Chapter 5

The next morning I showed up at her door 20 minutes before school started. The door bell didn't work so I knocked. A grossly obese woman - probably only in her early or mid thirties, but it was hard to tell, opened the door. "Who are you?" she demanded, "and what do you want?"

She had only a slight resemblance to Fran, but it had to be her mother. "My name is George, Ms. McNair," I replied civilly. "I am a class mate of Fran's and we're riding to school together."

"You're the idiot who bought her the bike?" she inquired unpleasantly, nodding in the direction of the bike that stood in the entrance room.

"That's me!" I replied cheerfully.

"Why are you wasting your time and money on my blob of a daughter?" she asked with a sneer.

Talking about the pot calling the kettle black! But I held my tongue and answered pleasantly. "Fran and I are friends."

"Friends, huh?" she snorted. Fran, who had been getting ready, came out to us, looking pained. "What did you do to get that bike?" her mother inquired "Suck his dick?"

Fran with tears in her eyes grabbed the bike, wheeled it out of the house and got on it without answering. She set a break-neck pace, obviously determined to get away from her mother as quickly as possible. When I caught up with her I said gently "Sweetheart, this speed is for the afternoon. No point arriving all sweaty at school."

Fran slowed down a little, but looked at me in deep despair. "She is horrible!" she exclaimed. "And I am sure she hates my guts."

"I can't for the life of me understand why," I said. "But at least I love you!"

She just looked at me, and then answered the first part of my statement. "She blames having me at 16 for the life she got. And for losing her figure, as she puts it."

"Well, you didn't choose to be born, did you?" I asked. "I'm mighty glad you were though." That finally got me a weak smile. "And what's the deal with her figure?"

"I found a picture of her in sophomore year," Fran said. "She was quite slim and actually good looking then. She really let herself go when she got pregnant with me. Her boyfriend, my father, vanished without a trace."

"Well, I shall never vanish," I said. "And I'll make damned sure that you can fit your pre-pregnancy clothes no later than three months after the birth of each of our babies!"

Fran just looked at me. I couldn't quite figure out if that statement had increased or decreased my 'for real' rating, but I had obviously given her something to think about. Shortly after that we arrived at school and had no more time for talking.

After school we went out to the bikes again. "So?" Fran inquired.

"We go for a long ride," I replied.

"I'm not sure I'm up to it," she said with real concern in her voice.

"You are. It will feel horrible for the first little while, but you'll get there," I replied cheerfully. "Think about your Prom dress!" I added. That became a battle cry over the next many months.

The first ride was indeed rough on her. I let her on a long loop around the city, and without her realizing it we ended up at my place. "Come in and have something cold to drink," I offered, and Fran - out of breath and quite red in her face - gratefully accepted.

"I am so sweaty," she said when we sat down in the kitchen with two giant cups of cold water.

"How about a shower?" I asked innocently.

"I haven't got anything to change into," she replied.

I knew better. "It will be nice all the same to cool down," I urged and reluctantly she agreed. I got her a towel and showed her to the change house near the pool. Now there are a gazillion bathrooms in 'The Cedars', but I had chosen that particular one for a specific reason - the shower is separated from the change room by a heavy door. Once she had gotten undressed and I heard her get the shower going, I snuck in and removed all her clothes, replacing them with some really nice stuff I had bought in town on the Tuesday.

In addition to some cute but respectable underwear, there was a pair of designer jeans and a really pretty blouse. Like all men I was petrified that I had chosen the wrong sizes, although I had tried to sneak peeks at size labels in her clothes over the course of the last few weeks. I was pretty confident about the jeans; my main concern was her bra, but a quick look at the one I removed showed that I had been spot on.

I hastily relocated to the music room and was innocently playing the baby grand when she returned. "Something happened to my clothes," she said, trying to sound stern, but there was lightness in her voice and a glint in her eyes that made my spirit soar. The clothes looked really good on her. "Care to offer an explanation?"

"Well, I couldn't send you home all sweaty, could I?" I replied innocently.

She shook her head, but the megawatt smile was there. "Thank you. I love the new stuff!"

We rode a similar trip on Friday afternoon. The weekend ride was even harder. I showed up early Saturday morning with a bag containing proper bike-clothes to prevent chaffing. We were out for over 3 hours, and she was more dead than alive when we arrived at my place.

"Shower?" I asked.

"Oh yes!" she replied. "Will the clothes fairy come again?" she asked - there had been new clothes on Friday too.

"Who knows?" I replied airily and went to have my own shower.

Of course the 'clothes fairy' had been there. This time with a skirt and a silk shirt. She looked really really pretty in it. She washed her hair and spent some time getting it in order which turned out to be good timing - that day was the first time she met my dad. He had been out shopping and returned just after we had showered and were making a light lunch. We were busy chopping vegetables when a deep voice said "Impressive red hair..." Fran had spun around in fright. " ... Pretty freckled skin. Gorgeous blue eyes. You must be Fran!"

Now who is smooth? Fran blushed profusely and looked nervous. "Oh hi Dad," I said. "Got it in one - this is Fran."

Dad came over and rolled out maximum charm. "I am delighted to meet you at last. I have heard so much about you, indeed I hear of little else! Did you have a nice ride?"

"Exhausting but good," Fran said, feeling quickly at ease with my dad, as most people do. That's a really good ability for a doctor to have.

Dad helped us finish making lunch and we sat down to eat. During the meal he talked to Fran and got on to issues of diet and weight loss as the most natural thing in the world. "The problem about dieting is the hunger," Dad said. "We have a new breakfast cereal and some cookies that might help you. You are welcome to take some home to try."

"I think I might have tried the cookies already," Fran said. "We snacked on them one afternoon and I felt really full afterwards."

"That's the ones," Dad said. "The breakfast cereal is similar, except it actually does provide a fair amount of nutrition. You cannot study on empty. Have a bowl every morning with skim milk, have a salad lunch at school, snack on the cookies during the afternoon when you study and have a light dinner. Combined with George's grueling training program, you could have a healthy BMI in spring."

The look on Fran's face was priceless. I think the 'for real' index took a giant leap upwards.

And so the training program continued. Fran's physical condition improved rapidly - you get fit before you get slim. Over the next weeks I also replaced Fran's wardrobe with much nicer clothes. The project was well on its way.

One Wednesday when the Quartet was studying physics, Dad came home early. He noticed that Fran seemed to be struggling with reading something and when Jake and Denise had left he asked point blank if Fran was sure her glasses had the right strength. "I'm not sure," she replied. "It's true I have problems seeing well. I've had these for ages, but I can't afford..."

Dad gently stopped her. "I think you should go and see the optometrists in the mall on Saturday. Don't worry about cost." The last part of the sentence was directed at me. I gave a tiny nod.

So on Saturday we had Fran's eyes tested and compared the result with her current glasses. True enough, they were all wrong. In fact the old ones were much too strong - something that puzzled the optometrist, but he said it could perhaps be explained with changes in puberty and being under stress when tested last. I got her to try some high-class glasses and she reluctantly chose a stylish pair of Rodenstocks. They are famous for the ultra-lightweight lenses and I couldn't wait to see my favorite blue eyes through those.