Two Forms Of I.D. Part 1 free porn video

Two Forms of I.D. By Joe Six-Pack Part 1 It was so hot, you could have fried an egg on it. His forehead, that is. Over in the corner of a dim office, a woman was punching furiously at her multiplexed office phone, hunting and picking for the right convenient preset to turn off that damn hold music. How had she turned it on in the first place? Her claw-like nails clacked and scraped on the flimsy plastic buttons, as she fruitlessly kept pushing and poking at random. The woman was somewhere in her mid- thirties, not particularly attractive, skinny and frazzled. Her stringy brown hair was her most recognizable quality. The air above Harvey Angler's head was - if you looked closely - rippling with heat. That's how hot his forehead was. It wasn't because of the season, or because of the poor air conditioning in the cramped office, it was something on his mind. He was stewing over his incredible situation. Which, by the way is also something that you could have cooked on his forehead: stew. The sound of the muzak version of "Summer Breeze" piping loudly out of the phone's tinny speaker finally caused Harvey to momentarily ignore his problems. He took his fist and slammed it down on the phone, causing the handset and base to bounce onto the floor. But at least the music stopped. "You're trying to get us caught, aren't you?" The woman said, under her breath. With those words Harvey's dark mood returned, twice as intense as before. But you see, it wasn't really Harvey's fault at all. It was his situation. "Hello, Jean." A stout man with horrible skin said. "Not having problems with the phone, are you?" The woman gathered up the loose phone parts and clumsily dumped them on her desk. "No. No." Jean Angler said. "My daughter is just a bit clumsy, you know." She shot a look at Harvey. "Oh, is this your daughter, Jean?" The lump of a man said. "You haven't met yet?" Jean straightened up in her chair to do the introductions. "Richard, this is my daughter. Honey, say hello to Mr. Rollins, the office manager." Richard stuck out his hand and smiled broadly. Harvey got up and politely shook it. "What's your name, sweetie?" Richard said. Harvey swallowed a truckload of pride and answered: "Christina." He cleared his throat and concentrated on sounding more like a chipmunk on helium. "My name's Christina." Harvey smiled through his revulsion. "Well, be careful with that phone, Christina. They're not cheap." Richard then turned to Jean with a smile. "What is it with girls and phones?" He laughed to himself at his own observation. "Ha-ha!" Jean replied, trying to pretend it was funny. "Oh yes. Kids. What're you gonna do?" She smiled back in the empty, hollow way you do with tepid office humor. "Who knows!?" Richard turned around. "I don't!" He continued to chuckle as he proceeded on his way. "Good to meet you Christina." He added as he left. "Yeah." Harvey muttered. "Nice to meet you." He plopped back down onto his butt and started to rebuild the momentum in his snowballing anger. "Will you just take it easy, Harvey?" Jean hissed. Harvey bounced up in his seat to tug the backside of his dress under him. As he did, his long wig of mousy brown hair flew along his shoulders, held in place by a pink hair band. He continued to fool with his little-house-on-the- prairie dress and it's stupid doily collars until he couldn't bear to touch it anymore. A faint sizzling sound could be heard coming from his ears as his brain broiled in it's own juices. Jean's face showed fear. "I need you to get yourself under control, Harvey. Don't make me lose my job! We still have five hours to go." She gently kicked him in the ankle, leaving a scuff on his white stockings. Harvey's mind started to misfire and sputter. He was barely getting through this as it was, and it was getting worse and worse by the millisecond. To keep himself from going mad - if he wasn't way beyond that already - he reviewed the events that led up to this nightmare in the hope that he could now spot the exact moment where it all went wrong. It was three weeks ago when he had first heard of Jean's problems at work. She was harping and whining on the subject incessantly. She was going to lose her job, no one liked her, no one respected her, the work was too hard, the air conditioning didn't work, blah, blah, blah. Jean was Harvey's older sister. Much older. She was ten years his senior, physically - but years behind in emotional maturity. It seemed to Harvey that she might never settle down and learn to take life easy. His sister was the sort of person who should have never been entrusted with the responsibilities of a job, or even the responsibilities of dressing herself. She was a twenty- four hour a day basket case, a bundle of jittery, spazmatic nerves. One day, she would surely explode in a tangled mess of anxiety and paranoia. But until that day, she was Harvey's own personal demon. He lived with Jean, in the house he had grown up in, as his parents moved away when they retired. Harvey had grown up the neglected one in his nuclear family, being too well adjusted to warrant the sort of attention his frazzled parents paid to the trouble-ridden Jean. But his parents had burnt out long ago. So now the problem had been dropped into his lap. He could deal with it well enough, his resistance had been built up for many years. And he could tolerate her quirky, draining personality without too much strain on his life. That was until Jean started in on her new job. Her complaints and worries about work were always the same, and became like a mantra as she chanted and recited them at every opportunity. Harvey tried hard to console her, but he had run out of answers. He was reduced to pleading for sanity and calmness, only to be rewarded with Jean's list of problems once again. He begged her to stop. He held her when she cried. He promised her everything would be okay. And he promised her that he would "Do anything on Earth to help." What would it take to calm her down? Harvey resolved to help her fit in at work. It was really so much more effort and trouble than anybody should have had to make on behalf of another grown adult, but she was his sister. He had to help her adjust. He set to work on rebuilding his sister in the mold of a driven, professional businesswoman. Harvey was by trade an electrician, but his flexible schedule allowed him a lot of free time. It was needed. He chose Jean's outfits, drilled her on using business jargon and even wound up spending his nights finishing most of the work she was supposed to be doing. It paid off slowly - ever so slowly - in good performance reviews, compliments and even a raise. For the first time in a long time, Jean was settling in and calming down. And Harvey could relax. For a minute or two. No sooner had the paranoia about her abilities left her when new worries burrowed into her head. She was obsessed with her inability to bond or socialize with coworkers. They were all mothers and fathers, raising families and talking about the tests and travails of being parents. So here it was, April 25. Bring Your Daughter To Work Day. And here Harvey was, dressed as a young girl, pretending to be Jean's daughter. This, despite the fact that he was twenty-four years old and holding an M.B.A. Why? When Jean had first mentioned it, he couldn't even believe that she'd ever suggest such a thing. Pretend to be a girl to help Jean's social standing at work? Was she insane, or just oblivious to reality? Neither. She did know one thing about her brother. He liked to dress. He didn't do it often, but he never turned down the opportunity. Halloween, costume parties, Mardi Gras. Whatever excuse he could find, he was in a dress and on the town. Not that he was a habitual crossdresser. Harvey never felt any overpowering need to dress, nor was he sexually aroused by it. He may have been twenty-four years old, but he was in that small percentile of men who were under 5'5". And he was very young looking. On a good day he could be mistaken for a college freshman. It was only a few years ago that he discovered he had a useless talent he never before suspected a man could have. He could be a girl. A teenager, to be specific. David Ibsen, a longtime friend of Harvey's was the first to spot it. He'd tease Harvey from time to time, but never think twice about it. But a drunken bet made by David and his friends resulted in Harvey making himself up to be a teenage girl for a day, and he collected some easy cash. He was unnervingly convincing as such. He was no beauty queen, more like a portly chess-club loser type of girl, but the disguise was credible. His friends were visibly uncomfortable and disturbed with Harvey's newfound skill. And Harvey liked the power of making his friends so obviously uneasy. So there wasn't any thrill he got from wearing women's' clothes, he just simply liked freaking people out. And he was quite good at it. So it was that Jean had made her suggestion. Harvey would come to work in a dress and pretend to be Jean's nonexistent daughter, Christina. Jean had already bought the dress, the wig and the shoes. All Harvey had to do was put on his little-girl act and hang out all day at her office. This wasn't any big problem, was it? He did say he would "Do anything on Earth to help," didn't he? Harvey was aghast. He hadn't suspected that his sister was so off the deep end. It was unbelievable. Jean apologized, and retracted her idea. He was right. It was silly and dumb. Then she just waited for the inevitable. When Harvey had opened Jean's dresser drawer to get the dress three days later, he had made his fatal mistake. Jean had left a note inside for Harvey, letting him know that the webcam pointed at him from Jean's desk was beaming his image straight to her desktop at work. And she had him. "Harvey." Snap, snap. "Harvey!" Jean snapped her fingers in front of his face again. Harvey broke from his shoe gazing to focus his glare on his sister. "The sandwich cart is coming by. Do you want a snack?" Jean asked. Harvey said nothing, intensifying his glare. "You hate me. You're going to hate me forever, aren't you?" Jean whined. Harvey clenched his jaw and sneered. The cart wheeled on by, unmolested by the self-involved siblings. "Hey!" Harvey yelled to the sandwich guy before he got to the elevator. "Do you have tuna?" He sprinted to stop the closing doors. "Tunafish?" He repeated. The man handed one over, and Harvey thanked him. When he got back to Jean's desk, she was pretending to concentrate on paperwork. "I knew you couldn't stay angry all day. See? I told you you'd get used to it." Harvey talked with a full mouth. "I'm hungry, okay?" "Whatever you say, sweetie." Jean replied. "Who can understand teenagers, anyway?" A large, rotund gentleman stopped at Jean's desk. He smiled and nodded a silent greeting at Harvey. "Oh! Is this your sister Jean?" he said with sarcasm. Jean's head snapped up with alarm. It was her boss, Mr. Parkinson. "My sister!?" Jean said with the typical sense of panic she infused into her speech. "I was kidding, Jean." Mr. Parkinson said. "What?" Jean replied in distress. "What do you mean?" Harvey stepped in to save her. "He was joking, MOM. Relax. MOM." Jean's worried eyes darted back and forth between the two people. She was sure that this was going to get her fired. Right now. This instant. She'd be alone. On the streets. Lying in some dark alleyway. And then she finally caught on. "Oh. Sorry. Busy day." Harvey rolled his eyes. "And what's your name, little lady?" Mr. Parkinson asked. A small bit of tuna caught in Harvey's throat. He tried to make his coughing sound as effeminate as possible. "You all right?" Mr. Parkinson asked out of courtesy. "I'm fine." Harvey said with a smile. He was going to have to pour on the charm. If he made a good impression here, it would certainly speak favorably of Jean to have raised such a delightful young daughter. "Thank you for asking." He tilted his head to the side and put on his cheesiest aw- shucks little girl big-toothed smile. "I'm Christina." Mr. Parkinson held out his hand to shake, and Harvey grasped it lightly and limply. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Christina. Your mother speaks very highly of you." "Really?" he replied to Parkinson. Harvey twisted his head slightly to peer at Jean. She blocked his stare with a manila folder. "How nice of her." For a moment, Harvey almost dropped the act. "She's just the greatest Mom in the whole world!" He said through his clasped teeth. "How old are you Christina?" Mr. Parkinson asked for no apparent reason. Harvey brought himself back to the task at hand. "I'm almost eigh..." "Fifteen!" Jean interrupted. Harvey's head darted back at Jean. He so wanted to bean her. But this was no time to crack. He was here for one reason: to leave a good impression. "I'll be fifteen in three month..." "Seven months!" Jean interrupted again. Harvey was wondering just how much of this Jean had worked out in advance. Much more than she had let on previously, it seemed. "Isn't that like kids? Always trying to be a little older. And they grow up so fast." Mr. Parkinson smiled at Jean. She missed her cue to say something like "Before you know it, they're all grown up," or some other parental clich?. "Fourteen, huh?" Mr. Parkinson looked at Harvey with a critical eye. "You seem awfully grown up and mature to be only fourteen, Christina." Harvey coughed again. What did this guy know? "Yes sir. Very poised for only fourteen." Parkinson said, obviously contemplating something. "Jean..." He asked. Jean's overanxious voice responded. "Yes, Mr. Parkinson?" Parkinson paused as he thought deeper. And paused. And paused. Harvey decided he needed to bail out. Now. If he came clean, maybe they could just claim that this was a sort of practical joke. Ha. Ha. Everyone would have a good laugh. He reached for the seam of his wig to pull it off. Mr. Parkinson finally finished his thought. "Has Christina ever done any modeling or acting?" Harvey discreetly pulled the wig back onto his head. Jean looked as nervous as she had all day. And that was saying something. "Acting? What do you mean some kind of acting job, or was she an actress or or..." She went into the first stages of hyperventilation. Boy she was good in a crunch, Harvey thought. He stepped into the fray. "No. No. I've never done anything like that, Mr. Parkinson." "Would you like to try?" Mr. Parkinson asked. "You're very tall for a fourteen year old, which is what people look for in a model. And you're so well poised, I think you'd make a great actress." "She'd love to!" Jean suddenly shouted. "What?" Jean said. *** "You KNOW what." Harvey said with the greatest degree of gravity. He was at home now, so he no longer had to pretend. He no longer had to hold back. Jean's worried eyes looked at Harvey in despair. "I knew it. You hate me." "I don't hate you, Sis. I just sometimes..." Harvey searched for the right words. "Don't know what you're thinking." "You hate me!" Jean wailed. "I just said I don't hate you Jean!" Harvey barked. He quickly got a hold of his emotions. It was a big mistake to yell at his fragile sister. She would always take it too hard and emotionally curl up into a ball for days. "Let's just back track a little here, okay?" "You hate me." Jean repeated. Harvey rubbed the temples of his head. "You were perfectly aware that I was pretending to be your daughter just for the day, and just to help you out, right?" Jean nodded. "And I really was uncomfortable doing this." Jean nodded again. Harvey once more collected his thoughts and tried to frame his speech in the least threatening way. "So... why then, would you volunteer me... for a commercial... where I would have to go though even more... potential embarrassment... and discomfort?" Once finished, he awaited the response from Jean, knowing perfectly well he wasn't going to hear anything he wanted to. He felt the same feeling he had grown up with. Jean was taking over his life. When he was younger, all he ever wanted to do was get out of this house. He just wanted to have a real life of his own. But Jean was so needy. She had to be constantly watched. The demands were incredible. And now, here he was, a grown man whose life was being taken over again by having to look after his sister. Jean pleaded. "You don't understand, Harvey." Harvey agreed with that. "Mr. Parkinson's been having a tough time casting that spot for the commercial." "I don't really care about that Jean..." Harvey tried to say. "No! You... You see..." Jean's nerves started to kick in. "If I could get Christina into the auditions, Mr. Parkinson would love me for it! I might get a raise, a promotion..." "There is no Christina, Jean." Harvey wanted to make this clear. "She doesn't exist." "But..." Jean protested. "She doesn't exist." Harvey said again. "Glaucoma. He's got badeyes. Itwillonlybe fora minuteortwo!" Jean's speech was sped up in fear of not getting it all out. "Youjust haveto goandshowup thenyougettoleave!! See? See!? Youdontunderstand! Youneverlistentomeandyouneverunderstand!!!" Harvey reached inside his shirt pocket and picked a B12 vitamin from it. He was going to need the strength. He swallowed it down with an audible 'gulp' sound. "Slow down. And try that again." He said, resuming his temple massage. "Mr. Parkinson is nearly blind. He's got glaucoma. He can't see." Harvey waited for the relevant part. Jean concentrated, knowing this was her only chance she was going to get. "He never even saw you. He thinks you really are some cute fourteen year old girl." Jean saw that she had grabbed a sliver of Harvey's attention. "You go to the audition, the director gets one good look at you, and we go home." Unbelievably, now that he had heard the explanation, he saw it's twisted, cruel logic. "I can't do that again, Jean." Harvey felt the need to say it out loud, just to save face. "Please, Harvey." Jean asked. It was going to be just a few minutes. A few minutes out of the rest of his life. He could manage it. He could get his sister the promotion, the raise and the respect of her coworkers. He had to try. Against ninety-nine point nine percent of his better judgment, he had to agree. Which is why he found himself on his way to the audition the very next morning. "You said it was going to be quick." Jean barely even heard him. "Shush! We've only got a few minutes!" She then rammed a tube of lipstick into Harvey's lips. "Pucker like a fish." Harvey grabbed Jean's arm and tore it away from his face. "Just give me a moment, all right?" Jean almost opened her mouth, but it quickly dawned on her that it was one of those instances where she had better do what Harvey said. She walked away without another word. When he was a kid, Harvey would have killed to be in this spot. He had always been overshadowed by Jean and her needs. His parents rarely even noticed his difficulties with life. He had spent many a night as a kid dreaming of the opportunity to go out in the world and make a name for himself. He desperately wanted to become famous. Fame was the only way he'd ever be able to show his family how special he was. But now, he was trapped in a lie, as if life were turning his dreams back on him and laughing. Harvey spun around on his stool to look at himself in the mirror. He had on his wig, the hair band, and a new dress from the costuming people. He did look like a young girl, he knew that well enough. But he had always thought he was kind of a dog. His face was kind of chubby, his legs were thick, he had squinty eyes and thin lips. Sure, he could pass as an ugly eighteen year old, but as a cute fourteen year old girl? Mr. Parkinson must have been as blind as a bat. Across the sound stage, the director huddled with his production assistant. "They're all drama queens, Shana. Damn stage mothers. I can't use any of them. Is there anybody left on the list?" Shana, a heavily made up woman of elusive but advanced age, checked her list. "Three more." She stopped on one name. "And this Christina Angler girl. She's the one Parkinson suggested, Luke." Luke the director peered over the tops of his sunglasses. "That's all?" "That's the lot," said Shana. Luke turned his head and eyes to the sky and waited for divine inspiration. None came. "Okay. Here's what we do. If none of these other girls pan out, we just cast the one Parkinson wants." Shana was suspicious. "Are you serious? Did you see her?" "I know. Arf. But Parkinson writes the checks for this godawful commercial shoot." Luke pushed his glasses back onto his face. "And you can't go wrong casting the bosses' favorite, now can you? Let's just get this done and get the hell out of this town." "Amen." Shana agreed. She turned to the remaining actresses. "Let's have the next one!" Back with Harvey, Jean was licking her thumb and using it to scrub something invisible off Harvey's face. "Stop fussing!" She said. "Stop rubbing your spit on me then." Harvey cracked. Jean disregarded his request. "It'll just be a few minutes. You're the last one they'll look at. They've probably already made their choice by now." "Good." Harvey said. "Just let me get out of this meat market! They want me just for my body!" Jean played with Harvey's bangs. "That was a joke." Harvey said. "What was?" Jean replied. "Look, honey, just memorize the line, okay?" "Parkinson picks the perfect peaches?" Harvey asked. Jean nodded. "That's the one." *** "Parkinson picks the perfect peaches!" The cute girl on the TV said. She took a big bite. "Mmmmmm! Peachy!" she further added. "Dude, I can't believe that's you." The guy sitting next to Harvey said. Harvey couldn't even look. His head was between his legs, sitting bent over on the sofa. It was the perfect position for a crash landing in an airplane, but it was only his life that was out of control. Jean came into the living room with a bowl full of bugles. "Did I miss it? I missed it!" Jean whined. "Did I miss it, David?" David Ibsen, a good friend of Harvey's, was sitting on the couch next to the distended man. "Yeah. I told you not to leave." "Jean?" Harvey asked from between his knees, "Why is David here?" "Don't mind him David, he's just a little cranky." Jean said, dismissing her brother. Harvey's upper half sprang up as if here a resurrected corpse. "Just a little!!" "Maybe you can reassure him that it's not the end of the world if he helped out his sister and filmed a TV commercial." Jean popped a crisp in her mouth. "And made thirty thousand dollars I might add." "I'm not complaining about the money, Jean." Harvey said softly. "It's the whole face-on-national-television-as-a- girl thing that's got me kind of..." Harvey's tone changed. "CRANKY!!" "I didn't know it was going to be a national ad, Harvey." Jean said innocently. Harvey's eyes would have burnt a hole trough Jean's head if humans had such powers. David nudged his friend with his elbow. "I wouldn't worry about it, man. That girl looks nothing like you." Harvey looked at his friend suspiciously. David was watching the show. "She was cute." Harvey was sure that was an unintended insult in some weird way, but he let it go. "They used computers or something." Harvey muttered. "No shit?" David said. "Wow. They can sure do miracles with computers." "They didn't do that much. Just a good make-up job." Jean interjected. "Good lighting." Harvey scanned the area for blunt objects he could club Jean with. None. He went back to an earlier question. "Why is David here?" "David is here to take a look at the contract we signed." "We?" "I signed. Minors can't sign a contract." Jean corrected. "David, did you read it?" "What?" David replied, distracted with the TV show again. "Oh yeah. The contract." David was a skinny man, about twenty-eight or something and had graduated from drinking buddy to good friends with Harvey some years ago. His hippie looks, complete with scraggly beard and sandals belied his true occupation. He was a lawyer. David plucked the contract in question from underneath his butt, where he had been keeping it. "It's all on the up- and-up. It's got no tricks or anything in it. It's pretty fair." "It depends on how you look at that." Harvey grumbled. Jean was intent on pursuing her line of questioning. "So, what if they want to do more commercials?" Harvey's head snapped to attention and gave her such a look. "Well," David said, pausing to sip his beer. "It's a standard commercial contract. The producers of the spot - Parkinson Packing & Canning - have an option to make what's known as a 'callback' where they can have Harvey come back to film another spot, but at twice the previous rate." "Come back?" Harvey said. "Twice the rate?" Jean said. "Twice the rate? Sixty thousand dollars?" Harvey computed. Jean's face lit up. "Sixty thousand!" Harvey's brief moment of happiness vanished when he saw the look on Jean's face. "You know something, Jean." Jean's face turned a deep red. "I got a call this morning when you were in the shower." Harvey for the first time in his life ground his teeth. "David." He turned to face his friend. "What happens if I don't want to do another commercial?" "Then you have a buy-out clause. You refund a certain amount of money and you break the terms of the contract." David continued. "In this case, it's five thousand dollars." "Shit." Harvey cursed. "They're vultures!" "Hey, don't sweat it, man." David said. "I wouldn't let anything happen to my pal. Don't let this get around, but I think of you as the kid sister I never had." "Shove it, fuckface." Harvey looked at his hands as if they had an answer. "Five thousand." He came to a decision. "Fine. I'll do that." "Harvey!" Jean snapped. "Sixty thousand!" "Forget it." Harvey stated. "This ends now." "Nope." David said, his face still pointed at the television. "'Fraid not." Harvey had a handful of his vitamins, slapped them into his mouth and chased it with some beer. "What?" He asked. "To enact the buy-out clause, the parent and/or guardian of Christina Angler must make an affidavit as to Christina's status." David finally broke his attention from the set. "But if Jean makes this statement, she could be sued for fraud, you for identity fraud, and everyone goes to jail. Even me, now that I know." Harvey's world suddenly became more claustrophobic. "You're telling me there's no way out?" "Nope." David said simply. "If they want you, they can have you." Harvey turned to look at Jean again, and she already knew the question. "They want you." *** It was a long year for Harvey. The callback wasn't so bad. But the second callback was too much. The third was impossible and the fourth and fifth had sort of been a blur to him. It was a very, very long year. But there were good things in his life, though. Jean had been promoted three times. She was still a basket case, but was managing it better. At times, she almost seemed happy. That didn't last very long, however. When tax time came, the IRS became suspicious of the money that had flowed into Jean Angler's accounts on behalf of the minor "Christina Angler". After all, you can't hide $380,000 very easily. On that kind of money, Harvey had thought he was set for at least a few years, and he quit his electrician job. But the IRS demanded that the money go into a trust fund that only "Christina" would be able to access at age eighteen. By that point, though, Harvey had already blown $32,000 on a new car, and another $20,000 down payment on a new condo. Which left him in the position of owing himself $52,000. And that meant it was back to work for Christina. Harvey gripped the towel rack with his free hand as Jean grasped the wax on Harvey's forearm. And she pulled. Harvey cursed and swore as he rubbed the arm with a towel. "Not fun." He growled. "Baby." Jean joked. A patented Harvey stare told her it was not the time for humor. "Is that everything? Arms, legs, chest..." Harvey was very sure that was everything. "Eyebrows!" Jean remembered. "Fuck." Harvey said. He dropped his shoulders and walked over to the chair in front of the sink. He sat, and awaited the next round of humiliation. His objections were minor, however, to the stink he had been putting up previously. Because there had been a change. He was no longer pretending to be Christina to help his sister. He was doing it now to keep himself from spending the next ten years in prison. If he couldn't come up with the missing money he was done for. "How much do you think?" Harvey said, pulling his brow around to visualize it. "Not too much. Younger girls have thicker eyebrows, normally." Jean said. Harvey wasn't sure. "Really?" "I'm sure. They get thinner when they get tweezed over a lifetime." "Let's get going, then." Harvey gripped the counter to prepare for the oncoming rush of pain. After that, the hair would get colored, the skin exfoliated, and the nails lengthened. Jean would cut his now chin-length hair and mix up a tooth whitening treatment. And Harvey sat still for all of it. This wasn't the first time he had done this. It was now a part of his weekly routine. Every Sunday was his "day of beauty." He had been through the routine half a dozen times now. He had to keep himself looking a good as possible, because this was now his full-time job. Jean would drive him from audition to audition, trying desperately to get work. But since he was well-recognized from his commercials, few wanted to cast the "peach girl" in another commercial. The same went for TV shows and movies. Especially after they saw how much help make-up and computer wizardry had done for Harvey's career. What remained for him were the leftovers. As Jean parked the car in the lot, he turned to her brother. "You ready?" Harvey checked himself in the rear view mirror. He took a deep breath. And let it go. "Yeah." He whispered. For show, Jean held Harvey's hand as she led him into the building. It was an old creaky soon-to-be-demolished palace located in the forgotten part of the theater district. Inside, they were assembling the finalists for a children's anti-drug performing troupe called "The Yes! To Life Gang." They traveled the country, going from school to school giving 'uplifting and inspiring' motivation to a bunch of disinterested kids. It was hideous and sickening, but it was work. And it paid very well. It would singularly erase his $52,000 debt. Harvey reflected on the moment, realizing that his childhood dreams of fame were now so amazingly perverse that it would take years of intense therapy to undo the damage. He'd have to just get used to the idea that this was his course in life for the immediate future. God help him if he should think too much about it, because he'd go insane in an instant. Jean and Harvey shuffled into the theater, and found seats alongside the kids and mothers packing the first few rows. One by one, the kids got up on stage and did a little song and dance number and then thanked "everybody" for "such a wonderful, fabulous time!" Gosh! Harvey got up and did his bit, thanked everybody and returned to his seat. His voice was kind of deep, and he wasn't so good on his feet. And certainly was the least enthusiastic 'kid' on stage. He was ready to get out of here and go to the next audition. So when he piled into the "Yes! to Life" van nine days later, along with the rest of the troupe for the six-month national tour, he was still a little confused. Jean had been there, and was actually crying for him as he was set to leave. She had hugged him like a mother would have, seeing her baby off on a long trip. It made Harvey feel extremely uncomfortable, but every real mother and father was doing the same with their kids. He had to do some things he wasn't proud of to get ready for the long trip. He couldn't get away with growing a beard, so he had undergone some intense, daylong sessions of electrolysis to take care of that problem. He had been watching MTV for the whole week before the trip, so he'd at least have a clue as to what everyone would be talking about. For the last eight days, he had been talking at the highest possible pitch for all of his speech. He needed to make it a habit. And most embarrassing to him, he had to work on a new, imperceptible method to 'conceal' the family jewels. It took a lot of attempts, a lot of mistakes and a lot of pubic hair pulled out by the root. But eventually he had something close to perfect. Harvey had packed all of his three or four "girl" outfits he had, along with a hastily assembled array of grooming items and cosmetics. Jean had given him a few things as well, like a bag full of his vitamins and a portable video game. It was going to be a long six months, and he would be spending it with a van full of kids who were about half his age. Harvey kept reminding himself that this would take care of his money problems. It would be all right soon. A slight sense of panic and a definite sense of dread took hold of Harvey as the door of the van slid shut. It clacked and locked, leaving the people inside in total darkness. When the door finally slid open for the last time six months later, Harvey had grown used to the noise, used to the feeling he was being feed from a cave. He stumbled out and stretched out into the cool air of spring. "Christina!" a blonde girl with a bright smile called. "Amber!" Harvey spun around and hugged her tight. "You've got my phone number, right?" "Christina!!" a black girl joined in the hug. And an Asian girl joined in as well. A chorus of goodbyes and sad farewells lingered forever before the group finally broke up and went their separate ways. Harvey scanned the parking lot and found Jean. He sprinted across the lot with his bags in tow and embraced Jean as if she were a lost teddy bear. "I missed you SO much!" Harvey said. Jean was a little startled to greet this chipper, upbeat version of her brother. But she had clues. Harvey would write every so often, and make the occasional phone calls. Jean realized a slow change had come over Harvey. After all, you can't spend six months on the road with kids without building up a resistance or just giving in. Harvey leapt into the back seat of Jean's car out of habit, and started rifling through his bags. "I got you something!" he said. "Look!" Harvey produced a snow globe with the script "From beautiful snowy Utah!" written on the base. "I thought that might keep you thinking cool at work. Even though it's only March. Well, summer's only three months away! You can use it then. Do you like it? Isn't it cool?" Jean wasn't used to not being able to get in a word edgewise. "Yeah. Great, thank you. It's real nice." "So did all the checks clear?" Harvey asked. After all, that's why he had gone through all this in the first place. "Yes. Everything's taken care of." Jean reassured. "The tax problems are behind us." "Oh my God, I was so worried." Harvey tucked his should- length hair back behind an ear. "It would have totally sucked to go through all this and not get the money, you know?" "No, everything's just fine." Jean paused. "But there is something I have to tell you about." "Yeah, you mentioned it last week! On the phone? Remember? Vice President! That is such a cool title!" Harvey bubbled. Jean looked a little closer in the mirror. Did he have his ears pierced? "No, honey. That's not what I meant." Harvey stuck his head into the front. "Can we stop somewhere to eat? I'm mega starved." "I have dinner at home." Jean said. "I wanted to make it a bit of an occasion." "Okay. I guess I've had enough fast food to last me a lifetime." Harvey flipped the long hair out of his face and began to play with the zipper on his jacket. Jean had to keep driving, but the more she looked at Harvey, the more things she spotted. Harvey was wearing one of those puffy ski jackets that were popular with girls these days. He was also wearing what were obviously girl's jeans, a shiny dark blue denim that had flowers stitched along the cuffs. But what made the biggest impression on Jean was the definition in Harvey's face. Gone was the puffy fourteen year old girl look he had when he started, months of dancing had slimmed him down and taken the fat out of his body. If Jean didn't know better, she'd have said he had lost his baby fat. He looked like a healthy, young and vibrant fifteen year old girl. And he was smiling. It was so unusual a sight that she had forgotten to mention the very important thing she needed to talk to him about. Until it was too late. "You must be Christina." The man in Jean's house said to Harvey. He was about six feet tall, dwarfing Harvey by seven inches. He had a satisfied smile on his face. "You're even more beautiful than your Mother said you were." Harvey smiled and then slowly turned on his heel to face Jean. Through his smile he asked in a very quiet voice: "Who's he, Jean?" The stare Jean remembered from long ago returned. "Say hello to Patrick, dear." Jean asked. "Don't be rude." Harvey whisked back around and slipped back into sweetie- pie mode. "Hi, Patrick." He stepped forward, shook his hand and then stepped back again. Patrick turned his attention to Jean. "Didn't you tell her, Jean?" "Tell me?" A pit formed in Harvey's stomach. "Well, Patrick and I..." Jean's famous nerves started to flare up. "You see, that is, I..." "Show him the ring." Patrick said. Jean haltingly offered her hand to Harvey for viewing. "Patrick and I are..." "Your Mom and I are engaged!" Patrick proclaimed with pride. To be continued...