Part 9 Caitlyn's Mother

A groan and a whimper roused Darla who had been dozing in the same chair that Jane had used only a few nights earlier when she had kept watch on the sleeping Caitlyn. Caitlyn stretched and then started fully awake. "Who's there?" she asked into the darkness.

"It's me . . . Darla."

"Oh, you," and the voice went very dull.

"Caitlyn, I want to apologize to you for laughing like I did. I wasn't laughing at you, really I wasn't. I was just so scared that you had really hurt yourself when you fell, and then you were all right . . .." Darla's voice broke and she took a deep breath to control her own emotion. "Well, when you were all right, I was just so relieved and happy that all I could do was laugh. I am sorry I hurt you."

There was a long, very uncomfortable silence that had Darla squirming before Caitlyn finally responded. "That's the truth? You aren't just saying that because Ms. Thompson told you to apologize?"

"Please trust me, Caitlyn, I would *never* laugh at anyone who came a cropper trying to follow one of Jane's orders," Darla said fervently.

Caitlyn again went silent, and for a moment, Darla wondered if she had fallen back to sleep. "You are very strong, Darla, for your size. You held me down quite easily."

"Not so very easily, girlfriend," Darla replied, just a hint of a laugh in her voice. "You are tough!"

"That's why you really wouldn't laugh at someone like me, even though Ms. Thompson told me anyone who figured out that I really was a boy all this stuff would laugh, because you are like me, aren't you? You are really a boy under that make up and nightgown." There was no question or doubt in Caitlyn's voice, simply quiet certainty.

Darla thought about trying to lie her way out of it, but in the end, decided there was little point. "My real name is Darryl," he said simply. "And everything you've been asked to do, I have been asked to do as well. That's why I was not laughing *at* you this afternoon and why I would never laugh at you - period. I was laughing at the situation and from an overdose of relief."

"Thank you, Darryl. I accept your apology even though I now understand that none was owed."

"Thank you, Caitlyn, and it might just be best if Aunt Jane did not know you know I am a boy. She's under a lot of pressure right now about your progress in the program, and one of the main ideas of her method is an older sister who is really a boy helping the new kid. If she thought you had figured out I am a guy, she might decide there wasn't any point in continuing you in the program. She wouldn't want to, but she might feel legally obligated, you know? In this case, what Aunt Jane doesn't know won't hurt you, okay?"

"Okay," Caitlyn said, a smile in her voice. "*Darla*."

"Great. Are you going to be okay? This chair really stinks and my back is begging me to go find my own bed before I'm crippled by the thing."

"Sure. Sweet dreams, Darla, and thanks again."

Somehow, without either boy-girl being precisely certain what motivated them, the pair shared what could only be described as a sisterly hug. They broke apart with shy smiles, but without really feeling any embarrassment, again surprising both of them.

Darla stepped back and moved to the door. "No problem, little sister, and don't worry about Aunt Jane. I will figure out a way to keep you around until she can honestly tell Judge Ruth that you are all better. Even if I have to break my leg so that *I* need little Miss Nurse Caitie. 'Night, Caitlyn."

~--------------~

Jane and Diana stood in the hotel lobby, waiting for the elevator. "Are you really sure that Art wouldn't be a better advocate?" Jane asked for the twentieth time since Diana had appeared for breakfast announcing that *she*, not Art would accompany Jane that morning.

"As sure as I can be, dear. We may still need Art, but in this context, having Art spring forth from Diana may help our position. We will have to play it by ear."

The elevator door swooshed open and took them rapidly to Mrs. Jeffries' floor. Pushing back any uncertainty, Jane strode over to the appropriate door and knocked.

Jane recognized the petite, slender brunette who answered the door. In many ways, she strongly reminded her of Caitlyn, except for Caitlyn's currently blond colored locks. The same facial bones, the same eyes, the same basic body type, and yet, Jane could feel the power burning inside the other woman and knew that Mrs. Jeffries had come ready for battle.

Femma e femma for her son's well being.

"Hello, Mrs. Jeffries. May we come in?"

Without a word, the shorter woman stood aside and let Jane lead Diana into the suite's sitting room. Jane stopped and indicated her escort. "Mrs. Jeffries, may I introduce Dr. Philips who is a practicing psychologist-therapist and my very good friend? And Diana? This is Mrs. Eleanora Jeffries, Carlton's Mother."

Both women mumbled a polite pleasantry and soon all were seated, looking uncomfortably at one another. Finally, at a prod from Diana, Jane spoke up. "I feel, Mrs. Jeffries, that I should begin by telling you more about how I undertake to rehabilitate boys who are put in my keeping. I was intentionally vague when we first met. I had reasons, but I have recently been given to understand that they are not valid, and besides, you need to understand the program so that you can begin to understand the problems I have been having with your child."

Over the next twenty minutes, Jane laid out the history of her program, starting with her experiences at Eastmore through her work with "Caitlyn". Jane concluded with a discussion of the problems she had been having with Caitlyn.

For her part, the steadily rising color of Mrs. Jeffries' face gave grim testament to exactly what she thought of Jane's revelations. Finally, she asked, beginning in a very quiet voice that rose steadily in volume with each spoken syllable, "So, let me see if I have this correctly. I am to understand that my son has been living with you, trying to learn to behave and act like a teenage girl for the past five months?!?"

"That is what I just said, Mrs. Jeffries. Your son Carlton has been living as Caitlyn since within twenty four hours of leaving the train in Kingston," Jane replied steadily.

"And in the course of this . . .this . .*program*, my son has been injured no fewer than four times because *you* in your infinite wisdom decided that he absolutely *had* to walk in high heels? Do I have this right?" Jane started to reply, but was cut off as the outraged mother lurched to her feet and began pacing about the room. "Who the hell made you God, Ms. Thompson? What gives you the right to put my son physically at risk? And I haven't even begun to tell you what I think about your stupid idea of cross dressing my son to - *HA* - rehabilitate him."

Diana chose that moment to stand and put herself between Jane and the furious woman. "Mrs. Jeffries," she said firmly. "First, let me tell you that there is both historical and research based evidence that experiences such as the one that Ms. Thompson provides her boys are effective in helping the young men in trouble to learn self control and good behavior. In general, boys forced to masquerade as girls have to restrain aggressive, obviously macho behaviors or risk being discovered. In societies such as ours and that of the United Kingdom, being a "sissy" is among the worst things one can say about a boy."

"Which is precisely what this . . . this . . . woman has done to my son."

"The boys only become known as "sissies" if they are unmasked publicly during the masquerade, and that has *never* happened. Jane goes to incredible lengths to ensure that, while the threat of exposure seems frighteningly real to her boys, the actual probability of discovery by someone not already aware of the masquerade is all but zero. That is why she was working him so hard on the high heeled walking. Girls your son's age wear heels, and he couldn't be taken out and about for many of those learning experiences until he had mastered them."

"With all due respect," Mrs. Jeffries interjected in a tone that implied very little respect, "I fail to understand how that supposedly helps, Dr. Philips."

"They have to learn new, more socially appropriate ways of expressing themselves, Mrs. Jeffries. They must develop better tools to help them deal with their anger and frustration, while learning more acceptable ways to interact with other people. In Jane's program, once they've learned those lessons, they are given the responsibility for the next student's early indoctrination and see first hand how those experiences improves the new student, and by extension, how the older student himself benefitted by them. The young people learn manners, polite speech and basic courtesy because failure in any of those areas draws undue attention to them - something they wish to avoid at all costs."

In spite of herself, Mrs. Jeffries found herself nodding in understanding, if not total agreement with those last points. "You said Ms. Thompson has historical evidence on her side?"

"Jane?" Diana said, resuming her seat.

"Over my career, Mrs. Jeffries, I have worked with nearly one hundred boys. I won't lie and tell you it has been one hundred percent perfect, but all but two of my boys have gone on to happy, productive lives as doctors, police officers, attorneys, social workers and a variety of other occupations - all well above minimum wage, I might add," Jane said with considerable pride.

"What Jane did not say, Mrs. Jeffries, is that a goodly number of those boys were in the same situation as your son, only much worse. Many were living in and perpetuating violence for a variety of reasons, but Jane was able to help them. Most of them now think of her as an honorary aunt. One drawer of her desk if full of cards, letters and notes from her boys."

*Why the little sneak has been snooping around in my desk! Just wait till I get him home!*

"I see," Mrs. Jeffries said in a much calmer and less confrontational tone of voice. "So, why hasn't it worked with my son?"

"Wellllll. . . ."

"Mrs. Jeffries," Diana interrupted Jane, "Your son has issues that directly conflict and interfere with what Jane has been trying to teach him about passing as a female."

"What issues, Doctor?"

"Well, maybe you can explain to us why your son stopped taking ballet lessons with you?"

"WHAT???" she asked in disbelief, "What has ballet to do with anything we've just spoken about?"

"Please, Mrs. Jeffries, just bear with me for a few more moments and answer my questions. Then I will tell you a little story and show you a video that Ms. Thompson has brought with her today."

~-------------------~

The tape was playing for the third time, and still Eleanora could not move from her seat or take her eyes off the screen. Finally, she sat back and looked at her two guests, "Lord, Diana, Jane, if I did not know that I was *never* videotaped dancing that particular choreography, I would have sworn that was me dancing in a blond wig."

"It is Carlton, Eleanora," Jane told her. "Truly."

"Oh, I believe you, Jane. As hard as it is to take in that my son dances *that* well as a girl, that my son *looks* that good as a girl, her. . . I mean *his* resemblance to me is unmistakable. And you say that he can't dance or walk in heels or appear noticeably made up unless no one is watching or unless he forgets because of a crisis or something?"

"Well," and here Jane allowed herself a sly grin. "He wears make up well enough when someone else puts it on him. When someone is watching him when he tries to put it on himself, his hands shake very badly, and well, the results are rather appalling."

"And you," Eleanora directed her attention back to Diana, "Believe this is due to anxiety brought on when he thought I was jealous of his abilities? Diana, he told me he was quitting because he was taking a lot of heat at school because of the dancing. Since I knew there was no future for him either as a male or female dancer, I agreed and then encouraged him to study the martial arts as a way of building up his self confidence and his self esteem. The martial arts teacher at our local Y was very highly recommended to me."

"The Y is where he found the dance club and joined up, this time as a male dancer," Diana told her. "But based on what we just saw, I would say he continued to practice the female roles on his own. His teacher did say he was very good at helping her female students perfect their own routines. Probably because he knew them better than they did."

"So, what must we do to help my son find out who he, or if as you believe, who *she* really is, Dr. Philips?"

"Well, step one is acceptance and love, Eleanora. All issues of gender and self image aside, your child is currently repressing an essential aspect of his or her personality because it hurt you, or rather, because he *thought* it hurt you. That is a very deep love on your child's part and you must give it back in the comparable measure if you are going to help her or him get past this."

"That is a given, Diana. Girl or boy, my child is my child and *our* child is well and truly loved by both my husband and by me."

"Then it would really help if we could somehow get him past this emotional block about being seen dancing. So far, only things outside of herself have gotten her past that when in public - like when Jane's housekeeper was injured. It is really too bad that we couldn't create a crisis that would force her to dance instead of walk."

Silence fell over the room as all three brooded over that observation, until a thoroughly wicked and mischievous grin familiar to and feared by almost one hundred boys and young men began to form on Jane Thompson's lips. "Darling?" she cooed over at Diana. "Get that tape out of the VCR for me please. We need to go talk to some people. Eleanora? Would you care to accompany us?"