When Jackson - or perhaps more correctly, Jaselle La Fleur, returned to his apartment after fare welling Christopher, his feelings of triumph were quickly quashed.

He found that Raquel was sitting in an armchair, holding a cigarette in one hand and a large glass of brandy in the other, seated before the roaring fireplace. Raquel seemed surrounded by a haze of disapproval.

"So you did it, huh?" Raquel said, but not looking at him.

Jackson quietly closed the door. "Yes, I did,” he replied softly, but with defiance.

"And how was it? Was it everything you imagined?" The tone was sharp with sarcasm.

"You would’ve been proud of me," he replied.

"Proud?" Raquel scoffed. "I doubt that."

Jackson chose to ignore the disdainful tone. He didn’t like becoming embroiled in an argument over the ethics of his undertakings. His life was constructed with his own choices, and no one had the right to judge him or interfere with his plans.

"So do you plan to fill me in with the gory details?"

"If you really want to hear it, I suppose," Jackson replied. Raquel nodded curtly and gestured for him to take the seat opposite him. Jackson slipped into the comfortable armchair, inhaled deeply and began his account of the evening.

"I went to a bar on Chapel Street where I met this guy… Christopher Kelly. He's twenty-four years old and a high school teacher," Jackson explained. "He didn't suspect a thing! And he thought I was stunning! They all did! I had men falling all over me… I was magnificent!" he boasted. "And I also managed to get past both Pearly and Claire "

Raquel's eyes widened with alarm and he quickly demanded an explanation. Jackson outlined his run in with the two women. Raquel had to agree it was quite a coupe, especially considering that Pearly had worked around transvestites and drag queens virtually all her life. She knew her own kind when she saw them. And to have fooled Claire, too; someone who knew Jackson so well - better than most, and yet she had only seen what Jackson wanted her to see.

"So it looks like you can do it," Raquel said, but sounding less than pleased at having to finally acknowledge the fact.

"I knew I could," Jackson said arrogantly. "And for obvious reasons, I want to keep my life, and Jaselle La Fleur's life, as separate as possible. I want no one to make the connection that we're one and the same…"

"Jaselle La Fleur?" Raquel quizzed him, and Jackson smiled at him.

"It just slipped out when Christopher asked my name. But it only seems fair that I name myself after the two people who helped to create me," he reasoned. "I like the name...’Jaselle’ for Old Jas, and ‘La Fleur’ for you, for de La Rose..." He smiled and his voice trailed off for a moment.

He sat down on the sofa, looking to Raquel. "Now that I have a name, I'm going to need some ID., and I want to start the hormone treatment as soon as I can, and then there’s operation…"

"Jacky, the operation is complex, and so are the preparations beforehand," Raquel began. He went onto explain that it was a legal requirement that those wishing to undergo gender reassignment have psychiatric counseling for a period of no less than one year. He said that the counseling was intensive and that any psychiatrist would be able to discern that Jackson's motivation behind having the operation was not due to his discomfort with the body allotted out to him by some physiological cock-up, so to speak, but by something far more sinister. The chances of Jackson slipping through the tight screening system designed by the counselors were remote.

"And keep in mind," Raquel added, "the effects are permanent. You will be left a woman for the rest of your life. Can you live with that?"

"Yes," he assured his friend. "And you've got to help me. You have the contacts," he pointed out. "I've heard talk amongst the drags around here ...of places in Europe and Asia - clinics which aren't well known and don't ask questions, where specialised plastic surgery and sex change operations can be bought for a price. No one ever finds out that these operations take place and there's virtually no waiting period. It's exactly what I had in mind."

But Raquel was less than impressed. "Yes, I know the places you refer to. They're thieves and ex-Nazi scientists! They're butchers, Jacky!”

“They can't all be butchers," he refuted. "1 want you to find me one good one. If you won't do it, I will," he said, with grim determination, and then took a new tact. "But I don't have the knowledge in this area, or the contacts that you do," he conceded, "and I could end up with a butcher - if you don't help me out… "

"Don't try that emotional blackmail bullshit on me!" Raquel cried furiously, rising to his full height. "I won't have it! I don't like it! Don't you ever try to manipulate me again!" Raquel bellowed.

"You might get away with it with other people - well more fool them!" Raquel exclaimed, looking down on Jackson. "But don't try it on me. Remember, I've seen you at your worst, when you were nothing but a frightened, sniveling wreck of a kid! I've seen you at your lowest, and don't you ever forget it!" Raquel cried, his eye bristling with a mental challenge.

Jackson demurely and ashamedly lowered his eyes and apologised.

"Quite frankly, Jackson, I think I liked you better when you were that kid," Raquel said somberly, before going to adjourn to his room. He paused only long enough to tell the youth that he would begin making inquiries into the types of clinics suitable to Jackson's needs. Then he was gone, leaving the youth alone.

Jackson sat back, relaxing in the sofa. He smiled to himself, staring into the flames of the fire. The cogs were all snugly in their niches and beginning to turn, setting the machine rolling. The taste of revenge ran hot, oiling that hateful vehicle on its unstoppable passage.

On the following day, in the early afternoon, Jackson, or rather Jaselle La Fleur, sat at the table for two that she’d reserved for herself and Christopher. Jaselle was dressed splendidly in a superbly fitted blouse and skirt, and smelling faintly of a delicious, fine perfume.

The headwaiter was presently bringing Christopher over the table. He had on a sports coat and trousers, and looked handsome. He smiled the moment he saw her from across the room at the restaurant of the Menzies at Rialto, and hurried to join her. They exchanged cordial greetings as he took his seat, and Jaselle immediately addressed the headwaiter and requested a bottle of champagne.

"And how are you, on this so fine day?" Jaselle turned and asked Christopher, while the champagne was being sought. He replied that he was well. "And your little anarchists - ? Your students?"

Christopher grinned at her. "I wouldn't exactly call them anarchists, Jaselle. More a hope for an open minded and less constrained new generation," he concluded thoughtfully.

"Ah, idealists," she deduced. "But everyone knows that never was there an idealist who ever achieved anything practical. To be sure, they had lovely thoughts and philosophies, and wrote wonderful literature, but they were all dreamers and most of them died young - usually tragically - with all that they held dear shattered and ruined around them. Nothing particularly ideal about that," she remarked.

"Are you really so cynical, Jaselle?" he wondered.

The champagne arrived at that point, halting conversation. The waiter showed it to Jaselle, who nodded once in approval, and then he popped the cork and poured it into the crystal champagne flutes. With his task completed, the waiter moved along.

"I'm not cynical, Christopher," Jaselle said, getting back to their conversation. "As I said to you last night, I call things as I see them. I'm a realist:'

He rose his glass to her, and she mirrored his actions. "A toast: to the idealists and the realists of this world, and to finding the happy medium in between," he said.

Jaselle clinked her glass to his. "One day, perhaps," she echoed wistfully.

"Now, to be honest, I have to know; is your name really Jaselle La Fleur?" He asked her, seemingly feeling awkward.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

As usual, she had countered a question concerning who she was and what she was, with another question. It was evidently an evasive tactic.

“I have to admit to suffering from a bout of paranoia this morning when I woke up and thought about how wonderful last night was. I started to wonder if it was just a name you'd made up, so that you could - oh, I don't know … avoid me later, if you got tired of me… " His voiced trailed off. Evidently he was uncomfortably with having exposed himself to her.

Jaselle gave him her most enchanting smile by way of a reply. "Jaselle La Fleur really is who I am ...you silly man " she said with awry smirk. And so Christopher accepted this answer without hesitation or further doubts

They ordered their meal, and it arrived sometime later. As they ate, they chatted about wide and varied subjects. Jaselle revealed herself to be a woman with knowledge in many areas, who held perceptive thoughts about people, philosophies and about life. She tended to present it rather cynically and with her caustic wit, but Christopher felt that there was a lot more to her than that.

“You're a very intuitive and sensitive person, Jaselle. Why do you hide your natural warmth?"

Jaselle eyed him evenly, dabbing gently at the corner of her mouth with a napkin before speaking. "Don't psychoanalyse me," she said in a tone that was clearly meant to be a warning. "I have nothing to hide, Christopher. I am what you see."

He nodded silently.

After a moment of strained silence, conversation resumed again and the remainder of their lunch passed by favorably, until Christopher glanced at his watch and noted that it was time for him to be heading back to school. He thanked her for the lunch as he stared at her, longingly from across the table, and explained that he had to be going.

"Well, I am pleased you enjoyed it," she stated.

"I’d like to take you out tonight, as repayment." he said.

Jaselle shook her head, telling him that she had other plans.

"Well, how about tomorrow night, then?"

"No, I'm busy then, too."

"The night after that?" he asked, sounding desperate.

Jaselle smiled, admiring him for his persistence. She relented and told him to phone her, and scribbled down a number on a piece of paper and handed it over to him. He reaffirmed the arrangement, promising to call her. Jaselle had no doubts at all that he would indeed.

He leant over the table, and kissed her gently on the cheek. Again, her response was cool. When Christopher was gone from the restaurant, Jackson unconsciously wiped at the spot on his cheek where his lips had touched his flesh. His insides felt as if they had buckled inwards. He fought off the sickly feeling that engulfed him by telling himself that what he was doing was vital to his plan’s success.

He had to know that he could fulfil his role, if he was to confidently seduce his father. What was transpiring, at the moment, was merely a practice run; besides; Christopher wasn't kissing him, he was kissing Jaselle.

After settling the bill for the lunch, he took a taxi out to Prahran and returned to 'Jaselle's'. When he was inside the apartment, he was startled to find a figure reclining on the sofa. The figure was flipping through the pages of one of Raquel's glossy magazines, but when the sound of the door closing came, Claire looked up. She rose from the sofa to face Jaselle, at the sametime asking where Jackson was.

"How the Hell did you get in here?" Jaselle asked, clearly not pleased at the unexpected intrusion.

"Pearly let me in," Claire replied and crossed the room to confront Jaselle. She, in turn, gestured to the keys that the dark haired beauty held. "When did you get keys to the apartment?"

"Oh… a while ago. And before you ask, it was Jackson who gave them to me, of course."

"And I can just bet what you did to get them," Claire said, her eyes narrowing. Jaselle regarded her with blank disinterest. "I can understand a mixed up kid like Jackson being dazzled by you," she began. "But what I don't understand is why Raquel puts up with you hanging around here."

"If that's all you've got to say, you might as well leave," Jaselle suggested, her jaw set grimly.

"Just who the Hell are you anyway?" Claire demanded.

Jackson knew that he had to think about the answer he was going to give Claire. It had to sound both believable, as well as serve as an explanation for the similarity in Jaselle's name to that of Old Jas'. In an instant, he thought he had found the perfect reply.

"My name is Jaselle. Old Jas is my benefactress… and my guardian when I was a child."

Claire studied Jaselle carefully, her hands on he hips. She looked about to say something, perhaps disclaim Jaselle's story, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, she asked about Jackson again, and where he was.

"He's out and won't be back for some time."

“Then I'll wait for him until he gets back, " Claire announced.

“Then I shall have one of the security men from downstairs come up and throw you out," Jaselle informed her.

Claire didn't look convinced, but Jaselle reassured her that she meant business. She did not want her in the apartment for when Jackson got back. "It's over between you two," Jaselle said boldly. "So get over it and get out."

Claire exhaled heavily, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're incredible," she muttered, in an uncomplimentary tone, moving to the door. "I will be back."

"You may come back here, but you 'II never worm your way back into Jackson’s life, I can promise you that much!"

Claire let the remark pass by. "If you remember, Jaselle, get Jackson to give me a call when he gets back."

"I shall try my hardest to remember," Jaselle answered mockingly, clearly indicating that she would do no such thing, while folding her arms carefully over her chest.

When Claire was gone, Jackson went over to the sofa and sat quietly. His mind was numb. He thought about how cruel he'd been to her. But that had been Jaselle, hadn't it? Still, it pained him to cause her suffering.

Jackson would not telephone her. Perhaps then Claire would understand that he didn't want her in his life any longer. It wasn't because he didn't love her, for he did. But there was no place for Claire in the future ahead of him. There never could be. He could never give her the happiness, or the kind of life, which she deserved. He thought about some of the wonderful moments that they had shared together.

The memories brought a bitter smile to his face and tears to his eyes. He burst into violent tears, and huddled up on the sofa. In his mind he was telling himself that his time with Claire was over and had to be buried in the past. He had to keep in mind his one aim, and his life's goal. He had to have his revenge, and that meant sticking to the commitment he had made for himself and vowed to follow.

He was sorry for the injury he'd inflicted on Claire - God was he sorry! He loved her, but he had to let her go, and she had to be free of him, too. Six times he cursed Lloyd Crane's name as he sat on the sofa, weeping, and he vowed to see that man dead.

Eventually he fell asleep on the sofa, and that was where Raquel found him some time later, when he returned to the apartment. He had just finished his evening performance downstairs. Raquel's arrival disturbed him and Jackson woke up, looking up at him with red, puffy eyes.

"Are you alright?" Raquel asked, concerned for his friend. Replying as Jaselle, he stated he was fine.

Raquel went over to a side table and opened the drawing, bringing out a bundle of papers that he handed to Jackson. There was a passport and a series of convincing looking documents that established the identity of Jaselle La Fleur. The passport stated her age as twenty-one years, three years older than what Jackson actually was. Jaselle's sex was credited as female and it indicated that she held dual British and Australian citizenship.

"It's the best quality around," Raquel informed him as Jackson looked over the passport and papers. “It can usually take weeks, but the artist is an old friend of mine and he owed me a favour, so he rushed it through today. The other papers are just handy forms of ID. to have; fake birth certificate copy, a Medicare Card, a driver's license and items of the like."

“Thank-you, Raquel, they're perfect," he said, becoming reanimated and excited, putting aside his earlier fears and doubts. He inquired about the clinic.

Raquel explained that he had a friend, who remained nameless, who knew of several such clinics in Europe. "She will look at them carefully then send me all the details, just as soon as she's through evaluating them."

"How long do you think that will take?"

Raquel said that he wasn't certain, but pointed out that it was vital that the investigation be thorough, or else Jackson might wake to find that he'd been mutilated horribly for the rest of his life, or perhaps Jackson might not live through the surgery at all.

"I've also began inquiries about the hormone shots. You can begin those in a few days," Raquel said, though did not sound happy about it.

Jackson, however, was overjoyed. For his mind, everything seemed to be progressing smoothly. His life was getting into some kind of order, and he could begin to see where he was going. It some ways, it seemed unreal. But the excitement that pumped through his body told him it was no dream.

Across town, there were two hearts in turmoil, belonging to two people completely unaware of the other's existence, and that they were inextricably linked by fate.

Christopher lit up a cigarette as he paced passed the telephone in his family's home in the suburb of Hawthorn. In one hand he held the piece of paper with Jaselle's name and telephone number on it. He felt sorely tempted to call her up, but wondered if hounding her could only drive her out of his life forever? He didn't want to frighten her off. That was the very last thing he wanted to happen. He felt sure that she was interested in him. He was merely unsure as to how much. She never showed him affection and certainly had not been encouragingly responsive to his advances. She hid so well behind those grey eyes - and yet so penetrating were they! They were like tumultuous clouds that bristled brightly with lightning.

He decided not to take the risk of calling Jaselle. It was also partially a matter of pride. He couldn't be seen by her to be chasing her like some lovesick high school kid. It would be far too degrading. He didn't think she would respect a man who 'gave in' to her too easily.

It was probably best if he let her stew a little bit; wondering to herself if he would in fact ring her back as he’d said he would.

Jaselle, he sensed, liked to play mind games with people. That was fine with him. He would play along, but he promised himself that he would present himself as a challenger that she would find very attractive.

"O.K., Jaselle," he said to himself, grinning and looking at the mute telephone. "We'll play it your way. I bet that you'll call me in two days," he said, feeling pleased with his stand on the matter, and drew back on his cigarette. “May be three days… at the most.”

Claire sat in her bedroom, her telephone sitting beside her bed. The British band, The Smiths played at a moderate level on her stereo. She looked at the telephone, willing it to ring, but knowing in her mind that Jaselle would never have told Jackson of her stopping by the apartment earlier that afternoon.

Claire’s bedroom was of an average size. The walls were a soft, pastel pink, but almost entirely covered over with pictures of movie stars and pop groups. There were pictures of The Smiths, The Cure, David Bowie, John Cougar Mellencamp, Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, Rob Lowe, Midnight Oils, Crowded House and countless others.

Her teddy bear, Milton, a slightly worn but warm looking, large brown bear with melancholy, understanding eyes, rested his head on her pillow and looked up at her with arms out stretched. She regarded him somewhat dejectedly, and then reached for him and held him close to her chest, still looking at the telephone.

Should she just give up on Jackson? Maybe he was happy with Jaselle. But she quickly discounted that notion - Jaselle may have seduced him, but she obviously didn't care for him the way Claire did, and she couldn't imagine that he loved Jaselle, either.

’But there were other guys out there’, she told herself. ’Why not meet them, and forget Jackson? Y’know… the whole “plenty more fish in the sea theory”…?’

Another voice called to her, this one from her heart: ’Because there was no one else quite like him.’

Yes, he was strange and secretive, but he could be so gentle and loving, and he was so very vulnerable, yet strong, too. She could not let him go, at least not without trying to salvage their relationship.

The telephone bleated. Claire's hand seized it before the first ring had even finished. "Hello?!" she cried anxiously. "Oh ... Hi, Pauly, how are you?" she asked, but her voice lost its energy.

At the other end of the line, Paul picked up on the dejected tone of voice.

"Hey babe, what's the problem? Jackson?"

“Yeah..." she moaned.

"Argh! Men! They're all bastards!" Pauly cried theatrically.

Claire burst into tears. "I'm sorry, Pauly!" she blubbered. "I'm being pathetic."

Sitting in the study of his family home, alone, Paul frowned, troubled by her grief.

"Hey, come on now, chicky girl… I'll be over in ten minutes with a bottle or two of Bollie, O.K.? Big sis Pauly will make it all better, I promise! And we can have a bitch about men ...that arsehole Daniel hasn't called me for two whole days, so I know where you're coming from…"

Now Claire frowned. "But I didn't think you liked him anyway...? Didn't he have a really small dick...?"

"Yeah. And I don't like him all that much," he admitted. "But that's not the point. He hasn't called me, and I hate that! I hate being dumped. I do the dumping. Anyway, I'll see you soon. 'Bye, 'bye, kissy, kissy.” He made loud smacking, kissing noises into the telephone receiver before he hung up.

Claire smiled and put down the telephone, pushing the tears from her eyes. Why was the only guy she could reply on gay? she asked herself.

Days passed by and Christopher Kelly hadn't heard anything from Jaselle. He'd waited each day out patiently, praying that she would call him. But she didn’t. He'd hoped that her will would break before his, but it didn't.

He went through extreme emotional cycles; at times he was intoxicatingly happy when he thought about her, but then - and this was where he seemed to be most of his time - he would plummet into an abyss of despair, feeling insecure and depressed beyond all reasoning. He was completely distracted by the woman and he could not concentrated on anything else.

At school, in his classes, he found himself day dreaming about Jaselle and scribbling her name all over his workbooks. At night, he tossed about in his bed, unable to sleep, for his mind was consumed with images of Jaselle. When he did he dreamt of her, and she was as frustratingly elusive in his dreams as she was in his waking life-

He would wake, not feeling rested, but anxious and more frustrated, realising that he was totally lost to her. He no longer had any control over who he was and what he did.

He recognised that he was obsessed with her, and that within him, he could find no part of his being that mattered to him anymore. He had to replace that empty space with Jaselle if he were to go on living. But yet, she seemed to have dismissed his existence.

He sobbed into his hands, filled with a premature grief and a rising anger at a situation that he seemed to have no control over. He cursed Jaselle, believing that he could almost hate her. But no - he could never hate her. He'd die before he could ever hate Jaselle.