How I Spent My Summer Vacation

by C. Sprite

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

 

On the third of January I reported for work a few minutes after two o'clock. I had time to complete the payroll paperwork and move into my former office, which had been vacated by Marci on the previous Friday, before it was time to attend the daily, senior news staff meeting at four o'clock.

I was once again welcomed back by the people in the meeting and then we got down to business. I had gained an appreciation for being aware of current events last summer, and I had been closely following the news since deciding to return to my former position. As a result, I was familiar with all of the national and international news stories that we would cover. My time with the station had acquainted me with the types of stories covered at the local level.

At five-thirty I walked to Make-Up with Don. Claire welcomed me back and started working on me first, while Don and I talked about the broadcast. Five minutes before six we were seated in the studio, our mics and earphones tested and ready. I was a little nervous, but did my best to appear calm as Don was cued by the control room. He began reading from the teleprompter.

"Good evening and welcome to the KXBF-TV News broadcast for January 3^rd. Before we introduce the first story, I want to welcome back Ashley James to the co-anchor chair. I'm sure that regular viewers will remember Ashley, who filled in as a co-anchor for a few weeks this past summer when Kay Peterson left. While that assignment was temporary, Ashley is now permanently replacing Marci Clancy, who left us Friday for a news position in Chicago. Welcome back, Ashley."

"Thank you, Don," I said, smiling. "I'm delighted to be back with the KXBF-TV family, and I want to thank the station management for this wonderful opportunity. I also want to thank the viewers who have written personal notes welcoming me back. Thank you everyone." Changing my expression slightly, I started reading from the teleprompter. "Our lead story for tonight concerns the continuing terrorist violence in Iraq. A suicide bomber killed himself and four Iraqi policemen manning a checkpoint in Baghdad today. Lou Ewing has filed this report…".

A report by Reuters News Agency immediately appeared on the broadcast monitor, and I took a deep breath. I had gotten my first story intro out of the way and I was feeling more comfortable by the minute. Don would set up the next story. After the international and national news stories were introduced, we'd really get to work as we read all the local stuff, and played footage from the station's reporters.

By the end of the hour, it was as if I had never left. As the studio lights dimmed, Paula joined us at the desk to talk while the credits rolled. After a couple of minutes I heard in my earpiece, 'And we're off. Excellent job everyone. Glad to have you back, Ashley'. The studio lights brightened again and the crew began to talk among themselves. We had another broadcast at ten, but getting the first one out of the way was a relief.

When a sound tech came to take our transmitters, Don said, "Billy, did you hear about the young sound engineer at WXYZ in Chicago?"

"Uh, I don't think so, Mr. Baden."

"Well, he was up in the office, standing at the office shredding machine, trying to feed a sheet of paper in, but not having any luck. One of the secretaries watched him for about five minutes and finally took pity on him, so she walked over and asked if she could help. He said, 'Oh that would be great. I'm really late for a date and I have to do this for my boss before I go.' The secretary took the paper, turned the machine on, and inserted it into the machine. As the paper disappeared inside, the young sound engineer said, 'Excellent, excellent! I only need one copy.'"

Don looked at Billy as the young man digested the joke.

"Was he fired, Mr. Baden?"

Don's lower jaw dropped, and he smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. Julia and I giggled.

"Uh, no, Billy."

"What happened to him?" Billy asked seriously.

"It's a joke, Billy," Don said patiently and slowly. "Nothing happened to him."

Billy finally grinned and said, "I know Mr. Baden. That joke's so old, it has whiskers," pleased with himself that he had turned the tables on Don.

We all laughed as Don's jaw dropped again. He stood up, muttering, "Smart ass kids," but we all knew it was just an act. Don had to have been the class clown when he was in school.

 

On Wednesday morning, my mini-vacation ended. Mom and I went to the high school, where I was enrolled for classes. When the vice-principal asked for my birth certificate and school transcript, Mom explained that my birth certificate was still packed away in storage, but that she'd bring it in as soon as everything was delivered and unpacked. She also told him that she'd see that the transcript was sent by my old school now that I was enrolled. The vice-principal recognized me from the summer broadcasts and couldn't be more accommodating. A class schedule was printed out and I was given a booklet about the school bus routes. In the afternoons I could take a bus that would drop me off very close to the station.

After we completed all the paperwork, I kissed Mom goodbye and went off to find, first my locker, so I could drop off my coat, and then my classroom. I had a 'new student enrollment' form to show each of my teachers so that I would be admitted to the class and issued books. I had debated with myself whether to dress up or dress down for my first day, and dress up had won. You only get to make a first impression once, so I was wearing a new outfit from the boutique. The grey, stretch wool, above the knee, pencil skirt was mated to a soft, cream colored, off the shoulders fold-over top with raglan sleeves. The skirt was a bit tight, but not nearly as tight as the skirts that Lizbeth had altered for me, and I wasn't wearing the corset. Because it was cold outside, I had worn a pair of tall, mock-suede boots that featured a grey pin-stripped pattern, with covered, four inch heels to give me some extra height. I looked hot, and I knew it.

I had spent a LOT of time fixing my hair and making sure my makeup was just right. I was going for the sophisticated woman look, rather that the fresh-faced high school girl look, and I hoped that I hadn't overdone it. I knew the tricks for carefully applying makeup so that I could appear years older than my actual years, but I didn't want to appear too old.

I had missed the first class period for today because we were tied up in the office with the paperwork, and the second period class was half over when I walked in. All eyes immediately flew to me as I walked to the teacher and handed her the class enrollment paperwork.

After reading the document, the teacher, Mrs. Deminchik, said, "Class, we have a new transfer student. This is Ashley Michelle James."

"Hi," I said, and received a few reciprocating greetings.

"Find a seat, Ashley," Mrs. Deminchek said. "I'll get you a book by tomorrow."

Naturally, the only available seats were near the front of the room, so I selected one in the front row, center aisle. I always preferred a front row seat anyway.

 

After class a few of the kids approached me, with one girl asking, "Are you the girl that works at the television station?"

I smiled and said, "Yes, I am."

"Sweet. I don't watch much news, but I saw you do the weather a few times this past summer when I needed to know what it was going to be like the next day. I haven't seen you doing it lately."

"No, I just rejoined the station this week. I do the news now."

"Oh-my-god, you're a reporter?"

"No, not presently. I just work the news desk during the broadcasts at six and ten."

"You’re an anchor?"

"Co-anchor. I work with Don Baden. We alternate when presenting the stories."

"Sweet."

I smiled. "It's just a job."

"I'm Faith," the girl said. "Faith Connors."

That set off a wave of introductions in the group. I knew that it was going to be difficult to remember everyone's name, but I did my best to commit them to memory by associating the name with some prominent facial or body characteristic.

The minutes were ticking by and I tried to disengage myself so I could go looking for my next classroom. After checking my schedule I asked Faith where the room was. She volunteered to show me the way, and our little entourage moved out. We talked for another minute after reaching my next class and then everyone had to scramble to reach their next class in time.

That was how it went for the next two classes. Judging from the lectures and discussion in each class I wasn't going to have too rough a time doing the schoolwork, but I knew that I'd have to apply myself to pickup the specifics that each teacher had covered so far this school year.

 

At lunchtime I collected another small entourage. It was exactly the opposite of what a student should expect upon entering a new school in mid term. I suspected that the novelty of my presence would dissipate in a few days, but for now I intended to make the most of it by learning names, making friends, and securing a place among the student body. Lizbeth spotted me as I went through the food line in the cafeteria and dragged me off to sit with her and some of the senior girls as soon as I'd paid for my meal. I had met almost all of them during the summer.

After school I took the school bus that would drop me closest to the station and I only had to walk a couple of blocks. I immediately began reading the wire service stories so I'd be prepared for the four o'clock meeting. I'd work on my homework after the first broadcast.

 

The next day I discovered that my popularity had increased, since most of the kids had tuned in to watch their new schoolmate deliver the news; at least until they grew bored and switched to MTV. I had again chosen to dress up rather than down, but expected that this would be the last time I went all out. For me, tomorrow would be casual Friday, and I planned to wear jeans and a sweater or shell top.

 

A week after returning to the station, I received a phone call at work from Gilbert, the nephew of Wilt Hathers, the executive vice-president of KBXF. Gilbert had once driven me home after Uncle Wilt objected to my working for Nicole's catering company while an employee of the station.

"Hi, Gilbert. It's nice to talk with you again. How have you been?"

"Great. I've defied Uncle Wilt and opened a small practice here in town."

"Wonderful, but how does Uncle Wilt feel about it?"

"He was upset at first, but finally came around. I still sit on all the boards, so I'm serving the family, while I also get to do something that makes me feel productive."

"That's great, Gilbert. Congratulations."

"Thanks, Ashley. How are you doing?"

"Very well. I'm really happy to be back at the station."

"Congratulations to you."

"Thanks, Gilbert."

"The reason I'm calling is because I heard that you’re looking for a house. Are you still in the market?"

"Yes, I am. My mom and I made the decision to move here permanently."

"Good. I was recently retained to help settle the estate of a local resident that passed away just before Thanksgiving. The house hasn't been listed yet because we're still in probate, but I expect that we'll wrap it up this week."

"What kind of house is it?"

"Wood frame, two-story with a full basement, four bedrooms, three and a half baths, built around 1980 so it's well insulated. It sits on an acre of land in a nice neighborhood."

"It sounds great."

"Well, it could be. The roof is original, and a couple of leaks have developed. Also, the inside needs redecorating. It probably hasn't been painted since it was built."

"Anything else?"

"Nothing major. The heating system is gas, and they last forever. The hot water tank might need replacing."

"That's not a problem."

"Are you interested?"

"What are they asking?"

"The house was assessed at two-hundred-forty thousand. It was owned free and clear of any mortgages, and there are no liens. There's an easement along the north edge of the property for a buried telephone line. It's about ten feet from the road's edge."

"Will they rent with an option to buy?"

"I don't think so. The family is anxious to settle the estate. One of the kids is in financial straits and needs money badly. He's pressuring his siblings to sell fast."

"How much are they asking?"

"You'll have to discuss that with them. I represent their interests so I can't assist you with negotiations. I'm only informing a prospective purchaser about availability, in accordance with their wishes to settle quickly."

"We haven't sold our house in Massachusetts yet. When we do, it'll probably take several months until the transfer is complete and the money is available. I appreciate the information, but if they're not willing to rent with an option, I'm afraid that it wouldn't do any good to even look at it."

"Can you put anything down?"

"All I have is a little more than fifteen thousand; my college fund from having worked for the summer at the station."

"Ya know, I bet Uncle Wilt would be willing to advance you the money, for a promissory note, using your house in Massachusetts as collateral."

"Really? That would be great."

"Do you want to look at the house? I have the key."

"I'd love to."

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning, Saturday, at ten?"

Tomorrow at ten it is. The address is 61 Sycamore Lane."

"61 Sycamore Lane. Got it. Thanks, Gilbert. I’ll see you there tomorrow."

"Okay, Ashley. Take care."

I immediately called Mom and told her of the house.

 

Visually, the house was everything that Gilbert had said, and more. The roof obviously needed to be replaced, since a number of shingles appeared to be damaged, but the rest of the house seemed to be in good condition, with a few cosmetic problems. We looked for leaks, termite damage, and pest infestation, as we examined the house from top to bottom. The basement was dry, and the crawl space attic looked fine except for two areas where a little water was leaking in due to the damaged shingles. The wood in those areas still seemed strong, so the damage probably wasn't very old, but as the snow covering the roof melted, the wet areas would probably grow. The only major problem was an extremely strong, persistent odor that had permeated through every part of the house.

"What smells so awful?" Mom had asked when we first entered.

"I'm afraid the previous owner passed away in the house, and wasn't found for a couple of weeks," Gilbert had answered. "The bed's mattress was immediately trashed, and the house was aired out as much as possible in this cold weather, but obviously the windows couldn't be left open for long. I haven't been here before and I wasn't aware that it was as bad as it is."

"Oh my god," Aunt Sharon said. "You never get rid of the smell from a rotting corpse completely, unless you paint every single surface in the house. It's probably throughout all the air conditioning ducts, and you'll smell it as soon as you turn the a/c on this summer. It's also seeped into every wood or porous surface in the house. You'll smell it for years."

"Who's empowered to negotiate for the sale?" I asked Gilbert.

"I can bring an offer to the executor of the estate."

"Have you spoken with Uncle Wilt?"

"Yes, I did. As I surmised, he'll take a promissory note for up to one year, using your old house as collateral."

"Wonderful. I guess the only thing left is to decide if we should make an offer, and how much."

Mom said, "It's going to cost probably ten-thousand for a new roof and other repairs, and it's going to take at least a couple of years to get rid of the smell completely. Because of the smell, I don’t think we should offer more than a hundred-eighty thousand. It's a nice house, but there has to be a powerful financial incentive for us to tolerate this smell for years."

"Would you like me to communicate that amount to the executor?"

I nodded.

"Okay. I'll send them an email as soon as I get back to the office. Did you want to see anything else?"

I looked at Mom, then Aunt Sharon. Both shook their heads. "I guess we've seen everything we need to, Gilbert. Thanks so much for taking the time to show us the house."

"My pleasure, Ashley."

 

Three days later Gilbert called to say that the executor was free to dispose of the estate's assets and disburse the funds. He also said that the offer of a hundred eighty thousand had been accepted by the parties involved.

"I told them how bad the smell from the corpse is, and invited them to come judge for themselves, but they declined. They know that it will cost tens of thousands of dollars to replace the roof and cover the smell, if it's even possible. They opted to take the money and run."

"Great, I guess. We'll have to try to find some good chemicals that will mask the odor."

 

Since the house was unoccupied, the title had just been searched, and we didn't need to wait for the mortgage department of a bank to complete credit checks and such, we were able to close on the house in two weeks. A moving van had come and removed all of the prior owner's possessions, after the will was probated, for shipment to Florida.

Beginning the next day, Mom and Aunt Sharon began spending every day working there during the week, and Lizbeth and I joined them on weekends. Uncle Bob was in San Francisco, Suzanne helped whenever she wasn't on duty at the hospital, and Nicole helped when she could spare a few hours away from her business.

We trashed everything of minimal value that was probably harboring the smell, had the carpeting and drapes cleaned by a professional company that specialized in such odors and smoke damage, then began to clean all the walls with a chemical wash recommended by Suzanne. A friend in the hospital morgue had suggested the product to use. When the walls were clean, fresh paint helped to further mask the odor, although we would have to wait until spring to really air the house out. For the time being, we used several commercially available air purifiers. Nicole got us a couple of fragrance dispensers commonly found in restaurants to cover kitchen smells.

 

During the second week of March, the truck arrived with our household possessions and unloaded everything into the house. A comparison of our inventory list showed that two boxes were missing, one with kitchenware and the other with books. Mom filed a claim report with the trucking company, using our inventory to determine a value, and we continued with our unpacking.

The new house was quite a bit larger than our old house, and we had no problem fitting everything in. Once the furniture was placed, we officially moved in, despite the subtle smell that persisted. We had gotten a larger house than we could otherwise have afforded if the house hadn't had the smell, so we’d live with it until it finally dissipated, in a few years.

 

By the end of March, things were great, except for two little problems. One, I was still avoiding attempts to have me take a physical for insurance purposes, and I was running out of excuses. The bookkeeping folks at the station kept reminding me that my insurance couldn't commence until I completed the physical. And second, the school kept asking for my birth certificate and transcripts so they could complete the paperwork of my enrollment. They said that I wouldn't be credited with completing the eleventh grade if they didn't get the necessary papers. Mom had stalled as long as she could, but finally had to call my old school and ask them to forward my transcripts to the new high school. There was still the requirement that I bring in a copy of my birth certificate, but I continued to stall with the excuse that I had to get a new copy because the original had been lost in the move. I knew that as soon as they saw the name on the certificate, questions about my gender would be raised, even if I did have the paper legally changing my name. The 'boy named Sue' excuse wouldn't work with intelligent, educated educators.

I had so far been accepted by everyone at the school as a normal high school girl, and I had begun to feel a sense of belonging. Well, maybe I wasn't considered normal, because I was on television five nights a week, but I felt normal, although as the local television personality, I found that I had to fit everyone's perception of a famous person. I visited the tanning salon at least once a week to keep my tan perfect, and my makeup collection kept growing as merchants pushed free products at me and asked that I endorse their store when talking to friends at school. It seemed that the girls at school looked to me as the local expert for fashion and beauty trends. Mrs. Livingston's boutique had never been as popular as it had become after I began school here and started telling people where I got my clothes. Mrs. Livingston went out of her way to have me wear clothes intended for teenagers, so I wound up with two wardrobes each time I visited the store. One wardrobe was the clothes that I'd wear for the broadcasts, and the other was the clothes that I wore each day to school. The kids at school must have thought that I had an unlimited, clothing budget.

 

At the beginning of April I was called to Mr. Graham's office after the first broadcast of the day had been completed.

"Hi Ashley, come in and have a seat."

"Hi, Mr. Graham." I sat down on the sofa across from his desk and crossed my legs. The skirt I was wearing wasn't a mini, but it was short.

"You're doing a wonderful job. The audience, and perhaps even more importantly our advertisers, love you."

I smiled, "I'm glad. I love the job and being back here at the station."

He was silent for a couple of seconds as he looked at my legs and I was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. He finally said, "Mr. Hathers would like you to come to his home Saturday, for a meeting."

"Mr. Hathers wants to see me?"

"Yes, at his home on Saturday at ten a.m."

"Do you know what he wants? Is it about the house loan? We have a buyer for our old house, and the sales contract has been signed, but we're waiting for the purchaser's bank to complete their work. We should have the closing before July."

"He wants to discuss your career with KBXF-TV. I'm sure that nothing about the house loan will come up."

"Oh, okay."

"Do you remember where he lives?"

"I do if he still lives where we catered the reception for his daughter's wedding."

"That's the place."

"Okay. 10 a.m.?"

"Yes."

"I'll be there. Is there anything else, Mr. Graham?"

"That's all, Ashley, except– don't go grungy. You know that Hathers is big on appearance."

"I know. He made me quit my cousin's catering service because it didn't think it proper that people saw me serving food."

"Exactly. Thanks for coming up."

I was obviously being dismissed so I stood up and left. I wondered what Mr. Hathers wanted to see me about, if not the house loan. As far as my career went, I was already one of the highest paid employees at the station, outside of management, being one of four, full-time anchors. There was no place further for me to go, so my career there was at its peak.

 

On Saturday, Mom drove me to Mr. Hathers' house. She came in, but the butler asked her to have a seat in the living room while I was escorted to an imposing library, where Mr. Hathers and Mr. Graham were waiting. The walls of the room were lined with books from floor to ceiling, and the lavishly furnished room sported a desk large enough to park a car on its surface.

I smiled as I entered.

"Good morning, Ashley," Mr. Graham said. "You know Mr. Hathers, I believe."

"Good morning, gentlemen. Yes, Mr. Hathers and I met this past summer."

"Won't you sit down, Miss James?" Mr. Hathers said, gesturing towards a chair.

I sat down and crossed my legs. I had worn a fantastic new dress from the Boutique wardrobe, the wardrobe for the broadcasts, and had spent a lot of time grooming my hair and preparing my makeup to perfection. I had used every trick I knew to make me appear older, concentrating on the makeup around my eyes.

Mr. Hathers stared at me while I settled in, then said, "Graham, read the letter."

"Ashley, we received a letter earlier this week. I'm going to read it to you now." He opened a piece of paper he was holding and began.

 

"Dear Mr. Graham,

"A situation, of which you should be aware, exists at your television station. The person that you know as Ashley Michelle James, is in reality James Michael Ashley, a male, born in Massachusetts.

"Mr. Ashley has legally changed his name, but is still, never-the-less, a male, by all the legal definitions of the word.

"If this were to be learned by your viewers, it could have serious repercussions, and I felt that you were entitled to know, since I'm sure that Mr. Ashley hasn't disclosed this information to you or the rest of the station's management. He tried to keep this information secret while in Massachusetts, and even spread disinformation about really being just a girl with a weird name.

"I hope that I have alerted you in time to prevent a catastrophe.

"Sincerely yours,

"Mrs. Samantha D. Corvaar,

"Principal, Sleepy Hollow High School."

 

Mr. Graham folded the paper and looked at me. Mr. Hathers hadn't taken his eyes off me for a second.

"Mrs. Corvaar is one of the reasons that I wanted to leave my home town," I said. "It's a pity that Massachusetts no longer burns witches. Mrs. Corvaar would make excellent kindling." As a former resident of Massachusetts, I was well aware that witches had never been burned in the U.S., but it was a common misconception, and used often as an expression. The truth was that 'convicted' witches, both male and female, were hanged or 'pressed' to death in Massachusetts, and even that practice had been abandoned several hundred years ago. At that moment I could almost have wished for a return to those days, if only for a few hours. I should have been scared and nervous about my secret being revealed like this, but at this moment in time I was only angry.

"Ashley," Mr. Graham said, "I'm sure that you understand an allegation such as this has to be investigated. As news people, we must always be suspicious of malicious gossips and whistle blowers, until we're sure of their facts and their motives. For several months you've avoided taking the physical examination required of all employees. Is there any substance to this charge?"

"I understand, Mr. Graham," I said. "Dan Rather and CBS learned just how important it was to verify information and sources before releasing it. Mrs. Corvaar was my high school principal, and as such was privy to certain medical information. Have you ever heard of the medical condition known as 'Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia?' It's often referred to simply as C.A.H."

Mr. Hathers shook his head slightly, but Mr. Graham nodded.

"My cousin, a nurse, could explain this better than I can," I said, perhaps a bit forlornly.

"What is this C.A.H.?" Mr. Hathers asked.

"C.A.H. is a condition where female infants are occasionally categorized as males at birth. The infant's clitoris is so enlarged that it appears to be a penis. In cases where the labia are fused, there is no sign of a vagina, and even doctors have been fooled into thinking that a newborn is a male. Some females have been diagnosed as hermaphrodites until the condition is properly diagnosed. The problem comes from a defect in the adrenal glands, that results in a flood of hormonal steroids that produce male characteristics in the infant. Newborn males with C.A.H. display characteristics during their first few years that are normally not seen until puberty. Fortunately many states test for that condition at birth now."

"Are you saying that you were misidentified at birth because of this C.A.H.?" Mr. Hathers asked.

"No, my problem is almost the exact opposite. I only use C.A.H. as a reference for what can result from a hormonal imbalance. Instead of a condition that causes an increase in the production of hormonal steroids, my condition caused a suppression of androgen, the hormone responsible for shaping the male body. Since both sexes produce male and females hormones, with the body programmed to produce an overwhelming amount of the specific hormones that define the body when puberty starts, you can understand what happens in a male when androgens are suppressed. You get a person who straddles the line between male and female. Further, the female hormones that are being produced, unabated, throughout the early life of the child, have a significant effect on the brain. Recent studies have indicated that the brain establishes its 'sex' from the flow of hormones in the human system during the first couple of years. Even when the body makes up for lost time later, and develops the body as originally intended, the brain has already been imprinted with the individual's sex from the early flow of hormones."

"So you’re saying that your body, through a birth defect, suppressed the hormones that properly define the body at puberty?" Mr. Graham asked.

"Exactly. Although my gender was determined to be male at birth, based solely on the external appearance of genitalia, you can see from looking at me that I never developed any male characteristics. Further, because my body did produce female hormones, as every male body does, these hormones directed the way that my mind developed and my body has matured. Throughout my childhood, I tried to live as a male, but I never fit in. When the other males started to develop male characteristics at puberty, I became even more disassociated from them. They knew I was physically different and shunned me. I buried myself in schoolwork and videogames to distract myself from the pain of peer ostracism. It was only after I was properly diagnosed that I began to feel I had a place in this world."

The two men looked at me dispassionately. Finally, Mr. Hathers asked, "You, uh, still have your male genitals?"

"An extremely undeveloped form of male genitalia, of limited functionality."

"And you intend to remove it?" he asked.

"As soon as I can. I'll have the money now, thanks to my salary from the station."

"So you would be a transsexual?" Mr. Graham asked.

"Yes, even though the change is necessitated by a birth defect, I would have to be described that way. Children with C.A.H., XY-Turners, or other such genital birth defects can have their birth certificates legally amended to show their corrected sex, but I don't qualify, because my sex chromosomes are still XY."

"XY-Turners?" Mr. Graham asked.

"It's condition where females are born with male genitals, and for all purposes look exactly like a male. Their sex chromosomes are established as XY-XO, because they only have one chromosome in some cells. They are typically very short, with a mean height of only four feet seven inches."

"It could be extremely detrimental to the station if our viewers were to learn that we had a transsexual on the staff, regardless of how attractive she is," Mr. Hathers said to Mr. Graham.

"But the law prohibits discrimination based on sex," Mr. Graham said.

"We wouldn't be discriminating based on sex. We'd be protecting the station from the wrath of viewers with preconceived ideas of sexuality."

"But Ashley's condition is the result of a birth defect. She's entitled to have a normal life, and if surgery is the only solution, who are we to stand in her way?"

"We're not trying to stand in her way; we're only insuring that her pursuit of a normal life doesn't drive the station out of business."

I listened closely as they discussed my future as if I wasn't in the room, but at least they were using female pronouns. I decided to just listen, for now.

"Ashley isn't a transsexual who simply wanted to alter her appearance from that of a male to that of a female, it's a necessity," Mr. Graham said. "Her only defining male characteristic is something that no one has seen, except her doctors."

"How does that make her any different from other transsexuals?"

"From what I've read this week, most looked like males before beginning their transitions, including having relations with female partners. And most didn't begin their transition until they were well into their adult years."

"That's the way it's been because of the societal stigma associated with the change," Mr. Hathers said, "but things are changing, according to everything I've read since you got that letter. Transsexuals are beginning their changes at earlier ages, no doubt due to the dissemination of information available on the internet."

Mr. Graham nodded. "It makes sense. The earlier they start, the better their changing bodies will conform to their new sex."

"Which is why Ashley looks so good. She's been changing since she was born."

"And that hardly makes her a typical transsexual," Mr. Graham said. "Her body developed as a female naturally, despite the male genitalia, rather than it being the result of a conscious decision on her part. In fact, I don't think we can refer to her as a transsexual. Rather, she's a…"

I could see that Mr. Graham was groping for a word, but I continued to keep silent. They would have to arrive at their conclusions on their own. Their intermediate conclusions were directing their thought processes along a path advantageous to my position, better than I could.

"A woman requiring minor cosmetic surgery to correct a birth defect?" Mr. Hathers offered.

"Perfect!" Mr. Graham said. "She's a woman requiring minor cosmetic surgery to correct a genital anomaly arising from a birth defect."

"Okay," Mr. Hathers said, looking very relieved. "I'm glad we were able to clear this up. Ashley, if anybody questions you about this subject, and you feel compelled to answer, you're only having minor cosmetic surgery to correct a genital anomaly that had you misidentified as a male at birth. If anyone really presses the issue, explain about C.A.H. Don't actually tell them you have that condition. Just lead them along and let them draw their own conclusions."

"But I still have the problem of the insurance examination, the records at school, and Motor Vehicles, that will identify me as a male."

"I'll take care of the insurance examination," Mr. Graham said. "I can promise that the information about your condition will never appear in any of the official reports, as long as you’re in good health."

"And I'll take care of the school records," Mr. Hathers said. "The file will only show your legal name, and your sex will be listed as female. I don't know about the Motor Vehicle situation, but if you can get a doctor to certify that your condition is due to a birth defect, I'm pretty sure that I can have the records reflect that you're a female. We might even have your birth certificate amended, just as it would be with a child with XY-Turners that was misidentified at birth."

I smiled. "Thank you. Thank you both, very much. I don’t know how I can ever repay you."

"You just keep doing what you've been doing to keep the station's ratings at number one in our market," Mr. Hathers said smiling.

It's nice having important and powerful friends.

I repeated the entire discussion to Mom on the way home.

"And they're really going to do all that for you?" she asked.

"They said they would, and I have no reason to doubt it. I know they want me to remain at the station. They've already done plenty to get me here, and now they're going to use their influence to make sure I'm not forced to leave in embarrassment because someone disclosed my secret."

	Staring up at the ceiling I thought about the changes that had occurred during the past year, and the outlook for a better life ahead.

"That's wonderful, dear. Now if only your uncle Bob would come around."

"Perhaps in time. The situation is still new to him, and he may just need time to adjust."

When we arrived home, I went to my bedroom to change out of the dress. I put on a shirt after hanging the dress in my closet and lay down on my bed. Staring up at the ceiling I thought about the changes that had occurred during the past year, and the outlook for a better life ahead. I wasn't so naïve as to believe there wouldn't still be many problems and challenges ahead, but I had a great deal to be thankful for. I should even be grateful to Mrs. Corvaar. By writing that letter, in an obvious attempt to do me harm for her own homophobic reasons, she had helped me greatly. But I had no intention of ever thanking her.

 

The End.

  

  

  

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