Clive was as good as his word. He got Trenton on a flight back to Metropolis the next day, having cowed the single psychiatrist who'd dared to suggest that perhaps the boy be kept for observation a little longer, now that he had come out of his funk.

On the plane, Clive settled Trenton with a blanket and pillow, and insisted that he try to nap. It was easier than Trenton would have expected. He still hadn't gotten his full strength back.

He woke up a while later. Clive was reading a magazine, a pair of glasses perched on his nose. Trent didn't make a noise, but somehow Clive sensed he was being watched, because he glanced over. Snatching off the glasses, he hastily tucked them in his shirt pocket. "Say anything about that and I'll spank you the bad way."

Trent smiled. "Why? They make you look even sexier. I didn't think that was possible."

"Hmph. Well..." Clive couldn't help smiling back at him. "How are you? We'll be landing soon."

"I'm okay." He hesitated, then said, "Clive? What does my Mom know?"

Clive sighed, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "I told her you were mugged, badly."

"Thank you."

"I didn't like lying to her, Trent, but she would have been frantic, what with you still over there. I figured that if she had to know, it would be better if you were standing before her, manifestly whole." He laid a hand on the boy's arm. "Dear, I won't push you, but I think you should tell her. Not right away, but someday."

Trenton looked away. "I can't."

"You can't right now. But I'm going to introduce you to someone I know who went through a somewhat similar situation. You can talk to her. I think she'll be good for you." He smiled. "Lord knows, she always lifts my spirits. And maybe she can show you that there can come a time when you will put this behind you."

"If you say so," he said doubtfully.

"I do. Now, buckle yourself in, lovey. We're getting close. Lord, I love these seatbelts. Did you know that you can put them right across someone's arms and just have them trapped?"

"You would think of that."

"Yes, I would."

The landing went smoothly, the disembarking went smoothly, the ride to his home went smoothly. Things sort of fell apart from there. He had determined that he wasn't going to cry, for his mother's sake. But when she opened the door, she made a little choking noise and grabbed him, and Trent lost it. He spent the next half hour wrapped in her arms, blubbering.

She didn't ask him what had happened, thank God. She was just happy that 'my baby wasn't marked up by that animal'. *Not physically, Mom.*

Arrangements had been made for him to finish the rest of the year with home schooling, and he was assured that it would not be held against him on scholarship consideration, but Trenton politely refused.

"Baby, you're still shook up. You need some time to yourself."

"I've had time to myself, Mom, and it didn't do me any good at all. I need to be with my friends, in a familiar environment. I want to get back on the swim team, if the coach will have me. I might even be able to compete a little, if it isn't too late in the season."

The coach was happy to have him back, and there were still several competitions left to go. Trent started training ferociously. What time he wasn't sleeping or in school, he was at Attitudes, helping out or just watching the cosmeticians work. Trent was considering a career in cosmetology. His student advisor was having fits, but his mother didn't seem to mind. "Whatever will make you happy, dear. It's a good living, and you can always go back to school if you change your mind."

He'd been afraid of Clive's reaction. The older man had been so adamant about Trent making the most out of his opportunities, and all his teachers had frankly told him that he was being ridiculous. But Clive had nodded. "Yes, I think you have the right touch for it, Trent. You attend a good school, then you can apprentice here. I'll turn you into a hair wizard in no time. And, if it's what you want and you take to it, we might discuss a partnership somewhere down the line."

Trent was overjoyed at the prospect. He couldn't think of anything he wanted more than to intertwined his life as closely as possible with Clive's.

The only dark spot was that he still hadn't really gotten over the incident in Paris. He woke up several times a night, sweating and moaning. He'd find himself just staring into space at odd moments.

Trent wanted to become physically intimate with Clive. He felt that Clive's touch could wash away the memory of what Gervaise and Anatole had done, but Clive kept putting him off. "You're not ready yet, precious.

"When?"

"Soon. My friend will be in town tomorrow, and I want you to talk to her."

"Okay, but I don't know how much good it will do."

"If nothing else, you'll have a good time."

"Who is this, anyway? Anyone I've met?"

"Mm, no. She went back home right before you arrived in the city, and she doesn't make it back nearly as often as I'd like. Her name is Scribe."

Trent sat bolt upright. "Scribe? You're kidding me!"

"No, dear--Scribe."

"The Scribe?"

"There's only one, God bless her."

"That's right, you did her hair while she was here, I remember now! God, I had such a crush on her! I had her poster on my wall. That was before I... uh..."

"Yes, dear. She'll be by tomorrow. I'm going to ahem do her, then you two can go have a nice talk."

Trent waited anxiously the next day. Half a dozen times he checked in the mirror to be sure his hair was right, and he hadn't suddenly grown a smudge on his nose. A little before noon he was sweeping up a small scattering of clippings in the back when he heard the bell over the door tinkle, and a lilting female voice called out, "The triumphant return!"

There were squeals and a general stampede toward the front of the store. Trent quickly dumped his pan of trash, tossed the broom at a corner, and hurried up to join them.

Since he was taller than most of the staff or clientele he got a good look over their heads. Clive was wrapping himself around a plump woman who looked not much younger than his mother. There was no mistaking those curls, those bright blue eyes, or that impudent smile--Scribe, in the flesh.

"Yeah, I know, I know. I'm a snark for waiting so long to visit. Bettina, hey! Grown a brain yet?" The jibe was in such a good-natured tone that it was obviously not meant to hurt, and Bettina (who hadn't grown a brain any time lately) giggled in response.

"All right, everyone, back to what you were doing!" Clive ordered. "Angela, get that rinse out of Mrs. Donatello's hair before it goes from Autumn Embers to Burning Down the House. C'mon, sweetie, and I'll introduce you to the boy I was telling you about."

The crowd melted away, and Clive led Scribe back to where Trenton was waiting. "Here he is, precious. My very good friend, Trenton Vittelli. Trenton, hon, I'm sure your tonsil scars are fascinating, but close your mouth. Scribe can look at them later. If I know her," he gave her an arch look, "the wench may decide to explore them personally with her tongue."

"Clive, he's a baby."

"I'm seventeen," Trent volunteered. Clive looked at him. "Almost. Geez, Clive, it's next week. Cut me some slack."

"Hi, Trenton." Scribe shook hands, giving him a peck on the cheek at the same time. "We're going to have lunch later at Lavender's Green, if that's all right with you."

"That's fine. I love Elise's cooking."

"She knows you're coming, Scribe. I think you're going to have about eight of her specialities to choose from," Clive told her.

"So who's going to choose?" She laughed. "I want them all."

"That's my girl. Trenton, you just have a seat while I take care of her. Oh, precious..." Her hair was almost to her shoulders, a thick mass of dark brown curls. "You've been letting it grow for me!"

She nodded. "Well, it's been almost a year. You know I don't let anyone else cut my hair, Clive. I have greater respect for my butt, after that time I let someone else trim the ends." She gave him a mock accusatory scowl. "I couldn't sit properly for two days."

"It was your own fault. I warned you."

"Yeah. On the plus side, you did kiss it to make it better." She offered her arm. "Shall we?"

Clive took it. "We most certainly shall." Just as he was closing the door, Clive said, "Trenton, pet, go sit at the front."

"Aw, Clive! Do I have to?"

"Yes, you do. I don't want your head muddled when you go talk to Scribe this afternoon. You can play audio voyeur some other time, and stop looking so innocent. Hmph, like I don't know you put your shell like ear up against the wall sometimes." He smiled. "That's part of the fun. But not today. I want a little private time with Scribe."

Behind him, Trent heard Scribe say, "Hey Clive, you never did demonstrate that rope you wove out of my hair."

"That's right, I didn't. Well, we'll just take care of that little oversight today." He shut the door, and Trenton trudged up to the front to sulk.

The counter girl handed him a magazine. "Settle down, it'll be at least an hour. He takes his time with her."

Trenton tried to keep his mind on the magazine. It wasn't easy Especially when there'd be a particularly sharp yelp making its way up from the back station.

About an hour later the door opened, and Clive and Scribe strolled out. He had his arm around her waist, keeping her against his hip as they came up to the front. Her hair was once again the short cap of crisp curls Trenton was used to seeing, red highlights glinting under the overhead lights. Her face was pink and glowing, and they were both a touch breathless.

At the front she tried to pay, and he refused. "Just promise to come by for supper tonight, dearest. That's all I want."

"Uh huh." She sounded skeptical. "So, what? Should I bring dessert?"

Clive kissed her cheek. "Don't be silly. You know very well that you are dessert."

"Oh, yes. Silly me." She turned to Trenton. "Ready to go, Trenton?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ma'am? Oo, I just aged ten years. C'mon, Trent."

They walked over to the club, which was almost deserted at this time of day. Toddy wasn't in, but Tinkerbelle was, and she greeted Scribe with the usual squeal and kiss. "Toddy is gonna be so mad he missed you! He'll have Clive spank your butt."

Scribe grinned and rubbed her rump. "Too late. Tell him I'll be back in before I leave. I have a few more drinks for him. Tell 'im I'll teach him how to make a Dirty Slut and a Tongue Kiss."

"He'll die from happiness."

They went back to the kitchen, and both were promptly enveloped in a mammoth hug by Elise. "Two of my favorite people! Both of y'all eat fit to warm a person's heart. But you, baby," she held Trenton out to arm's length, shaking her head. "don't you try and tell me you just been losing your puppy-fat. You ain't been eatin'. You're not gettin' out of here without at least two plates inside you, hear me?"

They sat down with plates overloaded with meatloaf, mashed potatoes with gravy, green beans ("Done." Scribe said, "as God intended for them to be: boiled soft with lots of bacon and onions."), smothered squash ("I'll have these heathens eatin' this yet," Elise vowed. "Now I can tell 'em that Scribe likes it. That'll make it fly out of here.), and various other dribs and drabs.

Scribe shook her fork at him as they started. "I am direly interested in your problem, Trent, but let's save it for after lunch. Elise's food deserves maximum concentration."

She did talk during the meal, though. Trent had a lot of questions to ask her about her home dimension, and she obligingly told him everything he wanted to know. Yes, women really did wear pants almost as much as men. Women really did go bra-less on a regular basis in public without inspiring riots. There actually were such things as nude beaches. Many gay people were completely open about their lifestyle choices, even publishing magazines solely dedicated to it. And there were no superheros. "Some people will argue with you about some of the sports stars. I'm sorry--Michael Jordan can jump like a crazy sunuvabitch, but he cannot fly. Case closed."

When they were done, they both got sodas and went out to a small, secluded booth in the main part of the club. Tinkerbelle agreed to run interference for them, keeping away any Scribe-fans that might show up.

Sitting across from him in the booth, Scribe said, "Where shall we start?" Trenton got very quiet, looking at his hands as they lay on the tabletop. Scribe said quietly. "It isn't easy to talk about, is it? I'm going to guess that you haven't really told anyone about it, not even Clive."

He shook his head. "No."

"I won't push you, Trent, but I will say that it helps. I'm not advocating going to the cops. That isn't for everyone. And, from what I've heard from Clive, that might be a bit awkward, what with the international thingy. Just to start with, could you tell me what happened?"

Trenton took a deep breath. "I... there was a guy in Paris. He... we were together, you know?" Scribe nodded. "I'm not saying I was in love with him. I wasn't. I love Clive." He hesitated, looking at her shyly from under lowered lashes.

She smiled at him. "What a sensible person you are."

"Like I said, I didn't love him. But we were close, and he cared about me." Trenton's face fell. "I thought he did, anyway. But he had a boyfriend, and when I met him, he wanted to... you know. But I didn't want to. He scared me. I mean, he wasn't ugly, or anything, but he was... intense. And not in a good way, like Clive. Can you understand that?"

"I can understand that very well. I've had a run in with a bad-kind-of-intense person myself."

"We went to a party. I got a little drunk, and I went back to my friend's apartment, 'cause he said he wanted to... to make love." Trenton was blushing furiously. It wasn't quite like talking to his mother, but he was still embarrassed. But so far Scribe had shown absolutely no judgement or dismay. "We were going to kind of, you know, play? With a blindfold."

She smiled broadly. "Ooh, yesss. I know about those games."

"So I put on the blindfold. And he kinda... tied me to the bed."

"Aaaannd those games, too."

"And it was great. But then... Then it went bad." Trenton closed his eyes. "Y'see, it wasn't him. It was the other guy, he snuck in and... did it. And he wouldn't stop." He was silent for a minute, then said quietly. "I was stupid, and I got screwed."

She took his hands, holding them firmly, then kissed them and said softly, "Baby, you were trusting, and you were raped." Trenton flinched, and she said steadily, "That's the right word for it, Trenton. Not screwed, not fucked, not humped, not even used--raped. It was a violation of both your body, your spirit, and your trust, and it was totally and completely beyond justification. It doesn't matter that you were drunk. It doesn't matter that you were sexually active before. It doesn't matter that you went to that apartment intending to have sex. That man knew you didn't want to have sex with him, and he tricked and manipulated, and coerced you." She reached across and touched his cheek, and said clearly, "It was not your fault."

His eyes were full of pain, but he wanted so desperately to believe her. "How can you know that?"

"Because what happened to me wasn't my fault, either. I attracted the attention of someone I wasn't interested in having sex with, too. She was intense, and scary, and very determined. You got a little drunk? Honey, I was three sheets and a bedspread to the wind that night, and it was on drinks she bought me. You feel silly? How do you think I felt? I already knew the woman was on the prowl. I just figured I was safe here, out in public." She smiled sadly. "Like you figured you were safe with your 'friend'." She took a deep breath. "I made a mistake. I went into the back, alone. I let myself get trapped. She came in after me, and she attacked me."

Now it was Trent who touched her hand soothingly. "I didn't know women could do that to each other."

Scribe said quietly, "You have to stop thinking of it as a sexual thing, Trenton. It's an act of violence. It's a power play. The people who do it get off on controlling and forcing. If someone offered themselves freely, that wouldn't be what they wanted. It's like being beaten--it's just more personal. I was luckier than you were. Clive and some of my friends were there and stopped it before it got as bad as she wanted it to be, but it was still pretty awful."

"But I didn't handle it as well as you did. I fell apart."

Scribe laughed softly. "I fell apart like a jigsaw puzzle when you try to pick it up by the edge, honey. I was just lucky enough to be surrounded by good friends who scooped up the pieces. Tell me, Trent. Were you kind of numb afterwards?" He nodded. "Was the first thing you did clean yourself?"

He blinked at her. "How did you know? I'm lucky I didn't scald myself to death. I just couldn't get the water hot enough."

"...to boil away the dirt. I know. We're both lucky that hot water heaters in this world aren't as efficient as they are in mine. I looked like a well-done lobster. Plus I used a bath brush on myself, in rather intimate, delicate places." He winced. "Yeah. And it still felt like I had her hands on me."

He paled. "You do know."

She nodded. "And then you don't want to talk to anyone, you just want to crawl into a corner and hide, possibly forever."

"You too? But you didn't almost destroy yourself through your stupid neglect, like I did. If the Bienvenu's hadn't come back, I'd probably have starved to death eventually."

"You're right, I was much more pro-active--I tried to swallow a bottle of sleeping pills." When he gaped, she said, "That's right. I told myself I just wanted to sleep, but when you want to sleep forever, Trent, what else is that but suicide?"

"I don't understand. You're so alive. You have so much to live for, so much going for you, so many people who care about you."

She reached over and grabbed a handful of his hair, shaking his head gently, saying, "Point! Point! Message! Who else does that description remind us of?" He laughed, and she said, "That's more like it. Okay, this counseling session is about over. It's not a cure-all by a long shot, but I think you're on the right path. Okay, repeat after me: Something really bad happened."

"Something really bad happened."

Her voice grew quieter. "I was raped."

He swallowed, but whispered. "I was raped."

"It wasn't my fault."

His voice was stronger. "It wasn't my fault."

She nodded encouragingly. "And I'm not gonna let that bastard ruin one more second of my life."

"I'm not." Trenton banged his fist on the table. "I'm not!"

She leaned across and kissed him. "Good boy! Whoa, Clive got himself a live wire this time! I'm gonna tell you a secret." She leaned over and put her lips against his ear. "Wanna drive him crazy? Hum."

Trent eyed her dubiously. "Hum?" She nodded. "Any particular song?"

She giggled. "Come To Me, My Melancholy Baby, or Hurts So Good might be appropriate." She slapped her own hand. "Bad Scribe! Bad!"

"You're crazy. I like you."

"Thank you, darlin'. No particular song, and don't just start doing it. Wait till a particular point in the proceedings. I think you'll know when." And that was all she'd say about it.