Jean's Little Problem

by Benway

Disclaimer: The named characters given below, with the exception of
Lennie, Cora, the greasy guy at the laundromat, and Jack are
trademarked (copyrighted ?) to the Marvel Entertainment Group. I am
just borrowing them for the free amusement of myself and others.

The following story takes place in the early 1970s, shortly after the
Cape Citadel incident. Sensitive readers should be warned that this
story does deal with sexual matters.

**************************************************************************

The blonde boy lay on his bed, eyes closed, his thin, graceful, shirtless body
resting on a pair of white-feathered wings. A cold winter light flooded the
room. The door closed, and a red-headed girl stood at the door, gripping its
handle behind her back.

"Warren..."

"Jean, we have to stop meeting like this. What will Slim think?"

"...."

"What's wrong?"

"I heard you, last week. When you were arguing with Henry behind the
boathouse. Scott and I were in the back, and we didn't want you to
know we were there. I heard it all."

"I don't know what you, uh, mean. When was this?"

"You know _Damn_ well when it was! Last Tuesday! You were talking to
him about Edie, and he was really upset with you."

"Oh That! He was, uh, upset with the way I had broken up with her,
that was all. I think he had a crush on her, but you know.."

"Bullshit!"

"Huh?"

"You paid for her to get it fixed, didn't you? You knew somewhere you
could send her and you paid for it. I'm not stupid Warren, don't lie
to me."

"Uh, Jean, it wasn't like that"

"Hank was saying it wasn't the first time either."

"...."

"I need help. I have to see the gynecologist next week, and I
haven't had a period this month. I'm also starting to feel sick every
morning. Get the picture?"

"Uh, Jean, I'm not sure that I'm the one you should be talking to
about this. Have you talked to Scott?"

"Are you kidding? You know how straight he is. He would never understand,
and he'd never agree to anything. And I'm not going to tell the Prof
either. I don't want to be off the team, and I'm not
going to be any use to you if I don't get this thing fixed. And I know
he wouldn't understand either."

"But he is really understanding. I've had lots..."

"Did you talk to him about Edie?"

"..."

"His father was practicing Catholic and one of his uncles was a Jesuit
priest. I know he doesn't go to church but there is no way I'm going
to talk to him about this."

"I don't know..."

"I need this thing fixed now, in the next couple of days. I need to
have it out of the way before next Wednesday."

"But..."

"Warren, you're the only one i can turn to, you're the only one I
know who can set it up."

"Isn't your Dad a doctor? Can't he fix-"

"My father is never going to know. Never."

"So, who's the proud-"

"Absolutely none of your fucking business. Oh God, Warren, you're the
only one who can help me, what am I going to do?"

The girl relaxed her hold on the doorknob and slid to her
knees. The boy turned away and looked into the blinding light.

"Two weeks ago, I knocked four battled hardened soldiers senseless
without a second thought, I saw boys my age crushed to death, I almost
saw Scott get killed and you get killed and I helped to prevent a
disaster that could have destroyed us all. And now my whole life is
falling apart and I can't fix it without your help WARREN!"

He jerked around. Lightblind, he could just distinguish her face in
the shadows by the door. He bit his upper lip, but said nothing as she
sobbed. Then he cleared his throat, and was surprised to find coming
from his lips the voice of his father:

"OK, Jean, so you've been... careless..you know there were things you
could have done...."

As his vision cleared, he saw her collapsed against the door, shaking just
visibly. He turned away, his mouth going dry.

"I know some people I can call. I can find tell you after dinner. I
don't know if I can get something set up that quickly."

"How much...I have 200 dollars saved up, and I could use that..."

"No. I'll look after it. You'd need at least 500, and on short notice
more like 1500 to 2000. I can afford it"

"I can't pay that back. My Dad would want to know what it was
for. Do you want-"

"I don't want anything. You've been stupid Jean, but I can forgive
that."

"You can, can you? Well, I guess I can be thankful for small mercies."

She stood up slowly and smoothed her skirt. As she wiped the hair away
from her face, the boy turned back towards the window and let the
light flood over him. He did not turn as she left, but waited a few
minutes, then picked up the phone and began to dial a Manhattan number.

**********************************************************************

As he drove down the parkway, the boy thought about what he had
done. He had contacted his father's creatures, but the best that they
could do on short notice was to provide two names. The first was on
vacation in Miami Beach and
was not returning for a week, and the second had hung up immediately
after he had hinted at what he wanted. He cursed the woman for
having left it so late and for having put him in this spot. He cursed
her for being careless and he cursed her for giving him so little
time. He almost told her that there was nothing he could do, and
secretly relished the thought of her having to admit her mistake, but then
he had then remembered another name. One of the seniors at his prep
school had mentioned a house in a nearby town
where he had heard that matters were attended to. The boy had made
some calls, and reached a man who said he could help. That evening,
the boy had driven to a laundromat in Poughkeepsie where he spoke to a
short, dark, balding man in a vinyl coat who took $ 1000.00 and gave him an
address. He felt quite proud of himself.

The woman sat in the car beside the boy, saying nothing. He had not
told her how he had arranged things, and she did not feel like asking. She
stared out the window, replaying in her mind the night two weeks
before when she had sat on the toilet all night with a douche in a box
in one hand and bottle of Lysol in the other. She hadn't gone through
with it, and she couldn't help thinking that if she had she would not
be heading to Poughkeepsie now.

The car came to a stop at a stop sign in one of the less attractive
parts of the town. The woman stared straight ahead, immobile.
"Alright. The deal is, we meet back at that cafe on the corner after
they give me the call to say that you are finished. They said they
would give you all the necessary instructions, and that you were to
come alone. They have a picture of you, so they will know who you
are. Is that OK?"
"Yeah. Sure."
She opened the door of the blue Corvette and stepped onto the
sidewalk. As the boy drove off, she stood for a moment and scanned the
street. She noted the empty storefronts and the small diner with the
dirty windows and the block of railroad flats in front of her. Walking
down the street towards the river, she stopped at an embankment, and
looked over the edge into
the cold, grey, swirling waters of the Hudson below. Ten minutes
later, she began
walking towards the house. It was invisible from the embankment,
hidden between an old warehouse and a factory. Its white clapboard
siding had greyed with age, and its windows were caked with decades of
undisturbed soot. A pale light glowed in a second story window, and as
she approached it, she could make out a small steel door at one
side. She turned as she heard a car pass. As she saw the back
end of the black car drop over the crest of the hill, she felt a wave
of fear rush over her. She thought she had seen lights on top of it,
and that it might be a police car. She stood immobile for a moment,
and used what she had been taught to suppress the panic. She
saw that she could not flee the car if it returned, and that she would
have to provide a story that would convince the officers that she had
a reason to be there. Being a woman and all. Calming the anger that
had replaced the fear, she decided that if
they returned, she could always say that her boyfriend had dumped her
here after they had had a fight in his car and that she had just
stopped by the river to think. She realized that this might seem a bit
weak, but she knew that Warren could cover for her if it came to
that. She calmly crossed the road and knocked on the metal door. It
opened to reveal a woman worn by hours of low paid work, cigarettes,
and cheap beer.
"Hi. My name is Jean-"
"I don't really need to know, dear. But you can call me Cora. I'm the
only one with a name here. Did someone follow you? Did you bring
anyone?"
"No, they dropped me off a few blocks away. I thought that I saw a
police car, though."
"OK dear, no cops are gonna bother us here. Just sit down and
we'll be with you in a sec. "
The older woman led her into a dark smoke-filled room. At a wooden table at
the centre sat 4 middle-aged men, smoking and playing poker. They
glanced at her for a moment and then looked back at the cards. In the
centre of the table, there was a stack of green paper that it took her
a moment to realize was money, probably several hundred dollars
worth. As the older woman sat her down on a metal stool in the corner, her
fears vanished into a mass of confusion. What could she have walked
into? As she calmed, she realized that the men were gambling at high
stakes poker. They didn't seem dangerous, but she was very aware of just
how misleading such benign impressions could be. The only face she
could clearly see was that of a fat man in his 60s, sitting in his
undershirt and wearing a pork-pie hat. He resembled the butcher in TV
commercial for a supermarket that she had watched as a child, and this
seemed reassuring. Not knowing what would come next and trying to keep
the fear under control, she slowly scanned the room. There were no
obvious threats, and she had a clear path to the door (which she noted
had a lock that could easily be opened quickly) if she needed to
flee. She mentally calculated the time it would take her to clear the
door and round the corner before someone could aim and fire a gun at
her, but she wasn't sure that she had a protected path beyond
that. She noted a large ceramic ashtray on a window ledge near her
hand, but also that the window, begrimed and hidden by heavy curtains
would prevent anyone from seeing into the room. As she continued to
scan the room, her eyes rested again on the card player, who was
looking back at her.

Lennie had been playing cards at Jack's for 10 years. He knew Jack
from the days just after Korea, when they had encountered each other
while doing business in and around Poughkeepsie. Lennie had retired
after 30 years as a second story man, but liked to feel that he was
still  in the game with the occasional round of poker at Jack's. A 250
dollar stake was the least he could begin with, and after that, either luck
was on your side or she wasn't. Lennie had always been of two minds
about the girls though. Jack had come back from Korea with 3 years of
combat medical training; he had been drafted after he had dropped out
of vet school, and after the war had moved into his dead mother's
house to set up a
gambling joint and loan service for those truly in need. Jack
had realized that some of the things that he had learned would come in
handy, and soon all the girls from Mae's and the other houses in
the district knew that Jack could be relied on to take care of
problems quickly. Lennie liked it when the girls from the houses
were there; most of the time, they kept to the background and made
themselves useful. Also, they were often kind of older, and he seldom
found them distracting. The other little bitches were a pain,
though. They were all society types, from nice houses in the suburbs,
and they all looked through him when they passed him in the street. He
knew what was in their closets and their fathers desk drawers and
under their mother's mattresses and behind their brothers books, and
it made him feel pretty damn straight. And this one was so very
distracting. He'd almost lost a hand when his attention was held by
the graceful lines of her muscular calves. He won on a hand when he
fixed his gaze on her shapeless yellow & green plaid twinset, but then
he lost again when his eyes locked on to her large high breasts that
were partly hidden behind her the lapels of her open jacket. He
couldn't keep his mind on the game, as her recalled another firm young
body that he had taken (or was it given?) some years before. He
imagined the struggling body. padded but strong underneath a cheap
rayon slip and a room that smelled of pine trees. He lost another
hand, and looked up into her face, which was framed by a mass of red
hair. She looked unusually composed, but Lenny could sense her anxiety
and he savoured it. He also noticed something else:
her eyes moved  like a narc's,  casing the joint. He followed her eyes to the
ashtray, to the door and around the room. To shake the image (the
cops do not employ 16 year olds) he imagined her sleeping naked in a
bed in some suburban house as he climbed through the window, and then
thought of what he could do to her without awakening her parents and
with only the tools in his little black bag. He lost another hand. When he
glanced up, she was looking right at him. He stared directly into her
eyes, smiled,  and let his long, stained tongue venture a gesture that had
required a decade of practice to perfect. He noted with satisfaction
the sudden disintegration of her composure and the emergence of
terror, but just as it looked like the
little bitch might bolt, Cora came back in and led her into the back
room. Lennie won the next hand and at the end of the day came out
ahead in the game.

*********************************************************************

Cora led Jean from the room with the card players into a stark grey
kitchen lit by a row of fluorescent tubes. She stopped by the stove and
hefted a large aluminum soup kettle, in which something
metallic clanked as it shifted. Jean followed her into a back room,
where it was obviously to take place. She stood in the door, looking
at a large old wooden chair with stirrups that occupied the centre of
the room. Cora occupied herself with the kettle, taking steel
instruments out of it and placing them on a strip of paper towel that
lay on a small table. Jean stared at the chair, not moving. A hand on
her shoulder. She started, and whirled around.
"easy, easy"
Jean looked at the man. He was tall but stocky, a strong man who had
run to fat. He was about 40, with bad skin but good features, and a
used car salesman's smile. He laid his hands on jeans shoulders.
"Well, lets look at you. Strong, and in fine shape. A fine figure of a
woman. My name is John, and I'm here to help you. Your friend told me
all about your problem, and you don't have to worry your pretty little
head about anything. Just take your clothes off and climb up into the
chair, and it'll be just like going to the doctor."
But it wasn't like the doctor. The doctor didn't have old men in his
waiting room who could strip you naked with a stare. Examining rooms
smelt of disinfectants, not old cooking grease and chemical
solvents. The doctor's tools came from a sterilizer, not a pot on the
stove. She stripped completely, placing her clothes on a stool beside
the chair, turned towards the wall in the vague hope that those whom
she could not see would also not see her. She climbed into the chair,
thankful that the room was at least warm, and wrapped her arms tightly
around her chest.
"Take this dear, and everything will be alright"
Jean looked at the non-descript white pill.
"What-"
"Just take it dear, you'll feel better"
"But no-one-"
"Look do you want to go through with this or not?"
John stood in front of the chair. He put his arms on the rest and lent
over until he was inches from her face. Jean thought she smelled
alcohol, and recoiled.
"Look. I haven't got time for this. If you don't take it, you can just
leave."
"..."
"Well?"
Jean nodded. She took the pill and the  mug that Cora was
holding. The water had a strong aftertaste of instant coffee as she
washed the pill down.
"Now just relax and we'll be back in a minute"
Jean tried to relax. She thought about escape, but didn't know what
she had been given, or how she could past 6 people to the door. When
she was out, she would be standing naked in the street, which
filled her with almost as much dread as what was to come. She mapped
out the room; the instruments on the table, the cabinets along the
wall, the old Philco TV calendar from 1965 on the wall next to the
dartboard,  the cracked linoleum on the floor. As she started
counting the tiles on the ceiling, she realized that she felt quite
unusual. The fear was not gone, but somehow she just didn't care about
it anymore. She thought about getting out of the chair, but the effort
that would be required did not seem worth making. Cora returned to the
room, with a pail and some towels.
"I know four different ways that I could break your arm so you couldn't
follow me."
The words came out slurred. Jean wondered why she had said them, and
then decided that she didn't really care.
"That's nice dear"
Cora patted her hand, as Jean drifted away...

...to strong hands holding her, to those hands that had first sated
the desires that had emerged inchoately when the changes had begun, those
wonderful gentle male hands....

...that were John's. She wondered why..
"Jack, for gods sakes..."
"Come on, it helps them feel better"
"How would you know"
"She's out already"
"Yeah, look again."
She felt a scream rising, but then it just sort of shrugged its shoulders
and followed her into the darkness again.

Again, the lights. Jack (John?) was busy down there. She felt a
dull pain deep inside of her. She felt that it was worth moaning
about, and a moan almost emerged before it lost interest and emerged
as a sigh. I am in pain. Why don't I care. This is wrong. Its all
wrong. She felt the busy hands at work. She felt a tugging and then a
tear, like  stocking ripping on someone else's leg. Pain. A push. And
Jack was sitting on the floor on the other
side of the room with his eyes wide open.
"What the fuck?"
She watched him get slowly to his feet, never taking his eyes off of
hers.
"Cora, get the hypo."
"Is that a good idea? She's already had the pill."
"Franco said she might be one of them muties. I just got pushed
over. Did you see a fucking hand?"
Jack looked scared. He stayed back against the wall staring at
her. She could barely keep her eyes open to look at him.
"Jack, its dangerous. Remember what happened to Flo? She didn't even
have the pill and it took me all night to bring her round."
"Look, I'm doing this little bitch a favour and she pulls this witchy
mutie shit on me. I'm gonna fucking finish this, but she's got to be
out. Besides, she's a tough little bitch. Look at that, not a scrap of
fat on her. All muscle."
Jean felt the hand run over her breasts and down her stomach, moving
slowly and questingly towards Jack's work area. The revulsion sprang up
again, and she managed a small shove. The hand jerked away, as if it
had touched a flame.
She felt a pinprick somewhere and watched the world go away.

*****************************************************************

The boy parked his car at the end of the block, and walked to the
diner. The stark fluorescent lighting barely penetrated the begrimed
windows. As he entered, the waitress glanced up at him and then stared
for a moment before returning to her book. At first, he thought that
she had not arrived, but then his gaze drifted over to the booths at
the side. He walked to the end of the row and found her there. She was
slumped in the corner, her head resting against the cushions, her mouth
open, her eyes close. She was breathing in short jagged breaths. He
sat down across from her. Her eyes opened slowly, but she did not
move.
"Its over"
The boy locked his hands tightly together and placed them on the table
in front of him.
"Are you OK"
She nodded, just barely.
"Does it hurt?"
Her eyes closed, and a tear welled at one eye. The boys hands
clenched more tightly.
"If...."
"What?"
"If ... oh what's the use."
He stared at her face. When he had left her, it had the flush of the
chill wind upon it, and it had the satiny sleekness that he had always
admired out of the corner of  his eye. Now, all he could think of the
face of the dead serviceman who he had seen crushed by truck two weeks
before. She could have been as dead, or carven from wax. He reached out
to touch her grayish cheek, but drew back when she flinched. Slowly,
her head rose from the cushion, and her eyes opened.
"Its over, Warren. I don't know if I could ever do this again"
"Can you walk"
She nodded.
"Do you want to leave now?"
"Just give me a moment"
He watched as she slowly pulled herself back together. Her feet slid
slowly around to her front, and she gingerly shifted her body until it
was upright. A ghost of her former poise returned, and she leaned
forward and put her head in her hands. He could see that it was play,
just for him. Her body was trembling, and her eyes were tightly
closed. He watched, ready to leap to her side if she collapsed, but
instead she opened her eyes and looked right back at him.
"I'm ready"
She slid gingerly towards the end of the booth. When she stood, she
faltered for a second, then stood erect. The boy looked on,
saying nothing. She stepped away from the booth and began to walk
slowly towards the  front. The boy looked at her sleek legs, and saw a
streak of dried blood running from the hemline at her right thigh down
into her shoe. The boy followed her, and they stopped by
the cash. The waitress looked up, and put down the book.
"2.50 minimum charge"
"What did she have?"
"Nothing, that's just the minimum charge."
"I don't see..."
The woman gave the waitress a five dollar bill. She backed away and
turned to leave. The waitress stared at the boy who looked like he
wanted to be anywhere else but there. The woman's hands shook as she
put her purse away, but suddenly the waitress grabbed her purse,
opened it, and emptied a dish of after-dinner mints into it.
"Take these, dear, I know your not hungry but you need the
sugar. You'll feel better in a couple of days. Keep eating, and make
sure that there's always someone nearby just in case."
"Thank you."
The woman closed her purse and walked slowly out the door, followed by
the boy. The waitress glanced over the empty room briefly and returned
to her novel.

***********************************************************************

Jan 22, 1973

Dear Jean,

I am happy to tell you that your tests all came back negative. There
is no infection, but I must caution you to avoid doing anything that
might further irritate your cervix. I know that as a young woman in
these days you will be tempted by all of this liberal sexuality that
you see in our society, but if you follow the will of Our Lord all
will come out right in the end. I must also stress that severe damage
to the cervix can result from any self-abuse that you may perform, and
that insertion of foreign objects into the vagina may cause infections
that will impair your ability to have children. I have discussed this
matter with Father Wolyta, and has arranged to have a discussion about
this matter with you and your mother next Monday.

Thomas O'Rourke, MD

*****************************************************************************

FIN(?)