Marcia and Me                 by: Rebecca A.

 

Part 2

 

Chapter 13. Saturday Morning.

I woke up around nine, and showered and did my hair again, putting a little mousse in it and teasing it out. Then I put on my bra, breast inserts and panties and pulled on a dark blue tee dress Mom and I had bought. I thought about Paul, and about the evening before, and what I'd done. I kind of shocked myself, but I felt a nice buzz again as I remembered what he'd said and how he'd looked at me.

On the kitchen bench downstairs was a note from Mom, saying she'd gone to do some food shopping and would be back soon. I made myself some breakfast and was sitting next to the kitchen window, enjoying the sun streaming through it, when the doorbell rang.

Without thinking I got up and walked to the front door and opened it. In Santa Rosita you don't check who's outside before you open the door - I guess we're not very security conscious. I should definitely have checked this time, because when I opened it wide and was about to say "hi" I stopped, shocked, as the door was half-way open.

It was my Dad.

He seemed frozen, too. He was standing on the porch, a small carry-on bag under one arm and a gift-wrapped parcel under the other, and he looked like he'd just been electrocuted or something.

My first reaction was to close the door again, but I didn't move for a few moments. My face was burning, I was really embarrassed. Embarrassed didn't really begin to cover it. This was worse than when Mom had seen me at Marcia's. Dad always made such a big deal when he lived with us about me being more into macho kinds of things. My mind was doing flip flops as I tried to figure out what he was gonna think about this.

Eventually Dad croaked out "Chris?," and I opened the door the rest of the way and motioned for him to come in.

"Hi, Dad," I managed to say, and I walked back into the kitchen. He followed behind me, and put his case and parcel down. Nervously I fidgeted around the kitchen, putting some coffee on. I was aware that Dad was watching me closely.

"Is this for a joke or something?," Dad finally asked.

"Uh ...," was all I could manage. He was starting to recover from the shock, and I could see he was gonna be steamed in a few minutes, the way he always was before whenever I screwed up.

"Jesus," he said, and sat down at the kitchen table. "Your mother told me you had some problems that needed attention, but ..."

"Mom called you?" I asked. "When did she do that?"

"Stop talking like that, alright?" he said sharply. My face burned again. "She called me last Monday, and said you were having some problems and she needed to pay a therapist and some other stuff. I figured ... it's not - you're not on drugs, are you?"

"Oh, come on, Dad, gimme a break," I groaned.

He looked at me sharply when I spoke again, but it was no use him criticizing me, over the past week or so I really had forgotten how I used to talk.

"Uh, will you at least take off that dress. It's very distracting."

I sat down at the table instead, so he couldn't see my legs. From the table up the dress looked like a t-shirt, so what was the problem? Of course, I wasn't thinking about my breasts or anything else.

"Okay," he said, "I guess not. So, have you decided you're a fag? Is that it?"

"Dad, please." I wasn't sure what I wanted from him but I didn't want to walk out of the room right now and I didn't know what to say if I stayed.

"I knew your mother was gonna screw you up," he said icily. "She never did understand discipline."

"This has nothing to do with Mom," I protested.

"Oh, so she didn't say anything when you came home with your hair like that, huh?" He said sneeringly. "And I bet she thinks the dress is just ..." His voice trailed off as his eyes went to my breasts.

I started to cry, without making any noise. A teardrop just ran out of the corner of my eye and across my cheek. I wiped it away with my fingers, and then unconsciously flicked my hair back from my face. This seemed to make Dad even more exasperated, and he stood up and paced the kitchen while I tried to keep myself from crying more. He came over to me and I thought he was gonna hit me, but he straightened up as though exercising extreme self-control, and went to the sink to pour himself a glass of water.

He shook his head, as though trying to shake loose some disturbing thoughts. Then there was a knock at the kitchen door. I got up and answered it. It was Marcia. "Hi Jenny," she began before I could stop her. I realized she couldn't see my Dad next to the sink. Marcia appeared momentarily puzzled that I didn't immediately invite her in, but seeing the expression on my face she probably figured I was pissed with her about Becky. "I'm really sorry about last night," she went on. I was about to interrupt her, but she said "I hope everything was okay with Paul, Becky wouldn't tell him or anything ..." At that point my Dad must have come into Marcia's view, because her voice trailed off and she looked at me questioningly.

Eventually I managed to squeak out a few words. "Uh, Marcia, thanks, but this isn't a really good time right now."

"Uh, Okay," she said. "Call me later on, okay? Hello, Mr. Miller."

Dad just nodded to her and she left and I closed the door again. "So the whole neighborhood knows about you carrying on like this," Dad said. "Jenny," he added with heavy sarcasm.

I couldn't bear it anymore and I burst into tears and ran from the room up to my bedroom. I lay on the bed with my face in the pillow and sobbed. He was right, I was ridiculous.

I heard Mom come home, and the two of them talking. Dad was raising his voice a lot, and I could hear words like "fag" and "queer" coming from the kitchen. Mom's voice was quieter but from her tone I knew she was upset, too. I rolled over and looked up at the ceiling. I should just chop all my hair off and quit wearing dresses and go back to being a guy right now, I thought. Dad was right. Then I thought of how great things had been in the past week or so, how it seemed like Jenny was popular in a way Chris never was, and I wondered how I could go back to being a little runt that everyone picked on or ignored. I wondered how I could explain it to Paul. Which was worse, my father's abuse or hurting Paul? I hardly ever saw my father any more.

Mom and Dad were quieter now. I could still hear them talking downstairs, but more reasonably. Eventually I heard my Dad calling me. He was calling Chris, of course. Hesitantly I got up from the bed. Should I put on a pair of jeans? I wondered. He called again and I decided it was best to just go downstairs as I was and face the music again.

Mom smiled at me weakly when I entered the kitchen. She had obviously been crying. Dad looked me up and down again before he spoke.

"Your mother and I have been talking," he said. "She tells me she took you to see a doctor." I nodded. Was he doubting her? "What did the doctor say to you?," he asked.

"Not much. Just a lot of questions, really."

"Your Mom says she told her that you were maybe more girl than boy, whatever that means - is that what she told you?"

I was momentarily confused. Did he mean the Doctor or Mom? Neither had told me that. I shook my head.

"Sounds as though she's smart enough not to force anything onto you, then," said Dad. "So this is all your doing."

"I guess so," I said, looking at Mom. "It started off just as a bit of fun..." I saw from his face that 'fun' was clearly the wrong word to use in front of Dad in this context. "I dunno, Dad ..."

"Well, I want you to get a second opinion. Jesus, look at you ..."

We talked for a half-hour or so and Dad began to soften. As he did so I became less self-conscious. He eventually agreed with my mother that, yes, I was attractive, then caught himself and said "Of course, I'm not saying I agree with any of this." We agreed that I would go to another Doctor, and that he was happy to pay whatever it took to figure out what was wrong with me. "Damned Shrinks," he said, "I know they'll bleed the life out of me."

I helped Mom make lunch and the three of us ate in relative silence. I discovered that Dad had come west for the weekend because he'd been worried by Mom's call asking for money for Doctors for me. Mom had always been too proud to ask him for money before, she figured I was his obligation and he should have been aware of that without being told. He hadn't been terribly good about sending money, or about calling. In fact the two of them barely spoke once he moved to New York and started a new company there. So he was surprised when she called. All she had told him was that I needed to see a doctor. That got him worried so he decided to fly out to see for himself what was wrong with me.

After lunch he asked me whether I could get changed into a pair of jeans instead of the dress. I decided to try to appease him, and went upstairs to change. But I made sure I tucked myself back carefully so as not to have any bulge at the front, and I chose a scoop-necked t-shirt to go over the jeans. I left my bra and 'breasts' on, then checked my hair and fixed the runs in my mascara and went back downstairs. Mom winked at me when I re-entered the kitchen. Dad still looked unhappy, but seemed to accept the jeans as some sort of a compromise.

I cleaned up the plates from lunch while Mom and Dad talked, in a more civilized fashion, in the living room. It felt weird to have him in the house again. The whole atmosphere of the place was different. I glanced in a few times, to see if they wanted coffee or anything. Dad seemed surprised by my attentiveness. Actually I was just kind of dealing with the novelty of having him around again.

Eventually I told them I was gonna go see Marcia. I think Dad was gonna protest about me going out dressed like I was, but then changed his mind and sank back wearily in his chair. I checked my hair again and went next door.

 

***

 

Chapter 14. Saturday Afternoon

Marcia was home by herself again. Rob was out with Tanya. Marcia didn't say where her parents were and I didn't ask. As soon as I got inside the door she was being ultra-apologetic again, first about Becky the night before, and then about putting me in it with my Dad. I told her not to worry about the second thing because I had a feeling the worst was over. But I was still upset at her about telling Becky.

"I'm really, really sorry. It's just ... she's like, one of my best friends, and she was asking how we met. I guess I'm not a really good liar," Marcia said.

"Seemed to be okay last Saturday," I said wryly, then regretted it. It wasn't really Marcia's fault. I mean, I was the one who'd chosen to go on living like this. I said as much to Marcia and we were both quiet for a moment.

"Kind of a surprise, huh?" said Marcia.

"Yeah," I smiled. "Who knew?"

Marcia hesitated, then smiled too. "Well, actually," she said, "I kind of had an idea ..."

I rolled my eyes. "That's what my Mom said," I groaned. "How come everyone else has this figured out except me?"

"And your Dad," Marcia said, and smiled.

"Yeah." I grinned back. It was kind of funny, the way he'd looked when I opened the door.

We went into the living room and put on some music. When we got to a song we liked we put it on really loud and danced around the room, then played another and another until we fell back exhausted. Marcia flopped onto the couch next to me. After a moment when she'd regained her breath she leant across and kissed me, lightly, on the cheek. "Everything will be okay," she said. "Becky's calmed down and I told her I would like *totally* kill her if she said anything. She won't. Actually she told me she liked you the first time she met you, she just got weirded out last night. Maybe it was the dope or something."

We spent the rest of the afternoon talking and dancing and listening to some old sad songs. We had a kind of competition to see who could find the saddest song in Marcia's collection, which took a long time because she had an amazing amount of CDs.

Eventually I noticed it was getting kind of late, and I figured I should get home. Marcia told me there was a party on later that night but I decided that getting dressed up to go out would probably really weird my Dad out, so I passed. I wondered what Paul was doing tonight. I hadn't asked him last night. Maybe he was gonna go to the party too. No, he'd ask me if he was -- I was sure of that, especially after last night.

When I got home things seemed much brighter. The first thing I heard when I came through the door was my Mom laughing, which was wonderful. I always loved her laugh, it was very musical and sweet.

As I entered the living room I could see that they were having a good time. Dad even smiled at me, for the first time since he'd seen me that morning. Mom asked how Marcia was doing and how the dinner had gone, and I told them how terrific the food and wine had been. Dad frowned when I mentioned the wine, but Mom said "Tom, she's fifteen now, it's no big deal. You know it could be worse." I guess it was concern about drugs or something, but Dad seemed to not pick up on the fact that Mom had referred to me as 'she'. Mom hurried to skate over it anyway, and said "Your father has asked us both to dinner tonight. If you don't have any plans, that is."

I was about to say that I was hoping maybe Paul would call when I thought better of it. "Cool," I said instead. "I'm gonna have a shower first if that's okay." I went upstairs and was beginning to undress when there was a knock at the bathroom door.

It was Mom. "I just wanted to say you needn't do your father any special favours," she said. I looked at her a little blankly, and she smiled and continued. "I think this has actually been quite good for him, to have to think about his responsibilities and about you. So please try not to take it too hard if he's difficult."

"It's okay, Mom. Seems kind of weird to have him back in the house, huh?."

She smiled and agreed. "Especially weird in the circumstances, really."

Mom left and I showered and put on some moisturizer. I wrapped a towel around myself and went back to my room, and then lay on the bed for a few minutes thinking before getting up and beginning to do my hair. Then Mom called up to say Paul was on the 'phone. I wrapped myself up again and ran downstairs to take the call. Dad gave me a funny look as I rushed to the phone, but I pretended to ignore him.

Paul was really sweet. He started to tell me how much he'd enjoyed last night, which sent me blushing furiously. I wasn't sure whether Dad was listening in from the living room, so I didn't know what to say except some lame stuff. "I had a great time, too." I told him my Dad was in town and I couldn't talk a lot because we were headed out to dinner soon. We talked for a while, a long while actually, and when I hung up I noticed I'd been on the phone for at least 45 minutes. I felt a little blissed out from the conversation, and ambled through the living room on the way back to my room to get dressed.

Dad gave me one of those funny looks again.

 

***

 

Chapter 15. Saturday Evening

I took my time getting ready. Not that I planned to get dressed up too much. I didn't want to give my Dad too much to handle and anyway there aren't that many dressy places to go in Santa Rosita -- but because I still had a nice buzz from talking to Paul and it kind of felt right to go slowly and take care of myself.

I had been sitting downstairs in that towel talking to Paul for ages, and my hair had started to dry kind of funny, so I put some of my Mom's styling gel in it and dried it around a round brush I had seen her use. It came out with a lot more body than when I usually did it.

Hair could be a pain, I decided. Part of me missed just being able to let it hang unstyled, the way I used to do. Women's hair definitely needed a lot more maintenance.

I did my makeup, keeping it very simple with just a hint of eyeliner and blusher and a pale lipstick. From my wardrobe I retrieved a black silk blouse Megan had given me and matched it with a deep red skirt of Marcia's, along with some black lycra pantyhose and a low-heeled pair of black pumps. The small black purse Marcia had given me on my first night out as Jenny almost completed the outfit, but there was something else.

Maybe it was mean, but I couldn't resist. I found the sapphire earrings my Dad had given Mom and wore those, too. They were a little much for this outfit, but I guess in spite of my nervousness with him I wanted to make a point with my Dad.

I didn't really know how I felt about Dad. Part of me was still pretty pissed at him, for leaving Mom and Me, even if Mom did seem kind of happier afterwards. He never sent money, he never called, he never took an interest in anything I did even when we lived together. He never seemed to care at all about me, except when I let him down by not being the kind of son he wanted. So on the one hand I wanted to be angry at him, for abandoning us, and on the other hand I felt like indifference was a better attitude, since it seemed to match his. Then, on the other hand, he had come back because he was concerned after Mom had called him. That was kind of odd since he'd never cared before. And now he mostly seemed to be keeping things under control. This was not like the old Dad I knew, who used to flip out whenever I failed at something masculine. I mean, he hadn't exactly been overjoyed to see me, but he hadn't completely wigged out, either.

And then, on the other hand, he had sent Mom some money earlier in the week. I just didn't know what to think. And I'd run out of hands ages ago.

I went downstairs with some trepidation. Was I pushing things too far? Maybe I should have worn a pair of jeans.

As I walked into the living room Mom smiled, and Dad choked on his drink, spluttering Scotch everywhere.

"You look very nice," Mom said. "Doesn't she, Tom?"

My father was wiping the scotch from his clothing. "Uh, yes..." He looked over at Mom. "I still don't approve of all this, but..." he turned back to me "I must say, you do carry it off well."

Mom smiled. "Well, you look like you need to get changed again before we can go out"

My father excused himself and went to put on some clothes that didn't reek of Scotch. My Mom came over and gave me a gentle hug. "Good for you," she said. "I was worried you were going to try to go back, just to please him."

"Mom, I'm beginning to think I wouldn't know how to go back, even if I wanted to."

***

Dad drove Mom's car. It was strange. Here I was, part of the nuclear family thing again. We still had the old Dodge we'd had before Dad left, so having him driving, Mom in the passenger seat and me in the back was like some kind of time warp. I felt like I was twelve or something. Except when I was twelve I never rode around in a skirt and heels.

At the restaurant my Dad held the door open for me. I didn't realize until I'd walked through how odd that was, though of course he also held it open for Mom. The maitre'd seated us at a table right in the middle of the restaurant, which was pretty full, I guess since it was a Saturday night and all. Most of the other tables were filled with people in their thirties and forties, since the prices were out of the range of younger people.

The waiter approached and Dad looked over at me. "Ah, do you want a drink?"

Like alcohol? Wow, this was pretty radical for Dad. "No thanks, I'll just have a glass of wine with dinner," I said. "You and Mom get whatever you want." He ordered drinks for the two of them and a water for me.

I was kind of nervous. I had pretty much gotten used to people my own age accepting me as Jenny, but all these people were older, and I guess, I dunno, maybe I just thought older people should be smarter or something. I was sure they were gonna just see some boy in a skirt or something.

I ended up ordering pretty light, like Mom, not because I was trying to do anything like a girl, but because I was on edge. But by the time the food arrived, Dad had me kind of relaxed. For the first time, he almost treated me like an adult. The three of us talked about all manner of things, and thankfully none of those things were related to me in a skirt. But I realized Dad was actually pretty charming, in his own way. He told us a little bit about his business in New York, and he made me laugh a few times with some self-deprecating remarks about life in the big city. It was good. All my memories of Dad were of him being such a hard-ass, never funny or able to laugh at himself. Tonight, he seemed like a different guy. I wondered to myself if this was the guy Mom had fallen in love with, and I'd just seen the asshole side of him all my life.

Mom seemed to be really enjoying herself, too. She had been really withdrawn in the last few years she and Dad had been together, but tonight she seemed to enjoy his company, too, and she joined in the conversation with a few quiet witty remarks of her own.

The food was okay but not great, but the evening flew by and I don't think any of us noticed especially. After dinner had finished Mom said to me "I'm just going to powder my nose," and I took this as the signal it was and got up to go with her. Dad seemed to go a little white at that, but then I think he realized how few alternatives were available and left.

I was getting kind of used to going to the ladies room, and a part of me wondered to myself why I'd adapted so quickly.

On the way back from the ladies room we had to pass by the door to the kitchen, and as I walked behind Mom I glanced inside. Steve, Paul's friend, was hulling strawberries at one of the benches. As I stood in the doorway he glanced up, and smiled

"Hey, Jenny! I didn't know you were here! How are you?" he said, walking toward me and wiping his hands on a cloth.

"Pretty good, I guess." Mom had stopped a few feet further down the passage and was looking at me inquiringly. "how about you?"

"Great. Working." He gestured at the kitchen.

I looked inside. There was a kid I thought I recognized from school loading dishes into a large industrial dishwasher, but no-one else. "Did you cook tonight?"

"Of course!" Steve laughed, and then shook his head. "No, I'm only the lowly kitchen hand. Ken's the chef, he's just taking a short break."

I saw him flick his eyes over to my Mom. "Oh! Steve, this is my Mom, Katherine Miller. Mom, this is Steve" I realized I didn't know his last name.

"Steve Bradley, Ma'am," he said, smiling at her. "Nice to meet you."

"Steve's a friend of Paul's," I said. Apparently satisfied now that she knew who Steve was and where he fitted in my life, Mom smiled and excused herself to return to the table with Dad.

"Family outing" I said to Steve as she left.

"I wish I'd known you guys were here, I would have gotten Ken to do something special for you" Steve said.

I didn't want to say I thought the food had been kind of ordinary. "'S okay," I said. "We enjoyed ourselves anyway." I wondered what else to say. I was conscious that Steve was looking at me in a more, well, intense way than he had last week. "So, you work here a lot?" I asked, kind of lamely.

"Just weekends," he said. "Hey, I get off in a little while. Wanna head over to The Dugout and catch some music?"

I thought about the possible responses to that. One, you're the friend of the guy I'm dating. Two, The Dugout is a bar and I'm like way underage. Three, I'm out for the evening with my parents. Without thinking, I led with One. "Well, Steve, I think maybe Paul might..."

"Oh, he'll probably be there tonight, too."

Try Three. "My Dad gets kind of over-protective, though. He doesn't even approve of me dating, much."

He doesn't approve of me dating boys, that is, I thought.

"Okay. Yeah, I guess my Dad's like that with my sister," Steve said.

"Thanks for asking, though," I said.

We talked for a few more minutes about the approaching holidays, and what we were gonna do. I wasn't sure whether to continue the charade of being from out of town, so I left things unspecific. I was kind of unnerved by all the attention Steve was giving me. It wasn't right, for a guy to hit on his friend's girl, was it? I had thought Steve was kind of cool, but now ...

Eventually I said goodbye and went back to the table, where Dad had just finished signing his credit card slip. I sat down, and he said to me quietly "So, does the entire town know?" Then he launched into a tirade about how all of this was unnatural and just plain weird.

Uh huh. Dad's good mood seemed to have evaporated while I was talking to Steve. Oh well. At least it was a quiet tirade, since I guess Dad was afraid someone else in the restaurant would overhear.

"Apart from anything else, you know, this is dishonest," he said, looking more at my Mom than me. "That boy she's -- he's seeing -- what's going on there?"

"I think it's better you don't think about that one, Tom," Mom said quietly.

Dad ranted a few minutes longer, and then it was time to go.

Mom gave me a sympathetic look as we stood to go.

"But don't worry Mom, I met him in a restaurant" I sang quietly to myself as we were walking out.

"What's that?" Dad said sharply.

"Just a song, Dad. Liz Phair. You wouldn't know it."

He grunted. I noticed that despite his ranting earlier he still couldn't help himself, and he held the door for me as well as Mom.

It got a lot worse when he didn't have to worry about people overhearing him...

 

***

 

Chapter 16. Sunday Morning.

I woke early, after a bad night's sleep marred by a nightmare. I hadn't had a nightmare in years. Not since I was about seven. I never liked staying in bed after I had them when I was younger, and I followed the same policy now. I got up, showered and was dressed before 8.30am. I crept downstairs quietly, afraid of waking my Dad from his bed on the couch.

After Dad's performance at the end of the night last night I was really unsure of how I should be dressed today. He had really lost it after we got home from the restaurant. I guess a little part of me had always thought his relaxed manner early in the night had been too good to be true, and the end of the night had proved that part of me right. My Dad was a strange guy.

Whatever. I decided to try to avoid antagonizing him too much today, so I went without makeup and tied my hair in a ponytail. Even so, I still looked pretty much like a girl. I still wasn't sure whether it was the hairstyle or whether Marcia's work on my eyebrows was most to blame for the feminization, but whatever it was I didn't look much like a guy. I was wearing jeans and an androgynous sweater, since it was colder today. For a few moments I had contemplated going without a bra and breast inserts today, to further placate my Dad, but I had the idea, based on her looks to me last night, that my Mom would take that as an admission of weakness or something, so I put them on. My "breasts" weren't real obvious under my sweater anyway, so maybe Dad wouldn't get too upset. He didn't hear me pass by into the kitchen anyway, which was good.

I had coffee made and was sitting at the kitchen table when Mom came downstairs. "You're up early," she said.

"Uh huh. Couldn't sleep," I said

"Neither could I," she replied, pouring herself some coffee. "I wonder why?" We both smiled. "Don't worry, he'll be better today now he's got that off his chest."

"Jeez, Mom, I hope so," I said. "I mean, I know he's my Dad and everything, but..."

"What are you planning to do today?" she asked, changing the subject.

"I thought maybe I'd hang out with Marcia," I said.

"Hmmm. Okay. Are you planning to be Chris or Jenny?" Mom asked.

"Uh, Jenny, I guess," I said.

"Well, the Wilsons know you as both, but I don't think they've put that together yet. You know, you might want to put some makeup on if you want them to think Jenny." She paused. "Really, they know us so well, I'm amazed they didn't work it all out already. I should probably have a talk to Kath and then you won't have to worry."

"Yeah," I said, "I guess... What about Rob?" There was no way Rob could be trusted not to spread the story about me all over school.

"Hmmm. Well, I guess you'll just have to be careful today, then. If I were you I'd put on something a bit more feminine ... like what you've been wearing the past few days."

I went back upstairs. Dad had raised himself and was in the bathroom, which meant I didn't have to talk to him as I went to my room. I put on a blue silk cardigan that buttoned up the front, to form a kind of v-neck, and left most of the lower buttons undone as I had seen other girls do recently. It only just covered the top of my bra, which made me look like I had bigger breasts, and it showed off my belly-button from time to time, but I think that was the objective of the style. I let my hair out, and then put on a little eyeliner and mascara. With my hair out there was no way anyone was likely to think of me as a guy, I thought.

I thought it was probably a good idea to get out of the house before Dad finished his shower, so I rang Marcia to see if she was awake. Mr. Wilson answered.

Ah, hi, uh, Mr. Wilson, it's Jenny, is Marcia there?" I was really conscious of my voice over the phone. I hoped he wouldn't think I sounded like Chris. He didn't seem to notice, because he just said hi and went off to find Marcia.

"So, hi," she finally said. "How you doin'? How's your Dad?"

"I'm okay, but I need to get out of the house," I said. "Does that answer both questions?"

"I guess," said Marcia. "Becky and I are going to the mall this morning, wanna come?"

"Uh..." Becky. Great. Just what I needed, the gender police.

"Don't worry, she'll be cool. She's really sorry for last week, okay?"

"Uh, I dunno."

I heard Marcia's voice shift into persuasion mode. There weren't many people who could resist that kind of tone, really. "Oh, come on," she said. "You can't stay home with your Dad all day, and besides, it'll be fun. You do remember fun, right?"

"Okay, okay. Say, Marcia ..."

"Yes?"

"Uh, never mind, forget about it."

"What?"

"No, uh ..."

"Oh, come *on*, Jenny, cut the shit."

"Do you think your parents would freak out if they knew about me?"

"Huh? Jeez, I dunno. I was freaked when they *didn't* recognize you, so I don't guess I'm a good judge of them. I wouldn't worry. Just get your butt over here, okay? The mall opens at ten"

***

I was nervous. Marcia's brother, Rob, had offered to drive us over to the mall. I had good reasons to be nervous, apart from Rob figuring out that Jenny and Chris were the same person. He had only just got his license, and the car we were riding in, an old Audi that had seen much, much better days, rattled and clunked at every gear change. I wasn't sure we were gonna get to the mall alive, since Rob seemed to think that brakes were things to be applied only at the last possible moment.

At least the nerve-wracking drive took my mind off the other worry, which was Becky, who was sitting beside me in the back seat. She'd been pretty nice when we picked her up from her house, but I still wasn't feeling very relaxed near her. Part of that might have been related to her appearance this morning, which was a heavier goth look than she usually ran to. Did you ever see Fairuza Balk in that movie "The Craft"? The one about the teenage witches? Think Becky.

Rob had the stereo up pretty loud, which I think helped to mask the mechanical distress I could feel through the floor of the car. One of those guy bands I didn't much like, Rancid I think, was screaming in my right ear as we pulled into the carpark. Yeah, it figured Rob liked that kind of stuff.

"Thanks for the ride, Rob," Becky said as the sound died and we could hear ourselves think again. "But you know that band really sucks."

"Hey, bite me," said Rob as we all got out of the car. "I like it."

"That's what worries me," Becky said.

"If you wanna ride home, maybe you shouldn't complain," Rob said.

We hit the mall and Rob wandered off to see some friends of his in the arcade. I was gonna ask a dumb question, like "what do you wanna do?," but Marcia and Becky were already walking ahead, like they were on some kind of mission. Of course Marcia was always on some kind of mission, but she was especially like that in a mall, mostly I guess because she had the money -- well, her dad's credit card -- to indulge herself. The three of us wandered into a couple of stores, looking at clothes, holding things up on one another, but not really finding anything worth trying on. Marcia saw a red skirt she liked, but Becky nixed it as being too "Barbie."

It was kind of weird shopping. I enjoyed looking at the clothes, and was surprised to find myself wondering what some of them would look like on me, but I was also half afraid that someone was gonna ask me what I was doing trying on girl's clothing. I dunno, even dressed the way I was there are some old phobias that die hard.

In the third store we went to Marcia found a couple of dresses she wanted to try on, so she disappeared into the change room. Becky and I hung around the racks, still looking at other stuff while we waited for Marcia to emerge. Becky started to apologize. At least I think that's what she was trying to get to.

As we were standing there Tiffany, this girl from my class, walked into the store, and I think Becky noticed me go kind of rigid.

I had a crush on Tiffany for most of last year, even though she didn't ever acknowledge my existence. She was dating Neil Peary, so there was no reason she would, but the whole experience had left me kind of bewildered. Like, why did I get so strange thinking about her back then? Looking at her now, I realized I was comparing the way she looked to the way I looked, and there wasn't that much she had over me in the looks department.

She browsed the racks, and then noticed Becky and I. She stared kind of hard at us, which made me uneasy.

"What's she staring at?" Becky whispered to me.

"She's in my class at school."

"Uh. Think she recognizes you?"

"Nah," I shook my head. "Sorry. You were saying?"

"I'm really sorry about the other night. I was way out of line. Too much grass, you know? I was kind of paranoid and ugly."

"It's okay."

"No, really. I was pretty weirded out, but after I thought about it, you know, it's pretty cool. You know, people have such fucked ideas about gender. And, you, know, it kind of suits you. I'm still slightly weirded out by it, but -- "

"You're Becky Connor, aren't you?" said a voice from beside me. I turned. It was Tiffany.

"What of it?" Becky said, in a voice that I would have run a mile from. It said 'who are you, to be talking to a senior like me?' Only better, more subtly than I can describe it. A lesser mortal than Tiffany would have been a blob on the floor. I thought to myself that little old me should be honoured to be in Becky's presence.

Tiffany was still giving me weird looks, but she spoke to Becky. "Oh, I just wondered. I'm gonna be working on the holidays for your Dad, and I just thought I'd introduce myself." Becky's Dad ran a mail-order catalogue company. I knew Becky worked for him on her holidays, too. Hmmm. I couldn't see Becky and Tiffany getting along really well. Tiffany was kind of Laura Ashley. Becky hated girls like that.

At that moment Marcia appeared in the doorway of the changing room. "Like, are you two not even interested in how this stuff looks on me? Thanks for the help, guys." So I walked over to see the dress she had on while Becky and Tiffany talked.

The dress looked good on Marcia. Heck, Marcia would look good in a plastic bag, but the dress really did work for her, and I said so. I was kind of nervous because I had this sneaking suspicion, burning ears or something, that said that Becky and Tiffany were discussing me behind my back. And I wasn't sure I trusted Becky completely yet.

Sure enough, after Marcia had paid for the dress and we were walking out Becky said to me "Tiffany was asking about you."

"What? What did she ask?" I had a bad feeling.

"Oh, she just said you looked familiar, and asked how come I knew you, stuff like that."

"And?" I asked.

"I told her you were from out of town, just visiting, and that you were a friend of Marcia's. No big deal, right?"

"Right, I guess." Now Becky had me feeling guilty, like I'd doubted her or something. I swear, Becky could be just as manipulative as Marcia. Just a small change in her tone of voice or maybe the angle she held her head at or something, and she could come over all imperious. The goth look maybe helped with the intimidation, I guess. High formality always does.

We hit a couple of other stores, and then grabbed a couple of salads for lunch. I had pretty much gotten used to the idea of wandering around as one of the girls, and when it came time to go to the ladies room I didn't think twice about it. Except when I opened the door the first person I saw inside was Tiffany, fixing her lipstick in the mirror.

I guess things would have been okay if I hadn't kind of hesitated for an instant. Perhaps if I'd just said "hi" and gone straight to the stall it would have been okay. But I kind of froze and Marcia and Becky, who were coming through the door behind me, ran into me, and I almost fell and I guess I looked kind of stupid. I went to the stall and sat there, trying to compose myself. I must have stayed in there a long time, because eventually I heard Marcia say "She's gone, you can come out now."

I emerged, kind of sheepish. "What was that all about?" Marcia wanted to know.

"I don't know," I said, "I thought maybe she recognized me, or maybe Becky said something, or something --"

"-- Hey," Becky said. "I didn't say anything about that to her, okay? I told you I was sorry for the other night -- "

"-- Okay, okay," Marcia said. "Whatever. What is she possibly going to think, anyway? There's no possible way she could know, Jenny, trust me. But, you know, you're gonna have to act ... more confident, or she's gonna wonder how come you're such a klutz!"

We browsed the mall a while longer, without any further sightings of Tiffany. Eventually we located Rob, hanging out with a two of his friends over at the pizza bar. As we approached them I was mildly apprehensive that maybe they were gonna recognize me, or stare at me like Tiffany had, but from the parts of me they looked at I knew that the stares I was getting from them were of an entirely different kind.

I got introduced to the two guys, Todd and Kevin, and we all headed for the carpark. Rob had offered to drive them home, too, so that was gonna make six of us in an Audi with seats for -- at best -- five. Apart from the fact that it was illegal, it was gonna be uncomfortable.

At the car Kevin took the front passenger seat without asking, and that left Becky, Marcia, Todd and me to look at each other and then at the seat. The spell was broken when Becky got in. Marcia looked at Todd and said "if you think I'm sitting in your lap you're weirder than I thought," and Todd sheepishly got in the middle of the backseat. "You can sit on his lap," Marcia said to me somewhat wickedly. "Because you ain't sitting on mine."

Rob was getting impatient, so I scrambled in the back, with Marcia following. I tried to arrange myself as distantly as possible from Todd. That's kind of hard to do while sitting on a person. Eventually I got kind of comfortable, if you can be comfortable crammed in like that. Rob started the car and we drove off, and in about thirty seconds I could feel something poking into me. It wasn't Todd's hands, one was on his knee and the other was on my thigh -- I would have complained until I saw that the only other thing he could do with it was put it on Marcia's thigh, which really wasn't a possibility in Todd's universe.

Slowly I realized what it was that was poking into my hip ...

Poor Todd. It must have been excruciatingly embarrassing for him, to get that way and to know that I was aware of it, and to not be able to do anything about it. I almost laughed, but instead I tried to pretend I didn't know there was anything happening beneath me. He was really hard, though. I didn't know whether to feel flattered, or embarrassed along with him, or what. So I said nothing, and we drove a couple of miles with his hard-on pressed firmly up against my hip. We got to his house first, and Becky and I piled out to let him out, too, and he immediately stuck his hands in his pockets as he stood up and tried to push the front of his pants out, as though that would hide it. He looked so silly, and kind of sweet. If anyone else noticed it, they didn't say anything. Soon we were at Becky's, and Marcia and Becky and I got out and the guys went off to wherever it was that Rob went to hang out when he was with Kevin. I mentioned what had happened with Todd to Becky and Marcia and we all rolled around laughing as we came through Becky's front door.

Apart from Becky arguing with her Dad about hiring airheads to work over summer the afternoon at Becky's was a lot of fun. We all talked and laughed and I decided once again that Becky was pretty cool when she wanted to be.

 

***

 

Chapter 17. Monday Morning.

Monday morning the FedEx package arrived, as Mark had promised it would. Only problem was that it was my Dad that signed for it. Like an eejit I was still in the shower, having slept late to make up for the previous night's poor sleep.

I took my time getting dressed, trying to go easy on Dad by being kind of reserved in my clothes, and sticking to a pair of black pants and a little white cotton crop-top and cardigan. Of course, if I'd known what he was looking at while I was dressing I might have thought of going down to the kitchen in my underwear, just as a distraction. By the time I saw him he had the proofs spread out on the kitchen table and was studying some of them with a magnifying glass he'd found in the hall closet.

Mom just shrugged as I entered the room and looked at her inquiringly. Dad looked at me like he was just seeing me for the first time.

No-one said anything for the longest time, so finally I squeaked. "Can I have a look?". I sat down and Dad passed across the photos without a word.

They were pretty amazing, really. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, since Mark was really in heavy demand as a fashion photographer, but... it was *me* in those photographs. Only it wasn't me, it was this girl who looked... fantastic, that was the only word for it. Amazing. I was really kind of shocked. I kind of knew that people didn't think of me as a guy anymore. Only I didn't know *this* was what they were seeing.

"Mark's pretty good, isn't he," I finally said, more to Mom than to Dad. Dad was staring out the window. Finally he stood up.

"I think I'll go for a walk," he said flatly, and then he was gone.

Mom broke the silence. "I think I'd have preferred it if he hadn't seen those yet, I mean after the events of the last few days, but he answered the door when the FedEx man came, so..."

Neither of us said anything for a moment. I got up and made some fresh coffee, and Mom idly ran through the photographs again. I poured for both of us, and sat down again.

"Mom?"

"Yes?" she said, looking up from the photographs.

"What are we gonna do about all this?"

"What do you want to do?"

"I dunno." I looked down at the coffee, and then back at her. "But, like, it's been a week, and school's gonna finish soon, and I know I can take *some* time off, but..."

"I've never heard you complain about missing out on school before!" She smiled.

"Yeah, I know... It's not school, actually. It's just that everything seems so fluid, you know? Like the whole world has shifted around."

"I thought you were enjoying yourself."

"I am. I really am. But you know, Dad might have a point. I need to have a life that I can live, you know, honestly."

"Well, I don't think we should make any decisions just yet. Your father wants to get a second opinion from another doctor --"

"-- Mom! I'm not crazy!"

"No-one said you were, honey."

"A little screwed up, okay. But not crazy!"

Mom smiled. "Well, I'm afraid we have to convince your father of that, really. Now, there's a few things that need doing around the house today, and since you're not at school..."

"Mom!" I groaned, but I really didn't mind.

"Gotcha," she said, smiling.

Mom and I did some housework together for a few hours. By lunchtime, Dad still wasn't back, and I was starting to worry. I mean, I didn't care if I alienated him a bit -- he deserved some aggravation after all he'd put Mom and I through -- but he and Mom had been getting on pretty well, and I didn't want to bust that up.

Mom and I had a light lunch together, and I headed upstairs to my room. I really don't entirely know what came over me, but as soon as I walked in I though "wow, what a mess," so I started tidying it up. Not a lot, but just putting away some stuff that had been littering the floor for a month or two, and dusting down a few things like my computer screen, which I noticed had a film of dust all over it.

It took me about an hour and a half, but it was only after I finished, and lay on my bed for a while, that I realized that what I had packed away, out of sight, was all my 'Chris' stuff -- everything that could be associated with any of the 'guy' pursuits I'd ever done, like my skateboard and stuff. What remained wasn't in any way girly. My room just looked a bit emptier, and kind of drab. But looking at it casually you probably wouldn't know whether it belonged to a guy or a girl. The quilt on my bed was one my grandma made decades ago, and was kind of pretty, but not fussy, just kind of classic. The walls of my room were an off-white color, neither girly or guy-ish, and all the furniture was old shaker-style stuff my grandma had owned too, like a lot of the furniture in our house. I never went in for much decoration anyway, I realized, and the few posters on the wall were promotional ones for bands that both guys and girls I knew liked. Heck, Marcia had the Hole one and the Smashing Pumpkins one on her walls, too.

I leaned over to the Discman beside my bed and put on an old Tori Amos CD that Marcia had lent me a few weeks earlier. I lay back and closed my eyes and listened to it, and while she was singing I kind of drifted away and thought through the events of the past couple of weeks.

As Tori was really getting into it I felt the mattress move beneath me, and I opened my eyes to see my Dad sitting at the end of the bed. I hadn't heard him come in. I took the earpieces out of my ears and sat up slightly, my back against the headrest.

You have to understand here that my father almost never came into my room when he lived with us, unless it was to lecture me on something, or worse. When I was little he used to spank me from time to time, but that stopped when I got older. But having Dad in my room had never been a cause for much joy. So when I sat up, I moved up on the bed as far as I could, away from him. I think he sensed this, and although he'd been about to say something to me, he thought better of it and then swallowed his words.

"Hi Dad, what's up?"

"Um..." Gee, Dad never said 'um' before, either. He was always pretty assertive and firm whenever he spoke to me.

He continued. "I realize that things probably haven't been wonderful for you since your mother and I broke up..."

"It hasn't been too bad, really," I broke in, truthfully.

"...And I apologize for that," he continued, ignoring me. "I know it's been hard, and I know that's my fault. As you get older you'll -- well I see you're already coming to understand -- well..." he was really struggling. "Relationships between men and women can be very complicated, and it's very easy to complicate them more if one of the partners in a relationship feels hurt very badly... Your mother and I broke up because I did something very foolish a few years ago. I won't go into what that was, but it was my fault. But I suppose you already blamed me for the whole breakup anyway, right?"

I nodded. "But that wasn't because of Mom or anything," I said.

"No, your mother is too good at being a mother to do anything like try to bias you. Well, in any case, you were right to blame me. But I was pig-headed at the time, so..." He spread his hands, the way he sometimes did to describe things he thought were best left alone.

"It's okay, Dad." I knew as I said it that I still resented him for hurting Mom and leaving the two of us, but it was kind of weird to hear my father talking in this open, kind of gentle way, and I guess I was unsure of what I was supposed to say.

"I would like to try and make it up to you," he said.

"Does that mean you and Mom are getting back together?"

He looked away for a moment, then turned back to me. "No, I think it's a bit late for that now. There are some things that can't be undone. But I can try and be a better father from now on."

He drew in a breath. Here it comes, I thought. He always drew breath before he spoke whenever he was trying to tell me off.

"I can see while I've been away that you have, well, grown up." He looked me over, and, heaven help me, I don't know if it was nervousness or what, but I giggled. Giggled! Then I blushed because of the giggling.

Dad looked kind of flustered, but he continued. "Now, you've probably noticed I don't approve of what's been happening, and perhaps that's my fault, for not being here when you needed me --"

"Dad, it's nothing to do with --"

He held his hand up to stop me talking. "Let me finish. I'm concerned that, whatever happens, you should be happy. I might not have been too concerned about that in the past, but I am now." He paused. "Your mother tells me that you've really come out of your shell these last weeks. Is that right?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Well, you've always been pretty reserved, even when you were young. Your mother and I used to worry about you when you were little, because you seemed very shy and, well, reluctant to do a lot of things."

I recalled how my father had tried to force me into football and every other masculine pursuit he could think of, and how much I had hated it. My face must have betrayed my thoughts.

"Perhaps I was too hard on you about some of that," Dad said, "but I was just trying to do what I thought was best."

He seemed sincere. I tried to push the memories into the background.

"Dad..."

"Yes?"

"I don't know what I want to do, but I know that I like what's been happening. I mean, everyone likes me as Jenny, and no-one ever noticed me as Chris --"

"You never seemed to want them to notice you."

"Yeah, maybe. I dunno."

"Well, I would like you to give it some thought. I'm not in favor of any of this, but I would like to think that we can all work together to work out something that makes you happy."

He put his hand on my leg, and looked at me closely. "I've managed to get an appointment for you with another doctor. I had to go out on a limb for this, and ask a friend of mine to do a favor for me to get you an appointment with this doctor so soon, so I'd appreciate it if you'd go along with this, but I'd like to get a second opinion on what's going on. It's not that I don't trust the doctor you saw, but you know your mother got her number from someone her crazy sister knew, and..." Dad meant Megan. He always thought Megan was flighty and "weird" because she hung out with movie people, which Dad, in his GOP way, figured meant weirdo liberal types. "So, will you see this Doctor?"

"Dad, I'm not crazy."

"There's not too many boys I know would enjoy looking the way you did in those photographs," Dad said.

I turned away. For some reason that hurt. Go figure. Maybe part of me still wanted Dad's approval after all. "Okay, I'll go."

"Thank you. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I do care about you."

"I know," I said, although I didn't know at all. Dad had never been good at showing any affection.

"There's only one more thing," he said.

"Yes?" I turned back toward him.

"The appointment is on Friday. Do you think you could go back to being Chris until then?"

"Uh." Mom had said I should stay this way until I got tired of it. Had he discussed this with her? Probably not. It was so typical of Dad -- to come in here with statements like "I want you to be happy", when really he just wanted to get his own way.

"Uh, Dad, don't take this the wrong way, but..."

"The answer is no." He looked grim. "I knew you'd say no." His face was dark, and any tenderness he'd been trying to express in the last few minutes had evaporated. I remembered this response from when I was a kid and I did something terrible. He always got what he wanted then, even if I wasn't very good when I tried to follow through on the promises he made me make, like playing football.

"No, I... I can try." I said, surprised to hear myself say it. I was responding just the way I used to when I was younger. "But --"

"That's all I want," he said. Just for you to try." He shook my leg roughly, in a kind of 'man-to-man' way, and I immediately thought to myself that I'd made a mistake. I hated that kind of hale and hearty masculine shit.

Dad stood up, and smiled, and left the room.

I lay back on the bed for a few moments, then got up. Well, that had done it. No more experiment. I would have to live up to my end of the bargain.

I could see why he wanted it that way, though. First, because just having me around as Jenny made him crazy, and second, because when I went to the Doctor on Friday it would be as Chris, and so the Doctor might not see so much girlishness in me, the way the other one had.

I stood up, and went to get changed. I took off the cardigan and top, and took out the breast inserts and the bra, then pulled an old t-shirt out of the closet drawer and put it on. It hung on me. I'd forgotten how my old male clothes felt. All the guy clothes I owned were all baggy and concealing, not at all like the clothes I'd been wearing the past few weeks. I slipped off the short white socks I had on my feet and pulled on a pair of black 'guy' ones. The jeans and panties I didn't worry about. I mean, he wasn't gonna check that, I thought, and anyway the t-shirt was long enough he wouldn't be able to see that I was still 'tucked-in'.

I took off the mascara I was wearing, and then brushed my hair out. What to do about that? If I left it out it looked way girly. I tied it back, a little lower on the back of my head than I usually did when I tied a ponytail. Hmmm. Maybe I had forgotten what I used to look like or something. I guessed this was about as close as I was gonna get to the old me.

I put on a pair of my old sneakers and went downstairs. Mom raised an eyebrow at me when I walked into the kitchen and I blushed. For some reason I felt like I was betraying her or something. She shot an ugly look at Dad, and he turned to look at me. His face fell. He looked me up and down, and I knew that he was trying to see whether I still had makeup on or something. Whatever it was he was looking for, I clearly didn't measure up to what he was expecting.

"What?" I asked.

"What do you mean?" he replied.

"Well? Is this better?"

"Your voice..."

I tried to put my voice into a deeper register. "You want me to talk like this?" It came out sounding preposterous, like a little girl trying to imitate a man rather than the way my old voice had sounded, and I almost laughed.

"You're not even trying," Dad said.

"Dad --"

"-- I thought we had a deal?"

"What deal?" Mom said, anxiously. "Tom --"

This was getting complicated. I *really* didn't want them to argue, and I *was* trying. My father was beginning to explain our conversation to Mom when the phone rang. I was closest to it, and eager for some respite, I answered.

"Hello, Miller residence." While I talked on the phone I was aware that Mom and Dad were bickering again, the way they did before Dad left.

"Jenny?" It was Mark.

"Oh, ah, hi Mark." I expected Mom and Dad to shut up when I mentioned his name, but Dad was blustering on about how Mom had turned me into a faggot while he was away, and Mom was responding with a bit of invective about how he was the one who had screwed things up, and I tried to block them out and talk to Mark.

"Did you get the proofs yet?"

"Aah, yeah, yes, we did, thanks. They look amazing."

"They do, don't they? Hey, what's going on there? Sounds like a party."

"Uh, no... think of it as a kind of response to the photographs."

"Oh. Oh, that's right. Megan said Tom had come back for a few days. How's that been?"

"A little strained," I said.

"I can imagine. Look, the reason I called is, I had some of your proofs on my desk here this morning while we were doing a shoot for Donna, and one of the agency people saw them when they went to take a call in my office. Anyway, they were very interested, and they asked who handled you."

"Handled me?"

"Yes, you know, represented you. Your agent."

"Oh. Uh... well, I... gee, I dunno"

"Everybody has an agent, even me."

"Uh huh. What did you tell them?"

"I told them you were new, and didn't have one, and they were intrigued."

"I guess that was the truth, huh? What do you mean, intrigued?"

"Well, I'd like to discuss it with Katherine -- with your Mom, as well. But they said they'd like to recommend you to an agent they deal with sometimes."

"I thought you said they were from an agency?"

"Yes, but that's an advertising agency. They think you should meet with an agent who can get you work. An artists' agency."

"An artist?"

"Well, that's what they call the big ones these days," Mark said. "Hardly anybody does straight modeling these days, Jenny. Most good models have agents who can get them movie work, or music deals, or whatever else they're into."

"Well, I guess. They really want to represent me?" I became aware that in the background the argument between Mom and Dad had died down. I turned to face them and saw that both of them were pretty steamed, and that they were both looking at me as I spoke. I turned very red, wondering how much of the conversation with Mark they'd heard or understood.

"Not yet. All you're getting is a referral. You'll have to meet with the agency people -- the artists agency people -- to see whether or not they like you 'in the flesh' as they say. You look pretty good in those photos, if I do say so myself, but there's a big difference between doing one photo shoot and having a career."

"I guess so. You think they'll like me?"

"Let me put it this way, Jenny. If a girl gets referred to an agent by one of the top creative directors at Ogilvy, the agent knows to take the meeting. Honey, the agent knows that with that client alone he can eat out on what you'll make him for a month, and a month of lunches in LA is a lot of eating."

"That's good, huh?"

"Very good." He paused. "I'm not going to ask you to agree, because this is entirely up to you. It's a lot of hard work -- I think you discovered that last week, didn't you? It's a very big step to take, in your position and at your age, and I think you should discuss it with Katherine first. Would you mind if I spoke to Katherine?"

I gestured to Mom to come to the phone, and she shook her head. "Uh, now's probably not the best time," I said to Mark. "Could she call you back later?"

"Sure," Mark said. "There's no rush. I'll be at home in about an hour, for the rest of the day, so any time this afternoon or evening."

"Okay. Say, is it okay if I need to ask you some more questions later?"

"Any time, Jenny. Any time, you just call."

We said our goodbyes and I hung up. Mom and Dad were both still staring at me. I thought they were gonna start quizzing me about the phone call, but instead Mom asked me straight off whether I wanted to come help her with the supermarket shopping.

I was kind of taken aback, since they'd both been staring so intently at me as I finished talking to Mark, but I readily agreed, since I wanted to get out of the *thick* atmosphere in the kitchen.

"Alright," Dad said suddenly, and kind of wearily. "You win, Katherine."

"What?" Mom and I asked at the same time.

"Alright, you win, I said." Dad sat back in his chair. "You're not taking him out like that."

"Why?" I asked. "I thought you didn't want me to wear girls' clothes any more."

"That's right," Dad said. "But it doesn't seem to make any difference, if you won't stop speaking like that. And you still look like a girl from the neck up, anyway. Did you do something to your eyebrows?"

"Uh, yeah, Dad, they're kind of plucked a bit," I admitted.

"A lot, I'd say."

"Not really," Mom chimed in, instantly happier since Dad had conceded. "You haven't seen her for a few years, Tom. She looks pretty without even trying."

Dad let that one whiz past without a response.

"So you want me to keep wearing girls' clothes?" I asked.

"No," Dad said, slumping back toward the table. "But if you go out looking like that --" he waved his hand in my direction while looking at Mom, "-- you'll attract a lot more attention than if you look like a girl." He looked directly at me again. "I might not like all of this, Chris, but I don't want you to get beaten up or anything, and I think looking like that is going to create trouble."

Mom smiled, and I bounded up the stairs in a most unlady-like fashion to get changed. I buried my old sneakers and the t-shirt deep in the back of my closet, and changed back into what I'd been wearing before. After a little attention to makeup and hair Mom and I headed off to the supermarket.

***

The rest of the day was comparatively peaceful. Mom and I shopped, and I told her about the conversation I'd had with Mark, and we talked it over for a while. When we came home Dad was much more relaxed than he had been, which was a surprise. He even made an effort to try to call me Jenny once, after Mom told him that any slip ups could be damaging to me if someone heard us while we were out.

I phoned up Marcia after school got out and she came over and we talked about my Mom and Dad, but something held me back and I didn't mention Mark's call. Then Paul called and I spent about an hour on the phone with him, and then I helped Mom prepare dinner and, well, after dinner I was just *exhausted*. I went to my room and lay on the bed and listened to the Tori Amos CD for a while, and at some point I fell asleep on my bed, still fully clothed.

 

***

 

Chapter 18. Tuesday to Wednesday.

I woke up early, still in my clothes, and lay in bed thinking about the previous day, and Dad kind of giving up even though he didn't like it, and Mark's talk of modeling and an agent and all that, and -- most importantly -- my discussion with Paul the previous night.

He had asked me out on Friday night, to a party, and all through the next few days, even though there were lots of decisions to be made and appointments to be kept, I didn't think of much else.

Mom rang Mark back, and then she and I discussed the modeling proposition. Who would have thought it? Me not even really a girl! Mom said it was pretty much up to me. Did I want to do it? Sure, why not? The session with Mark had been tiring, but it was kind of fun. Probably a little part of me felt pretty good about being asked. Guess I was vain, huh?

We wondered how to break the news to Dad. He was pretty relaxed for most of Tuesday, although he spent most of the day on the phone or on his laptop taking care of some business. I liked listening to him talk to people over the phone -- his assertiveness and confidence came to the fore when he was working, and although that usually bugged me when he talked to me, I could see how it made him a good businessman. Tuesday night Mom and I made him a specially nice meal, and we opened a bottle of French red wine to have with dinner, and when everyone was nice and relaxed after dinner Mom kind of sprung it on him.

"Tom, you thought those photos of Jenny were pretty good, didn't you?"

Dad's eyes narrowed, like he could sense a trap, which was pretty good because that's just what Mom was doing. Setting a trap, I mean.

"They were very well done," he admitted. "I would never have known you had it in you, Chr -- er, Jenny."

I smiled at him, to let him know I appreciated the effort. He really was trying to be a good father. "Thanks, Dad."

"They were, weren't they. I thought she was quite special."

"Er, yes," Dad agreed, a little nervously.

"We were thinking of having some more done," Mom said calmly, like it was no big deal.

"The same sort of thing?" Dad asked, slumping a little. I could tell he wanted to scowl, but since he and Mom had argued earlier in the day he was trying to be nicer.

"High fashion, really," said Mom, knowing that Dad had only the barest notion of what high fashion was.

Dad looked at me, and I smiled back. For dinner I had changed, into a long black skirt and a very sheer burgundy colored blouse that was open at the neck. My bra could be clearly seen underneath it. That was the fashion, really. I had made up my eyes a little heavier, but not too much, and done my hair up on my head the way Andrea had done for me before Marcia's dinner. It was a bit much for a dinner at home, but Mom had changed, too, and we put candles on the table and made a big production out of dinner.

When I had first come downstairs I think he had been nervous just looking at me. In the kitchen as I got out some flatware I mentioned it to Mom and she told me it was because I looked pretty, and fathers sometimes had trouble dealing with their feelings for pretty daughters.

I thought Mom was going a little overboard with the 'daughters' remark, but I kept quiet.

Anyway, he looked at me while Mom mentioned that we were going to get more shots done. I noticed she didn't say a word about agents, or professional modeling, or anything like that, but I figured she knew better, so I smiled at Dad and got up to clear the table.

"I suppose," Dad began, "I mean... Oh hell, you know I don't like it, but if he -- if she's going to keep doing this then what harm can a few more photos do?" He groaned. "Just one thing..."

"Yes Daddy," I heard myself say. Daddy? Whoa, I thought. Ease up on the girl-factor, kiddo. You might be a girl, but you're not an airhead!

Dad looked kind of surprised, too. "Just one thing. You'll wait until after you've seen Dr. Colquhoun on Friday before you have too many more outings in public. Dr. Colquhoun might insist you stop this immediately."

"Of course, Daddy," I said as I cleared the dessert bowl from in front of him. "Thank you."

Mom looked *very* pleased.

The rest of that evening I noticed Dad looking at me quite a lot. I made him some coffee, and got him some port, and he and Mom sat in the living room listening to an old Fleetwood Mac record and something else I didn't know that was equally edgar. After I finished loading the dishwasher and cleaning up, I said goodnight and went upstairs to talk to Paul on the phone for a while. As I left the living room I heard Dad say to Mom, kind of grudgingly but definitely sincerely. "You know, for all that I hate it, she does look good, doesn't she?" I couldn't hear Mom's response, but I didn't need to.

Paul and I talked for about an hour, and towards the end he began to talk softly to me, about how he was looking forward to seeing me again, and how he wanted to kiss me and touch me again. He described how he'd like to hold me, and then he started talking about wanting to see more of me, about *needing* to see more of me.

I lay in bed afterward with my head full of some pretty weird thoughts.

***

Wednesday Mom called Mark, and then a short while later Mom called the agency, and then later in the day, while I was over at Marcia's, the agent called Mom. She arranged for us to meet with him on Friday morning, before my Doctor's appointment.

"Mom, do you think that's such a great idea?" I reminded her that Dad would want to come see the Doctor too, and that meant we'd still have him with us when we met the agent.

She looked thoughtful for a few moments, but said she'd figure it out.

In the afternoon, after school finished, I headed over to Marcia's house. I put the proofs from Mark in an envelope, and carried them in a small backpack, along with my lipstick and a brush. I was getting used to the idea of carrying a purse, or something, and kind of liked having the things I needed on hand at all times.

Marcia's mom was out, her dad was at work, and Rob was working on his car -- I don't think he was even aware of me passing him on the drive. Inside, I found Marcia with Becky, both listening to a CD I didn't know by Dead Can Dance. I figured it was one of Becky's, since it sounded kind of goth.

We talked about nothing for a while. I never realized, before I became Jenny, how much there was to talk about that was just day to day stuff, but needed to be said, you know? Guys, I think they just don't notice a lot of stuff or something. For a start, there was some gossip out about Neil Peary, that maybe he'd dumped Tiffany Driessen. "You remember Tiffany, right?" Becky said. "That girl we met at the mall the other day?" I mumbled sure, and that she'd been in my class, but I left out the bit about having a crush on her. Somehow that seemed so long ago...

Then Marcia and Becky started talking about this new girl in town who had started working part-time at Mitchell's Video store. She was kind of unknown, since she was 17 and had never gone to school here in Santa Rosita, and seemed to have half the guys transfixed, which was pretty funny, except one of the guys who was smitten was Mike, Marcia's boyfriend. Becky said the new girl wasn't as pretty as Marcia, just kind of different. "I think guys have some gene that makes them always want to chase something new," she said.

Marcia wasn't so sure it was Mike's fault, and I could see that the new girl was either gonna find out about the demarcation lines around boyfriends or Mike was gonna stop renting videos.

It was kind of cool, being with the two of them, especially after all the angst at home, and just talking about the things that were going on in everyone's lives. For years I'd always been able to tell Marcia pretty much anything, but, even though I was still kind of wary of Becky, I really enjoyed sitting and talking, the way we had several times. Both of them seemed to have forgotten that I had ever been Chris, and that seemed so cool that -- when I thought of it -- it really warmed me inside. Becky and Marcia were some of the coolest girls in town, even if Becky was kind of goth. And they liked hanging out with me, even though I was younger. Jenny was really liked. *I* was liked.

So eventually, I asked them for advice. Now that the meeting with the agent was confirmed, I had to talk to someone about it. Someone close to my own age.

"You're gonna *what*!?!" Becky said, after I mentioned the photographs and Mark's call and the appointment with the agent.

I explained that nothing might come of the meeting, but they both took it as being big news. "Wow," Marcia said. "Jenny, you're like my kid sister or something --"

I liked that, for some reason.

" -- it's just so wild to think that you're doing this."

"*Extremely* cool," Becky said. Then she seemed to change her mind. "Wait. Does that mean you're gonna become, like, an insufferable bitch?"

"Huh?" I said, confused.

"All those girls are, like, *so* screwed up."

"Becky, I'm not gonna turn into a vampire or anything." Actually, Becky would probably have *liked* that.

"Yeah, but they're like, anorexic and everything."

"Do you think I need to lose weight?" I asked, standing up.

"No, bitch," she said, standing up next to me. "You're totally thin. See, you're insufferable already! I rest my case," she said. I hit her on the arm.

"Ow! Bitch." She hit me back.

"Bitch yourself," I said. I feigned alarm. "Don't bruise me!"

"Oh ho! Now you're gonna get it!" She cackled.

Marcia stepped in to hold us apart. "So, you mentioned photos?" she asked.

Becky and I laughed and we all sat down. "Yes," I said, reaching into my backpack for the envelope containing some of the proofs. "You remember I said yesterday my Dad was all weirded out," I said to Marcia. "I think these were a big part of it. He was the one who saw them first."

Marcia took the prints and she and Becky pored over them.

"I can see why your Dad freaked," Becky giggled.

"So, like, I really need some help, guys," I said.

"Whaddaya mean, help?" Marcia said. "I wish I could look like this."

"Yah, right, Barbie," Becky said, and threw a cushion at her. Marcia scowled. She hated being called Barbie, even though Becky was just doing it to tease. A few years ago Marcia had been one of the first girls to "blossom" in her class, and with her blond hair and newfound curves, one of the bitchier girls at school had given her the tag. It stuck with the girls who didn't like Marcia, even though there weren't too many of them.

Marcia's antagonist had a lot of unfortunate things happen to her that year. I had resolved back then never to get on the wrong side of someone as resourceful as Marcia.

"Becky's right, Marcia," I said. "I mean, you're like way prettier'n me, and anyway, this was like with professional makeup and all that kind of stuff. And Mark is very good. I mean, it's his job, right?"

"So, what kind of help are you talking about?" Marcia asked.

"I don't really know," I admitted. "But I'm pretty nervous. I'm gonna go see this agent on Friday, and I won't have any professional help then, and he's probably expecting to see someone who looks -- well, who looks at least a little bit like the girl in the photos, you know?"

Becky looked at the photographs, and then at me, and said, "Well, you know, I hate to break it to you, but *you* look like the girl in the photographs, kiddo."

"You ever see a model when she's not working?" Marcia asked.

It wasn't like Santa Rosita was exactly overflowing with professional models, I thought. "Uh, no. I wouldn't know one if I saw one, I think."

"Exactly," Marcia continued. "Haven't you ever looked at those celebrity shots in People and stuff? You know, where they show Debbie Harry in the supermarket, or Leonardo diCaprio on the beach?"

"Ugh!" Becky moaned. "That was a real turn on, not!"

Marcia picked up a magazine from the coffee table and showed me pictures of celebrities in their everyday lives. There was Julia Roberts, looking suddenly awkward. There was Kate Moss, who looked like she needed iron supplements or something. There was Calista Flockhart, who looked, well... just strange.

"She's the result of a biological experiment," Becky giggled.

I was sort of comforted, but also disturbed. If these famous beauties looked this awful on their bad days, what did that say about me. The thing none of us was voicing was, on my bad days, I was a boy!

I thought for a moment. "Well, the thing is, I think maybe I'm kind of loony, you know? I mean, what if they find out?"

"What if they find out what?" Marcia asked.

"That she's a boy, dumbass," Becky said, before I had to. She turned to me. "Kiddo," she continued -- and ordinarily I would have been pissed at her calling me kiddo, but I was getting more used to Becky -- "the things is, that's not what they're gonna be looking for. Heck, *I* forget sometimes. What they're gonna be interested in is how you look on camera."

"And these are a pretty good indication of that, right?" Marcia said, waving the proofs.

"I guess..." I said reluctantly.

"Well, it was only when someone saw these that they got interested, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"So that part of it is easy," Marcia concluded, as though that settled everything. Marcia had this way with logic...

"Yeah, I guess," I said one more time.

"Too many guesses," Becky said.

"Well, I'm just worried I'm gonna act wrong or something."

"You haven't so far, have you?" Becky asked.

"Well, you know, Marcia had to teach me how to talk and all that."

"Oh jeez," said Becky, suddenly impatient. "Look, you want someone to say it? You're gorgeous, okay? Happy?" She seemed pissed at me.

"That wasn't what I meant --"

"Half the guys at that party two weeks ago were drooling all over you, even though you're like jailbait for them, okay? You got Paul, who is damned straight one of the hottest guys in school, following you around like some puppy."

"I mean--"

"I'm not finished yet," Becky continued, getting really worked up now. "Half the girls in school would kill to look as good as you do, and you're a freakin' boy! I don't care, now, you know. Whatever turns you on. But if you're gonna do this girl thing, and get offered all these opportunities that half the girls I know would, like, fuck their *asses* off for, then, like, just stop whining about how tough you've got it, okay? Just go with it."

She paused for a breath. "I am gonna go get a soda, anyone else want one?"

Marcia and I declined, and Becky went into the kitchen.

"She's right, you know," Marcia said. "If you want to do this, just go with it."

"Yeah, I suppose I should," I said. "I just wish I was more confident, you know, with girls' stuff."

Becky came back with her soda. "I have a solution," she pronounced, like she was delivering the wisdom of Solomon. Then she grinned. "When you're feeling pissy, there's only one thing to do -- let's dance! How do you dance, kiddo?"

"I don't, much," I admitted. "Marcia's been trying to teach me for a few months, but..."

"She's all angles," Marcia said, shrugging. "No flexibility."

"Hah! Becky's school of dancing is now open."

For the next two hours we danced to a whole range of songs. At first I was kind of awkward. I'd always been afraid of dancing much, because I thought I looked funny. But Marcia and Becky made me copy the kinds of moves they made. "More with the hips," Becky said. "Less with the legs. Don't make your moves so big to start with, just move a little bit with the music."

Gradually I started getting the hang of it. You know, guys, when they dance, they mostly kind of jerk around in time with the music. Girls, well, they kind of flex with the music. It was cool. It was fun. We danced to some old Prince stuff, and some Garbage and Madonna, and some really cheesy old 70's stuff, and then some Massive Attack, until we finally collapsed, laughing, after I tried to get some funk moves to James Brown working and nearly dislocated my pelvis.

"I think it's gonna take some time before you're a big threat to Janet Jackson," Marcia laughed. "But you're okay, Jen. You know, you're a lot better than you were a couple of weeks ago."

It was getting kind of late, and Becky and I both had to be home for dinner. We talked for a little while longer, mostly about their graduation and all that, since it was coming up pretty fast, and then it was time to leave. Marcia took my hand as we stood up, and told me that she and Becky would be really pleased to spend Thursday night helping me get ready for Friday morning, even though she didn't think I needed the help. I hugged her, and then Becky, and then headed back home. I was kind of dancing as I came through the door, singing along to Prince's "Kiss", and I did a little spin in the hallway before I realized Dad was watching me.

"Hi Dad," I said, and kissed him on the cheek as I passed on the way to my room. I noticed that he couldn't help a little smile.

***

After dinner I did the cleaning up again while Mom and Dad sat in the living room and watched some TV. Halfway through my cleanup Paul called, and I sat on the floor next to the fridge again while we talked. We talked about a lot of inconsequential stuff, mostly, but then he started talking about his plans for after graduation, and it sank in to me for the first time that he was going to be leaving Santa Rosita. Worse, he said that after getting an offer today he was reconsidering the internship in LA. I mean, that wouldn't have been so bad, if he'd just been a few hours drive away. At least, I hadn't thought about it. The internship was kind of cool, kind of radical. But Paul had always thought that maybe he should go straight on to college, because maybe if he didn't do it straight away, it might never happen, you know, if the internship had worked out. Most people did internships after college, not before.

I guess I just hadn't thought about what his plans would mean until then.

He had received an offer from a college on the East Coast, which he was kind of pleased about. I didn't recognize the name or anything, but apparently it was a big deal to get the offer.

We talked on for a while longer, and then hung up. I was starting to feel kind of funny inside. He was going to be going in a few months, and then I wouldn't see him again. There were probably going to be cute college girls who would be all over him, and how could I compete with that? I realized I wanted to compete, and then I thought how ridiculous it all was, me, a fifteen year old boy, trying to compete with college girls for my boyfriend's attention.

I stayed sitting on the floor for while after the call finished.

Eventually I pulled myself together, and stood up. I turned on the radio in the kitchen and found a station that was playing some more or less alternative stuff, some of which I sang along with to try to cheer myself up. It's *hard* to cheer yourself up when the station is playing Pearl Jam, let me tell you. When I had just finished wiping down the benchtop Mom came in and I hugged her fiercely, before excusing myself and saying goodnight and going upstairs to listen to Tori Amos songs while lying in bed.

"So you found a girl who thinks really deep thoughts," one of the songs went. "What's so amazing about really deep thoughts, Boy you'd best pray That I bleed real soon, how's that thought for ya."

Yeah. Well, I wasn't ever gonna bleed. I wasn't even really a girl. God, I was so confused.

 

***

 

Chapter Nineteen. Thursday.

Thursday night, as planned, I walked over to meet Marcia after she'd come home from school. Mrs. Wilson opened the door and greeted me. I wasn't sure, but I thought I detected something kind of strange about the way she said "Hi Jenny, Marcia's just up in her room." Maybe it was just paranoia.

Marcia and Becky were in her room.

"Ah! The victim!" Becky grinned maniacally, brandishing a curling wand. She and Marcia seized on my arms and dragged me to the chair in front of Marcia's dresser where all this had started a few weeks earlier.

The two of them went to work on me. Actually, Marcia did all the work, but Becky provided all the criticism. "Too *blonde*, she said to Marcia after Marcia had finished re-plucking my eyebrows into a slightly thinner arch and then applied different makeup. "What's with the pink lipstick?"

"Becky, not everyone wants to look like the queen of darkness, okay?" Marcia smiled. "Somehow I can't see Jenny's coloring working with the goth look, y'know?"

"Hmmm," Becky said grudgingly. "Just don't make her too, y'know, pretty. There are plenty of cheerleaders in the world already."

"Do you think we can match the makeup in some of those photos?" I asked.

"I don't think that's a very good idea, ma cherie," Marcia said. Those looks were, you know, for a fashion spread kind of thing. You're only going to a meeting, right?"

Eventually Marcia and Becky had my makeup done to their approval, and my grudging acceptance. Actually, I was glad of Becky's help for a change, since her suggestions had mostly been pretty good ones -- well, except for the black lipstick.

Marcia cleaned my face and then they showed me in detail the various things they had done. Then I had to clean my face again and do my makeup myself until I was able to duplicate the look. I had been doing my own makeup for a couple of weeks, but the tips Marcia gave me were worthwhile. She was good at this stuff. Years of practice pay off, I guess.

I had brought over the clothes that I had planned to wear next day in a plastic shopping bag: a blue blouse that Megan had given me and a white skirt. "Eeeuuwww!" Becky said as I stripped off my clothes and pulled on the skirt. "Unh unh, no way kiddo."

"What?" I said, thinking she objected to it because I wasn't wearing black.

"You're not trying out for secretary, right?"

"It's like that?" I asked, suddenly uncertain.

Marcia and Becky both nodded.

They ran through Marcia's wardrobe trying to find something. Becky suggested a pair of black pants and a silky silver-gray knit top, but I nixed that. Even though everyone had liked Mark's photographs of me, I thought maybe I wasn't big enough in the hips to carry off pants.

"Jenny, like, are you *completely* oblivious to the world? When was the last time you saw a model who looked like she had hips like *normal* women do? They all look like... Well, you know." Becky moved her hands up and down indicating straight lines.

"Yeah," Marcia said, "but Jenny might have a point there. Let's see what else we've got."

"No pants," I agreed.

"Marcia, look at her," Becky said. "She's skinny, but at least what she's got is all in her butt." That wasn't entirely true. I was skinny, but I didn't think my butt looked anything like Marcia's -- and especially not like the positively voluptuous Becky.

"I know, Becky, but she's got to feel comfortable, and if she feels uncertain, then it's not gonna work, okay?"

"I can't see how she's gonna model if she can't wear pants," Becky said insistently.

"We'll deal with that one when we come to it," Marcia said, in that tone of voice she used to indicate that her mind was made up and everyone else's had better damned well follow.

"Well, okay, but if she's not gonna try those pants on, I will," Becky said, beginning to strip off. Wow. Becky was curvy. Really curvy. Marcia was right when she said Becky had a spectacular body.

"Did I say *you* could borrow my clothes, Becky?" Marcia said, but I could tell she wasn't serious.

"What are friends for?" Becky grinned. "Anyway, you don't have enough black in your wardrobe."

We all smiled, especially when Becky found out the pants were too tight around her hips. She tried on several other things as well while I went through change of clothes after change of clothes. Then Marcia got into the spirit of the occasion and modelled a couple of her favorite dresses. I realized that even though I was in a room with almost totally naked girls that I felt no real sexual arousal. It was interesting, and they really both were gorgeous, but I had come to think of Marcia and Becky as friends. And I realized that I had almost come to think of myself as a girl, too.

I tried on another knit top, and had just pulled it over my head when Mrs. Wilson stuck her head around the door about a microsecond after knocking. Wow, was I glad that I had taped myself back in my panties, since I didn't have anything else on below the waist.

"Are you girls staying for dinner?" She asked.

"Gee, thanks Mrs. Wilson but I think I should be getting home," I said.

"That'd be great, Mrs. Wilson," Becky said straight away.

"Where abouts is it you live, Jenny?" Mrs. Wilson said, giving me one of those odd looks again.

"Mom, enough with the questions," Marcia said quickly. "You're always doing this. Actually, we thought we might go out for pizza later, if that's okay."

"Well, there's plenty of food," Marcia's Mom said doubtfully.

"Stay, Jen, okay?" Marcia said. "We still haven't found anything."

I was a little uncertain, since I wasn't really crazy about the way Mrs. Wilson had looked at me, but Marcia had *that* look in her eyes, the one that said she was gonna nag me if I said no, and she was right, we still hadn't settled on anything for me to wear tomorrow, and I really did want the help.

"Uh, okay, thanks, Mrs. Wilson," I said. She smiled, and seemed pleased, and the odd look she's had vanished. She went downstairs. "I should call my Mom, if that's okay," I said to Marcia.

Becky and I made calls. When we were finished Marcia held up a dress for me to try on, and I sighed. "Can we take a short break for a few minutes more?" I asked. "I just need to sit down and relax for a few minutes."

We sat around Marcia's room for a while, still mostly naked, and discussed what might happen at the meeting with the agent the next day. None of us had any real idea, of course, but that didn't stop us from speculating. I had learned in my few weeks as a girl that girl discussions aren't always about solving problems or planning things, sometimes they're just, well, about discussing things. Girls can talk about *stuff* all day. Boys want to talk about *things*. It mightn't sound like a big difference, but it is. Because stuff involves people, and how they act and all that, and things... well, things are just things.

I felt right at home.

We pulled on some clothes to go downstairs for dinner. I had stopped feeling so weird around Mrs. Wilson, and basically it was a pretty okay sort of meal, without anything odd about it except that I got the feeling Rob was studying me pretty intensely a few times. But he was kind of terrified of Becky for some reason, so he was mostly pretty quiet. Mr. Wilson led most of the conversation, but fortunately Becky and Marcia were able to deflect most of it away from me whenever he got close to asking questions about me. About the only one he got an answer to was his question about what my Dad did. "He runs his own company, Mr. Wilson. Something to do with computers." This seemed to leave him mildly dissatisfied, as though my father's profession was ignoble. I didn't want to elaborate and tell him my Dad's company was going really well since he'd moved to New York, since that would have given the game away, but fortunately the meal was pretty much over at that point and Marcia excused us from the table.

When we got back upstairs we continued trying on Marcia's clothes, looking for the perfect outfit for the meeting. After an hour we didn't seem any closer to finding something that all three of us thought worked for me. "I can't believe you have so many clothes, Marcia," I said. "I'm getting worn out."

"Jenny, if you're gonna be modelling you're going to have to get used to changing clothes a lot," Marcia said.

"Duh. I guess," I said, feeling foolish. But I was exhausted.

Finally Marcia held something up triumphantly. "Ta daa!" It was a simple blue sheath dress. It was the color of blue they use in photography, you know, there's like red, green and blue and that makes up everything? I can't remember the name of it, but it's a really brilliant color. If the dress had been at all fussy the color would have been too much, but it lifted the simplicity of the dress and made it something special. "I haven't worn this, ever," Marcia said. "It makes me look like I have fat legs, I don't know why I bought it."

"Yeah, right, Miss Fat Legs," I said sarcastically, taking the dress from her and wiggling it over my head.

"Y'know, I hate to admit it, but that's it," Becky said as soon as I had zipped the dress up at the back. "It's your color, kiddo." I still wished she'd stop calling me kiddo. Apart from anything else, it was so un-goth of her.

"Yeah," Marcia said. "That's it, for sure."

"You think so?" I asked, looking at myself in the mirror.

"Yeah, we think so," Becky said.

"Maybe Marcia was right. My legs do look kind of stumpy."

"Aaarrrrgghhhh!" Becky said as she raised her hands in exasperation. "You are *made* for this modelling business, girl!"

"Here," Marcia said, handing me a pair of strappy black sandals not unlike the ones Megan had given me, except that the heel on this pair was about an inch higher. "Try these on."

I put them on. "See?" Marcia said, "They make your legs look longer. You look fabulous, Jenny, but not overdone."

She was right. The heels increased my height by at least 3 inches, and made my legs look long and thin.

"I should wear pantyhose, right?" I said.

"Not with the sandals, kiddo," Becky said. "Anyway, with skin like yours, you don't *need* pantyhose."

"She's right, Jenny. What you need is a little fake tan, and a pedicure."

I got undressed down to my bra and panties, and Becky and Marcia wrapped me in a robe and ushered me down the hall and into the bathroom. There they spread fake tan all over my legs and arms and a little on my chest and neck. It felt pretty good, having them massage my body that way. Idly I wondered why having two girls rubbing me like that wasn't having the effect on my penis -- taped down or not -- that I would have expected. It felt nice, but not as erotic as I might have thought even a few weeks ago. Were my experiences with Paul changing me that much?

They left me in the bathroom on my own for about ten minutes until the fake tan absorbed completely into my skin. I blotted my skin with tissues to make sure there wasn't any residue that would come off on the robe or my clothes, and then went back to Marcia's room.

I got dressed in the clothes I had come over in and the three of us went downstairs to the living room. All of Marcia's family were elsewhere in the house, so the three of us sat around and watched television together for another hour or so, while we each painted one anothers' toes. Marcia chose a deep, almost blood red for mine, and Becky approved. I painted Marcia's in a demented shade of green that she'd picked up from somewhere and Marcia painted Becky's in -- what else -- black. "I bought it for Halloween last year," Marcia explained to me when I asked her if she was considering a goth look for herself.

At 10.00pm Becky's Dad showed up to collect her, and Becky made a big show of getting her Dad to drive me home too, I think just to give the Wilsons the impression I lived somewhere near her or something. Mr. Connor was pretty surprised when Becky told him to drop me just 50 yards down the road, but I got the feeling that he was used to odd requests from Becky. I thanked him for the ride and walked up the path to my front door. I told Mom and Dad I was pretty tired and went straight up to bed when I got in. It was the truth. Some days being a girl was exhausting!

 

***

 

Chapter Twenty. Friday Morning.

Mom had to wake me on Friday morning. With all the anticipation that was going into my meeting with the agent, I should have been buzzing and awake bright and early, but for some reason I overslept. It was a good thing I had picked out what I was going to wear the night before, because it was all I could do to get ready on time. Dad looked kind of bemused as I flung myself through the kitchen on the way to the car. "Running late, Dad," I said as I kissed him. "See you later!"

Mom was already in the car when I made it out. We stopped in town for gas and I grabbed a Danish from the store next door to the Chevron. It wasn't exactly the healthiest way to start the day, but I needed something in my belly to calm some of the jitters I was getting about the meeting we were going to. What the heck was I thinking -- that I was gonna do some modelling?!?

"Your father is meeting us down at the Doctor's office," Mom said, interrupting my funk. "I told him we were going to have lunch with Megan before the doctor's appointment, and you know how he feels about Megan."

"Yeah, I noticed. What is it with him and her?"

"It's a long story, Jen. Perhaps some time when he's not here." By here I guess she meant staying with us.

I wasn't sure whether deceiving Dad about the appointment with the agent was a good idea, but Mom seemed to have things under control, so I sat back and enjoyed the ride. I had brought along a Fiona Apple tape, which didn't seem to bother Mom as much as some of the other music I played, and I listened to that as Mom drove.

As we got closer to LA I had a brief moment of panic. Was it, like, fraudulent or anything to be going to this agency and pretending I was a girl? They were probably going to get me to sign something, right? I started sweating with nervousness.

"Uh, Mom?"

"Yes honey?"

"Ummm...."

"Don't say 'Ummm'," she said crossly. "Think before you speak."

"Yes Mom. Ummm... " I couldn't help it! "I was just thinking. Should we, uh ... do you think we should tell this guy the truth? About me, I mean?"

"What do you think?" I wished she would stop answering my questions with questions. She'd been doing that a lot, recently.

"Well, is it, like, illegal?"

"I don't think so, Jenny. I seem to recall reading somewhere that you can call yourself any name you like, so long as you're not ... Oh, I see. Yes. You will have to sign your name, won't you?"

"Well, actually, I was thinking that it's probably more likely that you will have to sign on my behalf."

"Yes, I suppose that's true." Mom thought for a moment. "On the other hand, I can't imagine you'll get any work at all if you tell them the truth, and I can't imagine why you should have to tell them the truth. You *won't* be doing any nude work, young lady!"

"Duh! Mom, I don't even know what's involved in modelling!" I said. "But I mean, when Mark took those pictures, I was almost naked in the dressing room a lot of the time, and ... well, you know, Andrea -- that's Mark's makeup artist -- you know, she noticed things about, you know..."

"I think," Mom said firmly, "That we should see how this meeting goes first, and then work out all of that. You never know. They might decide that you're not as wonderful as they thought you were, and the whole deal could fall through."

"I guess..."

Somehow I had the feeling I was setting myself up at the top of a very steep dip in a rollercoaster, and we were about to set the thing in motion.

***

We arrived at the agency about ten minutes early. At first we weren't sure if it was the right place, since there were no signs on the building to indicate what it might have contained. But the street number was correct, so Mom found a parking space for the car in a side street a little further down Wilshire Boulevard and we walked back to the agency.

The building wasn't especially large, and from the outside it looked fairly uninspiring. Just a bland glass and cement block with some kind of rough finish to the unpainted cement. The lobby was pretty understated, too, except for a single large painting behind the security desk. Mom announced our names to the guard and he consulted a list before asking us to catch the elevator to the second floor.

When we got out of the elevator we found ourselves in a second lobby. A very beautiful Asian woman in her mid-twenties sat at a glass-topped table with nothing but a telephone and a laptop computer in front of her. She smiled as we stepped out of the elevator. I'd never seen such a beautiful woman before. In the flesh, I mean. I'd seen them in magazines, but this woman was... well, almost perfect. She was wearing a short black dress, which rode up on her thighs as she was sitting at the table, which I guess was supposed to function as some kind of desk for her, although I couldn't see how she could work at it considering there was no place to put anything. She had her legs crossed, I suppose because everyone who came out of the elevator could see right through the table at her legs and if she hadn't crossed them any guy would have looked right up her dress.

It seemed like a really impractical working arrangement to me. I thought to myself that it was almost certainly a guy who figured it would be a good idea to display her like this.

Mom introduced us.

"Yes, Mrs. Miller. I'll let Bob's assistant know you're here. Won't you please take a seat?" She indicated a plush leather couch at the side of the reception area, beneath a large abstract painting, then pushed a button on the phone and announced us.

My mother drew a breath as we turned to the couch and the painting. "That's a Rothko," she whispered to me. I didn't know what that meant, except that Mom was impressed. She had studied art in college and I figured she'd know if the painting was supposed to be good or something, so I stood there with her and looked at it instead of sitting down. I was pretty incredibly nervous, if you want to know the truth, and so I really wanted to sit down, but I figured we might never be back here and so I stood with Mom and we looked at the painting, which was nothing much except for two rough oblongs of blue and black surrounded by a border of orange. Except the blue and black looked like they were floating above the orange, and the blue seemed almost black next to the orange, but not quite that dark next to the black.

It wasn't bad, if you like paintings that are just blue and black and orange.

"It gets you in, doesn't it," a voice behind us said. We turned and saw another young woman, this one maybe twenty-one at most and beautiful but not quite as exotic as the woman at the desk. She extended her hand to my mother, who took it. "I'm Linda Krauss," she said. "Bob Naughton's assistant." She turned to me. "And you must be Jenny. Bob's ready for you now, if you'll just come this way."

We walked down the corridor behind her and she made small talk about our drive down to L.A. When we got to a door she knocked once before opening it without a response, and then ushered us into an incredibly huge office. The wall near the door was covered in photographs of *really* famous people standing with a pudgy looking guy, maybe 40 years old. The pudgy guy, who I took to be Bob Naughton, was sitting at a desk on the other side of the room, talking on the phone using one of those headset things that I'd only ever seen receptionists wear, and writing something on one of those little handheld PDA devices. He looked up as we entered and gestured to the couches at the far end of the room, while still talking on the phone. Linda ushered us over to the seats and asked us if we'd like anything to drink. Mom declined, but I asked for a water, and Linda left to get it.

We sat down. I tried to be as ladylike as I could, but I was so nervous I felt like I was sweating right through the dress as obvious as all hell.

Linda returned with a bottle of Evian and a glass with some ice in it, then opened the bottle and poured it for me. Then she smiled and winked at me before leaving again.

I was kind of puzzled. "I think that was for luck," Mom said softly.

I tried not to gulp the water. I was sweating like crazy. Maybe that's why I was so thirsty.

The pudgy guy finally finished his phone call and took the headset off his head. Then he stood and walked over to us. We both stood up as he approached. "I'm Bob Naughton," he said. "I'm very pleased to meet you Katherine. May I call you Katherine?" He took Mom's hand as he said this, then turned to me and took mine. "And Jennifer. Very pleased to meet you. Please sit back down."

He had a strange accent -- it seemed mostly English, but he must have been here a long time because it wasn't strong. I guessed it was what people meant when they said 'mid-Atlantic'.

We sat. I was very aware of him looking me over, but then I guess that was why I was there. I was kind of looking him over, too. He wasn't exactly what I had expected. I think I had expected that he would be better looking. He was overweight, and his hair was receding. His suit looked expensive, and the office furnishings were expensive, but he looked out of place in such opulent trappings.

Before he said anything else Linda came back in carrying a small tray with a plunger of coffee and a little metal cup and saucer, which she set down in front of Bob. Then she took a notebook from the corner of Bob's desk and came and sat in one of the seats next to him.

Bob started off the meeting by thanking us for coming in, and then asked us how often we got to come to L.A. Mom mentioned that her sister lived here, so we came about once every six to eight weeks. "More regularly, recently," she concluded.

"Would you mind me asking how old you are, Jenny. Do you prefer Jenny, or Jennifer?"

"Uh, Jenny is fine," I said. I told him I was fifteen, and still a ways off sixteen. I wondered if that would be a problem.

"If we represent you, Jenny, it would mean being in L.A. a lot. Would that be a problem for you?"

I looked at Mom. "No, I guess not," I said. "I can always stay at Megan's, right Mom?"

"Yes, I'm sure that would be fine," she said.

"What about other travel?"

"My Dad lives in New York --" I began, but Mom interrupted.

"-- Before we get into details like that, Mr. Naughton --"

"-- Please. Call me Bob."

"-- Bob, perhaps you could tell us what you believe you could offer Jenny."

Naughton looked at Mom like he was reappraising her. That was smart of him. Mom was a pretty sharp businesswoman, even if she had been unemployed for a while.

"Well, Katherine, our agency is quite well established. We have one of the finest client lists around." He waved his arm at the wall covered in photographs. "My personal clients include some of the most prominent models and actresses in the world." He paused while he depressed the plunger and poured himself coffee. "It is not often I take on a young woman with no experience. I was told you have no experience, Jenny, is that right?"

"I guess so," I said.

"That's right," Mom said. She was always on at me to be more precise in my choice of words. She hated it when I said stuff like 'whatever' and 'I guess'.

"So, to some extent, Katherine, Jenny is very fortunate. Donna -- one of the most influential people in this business -- liked what she saw when she was at Mark Broussard's the other day, and it's at her request that we agreed to this meeting." Linda handed him an envelope and he drew the photographs from it and arrayed them on the table.

"You don't have to do us any favors, Mr. Naughton," Mom said. I poured myself some more water. Mom was playing pretty hard. It actually relaxed me. If I didn't get any work as a model, it would probably not be because of anything I'd done wrong!

"We won't be doing that, Katherine." He moved the photographs around on the table and then sat back again. "And call me Bob, please. I see that you have Jenny's interests at heart. I'm very encouraged by that. Many girls, well..." he made a gesture of despair with his hands, "their mothers push them too hard. It distresses me. What can I say?"

"From what I understand, Mr. Naughton, this is a hard business."

"Yes, it is, Katherine. But, as I said, I'm encouraged by your concern... " Bob paused as I poured myself some more water.

"My part in all this," he said, leaning forward over the coffee table, "is to get as much work for my clients as possible. But it's also to make sure their interests are protected, and sometimes that means turning down work, because it's too much to take on, or because -- and this is the critical part -- it's the wrong kind of work."

My opinion of Bob went up as he turned to address me directly. "Jenny, if you do decide to sign with us, we'll be working for the long term, not just the quick dollar. We like to build careers, because *all* we have," he waved his arm around, "depends on the people we have. They're our assets. If we don't do the right thing by them, our business fails."

He sat back in his chair again. "I think you can see that business is not failing," he said, smiling.

"I think we have an understanding, then, Mr. Naughton," Mom said.

"Good. I think we will enjoy our relationship, Katherine. There are other agencies that might be interested in representing Jenny, but I think you will find we can offer her more... more quality in terms of the work she attracts."

Mom touched her hand to my knee. "Perhaps, Mr. Naughton, you could give Jenny a better idea of what will be required."

"Before we get to that, I think we need to learn a bit more about Jenny," Bob said. "Jenny, perhaps you could tell me a little more about yourself, and what your interests are."

Uh oh. I was momentarily speechless. I could see Linda poised with pen and notepad to write down whatever pearls of wisdom fell from my lips, but there were no pearls to be had. What was I interested in? Who was I? I had been wrestling with that myself these last few weeks.

"Ummmm," I let that out before I realized how much it would bug Mom. "Well... I'm fifteen, you know that already. Um, I guess, I don't know..."

"Have you always lived in ..." he turned to Linda.

"Santa Rosita," Linda offered.

"... Santa Rosita?" Bob finished.

"Most of my life," I said. "We were in San Diego until I was six."

"Tell me about Santa Rosita, then," Bob said.

I started off talking about the town, and about our house, and Mom and Dad being separated (Mom blushed, for some reason), and about my friends Marcia and Becky, and then, at Bob's prompting, about school.

"I bet you break a lot of hearts at school," Bob said, smiling, as much to me as my Mom.

"I break a lot of something," I retorted. Like, what a dumb thing to say. My opinion of Bob went back down. He asked me what I liked at school, and I thought that was a pretty stupid question, too. But then, I reasoned, he was probably just being polite. Why would he possibly care less about the subjects I was good at? "I'm okay at most things, I guess."

"She has excellent grades," Mom said.

Bob asked whether I wanted to continue through school, or whether I would take up modelling full-time.

"I hadn't thought of it as an either-or proposition," I said.

"It doesn't have to be, Jenny," Bob said. "But we don't generally take on clients who aren't committed to building their careers." I could see that what he was saying made sense, and he could see that I was perturbed about not finishing school.

"I want to graduate," I said. "Like, I know it's kind of early to say, but I was thinking college, too."

Don't get me wrong, I'm not the smartest kid in the class. But I just naturally pick up on subjects, I guess, because I like to read. "I like to read," I said to Bob, feeling relieved that I had thought of something that I liked that might add to my character description.

"You'll have *lots* of time for that, Jenny," Bob said, smiling. "Look, I can't *guarantee* you a lot of work until we see how your first few jobs pan out. So I don't know how much your schooling will be disrupted. But if you do as well as everyone seems to think you will, you will be spending a lot of time working, and that could interfere with your studies.

"Of course," he concluded, "If you spend a *lot* of time working we can think about private tutors. It depends on the kind of work."

"What kind of work do you think I might be doing?" I asked.

"Aah. Well, here we get to the nitty gritty, Jenny. Could you stand up for me and turn around, please?"

I stood, and turned around awkwardly. I felt a bit like a horse being inspected for purchase or something.

"How tall are you?" he asked as he looked me up and down.

"About five seven," I said.

"That's roughly what I thought. No catwalk for you."

"Why not?" Mom asked.

"Sit down, please Jenny. Katherine, no-one under 5'10" does catwalk modelling, and it helps if you're over six feet. Don't be too disappointed. Frankly catwalk is a bitch of a job -- excuse my language -- and the scene is too hyped up for my tastes.

"So Mr. Naughton," Mom began

"-- Bob," he said.

"Bob," Mom continued. "If she's not tall enough for catwalk modelling, what can she do?"

"I think Jenny is better suited to editorial. Magazine work," he concluded.

"What does that involve?" I asked.

"Generally the same thing I imagine you did for these photographs," Bob said. "You model clothes for a particular article or advertisement. You might get some TVC work, we'll see."

"TVC?" Mom said.

"Television Commercial," Bob said. "That will depend on how Jenny tests onscreen. Some people do very well in still photographs but don't move well enough to do TVCs."

"Does television pay better?"

"It depends on the product, Katherine. There aren't usually any residuals in fashion advertising, but other products can involve ongoing payments depending on the durability of the ad." He paused and looked back through the photographs. "Because she's not tall that could be a problem, too. In TVC work you are frequently working with other people, and in stills you can usually fake height, but it's harder when there's movement involved."

"If I'm not really suited to this, Bob," I asked kind of timidly, "Why are you even thinking about representing me?"

"Well" Bob paused. He spoke to Mom instead of me, which got me kind of pissed at him. "Here's the funny thing. See, if Jenny had just walked in off the street, I couldn't find her work, because everyone would look at her stats and just say 'no' straight off. She couldn't even get in the door at Ford. But... well... the thing is, it's these photographs."

"These photographs that Mark took?" I asked, immediately feeling stupid. Like, what other photographs were there? I guess I just wanted him to explain all this to me, instead of talking to Mom all the time.

"Yes, these. I wasn't going to tell you this, Jenny, but quite a few people have seen these photographs. They've totally blown people away. As I said earlier, people are always looking for a fresh look, and there's something about you, in these photographs, that says 'look at me' in a way that people are really excited by. And they can't tell how tall you are in these. You are thin enough, and you certainly have a 'look'. You look *right*.

"So, yes, you have quite a lot of potential doing magazine work," he continued. "Plus, you're still young enough that you have a long career ahead of you. And I won't beat around the bush, here, Jenny. This agency succeeds because we build long-term relationships with our clients. If we don't do the right thing by you, you'll leave us, and then our investment of time and money on you will be wasted. It's in our interest to find young, fresh girls like you and sign them -- and *keep* them."

Bob outlined the range of possible assignments he could envisage, depending on the clients he could find for me. Most of them sounded like they would be similar to the stuff I had done for Mark, and I felt more confident about that, although I had another flash of panic when I thought about having to get as naked as I did then for future work.

As though she had read my mind, Mom interrupted to insist that I should not be involved in any nude work. Bob raised his eyebrows for a moment, but said "Of course, Katherine. We're interested in quality work for Jenny."

He paused, and then addressed me instead of Mom. "Your main selling point is that you have a certain look, Jenny. A little Kate Moss, you could stand to put on some weight. But I think you have class, too. We'll be playing that up. We won't be sending you on jobs we think will hurt that image."

Then Bob asked me if I had any acting experience, and I said that I had tried out for drama club last year but had only ever worked backstage.

"No big deal," he said. "We'll arrange to get you a test. Linda, can you schedule that?"

She nodded. I began to get that panic back. Tests. Someone was bound to see through me eventually.

"So, what do you think, Jenny?" Bob asked finally. "Would you be interested in signing with us?"

I tried to fight down my urge to run screaming from the room.

"I don't think I'm as pretty as some other girls I know," I said, trying to backpedal. "Like Marcia," I added for Mom's benefit.

"Well, she's complaining about her looks, she's off to the right start," Bob joked with Linda and Mom like it was the funniest thing he'd heard.

He turned back to me and said, seriously, "Pretty I don't need. Pretty is cheesecake. Pretty will get you a shot at the Miss Kansas title and a spread in Playboy, Jenny. High fashion is something different altogether. What we want -- what fashion people want -- is arresting good looks, not merely pretty faces."

"But..."

"I can't believe I'm having to talk you into this," he said, exasperated. To Mom, he said "Does she really want to do this?"

Mom looked at me. "Jenny?"

"Yes, I think so, but -" I began.

"-Think of a pretty high fashion model," Bob interrupted. "Name one."

"Uh... Linda Evangelista," I said. Hers was the first name that came into my head.

"Ha!" he scoffed. "She's not pretty, Jenny. She's got an unforgettable set of cheekbones, and she's beautiful, but I can tell you now, if she heard you call her pretty she'd tear out your heart and have you eat it for lunch. She's *striking*. She's *beautiful*. She's not *pretty*.

"See, Jenny," he continued, "high fashion is not about selling to men. It's about selling to women, but more particularly it's about selling to the industry. The industry is always searching for a new look, a new face. In some years it's the waif look, in other years it's the androgynous look, some other years again it's the punk look. This year," he reflected, "I think we're seeing all of them, for different assignments.

"What you have," he concluded, "is beauty. And beauty beats pretty hands down. Trust me on this."

I looked over at Mom. My stomach was doing aerobics of its own accord. But she nodded, and I nodded.

Bob smiled. "Good!" He stuck out his hand, and I shook it, and then Mom shook it. "Jenny, Katherine, you'll enjoy this. This is going to be great! Donna has already asked for you to do a spot for them next week, Jenny."

"I suppose it was in your interests to get us to sign, then," Mom said wryly.

"I won't lie, Katherine, we think Jenny is going to be a big asset to the agency." Bob said. He rubbed his hands together. "Now, terms... I suppose you've been told already?"

I shook my head, and Mom said "Please explain them to us."

"It's very simple. We take 15%. There will be some expenses up front, head shots, that sort of thing. You already have a head start on a lot of girls with those photographs, Jenny, and they'll stand in stead of a working folio. The fact that Mark Broussard took them is a big plus."

He looked at me closely. "How did you get Mark to do these?"

"He's my uncle." I said.

Bob's eyebrows shot up and he looked the photographs again. "Uncle, huh? Lucky you."

He looked back up at me. "Your expenses will be deducted from your first month's earnings. I expect you to earn more than enough in the next week or so to make us all very happy, so I wouldn't worry about that if I was you."

He stood up, as a signal that our meeting was over. As we walked to the door he put his hand in the small of my back to guide me, and I jumped a little.

"One more thing..." Bob said. "Perhaps you could give some thought to another name?"

Mom and I looked at one another, and then at Bob.

"I don't want to offend you, but Jenny Miller is... " He shrugged.

"Do you have any suggestions?" Mom asked.

"Perhaps it's something we can all think about over the weekend," Bob said. He opened the door. "Linda will make some appointments for you, Jenny. Katherine, we'll send out the paperwork this afternoon. If you could give Linda the name of your lawyer, that will speed things up."

That was it. I guess I was officially a model. The rollercoaster had gained speed.

 

***

 

Chapter Twenty-One. Friday Afternoon.

Before we left the agency I realised I needed to go to the ladies room. I guess I had drunk too much water. Mom accompanied me and we both touched up our makeup.

"Mom?" I asked as I finished fixing a strand of my hair that had come astray.

"Yes honey?"

"Do you honestly think this is a good idea?"

"You can say no at any time, Jenny."

"Okay, I guess."

"Do you want to say no?"

"No. I mean, no I don't want to say anything. I guess since we just said yes inside it would seem pretty strange if I backed out now, wouldn't it?"

"Don't you worry about what would seem weird. Just do what you feel comfortable with."

"Okay, Mom. Thanks." I gave her a long hug. It felt good.

Mom drove us up to Sunset Boulevard to meet Dad at a cafe before our appointment with Dr. Colquhoun. Dad already had a table out on the sidewalk when we arrived. I could feel the eyes of a couple of young guys at a table a few feet away glued to me as I approached Dad's table, and I felt uncomfortable for a moment until I realized they were staring at me because they liked the way I looked, not because they wanted to beat me to a pulp. I looked over at them briefly as I sat down, smoothing my dress under me. The one closest to me was thin and weedy, but his friend was actually pretty cute. I smiled and turned to Dad, who had stood up as we approached and was sitting back down again.

"D'you see that, man. She likes you!" I overheard the weedy guy say.

"Hi Daddy," I said, and smiled. I heard the cute guy tell his friend to shut up.

"How was Megan?" he said to both of us.

I blushed, but Mom stepped in. "Oh, she was fine, thanks." Obviously Dad wasn't gonna get to know about the modelling for a while yet. "How was your trip down?" Mom asked.

"Fine. Except the damned rental has developed some problem with wheel alignment. It was fine when I got it on Saturday, but it shook all the way here. I'll be glad to give it back."

"When are you returning it?"

"Well, I was planning on going back Monday, but... " Dad seemed like he didn't want to continue.

"But?" Mom said.

"I think I'd better be getting back tonight, for the sake of domestic harmony," Dad sighed wearily. He meant his relationship back in New York, with a woman named Alison something that Mom and I had never met. I noticed Dad always refrained from using her name in front of Mom. That was probably smart.

"Oh," Mom said flatly. Fortunately the waiter came and took our order for coffee and interrupted the moment. Then we saw Eddie Murphy get out of a black Mercedes across the road and walk to another cafe. I asked Dad if he went to the movies at all in New York. Dad was pretty much a movie buff, so that got him started on a long dissertation about the last couple of shows he'd seen. Mom smiled at me and I knew she knew I'd changed the subject on purpose. I disagreed with Dad on a couple of points which kept him going for a while.

After we'd had our coffees and Dad had finished talking about movies it was getting close to our appointment time with the doctor and I was starting to get nervous again. I looked at Mom pleadingly and said I had to use the bathroom, and she and I went together again.

In the ladies room Mom and I fixed our lipstick and she hugged me and reassured me again. "It will all be okay, Jenny. Just relax."

"I guess." I said. "At least Dad's feeling comfortable enough to think he can go back to New York."

"I don't know whether comfort had anything to do with it, unless you mean not getting harangued by Alison." Mom smiled, and I laughed.

We each checked our appearances in the mirror, and went back out to the sidewalk.

"Daddy, about Dr. Colquhoun..." I began, as we walked back to the table. Dad had settled the check and had stood up as we approached.

"Yes?"

"Your friend who arranged this..."

"Jeff Braun. He's a doctor too. He organised it as a special favor." He put his hand on my arm to guide me away from the table.

"What did he say to Dr. Colquhoun about me. What did you say?"

"I told Jeff that you had some gender issues to work through, honey." I was shocked. Dad used the word 'honey'. He must have realised it too, because he withdrew his hand and looked confused.

"I, uh, I didn't say much more than that." He was turning red. "Don't worry. Jeff said Dr.Colquhoun has had a lot of experience with those kinds of issues."

Those kinds of issues. We walked across the street to Dr. Colquhoun's office.

***

Dr. Colquhoun's office was in this funny timber building that looked like it belonged in the 18th century, with little attic windows on the second floor. It looked kind of incongruous amongst the other modern buildings on this part of Sunset Boulevard. Dad held the door for Mom and me as we entered. There was a reception room to the left of the main door, and I followed Mom in. I was much more nervous about this visit than I had been about the visit to Dr. Adams. Maybe that was because Dad was with us this time. Or maybe it was because whether or not I continued as Jenny depended on the results of this visit.

As I entered the reception area my eyes settled on the two people at the other side of the room. One was a boy about my age, perhaps a year or two older. He reminded me a little bit of Paul's friend Steve, maybe because he had a little goatee, except he looked a lot shorter. The other was an enormous person in a hideous red and pink floral dress. I'm probably being cruel, saying 'person', but 'woman' wasn't the first word that came to mind. I noticed my Dad doing a double take when he came in behind me, and then watch his eyes look for almost anything else to settle on. I'm not sure exactly what came over me at that moment but I reached over and took his hand and smiled at him reassuringly. He seemed to like that, which was good. I kept holding his hand.

Mom introduced us to the receptionist. I noticed she said 'Jenny' when she got to my name. The receptionist looked slightly puzzled, but only for a moment. I figured she probably had my name listed as Chris, but since this place had lots of experience 'with those kinds of issues' -- as Dad had put it -- she made the connection.

The three of us sat at the side of the reception area and waited. A few moments after we sat down a gray-haired guy in his fifties or sixties -- I'm not sure, but he was older than Dad -- walked into the room and looked at all of us sitting there. I presumed he was Doctor Colquhoun, since he was carrying a folder with someone's name on it and he looked kind of doctorly. "Chris Abrahams?" he asked.

The boy next to me put down the magazine he was reading and followed the doctor down the passageway. I wondered what he was doing seeing the Doctor. He sure wasn't going to cut it as a girl, I thought to myself, even if he lost the goatee. Maybe Dr. Colquhoun had a more diverse practise than Dad knew about.

The receptionist came over with a clipboard that had a couple of forms on it. "Mr. Miller? You'll need to fill this out, sir." I looked across at the form as Dad began to fill it out. He got to my date of birth and stopped to think for a moment.

"Daddy!"

"Hmmm? What?"

"You don't even remember my birthday?"

Dad had the grace to look embarrassed. "Well, I...

"August 16th," Mom said helpfully. "Nineteen Eighty-Five," she added, in case he embarrassed himself again.

Dad filled out the rest of the form, with a couple of prompts from Mom, and gave it back to the receptionist, and the three of us sat there reading magazines. The receptionist apologized for the delay, which was nice of here, but we werem't really in any rush so it wasn't any bother. The boy came back into the reception area about 20 minutes later and gave something to the receptionist. While he was waiting for her to make another appointment he looked over at me and smiled. I smiled back, but I blushed as well and turned my eyes back to the magazine. A few moments later he had left, and Dr.Colquhoun had come back into the waiting room and wordlessly looked at the person in the red and pink dress. They both went into his office.

A few minutes later a woman came in for her appointment. I figured she was around Mom's age. When I looked at her closely I could see that she had probably been a man a while ago. There was something about her eyes, and her chin. And the size of her hands, when I looked carefully. She looked pretty good, though, and when she spoke to the receptionist to introduce herself she sounded just like any other woman her age. If we hadn't been in a place where I knew there were transvestites and stuff I probably wouldn't have noticed anything strange about her at all.

I thought to myself that maybe not all the transvestites in the world were like the ones on Jerry Springer.

It wasn't until about an hour after our scheduled time that Dr Colquhoun came out to see us. "The Millers, I presume?" He asked, shaking my Dad's hand and ushering us down the hall to his office.

I was really nervous as we sat down in his office. He had to get two chairs from the side of the room and move them closer to his desk so we could all sit there, so it took a moment before we were seated. I sat with my hands folded in my lap, waiting for whatever questions he wanted to ask me.

But he didn't ask me anything at first. Instead he began by talking to Dad jovially about their mutual friend, Jeff Braun, who apparently was some kind of amateur golfing legend. Mom and I exchanged glances and groaned inwardly. It was never a good idea to start Dad off talking about golf.

Finally they got to the point. "So," Dr. Colquhoun said. "Jeff tells me you've been having some difficulties, Jenny."

"Um... I guess."

"Would you like to tell me about it?"

I looked at Mom, and then at Dad, and shrugged my shoulders. "Where do you want me to start?"

"Well, perhaps you could start at the beginning. How long have you felt like a boy?"

"Huh?" From the corner of my eye I noticed Dad slump in his seat.

"Do you feel uncomfortable talking in front of your parents?"

"I guess. But, ummmm..."

"I don't think Jeff was very clear, Dr. Colquhoun. She... He's a boy. His name is Chris," Dad said. He was blushing. I don't think I'd ever seen Dad blush.

"Oh. Of course," Dr. Colquhoun said, looking down at his folder. "My assistant seems to have put the wrong name in the brackets this time." I figured he was just covering up for his own mistake.

He looked back up at me. "Well, Chris, you, ah... you do seem to be very comfortable as Jenny. I wouldn't have known."

Somehow I couldn't really believe that. This was a guy who saw transvestites all day long and he couldn't tell I wasn't a girl? I guess that was good, even if it didn't seem very likely. But then his initial mistake seemed genuine. I didn't know what to say.

When I didn't say anything at all he turned back to Mom and Dad. "Perhaps I could get your perspectives on this first, and then talk to Jenny -- ah, Chris -- separately."

Dad began to tell the Doctor about how he had come home last Saturday and I had answered the door. There was a lot of emotion in his voice. I realized again that I had probably hurt him, and I felt uncomfortable about that. But then I hadn't known he was going to be the one at the door. I idly wondered if I would have changed and gone back to Chris if I had known it was him. I reflected that I wouldn't have had the time to do that, and anyway -- as Dad discovered later --people didn't seem to think I looked like a guy anymore even if I wore guy clothes.

After Dad had talked for a few minutes Dr. Colquhoun turned to Mom and asked her for her version of my story. Mom began a lot further back, when I was a kid. It was funny to hear her talk to him almost like I wasn't there. She said that when I was little I had always played with her clothes and makeup a lot. I didn't remember that at all. She must have noticed me staring at her because she turned to me and said "Do you remember any of this?" I shook my head.

Mom went on, and said that I had thrown tantrums when I was two about having my hair cut, and then talked about how I had always seemed more like a girl when I was a baby. Dad made "hmmph" noises when she said that.

Then the two of them gave slightly conflicting versions of their separation, and my Dad admitted, grudgingly, that he hadn't had very much contact with me since he had left Mom. "That doesn't mean I don't care," he said, turning to me. I took his hand again. "I came as soon as your mother told me you needed help," he continued.

"It's okay, Daddy," I said, and smiled. I don't know why I was being so nice to him. He did run off and leave us both. And he was going back to New York tonight.

Dr. Colquhoun asked Mom and Dad a few questions about their long-term plans so far as their relationship went, and they both said they couldn't ever see a way to get back together again, but that they both wanted the best possible life for me. Dad squeezed my hand when he said that. I squeezed back.

Then Dr.Colquhoun asked me a bunch of questions about my schoolwork, and about what I liked to do in my spare time. I gave pretty simple answers. Then he asked me to describe how I felt about dressing up as a girl. I looked at Dad, awkwardly, and hesitated before replying. Dr. Colquhoun must have noticed that, because he interrupted and said to my parents that he'd like to talk to me alone. Dad gave my hand a squeeze again before he stood up and he and Mom went out into the waiting room again.

Dr. Colquhoun had stood as my parents left, and now he came and sat on the edge of his desk to talk to me. "I'm sorry about the mistake earlier. Thinking you were wanting to change into a boy," he said.

"Do I look like I'm dressed like a boy?" I asked, waving my hands over my dress.

"That's not often a good guide, Jenny, when I have patients who come in with their parents. You could have been a girl whose parents made her dress up specially for this appointment. To tell the truth I'm surprised, given his feelings on the subject, that your father didn't make you come here dressed as a boy."

"He wanted me to," I said. "But when I tried to go back to being a boy for him a couple of days ago he didn't like it. He said I looked like a freak when I was in boys clothes, you know, because my eyebrows are plucked and everything."

"You do make a very attractive girl, Jenny. I'm surprised nobody noticed it until recently."

I sighed. "Well, Mom and Marcia both said they knew this was gonna happen..."

"Marcia?"

"She's my best friend. She lives next door."

"Do you have any male friends, Jenny?"

I blushed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean friends at school."

"I, uh, I don't really fit in, I guess."

"No-one at all?"

"There's Tony, I guess. He's kind of a loner, too. We hang together sometimes. But we don't really see each other outside school."

"Anyone else?"

I blushed again.

"You have a crush on someone?"

"I, uh... Uh huh. I guess."

"A boy, I suppose?"

"Yes." I told him all about my experience with Paul, and then he wanted to know how I felt about all of that, and I couldn't help it, I told him that when I was with Paul I wished I was really a girl, and how I felt like I was somehow letting Paul down because I wasn't, really.

"Did you want to be a girl before you met Paul?"

I thought for a moment. "I think maybe I did, but I didn't really think of it that way until people started treating me like one. Does that make sense?"

"Yes."

"But, you know, I don't want to be weird."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, I don't think... I don't want to end up like a transvestite."

"A transvestite? Is there something wrong with that?"

"Well, you know, it's..."

"Do you like dressing up like a girl?"

"It's not that. It's... you know?"

He didn't say anything. Rats. I had to think of what I really meant.

"It's, well... I like it when people think of me as a girl..."

"So it's not just dressing up?"

"No. I mean, I like the clothes and all, but..."

"Now, Jenny, there's nothing wrong with being a transvestite. Truly. I think I should arrange for you to meet some people that might change your mind about that. But have you ever heard of transsexuals?"

"It's the same thing, isn't it?'

"Not at all, Jenny. But perhaps we'll get your parents to come back in before I explain what those differences are. It might put your father more at ease. Tell me about your friend Marcia. What do you do when the two of you are together?"

I told him about Marcia, about how we had known each other for a couple of years, and that even though she's older than me she still likes me -- even though nobody else my own age even thinks about me when I'm Chris.

Dr. Colquhoun was a pretty good listener, really, and I found myself pouring out a whole mass of stuff about my life. Not just about Marcia and me, but about not fitting in, and then about how everyone liked Jenny and nobody liked Chris, except Marcia and even she liked me better when I was Jenny. I told him her remark about me being kind of like a little sister.

"So you have a crush on Marcia, too?"

"I think I did. But now, you know, since I've been Jenny... I like her as a really good friend, you know?" I thought to myself that Mom would kill me if she heard me saying 'you know' so much. "A few weeks ago she kissed me, on the lips, and it was nice... but..."

"But?"

"I don't want to mess up our friendship. Anyway it's different than when I'm with Paul."

Dr. Colquhoun asked me about my visit to Dr. Adams, and asked me whether I knew what she had said. I said that I had only heard what Mom and Dad had discussed, which wasn't much.

"One last thing before I bring your parents back in, Jenny." Dr. Colquhoun said. "I'm guessing from what you've said that you'd prefer to continue being Jenny."

I nodded. "But, you know, I have to go back to school, and--"

"-- I think that we can deal with that if your parents are amenable to some ideas."

"-- and then there's the modelling," I concluded.

"Modelling?"

I told him about the meeting this morning, and about Mark's photographs, and how I had an agent now. He looked slightly stunned.

"Dad doesn't know, yet," I added hastily. "He saw Mark's photos, and he knows I'm gonna have more taken, but he doesn't know anything about the agent or anything yet."

"Perhaps we should keep that to ourselves until you and your mother can tell him. I think you should tell him, don't you, Jenny?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "I just think he'll, you know, freak."

Dr Colquhoun used the intercom to ask his assistant to send Mom and Dad back in. After they sat down he talked to all three of us about the distinction between being a transvestite and being transgendered. I understood most of it, I think. Dad seemed to be a little uncomfortable with some of the stuff Dr. Colquhoun said, but he mostly just nodded.

The Doctor asked me to wait outside for a few moments, and I went back into the waiting room. There were two new people in there now. One of them was a guy, but he looked very feminine. The other was a woman in her twenties who was really, really pretty. I smiled at her as I sat down and picked up a magazine, and she smiled back. I wondered what she was doing there. Maybe she was with the guy, although their body language didn't seem right for that.

After about five minutes Dr. Colquhoun buzzed the receptionist to ask her to send me back to his office. When I was seated, he said that he would like to see me again. I looked at Mom and Dad. None of us said anything. Dr. Colquhoun continued. "I think I can safely say, Mr. and Mrs. Miller, that I concur with Dr. Adams in her diagnosis of Jenny. I don't know whether it matters if she sees me or Dr. Adams, but I would recommend ongoing therapy."

"You think therapy will help her -- him get back to normal?" Dad said.

"Mr. Miller," Dr. Colquhoun said, and he leaned forward in his chair. "I suppose that depends on your definition of normal. I would like to see Jenny again before I made any final diagnosis, but my preliminary thoughts are that she is almost certainly transsexual."

"Oh, God," Dad muttered.

"There's nothing wrong with that, Mr Miller."

"But you can fix it, right?" Dad said.

"We can try to ensure that Jenny has a long and happy life, Mr. Miller, if that's what you mean."

Dr. Colquhoun went on to tell Mom and Dad, but especially Dad, that it would probably be in my best interest to stay as Jenny for at least a year, maybe two. "If that's what you want, Jenny."

I nodded. "You can always go back to being Chris at any time," he added. As I thought about it I became more sure that was the last thing I wanted.

Dad looked stunned. "What about school?" he asked.

"I'm sure you can work something out. Jenny's about to finish junior high, isn't she?"

Dad didn't say anything, but Mom said yes, so Dr. Colquhoun explained his plan to Mom. Depending on the outcome of another follow-up visit, he would probably recommend that I start on some drugs to prevent puberty advancing any further. That was a relief. I didn't want to end up all hairy and stuff. He would write a letter to whichever high school I went to, saying I was under his care and exempting me from gym class.

Dr. Colquhoun went on for a few minutes, reassuring Mom and Dad -- especially Dad -- that this stuff was pretty commonplace in the 90's. I could see Dad was having a hard time swallowing it, but since he was the one who arranged for me to see Dr. Colquhoun there wasn't much he could do to argue.

After the appointment with Dr. Colquhoun finished we walked out into the afternoon sun and back across the road to the cafe we had been at earlier. Dad almost looked like he was gonna cry. He looked really old all of a sudden, and I started feeling guilty again.

Mom didn't show any signs of guilt, though. She looked kind of pleased. I wasn't sure whether that was because she thought what Dr. Colquhoun had said was a good thing for me, or if she was still pissed with Dad for something and maybe pleased that he was upset. It was always hard to know with Mom and Dad. I wondered what Dr. Colquhoun had said to them while I was out of the room.

We sat back down at a table and ordered coffee for Dad and Mom and an Evian for me. It was then, as Dad was at his most vulnerable, that Mom let him know about the modelling work and the contract with the agency.

***

 

to be continued...

 

 

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