The Personal Assistant

by Paula Mortenson

 

Well, someone has to do these jobs. There are no schools or colleges that teach it, you just drift into it. For me, I had trained as an accountant, married and then divorced. The costs of the divorce had wiped me out and I could not afford to find somewhere to live when I heard of this job, from a friend in the entertainment industry. Assistant PA to a movie star, in the UK. Though I was a qualified accountant, I became a highly qualified 24/7 gofer and bookkeeper. The actual PA was a bitch, she treated everyone as though she was the star herself, but she spent most of her time propping up the ego of our employer, that at least kept the house staff and me in employment. After two years our star employer went into a drying out clinic, never to reappear on the silver screen and the PA moved on, leaving me to close everything down and to bring some semblance of order to what had always been chaotic finances.

One thing about my profession is that you always know whether there is enough to pay you and I could see that my employer’s cavalier use of illegal substances and bad advice meant that she would have to manage for herself in the future. She didn’t want me to go but eventually the penny dropped that she would have to adjust her lifestyle and I promised to keep in touch. Unfortunately, my concern for my employer’s money had taken no account of my needs so suddenly I was without an income again. This time, however, I taken care to ensure that my savings were not at the mercy of a money-grubbing ex wife and I was able to spend some time looking around. I discovered, however that my association with a failed star had considerably reduced my marketability.

The only job on offer was a full PA but to a husband and wife team who had just landed a very lucrative day time television contract and who had ideas and aspirations far above their talents. As I got into the job the first thing I discovered was that she expected me to keep tabs on him to ensure he didn’t indulge his passion for nubile (female) floor managers at the TV studios and he expected me to restrict her alcohol intake to modest levels until after they had appeared on our screens in the early afternoon. So I was not so much a PA as a gofer cum minder cum chauffeur/cook/occasional housekeeper, having to stretch the truth on behalf of both of them at times and having to referee their frequent screaming matches. I will say that the latter task never took place in public as they held themselves out as the ideal loving couple. Unfortunately, I lived in, at their "dream" house so my umpiring duties were often conducted with all three of us in sleeping attire at unsociable times of the night.

My sleeping attire created the problem. I have to confess that my wife divorced me when she discovered that I had a penchant for things feminine. To be straightforward I am and always have been a transvestite and perhaps it was the idea that I could look after my body as a woman does that attracted me to the entertainment industry. No one thinks twice about a man who has a manicure or a facial or has his eyebrows shaped and therefore I didn’t stand out as I would in an accountant’s office. Late twenties, unmarried, slim, longish blond hair, a complexion most women my age would not be ashamed of and hands and eyebrows that needed very little further work to be truly ladylike left me feeling comfortable with my image, particularly as no one commented. Well, I do admit I had the odd approach from men who jumped to certain conclusions but nothing that didn’t bolster my ego in kindly declining their propositions. I still regarded myself as being heterosexual but I was beginning to wonder what would happen if I had an approach from a female. I tried not to think too hard about that! My major problem was that George and Lucy, my employers, seemed to regard me as being on duty 24 hours a day, seven days a week and there was simply no time for me to spend as Maggie rather than David.

As I said, George and Lucy’s rows, and they were monumental events, often erupted at night with no regard for my privacy. In my first six months with them, they had left my sleep relatively unscathed so I had taken as the only relief for my needs to sleeping in a rather gorgeous slinky nightdress I had acquired. I felt safe as I slept in a granny flat which had its own front door but also a connecting door through into the main house. My office was in the living area and George and Lucy seemed to regard office work as being an evil they should not concern themselves with. Therefore, until that fateful night other than the tour when I took the job they never set foot in the flat.

My cosy dreams were rudely interrupted that night, as a very drunk and hysterical Lucy shook me awake.

"David. Oh, David. Will you wake up? He’s trying to kill me." Lucy always had a tendency to be melodramatic. Any further explanation was cut short by George crashing my bedroom door open, eyes blazing and in the midst of a string of profanities. I had already experienced his uninhibited tantrums and nothing short of exhaustion would generally quieten him. At least that’s what I thought but that night his eyes blazed at Lucy and then his gaze turned to me and the flow of obscenities slowed and finally came to a complete stop as his jaw gaped open.

My embarrassment as I realised that my sitting up in bed had revealed the thin pink straps and the pretty lace of nightdress’ top, excruciating as it was, was nothing when compared to the resoundingly silent astonishment evident on George and Lucy’s faces. The silicon breasts I liked to wear in bed further enhanced the shock for them. I had always thought that there was little point in wearing something as feminine as a nightdress if I didn’t have the figure to do it justice. Fortunately, they could not see the skin tone thong I wore, completely hiding any sign of masculinity.

"Where did you get that?", asked Lucy. "It’s so pretty and George obviously likes it." She added with a giggle.

George had been struck speechless, his eyes glued to a point twelve inches below my chin. Lucy grabbed his arm, muttering something about giving me privacy and led a still dumb George from my bedroom. I was still in shock when Lucy popped her head around my door. "Why don’t you slip on a dressing gown and come through into the lounge. Don’t change!" There was a distinct firmness in that final phrase.

Now I never wear slippers and the only dressing gown I have is a full length black silk kimono I bought in Hong Kong, so there were pink toenails peeking out from its the hem as I left my bedroom. I should also explain that it only wraps comfortably round me right over left. Lucy spotted that and the toenails immediately I shuffled into their sitting room. Lucy patted the leather sofa beside her, "Come and make yourself at home, dear."

George’s eyes were still fixed those twelve inches below my chin. "George, I know you like slim boyish looking women but you are embarrassing Davey. We can’t call you that, not while you look like this. Do you have a name, dear?"

To be accepted so readily is a dream, I suppose, but I had a reluctance to let out the secret me, it sounds silly but I suppose giving my name was an admission that I dressed regularly. Lucy beamed her most friendly television smile at me and raised her eyebrows expecting an answer.

I mumbled. She asked again. I mumbled again, uncertain whether to match my speech to my appearance. We were interrupted as George snapped, "Her name’s Maggie, are you bloody deaf?"

"Used to your young floozies mumbling are you? You probably keep their mouths full. It’s the only way you get a hard on. You certainly don’t that often for me."

The row immediately erupted, once again. The language was certainly not suitable for television and George wasn’t the only culprit. I sat, my legs tucked beneath me on the sofa as they tore chunks off each other. I didn’t know what to do as they both rose and stood toe to toe. Lucy, a good six inches shorter than George and dressed only in a shorty nightie, covered with an unfastened bath robe, revealing her more than ample untethered breasts first spat and finally reached up to strike at his face. His paw like fist caught her hand and I was terrified that this was going to descend into a brawl.

As I watched, the ferocious confrontation moved little by little from anger to passion and minutes later they were ferociously coupling on the black leather sofa across from me. There was no quarter given or taken, she scratched at his back, drawing blood, as he forced his whole body weight over her and violently levered her legs apart. The verbal abuse continued unabated, pausing only to kiss one another with brutal passion. It was like watching one of those wild life television programmes about the mating rituals of some African animal.

I could not bear to stay so I quietly rose and just reached the door when Lucy’s panting words reached my ears, "We’ll see you at breakfast, Oh yes, bloody harder you bastard, about, Aaahhhh, that’s it keep going you lazy.., eight." At this point she was screaming her orgasm and as I was closing the door behind me, George’s voice straining with growing fervour, hoarsely whispered, "I loved those tits, wear them to breakfast."

I hardly slept another wink before I had to appear before my employers. Oddly, I was not concerned they would sack me, the reception I had received was typical of the show business world but I was more worried about their sharp tongues. I decided that if I was to appear before I would try to look my best so I rose before seven to shower, shave (I always regarded that as necessary evil that I loathed) and brush my hair into some semblance of an androgynous style.

Adjacent to the lounge where George and Lucy had so enthusiastically coupled the night before was the kitchen, enormous but heated by the cooking stove at one corner. Hesitantly, I walked through from my quarters into the kitchen and put the kettle on, not only for myself but I knew that my employers could not face the world without massive doses of caffeine.

"Good morning, Maggie." Lucy had a twinkle in her eye as she greeted me. "My God, George hasn’t been that passionate for years. He never stopped going on about you, you’ll have to be careful with him." Suddenly, there was a serious tone to her voice, " I never realised, about you I mean. Do you have a boyfriend?" There was a doubt in her voice and I blushed. " George won’t be down until I call him. I told him you and I just have to have a girly chat. Heart to heart."

"I’m not gay. I prefer girls but I just feel right dressed this way." I indicated my kimono, which once again covered the flimsy nightdress and my breasts but left the pink toes showing.

"Do you ever wear day things? I mean do you only wear night things, I.... you know what I mean."

I was being asked to reveal the inner me and gradually Lucy prised from me my secret desires, my fears and everything from me. After ten minutes she had me revealing hesitantly the disaster of my marriage, how my wife had recognised the strap marks on my shoulder of a bra and how I had not dared to defy her demands for a divorce and a one sided financial settlement. She had me recounting my early forays into my mother’s and sister’s lingerie draws. She laughed with me as I described my initial attempts to buy feminine underwear and how still I struggled to get the outerwear and shoes I longed for. She had asked me why I didn’t subscribe to a catalogue to buy what I wanted by post or over the internet and I had to explain the difficulties of living as I did now and previously in other people’s homes.

As I confessed that last piece of information she smiled and commented," Well, that doesn’t matter, now, does it? We’ll have to visit one or two sites, perhaps this evening and start putting a proper wardrobe together for you, won’t we?"

George bounced into the kitchen grabbed a mug of coffee and perched on a stool regarding both of us. "If you haven’t forgotten we have the team arriving in ten minutes. We’re doing the show from here, don’t forget." That threw Lucy and I into a frenzy of activity, ironically for exactly the same reason. Neither of us wanted the public to see ourselves as we were.

The day was a great success. Lucy was so intrigued by me that she forgot to have a drink all day, George had been so satiated by his love making the night before that he took no notice of the floor manager he had been pursuing for weeks and me? Well I relaxed sufficiently to get all my tasks completed during the morning and was able to watch the programme going out live. George and Lucy were so pleased with themselves that they got the cameraman to turn his camera on me as I relaxed and they introduced me and got me to wave to the viewers. But Lucy just could not resist introducing me as their manager (male) and said it was a shame that their PA (Maggie-female) was not around. George’s eyebrows shot up, fortunately off camera, but he managed to compound my woes by commenting that Maggie was a real find and that they hoped to a least show the viewers a photo the next day, as she was currently away.

Within thirty minutes of the end of the programme everyone had packed up and gone. I disappeared into my office while George and Lucy removed the heavier makeup needed for the cameras. As I sat, agonizing over Lucy’s comments George stood at the door. "Look, I‘m sorry about what Lucy said but I couldn’t let it go by. We’ve already had a dozen telephone calls wanting to know more about you and Maggie. Viewers ring in, that means they’re interested and we can get a cause going, which means they’ll want to watch every afternoon."

George disappeared when he realised he had not cheered me up and I sat for hours staring at the wall in my office. I was well and truly out of the closet now, whether I wanted to be or not. I knew no connection had been made between me and Maggie but in my tormented state I just knew that at least my ex and I imagined the bitch (my former employers PA) would soon sniff me out.

Over the succeeding week I hardly spoke with my employers, they were busy at the studio every weekday and every agent in the land had been in touch. Suddenly, they were hot, in demand, and while I usually booked engagements at pre agreed rates the diary was being inundated and they needed to review those rates with their agent. I set up a meeting for them at the weekend and knew I would be required to act as housekeeper and helper for the two days. So much for my one weekend off in four.

I always knew whether the show had gone well the moment they walked in the door and that Friday night all was definitely not well. They were bickering; just the opening salvoes in what could definitely become a major row.

Something had gone awry and neither was going to admit they were wrong.

I met them in the kitchen and despite the effects of alcohol on Lucy I poured them large editions of their favourite tipples.

"You going to join us, Maggie or is it David" George’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. I bit my tongue, deciding that silence was the safest option but moved to the fridge to get myself a white wine. Lucy took up the cudgels and it was apparent she had already had a few drinks, "Oh, it’s Maggie, is it? White wine is such a little girl drink. The problem is that Maggie’s in drag." They then banded together to subject me to a series of pointed and hurtful remarks so that, despite my usual indifference to their unpleasantries I found myself, to my embarrassment, on the verge of tears. I was not going to give them the satisfaction so I turned on my heel and headed out of the kitchen.

"Where do you think you’re going? We’ve not said you can go yet." I was at a loss for words, close to tears and afraid because I just knew they were going to out me and lay me open to ridicule and probably much more. I snapped, "You obviously don’t want me so I’m going to fetch Maggie. "

I did have a few day clothes and I have to admit that I had discovered Lucy and I wore the same size shoes. So more in self-righteous temper than anything, I stomped off to my flat. I could cope with dressing and I had the rudiments of the use of cosmetics but the one thing I struggled with was my hair. I had never dared to push myself, nor known how, to ask my hairdresser for something closer to my self-image. I had taken Lucy’s advice and had ordered a black leather skirt and a silky white high necked long sleeved blouse off the internet. I already had the appropriate underwear. I have this thing about clothes going together. White blouse, therefore pretty white bra or corselet, nothing else would do. I chose the corselet, complete with matching thong and tan stockings. I had chosen the skirt, which sat just nicely at my knees, as I knew it would go with knee boots Lucy had in her wardrobe. I had just decided to put off my re-entrance by painting my nails when Lucy called outside my door. She made no comment about my outfit but mentioned my hair and almost as an apology she, with a few strokes, a little hairspray and 35 years of being a woman, created a dream, but simple style.

"Perhaps you could do with loosing just a few pounds and that skirt suits you but do I recognise the boots?" As I blushed and lowered my eyes in acknowledgement of my indiscretion Lucy decided we should visit her room to accessorize, as she put it. I followed her and decided that if I needed to get rid of my excess pounds (I knew that I just couldn’t afford to carry them) Lucy needed the same treatment. By the time I had two rings, a bracelet, a necklace and dangly earrings in place Lucy had confessed she had engaged herself a personal trainer (to get herself "toned up") and she invited me join in her sessions. George gazed at that point twelve inches beneath my chin that evening and has done ever since

And so, that is how it went. For a time George and Lucy had two assistants but they soon became incompatible and so one had to go. After two years as Maggie, I am leaving my employers. They have been good to me, taken me to all the show biz events and never, ever given any hint to anyone that Maggie wasn’t just Maggie. That is why David had to go; the switching from one to the other became impossible. No one seems to have missed him.

Why am I leaving? One person "read" me at a party. Well, she was chatting me up and I certainly wanted it to go further so I had to explain my extras. She always was sharp, putting two and two together like that and she likes to be in charge, I am going to have to hone my feminine wiles, since she’s decided that it’s me that’s the wife. She is working and I’m the homemaker. But then my first boss, you remember the "bitch", always was a bossy boots, I quite like that. Sometimes!

 

Paula Mortenson

 

 

 

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© 2003 by Paula Mortenson. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.