Jane

Jane

Kay Hemlock Brown

Copyright © 2013 by Kay Hemlock Brown

Smashwords Edition

Notice: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Contents

Prologue

Zsuszana

Deanna

Heather

Thunder

Keeping Busy

Going Home

Gabe

Deanna Visits Pennsylvania Again

Jane Alone

A commission

On Location

Life as a Makeup Artist

Jane Learns a New Art

In bed at last

Gillian Makes a Date

Angela

Visiting Stephanie

Learning about Scorpia

Scorpia Rides Again

Angie finds Love

Trio

England

Calling from England!

Christmas

Thea again

Another Commission

Sherrine and Omar

With Gillian Gone

Heidi in the Big City

New Year’s Eve in the Big Apple, Sort Of

Back on the Set

A Road Trip

Stacy

The Twins on their Own

A Party Dress!

Stacy Watches

A Scorpia Movie?

Premiere!

Afterword

Prologue

Jane found herself a ‘glamour’ photographer by accident. As a sophomore, Jane had broken up with her boyfriend Jay. It so happened that a certain retired couple in New York City, the Morans, friends of Jay, got to know Jane and Jay, and got to like Jane a lot better than they liked Jay! Wanting to relocate in Florida, they arranged with Jane that they would give her the use of the house, provided Helen paid the taxes on the house.

Jay had already begun to work for the porn industry. As his last act of kindness to Jane, he got her started with so-called glamour photography. Jay was getting to be quite rich through the Internet. Jane carefully asked the, the couple, the Morans (who had already left), whether she may use their home as a studio, and they had said yes.

Most female models responded better to a man than to a woman. Jane knew that she made a very handsome young boy. So, without actually saying that she was a boy, she allowed her young female models to assume that she was a guy. She introduced herself as Jan, and got started with the photography.

Zsusana

Her first model was a young woman called Zsusana, very foreign, who was accompanied by a beautiful older woman. Jay had provided Jane with blank forms which the models had to fill out and sign, after which Jane took between twenty and a hundred photographs with both a film camera and a digital camera, and negotiated how the photos would be shared between the model and herself, paid the model for her time, and saw her off. The studio was a simple one: just backdrops placed in the large dining room, with a lovely old sofa as the only furniture, and some basic lighting, in addition to the three beautiful chandeliers on a dimmer.

After a simple meal of leftovers, Jane looked around the house. She needed company, and there was no one she could call. At one time she had had Jay, but that was a long time ago; that was back before Jay had recognized that he was homosexual. He had been an intelligent, sensitive, fun-loving boy. But he had discovered gay sex just about the same time that he had discovered greed.

I have to get to know people, Jane told herself. But where could she go to find people she could stand to be with? People who would understand that she was a porn photographer, and not despise her? Everybody loved porn, but hated so-called glamour photographers. Glamour photographers were sleazeballs.

Heading back to the studio, Jane began to look over the images from the shoot. After fiddling with them for a couple of hours, she set them to play in an endless slide show, fading from one into the next, and lay back on the couch to watch.

Deanna

The second model came alone, a couple of days later. She was a voluptuous green-eyed strawberry-blonde originally from California, of medium height—about five-foot-five. She wore a sexy one-piece in a halter style that left her back bare, and medium heels in which she moved with perfect balance. She began to flirt outrageously with Jane, but in a sweet, childlike way that didn’t disgust her. Her name was Deanna, and she had the most sensuous lips Jane had ever seen. They weren’t heavy, but they were full and soft, and ready to curve in a mischievous smile at the slightest excuse. And she had large, full breasts that stood up on their own. All natural, she said, seriously. I’ll never fool with them. I hate that.

Jane suppressed an urge to agree; after all, she was masquerading as a young man.

But, after a few years …

No, Deanna said, firmly shaking her head. I’ll just stop modeling.

What will you do then?

Deanna shrugged. Their eyes met, and Jane tried to see if the girl seemed to be prepared to join the sex trade. Perhaps she was already available, for the right fee? The number of nude models who kept aloof from prostitution was significant, Jane knew, but the temptation had to be great.

Deanna, will you ... touch yourself for me?

Deanna giggled, and proceeded to accommodate Jane. Jane made her stop smiling with some difficulty. Surprisingly, it was easy to make Deanna look turned on. Jane asked her to think of her boyfriend, and her eyes de-focused, and she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, and proceeded to caress herself, and Jane caught it all. Afterwards, she looked at Jane with an odd, searching look that made Jane anxious for a few seconds, until she sighed softly and smiled, a smile that reached all the way to her wonderful eyes.

Deanna disappeared into the dressing-room, and Jane heard her singing to herself in a high, sweet voice. She came out fully dressed, and they smiled at each other, suddenly awkward again. She had a handsome raincoat that would keep her warm; it was getting to be a chilly October.

Unexpectedly, Deanna pulled out a piece of paper, and began to scribble on it. Here, she said, give me a call sometime!

Jane took the paper and glanced at it. For the first time she noticed Deanna’s handwriting: small and curly and well-formed. Jane would have expected it to be big and bold, with flourishes. Deanna dimpled at her, as if she could read Jane’s mind. They shook hands —a ridiculous thing to do, after the intimacy of a nude photo shoot, but customary— and Deanna left. Jane watched her walk down the street from her window, the feeling of loneliness crashing down on her once again. They were only women; why did she feel so abandoned when they left?

Heather

The fourth model was a stunning beauty. Like Jane, she had her hair cut short, but in a more feminine style, but she filled out her jeans beautifully. She undressed right in front of Jane, peeling away her Levis, and her musculature was so gorgeous, Jane found it hard to breathe. The girl was more beautiful than most men Jane had seen.

Her name was Heather, and she was a lesbian. She made it plain from the outset that not only was Jane—still masquerading as a guy—not to touch her, she wasn’t to come too close, either. With this one, Jane had to think of completely different kinds of poses. Heather’s idea of posing was closer to that of a gymnast, or a body sculptor. After they exhausted the possibilities of that, Jane tried to persuade her to relax, to pose like a girl.

There was initial reluctance, but Jane had the money, and therefore the control. They took a break, during which the girl insisted on seeing the images Jane had taken thus far, and a look of pleasure came into her eyes. She smiled at Jane; suddenly they were friends.

You’re good, she said, in her lovely, warm contralto.

I’m a girl, Jane said, before she could stop herself.

There was a long silence.

Get out of here!

Jane nodded, and looked down at her camera. When she finally looked back at Heather, her lips were parted, her eyes were wide with interest.

Are you butch? Are you a dyke?

Jane blushed furiously.

No … I’m straight, actually.

Heather laughed, not ridiculing Jane, but genuinely amused.

Got a boyfriend?

I’m between men, right now, Jane said, smiling.

Heather cursed, not in anger, but in wonder. You’re some looker, you know that? Man, I’d like to see you—all of you!

Jane shook her head. I’m not into girls, she said firmly, though she couldn’t stop herself from blushing.

Yeah, right; that’s why you take pictures of girls, sure! Somehow Jane found that she wasn’t hurt by Heather’s amusement.

The rest of the shoot went well, except that Jane was acutely embarrassed. Heather was quite delighted to display her charms for Jane’s camera, and do things that she would never have considered until Jane had revealed what she was. Jane was utterly confused; in spite of Heather’s willing exhibitionism, there was a certain dignity about the girl that made her seem fully dressed, even when stark naked. She was of medium height, but she had incredible legs, muscular and sculpted, and a hard, flat stomach that made Jane weak with excitement. As much as she told herself that she only liked men, she had to face the fact that Heather’s abdomen was far sexier than that of any man she had seen.

Ever been kissed by a woman?

Why, of course, Jane protested. Lots of times! Jane was putting things away, but Heather sat on a table, still gloriously nude. How could she be so unconcerned about her nudity?

"No, I mean really kissed!"

Heather, let’s leave it. I’m not interested. Really!

Then why did you tell me?

Because you looked so uncomfortable, that’s why!

Heather did not crowd her, did not push herself into Jane’s space. She simply kept talking, asking Jane repeatedly. There was a faint smile on her face, and an eagerness, but Jane knew Heather was not desperate for a kiss. She was just curious.

One little kiss, she said, softly. I can’t go without a kiss from you, she said. I like you, Jan … man, I gotta get a kiss from you, girl!

Finally, perhaps something showed in Jane’s face. With a triumphant grin, Heather came to her. Jane noted her prominent canines; how sexy they made her look!

She tried to keep herself from melting into Heather’s kiss, but it had been a long time since anyone had held her in their arms. Her arms went round Heather’s back, and she felt the strength there; she felt Heather’s pubic mound press into her belly, and her soft lips against her own. She felt Heather’s tongue in her mouth, and she gave into the full pleasure of the kiss, the strange wonder of Heather’s smooth, whisker-less face against her own, and the feel of Heather’s excitement, her strong buttocks under Jane’s hand, and then Heather’s hard leg between her own.

Jane pushed away, snatching her hand away from Heather’s breast, where she it seemed to have ended up all by itself. Heather caught it and held it, looking thoughtfully at her.

Okay, she whispered, releasing Jane gently. I wanted you to know what it’s like, she said. It isn’t so bad.

Jane shrugged, her eyes lowered. It took a second to compose herself, and smile. You’re beautiful, Heather … thank you for modeling for me.

Heather smiled, this time a soft, warm smile, not predatory, not amused, but something else. It made Jane warm inside, and made Heather look utterly irresistible.

Heather put her jeans back on, and Jane asked her to stay for a little snack. She found herself telling Heather everything; how she was a painter, and had begun taking photographs as part of her portrait-work, and how she had wound up in the erotic photo business.

But I want to get back into painting, she confided. Heather invited trust; Jane felt as if she had finally found someone she could talk to. I’d like to paint you, if you don’t mind, Heather, she said. She hadn’t consciously decided to do so; her subconscious mind had a way of getting what it wanted.

Sure, Heather said, with a shrug. Do you have anything you’ve done?

Well, it’s all packed away; but I have images of them.

Let me see.

Heather’s reactions to her paintings were all that she could have desired. Heather was far from ignorant about painting; she wanted to see more and more, pointing out this feature and that. She knew little about oil painting, as such, but knew all about composition and light.

It was only after Heather had taken her leave, promising to look her up again, that Jane realized she hadn’t asked Heather about herself.

Thunder

Jane was delighted to have Deanna back for another session. This time Deanna wore a sexy black velvet dress and very high-heeled sandals with thongs that tied up her calf. She had beautiful feet, and Jane took scores of shots of her undressing. Her golden hair was perfect, falling in soft waves to the small of her back, and she knew exactly how to make love to the camera. And those amazing breasts!

She felt more comfortable with Deanna than with her other models, though she had spent more time with Heather, and confided to her many things she had never discussed with anyone else. Deanna was warm and comfortable and accepting, and despite her obvious interest in Jane, she never let it become uncomfortable. They cooked together and had supper, but when it was time for Deanna to leave, a huge thunderstorm sprang up, almost a hurricane, and there was no question of Deanna heading back home in it. Jane got a spare bed ready for Deanna, having first made sure she was comfortable staying the night with a man.

"Oh … it’s okay. There’s no way I’m going home in that," she assured Jane.

Quite by accident, Deanna discovered Jane’s secret. Jane had undressed for bed, and put on a nightie without thinking. She was just looking at herself in the mirror, wondering whether she was getting to be a little too masculine, when there was a loud thunderclap very close by, and she heard a shriek, and Deanna burst into the room, her eyes wild. She came to an abrupt halt, seeing Jane in her negligee. She herself was wearing only a terry robe Jane had given her. Just then there was another thunderclap, and forgetting her surprise, Deanna threw herself into Jane’s arms.

Oh god … I didn’t know you were a girl!

There was yet another thunderclap, and Deanna’s body stiffened in Jane’s arms momentarily. Then all the lights went out, leaving them in total darkness, together with the entire neighborhood. Several blocks away, there were lights still on; in their immediate vicinity, though, the power was out.

Jane remembered the length of time with Deanna in her arms as stretching for hours, though it must have been mere seconds. When the crash of thunder died down, Deanna’s frightened clutch eased, and she let out her breath slowly in a sigh. Her fingers felt sensuous through the buttery fabric of Jane’s negligee, and she felt almost an ache of loss as they briefly drew apart to allow Jane to put on a wrap. Come on, Jane said softly, let’s go get some candles.

Okay, said Deanna, breathlessly.

Jane’s heart was thudding in her chest, as she wondered how Deanna would take the surprise of seeing Jane in her nightie. Outside, in the distance, they could see more lights going out; it was a bad outage. They could barely see their way around the room. Just as Jane despaired of ever being allowed to touch Deanna again, she felt Deanna’s hand brush her arm, and slip down into her hand.

Whew, that was strange, Deanna said, with a brave laugh. She’s still frightened, Jane thought. They slowly felt their way into the hall, where Jane kept such things as candles in a closet. What are you doing? asked Deanna, softly.

Looking for matches, Jane muttered, and then said, Got them. Here, hold this.

She struck a match, anxiously, worried about setting something on fire. Deanna’s eyes appeared in the light of the match, and Jane’s heart nearly stopped; she had never realized how beautiful were the girl’s eyes. They lit the candle, and gazed at each other, at a loss for words.

Is it okay? May I still stay?

Jane was surprised at Deanna’s question. Of course! Why?

I … I don’t know; I don’t want to intrude on your privacy, you know …

Please stay!

The smile Deanna gave her warmed her inside. I can’t get too fond of a porn model, Jane’s sensible self warned her.

Deanna begged to be allowed to sleep in Jane’s room. The storm was not letting up, and the thunder was a constant rumble in the background.

They dragged a sofa into Jane’s room, and Jane told Deanna to sleep on Jane’s own bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.

Are you sure? Deanna asked. There’s plenty of room for both of us!

Jane observed Deanna’s suppressed excitement, somehow accentuated by the candlelight. Her body hungered after Deanna, the feel of her still fresh in memory. Somehow Jane managed a smile that took the edge off her refusal.

I’ll be right here, Jane said softly, and the couch is comfortable! Would you like something to drink before you go to bed, Deanna?

She didn’t. Leaving a candle burning in a safety lantern out in the hall, Jane got comfortable on the couch. She could see vaguely in the darkness Deanna getting out of the terry robe, hanging it on the bedpost, and slipping into Jane’s bed. The storm settled down to heavy rain.

I love the rain, Deanna sighed, and Jane thought to herself how Deanna’s voice conveyed all that she was, her soft lusciousness, how she approached Jane, cautiously, but not easily turned aside. Jane was still shocked at how strongly she was attracted to, and affected by the other girl.

She waited impatiently to hear Deanna’s breathing settle into a regular pattern; her mind was seething with illicit fantasies of the feel of Deanna’s body under Jane’s greedy hands. After some 200 photographs, Deanna’s body should have had no secrets from her, but the look in Deanna’s eyes as she struck the match was burned into her retina. From merely a girl with a beautiful body, she had become a beauty in Jane’s eyes. Gradually she became aware of soft rustling sounds, and she realized that Deanna was trying to comfort herself. Here, in Jane’s house, in her room? But why not? After all she was in the sex business.

The uneasy calm did not last; there was a flash of lightning, followed by an enormous clap of thunder almost right above them. In the split-second between the lightning and the thunder, Jane saw Deanna’s body arching in her self-induced pleasure, only to collapse in shock. Deanna’s shriek and the thunderclap came together, and Jane saw her pop upright, her eyes wild, bright against her darkened face, and in a trice Jane found herself in bed with Deanna, holding her tight. The lightning seemed so close, even Jane was shaking. They hardly breathed for a few seconds.

Deanna let out her breath slowly. Jesus! she whispered. That was right in the room, practically!

Jane laughed nervously.

You stay right here, Deanna instructed her, firmly. From inches away, the force of her personality hit Jane hard. She could not fear the storm, distracted by Deanna’s presence. Her warm, musky fragrance filled Jane’s lungs, and her irregular breathing excited Jane past bearing. After what seemed a long time, her breathing settled down into a semblance of regularity. I’m glad I’m not at home! she said.

Do you live alone?

Uh huh, she said, nodding in the darkness. Oh Jan! she whispered, Thank you for letting me stay the night!

Sure! whispered Jane back, patting her arm.

After a few long seconds, Deanna softly kissed Jane on the lips.

Do you mind? she asked softly.

Jane shook her head, struck dumb with love. The little candle was plenty bright enough now, as their eyes grew accustomed to the dark.

Deanna kissed her again, and then again, more urgently.

It was utterly different from any kisses Jane had received from anyone. These were soft, soft, and even as Deanna’s excitement rose, they were still soft. Oh Jan! she cried in a whisper, Tell if you want me to stop!

To stop was the last thing Jane wanted. Her heart sang when Deanna threw a leg over her, and proceeded to kiss her thoroughly, on her entire face and the hollow of her throat, her breath coming in soft pants. The feel of her heavy breasts on Jane’s body was something new and incredible, and Jane was amazed at how pleasurable it was.

Deanna’s progress was interrupted by yet another thunderclap, evidently some distance away. Deanna buried her face in Jane’s pillow, while Jane comforted her with soft words and her hands. Deanna genuinely did not like thunder, it was very clear. The rigidity of her body gradually ebbed once more, and Deanna’s legs relaxed their grip on Jane’s body.

With a sigh, very slowly, she rolled off Jane’s body, keeping only her arm across Jane’s body.

I’m sorry … I guess all the thunder got me … excited! There was a giggle in her voice that made Jane want to smile. Are you into girls?

I don’t know, said Jane, confused, It’s never happened before … like this, anyway!

It’s my first time, too.

Jane laughed awkwardly. I don’t think a little kissing counts, really, she said, more to convince herself than anything else.

You want to stop, then.

Jane’s heart went cold. She remained silent. Deanna turned to look down at her face. She cupped Jane’s cheek with her hand, and her breast lay heavy on Jane’s own. Jan … you’re so beautiful … she breathed, … Please! Please let me … let me touch you!

Okay, said Jane.

Deanna’s hand slowly moved down Jane’s face and onto her breast, through the thin fabric of Jane’s nightie, and Deanna took in a sharp breath, as she explored the texture of Jane’s breast, which had been neglected for so many months. Deanna was clearly as turned on with Jane’s body as Jane was with hers. It was exquisite pleasure to feel Deanna exploring her body, gently moving aside the fabric of Jane’s nightie.

Deanna made love to her. It was sweet and tender, tinged with an edge of fear. Jane surrendered to Deanna’s hands, closing her eyes. It was as if Deanna knew Jane’s body better than she knew it herself. All night long, they took turns to bring each other to little climaxes, as if they were little girls, experimenting with sex.

Hours later, they were lying side by side, with Deanna holding Jane’s hand in both her own, caressing it.

Is it your first time? Deanna asked again in a soft whisper.

With a girl, yeah, Jane replied, awkwardly.

It’s different, Deanna said, presently. Jane only nodded.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms, and Jane was happier than she had ever been in her life. To lie like this, with Deanna’s chubby legs intertwined in her own, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. It stormed most of the night, but Deanna lay calm in Jane’s embrace.

Jane struggled to wakefulness, feeling Deanna’s body gone from beside her. Deanna was dressed in her borrowed robe again, staring out of the window.

Let me buy you breakfast! Deanna said, affecting a cheery briskness that Jane saw through at once. Jane realized that the closeness they had felt must have affected Deanna as much as it had Jane. She had imagined that the models she worked with were no strangers to all kinds of sex.

Nonsense, Jane replied, there’s plenty of food in the refrigerator; I’ll make breakfast for us.

Deanna silently watched Jane cooking eggs, and then they ate.

The best eggs I’ve ever eaten, Deanna declared with a shy smile.

Jane grinned. I’m okay with breakfast, she said, pleased.

Are you happy to live alone, or … or do you like company?

Like you, for instance?

Well, yeah? Deanna said, blushing furiously. I mean, I just wondered, that’s all.

Sure! You can stay over … whenever you want to, really. Like, I don’t have anything to do today.

Really?

Uh uh. I guess I’ll do a little painting.

Oh. Deanna looked at Jane, her eyes wide and thoughtful. I’d better go home and take the mail in, Deanna said.

Would you like to come over for supper? Deanna nodded. I’ll fix up the room for you.

After Deanna helped wash up, she went back upstairs and carefully dressed. Jane tried to leave her alone, but it was too much temptation; in the end she watched it all. Deanna took her leave, and Jane watched until Deanna walked out of sight down the street. How gracefully she walked! Feeling utterly confused, Jane walked about the house, ending up in her bedroom, trying to imagine Deanna in her bed, what she must have looked like when they touched each other, when they kissed, when Deanna whispered secret words of desire in her ear. But all she could remember was Deanna’s face, the moment she struck the match.

Jane found herself before a canvas she had been saving for something—she couldn’t remember what. And Deanna’s face looked back at her, lit by a single match, and the cold light of far away lightning.

She laid down her brush, and hurried away, her throat suddenly parched. After a long drink of water, she sat down in the living-room, trying to figure it out.

It was amazing how successful their impromptu experiment in sex had been; Jane still thought of it as mutual masturbation. It had been far more satisfying than lying in bed alone, trying to give herself the sensations that she remembered when she had had sex with Jay. She was getting better at it, but last night had been simply incredible. They were just two girls, having fun, she told herself.

If Jane found her feelings confusing, things were worse for Deanna. It had been a shock to see Jane in women’s clothes, and she had surprised herself by making love to Jane. After touching and tasting Jane, it was impossible to think of her as anything but female.

As she took the subway to the part of the city in which she lived, being jostled by sundry smelly men trying to feel her up, the desire to hurry back to Jane grew almost to a compulsion. But Deanna was a proud girl, and it seemed as if the right way to do things was to ease into the blossoming relationship slowly. She neither wanted to hurt Jane, nor be hurt by her; and the more slowly she proceeded, the less chance there would be of anyone getting hurt.

Her apartment was as perfectly tidy as it always was. The only note of discord was the few pieces of equipment that had belonged to her late pet cat Maggie, who had taken ill and died just days earlier.

She did her laundry, sorted through the mail, listened to her phone messages, and more or less semi-consciously, set about preparing for being away from the apartment for a few days. She packed the essentials in a little back-pack—a suitcase would frighten Jane—wrote out some checks and mailed them, and tried to eat a snack lunch. She tried to watch TV, which was tuned to a porn channel, but seeing a girl who looked too much like Jane, but spoke and acted differently, she turned the TV off. She read her e-mail, browsed the web for a while, and then impatiently got to her feet. Minutes later, she was on her way back to Jane’s.

Jane opened the door, dressed once again in jeans, as she always was, much to Deanna’s disappointment. But the look of pleasure on Jane’s face made Deanna’s heart take flight!

So, how was the mail? Jane asked, laughing. You’ve brought a backpack!

May I stay, for like, a couple of days? Deanna stammered out. So much for taking it slow! She knew she must look pathetic, but there was no help for it.

Looking quickly up and down the street, Jane motioned Deanna to come inside, and closed the door and leaned back on it. Deanna now saw the outline of her breasts against the black T-shirt. Jane looked a little tense, and Deanna’s heart fell. But she need not have worried; Jane smiled immediately, saying yes, of course, she could stay—as long as she wanted.

There’s a shoot tomorrow, Jane warned. Deanna nodded; she understood. She had to persuade Jane that she would not get in the way. She was falling for this girl; she did not want her out of her sight.

Jane was as good as her word; she had prepared a guest room for Deanna, with linen and towels and everything. And so Deanna moved into Jane’s house, and they did not have sex again. Somehow, each girl had decided, for her own reasons, that she would not ask for sex, but perhaps for that reason, the tenderness between them grew.

Jane Schultz, our heroine, was hiding from her family, and at the time this story begins, has not spoken to her parents or her numerous siblings for three years.

Deanna, one of her first models was a Jewish girl from Los Angeles. Another was Isabella, a young Italian woman settled in New York, and as we have seen, the first was Zsuszana, a Hungarian teenager, whom Jane was eventually able to persuade to take up legitimate modeling instead. We’ve also met Heather, who was a body sculptor and athlete. It was Heather who had been lost on 9/11. She had left home that morning, and they had never found any trace of her since then.

Before that, though, Jane had decided that she, Heather, Deanna, and as many of her models as she could persuade, should get themselves checked out carefully by a friend who was a doctor, Mary Ellen, the girlfriend of Gabe, whom Jane had known back in high school in Pennsylvania. They had discovered that Deanna and Heather both had HIV; that had shocked them utterly. Miraculously, Jane, herself, was clean. Young Zsuszana, though, had been found to be anemic.

Jane had had, at one time, a passionate relationship with Zsuszana’ s mother, Maria, which had ended amidst the agony of the events of 9/11. After the dust had settled down, only Deanna, who stilled lived with Jane, young Zsuszana, who was now in college, and actually doing brilliantly, and faithful Isabella, were left. Deanna and Jane loved each other dearly, but they were afraid to be intimate because of the fear of Jane, too, becoming infected with HIV.

Keeping Busy

Jane forced herself to keep busy. She worked in the supermarket (using the pseudonym Jane Doe), and tried to get some pleasure by smiling at the young kids who came shopping with their mothers. But there was a complaint that Jane was leering at the children, and she was politely told to cut it out. People must feel safe in the store, Doe. Concentrate on your work.

Yes sir, Jane had said.

She took out her tennis clothes, and all her wonderful costumes, and began to sell them off at used clothes stores. What she couldn’t sell, she gave away to the Salvation Army. It was as if she was preparing to die.

Deanna saw it, and began giving Jane her own things to sell off. Jane broke down and wept. Deanna took them back, exasperated. But what will I do with them?

Wear them! Jane cried.

Okay! All right! she yelled back. But she put them in an old suitcase, and Jane went into the bathroom and cried until she was sick.

There was finally a call for Scorpia. (Scorpia was an imaginary personality Jane and her friends had invented. Jane had begun attending annual Metal Fetish gatherings that were held in New York and Baltimore around Halloween and Easter, wearing a mask and fanciful leather outfits, and had become quite famous under the pseudonym of Scorpia, inspired by the black vinyl attire she had preferred. The conventions had started actually paying Scorpia to appear.) Deanna insisted that Jane should go. Scorpia was invited as a special guest to a Metal Fetish convention in Cleveland. This time her travel expenses would be paid, as well as a handsome fee for attending. Jane pestered Deanna into coming with her.

Jane simply could not any longer relate to the frivolity that pervaded the place. Isabella had decided not to go; Heather was dead; she noticed many other faces missing. There was a list of past attendees who had been victims of the attack (on 9/11), and Heather’s name was on it.

For the first time, Jane had a glass of wine before she went on. She took a break and drank a second glass, and finally felt loose enough to make the kind of wisecracks that worked. She found a sarcasm in her that was just perfect. She was interviewed right on the floor, and Jane was sure that such a sarcastic interview had never been given. It was broadcast on radio by syndicated shows, and clips were put on the news. While she was talking, though, Jane only wanted to be the Queen of Sarcasm.

In the hotel, Jane and Deanna were finally able to make love, though very cautiously. It was gentle and tender, and Jane felt herself come alive again. It was as if they were rediscovering each other. Deanna was inspired to dress in some outrageous costume, and go out on the floor again. Why not? Jane thought. Deanna had, in her bags, a costume consisting of just a front panel and a back panel, held together with links at the neck, and a broad belt. Deanna looked sensational in it. She said she would wear it without underwear.

Dee was the hit of the circle that surrounded Jane. She refused to walk on the runway, for obvious reasons, but otherwise she had a great time. Jane wondered whether she tired more quickly than before, but that was not an expected symptom of HIV. Deanna was healthy, but depressed. They both were.

Still, it was survival; not a triumph, as Scorpia’s previous appearances had been. She hardly danced, except with Deanna, and when Scorpia was given the dance championship out of kindness, she refused it, and gave it to another woman. That was not appreciated.

They left as soon as they gracefully could. There was a little follow-up business, but then things settled down to the point where all Jane did was work at the smile-free supermarket.

One day she sneaked into the public library, to spy on (Zsuszana’s mother,) Maria. She saw her working, beautifully dressed, as vivacious as always. It broke her heart to see how beautiful Maria was. Most of all, it broke her heart that her memory of Maria was marred by her inexplicable inflexibility, her unforgiving attitude, her callousness. There was beauty in character, too, and it seemed to Jane as if Maria had vandalized her own soul.

Then their eyes met, and Maria looked across the vaulted hall at Jane in confusion a long time, fooling around with the things on her desk. Finally she got up gracefully, and came over.

I’m sorry! Jane said, her tears ready to come.

I’m glad you came, said Maria, kindly. Wait here; I’ll take a few minutes off.

A few moments later, she came to where Jane waited, her heart in her mouth, and led the way outside, and into a coffee-shop. It was late November now, just before Thanksgiving, and she found a small table for them. They ordered coffee.

Jane, she said, Can you forgive me?

Yes, breathed Jane, a thousand times! She could barely get the words out. Maria held out her hand, palm up.

Please, Jane ... I’m not asking you to take me back. Jane’s vision went dark, and she could just see Maria’s eyes fill with pity. Evidently the despair Jane felt was clear to her. But I need you—as a friend.

I just can’t forget ... two years, Maria. Jane managed to keep a stiff upper lip. You were my life, for two years!

And you were mine!

How can you throw that away?

I don’t know ... but I must. I have someone now. Jane nodded, wanting to take her hand back, but not wanting to be boorish. She ... she lost someone in the ... you know.

I did too.

I know ... I know. How is Deanna?

Fine.

"Good. Zsuszana seems to be doing well. Our child, Jane ... your child ... there is too much of you in her ... when she visits, I’m reminded of you, and those planes again, hitting the tower ..."

"I remind you of that?" Jane asked, incredulous.

Maria took a deep breath and dropping her eyes,