The message had been clear and mysterious. "Have your purse. Call me
to get it at 555-9832." Click. Was that an English accent?

Candy rubbed her head trying to remember. Her purse. Missing at Male
Model's. Her i.d., her credit cards, her keys. The cab ride home.
The doorman letting her in. Damn! She looked at the clock. Eleven
in the morning. What a night! She suppressed a guilty smile as she
thought of Male Model trying to explain to Porcupine Hair what
happened last night.

She dialed the number. A deep baritone answered. "Yes, you have my
purse?"

The voice was amused. "Yes, I do. Hope you don't mind-- that was how
I got your number. You left it at Le Temps last night. I thought you
should know. It's all here-- nothing's missing."

She was relieved. "Great. Let me dress--"

"Late night?" the cavernous voice queried.

She ignored the implication and hurried on. What a pain in the butt
this whole thing was! "--and I'll be right over. Where are you?"

The voice gave her an address in a prestigious section of the city,
not far from her own. She jotted it down and rang off. Only then did
she realize he hadn't given her a name.

She was standing in front of the massive townhouse door, pleased she
had dressed appropriately. She was in a full-tilt Donna Karan casual
daysuit of navy and white polka dots, accented with a red silk scarf
and wide brim black hat. Not her favorite California Girl look, but a
good choice based on the stares of the tony inhabitants that passed
her by. Candy walked up the steps to the massive, antique door. She
had read somewhere that these old townhouses were built like
mini-fortresses because the original owners back in the 1800s had
feared riots might break out. This place looked like a fortress all
right-- huge overarching twin towers stared down at her-- at least
five stories tall. The structure was dark, Gothic even, if that was
possible in the heart of luxury skyscraper central. She looked for a
bell and pushed it.

Footsteps, then the huge double door creaking open. It was the bearded
man who she had seen last night at Le Temps! He gestured her inside.
The gloomy interior was less than inviting but she needed her purse.
She followed.

"Come in. I apologize for my tardiness. I am currently without a
maid. Good help is so hard to find-- trite but true," he stated
flatly.

"I saw you last night," she offered as she took the proffered Queen
Anne chair. The parlor was dusty and unused, furnished with heavy
stained wood furniture and bizarre knick-knacks. It was like the
Addams Family had decorated the place. The sun barely penetrated the
deep purple velvet of the sash drapes. A black and white photo on the
finely wrought mantle showed two men shaking hands. M was one, but
the other figure's face was hidden by a chunky silver candlestick, man
or woman she couldn't make out. Though it was all done in a dry, dark
antique style, the furnishings were sumptuous and very costly.

Her host nodded. "And I you. What a pretty girl to be vamping about
in such a naughty place!" He uttered the words like some superior
being from another age. In fact, she guessed he was forty, forty-five
tops, powerfully built with tunnel-deep set eyes. He examined her
openly, from head to toe. Where was her resolve to get her purse and
get the hell out of here?

"Look," she interrupted the dead silence, "can I please have my purse,
Mr....?"

He smiled, his dark deep-set eyes laughing at his guest. "Just call
me M. It's a nickname, if you like. Just call me that till we get
better acquainted."

Candy blinked. "O.k....M...how about handing over my purse?" She
watched as he pulled it from behind the chair and opened it.

"Hey, that's private!" Candy protested.

M reached into the purse, pulling out a condom package. He shook his
head. "Very, very naughty. And what is this?" he demanded, wryly
presenting Candy with a license. "Charles Dane? THE Charles Dane?
And here," he pulled out Candy's new i.d. "Candy Cane?" he spat
dismissively. "Is the Wizard of Wall Street a 'she' now?"

Candy squirmed in her chair, looking at her expensive pumps not daring
to say a word. Finally she looked quickly up, then back down. Damn
his eyes-- they bored into her! "Yeah, well, that's what happened.
It's none of your business. If you don't like it, tooo goddamn bad."
Her high-pitched voice made her sound sulky rather than furious.

M leaned back. "Please don't be offended, Miss Cane-- oh, I'm sorry
but I can't abide that 'Candy'-- how dreadfully tacky!" he lamented.
Before she could protest again, he smiled at her. Candy thought it
was like the smile the spider gives its prey as it spins the web
around it. "Now, don't think I'm offended by your transformation. In
fact, it suits you well. I find creatures such as yourself
fascinating in the extreme. I've had more than a few dalliances with
stunning things like yourself. I like favor them to genetic women, in
fact."

She didn't like being referred to as a 'creature,' but she did
appreciate the kind words. "Why is that? Is that why you filched my
purse?"

He nodded slowly. "A little larceny on my part. You'll have to
forgive me, but I had you spotted at once. Don't be upset-- no one
but I picked up on it and then only because, as I've said, I've had
some experience in the area. I'm sure your new boyfriend was in for
quite a shock when you revealed yourself."

The boy-girl patted her skirt down kittenishly. "Let's say he had a
mouthful on the subject before the night was over."

M chuckled warmly. "So you forced yourself on him. How amusing to
think a pretty, delicate thing like you could be so devious as to
force yourself on a virile red-blooded male! Never had I had that
experience-- nor will I, I promise you! Anyway, I adore androgynous
playmates like you."

"More than real girls?" Candy asked. Her big blues batted at M now,
fascinated by the revelation.

Candy's mysterious host crossed his ankles, resting them on the
footstool comfortably. "Indeed. What discipline does it take for a
so-called 'real girl' to be feminine? Why very little! They are to
be congratulated and admired for their femininity as much as the sun
should be congratulated for rising each day-- it is it's nature.
But," he grinned hungrily, "creatures like you must work hard indeed.
You must have the commitment and the dream to achieve feminine
perfection-- and you must be willing to pay the price."

Candy leaned back, somewhat mollified. "So you won't tell anyone
about me, will you M?"

M shook his head. "No, I promise. And my word is a solemn pledge, I
assure you Miss Cane. Your secret is safe with me-- in exchange for a
request."

She eyed him narrowly. "What?" she demanded, unsure of his motives.

He stretched out his arms. "Allow me an evening's dinner with you.
As you can see I am intrigued with you and regardless of your rather
flamboyant appearance and ludicrous new name, I find your essential
femininity quite appealing." He cleared his throat. It was a
startling rumble. "I paid you a compliment," he informed her
impatiently. The deep eyes roved shark-like over the seated guest.

She felt his eyes reached into her blouse and ravish her body. It was
at once annoying and mildly exciting. "Thank you. And if I go out
with you, you'll keep my secret to yourself?" The last thing Candy
wanted was press. Anonymity was crucial to her new, free-wheeling
lifestyle. M nodded again and she stood up.

"Fine. Tonight for drinks and dancing at the Hot Tub." As she turned
to leave, he coughed.

"No. You will dine with me here tonight. We will not go out in
public," he informed her.

She looked at him again. Damn! He wasn't budging and his eyes stayed
locked on hers. Again, she blinked. "All right, all right. I'll be
here--"

"At eight," he finished.

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

And she was. She appeared at the door promptly at eight. She was
getting the feeling that he didn't allow for much deviation from his
plans. She was dressed rather conservatively in a little black
cocktail dress, her blowsy blonde hair combed back and less wild than
usual. Just a mild trace of red lipstick and rouge with a hint of
Excite! perfume gave her a subdued yet womanly glow. Single pearl
studs on her earlobes and simple black flats completed the striped
down version of Candy Cane. And if M thought he was getting lucky
tonight, he had another thing coming. Tonight Candy did wear black
pantyhose over a simple black cotton Cross-Your-Heart bra and full-cut
black panties. Candy wasn't out to seduce tonight-- it was all about
getting this oddball of her back. Get in, get out that was the rule.

He met her, dressed in casual black turtleneck and olive trousers.
"Good evening Miss Cane. You look more fetching than you did earlier
today. Not perfect yet, but better."

She ignored the discourtesy. Who was he that he thought he could
speak to her that way? She let it pass and sat down.

He shook his head. "You don't have time to sit, my dear. Dinner is
waiting for you to prepare. The kitchen is that way." He pointed
down a candle-lit hallway to the far recess of the townhouse.

She looked at him in amazement. "You want me to cook you dinner?"

He shrugged. "I'd hate to have to call the Journal, wouldn't I? I
find it extremely exciting to have a woman wait on me. Do indulge
me."

Candy was ready to walk out. The only thing that kept her there was
the fact the she was getting into the way he looked at her-- like she
was some kind of precious doll. Granted he was treating her with
absolutely no respect, but his eyes danced around her. It was still
so new to be treated like a real woman that she couldn't resist it.

"Fine. Give me an hour." She trotted off dutifully to the kitchen.
As she did, she could feel his eyes practically pinching her ass all
the way there.

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

"Dinner was marvelous. You are a gifted cook, my dear."

Candy blushed. It was the first meal she had ever prepared for a man.
She didn't know she had it in her, but the meal had been tasty. The
compliment felt like a warm hug. "Thank you, M."

"Tell me, do you clean as well? I imagine you might make a wonderful
little housewife for the right man, one who would be understanding of
your...special situation."

Was he proposing marriage? She giggled. The wine was wonderful.
"I'm not a Suzy Homemaker type M. More like a California surfer girl.
You like those types?" She was thinking she could get into having
this stuck-up guy do things for her.

He smirked. "I'm afraid I find the genre abhorrent Miss Cane."

"Oh, you think we're all airheads, huh?" she demanded indignantly.
She was slurring slightly.

He shook his head. "Hardly. American women are far too bright for
their own good. I believe your own IQ is 175-- too high by far. When
given too much thinking to do, pretty things like you lose sight of
their real purpose in life. You forget the very reason you are given
beauty to begin with. The price of beauty, if you will."

"And what is that 'real purpose' for women M? Pray tell, hotshot.
You've got me on the edge of my seat." She was furious and curious.
How did he know what her IQ was?

M folded his hands and stared straight at her. She blinked and looked
down. "To serve the superior gender. By cooking, by cleaning but
most of all by servicing sexually."

Candy laughed. "Please return to the nineteenth century where you
belong M! I've had enough. I'm leaving." She rose, patting down her
skirt hurriedly as she did.

M rose too, pushing her down into her seat. "Sit down. I have been
watching you for awhile and your performance last night was abysmal.
It has convinced me that you are precisely what I want in one role in
my life. A role you will be well-suited to once certain...alterations
are made."

Candy was growing afraid. "What in the hell are you talking about?"
she stammered. Suddenly it occurred to her that no one, not a single
soul, knew she was here. Indeed, no one even knew about her new
identity other than Dr. Slate. If anything happened, he would find
out. He called every so often and he would check into any
disappearance. The thought calmed her slightly.

M returned to his seat. Why didn't she bolt for the door? Because
he wouldn't let her leave until he was through. He continued.

"You think you have freedom of action, freedom from want and freedom
to choose your pleasures. You are wrong. It is all an illusion. You
have no such freedoms. You are clay waiting to be molded into what I
have already decided you should be. I have very definite ideas of how
you may be of use to me-- very detailed ideas and plans. Your
California Girl persona bores me. I have no need of such an
independent personality, all brash and mouthy. Your beauty is as
garish as your choice of clothing, your speech inappropriate as your
attitude towards men. Yet the essential feminine being within has
such potential to be sweet and submissive, respectful and ravishing,
docile and delightful." He assessed her like a collector, then added
with gravity, "Miss Cane, what I am saying is that you are imminently
trainable. That is a compliment for a woman such as yourself."

The warm feeling that Candy had been accumulating seeped out of her.
Creeping anger replaced it. "I'm not the one who gets trained, M. I
do the training. Everyone knows the female holds the power, not the
male." More confident, she continued. It was important that this
creep knew what she was all about. "Just ask my stud from last night
how easy I was to 'train,' you sicko!"

M wasn't riled in the least. It was as if Candy were a child who was
disagreeing him. He remained firm and patient as he explained. "Miss
Cane, the idea that you should manipulate males is laughable. The
problem with your 'stud' as you put it was that he didn't properly
remind you of your place. He was also looking for a one night stand.
I have need of something entirely different in you."

Candy was too astounded to speak. Nor could she move. "And what
would that be, you lunatic? A wife? A girlfriend? A squeeze?"

He ignored the jibe. "Hardly. A man such as myself is not suited for
marriage. Marraige can only dilute one with compromises. Even
relationships are a drain. No, what I need Miss Cane is something
much less consuming, much more manageable. Are you familiar with
Impatients?" he inquired, quickly changing the subject on Candy. She
shook her head, clueless as to what he was getting at.

"Impatients," he rambled, "are pretty, if common, flowers that thrive
in the dark, with little light or nurturing. What I need is the human
equivalent of an Impatient-- someone I can keep with minimal effort
that will amuse me without requiring any emotional investment. What I
need is a doll. A pretty little French doll to play with. One that
will obey me and do my every bidding."

Now she rose and prepared to storm out. Strangely he didn't move to
hold her there. "You may go. I have learned what I needed to know
about you. This interview is concluded. I will summon you when you
have thought about your fate." He waved her away and she half-ran,
half-sobbed her way out of the dark, dreary townhouse.