This narrative contains adult subject matter. It should not be read by anyone who is not entitled to have access to adult issues under any and all laws that govern the reader’s rights and privileges. As it relates to transgender issues, those who find the subject matter offensive should stop now and read no further.

This sixth part of a continuing story is about a teenager with an alcoholic father. It may be red separately, but the context is enhanced if you read all six of the prior segments: ‘Changes—’, ‘More Changes—’, Some More—", Still More—", "Unexpected---" and Surprising Changes for the Better".

 

Permanent Changes for the Better                           by: Virginia Kane

 

Part Seven

 

Chapter One.

Apparently, dad’s lawyer knew what to expect. I would be required to submit to a grueling inquiry by the company’s attorneys called a deposition. I got the notice by registered mail a week after he put me through the paces for several hours, until the wee hours of the morning, questioning me as if he was the opposition. Since I was a minor, my legal guardian, dad’s attorney and his associate would be present to advise me when and when not to respond to the questions posed by the company’s lawyers. I was far beyond being nervous. I was petrified!

Three other lawyers, with a court stenographer in tow, came swaggering in to the office of dad’s lawyer at the appointed time. They were arrogant and rude, and made no bones about demeaning me. In the initial stage, they warned me that I had to tell the truth, and the whole truth. If any of my testimony could be shown to be a lie from what other witnesses had told them, they would claim my testimony was prejudiced and was fabricated to intentionally defraud their client.

I kept repeating the advise from dad’s attorney to myself. Be brief. Offer nothing that wasn’t asked, even if it seemed what I said would be helpful to dad. Their questions came in volleys, to confuse and upset me. Some questions referred to my knowledge concerning mom’s social patterns. Did I know if she had visitors? Did I ever see any? How many? How frequently? How did she usually dress for company? Who accompanied my mom’s guests? How long did they stay? Was I present during the visits? Over and over, they asked the questions, changing the structure or manner of delivery, to ask the same questions over and over.

They showed me pictures of a woman they claimed brought men to our house. Did I know her or a woman that looked a lot like her? Did I ever meet her? How frequently did mom’s friends visit her in the late evenings?

Did I ever get things from my mom soon after the visits? Did I hear any strange noises from downstairs while I was in my room? Over and over they kept asking questions that I could honestly answer by saying "yes", "no", or "I don’t know".

I had to speak out all answers, as the court reported would not be able to write how I shook my head in reply.

They never asked questions that I had to explain, except those that referred to trivial things, like if I was upset over how long my dad was away from home each time he went away. When they asked some questions, dad’s lawyer would stop the proceedings, and ask to go off the record. The court reporter would stop punching her little paper tape machine. The attorneys argued using words I didn’t understand. Then they go back on the record and ask again, or not, depending on who won each argument, but I couldn’t always tell which side won. They’d ask another question with only a word or two different, and dad’s lawyer would stop them again, go off the record and spend another ten minutes arguing.

After two hours, I had to use the john, and asked for permission. A recess was called, and our attorney went with me. After we did our business, he asked if I would join him outside for a bit of fresh air. Neither of us smoked, but we were alone, outside of the office building. He said they were searching, but didn’t have anything to stand on in court, or their questions would have been more pointed and accusatory. I didn’t understand. He sad to keep up the good work, and not be afraid. Again, I was puzzled. One wrong word could spell disaster.

When they resumed, they changed tactics, asking if my mom was a very active person. Did she belong to social groups and perform any civic functions? Was she very outgoing with my teachers? Did she have hobbies? They even asked if I knew if she stole things? That one got dad’s lawyer hot! He spewed words like a torrent of accusations, threatening them with ceasing further questioning.

Then they attacked my father. Did I know he was carousing with other women when he was out of town for prolonged sales trips because his wife at home was unfaithful? Did he ever bring his customers or their staff over to our house? How long did he abandon us each time he left town? That one got the final warning from dad’s attorney. Then they accused our attorney of attempting to gag me. It went on and on, for another three hours until I had to go again. This time they insisted that since they only had just a few more short questions, I should tell them about the neighbors who shunned me and scorned my dad at the block party, in my own words to save time. Who were they? What did they say? What made them think my dad was a bad man? Did he not hit the neighbor’s Volvo?

When I said they all shunned and ridiculed me, I bit my lip. Then they asked why I thought they’d do such a thing, be mean, since I never hurt anybody, did I?

I blurted it out! "The only people that hate us are those who would sell their own mothers to make a buck!" I realized that was a mistake. I let them know that we knew someone willingly would besmirch my folks for money, for a payoff.

"Which neighbors would do such dastardly thing, Donny? Is it wrong to lie about someone for profit? Is it wrong for anyone to lie to prevent a loss? Would you lie to help your dad win this case against the people that provided income, clothed and fed his family for years? A wrongful claim that his alcohol addiction is related to his work to get a large settlement for your college education and your future a good reason for you to lie?" Our lawyer told me I didn’t have to answer them.

"Perhaps you’d only lie to protect your dad, so the neighbors wouldn’t think so badly about him, but not here, not to us under oath? Oh, no, Donny! You wouldn’t lie to us under oath? Would you? We can prove that you lied to your neighbors about the accident with the Volvo. Will you lie to us again about it?

Is that true? Did you? Did you tell any of your neighbors a fib about your dad’s long absences? Did you lie about your mom’s evening visitors? Did you lie about his being asleep in the house when your neighbor’s car was smashed? Now, think carefully. We have corroborating testimony from others that say your dad’s car sideswiped the next-door neighbor’s Volvo. You claimed that he was asleep. How can that be? His car has been found and impounded. It bears telltale paint mars from the neighbor’s Volvo. You lied to the neighbors. Didn’t you?"

"No, I didn’t lie. Dad was asleep. I wanted to hide the car from dad, because he wanted to go out with it. He was too drunk to drive. I scratched our neighbor’s car, but we don’t have insurance on me. I don’t have my drivers license yet, only a learner’s permit. I don’t know how to drive very well, but I had to do it to protect people from dad’s erratic driving while he was drunk. Our car’s bumper stuck out. I forgot. No one saw me. I did it. I’m sorry that I hit the car, but I never lied. Nor did I admit that I did it. I only said that dad couldn’t have done it.

I parked the car a few blocks away; farther than dad would walk to find it. By the time he’d find it he’d be sober enough to drive, anyway. The following night, I put it back in the garage. He didn’t even know it was gone. I’m so sorry."

The court reporter worked feverishly to get it all down. The company’s lawyers looked puzzled and went into a huddle. They then took a break. The three went outside for nearly half an hour. Miss Morgan and dad’s lawyers patiently awaited their return. I knew I did a terrible thing. Dad would lose and it was all my fault!

When they returned, they all tried to look very calm, but it was obvious they were not pleased. They took dad’s lawyer into a conference room and they were gone for nearly an hour. I thought I would be in big trouble for hitting the Volvo.

When they came out, they left abruptly, without saying a word about finishing the deposition. Dad’s lawyer and his associate took Miss Morgan into the conference room. I thought I was a goner. Would they make me the sacrificial lamb in order to help dad’s case? What was going on?

Finally, I was called into the conference room.

"Congratulations, Don! That was an expert bit of detraction you pulled. If they had questioned you in front of a jury about the incident with the Volvo, to prove to the jury you were a habitual liar, they would set a jury furiously against the company.

Someone must have planted that impression, but not in a deposition.

Any jury would be totally sympathetic toward you for what you did to prevent your father from causing another accident, potentially with injuries while driving under the influence. The jury might even treat you like a brave young hero.

Then again, perhaps not, but we now have on record in your sworn deposition an issue we can use before a jury to exemplify the worthiness of your character, and dispel any concerns regarding a willingness to lie under oath about your mother’s suspected improprieties or knowledge about your father’s infidelity during his long periods of absence from home for the purpose of your own potential gain. You clearly told the simple truth in your sworn deposition, even though you felt that you’d incriminate yourself about sideswiping the neighbor’s car. The ploy to make you out to be a liar backfired on them.

We can go to court, and drag a lot of unpleasantness out into the open, or accept the settlement offered by the company. I have time between now and the court date to respond. My associates and I will review all of the depositions taken and use them to negotiate a fair settlement out of court. Their starting offer is for two hundred fifty thousand dollars, but I know they’ll go way beyond that when I cite issues from the depositions I had taken from others who got raw deals from the company in the past. My only fear lies in the conflicts in what you said and what your neighbors disclosed. I have to uncover the purpose of the misleading lies that people were willing to tell about your parents.

"Can we help out those other people that got cheated?"

"Help other victims of the company’s policies? Do you want to? It will cost you."

"In what way?"

"The company won’t offer to settle with your dad without assurances that neither he, nor you will take part in further actions against the company for any reason. Further reprisals later will violate the settlement agreement, and your dad might have to defend himself against a breach of contract lawsuit. A settlement would prevent you from assisting in other cases against the company.

Don’t be too concerned about that yet. We haven’t won yet, not by a long shot. We still have to give cause to ignore the depositions damaging to your position.

Donny, can you think of anything that you feel would help your dad’s case that you haven’t disclosed to me already?"

"Well, I admitted I hit Mr. Brenham’s Volvo, but I only nicked the front fender, a tiny scratch. The next day, the whole side of it was creased. I didn’t do all of that damage. Someone else did that. Maybe the person who did it lied about us.

Later, when I was talking to my other next-door neighbor: Mr. Sullivan, while cleaning out his garage, he told me that Jay Thompson bought himself a brand new motorcycle to replace his Vincent Black Shadow, a classic.

He used to live across the street, down the block a ways. Now he lives about a mile or so from our house and rents out the house on our block. He only comes around to collect the rent every month. I thought it was odd, because I’d love to own a motorcycle, and didn’t think he’d ever part with the one he had. He was in love with that bike. He was at the block party too, and he made a big fuss over dad’s habitual drinking and reckless driving. Maybe he hit the Volvo, too."

"I’ll check to see what he had to say in his sworn deposition, and the deposition of his tenant, as well."

 

Chapter Two.

Miss Morgan took me back to stay with her at her apartment. We resumed the normal routine of visiting my dad in the hospital, daily household chores and, of course, the darn aerobic exercises, wearing the newer, smaller braces. As time passed, I thought less and less about the lawsuit.

The weight chart at the community center showed a steady decline in my weight, although it wasn’t fast enough to please Miss Morgan. She wanted me to start jogging with her in the early mornings, too. I begrudgingly agreed. With all she was doing for me, the least I could do is placate her driving need to improve my health and stamina.

I continued to think of her as a woman, for that is how she appeared, even with her small male appendage that she kept hidden, except for that one brief episode in the bathroom. She definitely did not look like a man. She always wore a corset around the house now whenever we were home, even if she kept it covered with a robe. If we were staying in, she encouraged me to wear a brace and the lighter versions at night when we retire for the night. She knew I wanted to wear them.

They help me to look sleeker, and I loved the way they restricted my waist.

Yes, it seemed to me that her apartment was my home now too, more than the house was. She was my legal guardian. To continue to cling to the house and protect it was less important, knowing that dad and I wouldn’t likely resume a life there together. My need to preserve it for him and I diminished with each visit to the hospital. He kept insisting I should sell it and stay with Miss Morgan.

Dad’s condition was improving, but his hospital release was less and less likely to become a reality, and I was gradually accepting the inevitable. He was there to stay. My primary concern was for his comfort and continued medical attention.

A court order secured by our attorney assured he would remain in the hospital for his safety and health. He already served the thirty-day jail sentence there for the ruckus he caused when he snuck out of the hospital and got involved in a brawl. He assaulted another patron at the tavern where he went after he couldn’t sneak into the house for liquor without being seen by Miss Morgan and I.

Finally, dad was allowed to go for walks with us, outside, as long as we stayed on the hospital grounds. If he fell ill, we would be able to get him inside quickly, for medical attention. His condition gradually improved, and he often commented on my progress with my weight loss, as well. He seemed to be pleased with it and attributed it to Miss Morgan’s positive influence.

When school resumed, I transferred to a school where Miss Morgan lived. She was in a different school district, even though she didn’t live far from our house.

Her opinion about the way most kids treat their overweight peers was accurate. Meeting new friends at the new school wasn’t too difficult at all. I felt better about myself as a person and about the way my body was slimming down, because no kids at the new school knew me as a very fat kid, so they didn’t poke fun at me.

I was careful what I wore to school, not only to hide my growing desire for finer textures and very frilly things like I started to wear while at home, but I wanted to look good in guy’s clothes, as well. Girls began to take notice of me. Perhaps it was because I was taking notice of them, too. Little did they know I admired their choice of styles as well as how good they looked in them.

I started to do better in class, too. Miss Morgan told me I could exercise my mind in ways, just like exercising my body, by practice and repetition. It worked. The more interesting books I read, the faster and easier my reading got. Soon, my studies took less time, and my grades improved. Instead of a string of C’s, I was getting B’s and a few A’s, and I understood concepts better, too. Learning was getting less of a chore. By Thanksgiving break, I was ahead of my assignments and I could coast all the way to final exams after Christmas if I wanted to.

I was invited to join the Future Teacher’s Club. Many cute girls belonged, and it was a good way to meet and share interests and plans with them. Teachers are both genders, so it wasn’t a guy or a girl thing. Both genders belonged.

We had weekly meetings about career planning after school that interfered with my aerobics classes, so I went on days that we didn’t meet after school. I met a girl that liked me. She was a bit bossy, but I liked that. One day, after a meeting, I walked her home. At the door to her apartment, she kissed me in the hallway. I didn’t try to kiss her. She took a hold of my jacket and nearly pulled me off my feet. It was a quick kiss, but it took me completely by surprise. It was the first time a girl wanted to kiss me instead of run away to avoid kissing me.

I couldn’t help myself. I swooned like a ditzy girl from her kiss. She giggled at my unusual reaction and told me she liked the effect she had on me. Then she put her hands on my tapered waist, at the sides. She paused for a moment and then looked at me funny. "You aren’t very muscle bound like other guys. You’re soft. I thought you said you work out most afternoons after school. Don’t you lift weights like other guys?"

"No, Jane. I’m into aerobics. I jog early each morning with my legal guardian, and I go to aerobic classes and swim after school three times a week. Sometimes we jog together in the evenings, too, before dinner. On Saturdays we ride our bikes."

"That sounds like a weight loss regimen to me, Donny."

"It is. I used to be a lot heavier. I was very heavy up until this past summer. My legal guardian started me on the program. It works, and I like it. I hope you won’t hold my hideous past against me, Jane. I’m still trying to lose more weight."

"I was heavier, too. Your regimen sounds a lot like mine. I’m still overweight, but I have to work hard at it. If I don’t, my back will hurt again. I fell off of my bike and slipped a disk two years ago. After months in traction, I didn’t have much choice. I still wear a brace because of my spine injury."

"Me too! I didn’t hurt my back, but my excessive weight gave me backaches. The doctor prescribed a back brace so I wouldn’t damage anything exercising. That’s a coincidence for you. I don’t have to wear it all the time, only when I exercise and I wear one at…"

"At night? You wear a brace to bed, too? So do I, a lighter one!"

"Me too! Gee! But I wear it so I won’t feel so hungry. I sleep better, not wanting to stuff myself like I used to do." I looked at her and saw my admitting I wore a back brace to bed at night didn’t repulse her. This time I kissed her! She didn’t back away, but kissed me back! Hard!

"Donny. This is great! I never dreamed I’d meet a boy that didn’t mind if I wore a heavy boned corset. Not many girls do anymore. It seems very old fashioned to most people, I know, but I don’t have much choice."

It dawned on me why she seemed upright and proper in her stance. She never slouched. "Not me! A brace makes me feel more confident. I don’t have to worry as much if I make a sudden move while exercising. Besides, it hides some of the loose flab I still carry around. I don’t dare wear one to school, but if I could get away with it, I’d wear one all the time."

We were almost whispering in the narrow hallway, so as not to alert neighbors of our divulging our common problem to one another. It was almost intimate, and I was unafraid to tell her anything. She was a delight, a co-conspirator I could be free and honest with about my secret, except for my delight in wearing feminine versions of the back brace. Perhaps, in time, I could confide that with her, too.

After promising to walk her home again, I left for home, my new home with Miss Morgan, with a sprightly spring to my step. Things were getting to look better and better. That evening, over dinner, I told Miss Morgan, Terry, all about my meeting Jane and my walking with her to her home. She was delighted and encouraged me to continue seeing her, but warned to be careful whom I told about wearing my braces. Not everyone might be as cool and understanding as Jane was.

Terry said she would get me some books about men who liked to wear braces like we did and the women who appreciated them. Maybe Jane was one of them.

If not, perhaps a suggestion to read a few of the books would be helpful.

 

Chapter Three.

Nothing new happened in the lawsuit battle. The opposition lawyers filed for a third postponement. I think they were waiting for dad to pass on from his kidney failure. Instead, he was improving and was very determined to live on to prove he’d licked his addiction to alcohol and survived to spite them. I was glad.

In the meantime, our lawyer argued to consider a motion for temporary relief due to hardship. The judge granted the continuances under one condition. The judge ordered the company to reinstate dad’s employment with a medical leave with full pay and insurance coverage, so his hospital bills would be paid. That was a load off of everyone’s minds, and a minor triumph for our side.

His treatments were very costly, and if the insurance company paid, we all would feel much better. The insurance company tried to avoid paying, but the judge was adamant. Until the court made a final decision, the insurance company would make payment. An acquittal of the wrongful firing would provide the insurance company with an opportunity to sue for recovery of the bills paid. Then they applied pressure to move dad to a more reasonable facility that provided adequate service at lower cost.

Our lawyers also raised the issue of sales commissions that the company didn’t pay dad, from dad’s customers after dad was reassigned to a menial job in the shipping department. If he was wrongfully transferred, he had a right to be paid.

They quoted prior cases they called "precedents" to substantiate the right for an audit by independent accountant to establish how much money they should have paid my dad for sales made after his reassignment. The judge said he would take the issue under "advisement". That’s all. He didn’t grant or refuse the request.

Three weeks later, over dinner, Ms. Morgan told me that she received a call from our attorneys. The court consented to grant an audit, but the court would appoint accountants independently to look into the "alleged" unpaid commissions. If the accountants found that the request was frivolous or punitively raised solely to position the company to make a reasonable, quick settlement, the accountants and all post-settlement medical bills would be paid out from the proceeds of the settlement, set aside in a special fund they called an "escrow account" before any payments would be made for dad’s legal assistance or to dad.

It was a good thing Ms. Morgan was an attorney. She explained in plain English what all the legal terms meant. Our lawyers weren’t very happy with the judge’s decision. They stood to lose substantial fees if the court deemed their contention was frivolous. It sounded as if the case would go on forever. What could the independent accountants do to isolate anyone’s commissions? If they only report directly to the court, our attorneys won’t know what they found; only what the assigned judge felt was "germane" to the issue, according to Ms. Morgan. She seemed very concerned. I had no idea what the problem was.

"If the accounts were reassigned to more than one other salesman, it would be difficult to isolate the customers your dad serviced from those serviced by the others. Many customers might not support your father. If they know they can get continued good service from a new salesman, there’s no real incentive." I all but gave up hope that dad would win. I felt the system dragged its heels. "It’s a real wonder any cases ever get settled."

 

Chapter Four.

Meanwhile, I continued to visit dad regularly, clean house for Ms. Morgan, take care of Dad’s place, work out, go to school and walk home with Jane. I didn’t have much time to think about the lawsuit.

Jane and I were getting to be good friends, and started to study for our common classes together. We’d kiss and hug a lot when we studied together in Jane’s room, but not too much, or her mom might get suspicious. She would stop in to ask a question, or merely walk by the open door, but always made her approach to Jane’s room loud enough to warn us. We’d have no time to recover if we’d let our petting get serious, so it didn’t.

We weren’t allowed to study together at Ms. Morgan’s apartment. Jane’s mom made it clear that it was proper to be chaperoned. Wednesday afternoons were an exception because it was Ms. Morgan’s day off. Invariably, Jane’s mom would call, just to make sure Ms. Morgan was there. We could go to a show and play to our hearts content, but not spend a few hours alone together in the apartment.

The case dragged on. It was absolutely frustrating.

The only bright side was: dad seemed to be getting better. His liver condition improved, but the kidneys; well, the doctors’ prognosis was grim. His kidneys weren’t working well at all, and even with dialysis, it was only a matter of time.

The only hope to get dad off of dialysis was a kidney transplant, and the lousy insurance company balked. They wanted greater assurance from the medical experts that a transplant would be successful before approving the immense surgical cost. I was the only potential relative and my tissue match wasn’t good enough to sufficiently guarantee dad’s recovery and my obesity meant I was at a greater risk to live on one kidney. Another candidate was needed, but finding one wasn’t easy. I didn’t know of any other relatives, and finding a volunteer with a good match was nearly impossible.

We were at an impasse. Then, close to Thanksgiving, we got a real big break.

 

To be continued.

 

Comments? Please E-mail me at virginkane@yahoo.com

 

 

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