Lucky             by: Brandy Dewinter           © 2000, All rights reserved

 

Chapter 3

 

I really did think about it, getting some expert help that is. Half the time I figured the expert I needed was for what my head looked like in the inside, though, not an expert in cosmetics. My mood swung from curious to thinking I was being stupid with unpredictable abruptness. When I was getting dressed, I slipped on a pair of Trish’s panties, then immediately put on my jeans and a ragged old sweatshirt that Trish had hated as though that somehow canceled out the panties.

Later, though, I realized I had been rubbing my own fanny through the jeans, wallowing in the sensations of my satiny underwear. I used to do that to Trish, enjoying the feel of a silky slip sliding over smooth underthings. My mood was swinging back to curious and I was seriously considering changing my jeans for a slip and skirt, when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Tim, this is Katy. Did you call her yet?"

"Who?"

"Lonna Roberts. You said you were going to call her for help on getting into the Trish role."

"Oh, her," I said. "I, um, never actually said I’d call her, just that I’d think about it."

"Yeah, right," Katy said, her tone equal parts disbelief and determination. She hung up without another word. Not for the first time I was glad that Bud was married to her and not me. When she got one of her notions in her red head, she could get pretty abrupt.

And fairly predictable, in this case. I almost left the house. I did start gathering up my keys and things, making sure I had some cash in case I felt like shopping or something. Stalling, actually. At some level I realized that I wanted something. I was less sure than ever that this was it, but the only times I’d felt happy since Trish had died had been when I was pretending she was still there. Most especially when I was playing her part in a little make-believe interchange. That was wrong on a lot of levels, but right in the most important one of all. It was true.

When the phone rang again, I almost let it ring. I was afraid to answer it, but all of the sudden I had this vision of Katy dragging me by the ear down to the salon and publicly discussing this. After last night, I was about half sure she’d do just that, so before the answering machine kicked in I found myself picking up the handset.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Tim? This is Lonna."

"Hello." Great conversationalist I am.

"Katy Weiserman called me, and said you might need some help?" Lonna offered.

"Uh, yeah. Maybe." I stalled. "What did she tell you?"

"Only that you needed some help, and might be uncomfortable about asking for it."

"She said that?" Thanks a lot, Kate.

There was another long pause, then Lonna’s soft voice said, "Um, Tim, if it helps any, I think I should tell you that I know about you and Trish playing dress-up games."

"You know about that?"

"Yes," Lonna confirmed. "Trish told me. A woman needs to trust her hairdresser, and the situation sort of forces you to spend fairly long periods together with nothing to do but talk."

"Right. Trust," I said with a sneer.

Lonna was silent for a long moment. Then I could hear a sigh over the phone and she said, "I suppose I deserved that. But I never told anyone what Trish and I talked about until now, and then only because it affects you and can’t hurt her. I suppose you’ll just have to believe me on that."

At some level I knew that I could, even as I was making my nasty response. I mean, if she felt like gloating about it or something, then there had been plenty of opportunity.

"So, what all did she tell you?" I asked, still not ready to apologize.

"Oh, lots of things, I guess," Lonna said, then she snickered. "Is it true that you tied her up one time and tickled her until she peed on the bed?"

"I can’t believe she told you that!" I said, shocked.

"Oh, chill out. From what she said, it wasn’t that bad."

"Not that bad?" I repeated, not believing it.

"No." Now Lonna giggled. "In fact, she said that she wouldn’t mind doing it again."

"She wanted to do it again? I don’t believe it. She never said anything to me."

"Of course not. She knew it freaked you out. She told me you spent the next week apologizing. But she said she also felt sort of ‘de-stressed’ afterward, as though losing control was a sort of super-catharsis or something."

"Look," I said, "this is, well, this was a mistake. I’m sorry, but this is . . . ," I said, running down when I tried to figure out how to characterize this strange conversation.

"Oh, Tim, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you off. I was just trying to tell you that you don’t have to be embarrassed about anything."

"Right. Sure," I snorted into the phone. Long past any chance of that not happening.

"No, really, Tim. I mean it. Look, like I said, Trish told me about your dress-up games. I think that’s cool. I mean, she told me that you only did it because she asked and all. There’s nothing wrong with playing around if it makes your partner happy."

"Well, it’s not right to broadcast our private times on the evening news, either," I said.

"Hey, it was Trish that told me, and only me as far as I know.

That’s hardly broadcasting it to the world."

Now that was a hard point to counter. I could hardly put Trish down, could I? I was trying to absorb the whole idea that what I had thought of as so private was, well, maybe not public but not private, either. I couldn’t believe women talked about such intimate things.

Lonna was waiting again. Finally, she nudged a little. "Is this about dressing? I mean, since you told me you wanted to cut your hair like Trish did, and well, because of what Trish said, and Katy Weiserman, I mean, I was just wondering. Like I said, that’s all cool with me."

"It’s okay with you?" I said, not even sure it was okay with me. I had always wondered about Trish wanting to pretend to make love with a woman, but she, that is, Trish was a married woman so she’d have to pretend on anything like that. She couldn’t do it for real. But why did Lonna think it was okay?

"Sure. I had an ex-boyfriend who liked to dress. We used to go out on girls’ night out things."

"You went out with him?" I gasped.

"Sure, it was a blast. He was pretty good, and we used to go to the stripper shows and have a great time!"

"I don’t believe it," I said. Again. Great conversationalist indeed.

"Really," she insisted. "So, is that what this is about?"

"Look," I said, "I think this was a mistake. I mean, this is too weird, and . . ."

"Um, Tim," Lonna said, interrupting gently, "This may be hard for you to believe, after finding out that I’ve intruded into your privacy, but I really do want the best for you. And I really don’t mind helping. Um, how about if I just come over at lunchtime? Or we could meet somewhere. Let’s just talk about it."

"Lunchtime?" I said, still stupidly repeating things.

"Sure, I don’t have any appointments between, oh, let’s say 11:30 and 2:00. How about if we meet for lunch?"

"I, um, don’t think . . . "

She interrupted me again, "Please? I’m serious about wanting to help. I mean, I liked her, too, and, well, it was so sweet the way you were thinking about being just a little like her. I think that’s just, well, sweet."

God, now I was sweet. Repetitiously so, in fact. I was about to tell her no, when she spoke very quickly, "Oh, hey, I have to go. I’ll meet you at Smitty’s at 11:30."

Then she hung up before I had a chance to say anything. I didn’t even know of a place called Smitty’s. I probably should have used that for an excuse not to go. I mean, I hadn’t really agreed and had been on the edge of flat refusing anyway. But somehow I found myself looking the place up, and then walking through the doors of a little bar and grill thing at the appointed time.

Lonna was already there and waved cheerfully to me to join her. I don’t suppose my own expression was nearly so upbeat. But I walked slowly over to her table and said, "Uh, hello."

Lonna’s eyes twinkled and she said, "Uh, hello." Her tone and cadence were exactly as I had spoken. Like I said, I was a great conversationalist.

It certainly didn’t help my sense of being wrong, of doing something stupid. But it was hard to get angry with someone as obviously light-hearted as Lonna. It was clear she meant no harm and that meant if I took offense, the wrong attitude was mine, not hers. So I just sort of pointed at one of the chairs, or waved my hand at it, or something.

"Please, sit down," she invited. That didn’t take any words so I pulled out a chair and plopped gracelessly into it.

Once I was, uh, there, I mean, officially arrived or whatever by sitting down, Lonna dropped her voice into a much more private tone and said, "Thanks for coming. I wasn’t sure you would."

"I wasn’t sure, either," I admitted.

Her voice got even softer, not so much to be quiet as to take any edge from it at all, and she said, "Tim, please, believe me. I think it’s a very loving and wonderful thing to want to hold a bit of Trish to your heart. Not many men ever make that sort of commitment to a woman."

"It’s just," I tried to explain, "that, well, when I, um, act out something like Trish did it, well, that makes the memories so real, and so, um, fresh. It sort of pushes the other memories into the background."

"Would it help to have someone else act like Trish for you?" she asked.

I looked sharply at her. I hadn’t even considered that, and surely hadn’t considered Lonna for the role though it was obvious in her eyes that she was making that offer. It shocked me to think that another woman could take Trish’s place. And it offended me, really. I felt my irritation force a frown to my face even as my posture stiffened.

"I’m sorry, Tim," Lonna said quickly. "I’m not really trying to say that I could replace Trish, not in any way that mattered. I’m just trying to help you find a way to deal with your sorrow. I honestly don’t think there’s anything wrong with play-acting her role yourself, if it helps you work through your grief, but since it seems to bother you, well, that’s about the only alternative I have to offer."

That explanation deflated my irritation as quickly as it had come. After all, if it was only play-acting, then why not have someone else do it? Was there some reason I had to do it myself? I wondered if that was a lot more important question than I was letting myself accept, but found myself speaking as though that could avoid the need for an answer.

"Um, thanks. I appreciate the offer. I really do," I said. "I don’t know. This is all, well, strange, isn’t it?"

Trish looked me directly in the eyes, and surprised me by saying, "Yes, it is."

Then she disarmed her answer with an explanation I hadn’t considered. "But it’s also strange to lose your wife in an accident that you yourself escaped. I imagine there are all sorts of guilt feelings from that, no matter how baseless. And I honestly don’t know of any couple who loved each other as much as you and Trish did. I knew that long before the accident. The way she talked about you made it clear that she thought you were the original knight in shining armor, her hero in more ways than she could ever count. And the way you felt about her, well, if it had been anyone but Trish, I’d have been so envious I’d probably have had to drop you as customers."

I just nodded, but the thought of that special closeness flooded my eyes with tears again, and I couldn’t speak. Lonna waited patiently for a few moments, then gently said, "Tell me what you’ve done, and what the problem is."

 

The problem is that Trish is gone! I wailed silently.

As though she had read my mind, Lonna said, "Sorry, I mean besides that Trish is gone. I know that’s what’s at the bottom of everything, but what have you done to try and deal with it, and what help do you need?"

I still didn’t speak for a while, staring off in to nothing and trying to blink back my tears. This time, Lonna just waited. After a while I looked at her, at her patient acceptance. I still felt stupid and wondered if what I was doing was sick in some way that would make it worse than doing nothing. But right then, I couldn’t think of anything else to do, and I had been doing nothing for a month. That hadn’t helped.

"It started on the day you called about our appointments," I began. Lonna jerked a little as though she was somehow to blame, but I pushed on so that she would understand. At least, I hoped she would understand. She listened patiently as I went back over all the things I’d imagined in the last couple of days; the games I’d played with my own mind.

"The memories seemed so real, so alive," I concluded. "For the first time, I felt, well, good about something."

"Wow," Lonna said quietly, not really interrupting as much as filling the void when I stopped talking for a second. "I never thought of that, but I can see how it would work. Especially since it’s clear you really, really loved her. One of the signs of that is that you really paid attention to her, never took her for granted."

"No, I never did that," I agreed. We were interrupted by a waiter and took care of the necessary things to get our lunch on the way. It sort of broke the mood. Lonna filled in again, with easy chatter on favorite dishes and other restaurants. All it took from me were a few nods and I could hold up my end of the "conversation" while she babbled on and I realized I really appreciated the chance to, uh, catch my breath or something.

"Hey," she said. "Lighten up. It didn’t hurt anyone. You may not know this, but lots of guys have fooled around with dressing at one time or another, just like you did. For some guys, it’s enough fun that they try to do it very well. What’s wrong with trying to do something well, if you do it?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing," I said, on the defensive again. Just like with Katy. Did girls get taught how to do that by their mothers, or was it something in the genes?

"Frankly," Lonna continued. "I was flattered. Believe me, my old boyfriend understood more about women than most women, and he used the knowledge to make me feel pretty special sometimes."

"Sometimes?" I repeated. "What happened?"

"Oh, nothing bad. He just got a job in another city. We still call each other every now and then. He, or actually, she even visited me once for a, um, interesting weekend."

She winked so broadly at her statement that even I had to smile. But something she said bothered me. Was this sort of thing addictive?

"You said, ‘she’ came to visit you," I said. "Does he, um, she, I mean, well, do it all the time now?"

"Oh, no," Lonna laughed. "He has visited me a few times, too. He, hell, this is awkward, his name is Bill, okay? Anyway, Bill showed me this book that had some sort of research in it. The book said that most men who dress do so only occasionally, and by the way, they are very much heterosexual. It seems they like the clothes and get excited by them, but a big part of it is they love women so much that they want to look like one. I think the ones who dress full time may be different. Or at least some of them."

"Say," she interrupted herself, "Bill had a girl’s name, too. Or, as he called it, a ‘femme’ name. His was Heather. I know, kind of cliché, but she liked it. Did you have a femme name?"

I’m sure the blush that lit my cheeks showed clear across the restaurant. In any event, there didn’t seem to be much point in denying it, so I just nodded and said, "Tammy."

"Oh, I like that," Lonna said brightly, then continued. "Well, anyway. One of the things that Heather said was that you basically had two choices, if you dressed. One choice was to do just a few things and never, ever look in a mirror. The other was to go for it, do as good a job as you could. That meant perfume and things that wouldn’t show, except they did show, in the way you thought about yourself."

"I guess that must be what I’ve done. I mean, I never tried to, well, look at myself when I was wearing her things." I said. I didn’t tell her that right that moment I had on a pair of Trish’s panties. I mean, things that didn’t show didn’t count, did they? Almost in reflex I squirmed a bit on the seat, feeling the smooth slickness between my jeans and skin.

"Do you think that would do what you need, as far as helping you to make your memories of Trish vivid?"

She must have been able to see the recognition on my face that it wouldn’t. Maybe nothing would, but I knew I had to do more than I had done the other day. If she hadn’t called, I might even had put on a skirt or something. I couldn’t just stay at some sort of superficial level. It seemed to me that without some sort of validation, I’d never be sure I hadn’t forgotten something important. About Trish, and how she moved, or the things that she would do. I had a lot of tape of Trish, most of which didn’t include any of our private games, of course. Somehow I knew I needed to understand every little gesture she would make, really understand by knowing how to make them, and when, and, well, just be able to do what she would do.

Lonna waited until I came back from my little mental fugue, and when I looked at her she said, "Okay, try this idea on for size. If you, uh, if we give it our best shot, and it still doesn’t work, then you can always avoid the mirrors later. But if it does work, if you’re able to get comfortable and passable and whatever else you want, well, then at least you’ll have that option. How about that?"

I guess it was more of that strange mental judo that women use, but it seemed so silly to refuse to develop an option that I forgot how strange the whole idea was. In any event, I found myself nodding at her suggestion.

"Okay," she said, then glanced at her watch. "I have to get back to work. Um, when do you want to start?"

"Huh? Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’ll let you know."

"Not good enough, buster," she said, smiling to show she wasn’t really insisting. "If you can’t pick a schedule, then I guess I’ll just have to pick one for you. Today is Tuesday. Unless you call and definitely cancel, I’ll be at your place after I get off work on Thursday. I should be able to get there by about 7:00. We’ll get you fixed up, then we’ll eat something. You want me to bring takeout?"

"Uh, no, I’ll, um, get something."

"Good," she said, standing up. She interrupted her own bustle for a moment to look at me, a gentle expression softening her features. "Truly, Tim, I think this will be a good thing."

"Thanks," I said quietly, wishing I had her confidence.

 

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Lucky © 2000 by Brandy Dewinter. 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.