage. The horses need a bit of exercise. And it's a nice spring day. Do you a lot of good to get out. You like driving." "Where is the Johnson place?" "Near a place called Frenchman's Bend, just a bit up the river from us. If my memory serves me right, the property once belonged to a Colonel Jim Johnson. He served in the state legislature for a number of years. He raised a big family in the house, but it looks like his heirs have no sentimental attachment to the place." "Yeah, sure." Actually, it sounded like fun, much better than my stuffy office. We had a pleasant ride through Frenchman's Bend on our way. The little town was neat and tidy, with even a statue of Jim Johnson in the square. The surrounding country was pretty, it was a nice morning, and I was in a good mood when we arrived at the Johnson place, but I shook my head when I saw the furniture lying outside on the front driveway. I looked apprehensively at some thunderheads building to the south. It just needs a quick downpour to ruin the furniture. In a few minutes Diane was having a great time. I just followed behind her as she pounced on some of the old pieces. "Barry, just look at this! It's genuine French fruitwood. Gorgeous stuff! It must be a hundred years old. I've just got to try for it." I shrugged. I had never paid much attention to antiques, but the dining table and chairs looked quite elegant and in good condition. I thought the chest looked a bit bulky, but if Diane wanted it, I was happy to go along. Eventually, we made a successful bid for the table and chairs and chest and arranged for the delivery to our home. I was some dollars poorer, but it was worth it for the beaming smile on Diane's face as we headed home. The next day, I had an exhausting morning with several clients, followed by a prolonged afternoon session in court, and I got home fairly late. I watched in apprehension as some draymen struggled to maneuver the chest from a wagon through our front door. We had had the entrance way redecorated, expensively, at the same time as we had the glass repaired. Diane grabbed my hand when I was getting in the door. "Come on, the table and chairs are already in the dining room." She was almost bouncing up and down with glee, and I had to admit that the table and chairs looked really good, despite their covering of dust. Then, when the workmen brought in the chest, I looked at it skeptically. "That definitely looks out of place in our dining room." She made a face. "Yes, I think you are right, but it's still a nice piece. I know, I'll put it upstairs in one of the bedrooms." The workmen rolled their eyes at our stairs and grumbled a bit, but with the offer of a bigger tip we got the chest manhandled upstairs. At one point it tilted and there was a sound of something sliding. It passed through my mind that something had been left in one of the drawers. That weekend, as she did not trust it to either of our maids, Diane asked me to polish all of our new acquisitions. I made a nice job of the table and chairs, and then started on the old chest. Remembering the sliding sound, I looked at all the drawers, but they were empty. With an effort, I tipped the chest on its side, and again heard the noise. Intrigued now, I checked the dimensions with a measuring stick. Diane had come into the room to look at my progress. "What are you doing?" "I think there must be something in the chest. I heard something sliding about, and the inside and outside measurements don't tally. You know, I think there's a false back, with a cavity of about an inch." "Any way of getting into it?" "I can't see how. Now if I carefully pried off the back panel..." "Do be careful, Barry. It's an antique!" "Okay, okay, I know." When I finally pried out the small nails at the back and lifted off the panel, a small cloth package fell out. Diane pounced on it first, and unwrapped an old book, bound in a kind of pale hide. A letter fell out as she opened it. She adjusted her glasses. "'To whosoever finds this book'," she read. "Now that sure sounds mysterious." "Who's the letter from?" "Oh!" she squealed. "It's signed Jim Johnson. You know, the one who used to own the place." "What does he say?" "'This book'," she read, "'came into the family's possession just before the war'. I wonder which war that was?" "I think he means the Civil War. After all, Jim Johnson was a colonel during it. Anyway, go on. What does he have to say?" Diane read slowly. "'I have found that it contains a number of magic spells, and that this magic is very effective. Use these spells with care and caution. They affect all within earshot. The later spells are powerful but are very weakening'. Gee, I wonder if he tried them all himself? Just imagine, using spells, and I heard he was a pillar of society." I turned over the first pages. The book was in bad condition, the pages stained, even mildewed in parts, the writing faded. "That's a nuisance, it's not in English." I looked closer. "In fact, I think it's in German, and in their funny Gothic writing too. There also seem to be two sets of handwriting." "Let me see," Said Diane. "I took some German at ladies school." She scanned the writing. "You're right. There are two sets of writing. The first spell says, 'To remove birthmarks.' Hmm, that seems harmless at least." Her brow furrowed. "That's funny, it's followed by some words I don't understand, in a different writing. The sounds are not German anyway." She flipped to the middle of the book. "Here's one. Gosh, how to cure a hunchback, and hah, look here, helping in childbirthing. Well, maybe that would be some use, if it weren't a lot of nonsense. Oh well, too bad, I was hoping there might be money hidden away in it." "But then it would have been Confederate money anyway. Then again, you could always use it to paper a wall with." Diane chuckled, and laid down the book. "Let me see." She scratched her head. "Now, I wonder if the chest would be better over by the wall here..." "What will we do with the book?" "I'll look at it again tomorrow. Maybe some antique book dealer would want to see it, or I'll give it to the Historical Society. Or maybe I'll try it with the Ladies Literary Society." "A book of old spells?" "It might be better than some of the pretentious junk they read. And some of them are real old witches anyway." *** I had hardly got back from work the next day when Diane grabbed my hand. "Sit down. I've got something for you." There was hot and humid south wind and I really wanted a cool drink but she was so serious I sat down anyway. "What's the matter? Did someone die?" "Oh no, but do you notice anything about me?" "I don't think so." I said slowly. "Oh yes, I like your dress." "Barry," she said in exasperation, "thank you, but I had it on a week ago. Anything else?" "Noooo..." "Look at my face." In truth there was something different, but I couldn't tell what. "How about my left cheek, just below my eye?" "Oh, you had a beauty spot there. It's missing!" "Finally!" she shouted. "So much for my husband noticing how I look! How long have we been married? Almost a year! Barry, that book we found yesterday. Remember it had a bunch of supposed spells in it? Well. I translated a lot of it this afternoon. The beginning pages have a bunch of spells for medical stuff. One of them was to remove a mole. I didn't believe it, but I recited it out loud and in a minute my spot disappeared. These things really work." "Oh, come on. There must be a rational explanation. Spells? That's just a bunch of nonsense. Snake oil. You don't really believe it, do you, do you..." She glared at me. "No, Barry, I didn't either at first, but it's stuff that works. It's mostly minor medical stuff, but there is some really weird stuff at the end. Have a look at it." She gingerly lifted the worn book off a shelf and opened it towards the end. "This one. It supposedly changes a woman to a man, and then over the page, there's a spell to reverse that and then, at the next page..." She carefully turned over another page. "'How to make a man into a beautiful woman', and there's its reverse spell as well at the very end." I laughed. "Now why would any man want to become a woman?" Diane glared at me. "And what's wrong with being a woman?" It suddenly felt much cooler. "Nothing," I said hastily, "except if I was a woman, then I wouldn't be able to appreciate you as much as I do now. Come on..." I pulled her onto my lap and kissed her, my arms looped round her slim figure. Her waist was slender, although hard from her corset underneath. By contrast her bosom was wonderfully soft and yielding. I stroked her thighs, feeling the hard ridges of her garters, and the curves of her tautly attached stocking tops. A sudden thought hit me. "Diane, the spell? Being a woman. I wonder if that would work? You know you suggested to me there was no way of getting Tony Dice alone unless I was a woman?" It was as if Diane had frozen, then she lifted her hands from around my neck and pushed herself out of mine. She was looking at me in horror. "You mean to say you still want revenge on Tony Dice?" she said slowly. "No, I don't think, Barry, that's a good idea at all. I don't want my husband changing to a woman, even temporarily. And it would be dangerous for you." We looked at each other in silence for about ten seconds. She had gone very pale. "Diane," I said, "I think I have to try it. It's a great opportunity to get even for my parents and for Bernie. And remember, that shot through our window. We are now in danger as well. Tony Dice could be successful the next time. If we want any peace or safety we have to destroy him. I'll try the spell, and if it works -it says I will be a woman- you could dress me as one, help me behave as one so I can fool him. We know he has a roving eye for women. I'd hope I became pretty enough to get his notice." "And then you'll kill him? As easy as that!" "I know. It won't be easy, and I'm taking the law into my own hands, but I have no choice. We could be in danger here unless we ran away, and I don't like running away. I'm prepared to take the risk." "Barry, it's not just that. You know I love you, as a man. I'm not sure of my reaction if you changed to a woman." "It need only for a week or so. Then I can change back." Diane bit her lip. "There's a lot more to being a woman than having the body of one. If you wanted to be convincing, you'd have to practice behaving like a woman, getting used to women's clothes, learning their mannerisms, and so on. That might take a lot longer than a week. More like a month." She looked at me and sighed. "I can see you are determined, so I think I had better make sure of my translation. I don't want to turn you into a frog." She opened the book again, and even got her old school German dictionary from a bookshelf. "Yes, it says 'to make a man into a beautiful woman', and then there are the words of the spell on the opposite page." She shook her head. "Goodness knows what these words are. It's not a language I have ever seen. I wonder if they are really sounds that correspond phonetically to some ancient language." She sighed. "When do you want to try them?" "Maybe next week. I have some client's business to finish first." "Have you wondered what to do about Theresa and Mary? You wouldn't want them around at the time." Theresa and Mary were our two Irish maids. "Yes, we'll have to keep them out of the way. We can give them two or three days off, and I'll say that I am going off on a business trip, and you've invited some female friend to stay with you for company. That will serve for any of our friends too if they start asking." "You know, Barry, we'll have to give you a woman's name too. I can't call you Barry if you are looking like a woman. What do you think? Something beginning with a B? Beatrice, Beulah, Bessie, Blanche?" "Oh God, please no, nothing like that. No, just change the first letter. How about Carrie, short for Carolyn?" "Okay, Carrie it is when you change. If you change. But I really don't like this." The next Sunday night I was ready. I was wearing only my dressing gown. My heart thumping, I opened the worn yellow pages of the book to the spell. "Well. Here goes!" I sounded the words out carefully. When I had finished the last word I waited in silence. I looked at Diane. There were tears in her eyes. Nothing seemed to be happening. "Oh well, maybe it's not going to work." I felt a letdown feeling, whether from relief or disappointment I could not say. "Come on, let's go to bed, or do you want a nightcap?" Diane was looking relieved. "No thanks. I'm sorry for your sake, Barry, but we are not sure what would happen. I'm glad for my own sake. I like having my husband around, as a man." She embraced me. I was feeling a bit cold, and I drew my dressing gown closer. I went to my liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle. Damn! I noticed my hand was shaking. A delayed reaction, my nerves acting up, I supposed. The liquor tasted good as I sipped it, and then I started to shiver, violently this time. "Diane!" I called. "I think something's happening." I was shaking uncontrollably now, and I saw Diane looking at me in terror. Then I remember no more. I can hardly remember my return to consciousness. It was a time of pain, nausea, and confusion. My body and head ached, and I had alternative hot and cold flashes. I vaguely remember my brow being bathed, my body being wiped down, strange sensations from my chest and belly, then the gradual realization that my body, apart from its aching, felt different somehow. "Barry? Do you hear me?" The voice seemed to be coming from a great distance. "Yessh," I slurred. My mouth was dry. My tongue felt cracked, furry even. It hurt to open my eyes. I could just make out Diane standing above me, her lovely face filled with concern. "Here, a drink of lemonade." It tasted wonderful. I drank it greedily. "Take it easy. Drink it slowly. Do you want another?" "Yes." I croaked. I drank another glass. My throat still felt thick, and my voice was funny, but I could now talk. "Is it the spell? Has it worked?" "Ye-es, but only after a fashion. In fact, to be honest, you look terrible." She bathed my eyes with a cloth. "Come on. Can you sit up?" Trying to ignore my aching muscles I struggled to raise myself, but I only managed to get onto my elbows. I felt awkward, uncoordinated. I realized I was still naked. Then my chest caught my view and I was shocked by the view of two female breasts, each tipped by a prominent pinkish brown nipple, but covered in hair. It jolted me more awake. I pushed down the sheet and felt at my belly. My penis was gone, also my scrotum. In their place was mound, then a set of folds. I opened my legs, and in wonder felt the small, but immensely sensitive nub of a clitoris, and still further down, the delicate soft lips of a vagina. It was just like my wife's. "So it's worked," I said in awe. I became aware that my voice, although still husky, was higher pitched. Diane was shaking her head, her eyes wet with tears. "In a way, but you look awful, like a freak. You've shrunk. You've a woman's body and face right enough, even a woman's voice, but I'm sorry Barry, you're still all hairy, just like a man. Do you want a mirror? I warn you, you're not a pretty sight." I grasped the mirror in unsteady hands and stared at the sight. True, I was looking at a woman's face, her head set on a long elegant neck, but the chin and upper lip, close shaven as I was, were prickly with dark hair. The eyes were ringed by dark circles; the hair was oily and disheveled. The shoulders were slim and graceful, but the chest below was still covered with hair. The image looked dreadful, like an ogress, a freak. I sagged in despair. "Oh God, what a mess. I thought it was supposed to make me into a beautiful woman." I was almost in tears. Looking like this there was no way I could pass myself off as a woman, or at least an attractive one. I tried to think rationally. "I guess I'd better wait a day or so, and then use the reverse spell. What a mess. How long was I unconscious, Diane?" "About a day and a half. It was awful. You fell unconscious, and then it was like your body started pulsating from end to end. First you started shrinking, then your proportions changed as well. Your private parts started shriveling, your shoulders and waist getting narrower while your hips were swelling, and then your chest, swelling too, into breasts. Quite a bust line you have now! Too bad it's all hairy. The funny thing is the spell slightly affected me too. I got a tingly feeling, then I felt faint and I had to sit down, but it didn't last nearly as long, and you know, I think the spell has changed me too. My bust is fuller, and my waist is a bit slimmer and higher. -I was a bit long in the waist before- and I think my face is even changed. Don't you think my cheekbones are higher, my nose smaller?" "Maybe you are right, but you were pretty just the way you were." I looked at my own face again. "But I'm not." I shuddered. "I wonder what I can do now?" "I don't know, Barry. I think you'd be better to wait a day or two to get your strength back before you use the reverse spell. God, I hope it works to get you back. Come on now. Are you hungry?" "No, sorry, I couldn't face it." The thought of food made me feel nauseous. "Do you want me to wash you? Get rid of that fevered smell?" As I lay back in the bed I vaguely heard her running some water. I was almost in tears from despair and frustration. Diane put a basin of water beside me. "Barry, come on, a wash will make you feel better." I got up but my legs collapsed under me. Diane helped me back into bed. "Better let me do it. There," she said, as she rubbed my face with a cloth, "You even look a bit better." She peered at me closer. She frowned. "That's funny! The hair on your beard is not so noticeable. Say, it's actually falling out!" "What? Ahh! Careful, don't rub so hard!" "Oh, sorry! Yes, your beard is falling out. Let me see your chest. All right, don't wince. I know that nipples are sensitive. I have breasts too, in case you've forgotten. I won't rub hard. Look! Your hair on your chest, it's just falling out! It's breaking off at the roots!" She began to rub further down. "Yes, and the hair on your privates are going too. My God, it's almost all gone. Look!" Yet another shock. There was now only a small triangular patch of soft blonde hair left. When I now viewed myself in the mirror, there was no longer any doubt about my female appearance, except that I still looked worn out. I must have been still exhausted, as I next remember waking up in bed. I was still naked. Remembering what had happened, I felt at my chest, the two soft mounds of my new breasts. They felt just as wonderful as Diane's did, soft, yet firm, the nipple and surrounding areola fitting so easily between my thumb and forefinger, yet it was my own chest feeling the exploring hand, and my own nipple generating the little electric shocks. I rubbed my face cautiously. It was altogether smoother, softer. I looked at my hands. They were smaller, more delicate. My arms were shorter, slimmer, more rounded, set with only some fine hairs. My legs were the same. My wide hips curved to a generous rear. I felt a mixed elation and shock. My stomach tightened with the thought of the events before me. I must have dozed off yet again as I awoke to Diane shaking me gently. "Barry, I mean Carrie, you have to try to get up now." She levered me out of bed. My hips were different, my feet smaller, and I was still wobbly from weakness. She supported me as I edged carefully to a chair. Diane and I were now much closer in height. Before using the spell, I had been six inches taller. Even through my weakness I was aware of the round smoothness of my new body, its different proportions, the changed set of my hips and thighs, the weight of breasts on my chest. "Well Carrie? Are you going to carry on with your plan, or have you changed your mind?" "I have to carry on, now that I've come this far." "I was afraid of that. I must say you look quite well now. Look at your face. Your complexion has changed too." I looked closely in the mirror. My skin was unlined, smooth as fine china. Altogether my features were rounder, yet finer. In wonder I ran my fingertips over my cheeks. They felt so soft. "Yes, many women would kill for a complexion like that," said Diane. "Well, the next step. We'd better get you dressed. Are you prepared for that? Wearing women's clothes?" "Yes, I guess so." "Then I have to get your measurements. We'll have to get some of your clothing made, but hope I can get all the rest of the stuff you'll need in the stores. And we have to decide how you are to be dressed. You know, like a cheap woman, or more upper scale, ladylike." "What do you think will work for Tony?" "That girl he was with at his club was well dressed, a bit suggestive, but expensive. Maybe that will work for you too. Stand over here, in front of the mirror, where the light is good." She pulled out a tape measure from a sewing box. "Okay, Carrie, stand up straight." I looked in awe at my new figure, the rounded breasts with their prominent nipples, the narrow waist, flaring to a softly curved belly and prominent hips, long straight legs, smooth thighs and calves, over neat ankles. She began to check my measurements. "Your bust is thirty five, your waist, twenty three, your hips, thirty six." And so it went on, even my neck and shoe size. "You're lucky. You're a nice slim build. You're a bit tallish, but not too much. I think we'll be okay with most underwear. I'll loan you some of mine, although I'm not sure how I feel about my husband, even though he is changed into a woman, walking around in my underwear. You can wear one of my corsets temporarily, but we'd better see about some new ones. I was slightly long-waisted before the spell changed me too, so the top of the corset will poke into your breasts, a bit. You'll need new stockings too, and shoes, as your feet are a bit larger than mine. You'll also need a dress, maybe two or three, and a blouse and skirt outfit. Then definitely something a bit more dressy, slightly revealing, for you to act as bait." She rummaged in a drawer. "Okay, there are a couple of pairs of drawers, and two chemises. Try them on. This is only temporary, remember! Bridget and Mary will be back tomorrow. They may start to ask questions if they see you wearing my clothes, with none of your own." She looked squarely at me. "All right, Carrie, your big moment. We'd better get you dressed. See how you look. The sooner the better for you get used to it. Now first, a chemise." She picked up a delicate pink garment, trimmed top and bottom with ruffles of lace. I had not thought too much previously about dressing as a woman, but now my stomach began to get butterflies. "This is a nice one in a silk knit. Come on, hold out your arms." I took a deep breath and she slid it over my head. I shivered as the fine material settled over my shoulders. It tickled my breasts. It was cool against my belly and thighs. "You see there is a drawstring at the neck? That's so you can adjust your neckline to suit your dress. Now, you'll need a corset. Try this on. I'll loan you one of mine temporarily." The corset looked fearsome, a heavy pink material, alarmingly boned, and with six dangling garters. "Do I have to?" "Yes you do, if you want any outer clothes to fit and look right. Hold your arms up." She wrapped the garment round me. "To put it on you fix the clips at the front, like this, and adjust it loosely. Just let me draw in the laces a bit. I'll tighten them more in a minute. Now sit down and I will fix your stockings. Here is a pair of black silk ones." She drew a stocking up to my thigh, fastening it to the three garters, and repeated with the other one. The stockings felt smooth on my legs. Diane grinned. "How do you like me fiddling with your garters, for a change? Anyway, stand up, and I'll give the laces a final tightening. Hold onto the bedpost there." She yanked on the laces. I felt my waist tightening as she worked up and down my back, my waist getting more and more constricted. I grunted with each pull she gave. I wondered what I had let myself in for. The top of the corset pulled my chemise in more around my breasts, slightly compressing them, but supporting them as well. "There" she gasped. "God, I didn't think it took so much effort. Next time I'll have Bridget do it." Our maid Bridget usually helped my wife dress, but occasionally she allowed me to help if she was dressing for the evening with an especially tight corset. Diane looked at me critically. "I think that's good for the moment anyway. Now, next item. Women usually wear a camisole on top of their corsets, and drawers at the bottom, but it's really hot in summer. You may be more comfortable if you just wear the dress on top, at least in Louisiana. When we get to Chicago you may want to wear more." She stood back and looked at me. She began to cry. "What's the matter?" "It's just that, looking like that in women's underwear," she sniffed, "I'm more and more aware I have lost my husband. Barry, are you sure you won't give this up?" "No, I've come this far. I must see it through, for our own safety." "Have a look at yourself." She stood me in front of the mirror again. "Oh God, have I ever changed!" I have to admit I almost panicked. I saw only a pretty girl in her corset, chemise, and stockings. There was only a trace of Barry Strong in her appearance. I took a deep breath to muster my courage. "Okay, what's next?" "How do you find the corset? Too tight?" "Yes, it is tight, but how tight do women wear them?" Diane grimaced. "Usually as tight as we can get them without fainting, but that's as much as we can tighten that one anyway. It's now completely closed at the back. Even though the spell has made me slimmer too, your waist is even slimmer. Damn you! Oh excuse me, but I never thought my husband would get a narrower waist than mine!" She made a face at me. "That's why we should get you a corset of your own. Anyway I think you look fine. I mean... that you look just like a woman should, but..." She blew her nose into a lace handkerchief. "At least your feet are bigger than mine. I have the daintier feet, but try these dress boots of mine. They are soft, so you should be able to get your big feet in them. That's it, push into them." "That pinches!" "Sorry. It will have to do until you get your own. Now, here's a book. I want you to balance it on your head and walk back and forwards with it, get you a start in walking gracefully." It was difficult at first, and it was not helped by the tight high-heeled boots. I wobbled around for a bit before I got the hang of it. Or so I thought. Diane was holding her head in her hands. "That's awful. I've seen more graceful cattle," she snorted. "Try it again!" I did so, but I could see from her face my gait was not much improved. "Oh well," she eventually shook her head in disgust. "That's enough practice for today. Put on one of my dressing gowns and we'll have something to eat. You hungry yet?" "Yes, As a matter of fact I am." "Why don't you sit at the table, and I'll get something from the kitchen." I was shocked when I tried to sit. I could hardly bend at the waist, and I had to lever myself gently into the seat. Diane was grinning at me "Yes, you see what women have to put up with, but take heart. You are actually moving not too bad. Another day's practice and you should be okay." Now I knew how women managed to sit so straight. My appetite had returned, and I ate quite well, but found I was falling asleep. "Come on, sleepyhead," said Diane, "Looks like it's time for your bed. I can see you are still tired." I stumbled as she led me to bed and I was barely awake as she undressed me. I felt something being slid over my head, and then I remembered no more. *** I was awakened the next day by Diane thrusting back the drapes. "What's going on?' I said, as I painfully screwed up my eyes at the sunshine. "Why so early?" "It's more like midday. Time you were up out of bed. We should get going." She held put one of her dressing gowns for me. It was then I discovered I was dressed in one of her nightgowns. Bewildered I raised my arms and looked at the lace. "What's the matter?" asked Diane. "You've put me in one of your nightgowns. Did you have to?" "It was either that or your old plain cotton nightshirt, and it would be much too big for you. You would look ridiculous. At least now you look like a woman, a pretty one too. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?" After breakfast she led me to our bedroom. "I am still not sure about this at all, but I suppose the sooner we get going the sooner it will be over. Now, off with your dressing gown and the nightdress." It was strange standing undressed, uncomfortably aware of the beautiful girl standing in front of me in the mirror, duplicating my every move. "Well, the spell obviously worked," said Diane. "You really are beautiful. You've a body will attract any man. Oh well, that's the cake, now for the icing. Some pretty clothes," She helped me on with a chemise, corset and stockings. "I went out earlier while you were still sleeping, and I got you a wig. Let me see how that is." She unwrapped it and set it on my head. "It's color will match your blonde hair. This is a pompadour style. A lot of women are wearing their hair that way. There!" She adjusted some of the strands. "Look at yourself now." The illusion was perfect. For better or worse I had no male features left. "One more thing," said Diane. "Your eyebrows. You've lost some hair, but they are still too hairy. Hold still!" I winced as she plucked them with some tweezers. "Now, be with you in a minute." Diane returned with one of her dresses. It was a pale gold, in fine cotton, well trimmed with lace. "You can try this dress of mine. Up with your hands." She slid it over me and fastened it. She stood back and looked at me, then tugged down the skirt a little. Turn around, slowly." She made a face. "Yes, a bit short, but it will keep you respectable while we get out and get you your own dresses. These colors don't really suit you. Oh, you'll need a hat too. Here's a nice broad brimmed one. It will be good for your complexion. You're a bit too tanned for a lady, but if we keep you out of the sun you should soon fade to a ladylike respectable pallor." She adjusted the hat on my head, and slid a long lethal-looking hatpin through it. "There, that should hold your hat fine, unless you are out in a gale." "Now, something for your feet." She pulled her boots over and forced my feet into them. Fortunately, she laced them up without me asking. "Yes, we will definitely need new boots for you, and light evening shoes. So we'll need a visit to my tailor, my corsetiere, and the shoemaker as well. We can get most of the other things we need ready made at the clothing store down near the square. They have good quality stuff and with your nice figure, fitting you should not be a problem. I like my stuff made-to measure, but we don't have time for that. Now, on your feet, let's have a good look at you." She viewed me critically. "Not bad. You should be fairly convincing as a woman. All right, are you ready for some shopping?" "Yes, I guess so." I took a deep breath and followed her out the door. It was a strange feeling as we walked along the street to the stores, the dress flapping against my calves, the rigidity of the corset, and the effort to balance in the high-heeled boots. I fought down my panic that I would be recognized. Diane must have read my mind. "Try to relax, Carrie, don't worry. No one would recognize you. They may notice you're walking a bit awkward, that's all, and that will be better when you have better fitting footwear." She took my arm. "Just take it slow. Keep your walk graceful, your back straight. Ladies don't hurry anyway. Yes, you are doing well. We are almost half way there." "Where are we going?" "I think we should visit my corsetiere first. Get you a good foundation for your other clothes. The old one you have on is too long for you. It's poking your bust." Indeed I was almost wincing in pain by the time we reached my wife's corsetiere. This was a small shop with only one mannequin, with a tiny waist, but discreetly fully dressed, in its window. A small bell rang as we entered. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Dixon," said Diane. "Oh, good afternoon, Madame Strong. What can I do for you?" "I will be needing a new corset, maybe two. I think my old ones don't fit as well. And this is my old school friend, Carolyn Jones. She is visiting me for a bit and will need a new corset as well. I wonder if you can fit her?" I smiled nervously to Mrs. Dixon. "Why, I think so, Madame. Do you wish to make an appointment?" "Well, if possible, Mrs. Dixon, could you do it now? Miss Jones urgently needs it. She is visiting me and some of her luggage was stolen." "Oh, how terrible! But certainly, Madame Strong. Perhaps you would come this way, ladies, to my fitting room?" The fitting room was fairly small, equipped with a screen and some chairs. I saw a workroom off to one side with tailor's dummies and a worktable. "Well, ladies, I wonder if you would mind undressing to your chemises, so I can get your sizes. There is a screen there. You can disrobe behind it. I will be with you in a minute, as soon as I get a measuring tape from my workroom." "Carrie?" whispered Diane, as she helped me of with my dress, "I do believe you are blushing." "Yes," I muttered. "It's seeing all this female underwear around." "It's still not to late to change your mind." "No, I'm committed now, but can you help me get this damned corset off?" "Shh! Remember you are a genteel lady. Watch your language! Yes, but you should get used to doing it yourself. I'll slacken your laces then you can ungarter your stockings." I gave a gasp of relief when she slackened my corset laces and unhooked it. In a minute there was a discrete knock and Mrs. Dixon reentered carrying a notebook and a tape. She looked askance at my hat, still on my head, but did not say anything. "Very well, Miss Jones, as with all my customers. I would like to get some particulars. First, can I have your address?" "Oh, I will be staying with Mrs. Strong for a bit so perhaps you can use the same address." "Certainly, Miss Jones. Now, for your size?" She slipped the measuring tape around me. "Oh, you have a lovely slim waist, and such a nice firm bust too! Ah yes, but a little help from a pretty corset will still make it so much better." She started entering my measurements in her book in a purple ink. "And what style would Madame like?" Diane broke in. "I hear there is a straight front style fashionable nowadays. It is supposed to be healthier." "I don't know about that." said Mrs. Dixon. "But it is certainly fashionable. Now, Miss Jones, what material would you like?" "Oh, a nice fabric, silk perhaps," Diane added before I could reply. "You know, Miss Jones, I have one I just completed, in a pale blue. I think that would fit well with little adjustment. Would blue be suitable?" Diane gave me a quick glare when I shrugged. "Oh yes," she said, "I think that would be nice." Mrs. Dixon rummaged through a drawer and pulled out a garment. "Can you lift your arms, Miss Jones?" I did so and she fastened the front clips. I let out a gasp as she tightened the laces, and I was only slightly gratified by Diane's squeals of admiration. "Oh, that looks so fashionable, and I love the pretty tulip pattern on the fabric," she said. Mrs. Dixon gave a satisfied smile. "Yes, it looks like an almost perfect fit." I was not so sure. The design of this garment forced me into a strange pose, my bust forward, and my rear sticking out backwards. "Now Miss Jones, let me help you with your stockings and see how it is then." It was a good thing she helped me. I was not sure if I could have bent enough to fasten the garters myself. "That looks wonderful, Mrs. Dixon," said Diane." but I see why they call the style an 'S' shape. Now, perhaps Miss Jones should get two." "Oh, I'm sorry, Madame Strong. That was the only one I had ready in that style, but I can make another for Miss Jones in two days. The same style?" "Yes, but in white, this time. Is that fine for you, Carrie?" "Whatever you say," I gasped, trying to get my breath, and trying to figure out how I would be able to walk. Diane gave me an encouraging look. "Now, Carrie, why don't you just keep that one on? Then you should get your dress on and we will get to my tailor. But first, Mrs. Dixon, can you measure me as well?" Mrs. Dixon measured Diane, and then frowned as she checked her records. "That's unusual, Madame Strong. Indeed, your measurements and proportions seem to have changed, and unfortunately I do not have any in stock that will fit you. It will take me several days." Diane pouted, but agreed to come back. "Well, thank you, Mrs. Dixon. I would like two, one in white and one in pink. And please just put that one for Miss Jones to my account." "What was that about a straight fronted style?" I asked, as we got out into the street. "Oh, I read about them in one of my magazines. They are supposed to be the style now, but I was not sure if I wanted one. So I just thought I'd see how they looked on you. If I liked it I'd get that style too." "And do you?" I asked bitterly. "Yes, not bad, I have to say though, you look a bit like a pigeon, with your rear out at the back, and your bust is sticking out the front, as it's not as high at the waist either," She giggled. "But then, that's the fashion. Of course, I'll need to get a new wardrobe too. Won't that be nice?" She gave me a gleeful smile. Fortunately, my wife's tailor, Miss Stephen, was only on the next block. I wondered if I would faint by the time we got there. Again I had to remove my dress and stand while she fussed and fidgeted around me. I was measured for a day outfit, a fancier dress for eveningwear, and a blouse and skirt outfit. "When will these be ready, Miss Stephen?" "It will be about a week, Madame. I have been quite busy." "Ah, a pity. I will need some new outfits too, as I have some new corsets being m