"It's my brother, Clay...." Linda began.

"Who is just leaving!" shouted Bud Hamilton, striding past his brother's fiance, who looked after him in shock as he wrestled ferociously with the locks on the outer door.

"Ty, you've got it wrong," Linda came after him, tears streaming down her face.

The door open, Bud stopped and looked back. "No, I don't have anything wrong," he said bitterly. "It was best for Mary to leave, I'll give you that. It was the best thing you ever did. But Clara's right. I don't have a brother any more. I just don't know what I have."

(Later)

Candy stretched out on the queen-sized double bed that looked as if it hadn't been slept in. There was only one bedroom in the apartment, but it contained queen-sized beds. Dressing, or rather undressing, for bed had not been the problem he thought it would be. It had been a fantastic night after the scary session with Jack Buck. Candy had tried on lingerie that 'she' had only seen before in catalogs. Now in bed, 'she' was wearing what could only be described as a 'passion rouser.' The main part of the gown came down to his thighs in thin strips of see-through and opaque materials, both pink and dark red. The bikini briefs hung into him only by the tight lacing of things at the hips. He's really have to watch how he got up in the morning. And his bra ---Oh! If only he could have worn the tasselled pasties he'd been shown was also a concoction of thin materials and strings which had only just covered the inserts that he was using. He had deactivated the wire tap, but had kept it in the same place. It helped to remind him of who he was and what he was doing, particularly when he eyed the spectacular wardrobe he had purchased with Jack Buck's money! His wig he had kept on. It would brush out easily enough for a day or so but he must get more wigs already there were a number on order for him, courtesy of Mr. Buccarese. But he kept the blonde wig on, tissue paper clipped around the ends to prevent it being too badly pressed out of shape by his sleeping, just in case Artemisia came back and thought his natural hair strange. Later he could show her ‘Michael's' natural color.

He stretched his bare, shaven legs between the satin sheets. It was a glorious. luxurious feeling. Hre wondered if he should have left some makeup on his face - but the cologne should be enough to reassure Artemisia of his femininity. He wondered where she was. The Club must have closed hours ago.

When he awoke in the morning. Artemisia was asleep in

-63-