Seasons Greetings A Carol Christmas

Christmas Yet to Be

by Tigger

The stately Victorian mansion seemed hollow and empty as Darla
moved about the first floor public rooms later that morning. For
all the bright holiday color and decorations, Seasons House felt
dull-gray and lifeless to the young man in girl's clothing.

Darla (originally and still sometimes Darryl) Smith had lived
through gray and grim holidays before. All of them, actually,
before a benevolent judge had sent a troubled, abused boy to Jane
Thompson thinking he had been a voluntary party to several crimes
perpetrated by his sadistic older brother. Darryl Smith had
never even had a birthday party in his entire life prior to his
coming to live with Jane Thompson, but every birthday or holiday
since that magical moment had been . . . well, a dream come true
for the love starved adolescent.

*And that is a big part of why you are so pissed off with Morris
right now, m'dear self,* Darla admitted to herself. *Our failure
to make any progress with him is casting this damned pall over
the holiday season, and since last year you tasted how sweet a
family Christmas is, you want to lash out at the obvious cause.*

The femininely turned-out boy was still arguing with himself over
the relative fairness of that outlook when the cause of this
internal conflict came into view.

For a moment, Darla could not quite believe the evidence of her
eyes. Carl. . . Carol was sprawled on the parlor davenport, one
leg flopped over the back of the sofa, the other draped along the
cushions' edge with her foot resting on the floor as she read the
morning newspaper. Unfortunately, she was wearing a skirt so her
position put her petti's, garter belt, stockings and panties on
full display.

"Dammit, Carol, sit like a lady!" Darla snapped, her anger
bubbling over.

Perfectly made up, but hard gray eyes turned to gaze up at
equally perfect blue ones. "But I am not a lady, Darla," was the
quiet reply. "If I were in fact female, I think I would much
prefer to be a slut, if that bitch Thompson is the model of what
is required to be a lady."

Darla's hands fisted so hard she felt her nails cutting into her
palms. "You agreed to follow Jane's orders," she hissed,
striving for self control. "And that means you are to be a lady.
. .HER kind of lady and LADIES do not lay about upon divans with
their legs akimbo like some damned tramp waiting for her next
john!"

Carol gave a cold bark of laughter, but rolled off the sofa to
her feet, very daintily arranged her skirts and then reseated
herself with caricatured feminine grace. "You were saying?"
Carol asked, fluttering her lashes.

"Why?" was all Darla could manage to get past the fury-driven
lump in her throat.

"I promised *MS* Thompson, that I would do my best to follow her
orders. As I am not really a girl, that is my best."

"That's bull and we both know it! You haven't given anything
even approximating a real effort to get with the program since
the day you arrived!"

"Why should I? *This*," Carol shot back, running a long-nailed
hand down her bodice and skirt, "Is bullshit! She wants to make
me like women better by having me try BEING a woman? What is
that? Walk a mile in her spike heels and learn her righteous
point of view? Crap! She's just another bitch of a woman trying
to tell men what to do. Well, I've taken everything she can dish
out, and I still say, 'Screw her!'"

"Don't you think there might be a possibility that you are wrong,
about women in general and about Ms. Thompson specifically? If
you don't listen or do as you told, how will you ever find out?"

"There's nothing you or that woman can teach me, chickie. As to
the other, well, I've done what I've been told to do, when I've
been told to do it, how I've been told to do it."

"And not a damn bit more!" Darla accused hotly.

"To what purpose? I've already told you what I think of this
idiotic learn-by-doing program here. Besides, I'm out of here in
a couple of weeks anyway and there's not a damned thing you or
your MS Thompson or even my uncle can do about it!"

"So you turn eighteen. Big deal. Your uncle has told you there
isn't any money for you until you pass muster with Jane, which
you won't if you don't straighten up."

"Straighten up? Isn't being 'straight' a little hard when she
rigs me out like this? And my uncle is in for as big a surprise
as your sainted Ms. Thompson. He's not the only relative I had,
and the inheritance he runs as trustee supposedly for me isn't
the only one I have coming."

Darla was about to ask what Carol meant by that when the front
door bell chimed.

*Who can that be?* she wondered. "We need to finish this
discussion. Don't disappear!"

"Sure, sweetcakes. Whatever you say, short-stuff."

With a barely stifled growl, Darla spun on her heel and strode to
the door.

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

Darla glanced through the glass surrounding the heavy oak front
door to see a man she had never met before. The heavy trench
coat he wore against the blustery chill of a December day in New
England hid all but his face in its bulk.. *One of Jane's
business colleagues making an unannounced holiday visit?* she
wondered as she opened the door. "Hello," she said through the
still-chained door, "May I help you?"

The man gave her a considering look before nodding and passing a
card through the cracked-open doorway. "Yes, please. Is Ms.
Thompson at home? My name is Donald Madden."

"Who is it, dear?" Marie's voice called from the hall.

"Is that you, Miss Marie?" Madden called.

"Who?" Marie asked surprised as she came up to look out at their
visitor. "Donna. . .aallld?" she suddenly stuttered out.

"Yes, ma'am," the fellow said with a little half smile. "I
wondered if Ms. Jane was home?"

Marie gently elbowed Darla out of the way. For several moments,
she stared at the man as if deciding what to do next. Finally,
she sighed and unchained the door. "She's not here, Donald,"
the older woman offered in a coldly uninflected voice that Darla
had never before heard coming from the gentle Marie. "Won't you
come in for a moment and take the chill off?" she asked.

"Oh, all right. Just for a moment, though," he replied
hesitantly.

*Whatever is bothering her about this guy,* Darla mused. *Marie
actually wants him to stay.* She watched as Marie put her hands
out to their visitor only to pull them behind her back after a
brief handclasp. *Not only that, but she more than halfway wanted
to hug him, but stopped herself. What on earth would stop Earth-
Mother-Marie from pulling someone to her loving heart? Whoever
this guy is, and whatever is causing Marie to give out such mixed
signals, he is not merely another of Jane's business
acquaintances.*

"You'll stay and have a cup of tea, Donald," Marie ordered
briskly as she divested him of his heavy coat. "Why, you're
chilled to the bone. Go make yourself comfortable in the morning
room and I'll get the tea. Darla, you and Carol keep him
company, please."

Left to play hostess, Darla started to guide their guest into the
sun-warmed morning room on the southeast corner of the huge
house, only to find him already halfway down the hall toward the
room. *Maybe he just knows classical Victorian architecture?*

"Come along, Carol," Darla ordered wishing there was something
else she could do with the delinquent student, "And be on your
best behavior."

"Of course, dear," Carol replied in a catty purr, "Don't I
always?" she asked before adding, "In public?"

They found their visitor strolling about the ornately decorated
room, a strange smile on his face. Darla took this opportunity
to take the measure of the man. He was not tall, perhaps five
feet eight or so, but not much more, and slightly built. Male
pattern baldness had begun to thin out the light brown hair on
top of his head while his face was clean shaven.

He stopped his wandering at a display of nick-nacks. Smiling, he
reached out a single finger to pet one of the menagerie of
crystal animals arrayed on a table positioned before a window to
catch the sun.

"Hardly anything changed," he murmured to himself before looking
up to smile at Darla and Carol. "Marie ran off before she could
introduce us. I've already told you my name. You two are?"

Blushing, Darla automatically dipped into a curtsy. "I do beg
your pardon, Mr. Madden. My name is Darla Smith and this is my.
. . friend, Carol Morris."

Donald Madden quirked an eyebrow in response, particularly when
Carol pointedly did not emulate Darla's formal greeting, and then
came over to clasp each girl's hand in turn. Just then, Marie
bustled in, weighed down by a heavy silver tray. *My goodness,*
Darla thought, *She is using the formal silver tea service.
Tante Marie is really pulling out the stops for this guy!*

"Here, let me help you with that, Marie," a smiling Donald Madden
offered as he took the tray from her. He settled the tray on the
large coffee table that Jane used for precisely that purpose in
her lessons with students, and then politely waited for the
ladies to seat themselves. "Shall I pour, Marie?" Marie nodded,
but Darla could see the tension in her eyes as she watched their
guest's every move.

"This room hasn't changed a bit," he said to Marie. "Do you
still insist on dusting the crystal creatures yourself?"

Marie blushed, but before she could answer, Carol trilled, "Oh,
the only time Marie gets at all upset is if we so much as look
cross-eyed at her glass pets."

Donald regarded the tall, blonde beauty for several moments with
an intensity that made even the haughty Carol look away. "I take
it you two are Jane's current students in residence?"

"So she says." "Yes, sir." were the simultaneous responses.

Nodding, Donald turned toward Darla. "I assume, then, that you
are the big si. . .that is, the experienced mentor student?"

Understanding hit Darla with icy clarity. *He KNOWS!* Perhaps it
was the shock of that realization, but Darla answered him without
fully considering her words. "Yes, sir, but I'm not very good at
it, I am afraid."

"I see," was all he said as his gaze shifted back to Carol.

"So, Don. . ald, tell me what you are doing up this way?" Marie
leapt into the break, her voice still wary.

For her part, Darla watched and listened with interest as Marie
tried to divert the conversation away from Carol. *There is no
doubt in my mind that he knows about Jane's teaching practices
and that he believes that both Carol and I are really male under
our dresses and pretty undies. The only way he knows those hard
little truths is if he is a parent or relative of one of Jane's
former students, or one of Jane's supporters among the law-types
or social services folks, or. . . .or he's a former student
himself,* Darla wondered about that, and then recalled the
comment about Marie's possessiveness of the crystal zoo. *Only a
former student would know that only Marie is allowed to so much
as look at those things with a duster in hand. Not only that,
but Marie stumbled over his name - twice - each time nearly
calling him Donna. Therefore, I think I can safely assume that
Donald is one of Jane's boys, and that was his 'femme-name'.*

The conversation turned to Donald's current activities, but he
sidestepped those questions. *Wonder why he doesn't want to talk
about himself? Because he simply doesn't want to answer Marie's
so-very-pointed questions about himself? Or might it be because
Carol and I are here and he's afraid he might give away one of
Jane's secrets to our detriment? I wonder. . . Marie is really
of two minds about him. Nervous and wary, yet somehow pleased
and hopeful.. But I've been here when a former student has come
to visit before, and Marie was not nearly so reserved or cold as
she is trying to be with Donald Madden. Could he be one of the
two infamous Thompson failures? If he is, he must be the
corporate raider because the other fellow is in prison, serving
life-without-parole as a three-time loser. Isn't this
interesting?*

Darla's thoughts were broken when the man turned back to Carol.
"Tell me why Miss Smith believes she is not doing a good job as
your mentor," he ordered. "You seem to have acquired all the
appropriate social skills and graces."

"Donald. . ." Marie tried to intercede, but it was too late.
Darla saw something change in Carol's demeanor, saw her eyes
become hard.

"Because there is nothing she and that Thompson woman have to
teach me that I care or need to learn."

"And how long have you been here?" the man's voice was suddenly
very soft.

"It will be exactly six months tomorrow. Merry frigging
Christmas!"

"CAROL!" Marie snapped. "That will be ENOUGH of that language.
Apologize immediately!"

Madden held up a hand to Marie. "No, don't apologize unless you
mean it," he said, his eyes still fixed on Carol. "Do you know
why I came up here?"

Setting her cup down, Carol sat back in the chair. "I am sure I
don't really care," she retorted, no longer playing the game.

"I can see you don't, but I will tell you anyway. I came here
because I did not want to face another Christmas like the fifteen
I've suffered through since I was Jane Thompson's student. I
came here because, surrounded by people, in the midst of a
hundred parties, I was unutterably lonely."

Carol gave a derisive bark of laughter. "So why did you come to
this armpit of the world? There's not that many people here."

"Because for all the mistakes I made while I was here, and they
were legion, I wasn't ever lonely here," he said simply.

"Oh, so you are like Barbie's little friend Skipper here," Carol
disdained, pointing theatrically at Darla, "one of Ms. Thompson's
perfect little society boys and girls; a credit to her sadistic
little program."

"I think you owe both Miss Smith and Miss Thompson an apology,
young lady," Madden said coldly. "But you wouldn't mean them
either, so again, please don't bother. To answer your challenge,
no, I am not one of Jane's successes. After seven months here,
she finally had to admit that I wasn't going to come around and,
very sadly, sent me home."

"Good for you!" Carol cheered. "It's good to know that she can
be had after all."

"You really are a fool, aren't you?" Madden said, his head
shaking in what seemed to be disbelief. "You haven't listened at
all, but I will put it to you again, this time in simple words.
I screwed up here. I was so sure I was right and she was wrong
that I only went through the motions. Oh, I learned all her
lessons because there wasn't any way not to, but I never
internalized them. I left here the same foolishly proud,
arrogant asshole I was when I arrived."

"You don't look like you've done so poorly. That's a hand-
tailored suit you're wearing and those shoes you're wearing cost
as much as some cars."

"I've been successful," he admitted. "And many people have
suffered a very great deal for that success. As a result, nice
people either fear me or dislike me, and the only ones who are
willing to pretend to be friends with me are those who want to be
friends with my money."

"Who needs friends?" Carol waved that away disdainfully.

Sighing, Donald rose to his feet and offered his hand to Marie.
"I had better go," he said with real sadness in his voice. Then
he turned back to Carol. "I asked that very same question
fifteen years ago when I was Jane's student. I know the answer
now - *I* need them. Someday, you'll need them, but you won't
believe that now. You're too much like I was - proud, arrogant
and stupidly sure of yourself for no real or valid reason. In
fact, I think in fifteen years, you too will find yourself alone
and worse than just alone, you will find yourself lonely, despite
any apparent success you might achieve, despite however many
hangers-on you have around you pretending to be your friends.
Look at me, you adolescent fool, and see your future if you don't
mend your ways and start listening to people who have only your
best interests at heart."

With that, Madden spun on his heel and left the room.

Marie, a distressed look on her face, rushed out after him,
followed by Darla. They caught up with him as he was pulling his
coat from the foyer closet. "I am sorry, Marie, for losing my
cool that way. She's just so much like me, making the same
damned mistakes I made."

Marie only put her arms around him and hugged him. "I'm glad to
see you, again, Donna, and so glad you cared enough to come back.
Jane would love to see you, too."

"I can't stay long, and I don't think it would help for me to see
that one again," he said sadly.

"Mr. Madden?" Darla interjected. "Carol will not be eating with
us tonight by Jane's order. Perhaps you would join us for
dinner? Say about 6:30? Jane could really use the company, I
think, because, well, as you can tell, things are not going well
with Carol. Maybe . . .maybe seeing you would help improve her
spirits."

"Yes, Donna, please come to dinner," Marie urged.

There was a look of wistful longing in the man's pale blue eyes.
"All right, I'll try. But I will call first to make sure it is
all right with Aunt Jane." He finished buttoning his coat and
gave Marie a kiss on the cheek before offering his hand to Darla.
"And I don't think you've anything to be ashamed of with respect
to your performance of your responsibilities as big sister, Miss
Smith. Some . . . some of us just don't know when we're being
helped or when we're well off. Good day."