Jury Duty

by Valentina Michelle Smith

 

I felt a little nervous as I parked my car in the Municipal Garage. I gave my makeup and hair a quick check in the vanity mirror before retrieving my purse and opening the door. I swung my legs out of the car and stood, smoothing my skirt.

I closed the door, pressed the "Lock" button on my keyless remote, and was rewarded with a familiar chirp. My car was now alarmed. I looked around and located the elevator. I tried to keep my knees from shaking as I made my way to the elevator. The sound of my high heels on the concrete floor seemed to echo throughout the underground parking garage.

I was dressed quite conservatively. I wore a dark blue suit with an ivory blouse, tan hose, and mid-heeled navy pumps. The blouse had a ruffled front that added a very feminine touch to the suit. My skirt was neither too loose nor too tight, falling to just below my knees with a discreet slit in the back. I had taken great pains to ensure that my lace slip was not visible.

As I waited in silence for the elevator, two women walked up to the queue. They paid me very little attention, other than to smile and say good morning. One, a blonde woman carrying a leather briefcase, seemed more concerned with the conversation she was having on her cell phone than with her surroundings.

A bell sounded and the elevator doors opened. I entered and pressed the button for the main level. My companions, it seemed, were also headed there since nobody pushed any of the other buttons. The doors closed, and the elevator slowly lurched upward.

I fought down the first of many minor panic attacks I would have this day. The aroma of our different perfumes mixed with the pervading smell of machine oil and the lingering stench of stale cigarette smoke, as the elevator seemed to creep along. Why hadn't I taken the stairs?

Eventually the elevator halted and the doors opened. We all left and proceeded on our respective ways. I sighed to myself in relief, having passed the first of many tests I would face today. Once more I checked my purse to verify that I had the summons with me. I checked my watch. It was just 8:00 AM, and I wasn't due in the Jury Lounge until 8:30. This ought to allow time for a quick trip to the Ladies' room. I gathered up my courage and walked across the street to enter the imposing edifice that was the Bucks County Courthouse. As I walked, I once again questioned the very sanity of what I was about to do. I was going to impersonate my girl friend and serve her jury duty. And to make matters even worse, I'm a man.

My name is Paul Weston. I'm an independent Internet consultant, which means I charge companies an obscene fee to design their corporate web sites. As a freelancer, I get to pick when and if I actually work. I can usually make enough in a few months to live comfortably for a year. The last few years were really good ones, so I had enough money to coast a long time if I wanted to. I usually worked out of my home. I had my own home office complete with a T1 line and my own server. This was a fairly costly investment, but as a business expense I could deduct every bit of it. My accountant handled the details.

For the last couple of years I have been living with a truly sweet lady named Allison Gross. That's her real name, not a typo. I met Allie at a developer's seminar and we really hit it off. We discovered that we both lived in Bucks County, and we had a number of common interests. She was one of the Web designers for her company, a pharmaceutical manufacturer, and enjoyed a positively decadent salary with great perks.

Our relationship started out warm and quickly intensified. We were ready to move from the platonic to the physical when, out of my own sense of honor and decency, I shared my secret with her. I told her that I was a crossdresser.

She deserved to know. I could not, in good conscience, let her enter an intimate physical relationship without this vital piece of data. I knew it was a risk, but I was willing to take it. I had a good feeling about Allie. And I was not mistaken.

She was silent for a few seconds after I dropped the bomb. She seemed to hold her breath. Then she asked, "Are you telling me that you want a sex change?" This led to a discussion about the difference between transsexuals and transvestites. She didn't seem horrified as I explained. Her expression was one of disbelief mixed with curiosity.

"But how can I be sure," she asked, "that you never will try to transition twenty or thirty years from now?"

"Allie," I answered, "I wish I could somehow guarantee that this will never happen. In twenty years, I might be dead, or dying of cancer or something. Hell, I might even be a Republican by then!"

"We can only hope," she said. Did I mention that we didn't always agree about politics?

"All I can guarantee," I continued, "is that right now, this very minute, I love you. I want you. Every time I see you, I want to grab you and hold you close to me! I've never felt this way about anybody before. I want to be with you forever. I want to wake up next to you every day, and go to sleep every night with you at my side. I want to grow old with you, and have kids and even grandchildren with you."

Allie was definitely taken aback. "You mean it," she said, more as a matter of fact than a question. "You are serious!"

"More serious than I have ever been in my life. But I couldn't ask you to share my life before I let you know about my secret. You have a right to know."

Allie considered for a few minutes, than asked, "How often do you do this?"

"It varies. Sometimes I dress a couple of nights a week. Sometimes months will pass without any crossdressing. It depends on my mood."

"Do you ever go outside? As a woman, I mean."

"I've taken a few drives late at night, but I don't hang out at drag clubs or anything like that. It's a solitary activity."

"So how do you look? In a dress, I mean?"

"Not too bad, but not really great. Would you like to see some of my pictures?"

"You have pictures? How did you take them?"

"I have a timer on my camera. I set it up on a tripod and then pose. Do you want to see them?"

"Okay. Why not?"

I fetched the photo album in which I kept my femme pictures and, for the first time, shared them with another person. As Allie paged through the photos, I noticed her mood was getting lighter. She was soon smiling, and by the time she had finished she was even laughing at some of them. "I hope this doesn't mean that I look ridiculous," I said sheepishly.

"Oh, it isn't that at all," she answered. "It's just that these poses are so, well, girlish, it's just funny to think that it's really you."

"So you don't hate me for it? You aren't disgusted or revolted? Or fearful?"

"I don't think so, Paul. I admit I was shocked when you told me, but now that I've seen these pictures I don't think I'll have a problem with it. It might even be fun." She was smiling, and her eyes had that special little sparkle in them I had come to love. We kissed, and then kissed again. There was magic in those kisses, and energy in the air.

I won't bore you with a long, steamy account of the rest of the night. We made love, and it was fabulous. 'Nuff said. A few weeks later, Allie moved in with me. And within six months we bought a house together.

Allie has really been cool with my dressing. She has helped me in my selection of clothes, my makeup, my wigs, and everything. It was at Allie's urging that I joined a local transgender support group. Allie even helped me to pick the name for my feminine alter ego, Cindy. It seems that we both like Disney films, and Cinderella is one of our favorites. Go figure! Thanks to Allie, Cindy has blossomed into quite a lady.

Cindy has become like a little sister for Allie, and Allie has helped me gain confidence as Cindy. Where once I was afraid to venture past the front door, I am now able to walk in public en femme. I have Allie to thank for this.

Truth to tell, Cindy is only a small part of the relationship we have. Allie and I enjoy romantic dinners together, we enjoy movies and shows, we take trips together, and generally just love each other's company. We have walked on the beach at Cape May and watched the sun rise over the ocean. And later the same day, we have watched the sun set in the bay. Last year we took a cruise to the Bahamas. Life with Allie is a dream come true.

Things went along this way for about two years. That's when Allie got the opportunity of a lifetime.

Allie works for an international pharmaceutical firm, with operations in Europe, South America, and the Pacific Rim. Her work as a Web Designer came to the attention of the Big Shots at her company. They could use her talents, and were willing to pay an astounding sum with perks to match. There was just one little catch. She would have to relocate to Europe for a year.

We talked about it over dinner. Our meal wasn't anything special, just some hoagies from the local deli. Allie wanted to turn down the offer.

"Allie, you have to be crazy! This is the opportunity of a lifetime!"

"I know, Paul, but the thought of spending a year away from you is just too depressing!"

"Who says you have to spend a year away from me? I can come with you."

"Be serious, Paul. You couldn't spend a year in Europe. You have to be here to take care of your business."

"I can wrap up my current project and just coast for a while. I have plenty in the bank, love."

"But you can't neglect your clients. What happens if one of them has a server crash, or needs an upgrade and needs it yesterday? You have an obligation to them, Paul."

"I can let it go for a while. Besides, I can telecommute from Europe just as easily as from here. And if I really have to put in any face time, I can always catch a flight back."

We talked some more, and finally agreed that I would go with her to Europe. I would spend a month with her and then head back to the States for a few weeks to take care of the business. Then every few weeks I would commute across the Atlantic. I would be logging plenty of frequent flyer miles over the next year, but it would be worth it to be with Allie. And I didn't want her to pass up a promotion that could fast track her to the top or the corporate ladder.

So that's what we did. We flew to Wiesbaden and found ourselves a little place to live for a year. It was a comfortable flat within easy commuting distance from Allie's office. We spent a month there, set up housekeeping and settled in to the daily routine. Allie was really excited about her new position and jumped into it with enthusiasm. I spent my days keeping our flat tidy, taking care of domestic chores, and maintaining my business as best as I could by remote control.

That first month seemed to fly by.

Allie drove me to the airport for my trip back to the States. She waited with me until the plane started boarding, and then kissed me long and passionately. "Hurry back," she said.

"Count on it," I said, closing for yet another kiss.

Final boarding was called. With great reluctance, I walked to the gate, turning to wave goodbye one more time.

The flight was uneventful. I slept for most of it. At the airport I retrieved my luggage and caught a cab home.

Our answering machine was full, but my e-mail inbox was nearly empty thanks to my telecommuting efforts. I cleared my inbox and started playing the phone messages. Most were trivial, but one message left while I was still airborne was urgent.

One of my oldest clients had experienced a major server meltdown, and his MIS guys were having trouble getting it back on line. I called him back and got some more info. It was a good thing I had returned, because this problem wasn't one I could just phone in.

I spent the next ten hours with his staff rebuilding the site. Fortunately, the transaction log I had included in the database let us rebuild with very little lost data. We were up and running once more. My grateful client signed my billing report and I left.

I stopped at the Post Office on my way home to pick up accumulated mail and resume home delivery. The clerk handed me a box filled with all sorts of letters, magazines, pamphlets, and other assorted mail. I carried it out to the car cursing the guy who invented junk mail.

Back home I started sorting through the mail. I tossed the junk mail directly into my shredder and sorted the other stuff into piles of bills, correspondence, magazines, and stuff I wanted to keep.

That's when I found the summons.

It was a green computer-generated envelope marked with the words "Standby Juror Summons" and addressed to Allison. I peeled off the borders and opened it. Inside I found a juror number and instructions to call the courthouse every day after 4:30 PM during a certain week. A recorded message would then indicate which standby jurors were needed.

The dates to call were last week!

I called the courthouse hoping I could somehow clear this up. It was late in the afternoon, and I hoped that everybody hadn't gone home. But as luck would have it, I managed to get the Jury Clerk. I explained that I had been away and we just got the summons. I hoped Allie wasn't in any trouble.

"What was her juror number," the woman asked. I gave it to her. She then said, "That's one of the numbers we called in last week. But don't worry. Just tell her to come in on Monday. Thanks for calling." And she hung up.

I was going to call back and explain that Allie was out of the country when the idea hit. Why don't I do her jury duty?

Now before you go remind me just how stupid this idea was, let me explain that Bucks County has a "One Day, One Case" policy for jury duty. Most people summoned for jury duty are never picked, and after one day our jury duty is satisfied for three years. So all I had to do was hang out at the courthouse for the day. I figured that I could pull that off, and I could have lunch and shop a little in downtown Doylestown. My confidence as Cindy had certainly been built up these last three years. Why the hell not?

The more I thought about it, the better I liked it. But I would need a little help. I needed some new clothes, and I needed a makeover. I called a number I had obtained from my support group, an image consultant for crossdressers.

I called the woman and explained that I needed to achieve a conservative business image by Monday morning. I didn't tell her why, and she didn't ask, but she had a cancellation and could take me tomorrow morning. I was instructed to bring a female set of clothes, my underwear and breast forms, makeup, and a wig.

The next day at eight, I was at her office in the suburbs. It was a cheery sort of place, with lots of light and plants. Christine, my new image consultant, showed me to a changing room and told me to get into my femme things. I was happy to oblige, and within a half-hour emerged as Cindy. I was wearing a pleated teal skirt with a matching jacket and a white satin shell. My pumps and purse matched the skirt.

Christine looked me over with a critical eye. "That's a good look, Cindy. I see you've had help. But it's all wrong for business."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Don't get me wrong. You would look just great on a shopping trip, or at a party, but the business world demands something a little more serious. Take a look at me. What do you think?"

Christine was wearing a yellow crepe du chine suit with a crème blouse, set off by a gold necklace. Tan hose and matching shoes and purse completed her ensemble. "It looks wonderful," I said. "It's quite becoming."

"Yes it is, but it's all wrong for business. The color is much too bright. In the world of business, one must de-emphasize color to emphasize content. Blue and gray are best, possibly pinstripe, and occasionally one may get away with something like a Hunter Green. Dark colors. Conservative is the key.

"I hope you brought your credit cards," Christine said, "because we are going shopping." We bustled out of her office and over to the mall. Our first stop was Macy's.

Christine guided me through the process of selecting a woman's suit. I tried on several, looking for factors such as skirt length, drape, and overall fit. I settled on two outfits, one dark gray and one blue with subtle red pinstripes. I bought several blouses to complement my new suits, one ivory, one crème, and two white ones.

Our next stop was the lingerie department. Now when I wear a blouse, I kind of like the translucent appearance where my bra shows through, but Christine said that this was unacceptable business wear. I bought two camisoles and two half-slips. I also bought several pair of tan pantyhose. I prefer a garter belt and stockings, but Christine again indicated that this was bad form for business.

With several full shopping bags, I thought we were through, but Christine insisted that I needed makeup. She sat me down at the Prescriptives counter and showed me why. "I know that you like red lipstick, and it goes well with your coloring, but let me show you what happens in an office." She turned on the fluorescent lamps around the makeup mirror and I was shocked! My lips looked purple! "You have to watch your makeup under fluorescent bulbs because of the high ultraviolet content. Some of the pigments will react like this to the light."

The Prescriptives saleswoman showed me a selection of lipsticks. I liked the Mauve. It was a nice color for daytime. We tried several foundations, blushes, and eye shadows until I was satisfied with my look. One more shopping bag was added to our load, and we were not done yet!

Christine insisted on dragging me over to the jewelry department. Now I have some nice earrings, necklaces, bracelets, rings, and other jewelry thanks to Allie, but Christine said I would definitely need a watch. I looked over the selection of tiny gold watches, but couldn't find anything that I liked. Then my eyes locked on to one particular watch. It had a silver metal bracelet and a digital display. It wasn't the finest piece of jewelry in the case, but it was pretty and it told time. It also had some extra features such as a countdown timer, a calendar, a stopwatch function, and world time. This appealed to the geek in me. Christine looked it over and, while she thought one of the daintier watches would have been nicer, saw no real reason why I could not wear it with my new outfits. The charge card wailed once more, and I was the proud owner of a geek-girl watch.

Our next stop was the shoe store. I tried on several pumps before I settled for a mid-heel navy pump. It was definitely conservative. I also bought a dark gray pair with a slightly higher heel and ankle straps. At Christine's suggestion, I bought a large black organizer handbag. This had special compartments for my cell phone, a calculator, my checkbook, my Palm Pilot, credit cards, keys, and other essentials with lots of room left over for makeup, tissues, and other accessories.

Our final stop was the nail salon. Christine asked if I would mind having nails over the weekend, and I thought it would be great. So I sat and let myself be pampered a little. Soon I was sporting a nice set of active-length nails that matched my new Mauve lipstick and had a bottle of nail polish to touch up any nicks.

It was mid-afternoon when we finally returned to Christine's office. It had been the most intense shopping experience of my life. And I have to tell you, the sensation of my newly polished nails was making me feel so feminine I could scarcely contain myself. I was in heaven! I thanked Christine for a lovely experience, signed the credit card slip, gathered up all of my shopping bags, and walked out of the office.

I was halfway to my car when my first panic attack hit. It occurred to me that I was quite confident as Cindy, and had walked outside in the sunshine as a woman, but I was always in the company of another woman, one who knew my secret. Allie, and this afternoon Christine, had always served as a kind of camouflage, helping to reinforce my masquerade. As I was walking to my car, I realized that I would have to go it alone. I would have to pass successfully without the support of another. It was frightening.

Somehow I made it to my car without collapsing into a hysterical mass. My hands started to shake as I stowed all of my shopping bags into the trunk. I pulled my key out of my purse and opened the car. I drove home, certain that everybody who looked my way knew that I was really a guy wearing a dress and makeup. But if anybody knew, they didn't indicate it. All I noticed was the normal obnoxious driving I had come to expect in the Delaware Valley. I managed to calm down. By the time I pulled into my garage, my panic had subsided. Still, I was grateful for the remote garage door opener.

I hung up all of my new clothes and set about loading up my new handbag. I decided to spend the rest of today and most of tomorrow en femme to get used to the idea. I also dug out my training tape and started practicing my feminine voice. I wanted to be ready for Monday morning.

On Sunday night I treated myself to a bubble bath. I soaked in the warm water and just let myself relax. I stretched out deliciously, letting my feet emerge from the water. I wiggled my toes and kind of squished the suds between them. That's when I decided that I ought to polish my toenails. So after I finished my bath, toweled myself dry, and powdered myself, I took my nail polish and painted my toes. Then I touched up my fingernails. I felt quite happy that evening. I made a call to Allie just to tell her how much I missed her. She had a lot to tell me about her job and she seemed happy, but we both knew that we missed each other, and we couldn't wait until we were together again.

Monday morning dawned brightly. It was early spring, and the mornings were still a little chilly. The trees were starting to bud. And I had to get ready for Jury Duty.

I shaved extra close that morning. I usually shave twice before I crossdress; once with the grain, and once against it. This makes my face as smooth as a baby's butt, and keeps my five o'clock shadow away until nine-thirty or so. This, along with makeup, would make my feminine appearance last throughout the day. I had shaved my legs while I showered. I set about transforming myself into Cindy.

I fit a panty liner into my cotton panties before putting them on. Normally I like nylon panties with lace, but I was going to be wearing these most of the day, so I decided to be comfortable. I then rolled up my pantyhose and struggled to pull them on. I really liked stockings better because I could do them one leg at a time, but pantyhose required that I get both feet in and pull it over both legs at the same time. My nails did not help things, but I managed to get them on without snagging them, and my legs were now encased in tan nylon hose.

I picked out an ivory bra to match my camisole and blouse. It was an underwire bra, which was not as comfortable as a soft cup, but did a better job of holding in my breast forms. I used my best forms for today, the silicone ones with the nipples. I soon was enjoying that beautiful, busty feeling once again.

I put on my half-slip and camisole. These were also ivory, and very satiny. I enjoyed smoothing them over my increasingly feminine curves. I buttoned up my blouse, again being careful not to snag the soft material with my nails. Then I put on my skirt. I noticed that the material was somewhat sturdier than the material I found in most of my other femme outfits. This stuff was made to last. I took a peek at myself in the full-length mirror. I still needed to put on my wig and makeup, but I liked what I was seeing.

I sat down at the makeup table I shared with Allie to put on my face. I marveled at the Prescriptives foundation. It was light, but it covered a lot. I didn't need much to hide my flaws or to conceal my beard cover. The blush was also nice to work with, as well as the eye shadow. I used my normal eyeliner and mascara, and brushed a little dark powder into my brows to give them some form and color. I did have to pluck a few hairs, but I was affecting a thicker brow style, full but not bushy. Finally I applied my new lipstick. It went on nicely. A little translucent powder set the makeup, and I was done. I put some things in my bag for touch-ups, along with my nail polish, and got up.

I put on my gold Celtic knot earrings, my cubic zirconium ring, and my new watch. Then I put on my wig. I was using my shorter wig today. It came down to about my shoulders with a nice flip, and had bangs. I used a few bobby pins to secure it just in case the weather got windy. Then I stepped into my new navy pumps. To complete my outfit, I put on my jacket. I made one more check of my purse, closed it, and swung it over my shoulder. I paused to admire myself in the mirror.

I want to tell you, I was overwhelmed! I looked powerful! I never realized just how sexy a woman's business suit could be! I always liked Allie's suits, and really thought she was sexy in them, but I never fully appreciated just how sexy a woman could look in a suit until I saw myself.

I turned and posed in front of the mirror. I was a powerful woman of business. I imagined myself strolling into a corporate boardroom, turning the head of every dirty old man on the board, and shattering the glass ceiling! You go girl! I am woman, hear me roar!

Hey, calm down Cindy I said to myself. Remember that this isn't about turning heads, it's about passing. Take it slow and easy. I took a few calming breaths, then walked away from the mirror.

Somehow my high heels felt a little higher as I walked to my car. I started it and opened the garage door. I drove out a little hesitantly, hoping on one hand I wouldn't be spotted, and on the other hand wishing that somebody would. I drove out of my garage, down the driveway, and onto the street.

If anybody saw me and observed anything the least bit unusual, they didn't indicate it to me. I tuned my radio to the local news station to keep an ear out for traffic reports. I didn't encounter any accidents, tie-ups, or delays as I made my way to the Doylestown parking garage.

The courthouse in Doylestown is an impressive building. It is circular with four stories. Architecturally it resembles a Birthday cake with a tall bottom layer and a smaller layer on top. It is flanked with auxiliary buildings which contain office space and additional courtrooms. I walked across Main Street and through the entry arches. I was a little nervous, but my panic had subsided. People paid me little notice, being concerned with whatever personal business brought them to Court. Just outside the door stood the ashtrays with their attendant smokers. The courthouse, like most public buildings, is smoke free, and smokers need to pop outside to light up. I passed by these poor addicted souls and made my way to the lobby.

According to the summons, the Jury Lounge was on the second floor. The directory in the lobby confirmed this. I took one look at the marble staircase and decided to take the elevator.

There were a lot of folks milling about in the lobby. I didn't know it, but a somewhat notorious case was going to start today. It involved a messy hit-and-run accident. I weaved my way through the sea of people and found the elevators.

The car filled up quickly. We were all pressed together as the doors closed. This elevator was quite different from the one in the garage. It moved quickly and smoothly. I stepped out on the second floor and followed the signs to the Jury Lounge.

I had expected a typical, shabby, utilitarian sort of a room. To my surprise, this was not the case. The Jury Lounge turned out to be a large, well-lit room with a window running along one entire wall. Padded folding chairs filled most of the room. There were vending machines for coffee, soda, and snacks, and a well-stocked magazine rack. Bucks County wanted its jurors to be comfortable.

I followed the signs to the Ladies' room for a quick pit stop. I took care of business in the stall, gave my makeup a check in the mirror, and returned to the lounge. I selected a magazine from the rack and picked out a chair by the window. I put my purse on the seat next to me and sat down to enjoy my magazine.

The room started to fill. I noticed that not all of the potential jurors had followed the instructions to dress appropriately. Most of the men wore coats and ties, and many women wore suits or conservative dresses, but there were a lot of folks wearing more casual attire. Maybe I had gone overboard.

I was reading an article about a gourmet bakery in New Britain Township when I heard somebody ask "Excuse me, can I sit here?" I looked up to see a young woman dressed in a jogging outfit. Her hair was pulled back and held with a scrunchie, and she had no makeup on.

"Sure," I said, remembering to use my female voice, "just let me move my purse." I picked up my bag from the seat and put in under my own. She plopped herself down.

"Oh, man, can you believe this?" she began to whine. "I got better things to do than to waste my time hanging around here today. And you can't smoke in here or anything!"

I tried to ignore her by reading my magazine, but she continued to bitch out loud to nobody in particular. After a few minutes I excused myself, picked up my bag, and walked over to the vending machines. Coffee was starting to sound good.

I never made it to the machines. The Jury Clerk came into the room and asked us all to sign our summons and take a badge. I forged Allie's signature, doing a fair approximation of feminine handwriting, and took one of the adhesive tags from the box. We were instructed to write our juror number on the badge and attach it to our lapel or someplace close. Inevitably, somebody said "We don't need no stinkin' badges!" in a really bad Mexican accent.

A few minutes after all the summonses had been gathered, the clerk came out with a computer printout. "Okay, folks, I need you to clear the first three rows of chairs. We are going to form our first jury. It's for a criminal case. As I call your name, please come forward and take the next available seat." She began calling names. As people were called they stepped up and took a seat. About halfway through the third row, the clerk called out "Allison Gross."

That was I! At least, that's who I was today. I answered her and sat in the next seat. Wouldn't you know, I was now sitting next to that same whiney woman I had tried to get away from.

I sat silently, my knees together and my purse perched on my lap. My fellow potential juror continued to complain, but at a lower volume. As I glanced over at her, I noticed a tattoo on her left hand, just between her thumb and forefinger. Oh, brother!

We had to count off so we would know our number. I was number thirty-one. We were taken single-file, in numeric order, to a courtroom on the third floor. The clerk warned us to turn off all beepers and cell phones before entering the courtroom.

I have to tell you, the courtroom was impressive. A vaulted ceiling lent an air of a cathedral to the room, while the indirect lighting and white walls were nothing less than modern. The wooden benches almost reminded one of pews in a church, but the seats were the comfortable chairs one might find in a modern office. This curious mix of old and new was fascinating. Then the Judge entered, and the clerk called us all to order.

The Judge was a blonde woman who looked to be in her early forties. She spoke with an erudition and confidence that belied all of the blond jokes I had ever heard. She introduced us to the District Attorney, and the defendant's attorney. She then asked us to stand, state our name and occupation, whether we were married, and our spouse's occupation. I felt another panic attack coming. I hoped I could make my femme voice loud enough to be heard in court!

I had calmed down by time my turn came. I stood and said, "Good morning! I'm Allison Gross, and I'm a self-employed Internet consultant. I'm single." I sat down, silently breathing a sigh of relief. The remaining jurors introduced themselves, but I really didn't pay them much attention. Then the judge addressed us.

"This case," she said, "concerns an alleged hit-and-run accident. It has gotten quite a bit of pre-trial publicity. Is there any juror who could not be impartial in light of this publicity? Please raise your hands." A few hands went up. The judge and the attorneys noted the jurors with raised hands and thanked them. A few more questions were asked. Then the District Attorney asked a few questions. He read a list of witnesses and asked if any of the jurors knew them. One name sounded familiar, so I raised my hand.

The judge asked, "How do you know the witness?"

I answered, "I'm not certain if I do. Is this man the owner of the Pedal Power Bicycle Shop?"

The District Attorney said, "Yes, he is."

"Then he's one of my clients," I said.

The Judge asked, "Would this have any effect on your ability to consider the evidence in an impartial manner?"

"I'm afraid it would, your honor."

"Thank you, Juror thirty-one. Please be seated."

I'm not sure whether my answer made any difference, but I was not one of the jurors selected to hear the case. We were excused and told to return to the Jury Lounge.

As we made our way back downstairs, I could hear the whiner I had been sitting next to simultaneously expressing relief at not being chosen and distress at having to spend the rest of the day in the Jury Lounge. I was just happy that I hadn't been picked. I stopped in the Ladies' room to answer nature's call and touch up my makeup.

It was already twelve o'clock when we got back, so the Jury Clerk let us go for lunch. The county had a map of local establishments and a few menus. I saw that one place, Chambers, was close by and offered a free cup of soup for any juror. Free is one of my favorite words, so I headed to Chambers for lunch.

Main Street in Doylestown was lined with old brick buildings that had once been shops and homes. These have mostly been restored and converted into offices and restaurants. Chambers was just about a block away from the Courthouse. I entered into a low-ceilinged place with dark wooden booths, tables, and chairs. I was seated in a booth and given a menu to study. When the waiter came, I asked about the soup offer.

"I see you're on jury duty today, so the soup is free with any lunch purchase. Our soup today is vegetable barley. It's really good."

"That sounds great. I'd like that with a salad."

"Certainly. What kind of dressing?"

"Ranch, and on the side, please."

"And would you like something to drink?"

I thought about a beer, then decided against it. "Iced tea, please. Unsweetened."

"Coming right up, miss. Thank you." The waiter collected my menu and bustled off. And I was thrilled! He had just called me "miss".

My tea came in a tall glass. I was stirring in a packet of sweetener when I heard a familiar voice. "Why, hello! Aren't you the girl I saw in the jury lounge?" I looked up. It was the whiney woman in the jogging suit.

"Yes, I am," I answered.

"What a coincidence! Say do you mind if I join you?" Her whiney tone had given way to a singsong sort of a pseudo-Valley-Girl twang. She sat down across from me.

"By the way," she said, extending her hand, "my name's Donna Marsh. Just call me Donna."

I grasped her hand and shook it, once again noticing the tattoo on her other hand. "I'm Allison Gross," I said. "You can call me Allie."

"So what are you having, Allie?" she asked.

"The soup and a salad."

"That sounds pretty good. I think I'll order that, too." The waiter appeared again and took Donna's order. She ordered a cup of herbal tea to drink.

"So what do you do, Allie? I think it was something about the Internet?"

"I design Web sites for different companies."

"Wow, that sounds so fascinating. I'm totally clueless when it comes to computers. My husband tries to show me sometimes, but he is like so impatient that he gives up the first time I make a mistake. I just can't get the hang of that mouse. I click too slow, or I click too fast, or something."

Soup arrived. It was excellent. "You know, Donna," I said, "what you need to do is practice. Do you have a Windows machine?"

"I guess. It's not one of those Apples."

"Okay. Then what you need to do is play the Solitaire game for a few minutes every day. That will give you all the practice you need with using a mouse."

"Do you mean it? Like, is it really that simple?"

"It sure is, " I said. "That's how I learned."

"Oh, wow! I just thought that game was there for fun. Thanks, Allie, I'll give that a try tonight."

We finished our soup and salad, and decided to walk back to the courthouse together. I made a quick stop in the Ladies' room to touch up my makeup before we left the restaurant. We had about an hour to kill, so we did a little window-shopping. There was a GAP store along the way, and Donna insisted that we stop in.

Donna started looking at clothes, and I started to panic again. I felt safe enough when I was shopping with someone who knew my secret, but shopping en femme with a stranger was making me nervous. We looked at a few tops and some pants. Now I have never worn female pants. I get enough of that in boy mode, thank you. But I managed to find a pair of blue flares that I thought might look good, especially with a coordinating top. I found a beautiful gold tunic top that complemented the pants quite nicely, tried it on, and bought the pants and top. Donna found a nice pair of cargo pants and a satin top. We walked back to the Jury Lounge with our shopping bags in hand.

We weren't there more than ten minutes when the Jury Clerk emerged from her office. Once again, we had to clear three rows of chairs and listen for our name to be called. This time I was number twenty. Donna was number twenty-three.

We were again chaperoned into a courtroom. We were told that this was a civil case, and were cautioned to turn off any beepers or cell phones. I also turned off the chime function on my new geek-girl watch. This courtroom was like the first, airy and well-lit, with a curious mix of old and new décor. The judge was a pleasant gray-haired fellow with a furrowed brow. He introduced himself and the attorneys, and explained the case to us.

This was a malpractice case. The plaintiff was suing two dentists for pain, suffering, and other damages. We were asked if we had any problem either listening to descriptions of dental procedures, or in looking at pictures of procedures. We were cautioned that the pictures might be bloody. Several jurors raised their hands. I didn't. The human body with its myriad functions is in no way offensive to me. I was always the kid who volunteered to dissect the frog in Biology class.

A few more questions were asked. Do we know the attorneys or any of the witnesses? Do we think the testimony of a dentist would be more believable than the testimony of a different witness? None of the questions asked made me raise my hand, until the plaintiff's attorney asked, "Does anybody here think that there are too many lawsuits filed?" My hand went up.

The judge asked me, "Juror twenty, do you think that this opinion would affect your impartiality in rendering a judgement?"

I rose. "I don't believe it would, your honor. It's true, I think there are too many lawsuits, but I can't say that this particular one is frivolous or excessive. I would have to look at the evidence."

"Thank you, miss," the judge said. "You may be seated."

None of the other questions asked applied to me. The attorneys took their notes up to the bench and conferred with the judge. They spoke for about ten minutes. The attorneys then retired to their respective tables and the judge spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have picked our jurors and alternates. Please don't take it personally if you were not chosen for the jury. Our goal here is to find as impartial a jury as possible. As I call your name, please come up and take your seat in the jury box."

The judge called out names. He seemed to be going in numerical order, seven jurors had been picked and took their seats in the box. Then he called out "Allison Gross".

I almost forgot to stand! That was I! I rose almost automatically and was halfway to the jury box when the panic attack struck. This was something I never expected! I was picked for a jury! I managed to suppress the panic as I made my way to the chair and sat down.

The chairs in the jury box were comfortable, padded chairs. They were on a swivel pedestal that was bolted to the floor and turned completely around. I was taking in everything when I noticed Donna was seated next to me.

After we were picked, the Judge called a recess and we filed back to the Jury room. The Tipstaff, a grandfatherly sort of a gentleman, guided us back to the room. "Have a seat," he said. "This will be your home away from home for the next few days."

There were fourteen chairs in the room. On the table in front of each chair, like a seating place card, we found a Juror's badge. "You will have to wear the badge whenever you go into court."

"Do we take them home?" Donna asked.

"No, you have to leave them here. Just be sure to pin it on before court convenes."

"When do we have to be here?" I asked.

"Court convenes at 9:30 AM, so please be here by 9:25. We can't start without you."

The Tipstaff then passed some information sheets around. "If for some reason you can't make it on time, please call one of the numbers on this sheet. And it had better be a good reason. The judge is a fair man, but he expects you to show up on time."

A number of other things were explained to us. We could expect court to last until 12:30, recess until 2:00 for lunch, and then continue to 4:30.

Donna looked over at me. "Looks like we're going to be together for a few days, Allie. Maybe we can do lunch together."

Another woman who seemed to be wearing a riding outfit said, "Could I join you girls? I like company for lunch. By the way, my name is Margie Davis."

"Sure, Margie!" Donna replied before I could protest. Before I knew it, a regular lunch posse consisting of five girls, myself included, had been formed. Yet another panic was starting when we were called into the courtroom.

The Tipstaff showed us the proper protocol for filing back into court. We took our seats and the judge addressed us. "Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you for being on a jury. I know this is a nuisance, but our system of justice would never work without folks like you. By serving on this jury, you are making possible a system of justice that is fair, impartial, and above all peaceable. This service is invaluable to a free society.

"Now I want to let you know just how a civil trial works. First, the attorneys for the parties in this case will make opening statements. Then they will each offer evidence to support their case. Finally, they will sum up the case in a closing statement. After the case is presented, I will give you instructions about the pertinent law in this case. Then it's all up to you.

"At this time we have one little duty to perform. Please take one of the Bibles at the front of the jury box and the clerk will administer the Juror's oath."

There were six Bibles, so we had to share. The court clerk, a woman with a nasal twang and a South Philly accent, read the juror's oath to us, which we repeated. I don't remember exactly what was in it, but I believe we swore to be impartial and fair. After this was done, the judge spoke again.

"It's late, so I'm going to adjourn court for today. Tomorrow you will get to see the justice system in action. Have a good evening, and I'll see you tomorrow at 9:30. Court's adjourned."

The clerk banged a gavel, and we all filed out of the courtroom and back to the jury room.

We asked the Tipstaff what we could have in the jury room. Some of us wanted to bring food or coffee. "Anything you want within reason," he replied. "We want you to be comfortable."

We were each handed a check for that day's jury pay, nine bucks plus mileage. The pay for all of the other days we would serve would be mailed to us after the trial. I gathered up my purse and remembered to leave my badge on the table. Donna said, "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Allie."

"Okay, Donna. See you in the morning. I'm bringing donuts."

"Sounds good. See ya!"

As we were leaving, curiosity got the better of me, and I asked the Tipstaff one more question. "Excuse me, but just where does the term Tipstaff come from?"

The Tipstaff smiled. "It's an English term. Bucks County is one of the oldest counties in Pennsylvania, actually one of the three original counties founded by William Penn. Many of our legal terms come from the old English court system. Tipstaff refers to the long staff with a brass tip that was once used to keep the jurors awake. In most courts my job is called Bailiff."

I laughed when I heard it, and the Tipstaff chuckled as well. No doubt he enjoyed telling that story. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow," I said.

"See you tomorrow, miss," the Tipstaff replied. I made my way through the corridor maze out to the main hallway. Down the hall I found the elevators. I pushed the call button for an elevator.

A bell announced the arrival of an elevator car. It was occupied by two women and a man, all dressed in dark suits and carrying briefcases. From their conversation, I assumed they were lawyers. I pretended not to hear them as the elevator made its decent to the main floor. The doors opened, and we emerged.

A few people had gathered by the elevators awaiting a car going up. I made my way past these folks and followed the signs to the main entrance. This time I made a mental inventory of the various landmarks I would use to find the jury room tomorrow. I walked outside, once again passing the smokers' gauntlet, and crossed the street to the parking garage.

The crosswalk between the courthouse and the garage is clearly marked, and signs require drivers to stop for any pedestrians. I walked across, glancing at the cars, when I noticed that the driver of the van stopped at the crosswalk was checking me out. At least, I thought he was, as he seemed to be staring at my legs. Then we made eye contact. He seemed embarrassed. I gave him a little wink to let him know I wasn't offended, then I proceeded to my car grinning like the Cheshire cat. That anonymous driver didn't know it, but he had just made my day.

I felt on top of the world as I drove home that afternoon. I was really proud of myself. I had passed as a woman for an entire day, and even in the company of genuine, genetic women. Not once was my womanhood challenged, nor was my manhood detected. I slipped a CD into the player and enjoyed the New Age sounds of Enya while I drove home.

It wasn't until I was safely at home and had kicked off my high heels when the reality of my situation truly hit me. I was going to have to pull off my act for at least three more days!

I managed to fight down my panic by answering my e-mail. There were several messages from Allie, all very playful and loving. I picked up the phone and called her in Wiesbaden. We talked for nearly an hour. Damn, it was good to hear her voice! I didn't tell her about my Jury experience. To tell the truth, Allie did most of the talking. She had a lot to share about her new job, and I was always a patient listener.

After the call, I undressed and treated myself to a good, long bath. Our bathroom is almost decadent, including a high-tech shower and a whirlpool tub. I set a bottle of Yuengling lager next to the tub, opened my new Tom Clancey book, and settled in for a relaxing soak.

The next day, I slept in. I didn't have to be in court until 9:30, so why rush? I took a nice, long shower, remembering to shave my legs and armpits, shaved my face extra close, and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast of poached eggs and coffee. My hunger satisfied, I proceeded with my beauty regimen.

Today I was going to wear the dark gray suit with the crème blouse. Once again I slipped into my panties, pantyhose, bra, breast forms, half-slip, and camisole. I had less trouble with the pantyhose today. I must be getting used to the nails. I put my face on at the vanity, checked my nails, and put on my blouse. This blouse had a plain front with a planchet covering the buttons and a large visible gold button at the neck. It went very nicely with my skirt and jacket. I put on my gold hoop earrings and an amethyst brooch that went nicely with the suit, and stepped into my matching gray pumps.

I gave myself a final inspection as I pinned my wig in place. Satisfied, I made my way to the garage, started my car, and drove once more to Doylestown.

The drive was definitely less hectic. Most of the rush-hour traffic had made its way to wherever it was going. I stopped briefly at the Dunkin' Donuts drive-through to pick up a dozen donuts and a box of Munchkins. Then I made my way to the Municipal Garage.

The garage is a three-layer affair. Entering from next to the courthouse puts one on the top layer. I had found a bottom-floor entrance on the other side of the garage, so I made my way there. Inside I found an abundance of spaces, since most people start on the top floor. I congratulated myself on being so darned clever as I slid into the parking space and turned off the ignition.

My organizer purse with all of my accessories was slung over my shoulder and I was carrying my industrial-size travel mug and the donuts and Munchkins. I was alone as I made my way to the elevator. The door opened immediately when I pressed the button. I was the sole passenger as the door closed and the car lurched upward. It stopped at the second level, the door opened, and a man stepped in. I recognized him immediately, and he recognized me.

"Cindy, what are you doing here, and why are you here as Cindy?" he asked.

I might as well explain. The man was a friend of mine, an attorney, and a member of my support group. His name is Jack, and in respect for his privacy I won't reveal his last name.

"Jack, " I said, "what a surprise! I didn't expect to see you here today!"

"Neither did I," he said, "and especially not en femme. What gives?"

"Well," I said, sort of stammering, "it's kind of complicated."

"I'll bet," he answered.

"I'm here for jury duty. Actually, I'm here for Allison's jury duty." And I explained the events of the last few days in brief. At the end, he was just shaking his head. "Cindy, do you have any idea just how much trouble you could be in?"

"Well, I guess I might be thrown off the jury."

"That would be the least of your problems. Forgery, deception, perjury...Cindy, this could be serious! If you get caught you could do time!"

Now I was in a real panic! "What do you mean, do time?"

"When you took the Juror's Oath, you represented yourself as Allison Gross. You are not she. That's a lie under oath, which is perjury."

"Oh, no! What would happen if I was discovered!"

"At the very least, I might expect the Judge to find you in contempt of court and fine you. I wouldn't be surprised if he put you in jail. And you would definitely be dismissed from the jury."

My panic continued. "You won't say anything, will you?" I pleaded.

"Cindy, I'm an officer of the court. What do you expect?"

"Please Jack? Please don't turn me in?"

Jack looked a little frustrated, but finally said, "No, I won't, but if you get caught, don't ask me to defend you."

"I won't, Jack. And I won't get caught, either."

Jack looked at me with a little disbelief. "Well, all right. I wouldn't want to get one of my sisters from the support group into any hot water. But watch yourself."

"I promise I'll be careful. Oh, and if you see me again, remember to call me Allison."

"Sure. Whatever you want. By the way, you look really great." He made a little wolf-whistle.

I smiled. "Now counselor," I said, "don't go making any inappropriate remarks. I'm sure I could find a lawyer here willing to sue your ass!"

We both laughed, and walked to the courthouse together. Jack paused at the ashtray to indulge his addiction before entering, so I said goodbye and headed up to the jury room.

Most of my fellow jurors had arrived, and the table was covered with goodies. One of the guys had brought bagels and several tubs of cream cheese. Donna had brought in a stash of Hershey's Miniatures and Kit-Kats. Another fellow was setting up a coffeepot to brew some Java. I set my donuts down and greeted everybody. We were having a pretty good time while we waited for the rest of the jury to arrive.

Donna was dressed a little better today. She was still wearing pants, but they were a nice pair and coordinated well with her top. Her hair was brushed nicely and fell to her shoulders. She was also wearing a little makeup today. In all, it was a definite improvement over her appearance yesterday. And the change in her attitude was also noticeable. "Hi, Allie!" she said. "Ready for jury duty?"

"I guess so, " I said, sitting down next to her. "I've never been on a jury before. I'm curious as to just what happens."

"Well I have to admit," Donna said, "I am too. At least I'll be doing something for real and not wasting time like I was yesterday."

Margie, the lady who had worn a riding outfit yesterday, chimed in. "I was on a criminal jury a few years ago. It was for an assault case. Some jerk beat up an elderly shop owner. It was terrible."

"Really?" I said.

"Oh, my goodness, yes!" she replied. "And to see that horrible man sitting with his lawyer, dressed so fine and looking so angelic! We found him guilty."

"Gee, my kids were asking me if I was going to send somebody to jail," said Donna. "I told them that it was a lawsuit. I tried to explain it, but I don't think they understand."

"Maybe they shouldn't," said an older woman, Barbara, who was also in our lunch posse. "I don't think kids should be exposed to such things."

"You mean lawsuits?" I asked.

"No," she replied, "I mean lawyers."

We all had a good laugh over that. Then Barbara asked, "Do you have any children, Allie?"

"Oh, no," I answered, "I'm still single."

"Is that an engagement ring?" she asked, referring to my cubic zirconium ring.

"No, it isn't. It's just something I bought myself. It's not a real diamond."

"Oh, so you're not engaged."

"Well," I said, sort of hesitating, "I'm in a relationship. I guess you could say that I'm engaged."

"Do you have a ring and a date?" asked Margie.

"I beg your pardon?" I said.

"I repeat, do you have a ring and a date? If he hasn't given you a ring and set a date, you aren't engaged."

Barbara said, "Margie has a point, Allie. If that young man of yours isn't committed enough to buy you a ring and set a date, then you have to wonder if he's really interested in marriage."

The other girl in our lunch posse, Nora, had been listening, and added her two cents' worth. "It's true, Allie. Men only want one thing from a girl, and if they can get it for free, why should they pay for it?"

"Wait a minute," I said, "marriage is a loving relationship between two people, not a business arrangement. You make it sound like a commodity."

Nora rolled her eyes, and said to Barbara, "She's still young. She'll learn."

"Hey wait a minute," said Donna, who had been silent up to now, "how can you say that Allie's guy is such a jerk without ever meeting him?"

"He's a man, dearie," said Nora, "and all men think alike when it comes to sex. The only way to tell if he's really ready to commit to you is to get him to part with enough cash for a diamond."

"There's a lot more to marriage than money," Donna said. "My husband couldn't afford a diamond when we got engaged, so we went and got tattooed." She held up her left hand to show the tattoo between her thumb and first finger. It was a rose on a short stem surrounded by numerous green leaves. The pattern was small, delicate, and intricate. "Fred has one just like it," she said. "We've been married ten years and have three kids, and Fred works two jobs six days a week to support us. He's a good man. And we don't need a rock to prove it."

"Donna, you got one of the good ones," Nora said. "I wish my ex had been so industrious. The only place he spent any overtime was the local saloon."

"But seriously, Donna," said Barbara, not willing to give up the point, "did you and your husband live together before you were married?"

"Well, we didn't live together, but we, uh, that is..." Her cheeks began to redden.

"Oh, leave her alone, Barb," said Margie. "Donna's got a good marriage, and she's happy. Let her be."

"It's not Donna I'm worried about, Margie. It's Allie. She's too young to have her life ruined."

"Hey, I can look out for myself," I said. "I'm successful in my own right. I don't need a man to validate my existence."

"Then what do you need him for?" asked Barbara.

I didn't get a chance to answer, since Nora chimed in "Auto maintenance and household repair." This caused some of the girls to laugh. I didn't. Neither did Donna.

At this point Tom, one of the male jurors, injected himself into the discussion. "So, you gals just can't resist bashing the guys, can you? Better watch yourself. We outnumber you!" He was grinning like the cat that got the canary.

Nora was grinning too. "Hi, Tom, how are you doing?" she said. Then she inclined her head up as he leaned down for a kiss. It was more than platonic.

"Girls," said Nora, " I want you to meet one of my dearest friends, Tom Mitchell. If you can't tell, we're an item."

Tom said, "Pleased to meet you, ladies. Has this brazen little tramp been telling stories about me? All lies, except for the true ones."

"There are no 'stupid guy' jokes," Nora retorted, "All of them are true stories."

Tom mimed a wounded heart, but his smile let us know he was joking. We all laughed, and I realized that Nora was only being funny. She really didn't have a low opinion of all men. But Barbara pressed her point.

"Allie," she said, "I'm sure you love this fellow of yours, but please be careful. You seem so innocent. I would hate to see you hurt."

"I'll be careful, Barb," I said, "but I really don't think I have anything to worry about."

Barbara just looked at me with a skeptical eye.

At this point, the Tipstaff came in. "Okay folks, are we all here?" he asked. There were fourteen of us, all present and accounted for. "Good," he said, "now please turn off any cell phones or pocket pagers and put on your badges like good jurors. His honor is just about ready for us."

I checked my cell phone and pager to make sure they were appropriately silenced. Satisfied, I stashed everything in my purse. Then the Tipstaff motioned for us to enter the courtroom.

Court had been called to order before we entered. The judge told us to take our seats. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, once again I would like to thank you for coming. Today the attorneys for the plaintiff and the defendants will give their opening statements. This is where they lay out the foundation of the case. What they will do is tell you what to expect. Following this, the plaintiff will begin calling witnesses and presenting evidence.

"I expect we should be able to wrap up opening statements and begin testimony this morning. Counselor for the plaintiff, you may begin."

The plaintiff's lawyer, a middle-aged woman dressed in a black suit with a knee-length skirt and a white blouse, stood. I noticed that she was wearing low-heeled pumps with wide heels and tan hose. She was holding a yellow pad on which she had written some notes. "Good morning," she said to us. "I would also like to thank you for being here today."

She launched into a description of the case. Her client had been treated for plaque by his dentist. The treatment involved planing and scaling below the gum line. The treatment was painful and left her client's teeth sensitive to heat and cold. A year later, the dentist referred him to a periodontist to treat pockets found below the gum line. The periodontist first did a deep root planing, and then performed "gum flap" surgery in which the gums were cut back and stitched.

After the surgery, the plaintiff's teeth were painfully sensitive to heat, cold, and physical contact. He was unable to eat anything other than pureed food. Eventually, the pain became so intense that he went to his family dentist, who first prescribed high-strength Ibuprofen, and eventually Darvocet. He was told that the pain would eventually subside.

After six months of agonizing pain, the plaintiff consulted another dentist. This dentist examined the plaintiff's teeth and said that the periodontal disease had progressed, and he would have to get his teeth extracted. The plaintiff did this. After the extractions healed, the pain ceased.

Curious, the plaintiff asked his new dentist if his treatment might have been the cause of his pain and tooth loss. The dentist opined that the gum flap surgery had not been needed, and that it contributed to the eventual tooth loss.

I've boiled it down. The attorney was a lot more verbose than I am being. While I was listening to her, I started noticing little things about her outfit. The lace top of her camisole was translucently visible through her white blouse. Her suit jacket had shoulder pads. (Mine did not.) She wore a gold rope necklace and both her engagement and wedding rings. I noticed that her blouse was long-sleeved. The cuffs emerged from underneath her jacket sleeves. And she wore cufflinks!

As she spoke, she tried to make eye contact with each of us several times. Her manner was polite, friendly, and at the same time somber, as though to underline the pain and suffering her client had endured.

She didn't mention the amount she was asking for damages, including pain and suffering. She thanked us again, and was seated.

The dentist's attorney now stood. This was a young man with blonde hair cut in a conservative style. His wire-rim glasses were quite stylish, as was his banker's gray suit and wingtip black shoes. He wore a white shirt, which I assume was expected because everybody seemed to have a white shirt, and a medallion-pattern necktie. Definitely a snappy dresser. He also wished us a good morning and thanked us for our presence. Then he made his statement.

His client, the dentist, should not really be sued, he said. He had provided the best level of service available. Planing and scaling was an accepted treatment for plaque, which the plaintiff definitely had. And he had serious periodontal disease, as evidenced by the deep pockets in the jaw below the gum line. Finally, his client did not perform the gum flap surgery. In no way could he be held responsible. The attorney thanked us for our attention and returned to his seat.

The lawyer for the periodontist now stood. He was a short, balding, middle-aged fellow with black, curly hair. He wore tortoise-shell-rimmed glasses and, like his fellow attorneys, carried a yellow legal pad. He also thanked us for our service, and began his opening statement.

His client, a prominent, board-certified periodontist with years of experience, should not be held liable for the plaintiff's pain and suffering. This particular periodontist used the latest cutting-edge techniques to treat the patient's severe periodontal disease. He had cautioned the plaintiff about the possibility of tooth sensitivity following treatment, and would produce waivers which his patient, the plaintiff, had signed, acknowledging the possibility of pain. He would also demonstrate that the cause of the patient's eventual tooth loss was not the gum flap treatment, but the plaintiff's failure to properly follow the course of follow-up care and treatment.

As the lawyer waxed long about his client's case, I could not help but notice some things about his appearance. For one thing, his suit fit him poorly. The fabric seemed nice enough, but it was much too tight around his waist and didn't seem long enough. The fact that the suit was double-breasted only emphasized this poor fit. His shirt collar was frayed, and his tie was a floral pattern popular about ten years ago but now hopelessly out of date. His nails were ragged, betraying him as a nail-biter. But most repulsive was the little string of spit that stretched between his upper and lower lips as he spoke. It reminded me of those close-up shots of an iguana that a B-movie would use for a dinosaur. I watched that spit string carefully, fearful that it would dislodge and launch itself toward me.

Mercifully, the opening statements concluded. I shifted in my chair to get a look at the other jurors. They all were in different positions, each trying to remain comfortable. I shifted a little in my chair, held my knees together, and crossed my legs at the ankles. I looked at Donna with her legs crossed up at the knees, and felt a pang of envy. My anatomy just wouldn't let me do that. I fidgeted a little more to swing my weight over to one side, which helped me keep my legs together. This was going to be harder than I thought!

The plaintiff's lawyer called the plaintiff to the stand. The clerk with the nasal Philly accent swore him in, and he took his place in the witness stand. The attorney then asked him a number of questions. It was about how he came to be treated by the dentist and all of the facts leading up to the cleaning and referral. To tell the truth, this part was kind of boring. I felt my eyelids begin to droop a little. Then I glanced to the side and saw the Tipstaff. He looked back at me and winked. I imagined him using one of those long staffs he described to prod us, and had to stifle a giggle.

The testimony continued. I won't bore you with the intimate details. It was soon 12:30 and the judge called a recess for lunch. We were admonished not to discuss the case among ourselves and to be back by 2:00 PM. We filed out of court and back to the jury room.

"Well, girls, where do you want to go for lunch?" asked Nora.

Margie said, "Let's go to Lilly's across the street. They have really great soup and a salad bar."

"That sounds good, " I said. "What do you think, Donna?"

"I'm willing to give them a try," she said. "What about Nora and Barb?"

Barb nodded her assent. Nora asked, "Do you mind if I invite Tom along?"

"Maybe some other time, ladies," Tom said. "Nick and I are going to Maxwell's to drink our lunch. We'll catch up with you at 2:00, OK?"

"Drink your lunch!" Nora exclaimed. "Listen to that line of bull! This guy gets sleepy after two beers!"

"Lies! Scandalous calumny!" Tom retorted in his good-natured manner. "It takes at least three!"

Nora gave Tom a little kiss on the cheek. "You just go enjoy your lunch with the guys. We girls have some serious gossip to take care of."

We all made our way to the street level.

Court Street and Main Street intersect at a 45-degree angle, with Schwell Avenue jutting out from the intersection. Lilly's was on the corner of Main and Schwell. We used the crosswalk to cross Main and walked down to Lilly's.

Lilly's was a rather small place, and did a fabulous lunchtime business. We managed to get a table together and each ordered a cup of soup. I ordered some iced tea and made my way to the salad bar. I heaped my plate full of greens and goodies and topped my creation with some shredded cheese and balsamic vinaigrette dressing. Over our soup and salad, we compared our observations about the lawyers.

"What did you think about the older fellow?" I asked.

"Where on earth did he get that suit?" Margie said. "Maybe we should chip in and buy him a gift certificate to Today's Man!"

"It is pretty bad," I said, "but did you get a load of that tie? It looks like a refugee from the thrift store!"

"At the very least he ought to get himself a new shirt," Barb contributed. "If that's the best he can afford, I don't think I'd be hiring him to represent me!"

"And did you see his nails?" Nora said. "He's a nail-biter, that's for sure!"

"I don't know about you girls, " Donna said, "but I was afraid that that spit-wad was going to go flying!"

We all were giggling at the description of the lawyer we nicknamed Mister Bad Suit. Then Nora said, "You know, the young fellow looked kind of cute. He could park his shoes under my bed any old time!"

"Now what kind of talk is that, Nora?" Barbara admonished her. "You're making Allie blush!"

It was true! I could feel my cheeks get red at this frank sex talk from ladies.

"Oh, don't be so bashful, Allie!" Nora chided. "Besides, you know what the score is. You have a guy on the hook, don't you?"

"Well," I said, not knowing just how to respond, "I wouldn't exactly say I have him on the hook!"

"Then get him on the hook, dear!" said Margie. "You know how it goes. A girl just lets a guy chase her until she catches him!" More giggles.

We finished our lunch and noticed that we had nearly an hour left before we had to be back, so we did a little shopping. We walked down Main Street looking into the windows and decided to drop into a shoe store. Barb and Donna just looked. Margie bought a nice pair of sandals, and Nora bought a pair of white slingbacks. I didn't really see anything I wanted until I spotted a pair of athletic shoes.

Until that moment, I had never wanted a pair of lady's athletic shoes. Like I said before, I get all the sneakers and running shoes I want in boy mode. But this pair of Reeboks was trimmed in white and pink. It would go perfectly with the pants I had bought yesterday. So as wild as it seemed, I tried on a pair of Reeboks in my pantyhose. As an afterthought, I purchased three pair of ankle socks to go with them.

As I carried my shopping bag with me to the jury room, Donna asked me about my feet. "You take a size 11. How did you get such big feet?"

I hesitated for a second, and then said, "I guess it's from my father. His feet are enormous! He takes a man's size 14 shoe." Actually, just the opposite was true. My father has unusually small hands and feet for a man, a characteristic I inherited. This allowed me to buy my femme shoes off the rack, as well as feminine rings, bracelets, and my geek-girl watch.

"I guess it's hard to find shoes in that size," Donna said.

"I don't usually have any problem," I replied. "Payless is good for big sizes, and Macy's usually has my size. Sometimes the common sizes are sold out and I can still get shoes."

"I usually get my shoes at K-Mart or Wal-Mart," Donna said.

"You ought to try Target," Margie said. "They usually cost a little more that Wal-Mart, but I like their selection better."

Barbara said, "Personally, I like going to a specialty store for shoes. I get a better selection and much better service."

Nora chimed in. "My personal favorite for shoes is Strawbridge's. I just like the place, and the selection."

"The Bon-Ton is pretty good, too," said Margie, "but I only go there when there's a sale."

Tom had returned from lunch with the guys, and was listening to us talk about our shopping trip. "You gals and your shoes," he said. "Always buying shoes. How many pairs of shoes do you need?"

"A girl can never have too many shoes," said Margie.

"Any more that three or four pair is a waste," said Tom. "I got one pair of dress shoes, one pair of sneakers, one pair of work shoes, and one old pair for work around the house. That's all I need."

"Don't forget the bowling shoes and the golf shoes," said Nora. "And let's not forget your hunting boots, either. Or don't they count?"

"I don't wear them every day," he answered.

"Well we don't wear all of our shoes every day either," I said. "I bought these pumps to go with this outfit, and I don't wear it every day."

"You mean to tell me," Tom said feigning mock incredulity, "that you have a separate pair of shoes for each outfit?"

"Not each outfit, " I answered, "just the better ones."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Women!" he exclaimed, "who can understand 'em?"

We all giggled at this good-natured ribbing. Nora said to Tom, "Give it a rest, dearie. You know you can't win this one."

Tom was about to answer with a stinging comment when the Tipstaff entered to warn us that court was about to commence. He did a quick head count to ascertain that we had all returned from lunch. We once again filed into the courtroom, a ritual we were fast becoming accustomed to.

The plaintiff's lawyer continued questioning him about the treatments he received. The description of the gum flap surgery was probably the worst part of it. As he described the four sessions during which his gums were cut back and stitched, I started to question the strength of my stomach. This wasn't anything like cutting up a dead frog; this was real surgery done on a real person. He finished up by telling us about the pain that never subsided and how he eventually had all of his teeth extracted. He painted a rather grim picture of his former dentist's apparent lack of concern.

After the plaintiff's lawyer finished, the dentist's lawyer, Mr. Snappy Dresser, asked him a number of questions about the initial treatment he received. He produced the plaintiff's dental records and asked him about them. There were questions about the number of visits he made and just what transpired. Snappy Dresser really questioned him hard on these points, trying to portray the plaintiff as a negligent patient who failed to properly care for his teeth. Several objections were made; some were sustained, and some were overruled. It was a lot like the trial shows on TV, only much less exciting.

The periodontist's lawyer went next. Mr. Bad Suit proceeded along the same lines. His delivery was not as polished as Snappy Dresser, but he made his points.

I was actually doing fairly well by way of staying awake and paying attention. The plaintiff's lawyer asked some rebuttal questions to try and blunt the damage Snappy Dresser and Bad Suit had inflicted on her client's testimony. Snappy asked a few rebuttal questions as well. Bad Suit had no rebuttal questions. The plaintiff was excused and left the witness stand.

The Lady Lawyer surprised us all with her next witness. She called the dentist, and requested permission to question him as a hostile witness.

I could bore you to tears with all the back and forth, but I don't think most of you are interested. Suffice it to say that Lady Lawyer turned out to be a legal pit bull and ripped the dentist a new one. Snappy Dresser tried to repair the damage on cross, but I didn't think he managed all that well. Bad Suit had a few questions, and I got the impression that he was trying to distance his own client from the dentist.

Lady Lawyer then called the periodontist and basically did the same thing to him that she had just done to the dentist. More cross examination, and the witness was excused.

It was just about 4:30, so the judge decided to call it a day. We were again admonished not to discuss the case with anybody and dismissed. We all filed out as court was adjourned.

As we made our way to the jury room, we noticed that the other jury room adjacent to ours was now occupied. I asked the Tipstaff if he knew anything about it. "That jury," he replied, "is hearing the hit-and-run case. It's getting a lot of attention. I hear that the media is outside with video crews."

I removed my badge and left it on the table, then I checked my purse to make sure I had everything I came in with. Satisfied, I closed it and slung it over my shoulder. I stopped at the Ladies' room before heading for my car.

I took care of Mother Nature in the stall and went to the sink to wash my hands and check my makeup. As I was primping, Donna emerged from a stall. "Oh, Allie," she said, "before you leave, I wanted to tell you that I tried playing Solitaire on the PC last night. I finally got the hang of the mouse! Fred saw me and he was just so proud of me! Now he's showing me how to do e-mail. Do you have e-mail?"

"Yes I do," I answered. "I'm glad that you found out how to use the PC. It's going to open a whole new world for you."

"Well thanks for the tip. I don't think I ever would have gotten the hang of it without you."

"It's mostly a matter of confidence and of experience. I bet you were afraid that you might break something or do something wrong and then look stupid. Am I right?"

"For sure. I was just so afraid that I'd mess something up and get Fred all pissed off at me."

"Sounds like he wasn't angry."

"No, just the opposite. He was so proud of me he's like he wants to buy me a PC of my own. I don't want him to, though. Money is too tight."

I thought for a minute. "Donna, would you like a PC of your own? I think I can help you."

"Sure, but I really can't afford it."

"Not a problem. I have a laptop PC that I bought for my business. I just bought a more powerful model, and this one is collecting dust. It's about a year old, and it should be powerful enough for anything you might want to do. Interested?"

Donna was taken aback. "Just like that, you're giving me a computer?"

"A laptop. It's a little different than the one you have at home."

"Allie, I don't know. I couldn't! It's just too much!"

"Nonsense! I've already depreciated it on my taxes, and I have absolutely no use for it. You, on the other hand, can use a computer of your own. So I make a little room in my office, and you get a useful tool. What do you say?"

"Well, I guess so. It's just so unexpected. I mean, I hardly know you!"

"Sure you do! We're on the same jury!"

We both laughed. "I guess we gals have to hang together," Donna said as we exited the Ladies' room.

We gals, I thought. I'm being accepted as a woman by other women. It felt good. Then my cautionary instincts kicked in. I was making friends with this lady when I knew perfectly well that I couldn't keep in touch after the trial. For one thing, she thinks I'm my girlfriend. Feminine camaraderie was overwhelming my normally careful common sense.

I didn't have much time to think about it, because as we emerged from the jurors' entrance into the main corridor, we were accosted by at least a dozen microphone-wielding reporters in search of a statement, any statement, about the hit-and-run case. "I'm sorry," I said, "I'm not on that case!" Donna and I had to repeat this a number of times before we could finally get past the main phalanx of ink-crazed reporters in the midst of a feeding frenzy. Then we found ourselves negotiating a second wave of media vultures, this group pointing video cameras. We repeated our message a few more times before we were finally left alone. At least once we got past them, there was nobody between the elevators and ourselves.

"Can you believe that?" Donna asked as the doors closed.

"It's insane!" I replied. "Besides, don't they know that a juror can't talk about their case until it's over?"

"These media types don't care. All they want is a story."

The door opened and we made our way to the main entrance. Donna stopped just outside, opened her purse, and removed her cigarettes. She lit one, inhaled deeply, and blew out a dense cloud of smoke. "Oh, did I ever need this!" she said.

I didn't say anything, but my expression must have spoke volumes. I don't smoke, and I don't like smokers very much. To say that I didn't approve would be like saying a fifty-megaton nuclear warhead goes boom. Donna saw the look on my face and immediately went on the defensive. "I hope I'm not going to, like, get a lecture on the evils of smoking. I already know them."

"No," I answered, "no lecture. You can tell what I think."

"You might not believe this," Donna said, "but I've really been cutting down. This was only the second cigarette I've had all day."

"I notice you didn't smoke at lunchtime," I said.

"Yeah. I never really liked smoking when I eat. I don't really like the smell of smoke."

"Well," I said, offering an olive branch of sorts, "the fact that you are cutting down shows that you're on the right track. The next step is to cut it out completely."

"I'm going to," she said. "As soon as this trial is over, I'm going on the patch. Fred and I stopped smoking in the house when our kids were born. He quit a few months ago, and he keeps telling me to give it up. But I haven't been able to. I guess I'm just, like, a weak person."

"I disagree," I said. "You've been raising a family on a limited income. How is that weak? Donna, you're a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for."

She took one last puff and stubbed out her cigarette. "Do you really think so?"

"Fer sure," I said, mimicking her "valley-girl" voice.

She laughed. We both crossed Main Street to the garage and found our cars. We said goodbye, and drove home.

It was good to be home. My high heels were killing me and I couldn't wait to get out of my bra. I had new empathy for what Allie had to go through on a regular basis.

The mail was our normal mix of advertisements and bills. I sorted the important stuff out for immediate attention and set the bills aside to take care of. I decided to take a shower and get changed into boy mode. The only thing feminine about my appearance would be my nails, which were still long and polished.

Now dressed comfortably in my faded jeans and a T-shirt, I went to my office to locate the laptop I had promised to Donna. I started by backing up any data files I might need onto my server. Then I re-formatted the drive and re-installed the Operating System. I also loaded up a copy of MS Office and a few other software packages I had bought for it. I ran some diagnostics to make sure all was functioning, and tested the modem. The laptop was in fine shape and ready for Donna to use. I shut it off and put it into its carrying case with its power supply and other cables. I also included a mouse so that Donna would not have to master the touch-pad right away.

I had checked my e-mail and taken care of business when I got a call from Jack. "Hey, Paul, it looks like you made the evening news."

"What are you talking about?" I asked him.

"I just saw you coming out of the Jury Room on TV. I must say, you look good on television. Or should I say Cindy looks good?"

I switched on the news and saw the tape of myself emerging from the Jurors' Entrance just to the side of the courtroom. I had to admit, I looked good, but I really didn't want my face shown all over the Delaware Valley. "Oh, great," I said to Jack. "Those vultures will be hanging around all week because of the hit-and-run case."

"Are you on that jury?" Jack asked.

"No, I'm on a civil case. I'm in the jury room next door to the hit-and-run. I can't really talk about it."

"Understood, Paul. I just thought you should know that there's a staircase that will take you to the second floor. It's just past the Judge's chambers. That will let you get past the paparazzi without being caught on camera."

"Thanks, Jack. I owe you one."

"Listen, Paul, I have to be in court tomorrow. Would you like to meet for lunch?"

"Well, the other girls and I have a lunch posse going. Would you like to tag along?"

"Other girls? Damn, I wish I had the balls to do what you're doing. I better not. I might slip and call you Cindy. Or Paul, which would really ruin things."

"I guess you're right. But you know, maybe the support group should plan a weekend lunch in Doylestown. What do you think?"

"Sounds good. Why don't we suggest it at the next meeting?"

"Great. What are you wearing to the meeting?"

"I have a new twin set. It's a floral pattern on black jersey with a calf-length skirt. It's really adorable. How about you?"

"I think I'll wear one of my new suits. I really like this business woman look."

"Well you look great, sis. I'll see you there. And maybe I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay. See you then. Bye!" I hung up.

I did a quick surf of the channels and discovered that all three stations with an afternoon news program had video of me coming out of the Jurors' Entrance. I was sure that I would also be on the UHF stations this evening. Oh, brother! At least it wasn't just myself. They showed several jurors including Donna and Tom. I would have to inform them about the side entrance that Jack told me about.

I placed a call to Germany. It was late at night there, but Allie had told me to call any time. It was great hearing her voice. We talked about a lot of things, although I didn't mention the jury duty. But something that the girls had mentioned was bothering me.

"Allie," I asked, "do you want a ring, and would you like to set a date?"

"A date for what?" she asked.

"To get married. Do you want an engagement ring?"

"What made you think about that, Paul? Do you miss me that much?"

"I sure do miss you, love. And I want you to know just how committed I am to you. I'm going to buy you the biggest rock I can find and lay it at your feet. What do you say?"

Allie hesitated for a few seconds. "Paul, honey, don't take this the wrong way. I'm really touched by your offer. But please don't buy me a ring. I hate diamonds."

I was stunned. "You hate diamonds? But..."

"Let me explain. I have some really strong opinions about the DeBeers Company. That's the world cartel that controls the diamond trade. They buy diamonds from known terrorist regimes just to maintain the world price. So all of those pretty engagement rings are financing death and destruction.

"Besides," she said, "it's just a lump of carbon. Except for the way the atoms are arranged, a diamond is just a very expensive piece of pencil lead.

"If you want to buy me a gem stone, get me an emerald or an amethyst or a sapphire. I like colorful gems."

"What about setting a date?" I asked.

"Sure, why not. How about next year at the Wedding Pavilion in Walt Disney World?"

"Wow! That's a great idea! When should we do it?"

"After I get done this European assignment. We'll check with the park for availability. I would guess we might have to wait about a year anyway. Is that okay with you?"

"Okay? It's wonderful! Allie, I just can't believe how great I feel!"

"I even have a theme picked out for the wedding, Paul: 'Beauty and The Beast.' What do you think?"

"Just as long as I get to be the beast," I said. "Besides, you would look better in the dress."

'Thank you, kind sir. And you are one handsome beast. But speaking of dresses, have you been letting Cindy out while you've been home?"

I hesitated. "Well, yes, I have," I said. I decided to tell a partial truth, so I wouldn't actually be telling a lie. "I was out today with one of my friends from the support group."

"That sounds like fun. I hope you left a little balance on the credit cards."

We laughed. We talked for another half-hour before I hung up. Damn, I missed her.

I checked my e-mail a second time, took care of my business obligations, spent some time in a chat room for crossdressers, and caught up on my correspondence. I checked the evening news before retiring. Sure enough, I was caught on video by all of the major news organizations in the Delaware Valley area. Oh, well, 15 minutes of fame fades quickly. Tomorrow I'll be yesterday's news. I decided to turn in.

I slept well and awoke early. I showered, shaved my legs, shaved my face, and got dressed. I decided to wear a slightly more casual outfit today. For one thing, I opted for a more comfortable soft-cup bra. Jack's description of his twin set reminded me of a similar outfit that I owned, a lilac floral print skirt set. The top was a jacket with a mock shell and the skirt came down to about mid-calf. The long skirt let me get away with knee-hi hose, which was a welcome break from the pantyhose. To complete my outfit, I wore matching pumps. I still used the Prescriptives makeup, and discovered that the colors went well with my outfit.

I stopped at the pastry shop to pick up some muffins and croissants for the jurors. The counter clerk, a young fellow of about 18, eyed me up appreciatively as I made my selection, so I knew that the outfit worked. I didn't wink at him or otherwise flirt, but I smiled in a friendly way. It feels good to be so convincing.

I had quite a burden as I walked from the parking lot to the courthouse. My organizer purse and the laptop were slung over my shoulders and I carried the pastries in my hands. I was grateful for the crosswalk and the automatic doors that let me get inside without too much fuss.

I found the side entrance on the second floor and made my way up to the jury room. Some of my fellow jurors, including Donna, had already arrived. I opened up the laptop and showed Donna how to turn it on and use the software. She had an intuitive grasp of the Windows interface, which made teaching her a lot easier.

The jurors started arriving. Tom had brought coffee from the local Starbuck's and made sure I got a cup, for which I thanked him profusely. Margie brought some homemade cookies. Barbara brought a Jewish Apple cake that was really delicious. But the best treat came from Nick, who treated us to some Philly soft pretzels. This jury ate well.

I noticed that Donna was wearing a skirt today. It was a turquoise broomstick skirt with a belt. She wore this with a white peasant top and a white sweater. I noticed that she was also wearing flat-heeled white sandals. It was a very nice outfit, and I complimented her on it.

The Tipstaff peeked in once more to let us know that the court was ready for us. We filed in and took our seats. The judge wished us all a good morning.

The plaintiff's attorney called another witness, the plaintiff's second dentist. She asked him how the plaintiff had come to consult him and the treatment he received. The dentist explained that the plaintiff complained of excruciating sensitivity to cold and hot liquid and just about any solid food. The dentist examined the plaintiff's teeth and discovered severe decay and bone loss under the gums. The plaintiff's teeth were beyond saving and required extraction.

The plaintiff's lawyer set up an easel and displayed a photo of somebody's mouth. His lips were pulled back to expose the teeth and gums. It was not pretty. There was severe decay along the base of each tooth, and the gums were red and sore. The lawyer had the dentist identify the photos as the plaintiff's mouth and explain just what the picture showed. The dentist described the severe infection and decay. More photos were displayed of the plaintiff's x-rays showing severe and extensive bone loss. Finally, the lawyer asked the dentist whether gum flap surgery could have caused this extensive disease.

"In my opinion," said the dentist, "the condition of this man's mouth was the direct result of gum flap surgery."

Snappy Dresser rose to cross-examine. He questioned the dentist's education and experience, trying to cast doubt on his expertise to make such a statement. He questioned the dentist's motives in extracting the teeth. Snappy Dresser turned out to be a fairly good lawyer on the attack. By the end of his cross, the dentist was sweating.

Now it was Bad Suit's turn. He produced a number of documents signed by the plaintiff warning him of the risks associated with gum flap surgery. Were these fair and accurate warnings? One of the documents he produced was a course of home treatment to be followed by the plaintiff. Was it not true that failure to follow this regimen could result in the sort of extensive disease the plaintiff had? Wasn't it true that improper home care was the major reason the plaintiff's teeth had deteriorated? And finally, was it not true that he, the dentist, was being paid for his appearance in court today? Bad Suit might not have had the style of the other two attorneys, but he made his points well.

The next witness called was a professor from one of the local dental schools. I think it was Temple, but I'm not totally sure. The plaintiff's lawyer asked him a number of questions about his expertise in the field of periodontics, after which she offered him to the court as an expert witness. Snappy Dresser asked a few questions, and then said he had no objections. Bad Suit had no questions.

This part was really boring. The plaintiff's attorney asked the professor a lot of really technical questions about periodontics and gum flap surgery. I found my attention drifting. I looked over at the judge, who seemed to be trying to stay awake. I noticed that all of the lawyers were taking notes on those yellow pads. I looked over at the Tipstaff, who was smiling as he stifled a yawn. He looked at me and shrugged. I guess he had been through this before.

After many long questions punctuated with a couple of objections and one sidebar, the judge called a recess for lunch. We all filed out, tired of the tedium and ready to eat.

We decided on Chong's garden, a Chinese restaurant on Main Street just north of State Street. We all walked down, enjoying the spring day. I ordered General Tso's chicken, egg drop soup, and Jasmine tea. Donna had Pepper Steak and Won Ton soup, Nora ordered fried rice and no soup, Margie got a sampler platter, and Barbara ordered Mu Shu Pork. I kidded her about Chinese fajitas, which she laughed at.

We didn't talk much about the case except that the expert stuff was boring. I noticed that Bad Suit seemed to have a better-fitting coat today, but he still needed help with his ties. Margie noticed that the spit-strand was thankfully absent today. Nora made a comment about Snappy Dresser's butt that made us all giggle. It's funny, I thought to myself, but I don't think I would have even noticed his butt last week. And in all honesty, I didn't pay it much attention now. It just didn't do anything for me.

We finished lunch and took a walk down State Street where we found a music store. I just love browsing in music or bookstores, so I didn't need much coaxing to walk in. The store was just loaded with recordings of music from the 60's and 70's, and they were on CD. I looked through the racks and found the first Hot Tuna album with five bonus tracks. What a find! A little more searching uncovered Spirit's "The Family That Plays Together," also with bonus tracks. I kept looking and discovered yet another classic rock album, "The Who Sell Out," and this had extra tracks included from the recording session masters. I was ecstatic! I looked around and saw that Nora had found a very hard-to-find copy of the Monkees' soundtrack from their movie "Head." "Are you a Monkees fan, Nora?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," she replied, "I had a pre-teen crush on Peter Tork. But that's way before your time, Allie." She looked at my selection and grinned. "But your musical tastes seem to be from my generation."

"Well, I have to admit I like some of the music from that era," I said. "I started listening when I heard so many of the groups from my generation do covers of the old stuff."

"Old stuff!" Nora exclaimed, "now I really feel old! I guess I had better check into a retirement home when this trial's over." I could tell from her smile that Nora was just kidding me.

Margie and Donna looked around a bit but didn't buy anything. Barbara picked up a CD of Tommy James and the Shondells' greatest hits. We all took our purchases up to the counter.

"You really like the old stuff, don't you?" asked the clerk as rang up my order.

"Yes I do," I replied, "I'm really getting fond of the older music."

"Yeah, me too," he said. "I started listening to the oldies a few months ago and now I can't get enough of it. Ever see any of these groups in concert?"

"Not any of these groups," I answered. "But last month I caught Chicago. It was awesome!"

"I bet. Say, do you like The Beach Boys?"

"Sure do!"

"Would you like to see their show in Philly next week? I have tickets."

I was taken aback. The music store clerk was trying to pick me up! "That's sweet of you to offer, but I'm already in a relationship. Sorry!"

He just smiled. "That's cool. Just thought I'd ask. Enjoy the music!" He turned to ring up Nora's purchase.

As we walked back to the jury room, Nora said, "So the music store clerk tried to make a date with you. I hope your brush-off didn't break his heart."

"I don't think it will," I answered. "Besides, he's a little young for me, don't you think?"

Nora rolled her eyes. "Allie, dear, as long as they are old enough to pay for dinner and a show, they're old enough. And he's a lot closer to your age than he is to mine."

"I hope Tom doesn't hear you talk like that," I said.

"He's used to it. He knows not to take me too seriously."

We noticed that there were news vans from all of the local stations, so we ducked into our secret entrance on the second floor. It was about a quarter till two when we got back to the jury room. Tom and Nick greeted us.

"Ladies," said Nick, "Tom and I were thinking about joining you for lunch tomorrow. How does Kelly's Pub sound?" We all agreed it would be fine. I pulled out my CD's and was packing them into my purse when Nick asked if he could see them. He looked them over and then asked, "Where did you find these?"

"In the music shop over on State street. Do you like them?"

"These are fabulous! And bonus tracks as well! But how did a young girl like you get interested in this old stuff? I mean, these were recorded before you were born."

"And Bach's Brandenburg Concertos were written before either of us were born, but it's still good music."

"You got me there, kid," he replied. "I think I'll check this place out after court lets out today."

The Tipstaff entered and asked us how we enjoyed lunch. Then he checked to see if we were all here. One of the jurors had not returned just yet. We sat down waiting for him. He didn't arrive until a few minutes past two.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, "but I had to wade through a sea of reporters."

"That's all right," the Tipstaff said, "we aren't quite ready for...oh, wait, there's the judge. He's ready for us, so lets go." As we filed in, I suddenly remembered those patterning experiments where a scientist trained ducklings to follow him. I fought down the urge to giggle as I envisioned us as ducks waddling into the courtroom. By the time I took my seat I was composed.

The plaintiff's lawyer resumed her questioning of their expert. It was pretty monotonous stuff. The lawyer pointed to the photo she had put on display earlier and asked a number of technical questions. I tried to keep focused on the testimony, but my attention kept wandering. I noticed the court recorder typing away on the silent shorthand typewriter. The paper it used was a continuous narrow fanfold arrangement that went from one basket through the typewriter and into another basket. I wondered why this archaic method of recording was still employed. Why didn't they use video or audio recording? And if they really wanted text-only records, why didn't they use a disk or some other electronic media? I took a mental note that some sort of electronic data-recording system might be a good product to develop for courtroom proceedings.

The plaintiff's lawyer finished her questioning and Snappy Dresser got up to cross. This was also highly technical and quite boring. I was having a very difficult time keeping my attention on the trial. I started glancing around and noticed the uniforms that the court recorder and the court clerk were wearing. Both wore navy skirts and jackets with white blouses and black pumps. The court recorder has sheer nude hose while the clerk wore dark tan.

At one point during the questioning the witness asked for some water. The Tipstaff poured him a glass of water from a nearby Brita pitcher. Questioning resumed. Snappy Dresser finished, and then Bad Suit asked some questions.

Bad Suit went into a lot more technical detail with his questions. The point of his questioning was to get the expert to admit that it was most likely that bad home care, not the gum flap surgery, was responsible for the plaintiff's pain and suffering. The expert did not agree completely, but did not rule out the possibility.

Lady Lawyer asked a number of rebuttal questions to repair the damage done on cross. She asked the witness to clarify certain points brought out by Snappy Dresser and Bad Suit. Snappy Dresser and Bad Suit also asked some rebuttal questions to emphasize the points they had made. The witness was finally excused.

I've really boiled a lot of this down, because it took a long time to finish. In fact, it was after 4:30. The judge called a halt to the proceedings and we adjourned.

We filed back into the jury room, all of us relieved that this tedious session had finally ended. "Did any of you have a hard time staying awake?" asked Tom.

"I did," Barbara answered. "It was all I could do to keep my eyes open!"

"I think I had too much for lunch," I said. "I feel like I could use a nap."

"Well I hope this expert stuff doesn't last much longer," Donna said, "otherwise we'll all be snoring in the jury box. Maybe I'll bring a pillow."

We all laughed. "Donna, don't forget your laptop," I said.

"Oh thanks, Allie. Wow, I like still can't believe it. I really have a computer of my own!"

"I hope you enjoy it, Donna. If you have any questions, just bring it by tomorrow and I'll try to help you out."

"That's great, Allie. I really appreciate it."

We walked through the secret entrance past the wall of reporters covering the hit and run case. We made our way to the door. Donna did not stop, but accompanied me to the garage.

"Congratulations," I said.

"What? Did I do something?" she asked.

"It's more like what you didn't do, Donna. You didn't light up."

Donna smiled. "Thanks for noticing, Allie. I left my cigarettes home today. I wanted to see if I could last a whole day without them."

"You did good, Donna. I'm proud of you."

"Well, I haven't exactly quit yet. I'll probably have one when I get home. But I thought that if I could go this long without smoking, I might be able to quit altogether in a week or two."

"Well you made a step in the right direction. Keep up the good work."

"Thanks, girl friend," she answered.

Donna found her car and stowed the laptop in the back seat. We said goodbye and she drove off. I got to my own car and pulled away. I treated myself to my new Hot Tuna CD as I drove.

The drive home was not too bad. Unlike my morning drive, traffic at 4:30 PM was quite heavy. It took me almost twice as long to get home. I pulled up the driveway and into the garage.

Our garage is connected to the kitchen. I walked through the connecting doorway and into the kitchen. A quick glance at the phone let me know that I didn't have any messages. I sighed and kicked off my pumps. I grabbed a bottle of Snapple from the 'fridge and walked into the living room. A surprise was waiting for me. It was Allison.

"Well Hi, Paul!" she said as I walked in. "I see you've been out and about as Cindy, today. Did you have a good time?"

"Allie! When did you get home?"

"About two hours ago. You sounded so lonesome when you called, and you wanted to get me a ring and all, that I just couldn't stay in Germany. I caught a flight home."

"But, uh, what about your job?"

"I'm taking a week's vacation. I thought I'd surprise you."

"Well you sure did that!" I said. "I think I better check my panties."

"Did you have a good time today?"

"Well, uh, sure!" I said.

"Did you do anything special?"

"Uh, sort of." What was she talking about?

"Where did you have lunch?" she asked.

"Uh, Chong's Garden. I had General Tso's chicken."

"I'll bet that was good. You must really like it in Doylestown to spend so much time there."

"Huh? But, uh, how did you know I was in Doylestown?"

"I saw you on TV. At least, I saw Cindy on TV, in the Bucks County courthouse. Mind telling me just what's going on?"

It was no good trying to change the subject. Allie had me dead to rights. So I sat down and related to her the events of the last three days. She sat in silence, impassive, betraying no emotion. After I finished, she remained silent. All she would do is stare at me. It was unnerving.

"Uh, Allie," I asked nervously, "are you angry at me?"

"Paul Francis Weston, this is the most idiotic stunt you have ever pulled!"

Now I knew I was in for it. Whenever a woman is particularly mad at you, she uses your middle name. I was now officially up a well-known creek without a paddle.

"Allie, let me..."

"Not until I'm finished. Damn it. Paul, this kind of a stunt can get us both in real trouble. Just what the hell were you thinking?"

"I..."

"You weren't thinking, that's what! Jesus! Less than a week out of my sight and you're pretending to be me! How could you be so stupid?"

"Allie, honey, I..."

"Don't you 'Allie, honey' me, Paul Weston! You think a few nice words and some hugs and kisses are going to get you out of this one? You've got another think coming, 'Missy'!"

I hung my head. "All right. What do you want."

That's when I saw her grin. "For starters, how about dinner? And you're cooking."

I was both mad and relieved at the same time. "What? You're, I, you..."

Allie couldn't hold back. She started to laugh. "Paul," she said, "you're unbelievable. You have got to be out of your mind. But you look so cute in your woman's suit I just can't stay mad at you." And she hugged me.

We went upstairs to change and shower. We spent some extra time in the shower, scrubbing each other with soap. We got changed for dinner.

"You have to admit it looks a little strange," she said, referring to my nails. I was now dressed in total boy mode wearing chinos and a polo shirt. But I still had my mauve nails glued on.

"Well I can't exactly take them off yet. But I didn't think I would need them this long."

"We had better check them closely tomorrow. Your natural nails continue to grow, and this might cause a gap."

"Uh, oh! How can I fix that?"

"We might have to remove them and give you a new set of nails. I really didn't expect to be doing your nails on my first night home, though!"

"Oh? What did you expect?"

Allie just smiled. We went back upstairs. We slowly undressed each other and, without saying a word, got into bed.

We didn't get dinner for several hours. By then we were quite hungry. Allie was asking me about my experiences. How did I like interacting as a woman, with women, and with men? She nearly busted a gut laughing when I told her about the record store clerk trying to pick me up. "I'll bet he would have been surprised," she said.

"Well I'm not that kind of a girl!" I said in mock indignation.

"What kind are you?" she asked.

I had waited for years for just that straight line. "Why, I'm a girl with something extra, of course!" I said. We both laughed long and hard.

Eventually Allie fixed my nails. I treated her to a foot massage to show my gratitude. It was quite late when we finally got to sleep. Somehow, with all of the distractions, I forgot to set the alarm.

It was five minutes to eight when I finally awoke. I was groggy until I saw the time on the digital alarm clock. A rush of adrenaline made me completely alert.

"Oh, shit!" I said. "I have to be in court by 9:30!"

Allie woke up. "Don't panic, Paul. Just get ready as quick as you can."

"But I need to shave my legs and everything!"

"I don't know if you'll have time. Maybe you better wear slacks today."

I remembered the pants and top I had bought at the GAP. "Okay," I said, "I think I have an outfit I can use. But I still better call the court and let them know I'll be late."

I showered quickly. As I started to shave, Allie cautioned me not to rush. "You don't want to be bleeding underneath your makeup," she said. So I was careful.

I placed a call to the number I was given on my first day. The Tipstaff answered. I explained to him that I had overslept. "Don't worry, miss," he told me, "the trial is going to start late anyway. Just get in as quickly as you can."

I was relieved as I hung up the phone. I saw Allie across the room grinning. "What's so funny?" I asked.

"I just love it when you do your girlie voice," she said. "I'm wondering how you can do it all day?"

"Practice," I replied. "But I'd better finish dressing. Can you hook my bra for me?"

We both smiled at the role reversal occurring here. She fetched my padded panty girdle and a pants liner. I pulled my new gold tunic top on and then pulled on my new pants. I liked the effect. Allie said, "That would look nice with a pair of blue pumps."

"Probably, but I was thinking of wearing my new sneakers." I pulled on a pair of the ankle socks I had bought and then laced up the Reeboks. They went well with the outfit.

"Nice outfit," Allie said. "Mind if I borrow it some time?"

"Sure, Allie. Any time. The shoes are probably too big, though." I did my makeup and pinned my wig back into place. Fortunately, the style went just as well with casual dress as it did with my suits.

"You look good, Cindy. Have a nice day in court."

"Thanks, Allie," I said. We shared a little goodbye kiss as I opened the door connecting the garage to the kitchen. We kissed a second time. Then we stopped. I didn't want to mess up my makeup.

My drive to Doylestown was uneventful, but it was about 9:45 AM when I pulled into the Municipal Garage. I parked in the first spot I could find and ran up the steps to the main level. By time I got to the jury room it was almost 10:00 and I was out of breath.

"I'm sorry I'm so late," I said, hoping that I didn't annoy everybody by holding up the proceedings.

"Relax, Allie," said Nick. "The judge and the lawyers are having some sort of conference, and the trial has been delayed.

The Tipstaff said, "The judge just told me that we won't start until 10:30, so relax. You didn't hold us up, miss."

I was so relieved! I found my chair and pinned on my badge. Donna greeted me. "Hi, Allie. Hey, you're wearing that new outfit. It looks cute on you."

"Oh, thanks, Donna. Your outfit is nice too." Donna was wearing a pair of cargo pants and one of the new tops she had bought at the GAP.

"Thanks. Say, Fred was showing me some things on this computer, but I still have a few questions. Do you mind showing me how this Excel thing works?"

"No problem," I said. "Go ahead and boot it up."

Donna opened the laptop and started it like an expert. I showed her how to start Excel and talked her through the way a spreadsheet was put together. Despite her valley-girl mannerisms, Donna proved to be a quick study and a sharp student. It didn't take long before we had a simple budget planned out. Then I showed her how to make a loan amortization table. She caught on quickly.

Well before you know it, the Tipstaff was talking to us again. "Folks, I'm really sorry. The judge just told me that this conference is taking longer than he expected, and court won't convene until after lunch. You're all free to go eat, and please be back by 2:00."

I looked at my watch. It was noon! "Wow, I lost track of the time! Are we still on for lunch?"

Everybody nodded. We made our way out of the courthouse and headed for Kelly's Bar.

Kelly's was a small place lined with booths. We took the corner booth, the only one that could accommodate all of us. We sat down and studied the menu. Then the waiter came over. "Good afternoon, folks. I'm Joe, your waiter for today. Can I get you something to drink?"

Nick and Tom both ordered beer. Barbara ordered an iced tea. I decided to give in to temptation. "A pint of Murphy's Stout, please."

The girls and the guys went wide-eyed. Tom said, "Do you know what you just ordered?"

"Well," I said, "it isn't Guinness, but it isn't bad. I like it."

You would have thought I had laid down the gauntlet. Both men changed their orders to Murphy's. I thought it was hysterical. They wouldn't let some young chick out-drink them!

The girls were also amused, but none of them ordered stout. Donna ordered a Coors Light, and Nora decided to treat herself to a Bass Ale, but Margie asked for a cup of hot tea. "And what could be more Irish than a nice hot cup of tea?" she said.

When the drinks arrived, I could feel every eye on me. I picked up the glass of frothy dark stout and held it to my lips. I sipped a bit from the glass. It was good, creamy, and just a touch bitter the way a stout should be. "Mmmm," I said, "that's nice. I just wish they hadn't chilled it. Stout should be cool but not cold."

Nick and Tom just about cheered me. I only giggled as I took another sip. Barbara said, "Is it really that good, Allie?"

"Oh, my, yes!" I answered. "Stout is definitely an acquired taste, though. I just felt in the mood for one today."

Barbara shuddered. I guess the thought of drinking something that dark was upsetting to her. I just enjoyed it.

We all ordered soup and some sort of sandwich. I had a BLT on wheat toast. Donna had a Monte Christo sandwich. Nick and Tom both ordered large cheesesteaks, and Nora got herself a cheeseburger. I sipped at my stout so that it lasted through lunch. The guys each had refills. We all had coffee for dessert.

Nora said, "I need to visit the little girls' room. Anybody going?" We all got up. This amused Nick and Tom to no end.

"What is it with women and the bathroom?" Nick said. "They seem to have some sort of herd mentality."

"It's a woman thing," I replied, "Men just wouldn't understand." We all giggled.

The Ladies' room at Kelly's was small, so we had to form a line. I took care of business in the stall. I had to admit using the bathroom was a lot easier wearing pants instead of a skirt. I paused at the sink to re-apply all the lipstick I had left on the rim of my glass. With my makeup repaired, I rejoined the posse.

We had taken a long time over lunch so we decided to skip our afternoon shopping and head back to court. Besides, we knew that the men would be uncomfortable watching the ladies shop. The ladies, I thought to myself. For most of this week I had really been thinking of myself as a woman. But every now and then I remembered that I was really a man. When I did, I smiled. Despite my many panic attacks, I was having fun,

As it turned out, we need not have hurried. It was nearly three o'clock when we finally filed back into the courtroom. And the judge had some startling news for us.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he said, "on behalf of the County of Bucks, the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and the litigants in this case, I would like to thank you for your service. The litigants have settled their dispute privately and have withdrawn their complaints.

"Before you leave, I want you to know that your service here was not a waste of time. The fact that a jury was empanelled and the case was proceeding was an impetus for the litigants to settle. Your presence in this courtroom motivated the litigants to apply common sense and reach an agreement. You have performed a valuable service to the community, and we are grateful for it.

"This concludes your service. You are dismissed with the thanks of the court. This court is adjourned." The court clerk pounded a gavel. We looked over at the Tipstaff, who winked and motioned for us to leave. We all rose and filed out of the courtroom.

"Can you believe that?" said an incredulous Tom. "Why couldn't they settle earlier?"

"Somebody got cold feet and wanted a quick end," said Margie. "What a waste."

"Well, I enjoyed it," I said. "At least, I enjoyed meeting everyone. We had some great lunches together."

"We did," said Donna, "but I'm ready to get back home with my husband and kids."

Everybody said goodbye. Some of us hugged. Some exchanged phone numbers and said they would keep in touch. We all gathered up our stuff.

I gathered my purse and looked around the little room. The newspapers, donut boxes, and other stuff had all been tossed out. The coffeepot was packed up by its owner. Except for the overflowing trashcans, it looked much like it did when we first entered. I felt a little sad, but also relieved.

"Hey, Allie." I turned around. Donna was behind me with the laptop slung over her shoulder. "Thanks again for this laptop. And thanks for showing me all of those things. I really appreciate it."

"Your welcome, Donna. And thanks for all the lunches. I almost feel like we're old friends."

"Well, if you ever want to get together for lunch or something, just give me a call. Here's my number." She handed me a post-it note.

"Sure. And here's my number, too." I scribbled my phone number on a notepad I retrieved from my purse. We walked to the garage together. She got in her car, I got in mine, and we drove off to our separate lives.

I called Allie on the cell phone to let her know I was coming home. When I finally pulled into the garage, I was fairly well beat. I had some fun being a woman for the last few days, but now I was ready to get back into boy mode.

Allie was waiting for me in the kitchen. "So how did it go?" she asked.

"They settled out of court," I replied. I had pulled off my wig and sat with her at the table, still wearing my female outfit and makeup. I removed my earrings and put them on the table. Now that I could talk about the case, I did. Allie laughed at my description of the lawyers, especially Mister Bad Suit. She commiserated with me over the tedium I had endured.

"Well," I said, "at least I'm now off the hook for the next three years."

"Not exactly," Allie said. "Remember, you went as me. I'm the one off the hook for the next three years. Speaking of which, something came for you in the mail today."

Allie handed me a green envelope. It was a standby juror summons just like the one that started this adventure. It was addressed to Paul Weston.

Oh my God! Here we go again!

As it turned out, I never was called in. I dutifully phoned the courthouse every evening to see if I was being called. The numbers called in stopped about two hundred from my number, so I didn't have to report.

Allie returned to Germany and absolutely astounded her bosses. I continued my Trans-Atlantic commute for the remainder of the year. After her assignment was up she got a big promotion, an absolutely decadent raise, and returned to the company headquarters in Bucks County.

It's funny how things work out, though. Allie did not really enjoy her new position. It was challenging, but her duties were exclusively managerial and she derived a lot more satisfaction from the technical end of Web Development. So she quit and joined my company.

Yes, I said my company. I know that I could have continued along the same path I had been on as an independent consultant, but the fact is I'm too industrious for my own good. I like a long vacation as much as the next guy, but months away from my work tended to drive me up a wall. So I took on more business. Eventually my reputation grew and I soon had more business than I could handle. So I hired another consultant, and eventually another. Then Allie joined us. Then I added Web Hosting to my services. In three years I had an office, a server farm, and ten partners.

Along the way Allie and I tied the knot, and we did it at Disney World. Our friends and family joined us at the Disney Wedding Pavilion, as we became husband and wife. Allie arrived in a horse-drawn glass coach wearing a gorgeous Vera Wang gown. As she walked down the aisle, it seemed to me that Heaven opened up just a little and shone one perfect beam of light on her. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.

Me, I wore a nice Armani tux for the wedding. Nothing too ostentatious, just a basic black tuxedo. After all, this was Allie's special day, and the groom is only the bride's ultimate accessory. I certainly didn't want to upstage the most beautiful woman in creation on her wedding day. But to tell the truth, I really look good in Armani.

I never did get back in touch with Donna. I know that we parted with the intention of keeping up with each other and continuing our new-found friendship, but that never happened. For a few weeks after the trial, I thought about giving Donna a call but never did. After a while I stopped thinking about it. And if you think about this logically it makes sense. The fourteen of us were thrust together by accident, and formed relationships to help cope with the situation. The only thing we really had in common was being on the same jury. Once this common bond was dissolved, there was really no need to continue. So we went back to our own lives to take care of our own concerns. I had almost forgotten about her until just last week.

I had placed an ad in one of the online services for an all-around executive assistant. The administrative details of the business were just too much for me to handle. I wanted someone who could do our payroll, handle our billing, and keep our books as well as manage the office for us. In other words, somebody to run the place. I got a few nice resumes and called in a few candidates. But I didn't expect Donna Marsh to come in for an interview.

Yes, I saw her name on the resume and cover letter, but I didn't connect it to the woman I had met on jury duty. The resume listed coursework in bookkeeping, word processing, and spreadsheets, and she had been working part-time at a cardiologist's office. So I called her in for an interview.

I have to admit that I was quite surprised when she walked in. She was dressed in a conservative woman's suit. Under her jacket she wore a lace-trimmed white blouse. Her hair was a little shorter and was styled nicely. She wore pearl earrings with a matching pendant. I could not help but notice her fine manicure as we shook hands. The tattoo was still there.

She looked at me with a touch of confusion, but seemed to put it aside as we discussed the job and her qualifications. Her skill set was just what I was looking for. She had experience in billing, payroll, and office management. I was sold.

"This is a full-time position," I said. "Is that what you're looking for?"

"Well," she said, "I was hoping for a little flexibility in my schedule. My kids are in school and I would like to be home when they get home."

"That shouldn't be a problem," I replied. "If you like, you can work from home and telecommute. Do you think you can handle that?"

Her eyes lit up. "That would be perfect! Not every day, of course, but if I could just leave early on school days..."

"That would be fine. As long as you get your work done, I don't insist on regular hours. Most of the partners work out of their homes, so it shouldn't be any big deal. I would expect to see you maybe once or twice a week, if that."

"I can't believe it! I think I found the perfect job!"

"I'm glad you like it. So why don't we talk about your compensation? We offer a complete medical and dental plan, all company paid. You will be handling the details, so you're going to know more about it than any of us. We also have a 401K, paid holidays, and two weeks paid vacation to start."

"My husband has medical coverage, but we have to pay something for it. Maybe I can cover him under me."

"Why not? Your coverage starts on your first day of work. I can give you a plan booklet and the forms to take home."

"Thank you. That would be fine."

"This is a non-smoking office, by the way. You will have to go outside to smoke."

"That's no problem. I don't smoke."

I grinned. Then I mentioned a figure.

"It really pays that much?" she asked.

"Yes, and we also pay a profit sharing bonus. It won't be as big as the partner's bonus, of course, but we've generated a profit since I started the business. You can take it as cash or as a contribution to your 401K."

As we were talking, I noticed that Donna had dropped her valley-girl speech pattern. Her elocution and diction were more indicative of an educated professional.

"The job is yours if you want it," I said. "Do you need time to think it over?"

"Not at all. With this salary my husband can finally quit his second job and spend more time at home. He's been working two jobs for as long as we've been married. He never complains, but I know it's been wearing him out. Now I can help lift some of his burden."

"Good. How soon can you start?"

"I want to give my employer two week's notice. Is that all right?"

"Of course. I'll make arrangements to have a new PC delivered to your home, and get you a dedicated phone line. This will all be company paid. Congratulations, and welcome to our little madhouse."

We both stood and shook on the deal. Donna was obviously happy, but I could see the look of puzzlement on her face. "Excuse me," she said, "but have we ever met before? You seem awfully familiar."

I started to laugh. This confused her even more. "Yes, we have," I said. "Let's talk about it over lunch. I'm buying."

I held the door as we made our way out of my office and over to the restaurant. Lunch was going to be interesting!

 

 

 

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© 2001 by Valentina Michelle Smith. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.