Studio of Dreams

Studio of Dreams Part III

by josie

Synopsis:

It has been a remarkable period of change for both Simon, and Leonora. Simon has come to embrace the illusion of his feminitiy, and Leonora is no longer the tired and worn ballet mistress she once appeared. She has become a formidable force capable of shaping the course of events to her will. Indeed, everyone has undergone a re-creation to fit the role that is theirs to play - but not Wilhelmina. She continues to live with too many unanswered questions about herself to know what is meant to be. Still, she believes fate has brought her to this moment for a reason, and is determined to stay at her post until she finds the answers which, till now, have eluded her.

Chapter IX Dream Revisited

After that day of reconciliation between mother and son, it became impossible to ignore the inspiration in Simon's dance. Unencumbered by all the burdens his secret life had come to imply, Simon was now free to indulge his art and Simone free to blossom. He felt a comfort in no longer having to keep his achievements secret from his mother, and pride in himself. Clearly his new circumstance inspired him, but it was the joy she saw on his face that awakened in her memories of a childhood dream, still unfulfilled. She remembered her time spent at Dame Dupre's Conservatory, and how she had wanted to create and perform the great opus of her youthful dreams.

All that she once chose to forget now came back to her as she remembered the disillusionment in her failing, and all the anguish that followed. Of course, she was much younger then and a lot had transpired between then and now. Her years of prowling the streets had taught her a lot about life. Indeed, the Warlords and the Banshees, Simon and the studio had even taught her a lot about herself. Clearly much had changed, but her longing to create and perform her opus had not. Like some grand mountain peak she had yet to scale, it was still there for her to do. She still didn't know whether the craggy cliffs of that mountain where scaleable, but she could no longer deny herself the opportunity to try, nor deny her longing to embark upon her creative journey once again. This time, however, she was determined not to let her dream of her opus elude her as it had years before.

After the studio closed for the day and Leonora went off to visit Eunice, Wilhelmina secretly slipped back into the studio. She sat on the floor where, lit only by the flicker of candlelight in the darkness she wrote and rewrote the movements and danced the progressions until the early hours. Unannounced to all, she worked for weeks on what she knew was at hand, and until her vision of "Rumble Street" neared completion.

Wilhelmina found the creation of her life's opus more of an exercise in self-examination than anything else. It was a turbulent vortex around which the gusts of her disordered emotions raged. This journey of self-discovery took her well beyond what she had achieved long ago at Dame Dupre's Conservatory. Though just as before, Wilhelmina's effort again ended without the thread needed to stitch all the pieces together. Only now she understood in her heart that she was closer to finding that unifying thread than ever before. Just as she knew that without it her opus, like her life, would forever be incomplete.

Thus armed, and with the confidence that her epiphany had rekindled, Wilhelmina blew out the solitary candle for the final time. She left the studio not knowing how the performance of her life would unfold. She didn't even know whether Simon, Simone or Leonora would have a role to play in the final casting. She left only believing that there was a reason fate had brought her to this studio and, with fate as her guide, she would abandon herself to the foreordained to find what had until now eluded her.

A week after Simon's award-winning performance as Princess Aurora, Leonora was again walking. As fate would have it, the first storm of the season also swept in that day. The imposing northeasterly darkened the sky with a thick overcast, bringing a bittersweet end to summer and an end to Leonora's infirmity.

Out of that Leonora appeared without the aid of her wheelchair. She looked as imposing as the weather that accompanied her as she walked in wearing her all consuming, floor-length gown that buried everything in her wake beneath a sea of black velvet. She fanned out her arms to embrace all in her devoted flock as they rushed to gather round in gay excitement Simon was there too, clinging to her skirt and so happy to see Leonora walking again that a trail of blue eye shadow ran down his cheek, making a muss of his rouge.

Wilhelmina watched her as she went about like some pompous queen, stooping to bless each lil'princess with a reassuring kiss on the cheek before coming around to Simon. After drying his tears with a Kleenex, she turned him about to face Wilhelmina. She stooped down behind him and placed her chin upon his shoulder so that together they looked her way. Simon looked disconcerted, and Leonora smiled - her grin subverted by the presence of her hands, brought around from behind to cup his boyish breasts in mocking jest.

There was a new sense of brashness in her demeanor as she palmed the gathered flesh on his chest, and teased him until he was flush. It was a brazen act, and far more than what she needed to see. To Wilhelmina it was proof enough that a healthy Leonora was going to be more of a problem for Simon than the one limited in range by two wheels. After all, it was like her to carry everything to the extreme, and if Wilhelmina wondered how Leonora could possibly behave worse, she had only to wait until the next morning to find out.

For our new Miss Simone, the instant success and the recognition of her achievement began to open the doors of opportunity quite rapidly. In truth, Miss Simone was inundated with invitations for every kind of appearance. Along with the invitations they sent flowers to beg for her attentions, causing the little studio to become an array of bouquets, and overrun by the smell of them. Wilhelmina might have thought it amusing if not so consumed by her work to consider the vision of Miss Simone "en costume" among the floral tributes. However, it was impossible to escape Leonora's satirical antics which, in full bloom, were as colorful as the flowers. Especially when Leonora presented him with yet another bouquet of long stemmed roses to lovingly cradle in his arms, and the all-girl troupe gathered round to hear the accompanying invitation read.

"Hmmmm, don't they smell lovely, Simone? Smell!"

"Such a fragrant perfume! I think the rose-pink so suits your complexion!"

"They're from the 8th Ave. Ladies Auxiliary, and they'd appreciate the pleasure of Miss Simone's appearance."

"What have you to say to that, Miss Simone?"

Of course, Wilhelmina saw this as just another example of Leonora's outlandishness that had increased tenfold since Simon acquired his new persona. The truth be known, it seemed to be growing worse now that she was no longer confined to her wheelchair. Why she felt she needed to be so snide and condescending still made no sense to her, but then nothing much in Leonora's upside-down world did. About the only thing Wilhelmina could say about such foolishness was that Leonora dispensed it with equal indifference to gender, or circumstance. In truth, none of the "flowers" in her studio "garden" were immune to her verbal barbs.

"Dawn! Come child. Let me have a look! Goodness, the hair on your upper lip gets coarser after each shave."

"I'm sorry, Madam. Mama says it's in my genes."

"My goodness! Then if there is nothing to be done about it, perhaps there are to be some manly trousers and boxer shorts to accompany that handsome, full mustache in your future. Tell me, my pretty little gent. Think you'll find standing up before the toilet a more attractive proposition?"

From Wilhelmina's perspective, these verbal assaults seemed innocuous when directed at the girls. However, when directed at Simon it sounded altogether different. It was as though her intent was to shame him. Besides, what was the need to make a public mockery of Simon if not to shame him? Even worse, Leonora went about the undertaking with such zeal that it was beginning to incite her sense of fair play.

"Tell me, Miss Simone. What kind of lipstick are you wearing?"

"Promises," uttered Simon. His eyes searching for some relief from her gaze.

"And the advertising slogan, Miss Simone. Tell me again, my sweet. How does it go?"

"He'll find your lips irresistibly kissable," Simon whispered, looking away.

"Ahhh! Perhaps something you look forward to, Miss Simone?"

Wilhelmina felt justified in her anger. It was one thing for Leonora to want to subdue his boyish penchant, but quite another to mock him. There could be no excusing Leonora's behavior. It was shameful, but when she tried to speak to her about it, Leonora would hear none of it. She was quick to respond, not caring who in the studio heard as she began lecturing her on the importance of being honest.

"Leonora! Why is it necessary to shame him when a few words of phrase and encouragement will do?"

"Shame, you say?" Leonora responded quite pointedly. "Well, if it is shame you feel, only you can speak to that. I mean, isn't shame something you feel when trying to hide behind a lie you want to protect?"

The room fell silent, as did a startled Wilhelmina. Clearly the blasting was meant to arouse her fear - and it did. She feared the moment of truth had finally come, and awaited the angry tirade coming next. She could already hear Leonora bitterly lashing out, calling her a lying low-life thug who nearly killed an innocent girl doing no wrong to her. Then worse, an untrustworthy bitch who was destined to hurt one of them if not immediately tossed out into the street where she belonged. She was in near tears, sure that the axe was about to fall - but it didn't.

"Nothing personal, my dear. I was just saying that one must be honest before others can put trust in what you have to say. Being open and honest breeds recognition and acceptance, not shame!"

"I'm afraid you are mistaken on what you see, Wilhelmina. That isn't shame you see on their faces. It's the humility that comes with accepting the truth, knowing they can trust what I've to say. Ours is a relationship based on that kind of honesty, not lies and deceit."

"Might that be something you know little about, my dear?"

Leonora's words quieted her. She was happy no worse had come of it, but also felt the burden of the principles she was now powerless to defend. She felt conflicted by the two opposing emotions and didn't like the feeling one little bit. Then too, she wanted to stay and, pursuing any of this a moment more might well have consequences she wasn't prepared to accept.

Besides, she rationalized, if Simon didn't complain about the way she treated him, nor act like a boy in duress, what harm was being done? If anything, it seemed to make him even more acquiescent and modest. As that was all that truly mattered, she left Leonora to her affairs, allowing her to deal with Simon as she would. She had her hands full just teaching the new movements befitting the new Miss Simone, and determined to have him dance them to perfection - just as she had promised.

It was left for Wilhelmina to decide which public invitations Miss Simone would accept and which she'd graciously refuse. These were complex issues that she would never think to take on without first consulting her mother. She had only the best of reasons to trust Katherine's judgment, so it made sense that she would listen as Katherine trimmed the list down to three, then two, then to the one Katherine unwaveringly proclaimed as the sure winner.

"You remember Cecilia . . . Cecilia Wright? My understudy at the Met? Well, she's now the Artistic Director at Ballet des Jeunes!"

Wilhelmina didn't bother asking why Katherine preferred a Prima Ballerina appearance at the Ballet des Jeunes over any other. Nor did she question her mother when she followed with a word about an obscure solo variation to "The Firebird," Act II, which Cecilia Wright herself had written.

"I know many aren't familiar with the movement. It's seldom taught, and I'm sure that if done as a commemorative it would be well received by the audience . . . not to mention Cecilia."

The suggestion appealed to Wilhelmina and in a matter of days she arranged the choreography and began to teach Simon the movements. It was a delightful mix of classical and contemporary that heightened the brightness of detail and variety of textures to his dance. A quick learner, she wholly expected that he would come to master the "obscure variation" in the piece. She was equally certain that he would approach the long hours of rehearsal with equal gravity, always with the warmest of smiles for an appreciative Wilhelmina.

Even so, the complexity of the series of Grande Jetes and landed jumps in 5th position would require time. It was Wilhelmina's fear that it might require more time for rehearsal then available to either of them. Try as she might, the days never seemed long enough for all that remained to be done.

An added hardship for Simon was the strain that the increased demands upon his time were having on his public schooling. The truth was, he was miserable at school. It was becoming increasing difficult to keep up with his 12th grade studies and his looks were making it impossible to escape the scorn of his peers. Unlike Wilhelmina, who could fight back in defense of herself, Simon could not. Likewise, his efforts to remain anonymous fared poorly at best. For Simon, going to school in his boy clothes, with his brows, nails and hair adroitly sculptured was akin to playing a part in a play. In truth, it was an artificial role that just didn't fit.

Of course the problem did not escape Leonora. She had always known that Simon's continued contact with the outside world would put him in increasingly more conflict. Because he was so different, and because he had to pretend in his boy clothes world to be something he wasn't, was nothing less than a danger to him. So she made the case that it would best serve both Wilhelmina and Simon's interests if they were taught to pass the graduation Regent's Exam in private study.

Leonora felt certain that Hoover High would be happy to rid themselves of both of them; especially Simon, whose very presence taxed the school's security systems to the max. It would also lighten Wilhelmina's burden of having to continually watch over and protect him. Obviously it was the right thing to do, and the tutor she had in mind would provide adequate time for their dance. Of course, financially this was out of the question for Eunice who could scarcely make ends meet as it was. Mindful of this Katherine agreed to pay both tuition's so their education could begin immediately under the guidance of Gertrude Simms - a retired teacher living on her meager pension in a flat above Leonora's studio.

Thus, in a matter of days Leonora had won the privacy she sought. Simon won relief from his problems at school and Wilhelmina won the time needed in her work with Simon. Then to the gratitude of all, both received private instruction three hours per day upstairs in Gertrude's apartment, before a long day of dance on the floor below.

Chapter X Simone

The advancing Autumn chill swept in as swiftly as did the passing of that implausible summer of change. To be sure, it had been a season of unparalleled accomplishment in Simon's dance. Wilhelmina seemed pleased that he had taken so nicely to the Firebird variations in such short order. In fact, in all her years on the dance floor she had never seen anything like the commitment Simon had made that summer to perfect his craft. That said, it was also the summer that had brought on many other changes in Simon's life, and Wilhelmina remained uncertain if any were for the better.

She had seen Leonora's personal influence over Eunice grow in direct proportion to the number of their nightly visitations. That they had become the best of friends, there could be no doubt. Even so, she was at a loss to explain how Eunice's demeanor seemed to grow even more acquiescent as Leonora's grew bolder. After all, Eunice was a steadfast, opinionated woman. How could she suddenly come to have no voice of her own regarding the management of her son, her words only echoing those of Leonora?

Leonora had privately reassured Wilhelmina that the nightly visits were not intrusive, that they were just to share a cup of tea and provide friendly advice when needed. To Wilhelmina, however, there seemed more to her visits. Eunice's sudden conformity of opinion toward Simon's "proper hygiene and grooming" certainly didn't ease her suspicions, nor did the fact that Eunice slowly began to resign more authority to what she called Leonora's, "better judgment."

She had unsettled feelings about Leonora and Eunice's burgeoning alliance. It had always been the case that Eunice's sobriety acted as a counter to Leonora's eccentricity. Now, with both women in full collaboration she wondered what might await Simon from an unbridled Leonora, and who, if anyone, would now speak for Simon? Surely not Wilhelmina. After all, only Simon had the power to speak out against his mother.

For his part, Simon appeared wholly un-perturbed by the feminine regime thrust upon him. He endured a smothering of petticoats and feminine influence every way he turned, yet never complained. In fact, Simon always spoke in the kindest words for all his mother and Leonora did for him. He was thoroughly subordinate to them both, but with the two most important people in his life shrewishly controlling his every move, how could we expect otherwise? Dare she expect him to stand up and fight against them?

It was also true that the long summer months of instruction had some very interesting effects upon Simon and Wilhelmina's relationship as well. Simon had become as amenable, devout and acquiescent as a puppy toward her and, though she loathed having to admit it, her affections for him were growing right along with Leonora's increasing efforts to feminize him.

To be candid, there were times when Wilhelmina would smell his perfume, or watch him brushing his flourishing hair that she'd find herself breathless. Watching Simon struggle with his composure after Leonora fastened a floral barrette to his hair, then mockingly fawn "what a good girl," would inflame great passions in her. Such immoderate moments brought with them the memory of Alyssa as she emerged from the dark of the alley, struggling to hold together her self-respect, and the clothes her torn buttons could not. Only now, it wasn't Alyssa's face she saw emerging from the dark of the alley, it was Simone's!

Nowhere were Wilhelmina's affections for him more apparent than when at day's end she would walk him safely home. They were the oddest of couples walking the streets of New York. This tall, masculinely dressed girl and this short effeminate boy in a blue floral print dress simply could not go ignored, even in New York. Still no one dare speak a word about them as they traveled the boulevard. Wilhelmina saw to that.

Oh, occasionally some thug would get in her face, looking to bring her down a notch or two. Indeed, on occasion it even took more than a cart-wheeling high kick to the chin and a barrage of punches to the nose before the jerk scurried off. The tough life on the streets was her element and, with all those male hormones stoking her system she was always the undisputed master. In turn, Simon had the freedom and confidence to revel in his own kind of mastery - the illusion of his femininity.

They made quite the pair as they made their way home laughing and playing in a world of their own making. Both comforted by the presence of the other, they'd casually stroll from place to place, luxuriating in their few precious moments alone together, rain or shine.

One such place they often visited along their way home was the abandoned parcel of land off 84th St. Taken over by the neighborhood, the locals had transformed this once vacant land into a living monument of urban horticulture. This single lot, standing alone amid the towering rows of tenement buildings, was overrun with flower and vegetable gardens of every sort. There, along the bisecting path, Simon would stop to smell the Sunflowers and the Magnolias, then lift his skirt and dance amid the flowers with a most feminine savoir faire. As Wilhelmina watched him dance along the path she could not help but wonder where his passion and artistry came from.

To her, there was no question that Simon was of two souls. On one hand he was a misfit schoolboy who possessed the agile form and androgynous appeal that made him fit to be a dancer. But there was another Simon she saw expressed in his natural exuberance, his emotional pathos and his embracing of all things feminine. His dance seemed possessed by this other Simon, who danced to show how happy he was to be free. As she watched this spontaneous expression of himself, she could see the joy in his eyes and no longer wondered about the nature of his artistry.

Another of their favorite pastimes along the way home was to play "what if" games, challenging one another as to their favorite likes and dislikes. As it happened, one of their favorite places to play the games was along the row of clothing shops they passed along the way home. It was not uncommon for Wilhelmina to stop to make a capricious comment about some sports coat in the Men's Emporium store window. Then in the spirit of the game, Simon would respond in kind, telling Wilhelmina how pretty some skirt looked in the Girl's Fashion Center window. It was always good for a laugh or two.

Then one day, after hearing Simon utter an unexpectedly exuberant "How I simply adore that love-ly skirt," Wilhelmina felt drawn by something other than the humor of it. Perhaps it was the way he coquettishly uttered the word "love-ly" that had put her feelings in turmoil, or possibly it was the way he giggled and blushed in girlish muddle as he spoke. Whatever it was, Wilhelmina was beside herself with emotion.

"Will you tr-tr-try it on for me?"

For the first time since he had known Wilhelmina, Simon heard trepidation in her voice. Her suddenly flushed cheeks and the difference in her otherwise cool demeanor told him there was something extraordinary about her words. Then and there his heart began to race, his thoughts were in disorder.

"You want me to?"

"Yes! For me!" Wilhelmina sighed.

Simon didn't have the words, only his nodding acquiescence. He followed as Wilhelmina led him into the shop and brought him before a gum chewing sales girl whom they met just inside the door.

"My friend Simon, would like to be fitted for the pink poodle skirt and Georgette blouse combination you've displayed in the window."

"Ahhh! Oooooo-kay!" the girl stuttered, popping the big pink bubble. "The one with the pom-pom tie belt and stitched French Poodle?"

"Yes! He thinks it looks quite lovely!"

"Give me a break!"

"How about a black eye? Will that do?" Wilhelmina hissed in contempt.

"Like . . .What-ev-errr! Jeeez! Come on, follow me . . . hon?"

A few moments later, Wilhelmina was beside herself as Simon sheepishly followed the girl out from behind the curtained cubicle. The vision of him in that full, ankle-length, round poodle skirt left goose bumps on her limbs and a wet spot between her legs.

"Will that be cash or charge, hon?" the salesgirl asked after the bubble gum bust its bubble.

They spoke not another word the rest of the way home. There was nothing he could say that would explain what he did for her. He was her Simone now; Wilhelmina was his Warlord, primping her pompadour and languishing over her brood. Simon was the Banshee, anxious but subdued, fearing the worst but bound by devotion to stay.

Then, when they arrived at the tenement stairs, Wilhelmina turned to face her Simon, dressed in his new blouse and "lovely" new pink poodle skirt. Cradling his face between her open palms, she leaned down and kissed him. It was their first, and it was the seal that would forever bond them as one. The kiss was short and the following pause breathless and long. They eyes met, their thoughts askew, then Simon turned to scurry up the steps in a fluster. His hands clasped under his chin, the pink ribbon about his ponytail trailing wistfully behind as he ran.

Wilhelmina paused to light up a Camel, exhaling the smoke with a great sigh of exultation. Then with the cigarette dangling from her lip, she dragged a comb through her greased back pompadour with one hand, and smoothed the contour to perfection with the other. Her hair perfectly in place, she took a final drag upon her cigarette before putting the comb back into her pocket. With a smile, she flicked the cigarette into the street and headed back down the street toward the studio, whistling her favorite Gershwin melody, "Embraceable You."

The world had turned a degree on its axis that day for Willie and Simone. To say that things weren't different after that first kiss would surely diminish the importance of that day. From then on, Simon eagerly awaited other kisses, while Wilhelmina's affections were expressed in the chivalrous terms of endearment- "my sweet," "dear," "my precious."

Wilhelmina was grateful for whatever time she had alone with Simon, but the rigors of their demanding schedule meant that Leonora was always somewhere nearby. In all honesty, neither had much privacy in their lives anymore, and that was rapidly becoming a big problem for Wilhelmina. She needed the time alone with him to teach him the movements of her newly composed opus, "Rumble Street," and she certainly didn't want Leonora, or anyone else, to know what she had secretly been planning.

Then again, she was resourceful if nothing else. She knew from experience that when she left to walk Simon home after class, Leonora also left for the day. In fact, it was not uncommon to see a taxi already awaiting for Leonora's departure as Wilhelmina and Simon left. So when she needed the time to be alone with Simon they would leave, then wait around the corner for the taxi to take Leonora to dinner. Once the taxi vanished down the avenue they would quietly slip back into the studio. Alone at last, she'd lock the door and put on the music to accompany the movements of her opus she would have Simon learn.

Wilhelmina didn't tell Simon the reasons for teaching him the movements, and he didn't care. He was simply content that she presented the choreography and, taught him the movements of her turbulent portrait of love and sacrifice. Their passion pulsed throughout the score, and in the vivacious jetes and high extensions they gave themselves up to the intensity of the choreography that spoke to Wilhelmina's life and desires.

They danced and rehearsed until it grew late and Wilhelmina brought an end to their clandestine rehearsal. Then, standing in the center of the floor under chandelier light, she beckoned Simon to remove his leotard while she placed her beloved Gershwin on the phonograph. When he was barefoot, and stripped down to his silk halter and panty, she invitingly held out her arms to the demure boy-girl.

In the dim light she considered his timorous approach, the visible and undeniable evidence of his excitement only partially concealed behind the screen of his hands. Wilhelmina reached out and Simon took her hands, then rose up on tiptoes to meet her advancing lips. They kissed and tenderly embraced, then Wilhelmina's hands slipped down to firmly grip the fleshy knolls of his bottom. She drew him close enough for his erection to press against her belly then beckoned him to step up and place his feet on top of hers - and in this way she waltzed her Simone.

They glided as one to the melody, her hands clasping his bottom cheeks, his hardness compressed against her belly. She plied her lips to toy with his ear and slid her palms beneath his panty while impassioned whispers sang: "it's got to be you . . . you irresistible you . . . "

Emboldened by his sighs, Wilhelmina spread his cheeks wide, her finger searching out the rosette between. She kissed his lips and her finger found its yearning, eager target. Then she impaled him on its length! With the force of the invader he groaned, then sighed as his body rose up, then down to the tempo of the music and the welcomed transgressor.

Wilhelmina had rehearsed such impassioned moments in her dreams countless times. She shivered in ecstasy over the control she had, delighting in the boy's surrender. Then, when Simon was spent and, the wet spot between her legs ample proof that she had as well, she'd coo her satisfaction in his ear; "Thank you, my Seee-moooooan."

It was impossible for the changes in Wilhelmina and Simone's attitude toward each another to escape Leonora's notice, nor that of others in the little corps de Ballet. The word boyfriend was not so secretly bantered about that Simon didn't blush upon hearing the whispering. It also gave Leonora ample reason to intensify her immoderate antics, the reasons for which she simply didn't understand. Wasn't it enough that he should accept the part of Simone without shaming him as well?

"There's always reason enough to look pretty," Leonora cajoled. "But for a boyfriend we must take extra care to keep his attentions. I do think we must pay extra diligence to your toiletry and grooming, Simone. Don't you?"

Without Simon offering a single complaint, Leonora continued to step up her control over him. Given that he appeared each day more the petite Miss than the day before, Wilhelmina had to presume that this included his mother's influence as well. How else was one to explain the sudden emergence of a more exquisitely fashionable Simon each day? Clearly, it seemed ample proof of collaboration between Leonora and Eunice.

To be sure, Simon was now on a daily regime of beauty care. Where once he carried home at night a small, inconspicuous cosmetic case, now had become a very large, very chic shoulder bag to fit in all his mother would need. To Wilhelmina, the sumptuous white suede bag, adorned with its signature "Angelina, Pretty Miss" moniker was a bold statement of all that awaited Simon when he got home.

There were body lotions, creams, oils, soaps and emulsions to soften and moisturize. For his hair, there were products to add body and sheen. For his nightly facial, compounds to refresh and brighten. For the body, a full program of dietary supplements to firm and awaken. For the well-rounded disposition, a regimen of prescription pills to "soften his edge."

Then there was the day Simon reached into his shoulder bag for a bill needed to buy an ice cream. With the flap raised, there was the unmistakable sight of a certain feminine product in its distinctive long-nozzle applicator, bearing its trademark, "Feminine Freshness" logo. It was an item that she was all too familiar with, and when she asked him why Leonora had given him the conspicuously feminine products to carry home, he flushed red as a peony and, in a scarcely audible whisper said, "It-it-it . . . is for my mother."

Moreover, there were hints given to suggest far more. Like the conversation she overheard when Leonora was speaking on her office phone. She could only overhear bits and pieces over the chatter of the girls in the studio. Nothing factual, but an intimation that Leonora and Eunice did a bit more than discuss world affairs over a cup of tea while Simon prettified himself for their approval.

". . . What's that? Yes! Cheryl's Junior Fashions, a boutique on 36th and Division . . . Sunday, we'll make a day of it. There's a wonderful salon close by as well. What's that? I expect as much. We'll have to work some on that this evening, but that's all part of growing up, my dear. We too had to learn to appreciate the chore of being well presented. . . . besides, how else is one to learn?"

Of course, everyone knew enough not to tell Wilhelmina the truth about what was really going on when Leonora visited with Eunice. Then too, with something so obvious you have to wonder how Wilhelmina couldn't have figured it out on her own. Surely when Willie the Warlord ruled supreme she would have known when to sound the battle cry.

But there were never any lines drawn in the sand in Leonora's illogical world. Here, circumstances always seemed to be pushing and pulling at her at the same time. On the one hand it appalled her to think that the douche might be for him, while on the other hand she was taken by the little ingenue he was becoming. There was neither rhyme nor reason here, and her inability to understand any of it left her feeling bewildered and rife with uncertainty. Indeed her judgment and emotions were so muddled by doubt that she scarcely knew what she should do, or how she should feel.

How else to explain her feelings for him? There was no question that he aroused a passion in her, but she was never certain if it was the thought of Simon or the vision of Simone that made her feel as she did.

She supposed that her love for Simon overstepped his manner of dress, but then she could never visualize him dressed any other way. It was the acquiescent Simone she longed to embrace, while the only Simon she had ever known was the boy she nearly pummeled to death in Tae Kwon Do. Once Simon had asked: "Would you like me if I didn't wear a dress?" Now, as Wilhelmina considered the vision of him with shaped brows, extended lashes, earrings and a hair style that would venerate a pixie, she was just as certain of the answer: "I wouldn't like to wonder!"

"Look into the mirror, Simone," Leonora coaxed. "Watch closely! That's 50 light strokes on each side of the part, my dear. Tell your mother you want long, even strokes, like this! Slowly and carefully so as not to pull or tease it. Can you see how the top to bottom strokes induces the natural bounce to the curl at the bottom? See how it enhances the sheen, makes it flow softly? And to be sure, my dear . . . to be sure your hair receives no less then the full 100 strokes it deserves, you will count them! Do you understand, dear?"

"Yes ma'am!"

Wilhelmina and Simon continued their additional work after class. She never told him why they continued to secretly rehearse her mysterious dance routine, nor why she kept everything so hush-hush. He never asked, nor did Wilhelmina ever offer an explanation. Simon just did what pleased Wilhelmina, finding joy in his dance and bliss in the sweet aftermath of Wilhelmina's embrace.

For Wilhelmina, all seemed so right. As their affections and need for one another grew unrestrained, the blossoming of Simone brought with it the fulfillment of her dream though deferred, closer at hand.

Over the months that followed she secretly taught him the movements that comprised her opus, and after, gave him the pleasure he hungered for. She lavished compliment after compliment upon him for his accomplished dance, and for his accomplishments in her arms afterward. In time, it didn't even matter that she couldn't feel his hardness against her belly. No matter the results, Wilhelmina's encouraging "that's my girl" could always be heard validating his breathless sighs of ecstasy - especially since the increasingly apparent softness of him never seemed to deter his joy.

Chapter XI Prima Ballerina

Autumn's parting carried away with it any doubts that Simon now mastered the Firebird variations he'd be performing for Ballet des Jeunes. Simon and Wilhelmina had invested countless hours perfecting the subtleties of the complex movements and it was obvious to all their work was nearing perfection. Both Leonora and Wilhelmina felt certain that he was as ready as he would ever be for this very important event. With one week remaining before the gala performance, Simone was to begin his final week's rehearsal in stage costume.

Like always, Leonora was in full charge of the costuming. This in itself was not unusual, but the fact that Wilhelmina still hadn't seen the costume was. The costume was already past due, but when she dare asked about it, Leonora wasn't forthcoming in the least. She'd simply say that it wasn't hers to be concerned about such things and that the couturier would be finished with his work soon enough. Leonora's evasiveness angered her, but her anger turned to outrage when she finally did see the it. One look at him dressed in that costume was enough to know why she would want to keep it secret from her.

Leonora's choice of costume was a white satin and lace bodice, lined and boned for shaping. About the hips were five layers of ruffled crinoline overlaid with embroidered white lace for the diagonally flared tutu. The delicate satin shoulder straps, copious ribbons and sequin applique made it a sumptuous piece. Then add the sheer, beige hosiery that enveloped the shapely contour of his legs right up to the rose-garnished, elastic garters at the foremost top of each thigh, and you've a picture of unquestionable feminine vanity.

You would have thought all this enough to satisfy even Leonora's salacious tastes, but it wasn't. For between these rose applique garters, his panty, trimmed in floral lace lay perfectly flat between the parting of his legs. It was an extraordinary picture, with the piece de resistance, a pair of striking, white high-heel pumps upon which he struggle to balance himself. Elevated a lofty five-inches above the floor, it took all his concentration to steady himself upon the points of his toes and spiked heels so narrow that you'd think it'd have been easier for him to stand upon a head of a pin.

Oh, but the sight of him! The exquisite contour of those legs encased in that divine hosiery; the rose garters, satin bodice and his exaggerated posture elevated in those stilt-like heels made him look femme l'extreme. At the same time, when first she saw him dressed as he was, she knew Leonora's attics had finally gone to far. It angered her to think Leonora should be so bold, and the heels? She was outraged! Indeed, it seemed such an obvious affront to her sense of fair play that she could no longer hold back, and spoke out when she first observed Simon beside the toilet room door, whispering something in Leonora's ear because Simon "en costume" could no longer manage his own toilet.

"Leonora! Don't you think you've carried these damn antics of yours far enough already?" she said in a menacing tone.

"Antics? Why I would have thought you'd fine the heels a nice touch, Willie!" Leonora sneered while unfastening his panty in full view of his female classmates also vying for use of the toilet. "Don't worry. The heels are simply for dress, not part of the costume. A girl does like to feel extra pretty now and then, you know."

"Don't be canny, Leonora. I just want to know what the hell you think you are doing?"

"Simone! Tell Willie what you think of your costume!"

"It's beautiful, madam!"

"And Simone, my dear! Would you please tell dear Willie who made this lovely satin harness piece for you!" Leonora asked, while loosening the silk tie that kept the conspicuously wilted and lessened genitalia locked up tight - invisible between his legs.

"My mother, Madam!"

"You see Willie. There are no victims here."

"Yah! Like that's suppose to make a difference? He'd say anything to please you." Wilhelmina snarled, her fist clenched.

"My, my . . . getting rather uppity, are we?"

"Whatever, Leonora. I'm just damn tired of watching you take advantage of him."

"Aaaah, anger! Good! But is it you, or your anger that is in charge. If it is you, we'll all be better off in your striking out in defense of your principles. If not, then you might just as well be striking out at the innocent as the bad. Then comes the lifetime of consequences you'll be paying. Good, or bad, depends upon whether you know the answer to that one. It's the old "Devil or angel" question, isn't it Willie?"

"Devil or Angel? Why would you say that?" Wilhelmina queried, worried that the use of those words might be yet another indirect hint as to what she may, or may not know.

"Oh, just something I read once that I think fitting in this case. Are you guided by righteousness, or did the devil make you do it? By the looks of you, I'd venture to say it's STILL the latter. But I implore you to prove me wrong. Strike me down, then we'll see if you are to go on running from the truth about the nature of your anger."

A shiver coursed through her as she considered the piercing indictment. It was as though Leonora knew more about the Lacy Richardson incident than she was letting on, and her devil or angel refrain meant as a warning not to make the same mistake again.

She didn't know if Leonora was really all that knowing - and Leonora wasn't telling. However, she did manage to raise the level of Wilhelmina's uncertainty so that now, more than ever, she didn't know what she should do. Again, circumstances where pushing and pulling at her at the same time. The consequences of her standing on her principles would only get her tossed out of the studio and probably arrested for assault. That would be no help to Simon. Then too, saying nothing so she could stay didn't correct the injustice done to Simon either. Uncertain which of the two impossible choices was the right one to make, she unclenched her fist and walked away. Once again her indecision won out, leaving her to languish in her silence, and Leonora to have her way with him.

The buzz in the audience filtered through the auditorium, raising the level of tension. Back stage, last minute primping and calming of jittery nerves played out in all the dressing rooms, including Simon's. Standing before the opulent vanity mirror, the prima ballerina gazed upon himself one last time. About him, his mother and Leonora made the final adjustments to his appearance.

His mother, unwavering in her attention, carefully painted a final coat of gloss to his pouting red lips. Behind him Leonora, equally deliberate, primped the stiff tulle that formed the foundation of his satin and lace tutu. Then came the stage call, as Eunice blotted his freshly painted lips with a tissue and Leonora made a final adjustment to the luxurious lace overlay.

Simon heard the tuning of the orchestra, the signal that the much anticipated production of "The Firebird" awaited his entrance, and he sighed. With all the fastidious primping done he paused to gaze at his sultry reflection in the mirror. The vision of himself in that siren's regalia simply took his breath away.

"Simone," Leonora whispered. "You are beautiful!"

Moments later, young Miss Simone Gray danced his way through the intricately woven choreography with grace meant for angels unbound to this earth. His lighter than air movements gave physical and erotic intent to the gravity defying jetes and to the crystalline purity of his amazingly centered, triple pirouettes. It was a performance to remember, without a single misstep that anyone could count.

After the third curtain call and, after Miss Simone gave his curtsies and bows to a standing ovation, a girl from the audience came up onto the stage. In her arms, the young girl held a bouquet of long stem roses she presented to Miss Simone amid a battery of flashing bulbs. All the praise so overwhelmed him with joy that tears filled his eyes as he leaned into the grasp of Wilhelmina's open arms. Back stage, with his hand held in Wilhelmina's, he answered the hordes of questions from entertainment industry reporters before returning again to Leonora and his mother.

"Do you wonder now if all has not been worth the sacrifice?" Leonora asked.

"No, madam! I am so grateful for all you have done for me!"

"Your flower has yet to bloom, my dear. Soon enough, your fondest dreams will be yours!"

Chapter XII Rumble Street

The picture of Miss Simone adorned the entertainment section of the largest city papers the next morning. His accomplishment did much to enlarge his future prospects, putting him in much demand. It also enabled an enterprising Leonora to reap a significant sum of money from a variety magazine's in depth article about her studio. One would have thought it was a good time to sit back and reflect upon their accomplishments, but in Wilhelmina and Leonora's scheme of things this was no time to sit on their laurels. Each for different reasons, and each with reasons unknown to the other, the two women set out to execute the plans they saw for Simon's future.

The next night, Wilhelmina opened her heart to Simon, telling him her tale of unrequited dreams. She spoke to him with the passion of the artist she was, explaining the reasons for secretly teaching him the mysterious dance after class and about the masterwork, "Rumble Street," she had created. In so doing she revealed his part in it all and how she wished to make her dream a reality with his help.

Simon, of course, was beside himself with joy. Just asking him to dance with her was enough for him to agree. Besides, he could never think to betray her confidence in him. There was simply nothing in his makeup that would lead him to do so.

Later that night, Wilhelmina went to her mother and told her of her plans. Katherine reviewed the written dossier containing the choreography, then listened as Wilhelmina described her dream of dancing "Rumble Street" alongside Simon in a public forum. Katherine was elated and, after she read her daughter's masterwork, shared her excitement. She could tell from the first reading that it was something quite extraordinary and she told her daughter exactly that. She promised Wilhelmina her support, and most assuredly the support of her old friend, Dame Fredricka Dupre.

It wasn't necessary for her mother to explain all that was implied in having Fredricka's support. Dame Dupre was an influential figure in the world of ballet. With a seat on the Metropolitan Theater board of directions, the aged magna cum laude of dance had the power to persuade many. No one would be treating her recommendations lightly.

Katherine was certain that their combined influence would insure the best forum for her presentation, and the forum that came to mind was the last of this year's series of performances at the MET. She recalled Nikita Korolenko's recent cancellation and that the vacancy still hadn't been filled. She hadn't a doubt the board would listen to the wisdom of replacing Korolenko with Wilhelmina's "Rumble Street" on the schedule. There were few who could deny Dame Dupre her voice in the matter, that much she promised Wilhelmina.

Leonora wasted little time in tying down all the loose ends once "Rumble Street" was selected to replace Korolenko's La Bayadere at the MET. For reasons known only to her, all did not bode well for Wilhelmina, nor Leonora's young starlet. It was now a totally unabashed Leonora who regained control of the studio and unprecedented control over them both.

By rescheduling the floor times and recalculating the premium fee the studio could now command, Leonora cashed in on both Miss Simone's success and that of her celebrated ballet mistress. She disband her little troupe and took on a select group of wealthy novitiates which Wilhelmina would teach each morning for a very hefty fee. Then each afternoon, Simon and Wilhelmina were to have the floor to themselves to rehearse Rumble Street. Now, however, everything was to be done under Leonora's watchful eye. Whatever her intent, the net effect was that she now scrutinize all Simon's movements and, in so doing, took from Wilhelmina the last of her private time with him.

In the days that followed, Leonora began putting the large sum of money she earned from increased fees and the magazine interviews to some use. First on the agenda was the redecoration of the studio with lush red draperies and resurfaced floors. A new storefront facade soon followed, as did construction of private accommodations adjacent to her office, fitting the status of her young starlet.

Leonora spared no expense in the building and decoration of the room, complete with private bathroom, closet and a gold star on the door. The bathroom centerpiece was an oval claw foot tub of pastel pink porcelain, centered upon white marble overlay flooring. The tub, with its lavish brass fixtures and floral ornamentation, dominated the opulent reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror that covered the entire rear wall.

The young starlet's dressing chamber boasted equally lavish appointments. The room featured a white, lamb's wool Persian carpet to match the French provincial furnishings. With its floral design wallcovering and satin bed covered both done in equally stirring pink, the boudoir was a bold statement of feminine narcissism.

It was all splendidly done, but few saw the inside of this room other than Leonora and the Starlet himself. Leonora made sure everyone knew that this was a ladies room only, and made it a point to tell Wilhelmina so in no uncertain terms.

"If you wish to see Miss Simone, you'll have to wait her exit," Leonora would taunt. "How boorish, Willie! I'd think it more chivalrous to respect a lady's privacy!"

Surely Wilhelmina didn't have to hear the contempt in her voice to know the truth about what was going on. After all, everything Leonora now did seemed designed to provoke her - obviously into a fight. Wilhelmina didn't know why she wanted to provoke her, but she had her suspicions. Without her around, she conjectured, Leonora would be able to do with Simon as she pleased.

She would have liked to slap Leonora senseless and run off with Simon to a safe place. Had the timetable she faced allowed her to do so without putting her plans at risk, she'd have already been long gone - with Simon in tow. But the production of Rumble Street had come to far to cancel now, and she believed Leonora was using that against her to press her advantage. To Wilhelmina, this was the core element of Leonora's strategy. She knew that Wilhelmina hadn't the time to begin anew and, as a consequence, was powerless to act. If she did, she faced losing everything, including Simon. As Wilhelmina saw it, this ruthless manipulation of her elevated Leonora to a whole new status. She was now her mortal foe, and a worthy one, indeed.

All was not without hope, however. There was always the possibly that Leonora might lose the upper hand. She might unwittingly make a mistake that would lead to her downfall, or in a moment of weakness give up a little of her control. If that moment ever came, Wilhelmina knew she'd show no mercy, and take no prisoners. Wilhelmina, the cunning predator, would be prepared to take the initiative in full battle mode. She'd seize the moment, and Leonora by the throat to free Simon and herself from the tyranny at last. Until then, she'd just have to wait for that opportunity, allowing her suspicions to grow and her hatred to fester as she considered ways to save Simon from her clutches.

All the changes Leonora had made to the program amounted to an unprecedented attack on poor Simon as far as Wilhelmina was concerned, and she despised her for it Eunice now brought Simon to the studio in the morning and took him directly to his private room. There, Leonora would keep him safely hidden away until rehearsal and, afterward, she'd escort her starlet back to his room to wait for his mother's return. She even sat and watched rehearsal throughout, to ensure no one was disturbed.

She tried speaking out about what she saw as the injustice being done to Simon, but Leonora wasn't listening. She even tried talking to Eunice, hoping she'd come to see the error of her ways and again take responsibility for her son. She used all her cunning, but Eunice would no longer listen to anyone other than Leonora. In truth, she was just as indifferent to Wilhelmina's pleading as she was definite about slamming the door behind in her face. Still she tried, and when Leonora and his mother set out to escort the sashaying, swish-skirted boy-girl home between them, Wilhelmina would try and try again to free him from their grasp.

"Simon! Would you like to walk home with me?"

Obviously, she fooled no one with her ploys to lure Simon away. Leonora would simply look away from Wilhelmina's acrimoniously piercing stare. Then she'd turn to Eunice and say: "The green of envy does not suit Willie! Nor does yellow suit Wilhelmina! I must remember that when choosing the color of the costuming!"

Yellow! Oh, how she wished she could swoop down upon her for calling her chicken. Better yet, she'd like nothing more than beat the living daylights out of them, over and over again. Then after serving up her comeuppance, she'd look down upon the floor at their sprawled mass and say: "You're right, yellow doesn't suit me. Nor does red look becoming upon you!"

Wilhelmina could clearly see that all of this was having its effects on Simon. Locked up with Leonora in his room, he was drawing him further into himself. He was secretive to an extreme and scarcely said a word. When Leonora wasn't speaking on his behalf, her questions now drew only a head lowered nod of recognition from him.

There were questions about his physical health as well. He was growing thinner by the day. He looked gaunt, and his complexion had lost its rosy hue. His increased use of the bathroom and the sound of his vomiting were also becoming hard to ignore. He refused to eat anything she offered, even an innocuous offer of a sip of her milk caused him to give a nauseous wince. In truth, it looked to her as if the boy's sickness was causing him to starve himself to death.

Naturally Leonora found reason to explain it all away. She said it was simply a matter of fatigue and intimated that there was a doctor involved. It was an assertion made tenable when she overheard Leonora telling Eunice: "The poor dear seems so anemic, and doesn't seem to be able to hold down a thing."

"I know. He scarcely nibbles at his dinner," Eunice replied.

"The poor dear! Some adjustment is in order. The doctor will obviously have to be informed about his delicate condition."

Also about this time, Simon began wearing a loose-fitting jump suit over some more rigid, corset-like foundation beneath. Like everything Leonora now saw fit to do to Simon, the pink velvet Jump Suit, with its frilly ribbons, ruffle and lace was nothing short of exquisitely feminine. Indeed, he posed quite a picture of contrived coquetry with the leggings cuffed mid thigh, each cuff a cornice for its own floor length skirt of embroidered lace.

Wilhelmina first thought that the jump suit was a ploy of Leonora's to somehow seduce her into another confrontation, thus giving her reason to kick her out of the studio. Thankfully, Simon's new clothes made no difference in his performance, so she didn't have to worry about falling victim to the ploy. She had only to smile and say nothing at all about his strange looking costume to avoid the fight she believed was in waiting.

However, as the weeks of rehearsal continued to slip past, Wilhelmina began to worry if there could be another motive for the new clothes. Perhaps Leonora was trying to hide the fact that he was infinitely lighter, and thinner than ever before. Surely with his waist now so unimaginably threadlike, there were reasons enough to understand why she would want to keep his poor health a secret.

Then too, there was a certain paradox in his poor health accounting for such frailty in some areas, while growing considerably more robust in others. While it was true that Wilhelmina had fond memories of Simon's plump bottom, what now protruded from beneath his clothes didn't fit her remembrance of him. Nor did his hips which also seemed considerably more robust.

To the trained observer the visual statement was undeniable, but Wilhelmina had no way of knowing whether something more dramatic might be going on. Indeed, nothing in her world of experiences even warned that such things were possible. Besides, there was an all-caring doctor involved, and his vomiting, lost appetite, gaunt appearance and solitude could only mean one thing. To Wilhelmina he was a sickly boy in need of sympathy, not her outrage.

I still hear your whispering skepticism, however. You think there has to be a more plausible explanation - that it's impossible to believe anyone could be that naive. Didn't she have her hands about his wasp-like waist, and on his voluptuously bottom more often than not, especially during their pas-de-deux? That's without even mentioning the abundant epaulet-arabesque and overhead horizontal lifts in "Rumble Street" that gave her ample opportunity to embrace his more substantial hips. Then there was the little matter of the adjustments she had to make to accommodate the sudden change in his center of gravity. Now when lifting Simon high overhead to lay out high in the air, she had to adapt to his changing balance point. She no longer placed the palm of her hand on the small of his back. Rather, her hand was now centered in the middle of his full, melon-like cheeks.

That's all well and good if you think a picture is made up only of its parts. You must remember however, Wilhelmina saw the whole of him. She could see that he didn't act as though he were under duress, and no matter how plump is bottom, he didn't seem like a boy longing to protest. His dance and his exuberance for it was always lively and expressive, and he was forever focused on every detail. In all Wilhelmina asked of him to do he scarcely fluttered a pretty eyelash, and his responses were always so lively and expressive as to think him programmed to respond that way. His bravura, his technique, the spectacle of his angel like spins and jumps was crystalline pure. So, despite the gaunt aspics of his physical appearance, Wilhelmina clearly had a problem finding fault in her dealings with him. For all the goings on, it seemed to her that his dance was even getting better.

As the weeks turned into months, growing ever closer to the night of their performance, Simon's mastery of the movements became undeniably brilliant. The part of Gabriella that Simon danced to Wilhelmina's Cedric had become such a part of him that it was impossible to distinguish between who was who, and which was which. Indeed, he so expressed an inner sense of femininity that nowhere in the mix could Simon be found. The facial cast he wore, the fluid movement of hands first, then the following of his body gave not a hint that the persona was not his alone. Wilhelmina was at a loss for words to describe the young boy-girl, except that he was definitely more a she than a he, any longer!

Chapter XIII Awakening

It was already the mid-January, just a week before their gala performance of "Rumble Street" at the MET. Winter snow had that morning covered the streets and the havoc caused by the freshly fallen snow had brought the city virtually to its knees. As it happened, some of Wilhelmina's students lived far enough away to require the use of a taxi each day to and from the studio. However, that day no taxis were available and, to insure the safety of those students, she told Leonora that she would walk them home.

She put on vinyl boots and overcoat so as not to soil her impeccably tailored white Versace suit while walking her small group home. Wilhelmina found it a delightful change to get out amid the flow of the city again. She enjoyed the crisp, cool air and the sound of the city sifting through the freshly fallen snow. She leisurely managed her time away from the studio, believing the break would afford both her and Simon a bit of a respite from the rigors of their schedule.

She returned later that afternoon. The studio was dark and empty as she entered and she walked quietly not wanting to disturb the peace she found there. She removed her wet rubber boots at the door hoping to find Simon, but instead, all she saw was a narrow ray of light coming from the partially opened door of Simon's room.

It was precisely because the door to Simon's room was never left open that her curiosity was instantly aroused - so she took herself quietly in that direction. When she had drawn close enough to see through into the room she could see Simon sitting before his mirrored vanity with his back to her. He sat brushing his shoulder length, auburn hair, and she could hear the slight inflection of his voice as he quietly hummed the Gershwin melody to himself.

Dressed in a rose colored panty, nylons and heels she could see his otherwise nude torso sitting upon the stool's red velvet pillow. In the mirror she could see the reflection of Simon's tranquil face. It was the first full glimpse of him she had seen in nearly four months, and what she saw was not as she remembered him. Indeed, with the hourglass contour of his torso, and the spread of his bottom sitting upon the pillowed vanity stool, not a hint remained of the Simon she once knew.

Wilhelmina put her hand on the half opened door and pushed it wide enough to bring into view Leonora sitting in a chair beside him. Leonora sat transfixed, her gaze fixed upon Simon. Then, Wilhelmina and Simon's eyes met in the mirrored reflection. She returned his smile, and thought about how beautiful and serene he looked. At the same time, however, she thought it was odd that Leonora still refused to acknowledge her presence.

The thought occurred to her that this might again be some sort of ploy to lure her into a confrontation, and wondered if she should leave to avoid the ensuing fight. Had she not heard the siren's call from Simon beckoning her in, she would have done so. Now, however, that no longer seemed possible. So she pushed the door open still further, and entered.

She quietly stepped across the lush carpet toward Simon until she stood behind where he sat. Still no one, or nothing stirred but the gentle stroke of Simon's brush. As Wilhelmina considered the full reflection of him in the mirror all came momentarily to a stop. The world was motionless, no sound heard but the pounding of Wilhelmina's heart. Then she lowered her hands, and reached down to see what she thought her eyes could not - and Simon responded as she touched him:

"Simon has breasts!"

Wilhelmina turned around and ran from the room. She didn't wait to see if anyone called her back to explain, or if anyone cared that she ran. All she knew was that she ran through the cold January dusk, her face laden with tears, all logic, all reason lost was to her. She didn't stop running until she was out of breath. Then, forced to stop as much from bewilderment as exhaustion, she ducked inside a doorway of a closed shop and cried.

She was confused as to why she was crying, knowing only that she understood none of what she felt. One moment her heart raced, the next she sobbed uncontrollably. She was confused, not knowing how she should feel. All she knew was that as her tears rained down her cheeks, the image of Simon's new breasts sliced through her feelings like the damp cold cut through her clothes.

In the time that passed she could only think of one thing to do. She had to return to the studio and confront Leonora. She had to know why! Then armed with the knowledge off what had to be done, she dried her red, puffy eyes with the back of her hand and walked back to the studio.

When she arrived, she found the door to Simon's room closed. But in the darkness she could see the ray of light beneath the door telling her that Leonora remained inside with Simon. She made no secret of her entrance now. She walked hard against the floor and pushed the door open, but her announced appearance seemed not to matter neither to Leonora nor Simon. Indeed, no one even seemed to take notice of her at all standing in the doorway.

Simon stood bent over the bed. His stilt-like heels elevated his plumb, upturned bottom high over head, and between the inverted "V" of his nylon encased legs she could see his flushed face and the spread of his falling hair, fanned out over the pink satin cover beneath. Behind him sat Leonora. In her lap, a towel. In her hand, a pink, rubberized baton, glistening with a coat of Vaseline.

She watched as Simon rose up to step back into his panty. In gartered nylons and balanced on tiptoes atop the near vertical platform of those heels she saw profiled his plump bottom, wasp-like waist and wobbling, up-tilt breasts. Between the lace garters a conspicuously wilted penis, hardly a noticeable artifact befitting a small child.

As he squeezed into the tight fitting, French-cut panty, Leonora took great care to wiped clean the stalwart harpoon then wrapped it in a towel. When done, she handed him the bundle, which he protectively cradled close to his heart, and just beneath the upturned nipples of his teardrop shaped breasts. All this was done with complete indifference to her presence as if she was invisible to their sight.

"Come, my Sweet! Take your dear 'Willie' into the bath with you and give him a good scrubbing." she said while gently patting his bottom.

"Yes Madam!"

"You'll want your 'Willie' nice and fresh in the morning! Won't you, Sweetheart?"

"Yes, Madam!"

Wilhelmina could scarcely contain her outrage as she watched Simon bend down to kiss Leonora on the cheek, then carried the bundle with him into the bathroom. Only then did Wilhelmina see the true nature of the horror in very clear and concise terms.

To her, it was no longer a battle for the heart and mind of poor Simon, but a battle between the forces of good and evil. In Leonora's eyes she saw two darkened wells of hate, seemingly elevated by the power of her assuredness, looming down upon her like the archangel Beelzebub himself. She could feel the ungodly force trying to pull her from the path of righteousness she now traveled and back beneath the devil's shroud she once wore so well. It was against this HATE that Wilhelmina would now have to make her gallant stand and strike a blow against the evil of tyranny.

Dressed in her saintly white Versace dress suit and white Toulouse fedora, she would fight the good fight defending the one road to salvation. So, after Simon closed the door to the bathroom behind him and only the sound of the bath water was heard, Wilhelmina took up a warrior's, offensive posture and barked out.

"Leonora! You unholy BITCH!!! You deserve to be BEAT by better hands than mine!"

Leonora, staring up from her chair, took on an air as contentious as a cobra prepared to strike.

"You'll not strike me! You're still too much a coward! I should have thought that you'd have stopped lying to yourself about that long before now! Lord knows I've tried all in my power to prod you into this confrontation. Had me worried. I thought I might have misjudged you."

"A coward? Me? Try again, Leonora! You're about to feel the wrath of a coward beating you to a pulp!"

"Oh yes! You! Willie, the Warlord! Didn't think I knew about you, did you Willie? But I do, I've known about you the first day you walked in this studio. Did you think you were fooling me Willie? Did you think I didn't know who you really were?"

"Who I was?"

"Who you were. Who you are! Nothing has changed Willie. There is nothing to excuse, no one to blame. You are what you are, and shall ever be. You're Queer! A bona fide, board certified, 18 year old Butch dike, and too cowardly to admit it!"

"You're the fuck'in dike, you sick bitch!" Wilhelmina scowled, fists clenched.

"No, my dear Willie, it is you who is still hiding from yourself! That's why I call you a coward - because you're too afraid to face the truth. That is why I've been trying to provoke your anger, so all this would come to the fore to help you come to terms with who, and what you really are."

"Provoke me?"

"Just have a look at yourself. In your self made persona, needing to dress like a man, act like a man, even demanding the respect due a man! The comfort you take in your masculinity is something you've always known about yourself, and there was never any doubt that the idea of sexually submitting to a man was abhorrent to you. That's the way you are, at least that's about as much as you've been willing to admit to yourself. But what you refuse to admit is that your masculinity, your cross-gender mannerisms served another master as well. Not only did it serve to placate your ego, but more importantly it served as a convenient disguise to hide from your true love of women.

"That's a lie! I'm not queer!"

"You won't admit it, but you are! The very thought of it is so unsettling, so forbidden, so taboo that you've masked your feelings with defenses that shield the truth from you even now. Remember, you chose to be a Warlord, not a Banshee! You told yourself it was their respect you wanted, but in truth it was Alyssa, the Banshee, whom you hungered for. It was she you wanted to possess. For Wilhelmina to love Alyssa was taboo, but as Willie the Warlord you could disguise your desires behind the facade and dream that it was you pulling her back into the alley."

"Bullshit!"

"It's true, Willie! You've always forbade yourself to think it possible that you wanted to love a woman, but it was okay for a girl to submit to you as the man you envisioned yourself to be. After all, that's what boys and girls do together, right? That was acceptable; in fact, it wouldn't even surprise me to learn that in your dreams you saw yourself with a penis just to prove your manliness. It was one thing to see yourself a man that women were powerless to resist, but it was quite another to think of yourself as gay. That's why you felt comfort around your kindred spirits, the Warlords. That's why you needed to emulate them. The more manly you were, the more you could hide from all you sought to deny.

"You're the one who wants a gawd-damn penis! Not me, you Bitch!"

"Now, Now Willie! You see, I know all about you! You thought you could lie to me like you lied to everyone else. But I know you, Willie! Your old friends didn't have to tell me everything! While I am grateful for all that Bubba, Tank, Sergio, Bosco and Frank confided in me, nobody had to tell me what made you change from Warlord to "sweet little Miss Wilhelmina" to win my favor. You did it so I would let you stay! And please, don't delude yourself, dear. It wasn't all the bullshit about wanting to find yourself. You wanted to stay because of Simon."

"That's another damn lie!" Wilhelmina bellowed, restraining her tears.

"It's the truth, my dear Willie! Simon was the answer to your prayers. He was your salvation! You don't need me to tell you that in spite of all your success your male impersonation had only gotten you so far. There was still something missing in your life. You were angry and frustrated, and that you needed to be loved was a problem for you. It was Lacy Richardson's misfortune to find that out."

"You couldn't love a man and you wouldn't allow yourself to believe you wanted to love a woman. Then in walks Simon, he had the qualities of both male and female and he touched a sexual nerve in you. He was a male embodiment you could hide behind and a female to expel those sexual demons. Simon made it permissible to love a girl, but only if that girl came in a convenient male package that didn't threaten to expose the truth you were hiding from yourself. Simon made it all too easy for you.

"That's not true!"

"What's not true? That you felt sorry for him? Pitied him?"

"Yes, I did! I felt sorry for him!"

"Oh! Is that why you nearly beat him to death in Tae Kwon Do? What pity did you have for him then? No, Willie, you told yourself it was pity once you saw him dressed as a girl, but only as an excuse to hide your true reasons. You didn't pity him. You needed him."

"I wanted to help him!"

"And how do you suppose you were helping him when you bought him that dress? How were you helping him when you called him a "pretty girl" or stuck your finger up his ass to masturbate him? The only one you wanted to help was you. You needed him to become more feminine for you. The more feminine he behaved and looked, the more it satisfied you. Deny you didn't moan in ecstasy when you held your boy-girl in your arms."

"But . . . but he has breasts now! I didn't want that!"

"What? You think his mother and I corrupted him? Do you think us so cruel that we could treat Simon other than how he wished to be treated? Simon was always master of his own fate. And what Simon has done, he has done for you both. To begin with, he had always felt a certain discomfort about his sexuality. He was a misfit as a boy, then you came along needing him to be more girl than boy. He did what he did because it served his needs, as well as yours. The more girl he became the more you were able to love him. Just ask yourself! Would any of this have happened had you not wanted him to become more feminine for you? We both know the answer, Willie - as did Simon! Remember when Simon asked you if you would like him if he didn't wear a dress, you told him `Perhaps. But I wouldn't like to wonder!'?"

"Simon told you that?" Wilhelmina sobbed.

"Most assuredly! He has only done what he thought would make you happy, and all his mother and I did was to help him fulfill his heart's desire. No one had to brainwash him or coerce him or threaten him. Do you want to know what happened during those many nights I visited Eunice at her home? I'll tell you. It was all about helping Simon come to terms with his love for you. He knew it was Simone you loved, not Simon, and he wanted to be the best Simone he could be to hold onto your love. He asked . . . he begged . . . he pleaded with his mother and me to make him what he has become, because he couldn't bear the thought of losing you. He was the one who asked to be sent to a therapist, then a doctor. On this you needn't question my veracity. I've got the medical documentation, and the bills as proof of the commitment he made for you. In my eyes, what he has done out of love for you is nothing less than heroic . . . as heroic as any person I've ever met. His tenacity, his fortitude, his bravery should make him a hero in your eyes too. You shall never meet another like him."

"He did it for me?"

"He loves you, Willie!"

"What's to happen to him?"

"What is there to think about? He loves and needs you! You love and need him! I think the future is perfectly clear. After all, wasn't it your love for him the missing piece that brought you through 'Rumble Street?' I think so. Now all you need do is to stop being a coward and admit the truth about yourself. Only then will you understand why Simon has become what he has become, and done what he has done for his Willie - and why you truly need for him to be that way!"

Wilhelmina collapsed on the bed in sobbing hysterics. Her heart filled not with Leonora's words but with the pain from the expurgated demons torn free from her soul. Leonora let her be and, with Simon again at her side, they shared in the sorrow of Wilhelmina's anguished lament. Shrouded in her darkness, Wilhelmina cried until she could cry no more, and until there was space again for conscious thought. Then the vision of Simon with breasts again came to her, and she knew why she needed him, and loved him.

Leonora was right about her; her failings, her anger and her need for Simone. Wilhelmina had known all along that Simon was the missing element in her life and his love the missing piece needed to complete her opus. As there is a light in the darkness of everyone's life, Wilhelmina saw herself with new clarity. Then, after a wait far too long, she felt the soft touch of a hand coming to rest upon hers, and she knew at last who she was.

She drew herself up and leaned into the waiting embrace. Her anger gone, she was whole at last. She held tightly to her Simone, her head resting against his bosom. For Leonora, Wilhelmina's tears of joy were enough to thank her. To Simon she said:

"I love you, Simone!"

Chapter XIV Dream Fulfilled

Malcolm Covington checked the monitor for the time, then looked back to his guest sitting next to him in anxious repose. He briefly went over the comments he had prepared for his opening monologue before pausing to give Wilhelmina a reassuring smile. This was the last in the series of televised interviews covering the season's productions at the MET, and this was surely destined to be the most controversial. One look at Wilhelmina casually preening the callow down of a mustache told him that.

There were reasons enough for Malcolm to hold his guest in high esteem. She had been, after all, a child prodigy of some repute, and a paragon in the dance community with much heralded national acclaim. That she would be here to discuss her composition on a syndicated broadcast surprised no one, but that she should want to be the first to do so "en travesti" was truly another.

The producers of the program had no doubt this program was going to cause more than a few raised eyebrows. Malcolm had discussed the point at length with her during a preface interview. He had asked whether it might be in everyone's best interest if she were not to bring this issue to the forefront on this particular telecast. But Wilhelmina was adamant and Malcolm had to respect her for her stance. Wilhelmina thought herself at a consummate moment of clarity in her life and no longer wanted to hide the truth from anyone. Furthermore, she felt it would give everyone insight into what went into the making of her masterwork, as there was much shared in common with her.

Malcolm studied Wilhelmina as she straightened her tie, and straightened the lapel of her tuxedo. Now officially called William Mann, the perfected masculine picture she conveyed was as willful as her tenor. As she readied herself Malcolm could also see she was in full command of her domain.

"Ready everyone . . . 19-18-17-16-15 . . . "

He caught her gaze one last time and thought of what this moment would come to mean in Wilhelmina's/Willie's life. No matter what else he might have thought about what she was about to do, he knew that neither success nor failure would diminish the strength in this woman turned man, one little bit.

"-5-4-3-2-1 . . . You're on!"

To be sure, the interview had drawn the kind of attention considered profound even for the art world. Not all was positive, but Willie did have her defenders. The result was to excite the curious and attract well-wishers to an already sold out performance at the MET. She hadn't a worry about any of that, however. She didn't even bother watching the taped broadcast with Leonora. She had far too much to keep her busy with the final production details in and about the theater. Though there was still much to do, all was coming along as perfectly as her personal life: Something she was again in full charge of.

Leonora had won the war of wills with Wilhelmina and with the emergence of William she happily stepped aside and back into the shadows. Her control of Simon, now Simone, had ceased as well. Now, Willie and Simone flourished in a world of their own making. No longer was the door to Simone's dressing room closed and no longer did Leonora scrutinize his movements. The two were free to move about as the pair they had become, with no interference. Leonora now kept herself busy with the new dance instructor she had hired to replace Wilhelmina.

But it did not escape her that Willie and Simone had a passion for one another unlike anything she could have imagined. Often in the still of the late afternoon, after all were gone for the day, she'd see them out on the floor waltzing to the Gershwin melody that was theirs. Willie dressed in Jeans and a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up over her manly shoulders, and Simone's womanly torso filling out his leotard to form-fitting perfection.

Leonora looked upon them fondly as Willie danced with Simone perched upon his love's softly gliding feet. Pressed in close, Simone "pierced Willie to the heart with his torpedo like breasts," while his lips left their glossy-red residue upon the "Devil or Angel" tattoo that decorated Willie's bulging bicep. Then looking up with a certain gleam in his eye, he would toy with her handsome mustache as they waltzed in a graceful swirling ecstasy.

. . . And yes, it was one of Frank's finer moments, and the best damn tattoo he had ever done.

Chapter XV All Is Well

Willie gazed a last time into the eyes of her beloved Simone. He was the perfect incarnation of feminine splendor. His diamond tiara, his satin and lace bustier bodice, his romantically bellowing, ankle length gauze tutu; all formed a picture of grace and beauty. He was the love of her life and she knew that no matter the outcome of the nights performance her world would forever be beside Simone.

As the stage lights dimmed, and the orchestra struck the opening notes, Willie took a deep breath as Simone squeezed her hand tightly. In an instant, the curtain rose and Willie and Simone flung themselves onto center stage in a bravura of jets and fouettes. They enacted a choreography both transcendent and terrifying, in a portrayal of love and sacrifice set in the cold streets of New York. Willie and Simone gave themselves up to the intense desperation their street thug and enchantress roles demanded, whipping themselves toward their irreconcilable fate. Simone's agile, spirited brilliance gave a heartrending edge in his struggle against tyranny's grip; while Willie's explosive passion gave shattering intensity to her rage against innocence taken. It was the role of their lives, for that's what "Rumble Street" was all about, after all.

There could not have been a more resounding appreciation paid then the three curtain calls that followed the performance. Wilhelmina had conquered her demons and Willie had fulfilled her dream. So full was her heart that, there on center stage between the reverent curtsies and bows, Willie stooped down on bended knee before her love. Then taking Simone's hand, she asked him to be her wife. The tears that cascaded down his cheeks spoke the words his nodding consent did not. So it was done; Simon had conquered his demons, and Simone found fulfillment of his dream - as Willie's bride.

Willie had rented a convertible at the Miami airport to carry them to their beachside honeymoon rental. Willie drove the convertible down the boulevard to see, and be seen among those who came to luxuriate in the warmth of Miami's winter sun. Willie dressed for comfort in her white linen trousers, Panama hat and Hawaiian shirt. Simone wore a light, floral print strapless shift, his long auburn hair blown back as they drove down the boulevard. They arrived at the beachside address just before sunset with the failing sun shrouding the sea in a golden hue. In their haste to cross the threshold they left their luggage in the car, taking only an oblong wrapped gift from Leonora. Willie picked up her bride and carried him in her arms, and in Simone's grasp the package was held tightly so as not to drop it. For whatever else Simone would do without this evening, he certainly wouldn't be doing without his "Willie."

THE END --------

Acknowledgments:

I'd like to thank Dawn DeWinter without whom this story would not have been written. Dawn, and his beloved David represent the best of our community, and shall forever remain my inspiration. Thanks for showing me what it means to live a life worthwhile.

I need also gratefully acknowledge Bea Wylie (aka. Bea's TV Channel.com) for his help, wit and wisdom - All dispensed with a heart as large as his titanic talent. Thanx, Bea. You are the best, end inquiry.