The evening was interrupted by the sound of the front door closing. "Excuse me, Aunt Chlora," Molly told her guest, and walked out onto the front porch. Her stepdaughter was already climbing into the passenger side of a waiting car.
"Where are you going, Bridget?"
"Library. Studying wiht my friends. OK?"
"Studying, huh? Without books?"
"Look Molly, don't cross examine ME. You are NOT my mother."
"You'll talk to your father, then!" Molly shouted as the car pulled away, then added to herself, "Damn that kid."
It was another day in the life of the Catorce family of Orlando. Molly, the stepparent who worried about things that were "none of her business", versus Bridget, the 16 year old stepchild who was "out of control", was the feature whenever Stuart Catorce was out of town.
Molly and Stuart had been married nearly ten years, and it had been a nice life. Molly had been a teacher, but took time off when Cassie was born eight years ago. They had wanted to have another child, but it didn't work out the way they intended. There were two kids in the house, but the other was Stuart's first daughter, who had come for her annual visit last year and ended up staying.
For the first 8 years, Molly had enjoyed a nice relationship with her stepdaughter, thanks in part to a healthy distance between them. Bridget had charmed everyone as the flower girl at the wedding, and had been fun to have on visits. Eleven months out of the year, Bridget had lived with the first Mrs. Catorce on the other side of the country, and would visit for four weeks in July before going back to San Diego. That wasn't bad, for Molly, Stuart and the girls planned an annual vacation around Bridget's visit. There was a time when Molly and Bridget actually liked each other.
This was a case, however, of familiarity breeding contempt. The summer before last, when Bridget was 15, she came for what proved to be her last visit. As the four weeks neared an end, Stuart disclosed that his ex was under regular psychiatric care and that Bridget had nobody to return to. Bridget would be with them "temporarily"; now she was in her second year in the Orlando schools, a sophomore.
At 16, Bridget was slightly more cooperative for her dad than she had been for her mom, but she wasn't happy about it; and she made it clear that she had no intention of "taking orders" from a stepparent. On nights like this, with Stuart out of town, Bridget took special advantage. The first time, Molly had driven around for hours to look for Bridget, and Cassie was in no shape for school the next day. After that, Molly vowed never to neglect her own daughter to search for a stepchild. Stuart would deal with it in his own way when he got back, which usually meant that he would do nothing. "She's really a good kid," he would say, or "she's just going through a rough time." In the meantime, he couldn't see the bad example that his first daughter was setting for his second. Cassie was already becoming more defiant, questioning why she should be punished for minor offenses whne Bridget was getting away with so much more. If only Stuart would....
"Problem with daughter, Heh?"
Molly jumped. "Shit! Oh, sorry Aunt Chlora. You startled me."
"Scary to have old woman creep up on you. I understand."
Aunt Chlora didn't really look that old. Chlora Saranova was actually a great-aunt, sister to Molly's grandmother, and was visiting from Cleveland. Chlora kept a good sense of humor, even with the cold reception from Bridget. "No, I'm not a gypsy," she had told Bridget, "I'm from Russia. You the one give people the evil eye, kiddo."
It was nice to have some family to visit, and Chlora listened patiently to Molly's problems.
"You know what it is? No energy, Molly. Me, I got plenty. I could handle your little problem girl here, you know?"
"Maybe you can take her back to Cleveland with you," said Molly, laughing.
"I get it, you want to sell her to the gypsies? Ha! Not even if she was marked down. They don't do that type business anymore. Hey, Molly, you don't like the gifts I brought? I mean, Bridget, I understand she don't like her scarf, but how about you?"
"No, I liked the powder. I put some on before you came over."
"Hah! I could always tell when you are fibbing, eh? You haven't been using it. You still using your regular face powder. Chlora knows the difference."
"I'm sorry. I guess I've picked up the habit of lying to people now."
"From the kid. I understand. Molly, I want you to be happy. Use the face powder tomorrow. When you like the way you lok, you use this here." Chlora pulled a compact from her purse.
"More powder? I don't understand."
"You'll want to use this later. Too much of a good thing is not a good thing, okay? Let's have some coffee, then you take me back to my hotel room..."
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The next days were uneventful. Stuart did come back from his business trip, and Chlora did fly back to Cleveland.
"No Bridget, she flew in a jet," he said. "Why do you ask?"
Stuart was fairly clueless. He had heard that the guys at her school called her "Hurricane Bridget" and had commented about what a "cute nickname" that was. Everybody else knew Bridget's reputation, but he lived in denial, refusing to believe that his 16 year old might be less than chaste.
"Stuart, they call her that because she gives them..." Molly began.
"Gives them what, honey?" he asked, naively.
She shook her head. Stuart's bedroom preferences were fairly simple, and he apparently had never wanted or received that particular experience. His ex-wife once joked with Molly that Stuart's textbook was the "Coma Sutra".
"Never mind. Just stop telling people that she has a nickname. It's embarassing. For her, of course."
They were getting ready for a rare Friday evening out, since Cassie was spending the night with friends, and Bridget was going to a ball game. Molly took out the red porcelain jar that Chlora had given her and tried the face powder. It wasn't that different, as far as makeup went, but as the evening wore on, Molly felt energetic. Not jumpy, not hyped up, but healthy and strong, and pretty good for 38 years old.
In the days to follow, she also felt more in control of herself than ever before, and dealt more assertively with both girls. So she kept using the powder, and with each day, she felt better. By the end of the week, she not only felt like she was in her 20s, she looked like it too, as old wrinkles faded.
Chlora called to remind her, however, of the need to use the powder from the other compact, and Molly dug it out of her purse and did as instructed. The stuff in that red porcelain jar packed a hell of a punch.
--------
THURSDAY MORNING
Bridget had noticed that Molly seemed better looking than ever, no longer the middle aged tyrant. Molly looked slimmer, and other men were noticing her. Even Bridget's boyfriend commented that her stepmom was a fox. It was unsettling to hear that from Kent.
So Bridget had waited for a moment to be alone in the home, and the chance finally came one morning when Cassie missed the bus. With Molly out of the house to run Cassie to school, Bridget invited herself into the room.
It hadn't been the first time that she had "borrowed" anything from her dad or stepmom. When therve was enough currency for a 10 or 20 to be taken without being obvious, it would be taken as needed. She found the red jar and opened it, and recognized the scent of the powder immediately, then brushed some onto her cheekbones. Bridget felt fantastic that day, crediting it to the fact that Thursday evening was the real start of the weekend. Kent picked her up for the library, and they actually went there for awhile, leaving at 7:45. "Dad knows the library closes at 9," she reminded him. "Relax. We'll make it quick. The folks are at the movies," he said. Once they verified that his house was empty, they made love in his room. True to his word, Kent had her back home at a little past 9.
FRIDAY
The next morning, Bridget felt odd. Weighing herself, she saw that either the scale was off by 10 pounds, or her diet was working. Even if it was just fluid, she was pleased with her appearance. Friday flew by, and that night, they went to the ball game for awhile, then to the party at Morgan's house. Everyone commented on how great she looked. Kent was turned on, and they borrowed a room for a quickie. Bridget had a few more drinks-- after losing some weight, she felt entitled. She and Kent made out in his car before he dropped her back home, still buzzed, at 10:59.
"How was the game, honey?" Stuart asked.
Bridget had enough presence of mind to conceal any sign of inebriation. "It was really exciting, Dad. My voice is worn out from all that shouting! But I'm awfully tired. Do you mind if I go to bed early?'
"Sure, honey." Turning to Molly, he added, "See? She's a good kid."
SATURDAY
Bridget awoke hungover on Saturday, and for the first time, she noticed that her jeans didn't fit. Not only was the waistband too loose, but they were too long. The scale confirmed that she was lighter, which was good news-- but shorter? No, it was probably a pair of jeans that Molly had purchased, and that woman had no business buying clothes for her. Bridget didn't feel well, and it WAS Saturday, so she stayed in bed with the TV on. Diane called and invited her to go shopping, but Bridget declined, citing nausea from the party. When she got dressed, she put on some cutoffs and stayed in her foom the afternoon. Maybe it was her imagination, but her breasts seemed to be smaller-- not that she was flat chested, but something didn't feel right. The rest of her body felt bloated, and she tried not to jump to any conclusions.
When she came out that evening to get something to eat, Bridget passed by her sister Cassie, and knew instantly that something was amiss. Cassie was only 8, but it looked as if she had grown overnight-- she was only a few inches shorter than Bridget.
"Bridget? What happened to you?" she said.
"Where's Dad?" Bridget demanded.
"He's in the garage..."
When Stuart saw Bridget, he yelled for Molly.
"No Dad! Don't call Molly!"
Molly came in, and was just as surprised.
-------------------
"How tall are you?" Dad asked.
"Five four, Dad."
"Hmmm. Come over to the wall."
Bridget hadn't been measured against "the wall" in years, but her dad had recorded her height during every summer visit in the past "Four feet, eight inches," he read from the tape measure, "How can that be?"
"Maybe the tape measure is broken," Bridget suggested.
"Off by six inches? Bridget, look at that line. That's how tall you were five years ago. When you were eleven! And you're there now. See?" He pointed to a pencil mark. Bridget began to cry and pointed to Molly.
"It's HER fault. She left that cosmetics bag out, because she knew I would..."
"Bridget, did you take something from my dresser?" asked Molly.
"No. I don't like your taste in makeup."
"You're the one who mentioned cosmetics."
"What's the big deal about makeup?" Stuart asked, genuinely confused.
Molly explained. "Aunt Chlora gave me this jar of face powder. It's what made me look so much better lately. She gave me another powder to follow up with.."
"I noticed you had lost some weight," remarked Stuart, "and it looks like it took out some lines, even..."
"You can't remove wrinkles with a powder! What is that stuff?!" Bridget demanded.
"Let me call Aunt Chlora."
Molly excused herself and placed the call, then came back with a grave look on her face. "You DID use the powder, didn't you." It was an accusation, not a question. Bridget didn't answer, and Molly continued. "WHEN did you use it, Bridget? Come on, this is important."
"Yesterday. No, the morning before that."
"Thursday morning? So it's been two and a half days. That makes sense."
"What the hell is that stuff?!"
"Don't use swear words, young lady," Stuart snapped.
"It's a powder that makes people younger. Two years younger every day. On me, that was a good thing. I'm 38, but after a week, I feel like I'm in my 20s. The math works. But on a kid..."
"Five years younger?" Stuart said. "That's why she's the height that she was when she was 11. But stuff like that can't happen. Can it?"
"Aunt Chlora has told me a lot of strange things. That's why we didn't notice the change right away either. The first night, she was 15, and last night she was 13. But as you can see from the wall, she really grew between 11 and 12, and 12 and 13."
"I'm not 11! I'm 16! I hate you Molly!"
"Hate me later. We need to get that other powder to use on you."
"Will it make me 16 again?"
"No. But it will stop you from getting any younger."
"What? I don't want to be stuck at age 11!"
"Bridget, do what Molly says, OK?" Stuart pleaded.
Molly returned from her room with a brown compact, and applied powder to the face of her little stepdaughter, who fussed the whole time. "Cassie, see if we can find some clothes that might fit Bridget," Molly suggested, "You two aren't that far apart."
"What are we going to do about me? I can't let my friends see me like this!"
"School isn't until Monday," said Stuart. "Get some sleep and you'll feel better in the morning."
Bridget no longer felt energized, but exhausted. Every time she looked in the mirror, she was angry. She was a little girl, not a young woman, from head to toe. There had to be something to undo this, but until then, how could she face her friends? Her cell phone rang and she punched the talk button without thinking. "Hello?" she answered.
"Is Bridget there?" It was Diane.
"Yeah, Diane. This is her."
"Right. Cassie, hand the phone to your sister, please?"
Bridget was surprised, but lowered her voice and tried to sound tired. "Hey Diane. Cassie was playing a trick."
"You sound terrible, Bridge! You should have been with us. You'll never believe who we saw with Roger..."
Bridget was feeling more uneasy as she tried to sound like a 16 year old on the phone, and she knew she would have to keep the girls from coming over. "I was really sick. Uh, I hate to tell you this, but I'm going back to Mom's for awhile-- in California."
"For real?"
"It's just for a little while. I'll be back. Mom's doing better, but..."
"When are you going? We need to get together to see you off..."
"Early in the morning. Really early. There won't be time, but I'll be back soon."
"Maybe we can come out to the airport. Oh Bridget, this is so sudden, you leaving and everything."
"Please. It's not like it's going to be this way forever."
I hope.
Bridget didn't say the last two words, but that was on her mind.
Eleven years old! She would be in elementary school, thanks to that stupid gypsy bitch.
What was she going to do?