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Harlequin By Tyrone Slothrop Chapter 1: Breathlessly, She Awaited Her Lover "I watched as Raoul's shadow darkened the moonlit wall of my boudoir. I could smell the scent of the man, his primal essence entering my spirit as I hoped he would stay long enough to enter me for real." "My brave white dove, I have been gone too long. The damn Navy seems to hate pirates with a particular passion these days. I am now at your service, Milady." "He stood there, his smile radiating such warmth that I felt flush when I met his eyes. My bodice heaved up with each breath, my gown swayed in the gentle Jamaican breeze. OH GODDAMMIT GEORGE IT'S THE PHONE!!! BREAK SIM BREAK SIM!" George shook off the sim and picked his cell phone. He was glad the sim had only begun as later it would have been far more difficult to break away from Jean. She was just coming out of it herself. "This better be good, Alfred, Jean is trying to meet your goddam final proof as we speak." George said. Only Jean's publisher had that number and he was pretty judicious about using it. Jean reached for the phone, still shaking her head full of long brown hair to regain a hold on the real world. Jean smiled at her husband and took the call, walking out by the pool. George knew she would be a while. Chapter 2: Bodice Ripping For Profit George and Jean were more in love this year than last year. And last year was better than the year before. When you have been married for a while, say around seven to ten years it either gets steadily worse and you cope with silence or divorce, or it gets deeper and richer and you celebrate your time together. Now being in this kind of steady, infatuation free state of love does not mean you do not get on each other's nerves or occasionally really piss each other off, but the big stuff is not there, like infidelity, and the little daily stuff of each other's preferences is on automatic. George and Jean were coming up on sixteen years. Jean had wanted children but her medical condition prevented it. Her cancer was in remission but she was substantially weakened from the various therapies. George had felt that leaving his career and spending his time with Jean when she fell ill five years ago had saved his own life. His work in virtual environments and neural interfaces had been so consuming he had gotten into a maelstrom of long hours, high stress, and constant travel. Ten years as a high tech road warrior had ruined his health and had submerged his soul. He was overweight, out of shape and disconnected from real people. Jean had been his only lifeline. When she got diagnosed, he was there with her. The look on her face was like the hand of God had descended and belted him right in the jaw. There was now no other priority or purpose for George beyond being there for Jean. She had put up with his insane existence and now he would pay her back. So he had walked away from the research, keeping a small consulting job with the Labs. His life became dedicated to becoming the worlds foremost amateur cancer spouse, tracking every food supplement, sorting out the research, refereeing the various conflicting specialists, finding the most experienced surgeon, all the stuff you do when your family gets visited by the disease. Mostly he was there with Jean, usually just sitting silently, just being ready when she wanted to talk. After three years, Jean was slowly creating a new, compromised but decent life. Jean had been a systems analyst when they met, but she had followed her star when George became successful enough to build a comfortable lifestyle. An incurable romantic, she had tried to write romance novels. On the third try, she got published and began a reasonably lucrative career of her own. She was strictly paperback and was well known for what she called her "bodice ripper" scenes, where the heroine was lovingly semi-assaulted by the dangerous but handsome adventurer. She always started a book with the scene on the cover and then worked in either direction. Jean was not pretty but she could be beautiful. Her features had a depth and grace, which became apparent after you looked at her for more than thirty seconds. Look for more than a minute and you could not take your eyes off her. She was not thin and not fat, and carried herself with a confident bearing, which conveyed to everyone that she was quite pleased with how she appeared, thank you. George had had a lot of time to study Jean for long periods of time lately and realized that much of beauty was keyed to that unconscious attitude. Jean had never lost that, even during the ravages of chemotherapy, with all her hair gone and her face gaunt and wracked with pain. She was the kind of person who did not suffer fools but gave everyone many chances to prove they were not. If she was your friend you could count on her to be there without reservation. After Jean had begun to mend, Alfred, her publisher had visited. He was one of her professional and personal admirers and had coached her writing along until she was a staple in his lineup, with a new novel coming out every nine months or so. Jean used to joke and call the books her children and said writing had a lot in common with pregnancy. Alfred stood on the deck with George, overlooking the Pacific. George had sold his portfolio and bought a huge house on the Oregon coast with several levels of decks and easy beach access, yet high enough up to avoid the worst storm surges. Jean loved the atmosphere, five months of afternoon sun with heavy morning fog, followed by seven months of heavy morning fog followed by afternoon rain. He had stair rail chair elevators installed so Jean could navigate the deck system. She could walk, but exhausted easily. Alfred had made a proposal to George. "I want you to get Jean writing again. She's ready and her fan base misses her. No new J.J. Brighton books for three years and they are going crazy. Her first book would sell out the first day. What do you think, George? Is she ready?" "Alfred, I agree. She's been through such crap for so long it would be good for her. I've been bringing it up recently and I think she's talking herself into it. I want you to do one thing for me and I'll back this all I can. Give me a hardcover commitment. I mean a real, marketed hardcover, not some vanity publishing nonsense. She can do it and it would provide the incentive to get her to do it." George said, ticking off his talking points. Alfred nodded but not in agreement. "I'm not sure I can swing that, George. I mean that's a whole different market..." "Cut the crap Alfred. You just told me she had a following that was going crazy for a new book. As I recall, her current fan base exceeds eighty percent of average new hardcover distribution. Plus I bet you can play some games and get a bunch of new readers to see what's the fuss all about. Play the 'famed author returns from brink of death' card. She can even do talk shows, remote from here though. I've got videoconferencing gear enough to go to any studio out there." Alfred furrowed his brow and stared into the surf. "If she can deliver a real book, take her stuff up a level, add some depth of plot and background, I'll back it. You've got nine months. If you agree, I'll get the buzz going now and start spending money to prepare the way. Half my fortune came because she was in my writing stable so I'll do it if she says go. Do this and we are talking real money on the next one." Later that evening, George broached the idea to Jean while he supported her walking at the edge of the surf line. A few gulls walked along with them, but expressed no opinion. Jean stopped and turned to face George. She held each of his hands. "George, I want to do this but I'm nervous. I love writing the characters and the relationships and I can do bedroom scenes better than any but a real book! It needs more, plot, historical background, little fine details. I've been thinking about it, and I've been trying to find a way to ask, so now I just will ask. You write with me, George! You can do all that stuff and you've been my first read for years. You've always added that stuff when you could but now we can co- author. Please, just so I can get back on the horse?" George agreed with a few conditions. She was the author and ran the book. He would submit an outline of the book after she had designed the characters, relationships and major emotional conflicts/issues. Once they agreed, he would get started outlining the action and fleshing out the story with detail and research. She would write the relationship defining key scenes and build into his outline. His main condition was critical. No credit other than a mention with others in the author's notes as providing support in the process. Jean fought it for a while but realized, like all people in their kind of love do, that this was not negotiable. So the deal was struck. The first book rolled out and after a few weeks, hit the bestseller lists and stayed there for months. All of the old fans were joined by thousands of new ones. The book was actually reviewed, not well, with a lot of condescension, but it was reviewed, and some were even hopeful for future work. The public did not care about the critics, they loved it. It had it all, romance, a complex plotline, romance, laden with fascinating historical fact, and most of all romance. Alfred had Jean do limited interviews as she had worked herself to her limits and George told him to lay off and sell the damn book. It worked better as the fans reacted with sympathy and Jean became the hottest 'get' for every talk show. The best-selling author-cancer survivor angle just plucked the heartstrings. Jean persuaded George to do another book and he demanded the same conditions plus one. It blew the other book off the charts. Alfred was building a publishing powerhouse. The money went from a steady stream to a flowing river. Chapter 3: Secrets of Famous Authors George had posed one more condition before he agreed to the second book and it was tied to his old work. When he had left the Labs he had still been on retainer. Since getting someone else with his security clearances would take forever, they needed George, who, even at two hours a week was still priceless. As a result, he kept his hand in and had even been sent some breadboarded prototypes in his home workshop. The Defense Department okayed it and reserved the right to check his inventory at will, but had never done so. Plus, they were not sure they could inventory what George did anyway. He could show them a blender and a snow cone machine and they would never be sure what he was doing. The good news was that George was a man of his word and a patriot besides, which was really the backbone of security anyway. George had brought Jean into his shop on the premise that he had helped her and now she could help him a little. Plus he had an anniversary gift he had been working on for over two years to deliver. Jean could walk and stand fine on her own. George looked at her and fell in love all over again. Her brown hair was back just to her shoulders after almost two years and she was almost back to her old weight. Aside from a few lines here and there, she looked restored. The success of the book had done wonders for her spirit and she felt deeply indebted to George for his contribution. Jean saw she was standing in an open space, about twelve foot square. There was a wide padded chaise lounge in the center. "Jean, you know what I was doing before, and I've added some things I thought you might enjoy. Put on the headset that's on the chaise." George said. Jean trusted George implicitly and donned the headset, which covered her eyes and ears. When she blinked she was standing outside a large white tent under a clear night desert sky. Her hair was blowing in the warm breeze, which billowed her white gown. She could see the sand in her bare feet. From the distance a horse and rider approached. The rider dismounted at about ten feet away and strode forward. He was George, but with somewhat darker skin and longer hair. He wore a khaki safari shirt and riding pants, with a bullet bandolier over his shoulder. His boots were somehow shining despite the dust. Jean recognized the scene, it was from one of her early novels. She had just been rescued from the slave traders and Clive, the mercenary soldier with a heart of gold had just returned with her jewels. George recited the dialog flawlessly and then put his finger to his lips. He broke character for just a moment. "Just go with it, you know what comes next." Jean did indeed know what came next and relaxed in George's arms as he carried her into the tent. He carefully set her on the ornate divan and began to make love, tracing the exact moves she had laid out in her novel. When they were done, George stroked her hair and delivered the final line. "You make your jewels pale in comparison, Lady Penelope." George/Clive said. Jean looked into his eyes and delivered the closing line. "You have brought me much more than mere jewels, my love." After the kiss, George said, "BREAK SIM BREAK SIM" and the workshop returned. Jean found herself sharing the chaise with George all their clothes strewn about the area. "My God, George, I had no idea you could do that! It was incredible!" Jean was amazed. Her world had come to life and she had just had fabulous sex. "Wait until I have you try the tactile suits. Then I can have much more impact." "Any more impact and I will need a wheelchair, you incredible man. As it is I'm going to be walking bowlegged with a big smile all night!" Jean grinned and lit up George's face. "Since your novels all drive from one or two scenes like that one, I thought you could use a tool to test run the characters while you are working out the concept. Plus I thought we could have some fun trying it out. I have a hacked together menu system which allows you to change the scene and characters." George said, beaming at Jean. "I can't wait to try out Raoul the pirate and Milady Cummings. You'll look great with the eyepatch." Jean licked her lips. She ran her fingers through George's blonde hair. When she had lost her hair from the chemotherapy, George had shaved his head. He told her they would grow it out together and they had. "George, are you getting this cut soon? Have you ever noticed the hair on my heroes?" Jean asked. "Yes and they all look like male strippers, but with fabulous long hair. I always thought that was your historical settings." "Well, if you are playing the hero, you need to look the part. Let it grow out, will you?" Jean pleaded. "Why not babe. It will take less compute time that way. Hair in the sim just eats up cycles. Besides, it's past that annoying in my eyes stage. I can at least tie it back. So, do you like your present?" Jean really liked her present. George then told her she was sworn to secrecy or the Defense department might get a bit perturbed. She looked at him funny, Why would she give up the edge this gave her over other writers? Chapter 4: Every Writer Must Grow So the second collaboration novel was a wild success. Alfred was bidding out the screen rights. The other publishing houses were going crazy trying to find the fabulous new author to break her contract with Alfred, and Alfred and George had built up a series of false fronts, which preserved their anonymity. Jean had been on television, but she had been in her JJ Brighton outfit, with a long and full blonde wig, heavy makeup and a gown similar to her characters. She was the woman on the covers and that is what her public wanted to see. It was George's idea, to enable her to appear in public without recognition, and Alfred was more than supportive, seeing the branding impact in the market. Jean never wanted public adulation and was very happy that George was so effective at keeping their private lives private. Now back to where we started this narrative, where Jean has just taken the phone call from Alfred and George is archiving the Raoul/Milady sim. They had just been running it for one last time, a kind of farewell. Jean came back into the workshop, which now looked more like a movie studio with props allowing for resetting the scene in the sim. She was removing the bodysuit, which provided tactile input for the experience. "Thank God you made the crotch easy opening, sweetheart, otherwise these things really stick to your skin." Jean said to George while he was at the keyboard. "Self interest, my dear, pure self interest. Are you going to tell me what Alfred thought was so important?" George said, not taking his eyes off the console. "Oh, yes. We made the Times list at number one and the reviews are all really good. Well mostly good. Alfred wants to know about the next one book and had a small request. Plus he wants me to do a book tour." "Do you feel up to a tour, babe? I'll go if you will, but keeping our real faces out of the public eye may be tough." George looked up to see Jean's reaction. "I told him, not this time, but next book we'll do it. I should be ready to take it by then. We'll do the TV stuff from here just like last time. I already have my wig over at Bobby's for styling." "I assume Bobby is sworn to silence, babe. I thought hairdressers were notorious about not keeping a secret." "Bobby will. I've kept his secrets for a while. Plus he loves our books and has some of the few autographed copies. Plus he's been my friend since elementary school. And you like him too, so shut up." "I don't even want to guess at Bobby's secrets. Alfred had a suggestion?" George looked quizzical. It had been unlike Alfred to ever request content. "He asked me to consider a little change of pace for the next one. A strong woman chooses a man who adores her from afar. She rejects my traditional hero type. Alfred thought it would show some flexibility. A lot of the critics are expecting me to fall into a pattern." "Your buying public loves that pattern. Critics don't buy books, hell I don't think they even read them." "I think it's interesting. Let's take our vacation and I'll mull it over." Chapter 5: On The Road Jean and George took an early fall driving trip through the Four Corners area, Starting in Albuquerque, up to Durango, looping through the San Juan mountains, a stop in Telluride then on to Canyon De Chelly. A great pre-sunrise drive to Monument Valley, then back through the Navajo Reservation to return to Albuquerque. George navigated the large SUV through dirt roads and interstates, once getting caught in a herd of sheep and then having a friendly talk with the Navajo family who owned them. The dog loved Jean and George was told the dog hated everybody except the sheep. Jean was pleased to see several JJ Brighton books gracing their trailer. She raced out to the truck and brought in a copy of the new book and signed it for the Begay family. As they drove away over the rock and rut path called a reservation road, George leaned over and said, "There are only about ten or maybe eleven signed copies of any of your books out there. I wonder if they know what it might be worth?" "Jim and Lori Begay already seem to have a good idea of what things are really worth, George. Why is it couples always can sense when other couples are as in love as they are?" Jean said, her face reflecting the high desert scrub and red dirt as hey drove slowly down the track. "It must be a synchronization of frequency thing, babe. Harmonies and all that." George talked while avoiding a having an unexpected sharp rock pierce the oil pan. He hoped the skid plates would take the shot. "Oh George, you always have to put it in a theory." "Theories are just shorthand for feelings, babe, it keeps me from talking so much. But that's just a theory." George smiled avoiding the punch to his arm Jean threw. She was laughing out loud. After ten days or so they headed west, driving over to LA and going up the coast highway to their house in Oregon. Jean cancelled their flights out of New Mexico and George called the rental company and told them he was buying the truck. It had been brand new when he picked it up and he found he really liked it. After some usual "We Can't Do That", he finally got the owner on line and told him he would pay $1500 over his purchase price, just to cover his replacement administration. The money would be transferred to him as they spoke. George always found that cash was the best convincer and had their business manager make sure the titles and insurance were handled. He was assured there would be a Fed Ex waiting at their next stop with all the paper needed to make them legal. Rolling into home, George was happy to see his 1969 Mustang back in the garage. He had hated leaving it at the airport, but it was the most disposable of his collection. Bobby had picked it up at the Portland airport and brought it home. Dent free, noticed George, and he made a note to thank Bobby the next time he came over. He and Jean were happy tired. They loved touring and seeing the different sunrises and sunsets, meeting people and picking up location and plot ideas. Chapter 6: The Love Triangle Bobby was there to greet them He shook George's hand and them gave Jean a mammoth bear hug. Jean was five ten and statuesque and George was six feet even and slimmed down from his old weight, but Bobby towered over them at six four and two forty. He had added just the usual weight over the years but would not be considered fat except by a modeling agency. From his short but well styled hair to his Gucci loafers he could attract any woman he cared to, or guy if he wanted one. Bobby and Jean had literally grown up together in a New York suburb, and been close friends ever since. They kept in touch after college, and George could not think of anyone who had been happier at his and Jean's wedding. Bobby had been best man, since George was pretty much on his own and really did not have anyone he wanted to ask. Bobby used to kid George that he should really have been a bridesmaid, given he and Jean went back so far. George had laughed and thanked him for helping him out, and told him his only reservation was that Bobby looked a lot better in the tuxedo than George did. When Jean got sick, Bobby had sold his chain of hair and nail salons in New Jersey and early retired to live near Jean and George. He had helped them both through the really tough years and now had followed them to the coastal town, buying the house next door. He opened a small appointment only makeover practice and actually made house calls. George could never really figure out if the house calls were all business or not, but would never dream of asking Bobby directly. He knew Jean and Bobby shared everything, but that was Jean's private world. Their marriage had worked in great part to both of them knowing what was shared and what was kept private, shared by invitation only. Just like an operating system security structure, but with no administrator, thought George. George had always known that Jean's heroes in her books were modeled after Bobby, who used to have hair past his shoulders and the classic tight abdomen with a hairless body. Bobby had toyed with going the Mr. Universe route when he was younger, but never wanted to do the steroids and other things needed to play the game. How he got into hairdressing George never knew, but Bobby had been wildly successful at it both stylistically and as a businessman. George also liked Bobby as the friend he never had and could never be jealous of Jean and Bobby's relationship. Bobby used to say that for a sociopathic loner genius, George was the most stable, integrated and happy person he had ever met. George agreed, but saying and believing that it had all been due to meeting Jean. "Welcome home! Your emails were great! All those pictures, it must have been wonderful. Jean, I've been mulling over your new ideas and am ready to discuss them if you want to. Plus, I've got your wig ready. Let me know when the TV shows are so I can get your face to match. I just love doing blondes! George! Looking good! The car was a lot of fun on the drive down, I remember when I had one of those, back when. I never should have totaled it. I think your carbs are running a little rich, though, so I leaned out the mixture." Talking to Bobby was like drinking from a firehose at times. He just kept coming at you until you talked back. "It's never held the mixture more than a few hundred miles, Bobby. I think the screws were poorly machined on that model. Thanks for picking it up. I assume you were able to get a ride to Portland without any trouble." George said, recovering from the handshake. "One of my clients was visiting her sister and I had just finished doing her hair, so I used my charms and got a ride. Come on George, do you really think I can't get a ride if I need it?" Bobby feigned looking hurt. "Bobby, I am sure not only could you get a ride but if you got pulled over the cop would loan you his car." George said. Jean laughed, which always brightened up any room she was in. Chapter 7: The Other Love Triangle George, Jean and Bobby were watching the Pacific sunset on an enclosed portion of the deck, a fire pit roaring in the corner. Bobby threw another log on and watched the spray of sparks in the fading light. Salt air and mild woodsmoke went well with the Kona coffee and green tea they were enjoying after their grilled salmon. Jean could not handle anything alcoholic anymore and George did miss the occasional wine, but he knew Jean did too so he just lived without it. Bobby had never drank, smoked or did any drugs. They were relaxed and absorbed listening to Jean describe her new book concept. George got up and put an insulated sweatshirt around Jean, sensing she was about to start shivering. She forgot everything when she got talking about her books. Jean was going to do Alfred's request. Still a period piece, set in the nineteen sixties, which made it historical fiction today. A kind of Doris Day/ Rock Hudson type light romantic tragic-comedy set in New York City during the Carnaby Street, Swinging London, Beatles era. "I always loved that era, even though I was about seven when it was going on. It was light and frothy and contrasted to a lot of social upheaval and change. Plus I love the styles. I think our audience would love to visualize them. I am picturing an advertising executive and she seems destined to marry Mr. Right, who is tall, handsome, witty and rich. Everything about him is great but she is attached to her hairdresser as best friends, and he has always loved her but can never come out and say it." Jean said, watching Bobby's reaction. Now George knew, since Jean shared everything important, that Bobby and Jean had been lovers for a whole month right after high school. They both decided it was going to screw up their friendship and just shifted back to being best friends. Neither had ever tried to rekindle the romance for over twenty years. So now Jean was proposing a book with Bobby as the model for both roles. Bobby giggled. "Not too autobiographical, is it? It sure sounds like people I knew a long time ago. Okay, so why am I suddenly invited to you two's little book planning session? You never needed me before and I think it will ruin my appreciation of the book when it comes out. So what's going on, Jeannie darling?" "Bobby, George and I need your help. You need to teach George to be a hairdresser over the next month. Just good enough to let him work with me on the key scenes." Jean went on. She and George had agreed to trust Bobby with the sim secret, but only if he needed to know. So far he did not need to know. "I can imagine which scenes those are. George, let down your hair, I want to see it." Bobby said. George undid his hair clip and his blonde hair fell about three inches past his shoulders. His was longer than Jean's because her's had taken so long to recover from the treatments. Bobby picked up a strand of George's hair and mused. "Well, you've got more than enough to practice on, and I'm not that busy right now, so I guess I can fit you in. You promise to feed me?" "Great, we will cover your rate at a monthly basis." George started. Bobby held up his hand. "George, I don't need the money. How about you loan me that car for the duration. I bet I can fix the carburetor before I'm done with it." Jean laughed again and George extended his hand for another bonecrushing handshake. Bobby surprised him by being exceptionally gentle. "You are going to need those hands intact, George. I hope you are ready for the course. I assume you will master it like you do everything so I hope I'm not creating a monster." Bobby said. Chapter 8: An Officer And A Gentleperson Bobby semi-moved in. Between Jean doing the television interviews and George getting daily lessons he often stayed the night. Jean had Barbara, her half a day three times a week housekeeper set up a guest room. Barbara handled the upstairs but knew the garage and the workshop downstairs were off limits. The Department of Defense interview was intimidating enough for her and she was not prone to gossip anyway. Plus, she was really attached to George and Jean, who viewed her as a family member and made sure she was well compensated. George's secrets and JJ Brighton's secrets were secure. Bobby had been cleared, quietly, a long time ago. He apparently had some prior and mysterious security clearance and the DOD guys just backed off. Bobby worked with George in a way he knew George would relate to learning. He gave him the theory, some of which he found he had just put into words himself. They covered hair and scalp, the chemistry, the biology. Aging, growing, dryness, treatments. Heat and wind, curling and sprays. Conditioning, cleaning. George just absorbed like a sponge. Then they covered aesthetics. Styles, head shapes, occasions. They reviewed styles, particularly of the 1940s, 50s and 60s. Bobby tried to impart the historical evolution of the styles and his own sense on what worked and what did not. George just took it in. Bobby was an outstanding teacher with an outstanding student. Jean found out she suddenly needed a lot more wash and sets than ever before. Under Bobby's watchful eye, George worked Jean's hair except when they were near a television interview. Even with the wig, Bobby took no chances with Jean's self image. Jean reacted well to all the attention. George had always been attentive but this was a level of pampering unheard of in their time together. George also practiced on himself, and Bobby had him try the more outrageous styles on his own hair. Jean found sleeping with George while he was in curlers amusing and then a bit arousing. It was impossible to make George self-conscious when he was on a mission so she could laugh with him instead of worrying about his feelings. If she giggled at a big hair bouffant style, George laughed with her. While Bobby and George were training, Jean was exploring the menu system for setting up the sim scenes. George had given her a dizzying array of options for character features, clothing and emotional makeup. She could create the setting, control the weather and location. George had showed her how to import stock video of period pieces set in New York to build the backdrops. George and Bobby were in the garage, tuning up the Mustang. Bobby had given George a break from his training so George was leaning over the hood, careful of the elaborate beehive he had spent the morning assembling. "Bobby, there's something missing from this." George said as Bobby fiddled with the engine throttle linkage. "George, I've been over this linkage three times." "I mean the hairstyling. I not getting any feeling from it. There's no emotion, no sense of accomplishment. It's not going to work with Jean." George went on in a very analytical tone. "I'm glad you brought it up George. Look, I've seen men do their hair before. They either are frightened to death they will lose their johnson or are overcome with excitement at looking all 'girly'. Not you. You approach this more like a science project. Look at that hairdo. It is one of the more ridiculous and feminine things ever invented in the fifties, extremely difficult to do, you pulled it off on your second try and just walk around with it, not blinking an eye. How did it feel when you finished the style and looked in the mirror? Any reaction? Did you feel sexy? Ashamed? Beautiful? Good Looking? Did you feel lighter? How do you feel when you see yourself in rollers? Or with you hair all curly and flowing?" Bobby set down his Phillips head and looked into George's eyes. "I don't know. At first I just focused on did I meet the specs. Sometimes I felt a little silly with the rollers but that passed quickly. I looked at this one and thought my God, this will be a pain to live with, I can't even fit into my car. Jean has been pretty tolerant and I like it when she likes the style. So I guess I measure it by whether Jean will like it." George said. "Okay, here's your plan. I declare you graduated at the technical skill level. Frankly, you are better than at least eighty percent of the hair-hackers out there, but no woman except Jean would ever feel comfortable going to you. So now I want you to focus on one thing. Pick styles for yourself, which get Jean's attention for the next week. If she likes the style and I mean wild ass sex likes the style, then tell her you will give her the matching one. So pick ones she likes on you but really likes on herself. Hair for a woman is a never-ending debate between attracting other people and self-love. Just don't color her hair, we don't want any more toxin stress on her than she's had. Make choosing a hair style part of your sexual dance. Do you follow me?" Bobby looked at George sympathetically. "I'm beginning to get the idea. Hair is part of sex." "George, for a woman, everything about her is part of sex. Her shoes, her lingerie, her jewelry and her hair. When you are a hairdresser it is a form of sexual surrogate. That's why we act so damn fruity to reduce the threat, to be safe. That's why Jean's idea is so fantastic. A lot of women have had a fantasy about a hairdresser who can then ravage them. Hell, just letting us do their hair is a halfway form of surrender." Bobby went on, grinning. "I would guess you speak from some experience, Bobby. Okay this has been good. Now I need one thing from you. Like you said I seem to be ok with the technical aspects, but I need to be faster and looser. I know that takes years. I want to record you doing a few styles on my equipment. I think I can download your muscle memory and speed myself up." George now grinned. Bobby was incredulous. George led him into the workshop where Jean was sitting at the console. Jean turned and hugged George, kissed Bobby on the cheek. "George that hair is much too much for a sweatshirt and jeans! You need something much slinkier and some pearls!" "When I lose five more pounds babe. I'm bringing Bobby in on our little secret." George said. Chapter 9: Little Red Schoolhouse Meets Silicon Valley Bobby was speechless when George put him into a sim. George could not remember Bobby ever being speechless, so he assumed he was impressed. Bobby took off the headset and shook his head. "Goddam George, I knew you were a genius but this is unbelievable. I was riding a horse in the desert! I could see Jean in that white dress! She could talk to me! Why isn't this out on the market?" "Because it has more implications than entertainment. I know you understand about black projects, Bobby, and I don't want to know why you know that. Just say we are about ten to twenty years before it goes civilan. Now since I wrote the system I get to stay up with the latest work so I can advise my old employers effectively. So you know about keeping this quiet. Now I have been working on a variation where I record a person performing some skilled task. I get the muscle memory, their pain and joy at creation, their emotional state, in other words, the feel of performing the task. Then I play it back into a sim with me playing the role. It's new and I've been trying to set up a test, but I'm limited. Jean and I know each other too well so it would not be a fair test. And aside from you, there is no one else we trust to know about all this. So, will you let me record you?" George asked. "Sure. Can you read my mind?" Bobby smiled. "Just your feelings, which may be worse. Oh damn, I have to go check the email. Jean - please show Bobby some more sims, I know he wants to try it again." George went to his office. Jean looked at Bobby. "I have prepared a sim just for you Bobby. I'm nowhere near to what George can do but I have developed some finesse. Let me help you with the suit, it gives a much greater experience than just the headset." Bobby entered the sim. He was in a large hotel suite looking out on Manhattan at night. It looked like something out of an old movie. He felt hair falling down his back, brushing over his rump. He looked down and saw he was wearing a Dior gown, low cut, which exposed a bit of cleavage. His arm and hand were thin and elegant, nails polished, a diamond bracelet dangling on his extended wrist. His waist was impossibly thin and he strode forward on tall stiletto heels. He could feel his stockings tug slightly at his garter belt. His reflection in the glass door leading to the balcony showed his face was thinner, more delicate yet still his own, with tasteful makeup. Jean was outside, in the same dress, her hair blowing gently in the breeze as she looked out at the skyline. Bobby opened the door and went over to Jean. He could hear the street noise at least thirty stories below. They looked at the Chrysler building, with its distinctive crown. "Ok, Jean. What can I say? This is incredible! It is my dream! Hell, it's better than any dream I ever had! Can you conjure up a willing lover? I would ask you but we already did that and you and George are too perfect." Bobby said, amazed that his voice was an just a bit higher. "It works better when you provide your own lover, Bobby. The bodysuits just are not quite good enough to handle realistic virtual sex with a generated partner. George and I act out all the key scenes right here. This is what I have built for the new book. Plus I'm never sure whether you want a boy or girl." Jean said. "I assume you only have one Dior original programmed? Otherwise we'd never have the same dress. Plus, FYI, I haven't done boys in years. I have a few ladies who are supportive of my clothing preferences, and a few who don't know." Bobby said, swirling around on the balcony. He was actually giddy. "Yes, only one gown, I just got it loaded. Isn't it lovely? George could record a few of your friends remotely for now if you want. I doubt they could get clearance, at least for a while. But I can build you some very recreational sims. Now tell me about George. I can't believe how fast he has learned to do hair. At first it was really funny, but I kind of look forward to it, what style he is going to wear, and having him do mine is fantastic." Jean said, a happy look crossing her face. "It seems the only person George can get embarrassed with is you sweetheart. Let him know you like his work, he is trying so hard. Does George know I dress? It's been hell not getting comfortable when I stay over." Bobby looked at Jean in the glow coming up from the street. Thankfully, the sim did not seem to have pigeons. "George respects your privacy. He figures if you want him to know something personal, you'll tell him. He likes you no matter what. Besides, with him prancing around in a beehive or a bouffant, how could he object to you wearing a nightgown? Just tell him. He won't care, in fact he'll be happy you trust him." Jean broke the sim and she and Bobby were back in the workshop. For the next three days George had Bobby attach about twenty small sensor patches on his body and head, and then do George's hair. Jean loved the spiral curls and George replicated them on Jean. She got very excited about the simple wave and flip, and it became George's favorite. The slight teasing with banana curls Jean fell in love with as extremely romantic. George began to feel the excitement, the lift that hair styling could bring. Bobby told him that he and Jean used to do each other's hair all during junior high and high school. It was where he learned to love the skill. Bobby pronounced George graduated, at least for anything up to 1970. Jean finished the publicity campaign. Bobby went back to his practice and George told Jean he was ready for the sim. Jean had noticed that his proficiency was much improved. It seemed as if he had been a top stylist for years. George had been his own guinea pig. He had practiced on several wigs at first while wearing the neural headset, a variation on the sim headset. He then worked with Jean on several styles. Jean felt it was eerie. It was like George was there in body but gone in spirit, his hands moving efficiently just like Bobby's. Then he started work with the headset and he had retained almost all of the skill and dexterity, while making her feel desired and wanted. Jean was feeling very aroused. She interrupted two styling sessions for bouts of wild lovemaking. George seemed to have the hang of the character. Jean had her sim partner. The book was on its way. Chapter 10: Cross-over Jean noticed it about a week later. For some inexplicable reason, George had stopped wearing pants. He walked around in a shirt and briefs, throwing a blanket over himself when it was drafty, which was often, it being January at the Oregon coast. He continued to keep his hair styled. Barbara had politely asked what was happening and Jean had said George was focused on his research, which Barbara took to mean shut up and don't mention it again. One morning George came out of the shower wearing a robe and shower cap, turned to Jean and said "Jean, I have a bit of a problem. I think the training program has messed up my responses to stimuli." Jean turned towards George, a very concerned look on her face. "George, what is the matter? Tell me and we'll deal with it together, like everything." "It has to be the training sims I've been running. For the last few days I have had this urge to wear a skirt or a dress or stockings or something. I can't quite isolate it. I dream about wearing them. From the research I've done, becoming a crossdresser at my age would be highly unlikely." George went on, brushing his hair into his everyday style. "George, when your device records someone, can it pick up personality or emotional states? And second question. Have you ever worn a dress or a skirt? Ever crossdressed even for a laugh or a school play or Halloween?" Jean asked. She had a suspicion forming in the back of her mind. "Second question first. I think when I was three, my mother had me wear my sister's fairy princess costume for Halloween. Other than that, no. The occasion never came up. You know I never cared much about clothes of any kind. Now on your first, I see where you're going and I've been there in my head for a while. I thought I knew what was recorded on my database through my sensors, but there is so much of the neural interface and brain function that's unknown. There is no spot or area in the brain signal map we can call "Personality" or "Psyche" or "Conscience" but they are there, made up of uncountable intermixed signals. So are you going to tell me about Bobby now or should I ask him directly?" George finished his hair looked directly at Jean. Jean sighed, knowing that living with a genius was always a challenge. The only time you could ever fool or hide something from George is when he did not care to focus on it. "Yes George, Bobby's been a crossdresser since he was seven or eight. I was his best friend partly because he could be himself with me. He has always hidden it except to a few people he trusts. He's tried being gay but found he wasn't. And if gay people have trouble being accepted, heterosexual CDs have it worse. You know his father didn't speak to him from age twelve until he was twenty? And then he used him in something overseas, which Bobby won't talk about to this day. All I know is I spent a year putting him back together. He had just left when we met. I do know the only time Bobby's gone out in public dressed was to his father's funeral, I think to mourn and spit on the grave at the same time. But I wish you would ask Bobby this. I think he can help you and I know he would." Jean spoke, quietly and slowly. There were not many secrets between them and revealing one was always a wrenching experience. "Jean, I respect Bobby's privacy and hope it didn't hurt you to tell me. Yes, you are right, I would like Bobby's help. I don't know any more about what happened to him from his security clearance other than his Dad was Agency. He will tell us that story when he's ready to. Back to my little issue. If you don't mind, could I borrow some clothes? Something simple, please. My ass has been freezing off lately. And call Bobby but keep this off the phone lines. Just tell him to come over and it's important." George went back into the bathroom. Jean got up and laid out a pair tights which she thought would fit George, a skirt with an elastic waist and selected one of George's dress shirts. She paused, looked at the skirt and added a half-slip. Might as well do this right, she thought. She knew none of her shoes would fit him so she selected a pair of soft sole moccasins they had bought in New Mexico from his closet. She then grabbed one of her spare purses, fairly plain, which could pass for a utility bag, almost. She debated adding a brassiere but decided to see how this worked without it. George came out and asked a few questions and then got dressed. With a little coaching from Jean, he adjusted his skirt and looked in her full-length mirror. He looked like George in a skirt, but that was not all that bad. Jean found herself getting a little aroused at the novelty, especially since he did have great legs. With the long blonde hair, with it slight teasing and end flip draping over his man-tailored shirt, and George's torso, which was masculine but not in an exaggerated way, with a 38 inch chest and a taper to a 34 inch waist, his biggest flaw was a lack of hips and rear end to let the skirt drape properly, and of course, the lack of any breasts. Jean then noticed something. "George, did you shave your legs. And your arms?" "It seemed to be the fitting thing if I was to wear these clothes." That was George, always trying to meet the specs. "Well, it does make your legs look really good. How does this feel? Do you get anything looking at yourself?" Jean's curiosity was piqued. "Yes. I feel aroused, a lot like I used to when I was going through puberty. I may need something a little more controlling than these tights and my briefs. How does it make you feel?" George asked, seeming to be the world's least self conscious crossdresser. "Like knocking you over and lifting that skirt. At first it was a novelty and it probably still is, but you are making me very horny, George-with-the-great- legs!" Jean grabbed George's ass and pulled him to the bed. She had her hand up the skirt and George had removed her nightgown. Later when Jean found some new clothes for George she added an old panty girdle that had been very stretched out. She told George it was an option if he wanted more control. So George went to work, reading before and after shots of his brain signal map, looking for areas to focus on. Jean prepared for Bobby. Chapter 11: The Cure And The Disease Are Synonymous Bobby arrived and Jean met with him to explain the situation. He then went and sought out George in his office. "George, I am sorry. If I had told you about my hobby..." Bobby was close to tears. "Bobby, if you had told me I would have done this anyway. I never thought it would give me this crossover effect. Actually, it is a bit of a breakthrough if we can figure out more about it. Besides, why didn't you tell me? All those times you were here and being uncomfortable because of me? That's bullshit, Bobby. You are family and dress as you want. Especially now, you might have some things which I might like." George said, totally unfazed to be sitting in a skirt and hose with Bobby. They talked. George quizzed Bobby about how it felt when he dressed, things, which really made him react, fear of other people. Bobby talked for hours. He told stories. He was funny and tragic. He told George he was jealous as his frame was much easier to really be convincing, where Bobby's size and build made even finding clothing a challenge. Not impossible, mind you, just a challenge. Bobby probed George on how far George wanted to go. He gave him tips and pointers, showed him websites and places to order all the items, which made the act of crossdressing easier and more enjoyable. "George, I guess my dream was always to look as feminine as I could and have a woman love me that way. It is the paradox of the lifestyle. Those women really don't exist. Not in the long run. To them, it's a novelty at first or fun as a change of pace, like the guy is playing on her side for a while, but either they are into really sick domination crap where there is no love, only power and pain or you become a sister, which is where I think I am with Jean and very happy to be there, thank you. And let me tell you, if a real stud guy comes by, their hormones work really efficiently or the human race would have surrendered long ago. So it ends up being mostly for yourself." Bobby took a breath and grabbed George by the shoulders. He continued. "George, you are probably the least narcissistic person I know which is why I think this will burn out for you in a while. From what I know, I suggest you give in to the urge and immerse yourself for a few days or a week. Do the whole fem thing. Wear heels, jewelry, pad a bra. Let me help you do your makeup and get you some clothes of your own. I know Jean will help. Then in a week, let's see how you feel. Besides, I would view it as a fun. My best guy friend can join me in my hobby, even for a little while." Bobby said. George thought and told Bobby he was tracking consistent with George's assumptions. He wanted to review some more data and he would join them for dinner. Bobby and Jean discussed her novel and how to help George. Jean thought Bobby was spot on in his prescription and would turn George over to him. Bobby agreed to move in and told Jean to warn Barbara that there would be some ladies staying over. Jean laughed and said Barbara was used to strange things going on. George met them as Jean was serving the prawns in the dining room. Over the food, he told them what he was going to do." Bobby, your approach was mostly right, but from what I can tell, my theory says that you do your immersion and then taper off, starting to switch back to 'normal' for longer periods. Now this is all guesswork but it's the best we have. So, which one of you gets to make me beautiful?" George grinned. Jean and Bobby laughed out loud. "Well, Georgette, my love, Bobby will get to play Professor Henrietta Higgins. I will merely be the audience. He is moving in tonight." Jean said while Bobby continued to laugh. "George, I need the SUV, I have some things to bring over." Bobby said, rising from the table. Chapter 12: Pygmalion Redux George was just out of the shower. Today he was going to set his hair and then go into his workshop. Bobby had other plans. George looked up from his vanity, which Jean had bought for him for his hairdressing practice. In his mirror was the tallest woman he had ever seen. She had teased out red hair and dangling earrings with her lips a shade that George could not name. Her heels clacked on the wood floor, her skirt constricting her movements. Her breasts were magnificent and her blouse was open enough to display them prominently. George heard Bobby speak. "Good to see you getting started sweetheart. Having your hair up will give us access to that untouched face of yours!" Bobby said, and then rambled on about clothes and jewelry. George grinned. "What do I call you, Miss, I don't believe we've been introduced?" George held out his hand in the way he knew Jean offered hers to women she had not met. Bobby giggled. "Just Bobbi with an 'i' Georgie. Let's decide on your outfit for the day." Jean had been focused on the new book, feeling utmost confidence in George and Bobby to work the situation out. The words were coming, the nuances were better and the intricate relationships were becoming more than real, they were compelling. It was unlike any book she had done and her level of satisfaction and excitement grew. It was addictive. She wanted to see how it turned out and could not leave the keyboard. She was approaching the close, filling into George's detailed outline and fleshing it out before he did. This was going to prove something to herself, that she could consider her self a real writer, not just someone who ground out trashy romance novels. She hated to admit it but some of the reviews had hurt, as they had enough truth to burn inside. She just needed some really good closing scenes. George needed to sort through his little issue and then she licked her lips thinking of the rehearsals in the sim. Three days later Bobby had made dinner for everyone. George has been appearing increasingly feminine up to now but Bobby has told Jean that tonight was the turning point for George and he intended to dazzle her. He stood there in the frilliest apron Jean had ever seen, towering over the stovetop in his heels and slit skirt. George made his entrance. The constant stream of overnight deliveries Bobby had ordered must have contained magic, Jean thought. George was there, in an off the shoulder gown, his hair full of the huge banana curls she liked so much. Somehow it was George but not George. He could have passed close inspection and had his pick of dates in most bars. Bobby had set the room lighting to create the most beneficial effect. Jean approached George and greeted him like she would a long time woman friend. She had not planned it, it just seemed right. George seemed remarkably nervous, poised but it was like his skin was actually pulsing. He had never been afraid to look her in the eye before, but she sensed it now. "George, " Jean intentionally used his familiar name "you are amazing! Bobby did a wonderful job! I was skeptical of how convincing you could be but my God you are great! " Jean wanted to get George focused on his mission and to stop worrying about how she felt. Also, she wasn't really sure how she felt. George gave a weak smile and sat down. The bodyshaper was really tight around his waist and the padded panties Bobby had ordered made him feel like he was sitting on extra cushions. Bobby had fitted him with breast prostheses, not large but large enough and the sensation was truly unique. He felt different in a new way. He felt his garter belt shift as he sat. Bobby had insisted on the garters for the 'full experience'. George could still smell his own perfume, an understated scent that Bobby had concocted for him, not flowery but more like spice with just a hint of musk. Bobby and Jean steered the conversation over dinner towards clothes and hair, shopping and other topics. Bobby had prepped George that tonight was dinner with the girls. George joined in, discussing his outfits and the magic that Bobby had worked. He started to ease up and relax. He still could not enjoy dinner with his stomach bound so tightly. He realized he was imitating Bobby and Jean's hand gestures, moving his colored fingernails as he talked. Jean leaned over and gave his hand a squeeze, and then reached down to his thigh. George found the sense of excitement and vulnerability very arousing. At least it would have been if it were not for the crotch snaps on the bodyshaper. He was beginning to understand what Bobby saw in this. Later, after Jean had ripped the gown off and they had thoroughly tested the resilience of their mattress, George lay back while Jean was cradled in his arm. Jean murmured. "George, was it the occasion or the dress? You seemed to really get into the fun tonight." "It was you, babe. I think I see what Bobby gets out of all this. If I didn't have you, I get sucked in myself." "You seemed pretty sucked in tonight, Georgette. I can't get over how fabulous you looked. Did it feel good?" Jean asked. "It's a bit like Christmas, Jean. The planning and thinking about it exceeds the actual event. The preparation, the primping, it all creates this air of anticipation. Then you see yourself and are amazed. It wears off for me really quickly. I think Bobby burned me out faster than we thought possible. I'm going back to pants and sweats tomorrow and then begin to taper off." George said, smiling. "Not before you wear my present, sweetheart." Jean handed George a large box from under the bed. It was shiny with a huge red bow. George opened it and laughed loudly. Jean had given him a negligee, which matched her own favorite. She got up to retrieve hers from the closet. Chapter 13: You Can Go Home Again, But Just To Visit Bobby told George to wind down slowly, to avoid the "purge and rebuild" cycle so many crossdressers fell into. It made sense to George. He settled for camisoles and padded panties worn underneath stretch pants and one of his sweatshirts. He still kept his legs shaved, 'just in case'. Jean was happy with her scenes and she and George went to work in the sim. It was very different than any of Jean's other works, more complex, with clever dialogue. For the first time, George felt it was based more on his relationship with Jean than the Bobby model she had used before. The sex was incredible and Jean threw herself into the rewrite cycle. George played the hairdresser who loved from afar to perfection and Jean played her character as forceful yet vulnerable, who gradually opened her eyes to a depth of feeling she had never before considered possible. George had added a subplot about the student movement and created tension and danger as the three people played out their values against the drama of being in the crossfire of a radical group and the FBI. The riot scene at Columbia University was a key plot point. And George knew it would be a selling point for a screenplay. By the third week, George was back to his old self and his old clothes. He had Bobby trim his hair to a more manageable length, but one which still met Jean's old hero definition. She had been rather insistent, so they compromised at a little past shoulder length. He wore it back and decided to leave Jean's hairdressing to Bobby. Every once in awhile, he noticed a dress or a hairstyle and felt a twinge, but it quickly faded. Bobby had some advice. "George, your Christmas morning metaphor is a good description. The whole thing about dressing is it can consume you for a while and then move to the background. But it never goes away. I know you got something pleasurable out of it, Jean does talk some and you made it obvious. View it like you ate a rare delicacy and ate so much you got tired of it. You wanted to go back to your regular diet. But does it mean you will never have a desire for that food again? You have just added something to your personality. I know you will not let it get out of control, you've got Jean and your work plus all the other things you're interested in. Plus you can write. At least as well as Jean, just with your own style. What I'm saying is if you feel an urge a month from now or five years from now, indulge it a little. Jean won't mind, she likes it in small doses. She likes me but we're sisters. You two can't be sisters, it would be incestuous." Bobby was back in his well tailored but male clothes. George knew Bobby was wearing something feminine underneath, and that was his compromise with himself. Chapter 14: Won't Quit 'Till I'm A Star, On Broadway Alfred read the initial galleys and booked a private jet to fly from New York to the little airport nearest to Jean and George's Oregon home. Jean welcomed Alfred at the door and was shocked when he hugged her off the ground. Alfred was not a demonstrative man. George stood back and grinned. "Jean, George, this is a knockout! It's going to be a monster hit! It's the best novel I've seen in ten years and it appeals to a broad audience! You made me cry, dammit and I never cry unless I get punched! We are going to promote this like you've never seen before. Jean, can you do a real tour this time? I'll keep it easy on you." Alfred bubbled out, overflowing like a fountain. They sat down and discussed the market approach. George was worried but Jean was very proud of this book and wanted to try. "George, I've been living like a hothouse flower for years now. What's the sense of surviving if you can't live? I promise I won't push it." Jean pleaded with George. George knew she was right, but he was still worried. He nodded but told Alfred he wanted two of Jean's doctors on call wherever they were and that the tour would be limited to North America. Alfred agreed. Jean also asked that Bobby come along as her hairdresser and makeup person. She hated other people fussing over her. George concurred and Alfred was in no mood to argue. Jean and George discussed their next book, to have something to focus on while they endured the marketing whirlwind of three months mostly on the road. Bobby prepared his business for a lengthy absence. Alfred provided a leased jet, which took some of the sting out of travel, and they threw themselves into the breach. The lights in the trees were sparkling as their horsedrawn carriage approached the restaurant in Central Park. The late spring evening air was soft and Jean was radiating happiness from every pore. George basked in her glow. The book was just out that week and Jean was doing five media spots on talk shows tomorrow, the critical reviews were nearly unanimous, and the words effusive praise were used over and over. Alfred was right, every once in a while the elites and the general public agree and a book sucks all the oxygen out of the marketplace. Jean was great during the interviews. Fortunately, the interviewers had decided she was a sympathetic story and played her as overcoming odds to build a writing career. She was 'soft news' and there was no ratings advantage to trashing her, at least not this news cycle. Chapter 15: Candles Burn Bright Or Long One month later, George noticed Jean was getting weaker. He confronted her and had the doctors brought in. Jean knew he was right and did not object. After a brief pause in the schedule while tests were run, George called Alfred. "She got a new tumor, Alfred. No, it's not due to the tour. It was there before we even started. They've caught it early but we're going home. I don't care how you handle it but we are going home and where that is remains private. Now more than ever. Right. I'll tell her. Talk to you tomorrow." George hung up his p