Tiffany Manners
Assistant to the President

by : Karen Anne Summerfield
© July 2000

 

"You're crazy, Marci!"

"Listen. How about if I give you a hundred dollars?" my sister was getting desperate. How she ever thought that I could pull this off was beyond me. "Pleeeease?" Marci started to cry. I hated that. I should have seen it coming.

She had started to cry Wednesday evening when Nancy's mom had called with the bad news. Nancy had been in a car accident and was hospitalized with a broken femur. There was no way that her thighbone would heal before Saturday morning. What was the big deal about her friend being out of commission?

My sister had completed a year of training to be a beautician and Saturday was her final exam - you know, the test of all of the skills that she was supposed to have learned during her training. The students were required to supply their own model then do a complete make over while the State examiners looked on. It was also a contest.

A group of judges had been selected from salon owners, model agencies and the press. They would judge the students' work and rate their skills. In addition to adding their ranking to their resume to aid them in getting the most desired of positions, the top three beauticians were each to be given a cash prize. Nancy was my sister's best friend and had volunteered to model so that Marci could take the exam and enter the contest. Without a model, Marci could do neither and would not get her license. The next chance to be examined would not be for another three months.

"Please, Tommy?" she pleaded with tears running down her cheeks. My resistance was melting. I should explain that my sister had very few friends and all but Nancy were in her school class. There really was no one else for her to ask and she did not have money to hire a professional; besides, the rules prohibited professional models for the contest portion only.

"What exactly do I have to do?" I reluctantly asked.

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" It had been a long time since my sister had kissed me.

"I haven't agreed yet," I protested, as I pushed her back. "Just what do I have to do, Marci?"

"Just sit still for about four hours on Saturday morning. I'll do all the work." Her explanation seemed far too simple.

"But I'll have to pretend I'm a girl, right?" Like all other eighteen-year-old men, the thought of wearing girl's clothes and makeup was pretty disgusting. As if she did not wish to admit it, Marci bit her lip and lowered her eyes.

"It's only for a few hours."

"What? Tell me exactly what I have to wear?"

"A dress, pantyhose and pumps," her voice was barely audible as she answered.

"How about a tee shirt, jeans and sneakers?" I countered. "All the girls wear them. I'm not wearing a dress. I'd never live it down if the guys found out."

"They won't find out! The rules require all of the models to wear the same outfit so their clothes don't detract from the judging." It made sense, but I still did not want to do this.

Friday afternoon, Marci talked me into practice.

"I need to shave your legs and give you a shampoo, Tommy."

"I'll shave my own legs!" I knew that to wear the sheer, black hosiery, the hair on my legs would have to go. I had agreed to do this, but there were limits.

"Unless you have some big secret you haven't shared with me," my sister grinned, "you've never shaved your legs in your life and are likely to nick yourself a hundred times before you finish." She had a valid point. My body hair, while light, was still there and would show. I'd only been shaving my face for about a year and that was only once a week. I often nicked myself doing it.

I sat on the toilet lid so Marci could coat my legs with shaving cream then carefully run a disposable razor over them, starting near my toes. It was a really weird feeling to have my sister kneeling there and doing this to me.

"OK, all done," she pronounced, three razors later. Before I could get up, she sprayed the foam on my right arm and was shaving it too. Marci paid special attention to shaving my face.

"I'm going to shampoo you now. Come over to the sink."

"Why can't I do that myself? I have shampooed before!" At least Marci could not use the same argument she had about my shaving.

"Because..." There was that age-old argument used by parents and others the world over.

"Because what?" I demanded.

"Because I want to do it right and condition it afterwards. Come on, it won't hurt."

Even a hot shower and through rinse of my hair, did not remove the floral sent that her conditioner had imparted to my long hair. With a towel wrapped around my waist, I came out of the steamy bathroom.

"Unless you want everyone to know you're a boy, you better start thinking more like a girl," she giggled.

"What?" I demanded. No, I did not want anyone to think I was a guy, well, yes, I did, but not while I was wearing a dress.

"The towel." Marci pointed. "Use it to cover your boobs. No girl would wrap it like that. Before I could stop her, my sister had whipped the large towel off of me and wrapped it around my chest, up in my armpits. I saw her stare down for a minute, before I was covered again. The questioning look was hard to miss on her face, but she did not comment and it vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Through out high school, my plumbing had been a constant source of teasing and jokes. I was not exactly 'hung' and my small size added to the amusement of the jocks in the locker room. I'm only five foot, four inches tall and weigh just one hundred seventeen pounds.

"Put these on." Marci offered a pair of her panties.

"Can't I wear my own briefs?"

"No!" she said emphatically. "These will hold you in. You really don't want any bulges to give you away. Or do you?" she grinned. Reluctantly I stepped into the elastic bikini and worked it up under the towel. "Tuck yourself back between your legs, Tommy."

"They're too tight." I was not used to the feeling of such restriction.

"Don't be silly. Their mine and fit me just fine. On you they have got to feel loose." Marci has a nice figure that no girl should be ashamed of, but she did outweigh me by ten or fifteen pounds and was only a little taller.

"Sit and I'll show you how to put on the pantyhose." My sister opened a new package and knelt before me. She carefully showed me how to rose one leg, gathering the sheer fabric up gently until just the toe formed a small pocket, put my foot in then slowly work it up my leg. What a really weird sensation - feeling the thin nylon going on and covering my skin. I matched her moves to cover my right leg. Marci had me stand to cover my crotch and ass then rubbed the pantyhose up both of my legs to smooth and even them out.

I did not argue about the black bra I was handed. I'm as flat chested as any guy and don't need to wear anything to support breasts that I didn't have, but I'd hardly look right going braless. I shed the towel and followed my sister's instructions on how to put it on. She used nearly half a box of tissues to stuff the small cups. Obviously the bra was not hers. I didn't question it. What would have been the point?

The dress was a black, elastic knit with long sleeves and high, snug neck. Marci closed the zipper up my back.

"Your shoes and you'll be dressed." Marci pulled a shoebox from under her bed. While I had not questioned the bra, the shoes were obviously brand new.

"Where'd you get those?"

"I picked them up for you at lunch yesterday." I did not press her, but I had not agreed until after our supper on Thursday. It was really weird to stand on nearly three-inch heels for the first time. Despite never having walked in heels before, I surprised myself that it really wasn't that difficult. I managed without wobbling, though I had to walk with much shorter steps than normal. Something else was short - my dress!

"You have great legs. All the other girls will be wearing identical dresses, so stop worrying about it." I did not want to even think about having 'great legs'.

When I was seated again, Marci put my long hair in a ponytail. I usually wore it in a ponytail, but a guy's style, low on the nape of my neck with an elastic band. She made it a girl's tail by tying it with a narrow, white ribbon, high on the back of my head after brushing it out.

"OK, you're all done for today." Hearing her say that really caught me of guard.

"I thought you were going to fix my hair and put makeup on me?" I blurted out causing her to laugh. "You did say you wanted to practice."

"I wanted you to practice. Don't sound so disappointed, Tommy - I thought you didn't want to do this?"

"I don't, but..." I shut up before I said something even more stupid.

"If you want makeup, use mine, here," she pointed to her vanity in front of me. I was only doing this to help her out. No way was I going to put on makeup if I didn't have too.

Practice meant me practicing under Marci's tutelage - how to move like a girl. I walked, went up and down the stairs and must have sat down a hundred times during the rest of the afternoon. The hardest part was not moving, but posing when I sat or stood still. I felt really silly positioning my feet and placing my hands just ‘so’; because that was the way 'other girls' did it. I hated her saying 'like other girls'. When I asked her to stop, Marci only said it that much more.

I was seated in the kitchen, drinking a soda while Marci fixed us supper. Being June, the door was open to let the breeze in. A knock on the screen door caused me to freeze in panic. I was seated only three feet away from it.

"Oh, Hi, Mrs. Currant. Come on in?" Marci called to invite our next-door neighbor inside. I was absolutely terrified, but there was absolutely nothing I could do. To suddenly run from the room, like I'd first thought to do, just wouldn't have worked.

"Thanks Marci. I was wondering if you have any tea I could borrow. Jim's Aunt stopped over and asked for a cup and we don't drink it."

"Sure. Mrs. Currant This is my friend Tiffany. Tif' this is my next door neighbor, Sally Currant."

"Hi," she said cheerfully to me. I forced myself to repeat the word. She stared and I knew my secret would soon be all over the town. Sally Currant was the biggest blabbermouth ever born. Her eyes left me to take a plastic bag that my sister had filled with tea bags.

I thought to close and lock the kitchen door as soon as she was gone. Marci walked over and opened it again.

"What am I going to do now?" I asked. I was sure that my voice sounded as panicky as I felt.

"Do about what?"

"She saw me," I motioned my hands across my dress.

"I'm sure she did. So?"

"So, now everyone will know your brother wore a dress!" I felt like crying.

"Nonsense. Just calm down. All Mrs. Currant saw was my new friend 'Tiffany' and not a boy in a dress." I doubted that, but the damage had been done.

We had finished supper and were watching TV together. I still was dressed as earlier - Marci had insisted - so I 'get used to it before the exam the next morning'.

The only things different when I got out of her car in the school parking lot on Saturday was that my sister had doused me with perfume and I was wearing some of her jewelry: a thin watch, a herringbone necklace and pair of small, clip-on earrings. All of the jewelry was silver-toned or the real sterling.

"Put your purse on your left shoulder," Marci positioned my shaking hand on the black leather bag. I was terrified of facing her friends and all the strangers. What was going to happen when I was discovered to not be what I was pretending to be?

I just moved to stay as close to my sister as I could. We walked in and registered. I was surprised to learn that I'd been named Tiffany Suzanne Manners and was supposed to be from South Dakota. Talk about being from nowhere?

Marci greeted her friends and introduced us. I felt that all of the girls stared at me excessively. Her other surprise was that I was now her cousin and visiting for the summer. Despite their staring, no one said anything out of the ordinary.

"Come on, Tiffany, let's go to the girls' room? There won't be any chance after we get started." I wanted to protest. I wanted to say I couldn't go in the girl's rest room because I was a guy. Well, dressed as I was, I couldn't go in the boys' room without causing even more of a problem.

We weren't the only ones in the rest room. I was not used to waiting in a long line to just pee. At least I did remember to sit once I reached the stall. I was careful too, not to put a run in my pantyhose as I raised them up.

Marci was nowhere in sight in the crowded room, so I waited in the hall for her. No way did I want to just stand around watching the girls freshen their lipstick. Yes, I had lipstick, plus an assortment of other cosmetics in my large purse too, but the exam required that all of the models, me included, weren't to wear any makeup prior to the start.

"There you are." Marci had come up behind me. "Come on, we'll get your picture taken then we can get started." I did not want my picture taken in a dress, but this was part of the procedure and Marci had me stand in line with the other models while she went to set it up.

"Name?" the guy asked me when I reached the table. I nearly said my real name, but just nearly.

"Tiffany Suzanne Manners." I stammered. After I told him Marci's name for me, the letter board was placed in a stand so our names would be photographed too. I've never been arrested, but I imagined myself getting mug shots at the police station. I was sure that would happen as soon as everyone discovered I was a guy.

Marci started by covering me with a plastic cape. She undid my ponytail and began to wet my hair. Though I had asked several times, Marci had finally told me to 'shut up', when I again asked what she was going to do. What look was she going to try to create?

"Just going to trim your split ends, Tif'." I felt her comb and then the scissors start to clip my wet hair. "I'm really glad you have not gotten your hair done recently." I had to chuckle.

"Could have fooled me - all the times you've nagged about it." I was feeling just a bit more relaxed.

"Well, that was under slightly different circumstances," my sister countered.

After a few minutes of snipping, Marci set aside her tools and moved my hair about with her fingers for a few minutes with a questioning look on her pretty face. Apparently having decided, she began to wrap strips of aluminum foil about selected strands - all over my head. I had no idea what this was for, but I did not ask. I wasn't sure that I wanted to know. She seemed to cover all of my hair in front with the foil.

Pulling on thin rubber gloves, she began to work in a smelly lotion. It began to burn slightly, but the smell was the worst part. Apparently satisfied, my head was covered by a clear plastic bonnet that was tied in a bow under my chin. Using a thing that had a hook on the end, Marci punched it through the plastic and drew out a foil wrapped bunch. In turn, all of the foil-covered hair was on the outside of the plastic and she was removing the wraps.

"Can I know just what you are doing?" I asked.

"Coloring your hair, of course." Sure, 'of course', just like that. My hair had been the same light, dull looking brown since day one. Many had called it mousy before.

"What color?"

"Don't worry, you won't like it, so don't ask." Well, I certainly did not like that answer, but try as I did, I could not imagine what she was doing to it.

With all that goop in my hair, Marci leaned me back and began to attack my right eyebrow. I winced as, what had to be; a big bunch was yanked out all at once.

"Yes it hurts. Just be a good girl and try to sit still," Marci told me.

"Can't you at least do less at once, please?" I begged.

"There is a lot to do and I don't have all day," was her answer. Finally she slowed to pluck out only individual hairs. From what I'd just experienced, I was surprised that I still had any eyebrows left to pluck.

My hair was rinsed with the plastic cap still in place then that was removed and she rinsed the remaining coloring agent out completely. This was followed by what I guessed was conditioner, as it left my hair smooth and free of tangles. It smelled pretty, too. I startled myself thinking that 'pretty' was appropriate. I was a man and not supposed to smell pretty.

With me still bent back over the sink, Marci left the conditioner in a few minutes then rinsed that out and sat me up after drying with a towel. Several very brilliant flashes blinded me. We were being photographed!

"I'm just going to let your hair air dry for awhile. Put your hands out." I did as I was told. My sister had told me that a manicure was required and that she was going for extra points by applying acrylic nails.

Marci trimmed my cuticles then sanded my nails to roughen their backs to provide a good surface for adhesion. I'd seen her repair her own nails with this stuff when she had broken one, so the little plastic forms that were fitted to each of my fingertips came as no real surprise. I was also accustomed to the strong smell of whatever solvent was used in the mixture she began to carefully brush on.

I just watched as she carefully trimmed the reinforcement and laid strips into the tacky mix. It took her over an hour before she removed the last of the forms.

"I'll shape them later. Please don't play with them, Tif'?" My fingers felt so different with all she had done to them that I actually did want to touch them and experiment. I was able to control my urge and sit still while she resumed her work on my hair.

Marci alternated between trimming and shaping my new hairdo and shaping my nails. They had to extend well over an inch when she set her tools aside and began to paint on clear base polish. I wanted to protest that she could not be serious about leaving them that long. What the heck - it would only be until she completed the exams and then I could cut them off.

Throughout the morning, numerous people circulated about the huge room. I guessed them to be the ones administering the test, as well as the judges for the contest. There were also lots of photographers. Marci had started to apply makeup to me when I noticed that the nearby circulating group seemed to be much larger and all of them did not leave after only a few minutes.

"Robert, this one," a woman spoke authoritatively. A guy with three cameras slung about his neck and another raised in his hand appeared instantly beside the tall blonde. I guessed her to be in her early forties. There were three younger women with her. "I want you to get me good pictures and stay close to this one until the end," she ordered the photographer.

The woman wore a tailored gray suit that shouted authority - power, and she commanded those in her group. The younger females were gorgeous. My attention was drawn to them because of their identical, tight blue outfits, and then to the nearly doll like appearance of their heavily, yet exquisitely, made-up faces.

"Janet, stay with Robert," she commanded a pretty brunette.

"I think Ms Saunders just picked the winner, Bob," I heard Janet say. Marci closed her eyes and clenched her fists, not in anger, but in that way she did when something good was happening. They couldn't be serious!

"Pucker." I moved my lips to imitate my sister's so she could brush on yet another coat of whatever there.

"OK. I'm done." We were again surrounded when Marci removed the cape and helped me to stand. Those who had gathered about us actually applauded, not loudly, but respectfully. Ms Sanders reappeared with the rest of her entourage, while many cameras flashed in my eyes.

"Jayne Saunders," she said to Marci, as she offered her card. "Saunders and Saunders." I'd no idea what the significance of that was, but apparently she was not one of the state examiners.

Nothing more was said and the crowd slowly dissipated.

"Marci, I need to go," I whispered as she began to pack her case.

"You're going nowhere, Tiffany, this won't take too much longer."

"I need to go to the girl's room." It felt silly saying that, but I really did need to after sitting for nearly four hours. She gave me a strange smile.

"OK, as soon as I finish."

Just lowering my pantyhose and panties was hard, but drawing them up with the talons, which had been glued, to my fingers was nearly impossible. I was so afraid that I'd ruin my hose by punching holes right through them. Thankfully that did not happen. There were just too many girls crowding before the sinks and I did not even give looking in the mirror any thought. I'd wish that I had.

Staying close to my sister, we made our way back to where the results were soon to be posted. Everyone pressed to read the outcome of the state cosmetology test. Before we could get close enough there was a painful cry that silenced the throng. A really swishy guy, at least I think it was a guy, rushed out in tears. Had he failed the exam? The girl that rushed closely behind looked like a reject from the OD ward. She was dressed just like me and I guessed her to be the model. Frankenstein's bride looked like Miss America in comparison.

"Ninety-seven," Marci read her grade with an ear-to-ear smile!

We went with the others to where the contest would be judged. I was a bit surprised to notice that Jayne Saunders was not one of the judges. Her group stood near the front of the stage, but so did a lot of the other spectators.

"Barbara Miller, come forward," a man called over the sound system. A girl to our right squealed with delight. "Bring your model, Miss Miller." He waited until the blond and tall redhead were on the stage.

"As I call the beauticians' names, please step up with your models."

Nine contestants were already placed when I heard, "Marci Mitchell." I'd largely calmed, having gotten through the day without my masquerade being questioned, at least not openly. My stomach did a flip-flop. Marci grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the stage.

The crowd oohed and awed as I stepped up. There was a loud buzzing through out the room, but I could make out none of it. I was terrified! In a line, all of the models were made to walk around in a big circle before the judges, while cameras flashed constantly. I was far too nervous to notice that the other models were just as afraid of what was happening as I was. None of us were professionals.

One by one, as the judges voted, the beauticians left the stage with their models until only the only models there were a gorgeous black girl, a really pretty blonde and myself. I could not believe that this was happening!

"The third runner up will be awarded with a five hundred dollar gift certificate to Beautiful Images and her model a certificate for one hundred dollars." He paused to open the large envelope. The third runner up is... Marlene Dieter presenting Patty Daniels." It was the redhead to my right. I glanced at the black girl to my left.

Nearly a head taller than me, she looked exquisite - clearly, her stature and figure were winners.

"You git my vote, huney," she smiled warmly at me. When her name was called, Tenisha did not go to the announcer, but came to me first and actually brushed her cheek to mine. "You've git what it takes," she whispered then she was gone.

"Our first place winner receives the use of a 1985 Mustang convertible for one year and her model a check for one thousand dollars. Marci Mitchell and Tiffany Manners." The crowd burst into loud applause. This had to be a dream and I'd wake up soon. It seemed everyone was on stage.

"Smile, Tiffany." I did not will it. "Turn this way, Tiffany." The pictures went on forever, and then the interviews started.

"Tell us about yourself." "What do you do?" "Where are you from?" I was in shock and don't think I answered any of their questions. I just wanted out of there. A hand pulled me from the crowd. It was not my sister's. It belonged to the girl that had watched Marci put on the finishing touches. What was her name? I couldn't think.

"Thank you Janet." Yes, Ms Saunders had called her Janet. I stood in the middle of her entourage, facing that stern looking woman.

"I'm Jayne Saunders, Tiffany." Her voice then was not the strong commanding one of a Marine Corps Drill Sergeant any longer, but warm and soothing.

"You are very attractive, Tiffany."

"Thank you," was all I could manage. I wanted to hide.

"How old are you?"

"Just nineteen," I answered.

"Would you like to interview for a job with my firm? Attractive people are just what I'm looking for." How should I answer that? I'd been out of work since Christmas, ever since McNulty's had closed. I had baby-sat the mainframe on the third shift of the huge department store since I had graduated the year before. I felt my hand being squeezed. It was Marci and I was never happier to see her.

"I'm sure my cousin would love to, Ms Saunders." What? I could not believe what she was saying for me!

"Tiffany has just moved from out West and I think all the activity here today is more than a bit overwhelming for a Prairie girl.

"Here is my card," she pressed her business card in my sweaty palm. "I'll expect you at the office at nine o'clock, sharp, on Monday, Tiffany." Jayne Saunders had that presence that you did not want to get on the wrong side of. I was sure that Marci and I would think of something.

"I also expect that you look exactly as you do now. Do not change your look, Tiffany." It was an order.

"Yes," I gulped. She turned to Marci.

"I own Saunders and Saunders. We're a cosmetics manufacturer and always looking for skilled talent, Marci. There is an opening in our promotions department for you. You have my card, eight on Monday. Be there!" Her tone left no doubt that it was a command too. Without another word, Jayne Saunders turned and her group followed her out of the building. I meekly followed my sister when she pulled me outside too.

"But I just can't, Marci! Being your model and just sitting there was one thing, but how am I going to convince them to hire me? She thinks I'm a girl!" I nervously laughed at the absurdity of all that was happening to me. "There is no way that I won't be spotted as a guy in a dress." Marci gave me a strange look as she drove toward home.

"Have you taken a good look at yourself ... since I did you?" I hadn't. I'd no idea what all the fuss had been about. She reached across to lower the car's visor on my side, exposing the mirror there.

"Yikes!" was all I could manage when I looked. I stared with disbelief. The exotic made-up redhead stared back at me from the mirror. Well, she was mostly an auburn haired girl, but she had brassy bangs and matching blonde, highlighted curls, before waves of chestnut cascaded down in back. There was just no way it was me.

Marci stopped for wine and Chinese takeout before we arrived home. We had driven without saying much else. I just stared in the mirror. I stared at my long red nails and I stared at my exposed thighs.

"We are going there on Monday. I want no arguments, Tiffany," Marci stated flatly.

"Please stop calling me that?" I asked. I'd have probably received a better reply if I'd asked the walls. "There is no way that I can pull this off!" That was the way she left it on Saturday night - without any solutions.

I'd been able to remove my makeup, but without polish remover, I could not undo my painted nails any more than I could change the color of my hair. I debated cutting both short, but did not even look for the clippers. In the morning, I went downstairs in just a tee shirt and well-worn jeans. Even without makeup, I looked like a flat chested girl. Marci glared at me as she bid 'Good morning'.

"I've not changed my mind, Tiffany." She poured me a glass of juice then sat across from me at the table.

"Before you say anything else, I want you to see this." 'This', was the front page of the Styles section of the Sunday paper. I sat up straight. There, in full color, was my picture, Tiffany's picture. 'A Rare Beauty Graces Local Contest' read the headline.

"You managed yesterday and you even made today's paper," Marci grinned.

"OK," I was a bit more rational with my arguments. "Suppose, just suppose that I go to the interview. How am I supposed to deal with the Social Security and all? They are sure to check and ask for my card should I be offered a job." I knew that would put a stop to her silliness.

"I'll bet you already have the job," Marci offered as she stood.

"Eat some cereal and come up to my room so I can get you pretty again. We have a lot to do today."

Marci had dialed the phone when I came up.

"Hi, Uncle Frank. It's Marci." I sighed. "Just a minute, Uncle Frank." Marci covered the mouthpiece and turned to me.

"Tiffany, get dressed, I'll help with your makeup in a sec'. OK?" I just nodded. Uncle Frank wasn't really our uncle; he was the father of one of Marci's friends. Those who knew him well, including the police, called him 'Papers' Marcitti. Uncle Frank ran the 'family' in the area. What was my sister doing calling him?

I changed into all that I'd worn the previous day, but could not manage to get the zipper closed in back of the dress. Marci zipped me up when she came in.

"Just sit so I can put on your makeup. Pay attention today, so you can, at least, touch it up by yourself, Tiffany."

"Sis, why are you making me do this?"

"We went through it all last night. You need a job. I need you to help pay the bills or we are both homeless. That is not something I'm wishing to try. Sit still so I can do your eyes." Marci did not duplicate the heavy makeup of the previous day, but went for a far subtler look. Compared to real girls, she still applied far too much to my face in my opinion.

My sister duplicated my look on her own face and changed into a black dress too. We did not match exactly, but we were close.

Being a bright, warm summer day, I guess more people had gone to the shore than were shopping at the mall. Marci started shopping for me in the lingerie department at the big discount store. A dozen pairs of pantyhose, mostly beige and nude tones, followed three bras and a dozen pairs of panties. Camisoles and half-slips, plus one full slip later and we were done in that department.

"Let's see what we can find for you in nice tops for work, Tif." Marci had not asked me to try on any of the undies, but she did with the three blouses she'd selected for me. Mostly the sales help had left us alone, but, as soon as we were near the changing booths, a clerk, about Marci's age, came to help.

It felt strange to just stand behind the curtain wearing only my bra, panties and pantyhose. I was so afraid that I'd be discovered and get myself arrested.

"But my bra shows." I protested when I saw the black garment clearly through one of the thin white blouses she had me try on.

"Of course it does. You don't wear black undies with a white blouse, silly," Marci kidded. "Wear the white or nude one with this."

She exchanged one blouse for the next larger size after seeing how it looked, but we bought all three styles.

"Oh, this will look really good on you." My sister held up a suit in pistachio to my chin. "Hold this." She found an identical one in white.

It was back to the car to unload my armful of packages then we returned for more shopping to expand my wardrobe while avoiding the more expensive stores.

I never thought that buying shoes could require so much effort. Marci pointed out the importance of color to coordinate with different outfits then the style differences. The young guy that waited on us made me extremely nervous - he kept trying to look up my dress! The way he touched me, just that he touched me, sent shivers up my spine. I couldn't wait to get out of there!

"Can I change now?" I sat exhausted on the side of my bed when we'd brought everything up to my bedroom.

"If you meant into another pretty outfit from all we bought, yes. If you meant change back to the things like you used to wear, Tiffany, definitely no." Marci waited with a determined look on her face for my reaction. "If you stand any hope of pulling this off tomorrow, you will need all the practice you can get at being Tiffany," she advised.

"But I do not want to be Tiffany Manners. I want to go back to what I am - a man!" I protested.

"Then you can pack up and move the hell out!" Marci stood on solid ground while I was skating on thin ice. Since Mom and Dad died, everything was in her name and I owed her a lot. I was not sure just what rights, if any, I had. "Now!"

Resigned, I changed out of my black outfit into a white, short sleeve blouse and slender black skirt. I had remembered to change into a white bra at the last minute.

"Marci, can you come here, please?" I called down to her. When she came up, I showed her my problem. My perspiration had saturated the tissues we'd used to stuff my bra, creating a lumpy mess.

"Throw them away and just leave the cups empty, I'll think of something." I debated not wearing any bra, but did not think it was the time to directly disobey my sister. Marci still seemed to be in a foul mood.

In the morning, she set my hair as soon as I'd showered. On my own, I had decided that it might be best if I shave the rest of the hair from my body. No point in risking it showing if I popped a button or something.

"I laid out what you'll wear today on your bed. Paint your toenails while I get ready." My sister handed me a bottle of nail polish to match my long nails. "Put cotton balls between your toes until it's dry and make extra sure it is dry, before you put on your pantyhose.

Marci did my makeup, just as it had been on Saturday, including the false eyelashes. I protested that I looked like a whore and this only caused her to laugh.

"No you don't, silly. A bit over done, but that is not you today."

Everything from my bikinis to the suit that day was white, even my sheer pantyhose. She handed me earrings and a single strand necklace of fake pearls once I was otherwise ready.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Nervous as a hen with the fox loose in the house." Mom used to say that whenever she felt anxious about something.

"My breasts don't feel right," I added. Marci had filled two, zip-lock, plastic bags with mayonnaise to create the impression of small breasts inside my bra.

"They're the best I can do for now. Get your purse and we'll go." I lifted the white handbag and took a last look in the mirror before accompanying her to the garage.

"Here," my sister handed me an envelope as we drove through town. "That will make things a bit easier." I looked inside to find a new Social Security card - one with my new name on it along with my real number.

"Where did you get this?" though I was now a redhead; I was being very blonde.

"Don't ask." Yes, I knew better than to ask about Uncle Frank, his business and my sister's relationship with him.

We rode together to the address on the card. Arriving just before eight, Marci told me to wait and not go in before five minutes to nine.

"You do not wish to appear over anxious, Tiffany," she cautioned. I wished her good luck with her interview and she wished me the same.

'Over anxious', Ha! That greatly understated how I felt about what I was doing; interviewing for a job while wearing a girl's suit, high heels and makeup. How could I not help, but to feel the anxiety of the situation I was in? I debated canceling, but remembered I'd no money, not even the keys to the house in the white purse that Marci had loaned me for the day. There was no way home, but to walk fifteen miles or hitch hike. No, I had to go through with this.

"Good morning. Welcome to Saunders and Saunders." The receptionist rose as I approached her station.

"Good morning, I'm Tiffany Manners," I managed to introduce myself which caused her face to light up with a big smile then her eyes examined me carefully.

"You are even prettier than your picture in the papers." I was flattered but wasn't sure how to respond.

"Pull over a chair and we can knock off the papers then I'll introduce you to the others in your department." She was acting like I'd already been hired.

"I'm Karen Steel. Pleased to be working with you, Tif'." It sure sounded like I had a job.

While I provided the information, Karen typed it into her computer for about five minutes then placed a small stack of brochures before me.

"Medical, dental, optical, 401K, pension, etc.," she said quickly fanning them out then gathering them to hand to me. Put them in your purse and just ask if you've any questions after you've read through them." She waited until I'd put then away before continuing.

"You start at thirty-five hundred a month plus expenses. Pay is weekly, expenses are reimbursed monthly.

"Sit tight I'll see if Staci is free." I was in shock. Everything was happening so fast. I only half heard her conversation.

"Your boss will be up in a few minutes. Just relax while I get back to work, OK?"

"But," Karen raised her eyes. I just had to know what had just occurred. "I was supposed to have an interview with Ms Saunders?"

"She had to go to a meeting. Besides, interview for what?" She seemed puzzled.

"The job... to determined if I'm qualified." That elicited a laugh.

"Believe me, you're qualified. To be a makeup model you don't have to be smart all you have to do is be pretty, smile and do as the photographers tell you. What else do you think the boss should care about?"

"Nothing I guess." I managed.

*****

That is how my career started, fifteen years ago. I modeled full time until I was twenty-nine and have traveled to location shoots from India to Moscow. Papers Marcitti was good at his job but from his cell in a Federal Penitentiary he was not good enough to forge a passport six months after I'd first started.

When I was told we were going to London, I had to tell Jayne the truth and stop living in my dreamland. Her reaction was unexpected, but now that I work as her with her so closely, I would expect nothing else today.

"Tiffany I don't give a shit! Have Robert take the appropriate pictures, go home, get your birth certificate and go to the County Clerk's Office and file the papers. Ask if that can be expedited." I stood with my mouth hanging open, thinking Ms Saunders must not have heard me state that I was a man.

"Tiffany," Jayne sighed, "I do not care what you are. It is only important what you look like in print and on film and nothing else. Now get going."

The last time I cleared Immigration, upon my return from Switzerland, there were no raised eyebrows and a zillion embarrassing questions as I'd had to endure a hundred times before.

I still model, but only part time. I'm not paid a half a million dollars a year now either. My salary is very good, certainly more than I'd be earning as Tommy, but it isn't six figures still either. I am still chauffeured to and from work, for meetings and to various photo shoots, but I don't have time to leisurely thumb through the recent fashion magazines or watch TV during the rides - I'm kept far to busy for that.

My job is to assist Jayne in doing whatever it is that needs doing. My job is Assistant to the CEO and President of Saunders & Saunders, Ltd.

 

The End

 

 

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