Marie felt better about Eugene as she dressed him up.	His earlier
nonchalance had been disconcerting, but now he had the usual sort of
expression that all the boys had at this stage.  Perhaps he was even
more worried.
	Good.

	As the powder brush whisked over his face, he wondered why he was
getting a little aroused.  A bit of thought told him that he was used to
having his girlfriend do this, and at the very least, she would kiss him
when he was finished.
	He glanced up at Marie, and realized that he was going to be
without love for a long time.  He sighed.

	Marie handed him the lipstick, and said gently, "Would you do this
your self, please?"
	Eugene sighed and looked at her in the mirror, then accepted the
tube from her.
	And in four quick strokes, he had it on.  He leaned forward in the
mirror, checking - as did every young woman - for missed spots, while
Marie attempted to regain her mental balance.  *Impossible!* she
thought.

	Tucker shut the door to the bedroom as Marie had requested, and
started down the hallway towards Jane's parlor.
	A click made him look behind him.	Charlene was peeking through the
door at him.  An instant later, she slammed the door shut, but Tucker
could still hear her laughing and laughing...
	*I hope she chokes,* Tucker thought nastily, and began plotting
revenge on her as he made his way downstairs.  The burn on his cheeks
didn't improve his attitude any, either.

	The knock on the door came about when she expected.  Jane got up
from the other desk and went to the door.  He looked most appealing, she
decided, as he stood there in an exquisite blue-and-white floral outfit
that would have made a four year old girl squeal.  Eugene, of course,
didn't look like he would be squealing in sartorial ecstasy anytime
soon.  The makeup Marie had added gave just the right touch of color,
too.
	"I'll be with you in a minute, darling," she said, enjoying the
wince her gently mocking tone had evinced.  "Now, dear, if you're ready
to behave, sit there on the bench until I'm done, alright?"  With that,
she shut the door on him before she could lose her composure by
laughing.

	Tucker sighed, and turned around to look at the bench.  He could
almost see the ghosts of schoolchildren staring back at him with big,
sad eyes as they waited their turn for a caning.	*Jeez, you can tell
the bitch worked at a school,* he thought, *she must've brought all the
furniture with her when she left.*
	He was about to sit down when a flash of memory warned him.
Frowning, he bent down and made a tiny crease on the uppermost of the
petticoats.  It stayed when he let go, confirming his suspicions.
*Setup,* he thought, relief washing over him like a cold wave.  *She
expected me to plop down and wait, maybe keep me there until I start
leaning or something, and then scream at me for all the wrinkles.*
	Right.  He wasn't born yesterday.
	As he knelt in the floor, preparing to assume the Japanese sazen
position for as long as it took, he realized that he really did have
something to thank his sister for.  Without watching her and her tricks,
and the trouble she'd gotten into in front of him, he would have been
even more at this lunatic's mercy than he was already.
	After he arranged his clothing, he settled down to some serious
plotting.

	Charlie had calmed himself down after seeing the little geek after
Marie had done with him, and gotten a couple of the cookies he'd been
forced to bake Friday.  If Jane hadn't been tape recording the whole
thing, he wouldn't have bothered, but she was, and so he had to.
	As he turned the corner, expecting to see Eugene sitting sprawled
out on the bench like he'd been on the chair at lunch, he missed the new
kid at first.  When he started looking around, though, the blue
confection on the floor almost leaped out at him.  Eugene was kneeling
as if he was a Chinese doll or something, with his hands folded in his
lap and his skirts arranged around him in an almost perfect circle.
     *Oh, shit,* he thought.  *Well, flush opening conversational gambit
number one...*

	Tucker had heard footfalls, but had carefully restrained his
natural reaction - to get up and run like hell - and fought to control
his breathing.
	The footsteps stopped a few feet away, and stayed there for a
while.  Then they moved around to his front and stopped again.
	"Sorry for laughing," said Charlene's voice, and Tucker finally
opened his eyes and looked up at her.  She looked sincere, which didn't
really mean anything.  All of his family could keep a straight face.	On
the other hand, she was offering him a cookie, while eating another one.
Glancing at her face, the blonde hair arranged perfectly around it, and
the rather expensive dress she had changed into, he assumed that she
wouldn't have the brains to remember which one contained poison.  Still,
this didn't make sense to him.

	Eugene looked up at Charlie, and frowned slightly.  "I thought I'd
bring you a cookie.  Jane always works at this time of the evening,
something to do with her consulting business, and I bet you're
starving."  *Come on, come on, you shithead, can't you tell I'm being
nice?*  She proffered it to him again, and he took it this time, and
slowly munched on it.

	Tucker ate the cookie, alert for any strange tastes, but all he
could find was a bit of cinnamon.	Charlene knelt down next to him on
the floor, smiling at him, and arranged herself into that familiar
position that women adopt, perching on her hips while her legs trailed
out to one side.  Tucker noticed that her skirt remained unwrinkled
also.  *Aha,* he thought.
	"If it's any help, I think it's a nasty thing she's doing to you,"
Charlene said with what sounded like genuine tenderness.
	Tucker smiled weakly at her.	He'd managed to put it out of his
mind, and so of course she reminded him of it.  *I hate this,* he
thought.
	"Most of the time, Jane's not so bad," she continued before taking
another bite of her own cookie.  Tucker's snort slipped out of his
mouth.  "No, really," she insisted after she swallowed.  "I mean, you
must've done something really horrible to get this kind of treatment."
	Tucker shrugged.  "I dunno," he replied, "she just said I would end
up in jail if I didn't make it here."
	Charlene's eyes widened.  "What did you do?" she asked.
	"I don't know!" Tucker protested.  "That's the worst part.  Just
'something' which I guess is so horrible she won't even tell me what it
is."
	"Well, I mean," she said, sounding at a loss, "you've got to have
some idea..."
	Tucker sighed.  "Too many possibilities," he finally admitted.
"And the last thing I'm going to do is go through all of them, in case
she missed a couple."

	Charlie used every trick of feminine conversation he'd learned at
Jane's, and finally drew out of him that he was feeling humiliated.
*Yeah, you ought to, looking like an eight-year old,* Charlie thought,
but didn't let that thought surface to his face.
	"I'm really sorry I laughed," Charlie apologized, trying to sound
as sweet and sincere as he could manage.  "You just looked so cute in
the hallway!"
	Eugene snorted at her, but the red creeping down his neck told him
he'd scored a hit.  *Gotcha!*
	"Did she give you the spiel about when she used to be headmistress
of some private school?" he asked, changing the subject.  When Eugene
nodded, he nodded back and smiled.  "Yeah, well, from what I've heard,
little bits here and there, she's still annoyed that they fired her."
	"I bet," Tucker said softly.  "It's so much harder to find victims
to torture outside of the school system."
	"Really!" Charlie gushed, partially hating himself for the feminine
tone, and partially glad he was working the geek so well.  "From what I
heard, she got canned because of 'cruel and unusual punishments' to the
kids."
	Eugene glared at her.  "Oh, reeeeeeeely?" he drawled, and they both
chuckled.  "So what does she do to the girls?" Eugene asked.
	The implications of that question hit him a few seconds after he
started to make up a lie about it.  He BELIEVED Charlie was a girl!

	Tucker stared at her as she trailed off into silence.	She was
staring at him, a look of horror on her face.  "Never mind," he said
quickly, "forget I asked, okay?"
	Eventually, she nodded.
	There was one of those pauses Tucker hated.
	Finally Tucker asked her, "So how long do you think she'll keep me
like this?"
	"Um," she gulped, "um."  She took a breath and started over.  "I
mean, I don't know.  She's doing it to shake you up, though, I know
that."  She shook her head at something.  "She's real good at that.
Anyway," she went on, focusing on him again, "just try not to let it get
to you."
	"Says you!" Tucker shot back, indignant.  "You try sitting here in
this stuff!"
	She smiled, sort of sickly at him, and said softly, "Been there,
done that."
	Oh.	Duh.  Tucker felt dumber than usual.  "Didja get the T shirt?"
he asked, and she chuckled at that.
	"Anyway, she's just doing it to get you off balance so she can get
you to obey her," Charlene said.  "If you do what she says, she'll slack
off eventually."
	"Eventually?  Like when?"
	Charlene shrugged, her hair flouncing.	Tucker repressed a sigh for
Debbie, who never did that sort of thing.  *Trapped in the land of the
debutantes,* he thought.   "I dunno!" she replied.  "Just, I mean, you
know, behave yourself, and she'll figure out it's working and stop.
She's probably just afraid of you, I mean, if you did something bad
enough to go to jail for it, she's probably just pulling out the big
stuff at the front to intimidate you."

	Charlie was rather impressed with his own cleverness, this time.
As he mentally patted himself on the back, Eugene nodded slowly, like he
believed him.
	*And if that doesn't satisfy the bitch,* Charlie thought, *then
nothing will!*
	"So what does she want me to do?" Eugene asked him.
	*Oh ho, eat the bait,* Charlie thought, restraining his grin.
"Um," he said, noticing that he was wrapping a curl of hair around a
finger.  He was about to stop, when he remembered just WHY he had picked
up that particular habit.  *When I get out of here, I am shaving my
head,* he reminded himself.  "Well, I mean, she's really, she really
thinks manners are important, you know?"  Eugene nodded, a sour
expression showing he'd indeed noticed.  Not like it was hard.  "So, I
mean, you know, just be what she expects you to be."
	"What the hell does that mean?" Eugene grumbled at her.  "Am I
supposed to act like a good little girl or what?"  He shivered at some
implication in his own words that escaped Charlie.
	"Well, yeah, pretty much.  She wouldn't have dressed you up like
that except to make a point.	Something about grace under pressure or
adaptability or something," he lied, and almost applauded himself.
"So," he continued, expanding on the thread he'd started, "she'll
probably want you to act like the good little girl, yeah, if you're
dressed like that."
	"If she thinks this'll work, she is so full of shit it'll be
running out of her ears," Eugene said defiantly.
	*Sure thing, geek boy,* Charlie thought.  *And who's sitting here
looking like they're going to a first grade birthday party?*  "Well," he
said sadly, moving as if he was going to get up, "then I guess you'll be
wearing those things forever.  If she lets you stay at all, that is."
	"Wait!" Eugene said urgently, and Charlie had to bite his lip to
keep from laughing at the sound of panic in the dork's voice.  "But, I
mean, what do I DOOOOoo?" he moaned.
     *Hooked, filleted, and fryin' in the pan,* Charlie thought with a
grin that he couldn't let show.  He rose to his feet and with a 
conspiratorial whisper said, "Let me show you a few tricks to get a head
start on her.  It'll keep _her_ a little off balance for once."

	Tucker thought that he wasn't doing too badly, all things
considered.  The last thing in the world he wanted was for this girl, or
anyone else here for that matter, to figure out what he'd been doing
around Debbie, as it were, so he let Charlene explain things to him that
he already knew.  She'd confirmed that Jane was expecting him to wrinkle
his clothes and punish him for it, for one thing.  That definitely made
Tucker grin.  Charlene asked him to walk for her, so he did, doing it as
clumsily as he could manage so she could "correct" him.
	"Not too bad," she said, pissing him off, but she added, "the only
problem is, you're gonna bundle your pettis like that."
	"I'm gonna what?"
	"Well, see, they get tangled up if you walk like that."  *I don't
PLAN to walk like this, you stupid slitch,* he thought angrily, *I'm
doing this for your benefit!*  "So what you have to do is walk like
this."  She demonstrated a sashay that would have done a model proud.
Tucker stared at her as she walked down the hall, and just barely
managed to get the leer of appreciation off his face as she turned
around.  "See, you try it," she said.
	Tuck didn't have to fake being awkward with this gait.  Debbie and
the rest had taught him something approaching normalcy, something he
could maintain indefinitely, instead of this over-exaggerated version.
Still, it worked like she said.
	"Oh, and never try to do it by hand, or you'll really mess things
up, okay?"  Tucker nodded, still trying to concentrate on walking like
she had.
	When she finally nodded approval, he stopped and sighed.  "Do I
have to walk like that ALL the time?  You don't," he observed.
	"Well, no," she admitted after a pause, "but when Jane's watching,
or as long as you're wearing those things, you sort of have to."
	Tucker sighed.  "Great."

	Finally deciding that things had proceeded as far as they ought to
tonight, Jane unplugged the earphones from the concealed microphone out
in the hall and stood up, stretching.  She placed the 'phones into a
drawer and went to the door.
	*Charlene is doing much better tonight than I had anticipated,
given her performance earlier,* she thought.  *I suppose that 'talk' I
had with her did some good, at last.*  Jane had made it perfectly clear
to the reluctant Charlene exactly what would be required of her in the
days ahead, and reminded her that she, too, had to satisfy Jane before
she would be released.
	When she opened the door, Eugene was sitting on the bench in almost
perfect feminine repose.  *A quick study,* she thought.  *Perhaps this
will be easier than I had feared.*  "Eugene, come in, please."
	The boy did exactly what Charlene had coached him to, even getting
the hip wiggle that was so difficult to teach them.  Jane sat down,
inwardly pleased at how fast he was picking it all up, and modifying her
plans to include his rapid learning.
	Eugene stopped at the desk, and stood there, hands clasped behind
his back like she'd taught all her young men to do.  "VERY good," she
said, and was gratified to see a smile appear on Tuck's face.  *Skinner
was more correct than he wanted to imagine,* she thought.  "I'm very
pleased with your performance just now, and earlier.  It seems almost as
though you've been coached."  She ignored the guilty look that flashed
quickly across his face, knowing exactly from whence it came.

	*Shit!* Tucker thought.	*'M gonna have to work on that.*  He
sighed inside, trying to imagine how to balance pleasing Jane versus
looking suspiciously adept.  *Do I take whatever sick punishments this
psycho can think up, or do it too well and make her suspicious?	That IS
the question...*
	Jane went on and on, bringing up his past sins at lunch and
elsewhere, making oblique references which Tucker didn't even want to
pursue.  Finally, she got through listening to herself talk and told
Tucker to go wait in the dining room for dinner.

	Charlie informed Eugene when he came in that he was expected to
wait, standing, behind his chair until Jane came in and sat down.
Eugene sighed, but stood there waiting.  *This ought to be easy,* he
thought to himself.

     Jane finally finished the excellent repast with a slice of peach
pie, which was appreciated by everyone.
     Marie had elected to end the luncheon with an excellent peach pie,
a treat which none of them refused.  After Jane finished the last bite,
she wiped her lips and said, "Well."
     Eugene dropped his fork in startlement, then gave her a guilty
look.  *Oh, priceless,* she thought to herself.  *And where is your
arrogance now?*

	Tucker said good night to Charlene, as Jane had told him to, and
went upstairs, hoping against hope that Marie would let him out of the
damned corset so he could sleep.  Or something.  It was a sure bet that
he couldn't a) get out of it himself and b) put it back on again by
morning.	He'd never have gotten out of Debbie's corset without help,
and he had a feeling it was simpler than this one.
	When he got to his room, Marie was already there.  She told him to
undress, and corrected him sharply as he began to skin out of the
clothes as fast as he could.	She made him hang everything up, and had
to help him out of the petticoats.
	He breathed a definite sigh of relief as the laces were loosened
on the corset, and he took his first deep breath in what seemed like
several days.	*I hate corsets,* he decided, as the fresh air did him
ill and he had to stop and cough for a while.
	When he got finished hacking up lung tissue, Marie handed him a
nightgown that - no coincidence, he was sure - matched the outfit he'd
been wearing earlier, except it was in a much softer satin, and told him
to go into the bathroom and put it on, along with a bra in the same
color.
	*Where do they get all this stuff in the same colors?* he wondered
as he closed the door and checked to make sure the ATM card in its
plastic envelope was still secure.  It was.	He slid the bra on, then
slipped the gown over his head.  A glance in the mirror showed him that
he looked, not surprisingly, just like he had the last time he'd slept
over at Debbie's.  He sighed.

	Marie wondered, as she painted his fingernails in a delicate pink,
what Jane and Charlene had done to him to reduce him from the
overconfident young turk he'd been originally to the weary, sad little
child he seemed now.  He didn't even argue as she pulled his other hand
out of the soak and dried it off.	*Jane must have found his lever,* she
thought.

	Tucker was so busy thinking about Debbie and the distance between
them that he only noticed the curlers when Marie started wrapping the
first one into his hair.  "Hey," he complained, "haven't you ever heard
of a curling iron?"
	In a slight French accent, Marie replied, "Jane wants your hair to
be curled overnight, so that it will last longer."
	Tucker sighed.  *Is there no end?*

	Charlene gasped.  "What do you mean, 'decent'?!" she protested
vehemently.  "It was fantastic!  I had him eating out of the palm of my
hand!"
	"While I admit," Jane replied, a note of iron in her voice, "that
you did a sterling job, it was not under any circumstances perfect.  Why
didn't you get him to tell you just what he had been sent here to
avoid?"
	Charlene sputtered for a moment.  "He wouldn't tell me!  He dodged
around it like we were playing tag!  Didn't you hear what he said, about
doing so much that he didn't know what it was?"
	"Oh, please," Jane sighed, "he knows exactly what he did, or what
he was charged with at the very least.	You should have been able to get
him to tell you what it was."

	Tucker stared at himself in the mirror.  *Where's the camera,* he
thought slowly.  *If this isn't a sitcom picture of 'girl going to bed,'
I dunno what is.*
	If that wasn't bad enough, his nipples hurt.
	And if THAT wasn't bad enough, Jane came in right about then, too.
She smiled at Tucker, who forced a smile back.
	"All ready for bed, I see.  Well, I want you to get a good night's
rest, for we have a full agenda tomorrow."  *What next, floggings?*  She
put her hand on his shoulder and caressed him through the nightgown, a
move which irritated him no end.  "Normally, you would remove your
makeup before going to sleep, but I want you to be very aware of it as
you lay there tonight.  Keep a mental image of that softly painted face
you see..."
	*Right,* Tucker thought angrily, *not too damned hard with these
fucking curlers poking me in the head all night long.*  He longed to
jump Jane and smack her with a chair, but gripped his fury and held it,
promising it later, later....

	Sensing the tension in his body, Jane removed her hand, but
continued speaking in that quiet, sensual voice.	"That's to be you for
the future, Eugene.  Sweet, feminine, pretty little you."  She watched
the blush of embarrassment war with the white of anger, the deep pink
tinge finally winning out.
	"In fact," she said, walking to the makeup table and picking up a
lipstick tube, "Let's see you how well you have learned to put this on
tonight."

	Tucker was seriously honked off at this point.  Usually, getting
all this shit done to him was at least a prelude to sex.  Now, he had
some old crazy psychotic fondling him and mouthing sweet nothings in his
ear while his girlfriend languished far far away, and now she wanted to
embarrass him right before he went to sleep.  Right.  Not.
	Harnessing his fury, he ever-so-gently picked the lipstick out of
Jane's hand, and walked as slowly and as gracefully over to the makeup
table as he could.
	Then, in one smooth practiced motion, he applied another coat,
better than Debbie could do.	*Eat that, bitch,* he snarled to himself
in the mirror.  The red of the lipstick contrasted quite nicely with his
bared white teeth.
	Ignoring him, Jane said offhandedly, "You're making some progress.
In a while you may even become proficient.  Indeed, we'll spend a lot of
time tomorrow learning how we make ourselves pretty."
	*I WILL EAT YOU!* screamed a part of his mind in defiance.	Another
part realized that it would take a lot of boiling to make a stringy
corpse like hers edible and tender, and the rest of him almost laughed
at the thought of boiling Jane in a pot to make broth.

	Jane was a bit disturbed at the smile that replaced the look of
fury in the mirror, but nevertheless turned him around to add some blush
to his face.  He stood there passively as she said,  "Mind you, there
will always be times when you are submitted to Marie's governance and
mine.  Part of your training is to feel the distress at being subdued by
a woman's hand, feminizing and softening that rough exterior, making you
appreciate the importance of having that coarse masculinity of yours
suppressed under the guidance of a gentlewoman."

	*Kiss my girlfriend's steel,* Eugene thought to himself, and smiled
at the image of a Xena-like Debbie riding to his rescue and lopping off
Jane's head with an axe.
	"That is your fate for the time being," Jane said, finally deciding
that she'd added enough.  Tucker knew that it was way too much and he
looked like a clown, which didn't improve his attitude any.  *You'd
think this lunatic would at least know what looks decent,* he complained
silently.
	Jane went on, "To be an adorable," he winced, "winsome," his
eyebrows flickered at that as he tried to remember what 'winsome' meant,
"little boy in skirts."
	*Not the first time, lady,* he thought.
	"I shall see you in the dining room for breakfast at eight thirty
sharp.  Is that understood?"
	"Yes ma'am," he replied as neutrally as he could manage.
	"Well, then, I think it is time for your last look at yourself
before you get into bed for the night."  She turned him around, and
gently guided him to the full length mirror on the closet door.	*Too
much blush,* he said to himself as he stared.  *Idiot.*
	"Now, keep that face in mind, little one, as you sleep tonight,"
she cooed at him as she pushed him towards the bed and waited for him to
get under the covers.  He slid in, and she actually tucked him in like
he was a child, including placing the rabbit in his hands.

	Jane cherished the sight of the little boy, dolled up and in
curlers, clutching the stuffed rabbit and glaring at her just like a
rebellious little girl-child, as she turned off the light and closed the
door.
	But, she didn't forget to lock it.

	As the door shut to his room, Tucker sighed.  *Yeah, right, sleep.
I got things to do....*	And first on the agenda was waiting for
everything in the house to settle down.  No, first on the agenda was
pulling off this damned nightgown.  He waited for a count of five
hundred, then jettisoned the rabbit and pulled the nightgown over his
head, making sure not to smear makeup all over it.  Gently easing out of
bed, he reached underneath and found his laptop where he'd left it.
"Thank all the gods," he whispered as he pulled his laptop out and began
decoding and investigating his mail.
	Two hours later, and feeling good that he'd gotten so many messages
of support at the last stop, he sighed, checked the clock, and decided
it was time to increase his options.  Since he couldn't do much locked
up in the room, it was time to make a key.
	He got up and padded slowly to the chest of drawers, carefully
avoiding the creaks and groans of the old wood floors.  Kneeling down,
he slid out the lowest drawer and laid it gently on the floor.  Fishing
around in the space, he confirmed that no one had found the hiding spot,
and got out his mini-Maglite and the keymaking supplies.
	It was an old technique, gotten out of a Great Brain book he'd read
when he was younger, but it was just the thing for these sort of old
locks.  All they had were the wards, so it was just a matter of finding
the wards and getting something strong enough to move the lock
mechanism.  Luckily, it seemed well-oiled and maintained.
	Pulling out a key blank, he rubbed some black crayon on the shiny
surface, then got up and stuck it in the lock and turned.  Not
surprisingly, it hung up.  Tucker worked it back and forth, then pulled
the key out and checked it with the flashlight.  There were a couple of
shiny spots where the crayon had rubbed off.  Tucker set to work filing
the blank down at those points.
	Twenty minutes later, he rubbed some more crayon on the blank, wand
went to try it again.  No luck.  He checked the key, and found where he
would have to file some more.  "I hate this," he whispered to himself as
he sat back on the floor.

	At six in the morning, the Vivarin were no longer working, his eyes
felt like someone had poured acid in them, his fingers and hands and
arms and shoulders and neck all hurt, his head ITCHED under the damned
curlers, and he had a working key.  He gently turned the doorknob and
eased the door open, and listened.  Nothing.
	He closed the door and debated what to do.
	Finally, he decided that he was too damned tired to do anything
else safely that night, and that some sleep would be in order.  So he
re-locked the door quietly, carefully placed the metal filings into the
toilet, then urinated on them, and went back and concealed everything in
the chest of drawers again, including the freshly made key, before he
returned to the bathroom and flushed the toilet.	And the evidence.
	He was easing under the covers, already half asleep, when he
realized that Jane would probably expect to see him in the nightgown
that morning.	"Damnit," he moaned, as he slid back out of bed and
fumbled for the darn thing and slid it over his head.
	"D'ruther be with Deb and the Pack at a sleepover if I gotta wear
this shit," he mumbled as his head hit the pillow.

	Tucker was having a surreal time of it at the dance, because
everyone including him was in formal gowns.	Deb looked most spectaular
in hers, of course, and Lisa was pretty darned nifty too, but Debbie
kept asking him nasty questions about Charlene, and he kept trying to
tell her he had no idea who she was, she was just this girl, and all the
time Mike and Kim were in matching gowns and frenching each other, which
made him wonder why Debbie wouldn't just lay the hell off and get down
to something fun, and he also kept trying to dodge Jane, who was going
to make him do something nasty he just knew it, and if that wasn't bad
enough, some cheerleader he didn't recognize grabbed her stomach and
started screaming, and he KNEW what was going to happen, but there was
nothing he could do, she was already dead, and Mike pulled a pistol out
of the cleavage of his gown and started a slow, steady firing, trying to
kill the embryo before it made its way out...
	No, wait, someone was knocking at a door.  Tucker stopped pawing at
his own chest, because there probably wasn't a need for a gun at this
point, and got up to see what was going on.	It took him a couple of
tries before he could find the door, but it was apparently too long,
because Jane came in anyway.	"Din'cha ever hear of knockin'?" Tucker
slurred at her.
	She ignored him.  "Do you know what time it is?"
	Tucker made an effort to find his arm, finally locating it at just
past his shoulder, but gave up when he dimly realized there was no watch
on it.  "No," he finally admitted, staring at her until she remained in
focus.
	"It is TIME for breakfast, my sweet young miss, and I expect you to
be there momentarily!  Is that understood?"
	Tucker thought it over, decided that it made sense, and nodded.
The head motion threw him off balance, and he stumbled for a bit before
regaining his equilibrium.  He thought it would be politic to add, "Yes
ma'am," which almost came out clearly.

	Jane sat back down at the table, fuming.  *There wasn't anything in
the letters about a drug problem,* she thought, *but he is clearly
intoxicated.*	This annoyed her greatly, because one of her pet peeves
was drug abuse.
	Eugene finally staggered into the dining room, and without pausing
staggered into the kitchen, without so much as a "Good morning."  Jane
got up again, ignoring Charlene's sigh, and followed Eugene into the
kitchen, intending to give him a good lecture and a fright at the same
time.
	When she pushed the door open, she was just in time to see Eugene
clutch his head and howl, "There's no COKES?!  What'm I gonna
DOOOOOOO?!"
	Jane advanced and grabbed the lad by the arm.  "What you are going
to do is sit down and eat breakfast like a civilized person!"
	Eugene stared at her a moment with bloodshot eyes.  Jane noted that
his pupils were neither dilated nor contricted, which seemed to
contraindicate drug use, especially of the barbituate variety.  They
were also severely crusted.
	Finally, Eugene smiled wanly at her, replied, "Yes ma'am, sorry
ma'am," and attempted a curtsy.

	Charlie had forgotten his breakfast, he was so engrossed in
watching Eugene.  He would pour half a cup of cream into a coffee cup,
drop in about five heaping spoons of sugar, stir it, then pour enough
coffee in to fill the cup, then drink it all down at one go.  Then he
would repeat the process.  He'd done it four times already.
	And Charlie would swear that Eugene's eyes were shut.
	"Charlene!" Jane snapped, and he looked over guiltily.

	Tucker was single-mindedly pouring as much caffeine into his system
as he could manage, given that he hated coffee.  It wasn't too bad like
this, though, he thought as he drank his fifth cup.  There was food on
the table, but he knew if he had anything with protein in it, he'd go
into a coma, and it was important to load his stomach with the caffeine
first.
	Of course, the cream had plenty of protein in it...
	While he was considering this, Jane barked something at him just as
he was pouring coffee into dose number six.	It startled him, and he
jerked up.
	Unfortunately, he also let go of the coffeepot at the same time.
	There was a long moment, as the pot fell towards his lap, in which
he woke completely up and even tried to make a grab for the pot before
it cooked his nuts.  But it was no use.
	The pot bounced off one thigh, burning it, and popped open at the
top, leaving a lot of floating coffee in his lap which was almost
instantly soaked up by the nylon he was wearing.	Extremely hot coffee.

	Jane watched helplessly in horror as the pot of hot coffee slipped
out Eugene's hand and fell out of sight towards his lower body.
	There was a frozen moment in which nothing happened.
	Then Eugene ejected himself shrieking from the table, tipping his
chair over, and ripped the gown getting it off even as the coffeepot was
still clanging to a stop on the wooden floor.
	There was another frozen moment in which the boy stood there, eyes
wide and chest heaving, several feet away from the table, clad in
nothing but a bra and panties.
	Then Charlene began to laugh, and Eugene turned around and ran.
Jane could hear his feet pounding on the staircase as she snarled at
Charlene and went to go tend to her injured charge.

	Charlie couldn't help himself.  He'd been as frozen as everyone
else when Eugene dropped the coffeepot in his lap, and he'd even started
to get up to help, though he wasn't sure how, when it had been all over,
and Eugene was just STANDING there, looking completely stupid in girl's
underwear, like he'd just come downstairs and forgot to wear anything.

	Jane chased after Eugene, who showed no signs of slowing down until
he suddenly darted sideways into his room.  By the time Jane had reached
the doorway, she could hear the shower running at full blast.
	Without pausing she went into the bathroom.	"Eugene?" she called
over the sound of running water.  "Are you alright?"
	"Dunno yet," she heard him gasp.  "I, burns, cold water..."
	"Of course," Jane confirmed.  "Just stay in there for ten minutes,
alright?	And then we'll look at it."
	"Yeah... yeah," he panted.  Having satisfied herself that the
little possible was being done for Eugene, she went downstairs to
chastise Charlene.

	Ten minutes later, Tucker was beginning to think that it wasn't so
bad.  Yes, it hurt, and yes, it was red, but it didn't quite have that
searing pain that second-degree burns had.  He was extremely glad.
	He also took the opportunity to scrub the crummy makeup job from
last night off his face, and while he was at it, he figured he might as
well wash the rest of him.  The cold water was COLD, though.

	Charlie hated crying, but it seemed like it was the only thing he
could do.  Jane had his life in her hands, and every time he did
something right, it seemed as though something came along to screw
things up again.  He hadn't MEANT to laugh at the geek's pain, but the
image was just too funny.  He would have apologized, too, all on his
own, but he never even got the chance before Jane completely jumped his
shit.
	Life just sucked, he decided as he clutched his stomach and tried
once again to quiet his tears.

	When Jane came back to Eugene's room, he was still in the shower.
She sat down on the bed to wait.  And worry.  Marie smiled at her in a
futile attempt to reassure her.  "At least he did the right thing,"
Marie said.
	"Thank God for that," Jane admitted.  But not only was this going
to set his training back, it would also probably destroy whatever
fragile trust he had in her at this point.
	Trust was a funny thing that way.	There had been nothing she could
have done to prevent the accident, and she'd been completely ready to
help him as best she could - indeed, they were waiting to see if he
would need further medical treatment when he got out - but it was still
more than likely that he would blame her in some irrational manner for
the accident.	Hell, she was blaming HERSELF in the same irrational way.

	Tucker, meanwhile, was beginning to shiver, and getting extremely
pissed.  *I knew it,* he thought to himself darkly, *that bitch cozied
up to me last night, probably at Jane's orders, but she sure showed her
true colors this morning.  She'd probably laugh herself to death if I
had to go to the hospital for this.*
	One thing was for certain in Tucker's mind.  Charlene was going to
pay for this.	And payback was always, ALWAYS a bitch.
	Speaking of pay...	He un-taped his ATM card from his body, which
felt inordinately good when he scratched the site, and gently taped it
in between the curtain and liner.

	When the water turned off, Marie went in to help Eugene out of the
shower.  After a few moments, she called out, "Jane, he claims the burn
is not too bad, but I would like you to take a look."
	Jane was already there, and lifting up the towel Marie had wrapped
around him.  She had to agree with Eugene's assessment.  The skin was
pink, but no more, and it showed no signs of blistering after fifteen
minutes.
	As she stood up, she realized that Eugene had taken the time to
wash his makeup off, and as she looked at him, she also realized he was
shivering.  "He's gotten chilled," she told Marie, and they hustled him
out of the bathroom.

	Tucker looked around, and decided life wasn't so bad, minus the
accidents.  He'd been lightly bandaged, wrapped in something silk and
then a comforter, and placed out in a chaise lounge by the pool to bask
in the sunlight.  And Marie had even given him two aspirin and a glass
of water.  In fact, life was pretty darn good at this particular moment.
	Naturally, it took about thirty seconds for him to go to sleep once
he'd warmed up.

	Jane was helping Marie with the dishes, for once.  They both needed
the feeling of companionship after the scare.
	"At least he's not blaming us for the burn," Marie mentioned.
	"Yes, true," Jane sighed, "but I'm afraid this is going to set
things back quite a bit."
	Marie shook her head.  "I'm not surprised.  That one is going to be
trouble, this way, I just know it."  She sighed, then added, "Nothing is
going to go quite right around him."
	"Oh, pshaw," Jane scoffed.  "He's just been one of the more unusual
students, and he's had an accident.  He'll fall into line once we learn
more about him."
	"I'm not so sure," Marie disputed softly, but then would say no
more.

	The blare of a power tool woke Tucker up with a start, because he
thought someone was using a hedge trimmer on his hair for a moment.
	As he looked around, leaning on his elbows, a head popped over the
hedge.  "Oh, sorry miss," said the head, which was grey-haired and
tanned, and friendly in a sort of earthy way.  "Din't know you were
there."
	"Uh, that's alright," Tucker said, femininizing his voice almost by
habit.  As the last few hours filtered back into his consciousness, he
rubbed his eyes.
	"Are you the new girl here?" the man asked in a friendly fashion.
Tucker sighed.  In a sense, he was.  But he hated to admit it.
	On the other hand, it wasn't the first time.
	"Yes, I'm Valerie," he said, smiling.  The man came around the
hedge, and the rest of him matched his head, weather-beaten and with the
signs of heavy work on them.	Tucker held out his hand and the man shook
it gently.  His other hand was indeed holding a hedge trimmer.
	"'M Tom, the missus' groundskeeper," he replied.  "Nice to meet
you, miss, an I hate to be disturbing ye, but you might want to go back
inside.  Yer face is gettin' a little pink already."
	"What?"  Tucker felt his face.  Dry, and warm, but not yet tender
to the touch.	Just what he didn't need was a facial sunburn.  "Oh,
jeez, thanks," he said, making sure he was wrapped modestly in the
coverlet before moving gingerly off the lounge.  Tom helped him a little
bit, about what you would expect a nice older guy to do for a young
girl.  It pissed him off, but there was nothing he could do about it
except smile.
	With a last wave from Tom, Tucker re-entered the house.  *Maybe
some more sleep would go well,* he thought, and with that, his feet
turned towards the stairs and the bedroom.
	When he got there, it was only through sheer force of will that he
stayed on his feet long enough to retrieve the ATM card and stick it
back to his body under his panties.  Then he collapsed on the bed and
was almost instantly asleep.

	Jane pinched the bridge of her nose as she looked out the French
doors towards the pool.	No Eugene.
	She went outside to see if she could find some trace of the young
idiot, and heard the sounds of yardwork being done.  She investigated
behind a hedge, and found Tom, working hard as usual.	He stood up when
he saw her.  "Ay, missus," he said, his Maine accent coming out as he
tried to be polite.
	"Good morning, Tom.  I was wondering, have you seen..."  The
eternal dilemna, how to describe one of her charges in the early stages,
hit her again.
	"A young missus sleepin' by the pool?" he grinned.  "Yes, ma'am,
an' I sent her in when her face was gettin' pink."

	Tucker rolled over, and hissed as the burn pressed against the
matress.	Waking up, he looked at the clock.  *Almost noon,* he thought
muzzily, and then his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten in quite
a while.
	He sighed, hating to leave the comfort of the bed, but he was
hungry.  And he might as well pop some Vivarin before going to forage,
too, and that was best done quickly, while he was alone.

	Jane strode down the hallway, relieved to discover that Eugene
hadn't made some kind of foolish run for it, especially while wearing a
silk slip and nothing else.  On the other hand, he wasn't downstairs,
and the thought of him rummaging through her office made her slightly
ill.
	On a whim, she entered his room, and found the quilt they'd wrapped
him up in, but no Eugene.  She sighed, and was about to leave when his
head poked out of the closet.  "I'm not dressed yet," he said.  "Ma'am.
Is lunch almost ready?" he asked hopefully.

	Marie sighed as she closed the door to the sullen Charlene's room.
This was already turning out to be one of THOSE days, and she didn't
think it was going to get any better.
	When she opened the door to Eugene's room, she found him scratching
his back with a hairbrush through the dress he was wearing.  He'd picked
out a plaid jumper, all on his own apparently, and she could see the
trace of a bra underneath.
	When he saw her, he gave her a half smile.  "Come to do the makeup
thing, huh?" he said in a resigned tone.

	Tucker had decided to hell with trying to act like he didn't know
what he was doing.	It was too hard, and he needed his mind for other
things.  Like figuring Jane out.  He'd pegged her for some sort of sick
sadist, without Debbie's restraint (*Hah!* said a voice in his head),
but the way the both of them had acted when he'd burned himself this
morning told him that there was more going on here than just simple
cruelty.	They'd actually acted concerned for him, and he had to admit
he'd overdone the cold water a little bit, but they remedied that too.
	He'd gone to the bathroom while Marie went down to finish lunch.
She'd "suggested" that he add a long-sleeved white blouse and a full
slip to the ensemble, which wasn't too bad.  He liked the feel of the
rayon blouse, and Jane apparently had the cash to afford it, as opposed
to polyester.	Debbie had been more than clear about the difference
between fabrics, and Tucker had come to agree with most of them.  *Too
bad Deb's not here,* he thought as he finished up his business.  *Jane
could probably teach HER a few things about fashion, and God knows she'd
love most of the stuff here.	Although Jane has this preppy fetish that
I don't think would sit too well with Deb all the time.*
	He flushed and got up to check his hair.  The curls surprised him
again, as they had earlier when Marie had removed the curlers.  *I don't
think I like them,* he decided, examining them in the mirror.  *It's too
much.  I look better with straight hair anyway.*
	With a sigh, he exited the bathroom and headed downstairs.	The
enticing odors made his stomach cramp.

	Jane waited in her parlor until she heard the stairs creaking as
Eugene descended.  Charlene was already sullenly waiting in the dining
room.  Jane got up and glided into the dining room.
	Eugene looked lovely, she had to admit.  *And he picked the jumper
out himself.  Odd.	At the very least, the boy has some taste.*	Marie
had done her usual superlative job with his makeup, and it was subtle
and tasteful.
	Charlene, on the other hand, was glaring at Eugene, and looked
anything but subtle.  Jane had directed that Charlene was to be punished
by reverting to the childhood fashions she had planned for Eugene to
wear today.  Charlene, naturally, resented it severely, since she had
thought she was beyond such indignities at this point.  And it was made
all the worse, no doubt, by seeing Eugene in the more mature clothing he
was wearing.

	Tucker stopped when he saw Charlene.  She was wearing a pink party
dress with capped sleeves and an empress hemline, with matching Mary
Janes and a bow around her hair that stood up several inches.
	It was the sort of thing a four-year old would love to wear.
	*Jesus,* thought Tucker in amazement as he stared, *she could pick
up Radio Moscow with that antenna on her head.*
	Glancing back at Charlene's face, and the snarl she displayed, he
decided that mercy was not required at this time.  "Oh, Charlene," he
gibbered, imitating Linda Chassell's best friend Babs-the-cheerleader-
with-no-brains, "you just look so PRECIOUS in that!"
	Charlene came around the table at him, calling him a dead geek, and
Tucker dropped into a defensive position, glad he hadn't worn shoes, and
yelled back, "Eat shit, you stuck-up sadistic Barbie wannabe!"  He was
suddenly furious with her, and anything she wanted to try was just fine
with him.  She paused just out of range, teeth bared and fists balled
up.	"Come on, bitch," he goaded her, and she screamed and lept.  Just
like a Kzinti, he thought as he went down.

	Jane ran to pull the two of them apart, but it was just like a pair
of dogs; a couple of barks and then they were pounding at each other.
Charlene ran over Eugene and tried pounding him in the head, but he
tucked his chin down and proceeded to twist enough that he could ram an
elbow into her face.  She managed to slam a couple of good ones into
Eugene's ribs before Jane could manage a wrist lock and pull Charlene
off.  As she did, Eugene looked up and took a cheap shot, kicking her in
the stomach.  Charlene howled in rage and yanked loose, and they were at
it again.
	Jane sighed.  It was obviously going to be one of those days.

	Marie listened idly from the kitchen as she made sure the food
would stay warm until Jane finished her tirade.  She was in fine form
today, managing to switch from frostily cold to shrieking at the top of
her lungs and covering every range in between while slamming each one's
faults in great and embarrassing detail.

	Jane had finally dismissed Charlene up to her room for an
indefinite period, and had brought Eugene into the parlor, where he sat,
gently cradling his ribs where he'd taken the blows, and occasionally
raising a hand to wipe tears off his face.
	"Eugene," she sighed finally, "what am I going to do with you?
Your mother has been a friend of mine for many years," which was
somewhat of a lie, but not one he could detect.  "Your behaviour has
upset her greatly, and she turned to me as the last resort before
institutional correction.  I am greatly distressed at the thought of
having to give up on you, and so soon, but what else can I do?"  She
swung the chair to the side, apparently musing on his fate.  "What else
can I do?" she repeated after a minute had elapsed with no sound from
Eugene.
	"Um," Eugene said, and she glanced at him without moving her head.
Sometimes, she'd found, pointing her body sideways gave her pupils more
of a chance to think without fear or anger clouding their judgement.
"Ma'am," he added quickly when he saw her eyes shift.  "I, uh, I'm sorry
about that, but I just, I mean..."  He sighed deeply, and stared
downwards.  "I'm sorry, Miz Thompson.  I'd like another chance, please?"
There was just the hint of desperation in his tone, and she smiled
inwardly at it.
	She turned back to face him, noticing how his body stiffened when
she did.	"Well, Eugene," she said gently, "I suppose I am willing to
give it another another chance.  I will allow you to put on a new dress
and clean yourself up.  I will expect you to behave. Your eyes are a
mess.  Go take off that gown and clean your face and come back down
here.  I want to give you some time alone this afternoon to think about
all this.  Now get out of my sight until you look presentable."
	"Yes ma'am," he affirmed, and almost tripped himself exiting her
room.

	Charlie sat on the bed limply, not even caring about the pain Marie
was causing him as she washed the dried blood from around the cut on his
forehead.  All he could think about was whether Jane would let him stay
and finish the program, or whether she would get rid of him that very
day.
	He knew that his temper was the main problem, but Jane just didn't
understand!  How could he just sit there and listen to those kinds of
nasty comments when his gut was twisting in knots and his whole body was
on fire?
	*Because,* the other voice in his head said, *if you don't, your
ass is outta here.	You remember what she said,* and he remembered it
very well indeed, *and if you don't show her you can control your
temper, you're gonna wish you were here when you're getting worked over
by pros in that military school.*	He shuddered.	The military boarding
school that was his parents' next, and last, resort for calming his
temper, would probably kill him, one way or another.  He'd been there;
he'd seen it, and what they did to to the younger students, and what
sort of punishments his parents would agree to.  No, he'd be dead within
a couple of months.  And the one thing that had kept him here so far was
that he really REALLY didn't want to die.

	Tucker sighed as he washed his face off.  He was, he knew, very
lucky indeed that Jane hadn't dumped him after he'd shot off his mouth
at Charlene.  Her temper was unexpected, but not abnormal.	He'd taken
similar shots at his sister for years, and paid similar prices.	The
stakes were higher now, though.  He'd have to remember that.  He'd HAVE
to.

	Marie hauled the damaged clothing back into the "utility" room that
held all the odd bits and pieces for the household.  These particular
items went into the bag that would be delivered to the local seamstress
for repair, the next time she went into town on errands.
	She sighed, and stretched out her back.  It was definitely going to
be one of those days.  She checked her watch, and frowned as she saw
exactly how much longer the day was going to last.

	Jane returned to Eugene's room about the time she expected him to
be finished changing.  When she opened the door, she found he was indeed
finished changing, in a manner of speaking, for he had changed into a
short nightgown, from what she could see, before he wrapped himself in
the quilt again and collapsed on the bed.
	"Eugene," she called.  He just lay there.
	"EUGENE!" she called, perhaps a bit more emphatically than was
necessary, because he gasped and rolled sideways off the far side of the
bed.  "Eugene?"
	She heard the sounds of someone struggling with covers, and a
final, gasped, "Bugger!" before his head appeared again over the edge of
the mattress.	"Uh, yes ma'am?" he rattled off, still appearing dazed.
At least he was wearing a nightgown.
	Jane tried not to sigh.	"Eugene, collect yourself, put on a robe,
and come downstairs immediately.  I have some things I need to tell you
about the program here."  It was time to get him back on track.

	Tucker struggled downstairs, wrapped in a robe and the nightgown
he'd dug out of the drawers.  He'd even made sure the two matched, since
he figured Jane would be watching for that sort of thing, among others.
	When he got to the parlor, the door was closed.  He knocked gently
on it, but his luck was out because she was in and she told him to come
in and shut the door.  He sighed as he turned the handle.
	When he was wrapped up in the chair in front of her desk, she
looked up from the ever-present paperwork and removed her glasses.  *Oh,
boy, here it comes,* he thought, trying not to wince.
	"Well, Eugene," she started off, "we have already 'discussed' your
shameful performance at lunch," which was more like she'd gotten
tired of yelling at the both of them, "and so I do not feel it necessary
to go over it again," *Amen!* "except-" *I knew it* "-to remind you that
I will not tolerate that sort of behaviour from you again.	Is that
understood?"
	"But she-"
	She rode over his protest.  "IS that understood?"
	Tucker sighed.  *Hard-ass.*  "Yes ma'am."
	"Good."  She stood up and walked around the desk, to perch on the
edge of it, facing him.	"Now, I know I told you last night to leave
your makeup on, but that was a special case.  Did you see what you
looked like when you woke up?"  He shook his head.  "That's too bad,
because it was truly a mess.	From now on, you are to remove all your
makeup before you go to bed."  Tucker had no problems with that.  "On
the other hand, I also expect to see all my boys and girls with at least
a touch of color in the morning.  Therefore, you will add some after
your morning ablutions."  Tucker was glad he read fantasy novels, or he
would never have understood what that last word meant.  "Do you
understand?" she finally asked him solemnly.
	"Yes ma'am."  *Barely.  Have you ever considered speaking normal
English?*
	"You are also to be awake and ready for breakfast, and that means
dressed and bathed and so forth, when I tell you.  I am not your
mother," *No kidding,* "to wake you up in the morning.  I expect you to
be prompt to breakfast as well as everywhere else I direct you.	Is that
understood?"
	"Yes ma'am."  Tucker tried not to sigh.
	She sighed, and got back up to go sit in the chair behind the desk.
"Now," she began more emphatically, "we come to this afternoon."  Tucker
had to agree with her, since that was almost always what happened after
lunch.  Not that he'd had any.
	"As you must be aware by now," *Not bloody likely, with four hours
of sleep in the last two days.*  He was barely moving, much less aware.
"This entire process is designed to subject you to alien and
unconventional lessons, to inhibit what I have perceived to be a
recalcitrant attitude."  *A what?* he asked himself. *She means you're
being a shit,* he told himself.
	"It is," she continued, "part of the English method I told you
about earlier.  But there is more to it than that."  *There always is,
in English.  God I hate English.*
	"My experience," she continued "and this is the true essence of
the 'English method'," she said parenthetically, "is that boys subjected
to the regimen of petticoat discipline gain an insight into the feminine
side of themselves, and of the world around them.  I personally think
that this is a valuable insight, for this world is filled with men who
are totally insensitive to feminine things and disdainful of the
elevated role of woman.	So that is another component of your training."
	Tucker tried not to let his mouth fall open.  *That's, that CAN'T
be it!*  But a wild feeling of glee was building in him anyway.
	"But enough of that," Jane said dismissively.  "Think of it as just
another bonus to your education.  We shall talk again throughout the
coming days about what it takes to be like a young girl of your age."
	Tucker was of the opinion he had a pretty damn good idea, having
been one for a couple of days at a time, and hanging around a whole pack
of them the rest of the time.  In his opinion, it just didn't get any
more authentic than bitching about guys while checking makeup in a
girl's bathroom.
	Jane interrupted his thoughts with, "So we come to this afternoon's
program.	When girls are young, they spend hours practicing with clothes
and with makeup."  *Hmm, some of the ones I know must've flunked that
part of childhood.	Like Jill.*  "Now, while I don't expect you to
display that same enthusiasm for the activity..."  An image of Jill
screaming in horror at her birthday present popped up in his mind.  *I
wonder what planet this woman is from?* he wondered.  "It is a skill
that I believe to be important to your development.  So this afternoon
you are going to practice getting yourself dolled up and darling and
precious."
	Jane began speaking faster, and with a bit more emphasis, like
teachers et cetera usually did when they were getting ready to get rid
of you.  "Marie is now laying out your first ensemble.  She will attend
to your hair, which, I will warn you, is apt to be quite curly this
first time."  *Oh, you'd noticed?  Dork.*  "She will also guide you
through this first session.  She is going to supervise your training
this morning and I am going to appraise your progress.  I think the
first phase will take about an hour.  Pay close attention to what Marie
shows you, for it will be important to you later.  After she has done
with you - and you will be doing a good bit of it yourself - you will
come back here for my inspection.	Looking lovely and proper, I
presume."  *I guess that lets out the punk look, huh?*  "Is that clear?"
	"Yes ma'am."  *Heil, mein Fuhrer!*
	"Now, by my reckoning, it should take someone about half an hour to
get dressed and made-up."  *As long as I don't have to shower,* Tucker
calculated.  "So after I have inspected you, you will return to your
room and do it all over again.  It may be a whole change of costume, or
merely a correction of some shortcoming I discover.  But in each case,
you will cleanse away all traces of the makeup you have on and redo it
from scratch.	New colors, new cosmetics... whatever Marie decides.  Is
that also clear?"
	"Yes, ma'am."  *Does this sound familiar or what?  She must've been
reading the same books I was before I got here.*	His dad had collected
a whole bunch of books on military life when he was a teenager, fearing
the draft about as much as Tucker himself did.  And Tucker had made the
obvious connection and read as much of them as he could.  This sounded
like a standard tactic; running the recruit ragged with inspections,
which would (Jane would hope) lower his resistance and make uniform
skills almost subconscious.
	Of course, if you knew what was going on, and furthermore had some
practice in those very skills before you went in - the reason Tucker's
father had learned to shine his shoes and make his bed, or so he claimed
when he was telling stories - then it was that much easier.
	And, hell, it had to be easier than changing in a car in the dark.
	Jane glanced at the clock, as did Tucker.  One o'clock.  She said,
"We will be having tea at four.  That should give you enough time for at
least five practice sessions."  *Shit.*  "Perhaps you will be developing
a little art and proficiency by the evening."  *Oooh, yeah, honey, just
you wait and see how fast this boy picks this stuff up.  Bitch.*  "Now,
if you are late, or if you are not properly put together each time, you
will be punished.  I believe this exercise to be a very meaningful part
of your education.	Unless I see some cooperation and progress by four,
you may be repeating the lessons well into the night."
	That clinched matters as far as Tucker was concerned.	He needed
sleep, and he knew he was going to start making mistakes - possibly
serious ones - the more tired he got.  So if he wanted to get some sleep
tonight, then he HAD to 'get' good enough to satisfy Jane by four.
	*No problem,* he lied to himself, surreptitiously wiping his sweaty
hands on the robe.
 
Copyright 1997-1999 Ellen Hayes, all rights reserved