Zapped! — The Lost Pages - Part 1 - By Bob Arnold
Copyright 2008 by Robert Arnold — All Rights Reserved

Proofing and Editing by Itinerant

Jen Stevens hasn’t been very good about documenting her life, especially when it comes to dates and actually writing things in her diary. In trying to write her biography I’ve come across bits and pieces of her history scattered about over a wide assortment of notebooks, floppy disks and computer files scattered over several different computers and hard drives.

Here, then, is the first of a few other adventures I’ve discovered since starting this Herculean task so many years ago. Please don’t take me to task for gaps in the story in relation to what’s already been written. All I can report is what Jen has written and her own recollections as I’ve asked her about her life over the years.

The basis for this particular story was several pages of handwritten notes found stuffed into a program from one of the auto racetracks in the area.

Bob Arnold

additional note - Now posted to BC TopShelf as well as Stardust.

* * * * * * * * * *

Part 1 - “A weekend at the races”

Several weeks after my transformation, life had resumed something approaching normal. Well, as normal as things could get in view of the fact that I was transformed from a forty-five year old male to a twenty-five-ish year old female from the strange effects of a lightning bolt passing through my body.

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, and I was at home working in my computer room doing some much needed server maintenance. A small plate of Double Stuff OREOs, and a big glass of ice cold milk, sat on the desktop within easy reach of the keyboard, as I worked to apply several security patches then make backups of the various web sites and databases.

An hour after I started, the glass was nearly empty and only one cookie remained of the dozen or so I started out with. With the tasks finally completed, I washed down the last cookie with the final bit of warm milk before heading off to the kitchen to put both the plate and the glass in the dishwasher.

The private line started ringing, as I closed the dishwasher door then hit the button to turn it on after realizing that it finally had a full load.

“Hello?” A big burst of static assaulted my ear then continued on in the background. That, plus the other assorted noises I heard, led me to believe that this was a cell phone call.

“Umm … is this Jennifer Stevens?”

“Yes, who is this and how did you get this number? It’s private!” I wasn’t very happy that my privacy was potentially at risk if the phone number got out into wide distribution. I knew that I could always change it, but getting the word out to friends that needed to know the new number was a real bitch.

“Jennifer, it’s Jeff Davidson. You do remember me, right?”

“Jeff? Oxbow Motor Speedway Jeff? Of course I remember you, old friend, although with all the noise I didn’t recognize your voice at first. I may have gone over to the ‘dark side’ but I still do have all of my memories.”

“Good! I was hoping that you did! So how have you been doing anyway?”

“Well, about as good as you would expect, Jeff. It’s been something of a struggle at times to adapt, but I’m getting more comfortable with what I’ve become. In the last couple of weeks, the good days have started to be more numerous than the bad days. That’s a big improvement over the first couple of weeks or so after I woke up in the hospital.”

“That’s good to hear, Jennifer.”

“Jeff, please call me Jen. I usually reserve Jennifer for those more formal occasions. I’m Jen to my friends, now. Hey! How come you haven’t called before? I would think that something or other at the track would have needed fixing by now.”

“I wanted to give you some time to get used to the new you. I didn’t even know if you’d still be interested in the track, after all you’ve been through.”

“Of course I’m still interested in racing, Jeff. Just because the outside of me has changed doesn’t mean that what I used to be interested in has completely changed, too. I have to admit that there are some minor changes, because of my transformation though.”

“I’m glad to hear that, because I wanted to invite you to the races this weekend. It’ll be a big event, and I really need you there.”

“Did you get yourself a televised race, finally?”

“How did you guess?”

“Uh … Jeff … what were we talking about less than a week before my little accident?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, the deal came through, and I need everything in top shape this coming weekend. You available?”

“I was when we talked about this before. Back then, I set up having Thursday and Friday off this week, so I could spend the weekend at the track.”

“Will you get in trouble for taking so much time off? You recovery must have used up a lot of sick leave.”

“Not a chance, Jeff. I did use a bunch of sick leave after the accident, but I’m not too concerned about working. With what I got in the settlement, I really don’t have to work any more with my modest needs.”

“So why are you still working?”

“I need something to do. I’d go crazy just sitting around all day. I’m not certain where I want to go with my life since the change. I know I want to keep active, but I really haven’t got a good handle on what I want to do or how I want to do it.”

“Well, I can guarantee no lack of things to do this weekend, Jen. Do you want your usual accommodations, or do you need something better now?”

“No, I think the usual will do just fine, Jeff. I’ll be there Wednesday night, so I can get set up and get a good start on Thursday, as the teams come in later in the day.”

“The usual it is. Thanks, Jen. I really need your help on this one.”

“No problem, Jeff. I’m looking forward to the weekend. Gotta go and get the stuff together. Bye!”

“Bye, Jen!”

The Oxbow Motor Speedway was located on a hillside just a few miles south of my old hometown. I knew the small dirt racetrack pretty well, since I’d helped Jeff build much of it a little over twenty years ago. I was responsible for nearly anything electronic at the track including the public address system, the timing and scoring system, and the TV distribution system. I’d installed all of them as Jeff built, and over time, improved the rest of the track facilities.

With a televised race coming up, everything would need to be working in top-notch order, especially the timing and scoring system. It had been more than six months since the last complete test of the system, since it wasn’t relied on for most of the races at the track. With the racing league at the track, and the TV cameras present, the timing and scoring system would be the most critical.

My normal accommodations consisted of a campsite in the non-public area of the campgrounds next to the track. I used my pickup as my ‘bedroom’ by attaching a tent to the back of the pickup truck bed. I cut a large hole in the tent side that fit over the open tailgate and rear window on the cap, and used snaps and magnets to make the seal reasonably weather resistant. An air mattress, with a sleeping bag on top of it, served as my bed. If the nighttime temperatures stayed too hot, I could always crash on the couch in the air-conditioned office/workshop on the control tower’s second floor.

Restroom facilities were a bit primitive, though. I had a small camping toilet that I used in the tent during the night, when my knees were a problem before my transformation. A building with restroom facilities and showers (both men’s and women’s facilities) was about ten yards away from my camping spot. I decided that the camping toilet was still a good idea and hoped that the woman’s facilities at the camping area were well cared for. With the control tower almost a quarter of a mile away, it would be a major hassle to go there every time I needed to use the restroom or take a shower, if the existing camping facilities were not in working order.

Power was available at the camping spot, so I could take along a small apartment desktop sized refrigerator for cold water and other drinks. The water at the track was very good, coming from a small spring that Jeff had tested frequently. The spring water was only available in the control tower, since the spring couldn’t supply all the water needed at the track. Instead, several deep wells supplied the rest of the water needed.

My meals at the track were covered by the track’s staff/crew hospitality area. One of the race teams had started to hold a barbeque for the crews, and it had snowballed into a traveling hospitality tent that was set up at all the league races. The president of one of the local grocery store chains was a race fan and had set up sponsorship of the hospitality area. They served breakfast, lunch and supper to the staff, teams, track crews and drivers ,as well as anyone else that was affiliated with the race. An identification badge was required to even get into the tent, since the race fans had heard about the quality of the food there and tried to get in rather frequently. The tracks usually held a raffle for the race fans for a few hospitality badges with the proceeds going to one of the local charities. The raffle tickets always sold out just a couple of hours after the announcement was made over the track’s public address system. The race fans not only got some great food, but nearly unrestricted access while in the tent to many of the drivers, as long as the fans behaved themselves.

Anything else I needed, I could usually get by disconnecting the tent from the truck and closing the hole in the tent temporarily with a canvas ‘patch’. There were plenty of stores, a couple of miles away in my hometown. I really didn’t want to use that option, though, since getting the truck re-aligned with the tent wasn’t a very easy thing to do, most of the time.

Once the basics were covered, I began to think about what I’d need because of my change. One key event was the sponsor’s dinner held on Friday night. It was held in the hospitality tent area and required a more dressed-up atmosphere than jeans and a blouse. I used to get away with black dress pants, a clean white shirt, and my old sport coat with a tie. As the woman I had become, something more was needed. I decided to take along a couple of my fancier dresses and a pair of wide heels, since the tent area had some grassy spots. One of the first things I learned, early on after my transformation, was to never knowingly wear high heels with a narrow spike heel on a lawn. I’d spent most of the evening at the one party I’d attended so far sinking down in the soft lawn and eventually had to restrict my walking to one of the hard packed dirt areas. I hoped that this party would be a bit more fun than the stuffy affair I’d attended as a woman. This party was for a group of drivers and their crews and sponsors, rather than a stodgy bunch of administrators, staff and professors at the college welcoming me back to work.

I’d also need to take more clothes, of a wider assortment, than I’d taken before. I used to get by with several polo shirts and a few pairs of jeans, plus the needed underwear. This time, I decided to take a few pairs of jeans, along with several feminine polo tops, a few halter-tops for the hotter days, and at least three different pairs of shoes. My normal attire would be my jeans with a halter or polo top depending on the weather, along with a good solid pair of tennis shoes. I also decided to toss several pairs of shorts into the bag, too. They might come in handy for sleeping in the warmer temperatures. A strapless bra went into the clothing bag, to be used with the dress as well as a few more assorted bras and panties. I could rinse out anything I needed in the restroom and hang them in my tent to dry, if I hadn’t brought enough to go the entire weekend. I added several pairs of shoes to the assortment to be packed.

Then there were all the things I’d need to maintain my body, like shampoo, conditioner, cramp medication, tampons and pads just in case, and the inevitable bag of makeup. As long as I had the basic stuff covered, I could get whatever I forgot at one of the stores. I even tossed a few rolls of toilet paper and some paper towels in my box of supplies, just in case. For good measure, I added a half dozen of my best soft towels, just in case I needed them.

It took most of the night on Tuesday to pack the back of the pickup for the weekend. I decided to leave from work at the end of the day on Wednesday to be able to get to the track with a good chunk of daylight left. Taking the time to go all the way back home to pack then get to the track wouldn’t leave me much time to get the camp set up before nightfall arrived.

The bed of the pickup was filled with my camping stuff along with several bags of clothes and the rest of my supplies for my weekend stay at the track. I had to put the cooler loaded with ice, and my initial food supplies, on the seat in the back of the crew cab of the pickup. It was a struggle with my somewhat reduced strength, and I finally gave in by taking the two eight pound bags of ice out of the cooler, temporarily, to be able to lift it into the truck.

The last thing I loaded into the truck cab was my notebook computer nestled in its travel bag. The track did have a network installed, and I’d been able to rig a few Wi-Fi hot spots around the area. One was located in the rafters of the restroom building that would be just a few yards away from my truck, when I pulled into the campground.

I’d decided to stop at the mall to pick up a small television to take with me. The camping facilities had a connection from the local cable company, and the spot I’d be using had a drop available. I doubted that I’d be using it much, but I did want to have it with me to check on the outside world. Most of the racing activity would be held on Saturday well on into the evening, so I doubted that I’d have much time to watch TV then, but a few hours on the other nights were possible as well as getting up in the morning.

Part 2

Things went smoothly at the college on Wednesday, and with the blessing of my boss, I was able to get out about an hour early to head for the track. Instead of the mall stop, I pulled into one of the local Big Box superstores and got an inexpensive thirteen-inch television with a built-in DVD player. I also snagged a few DVDs from the bargain bin to take with me in case the cable drop wasn’t working too well. A couple of my favorite John Wayne films, and a musical or two, should be more than enough to take me through the weekend and whatever spare time I might have.

My mind seemed to jump into overdrive, as I got closer and closer to the track. I’d thought about inviting Peggy or Adam to camp with me for the weekend then decided against it. The idea of some kind of a safety net was an almost overpowering thing, but I realized that I needed to find out now well I’d be able to function out on my own. The track was something of a known place for me, but it still held the possibility of anything happening, as I met new people. They would either accept me as I was now, or reject me for the ‘freak’ that I had become in their eyes. Whatever happened, I hoped that I was still tough enough to take it. While the old me was certainly up to the task, I wasn’t quite as certain about the new ‘improved’ me, though.

The gate to the camping area was open, and I headed the pickup to my usual camping spot. I was surprised to see another car there, since the rest of the staff and racing teams weren’t expected until Thursday morning. Jeff Davidson stepped out of the car, as the pickup glided backwards into position in my camping space.

“Jeff, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight!” I leaped out of the truck and ran over to give him a big hug. He stiffened a bit, before relaxing. “I kinda surprised you, didn’t I?”

“You certainly did. You never did that to me, before!”

“Well, you best get used to it. It’s a girl thing, and I am a girl now, Jeff.” I stepped back a bit to give him a better look.

“Anyone looking at you can see that, Jen.” He shook his head. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? You know what some of the drivers and crew members are like.”

“Yes, Jeff, I’m absolutely certain. I have to do this, not only for you but also for myself. This is my first real test of being out as a woman with nobody else around to help and guide me. I have to know how I’ll be able to function in the ‘real world’. This is as close as I can come to a comfortable situation with a lot of aspects beyond my control. I know the track and the job that I have to do here. The biggest unknown is how well everyone will accept me. I absolutely refuse to go and hide from the rest of the world because of what happened to me, so I have to learn to deal with it.”

“I have to admire your spirit, Jen; I really do. I want you to promise me one thing, though. If things get to be too much for you to handle, I want to hear about it, okay?”

“Jeff, I promise that, if things get so bad that there’s a problem with my safety or security, you’ll be the first to hear about it from me. Other than that, whatever else comes along, I need to learn to deal with on my own.”

Jeff laughed. “Jen, I have a feeling that your stubborn determination, the thing that sometimes got you into trouble before your change, is going to be the main thing that gets you through all this. All right, we’ll do it your way.”

“Thanks, Jeff. I really appreciate that. Now do you have a few minutes to help me get my tent out and set up?”

“Can’t handle it by yourself any more?”

“I can still handle it, but you know how much faster it goes with two people rather than just one. I want to get all set up well before darkness comes tonight.”

“That’s a great idea, since we’re still having the usual nightlife problems around here.”

“Raccoons and skunks, Jeff?”

“Yes. A couple of the raccoons were rabid, so be careful, Jen.”

“I think I’ll be okay, especially after everyone else gets here. They’re normally more afraid of humans than we are of them.”

It took almost an hour to get the tent set up and properly attached to the bed of the pickup. Jeff said goodnight shortly after the tent was completed and went home to his wife and three kids.

My first order of business was to get the power run into the tent, so I had lights and the refrigerator running. I passed the cord into the tent between the canvas and the pickup truck bed under the tailgate to keep out the water from any rain that might happen.

I’d checked the weather forecast before leaving home and knew that I could expect a rather cool night tonight. Temperatures were supposed to go up into the low eighties on Thursday then shoot up into the high nineties on Friday, before a cold front moved through late Friday night to cool things off for the weekend. Thunderstorms were a good possibility when the cold front moved through, and the relative safety of sleeping in the bed of the pickup, surrounded by metal on rubber wheels, was a comfort. Not that I’m afraid of lightning, even after the accident though. I’ve always had a healthy respect for Mother Nature’s temper tantrums.

A single, sixty-watt bulb glowed from the peak of the tent, as I connected the fridge to the power strip on the end of the extension cord. A few moments later, the little fridge groaned to life. I decided to wait a couple of hours for it to get cold inside, before transferring the contents of the cooler into it. I did put a gallon of store-bought spring water in it, so I had some indication of how cold it was getting inside.

Next, I removed the rest of the stuff from the pickup bed and placed it around the tent’s outer walls on the built-in ground tarp of the tent. The folding card table and four chairs got set up then I went to work on the air mattress and sleeping bag. The small air pump inflated the air mattress in just a couple of minutes. I unrolled the sleeping bag on top of the mattress then slid the whole thing as far as it would go into the truck bed. The final touch was to unpack the TV/DVD player and set it up. I decided to skip connecting the antenna and popped in one of the musicals I bought to watch as I ate my supper.

Supper tonight was a homemade turkey sub with provolone cheese, mayo and lots of sliced tomatoes. The Italian dressing dripping out of the sub, as I took the first bite, made me search momentarily for the paper napkins I’d packed. I’d discovered long ago that the best subs were invariably the messy ones, and this sub was easily living up to my expectations.

Between bites of the sub and some macaroni salad with tuna in it, I watched Gene Kelley and Debby Reynolds in “Singin’ in the Rain,” wishing that I had been old enough and talented enough back then to actually be in the film. I would have been quite happy with a minor role or maybe even Donald O’Connor’s role of Gene’s best friend, Cosmo Brown. Now, I’d have to settle for one of the female supporting roles or maybe even Debbie Reynold’s role of Cathy Seldon, the young Hollywood girl that became the voice of the silent movie star played by Jean Hagen when her screechy voice was deemed unsuitable for ‘talkies’.

I sighed as I realized that it simply wasn’t possible and finished the rest of my meal about halfway through the movie. By the time the movie finished, darkness had replaced the daylight. The tent was now completely organized, and I’d managed to change into a loose fitting halter top and shorts over my bra and panties. The whip antenna on the TV was good enough to pick up one of the local TV stations, so I caught an updated weather forecast before I went to bed. Thursday still looked goodm but Friday might be a real problem, if the storms moved in as forecast.

The TV was now off, and a small tabletop clock radio played softly from its perch on the card table. I set it for about two hours worth of music to get me to sleep then set the alarm for about seven in the morning. As a backup, a wind-up alarm clock got set for the same wake-up time.

* * * * *

Part 3

Thursday

The clatter of the wind-up clock’s alarm, mixed with the oldies tunes blaring from the clock radio, was more than enough to wake me up. While I desperately wanted to remain in my nice warm sleeping bag another couple of hours, the commitment I made to Jeff wouldn’t let me. I also needed to take a quick shower before the campground filled up with the crews from the various teams. I’d have to deal with other people around over the next few days, but not today if I got up early enough.

Tossing aside the top layer of the sleeping bag was my first big mistake. The cooler fifty-degree air hit my nice warm body like water running off a glacier, making me shiver for several seconds. My body finally got the word from my startled brain to turn up my own internal heaters. The weather gurus were right so far, and I wondered if they were going to be as accurate tomorrow.

As I slid out of the bed of the truck into the tent, I wrapped a blanket around me. It helped quite a bit, as I located my sandals and put them on. I could tolerate cold feet until I took my shower. I grabbed my toiletries bag and another bag with the clothes I’d be wearing today, along with my keys and cell phone.

The rest of the camp was still un-occupied, as I stumbled on autopilot toward the restroom/shower building. I nearly went into the men’s side by reflex, after I unlocked the door on that side. I continued on to the women’s side and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was a bit warmer in there than the un-heated men’s side. I’d have to thank Jeff, later, for his consideration in putting minimal heat in that side of the building. A small electric wall-mounted heater was doing a decent job of taking the chill off of the early morning air. I’d never been in this side of the building, despite unlocking the door many times before.

What I’d call the ‘outer’ room had a long table along one side with mirrors running the full length of the table on the wall. Several chairs were parked next to the table, while a wooden bench with vinyl cushions ran along the other long wall. The end of the room farthest from the exterior door had another door with the typical women’s restroom sign hanging on it. I trudged through the door into a much larger room, or maybe it was two rooms.

One side of the large room had toilet stalls and sinks, while the other side, separated by a low wall, had shower stalls and a few small lockers. The doors of the shower stalls started a foot or so off the floor and were high enough to block the view for privacy but still let someone in the shower look out for security purposes. The lockers were in view of the shower stalls, so I used one to hold my clean clothes. There were no towels in the room either, so I was glad that I’d brought my own.

The showers were very well thought out. They were large enough that one side stayed mostly dry as someone used the showerhead on the other side of the stall. I stepped into the stall, after leaving my blanket on the bench just outside.

The stall had a large shelf high on the wall away from the showerhead, so I stripped off and put my old clothes there. My assortment of shampoo and other essentials also found temporary perch on the shelf along with the towel.

At this early hour of the morning, I could have as much of the hot water as I needed, but decided to take it easy instead. I managed to wash my body without getting my hair wet then decided against doing my hair because of the cool temperatures outside. I would have to wash it tomorrow for the party on Friday night though.

I toweled off and dressed quickly because, even with the marginal heater, the shower room was still chilly. I gathered up my stuff then spent a moment or two in front of the mirror before deciding to dispense with any makeup today. I’d be busy enough that I’d be fixing it every few minutes with the things I had to do.

Back in the tent, I changed from the sandals to socks and my tennis shoes. The shoes, plus the blouse and jeans, warmed me up quite a bit. The addition of a light windbreaker helped even more.

I also realized that I’d made another error. I’d been so busy in my preparations that I’d forgotten any way to heat some of the food I’d brought! I decided to settle on cold cereal and milk for breakfast, as the rumble of a diesel engine grew louder outside my tent.

A peek out of the side window showed an old battered pickup truck navigating a fifth wheel trailer into the camping spot next to mine. The trailer, obviously old but in decent condition, had “Timson Motor Sports” neatly lettered on the side of it. A woman with slightly graying hair was motioning to the driver of the truck, a man with equally graying hair, as the trailer glided backwards easily into place at the far side of the slot.

As I stepped outside my tent, I watched as the woman placed chock blocks in front of and behind the wheels of the trailer, before she motioned for the man in the truck to shut down the engine. As I’d done many times before, I stepped behind the pickup and lowered a couple of jacks on the end of the trailer then pulled the safety pin on the trailer coupling and disconnected the safety chains, before jacking the trailer high enough for the coupler to clear its mate on the pickup.

A male voice bellowed at me as I locked the jacks in place. “What the hell … err heck are you doing, lady?”

“Eddie, I’m just doing what I’ve done for the past few years when you’ve pulled in next to my camp!”

“What gives you the right to….” He got cut off as the woman rounded the side of the trailer to see what all the fuss was about.

“Jennifer! I’m so glad to see you! I didn’t think you’d be coming, after all you’ve been through!” She hugged me tightly, as we cheek-kissed. “Eddie, don’t you recognize an old friend?”

Eddie seemed to be more confused then ever. He looked for a few seconds at my pickup then reality sunk in.

“I don’t believe it! So all that claptrap on the television was true? You used to be Robert Stevens?”

“Guilty as charged, Eddie.” I stepped forward and hugged him gently. I think the hug jolted him out of the mental fog he was in.

“I can’t believe it! It really happened?”

“It sure did, Eddie. Now, how about we get you all set up then you two can come over to my tent, and we’ll talk about it?”

“Uh … sure, Jennifer is it?”

“Jen, just call me Jen, unless it’s a formal occasion. The outside may have changed, but I’m almost the same on the inside. I’m still not much for the formalities, Eddie.”

“Uh … okay. We were gonna set up the grill and get some breakfast going. Wanna join us, um … Jen?”

“I’m not gonna turn down an offer of one of Darla’s home cooked breakfasts! I was going to settle for cold cereal and milk, before you got here. I screwed up and didn’t bring anything to heat my meals with! I’ll get the gas tanks, you two get the grill.” I grabbed two cooking gas tanks from their storage rack on the trailer then placed them near where Darla and Edie usually set up their grill. It was a bit of a challenge since they seemed heavier now than they used to be.

Thirty minutes later, as the wonderful aroma of bacon, scrambled eggs, and home fries drifted between our two campsites, memories of my first meeting with the Timson clan five years ago came flooding back.

* * * * *

The woman on the phone sounded absolutely frantic. Her computer had died just before the family’s taxes were due. While there were paper records, everything was stored on the computer and all ready to be printed. I agreed to make a service call then got the directions.

I’d barely existed on my salary as a computer tech at the college and supplemented it with service calls to make ends meet. A mutual friend had recommenced that Darla Timson call me when her computer died.

I pulled my van (this was a couple of years before I got the pickup) into the driveway of an old but well-kept building. ‘Timson Motor Sports’ was neatly painted on the wall of the building facing the driveway, as it passed by a large house.

A woman with dark brown hair was waiting for me, as I got out of the van with my toolkit.

“Bob Stevens?”

“Yup, that’s me. Got a computer problem?”

“Donna said you were the best. I hope she’s right. The computer died just as I was starting to print out my tax returns. If I can’t get it fixed, and the data recovered, it’ll take me weeks to re-create everything.”

“What happened exactly?”

“Well, it locked up, then when I turned it off and back on, all I kept getting was this blue screen.”

“Hmm … a bad hard drive maybe or possibly memory problems. Let me take a look at it and see what I can do.” I followed her into the office then got to work.

The problem turned out to be a hard drive with bad sectors. I replaced it with a new drive then reinstalled Windows and as much of her software as possible. I even reconnected the old drive to the system and recovered her tax data and word processing documents. Then I had her start up her tax software and examine the tax forms to see if anything was corrupted. When they looked good, I waited until she printed out all the forms.

As the forms printed, I’d prepared a bill for my services. The hard drive was the biggest cost, and then I only charged her what I’d paid for the drive plus a little more for the shipping and taxes I’d paid on it when I ordered it online. While I’d worked for over three hours on it, I only charged her fifty dollars for the labor. It didn’t seem right to me to charge more, even though I’d spent some time getting the system running properly again.

As she looked at the bill a big frown came across her face. I thought that I was going to have to justify every penny of the bill, until she spoke.

“Look here, young man, you didn’t charge me enough to cover your labor, and you probably didn’t make a profit on the hard drive either. That isn’t right! How are you ever going to keep your business going?”

“It really isn’t a business, ma’am. I just pick up some extra money to make ends meet. I work as a computer tech at a college, for my real job.”

“Well, Mister Stevens, please call me Darla, not ma’am. Ma’am makes me feel a lot older than I am.”

“Then you can call me Bob, ma … uh … Darla.”

“So what about this bill? Do you want to change it?”

“Nope. I only charge what’s fair and not a penny more.”

Darla shrugged then walked over to her desk and got out a large checkbook. A few moments later, I held a check in my hands to cover exactly my bill.

After thanking Darla and saying my goodbyes, I headed out to the van only to discover that it wouldn’t start. I was poking my head under the hood, as a man walked out of the shop.

“Got a problem there, Son?” He extended a slightly greasy hand. I didn’t hesitate a bit to accept his offered handshake. “Name’s Eddie Timson. Darla said that your van was giving you some fits?”

“Yeah, she’ll crank over, but it won’t catch and stay running again. I seem to spend more time under the hood than I do behind the wheel. At least my curse vocabulary has improved with every new problem.”

“Does seem to be what these damn things understand, doesn’t it?” I nodded in agreement as he motioned for me to get in the van. “Crank her over, and let me take a quick look.”

The starter managed to spin the engine over then it caught for a couple of seconds before shuddering to a stop when I released the key. I looked out the window at Eddie. “I haven’t got a clue. Computers are my thing.”

“I know. Darla is so relieved that her tax forms are all printed out. You pulled our fat outa the fire there, young fella.”

“Well, I’m not a young fella any more. I’m a little over forty.”

“Is that all? Son, lemme tell ya that when you get to be about fifty-five, anyone five years younger than that is just a snot nosed kid.” He tinkered for a few moments more under the hood then pulled a rag out of his back pocket to wipe his hands.

“Maybe you got a point there, Eddie. There are days I feel like I was sixty with my knees.”

“You on speaking terms with old Arthur Itis?”

“I know the old bum pretty well.” I got out of the van, groaning slightly as my knees complained. “So what’s the verdict, Doc? Will it live, or should I put it out of my misery?”

“Oh, there may be a few years left in the old girl. Let’s get this bucket of rust into one of the bays, and I’ll check out a few things.” He turned toward the building then bellowed “RUSTY! Open up bay one and bring out the pusher.”

A kid’s voice said “Okay, Dad!” as one of the garage doors opened. A few moments later, a four-wheeler ATV chugged out of the garage and moved behind my van. Eddie motioned for me to get in and steer the van into the bay.

The kid pulled the ATV back into the bay after the van came to a stop then shut down its engine.

“Bob, this is Rusty, my son.” The kid looked to be around fourteen or fifteen years old and was covered in dirt and grime on his cover-alls.

“Thanks, Rusty. I appreciate the help. Hey! Were those your trophies I saw in the office?”

He smiled the biggest smile I’d ever seen on anyone his age. “Not all of ‘em. Most of those are my dad’s. Mine are on the desk next to the trophy case. I got ‘em for my go-kart racing. Dad’s are for his World of Outlaw car mostly.”

“I thought I recognized the name. The Timson clan is pretty well known at the track.”

Rusty brought over a chair for me to sit in. “What track?”

“The Oxbow Motor Speedway. I take care of the electronics and scoring systems there, nothing official during the races though. I’m just a technician that helped the owner install them. Have you folks raced there, yet?”

“I was born there. Mom and Dad raced there for a while, but he moved on to other types of cars when a new racing league formed a few years ago. That’s when they stopped going to that track.”

“AHA! I think I got it!” Eddie stood up with a small tube with a fitting at each end. “Looks like a blocked fuel filter.” He tossed it to Rusty. “See if we got one that’ll work in the shelf stock, Son.”

Rusty caught the filter in one hand. “Dad’s the best. Be right back.”

A couple of minutes later he came back. “Nothing there, Dad. The parts shop?”

“Yup. Have Mom take you over and put it on the tab, Son.”

I watched Rusty run to the office. “Hey, Eddie, I’ll pay for the parts plus any labor you know.”

“Your money’s no good here, Son. You pulled us outa one hell of a fix and didn’t charge us an arm and a leg to do it, even though we’d have probably paid it without complaining. I appreciate the honesty.”

“You sure my money is no good here?”

“Stop worrying about it, Bob. Now, while I’m doing a spark plug cleaning and gapping, tell me more about what’s new at that track!”

When Rusty returned a half an hour later, Eddie had agreed to talk to the racing league to see if they could make a slot or two on their schedule available for the track. It took only a few more minutes for Eddie and Rusty to get the van running, after they installed the new filter in the fuel line.

I left the garage that day with several new friends, and a good feeling that I’d be seeing much more of them at the track in the coming months.

* * * * * * * * * *

Darla put a plate loaded with breakfast in front of me, as we sat at the table under the awning of their trailer. Our camping spots were under some rather tall trees, and you never knew when the local bird population would provide a little ‘surprise’.

“So what’s gong on, Eddie? I’ve been sort of out of touch for a few weeks.”

“Same old shi … uh … stuff, Bo … uh … Jen. Damn! This is gonna take some getting used to!”

“Tell me about it! I’m still working on how it all happened. The docs haven’t got a clue, and frankly, neither do I.”

Darla sat down beside me after filling a plate for her and Eddie. “You doing okay, Jen?”

“Mostly, Darla. There are good days and bad days. Lately, the good days are starting to beat out the bad ones.” I put a fork full of home fried potatoes in my mouth and took a few moments to chew and swallow before speaking again. “Enough about me. How’s Rusty been doing?”

Eddie looked very much like the proud papa he was. “Wish I was as good as he is now, when I was his age. He’s sure got the gift all right.”

“How old is he now, Eddie?”

“Eighteen. He’ll turn nineteen on Saturday. I’m glad you’re here. Can you come to Rusty’s birthday party? We’re having it Saturday morning at about eleven. It won’t be very long, but it’d mean a lot to us if you can be here, Bo … damn, did it again! Sorry, Jen”

“Don’t sweat it, Eddie. You think you’re confused, you ought to see things from my viewpoint. Uh … well … maybe not. Anyway, I’d love to be here. If nothing else comes up that drags me away, that is.”

“After all, it was you that got Rusty his first sponsor, Jen. We can never say thanks enough to that.”

“Darla, all I did was to tell an old high-school buddy that if he wanted to sponsor a damned fine racing team, he couldn’t do much better than Timson Racing. It was Rusty’s own record that sealed the deal, that plus Edie’s record as a great mechanic and car owner. My part in the whole deal was really small.”

“Still, if you hadn’t opened that door for us, we’d never have found someone.”

“I just opened it a little sooner than it would have on its own, Darla. It was just a matter of time before Rusty got the attention he deserved, and you know it.”

“But….”

A truck towing another camper rumbled by disrupting our conversation, and I was really glad that it did. I was beginning to get uncomfortable with the praise the Timsons were heaping on me for something as simple as telling another friend about the team. A glance at my watch showed that I’d better get going anyway.

“Darla, I’m sorry to eat and run, but I’ve got to bring the systems online in the tower and get the transponders tested. I’ll be back later.”

“Okay, Jen. I’ve got something special planned for supper tonight, so be sure to get over to the tent in time to get some. You know what this pack of hungry men is like.”

“I remember, Darla. See you later.”

It took a few minutes to get my campsite ready. I put the TV/DVD combo, and the rest of the things I really cared about, in the back of the pickup bed and made sure it was securely locked. A lot of the stuff in my purse wound up in a fanny pack secured around my waist. My jeans lacked big pockets, so I had prepared my leather lineman’s tool belt a couple of days ago. I had to cut down the belt for my now smaller waist and punch several new holes so that it fit properly. It was stocked with the quick fix items I usually carried: Wire cutters, pliers, a good electrician’s knife, a small assortment of screwdrivers, and other assorted tools and supplies. It weighed about twenty pounds, and I wasn’t certain just how comfortable it was going to be to wear it most of the day.

Despite the fact that my jeans fit very well, almost like a second skin, I used a leather belt through the belt loops. I hung my ham radio handheld on the belt and slipped on my pager. I’d left the computer systems up and running at home to alert me of any bad weather that might move into the area. Between the handheld and the pager, I just added another couple of pounds to the load I’d be carrying all day. As a guy weighing nearly four hundred pounds, adding that much weight was never a problem. Now, as a woman weighing somewhere around a hundred and twenty five pounds soaking wet, the added weight was a larger percentage of my body weight.

The control tower was somewhere around a half a mile away, across part of the campgrounds and the pit area. Before, because of my bad knees, I would have talked someone into a lift over to the tower. Today, I decided to make the walk myself. The path ran through a short section of the woods between the camping sites, and the pit area and track. It served to provide some separation and a small amount of noise reduction.

As I started into the wooded section of the path, I heard some rustling in a bush and a low growl off to my left. Instantly I froze in place trying to determine where the noise had come from, and what caused it. After a few seconds, a raccoon staggered out of a clump of bushes about twenty feet away from me.

From raising a raccoon as a kid, I knew that they were predominately nocturnal animals normally active at night and quite shy of humans. This one was showing no signs of fear and seemed to be rather agitated, as it staggered toward me. Any sudden movement might make it attack, and it may just attack anyway, if it was rabid.

My mind raced trying to think of what to do. I remembered that I had a sharp knife in the tool belt around my waist. Ever so slowly, I moved my right hand toward the knife in its sheath. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but I could use the knife to stab at the raccoon, if it decided to attack. I figured that any way I tried to get out of the situation, I was probably going to have to have a painful series of injections to fight the rabies that I’d get from being bitten.

As my hand closed around the knife handle, I heard a branch snap behind me. The raccoon heard it and turned toward the sound. I heard another double click moments before a male voice whispered, “Don’t move!”

Part 4 — “Who’s that?”

What happened next seemed like it took forever to happen, but in reality it went by in the space of a few heartbeats.

The handheld on my belt choose that exact instant to open the squelch in response to a very weak signal. The resulting burst of static startled me just enough to cause me to flinch in response. That small movement set off the raccoon. It launched itself toward my leg, and I was powerless to stop it.

I’d prepared myself for the pain that I knew was coming. There was an incredible blast an instant before something smashed into my leg sending me flying into the brush alongside the trail.

I lay there gasping for air, since the fall had knocked the air out of my lungs. I fully expected the raccoon to resume its attack. Instead, that same male voice I’d heard before spoke again.

“I got it, Miss. Are you okay?”

“I’ll let you know, as soon as I get my breath back.”

“It’s dead. Doesn’t look like it bit you, either.”

“That’s good. Can you help me up? My legs feel a little like Jell-O right now.” I extended a hand upward.

“I’d be glad to help, but can you put that knife away first?”

“Uh … sorry!” I rolled slightly to the side, so I could put it back in its sheath and snap the clasp that held it in place then raised my hand again. “There, is this any better?”

“Much better!” I felt his hand close around mine and tug gently. I popped up out of the bush I’d landed in then stumbled on one of its roots, as I tried to re-gain my footing. I felt a pair of strong arms scoop me up and hold me.

“Easy there, little lady! Are you really okay?”

I looked up into a chiseled, slightly weather-worn face topped by a somewhat shaggy mop of brown hair. His hair was tucked under a baseball cap with the county government logo on it. The badge on his uniform shirt was poking one of my breasts, making it difficult to read what it said.

“If you’re asking if I’m going to faint, no, I’m not. I just got a foot caught on a root, as I was trying to get out of that bush.”

“Okay.”

“While I must admit that this is quite comfortable, I’m certain that you probably can’t carry me everywhere, Mister…?’’

“Barnes … Uh … Josh Barnes, ma’am”

“Are you going to put me down Mister Barnes, or are we going to stand here like this all day long?”

“Well, from my perspective that isn’t such a bad thing, is it?”

“I was going somewhere when that raccoon attacked, and I suspect that you were tracking it. I think we both have things we’d better tend to. Am I right?”

“Sadly, you’re right.” He put me down then held onto my shoulders for a few moments. “Got your land legs back yet?”

“I think so.” He lifted his hands a couple of inches off my shoulders then held them there for a few moments. I felt pretty sold. “Okay. I’m all better now.”

He turned toward the raccoon now crumpled in a heap on the trail. “This little bugger killed a calf at a farm about a mile from here. Good thing it killed the calf, since I think the raccoon was rabid. If the calf was still alive, it would have had to be put down.”

He put on a rubber glove then a heavy leather glove over it. Even with that protection he used a pair of large tongs to lift the carcass enough to fit it into a bio-hazard bag then seal it tightly before putting that bag into a heavy canvas game bag slung over his shoulder.

“Sorry it knocked you down. I couldn’t go for a headshot since they need the brain intact to test for rabies. I had to settle for a heart shot, and that doesn’t knock them down as fast.”

“Not a problem, Mister Barnes. I’m just glad you came along when you did. Say, how did you get here so fast anyway?”

“I’ve been tracking it for the last hour or so. Had a devil of a time following the footprints over some of this ground. It was sick enough that it stumbled quite a bit and left some good tracking signs though.”

“Well, thanks again for the help. I’ve got to get going now.”

“Not so fast there Miss … um ... what do I call you anyway? I need it for my report.”

“Jennifer Stevens, but you can call me Jen, Mister Barnes.”

“Josh, please call me Josh, Miss … Jen.” He got a funny look on his face. “Stevens? Are you….”

“Yes, Josh, I’m that Jennifer Stevens.”

He pushed the bill of his ball cap upward. “Well, that explains a lot then. When you heard the noise you froze and carefully looked around. Only when you realized what was going on did you slowly reach for that knife of yours. Most people would have tried to run and just got bitten anyway. If the raccoon weren’t sick with rabies, you’d have easily scared it off. As it was, I think you had a fair chance of fighting it off.”

“Thanks, Josh, but I’m not so certain. While I’ve done my fair share of tramping and camping, that was the old me, not the new improved model that stands before you. I’m glad that you came along when you did so I didn’t have to find out how well I’d do.”

“Thanks. Now I think I’d better have a closer look at that leg, just in case.”

“Is this an excuse to ogle my gams, Josh?”

“As appealing as that may be, I’m more concerned that the raccoon didn’t break the skin on your leg. If it did, you’ll need a series of shots.”

“Can’t argue with that, I guess.”

He stooped down to get a good look at the leg of the jeans. “Well, there are a few scratches. Doesn’t look like it punctured the material though. Lift the pant leg up, please.”

I reached down and lifted the leg of my jeans. He studied my leg for several moments. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“DUH! What do you see?”

“A very nice leg with no beaks in the skin. You’re gonna have one heck of a bruise there, though.” He gently poked the growing red area on my leg. I flinched at the pain. “Uh … sorry!”

“Yah, I guess a twenty to thirty pound rabid raccoon launching itself at me can do that, huh?”

“Yup. I also saw a couple of dark wet spots on the leg of the jeans. I’m not certain if it’s blood or saliva from the raccoon or just some dew off the bush you landed in. You’re going to have to go change out of these jeans into something else. Don’t wear them again until they’ve been washed with some strong soap and a little bleach. Okay?”

“I can do that. Josh. Uh … what about others going through here? Will I … they … be safe?”

“I think so, but if you’re concerned, I’ll wait while you change then check out the trail ahead of you just in case. All right?”

“That’s great, Josh. Can you give me about ten minutes to change into a different pair of jeans?”

“Sure.” He extended his arm. “Shall we go?”

“What’s that for?” I pointed to his outstretched arm.

“Well, you might stumble on this uneven trail.”

“Aren’t you pushing it a bit, Josh?”

A big smile broke out on his face. “Just trying to show a pretty lady the respect she deserves.”

“I’m not that beautiful, and I’m hardly a lady yet. I’ve still got quite a way to go on that.”

“Doesn’t matter to me, Jen. In my eyes, you’re a beautiful lady.”

I sighed, as I took hold of his arm. “Guess I’ll have to take your word on that, Josh. Shall we go? I’m already running late.”

The walk back to my tent took only a couple of minutes. Josh waited patiently outside the tent, while I changed into a different pair of jeans. I had to give him some credit when he made no move to try to follow me into the tent, as I went in to change.

Our walk over to the track went uninterrupted this time. I learned that he’d been called by the farmer and had decided to follow the track of the raccoon, when he realized that the campground was filling up for the weekend.

Since there was an animal problem, I decided to ask if he was available to be around for the weekend if another diseased animal turned up. Fortunately he accepted my offer of a camping space and would be available until the campground emptied out late on Sunday. When we parted, I sent him towards the security office to let them know that he’d be around the track and available in case another animal was spotted.

I headed for the track’s main office in the control tower to get my track pass altered for the new me. My old pass had my old male picture and name on it.

The tower was located right behind the main grandstand and was centered on the start/finish line. It stood a bit over sixty feet tall and had five floors. It was about forty feet deep and spanned about a hundred feet on the grandstand’s backside. The first floor contained a small utility room and a storage room for supplies for the snack bar that occupied the rest of the first floor space. A stairway and elevator shaft was tucked into a corner of the building. Both the stairs and the tiny elevator ran to all five floors.

The second floor, my target, contained the track’s business office, the official’s locker room and lounge, a complete restroom with a tub and shower, and, of course, my workshop and computer equipment for the timing and scoring system, along with most of the sound gear for the public address system.

The third floor was devoted to suites used for sponsor support. Quite often, the sponsors had parties for invited guests there, during the races. The fourth floor was divided into several spaces, each separated by walls with large glass windows. A single long hallway ran at the back of the building away from the trackside. The last room at the far end of the hallway, away from the stairs, was a unisex bathroom. One of the rooms, the one right at the finish line, was always used by the track officials and was the focal point for the timing and scoring system. To the left of the official’s room was a smaller soundproofed space often used for radio broadcasts of the races. The room right next to the restrooms was also soundproofed and was a bit bigger to accommodate television broadcast crews. This would be the first race that the room would serve its intended purpose, and I hoped that it wouldn’t be the last time that races would be broadcast from the track. The last room to the right of the official’s suite was the small booth used for the public address announcer. All of the rooms had air conditioning and were equipped with display terminals for the scoring system.

The top floor was actually the roof of the building. The stairway and elevator continued up past the fourth floor to the roof inside a small ‘hut like’ addition on the roof. Neither opened directly onto the roof. Instead, the hut provided a shielded area, and a heavy steel door that opened out onto the flat roof. The roof was surrounded by a sturdy railing and was sometimes used for spotters and occasionally by more adventurous people from the sponsor parties. It would now also support a couple of the TV cameras used to broadcast the races this weekend.

By reflex, I pressed the button on the elevator, before I realized that I didn’t need to use it any more. My transformation had completely wiped out any trace of arthritis in my knees, and had reduced my weight from over four hundred pounds to right around a hundred and twenty-five. Before the elevator even came to a stop, I was pushing on the crash bar for the stairway door and charging up the stairs two at a time. Barely winded, I stepped out of the stairwell door into the hallway.

Like the upper floors, a long hallway ran the length of the building on the side away from the track. Several doors opened off the hallway into the offices that made up the administration area. The workshop was the last door at the end of the hall. My first stop was the first door on my right, the main office suite.

Jeff had hired Dora Martin and Nell Gibson when he first opened the track. They expressed no interest in racing when they were first hired, but were excellent office staff. The two women ruled the office with the proverbial iron fist in a velvet glove. They were just what Jeff needed in dealing with the crews that sometimes tried to pull tricks on the office staff. The first few tricks got past the pair, but with experience gained over the intervening years, they were nearly unflappable. I decided to try to have a little bit of fun, as I stepped inside the door.

Part 5 — “Where did I go wrong?”

“Can I help you, Miss?” Dora was giving me a complete look-over from her desk, as Nell stepped up to the counter.

I placed my ID badge on the counter and pushed it toward her. “Yes, you most certainly can, Nell. I need to get this updated, please.”

“Do I know you? I don’t think we’ve ever met before, Miss.” She picked up the badge then adjusted the glasses on her nose slightly before looking at it. “I’m sorry, Miss, but this badge isn’t yours. It belongs to Robert Stevens. I’m afraid I’ll have to confiscate this as stolen and report this to the track owner.”

She picked up the phone and pressed a few buttons. “Jeff, I need you out here. We have a problem … Okay.”

I heard a snicker from Dora, and realized that she had recognized me from all of the publicity about my change. Maybe she was the one Jeff told about me coming back, too.

Another of the doors in the room opened, as Jeff stepped in from his office.

“Oh, morning, Jen. What’s the problem, Nell?”

“This woman has Bob Stevens’ ID badge. She has no right to have it, sir.”

“Nell, remember I said that Bob was coming in this morning?”

“Yes, I remember, but this isn’t Bob.”

Dora couldn’t hold it in any longer and broke out in a fit of giggles. It took several seconds for her to recover. “Nell, that IS Bob Stevens.”

“It can’t be. Bob was a man; this is clearly a woman.”

I giggled a bit myself. “I’m glad that you recognize that fact, Nell. After my change, most people don’t seem to be as certain about it as you are.”

Nell looked even more puzzled. I finally decided to clear up her confusion.

“Nell, did you see a story on the news about lightning hitting a guy a while ago, and it changed him into a woman?”

“Yes but …” It was almost like a light coming on in her brain. “That was you, Bob?”

“Yes, that happened to me, Nell. Sorry about confusing you when I first came in. I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand.”

“Dora, can you take over? I’ve got to go sit down.” The look on Nell’s face was one I’d seen many times since my change.

Dora had me stand in front of a white screen then aimed the ID photo camera toward me. It took a few tries to get something that looked better than the usual police lineup photo that appeared on so many other ID cards. When we got a decent picture, Dora transferred it into a computer then filled out a form on the computer to create the ID card. The color laser printer started up then spit out a sheet of heavy paper with the ID card printed on it. A few seconds of trimming, and it was ready for a run through the laminator machine. Dora added the usual clip to the edge of the card, so it could be clipped to a shirt collar or pocket then slid the completed badge back to me across the counter.

“There you go, Jennifer, all set with your new badge. Same access to everything as you had before.”

“Dora, please call me Jen if you want to. I still don’t use my full name unless it a bit more formal situation. Besides, we’ve known each other for years.”

Nell could hold in her anger no longer. “I thought I knew you, Bob, but not I’m not so sure. Why did you do this?”

“Why did I do what, Nell?”

“Why did you become a woman? Wasn’t being a man good enough for you any more?”

I could see Jeff standing just outside his office door, and he wasn’t happy. “Nora, if that’s you attitude, get your stuff and get out right now. You’re not welcome here any more.”

“No, Jeff. I can’t let you do that. Nell isn’t doing anything that hasn’t been done to me already.”

“But she …”

“I said NO, Jeff! You’re NOT going to fire her, just because she can’t or won’t accept what happened to me.”

I turned to Nell. “I didn’t choose to be like this. I had no control over that lightning bolt hitting me. My doctors don’t know what happened to change me into a woman, only that I’m a complete female now, I have periods, and I can get pregnant. Yes, I’ve experienced my monthly visitor, and I can’t say that it’s any fun feeling like a bloated whale or being miserable because of stomach cramps so bad that I sometimes want to cry.”

Nell’s face softened a bit. “But I still don’t understand….”

“Nell, you don’t have to understand what happened to me. Hell, even I don’t understand it myself, and I’ve been trying to ever since I changed. If you ever understand what happened, can you explain it to me?”

“But we were friends. I don’t know if….”

“… we can be friends any more? I don’t care, Nell. It really doesn’t matter. I’m not asking for anyone’s friendship that can’t accept what happened to me, or the fact that it was well beyond my control. Your friendship was important to me, and it still is. If you don’t want that friendship any more, I won’t trouble you by trying to rekindle it. I do, however ask one thing of you, and that’s tolerance. Just give me the benefit of any doubts that you have about me, before you go and condemn me for what happened to me.”

Nell looked thoughtful for a few moments. “Yes, I can at the very least give you a chance. You gave me a chance just now, and I owe it to you to try to understand your situation. It’ll take me a while, Jennifer, but I promise to try.”

“That’s all I can ask of you, Nell.” I saw Jeff head back into his office then close the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve still got a job to do here.”

I managed to make it out of the office door, into the hallway and partway down the hall, before I started to tremble and slumped against the wall. It took a minute or more for me to try to compose myself as my heartbeat returned to something approaching normal.

I started to straighten up again then felt a hand on my shoulder. “You okay, Jen?”

I recognized the voice as Jeff’s. “Yeah, I’m better.”

“You sure? You don’t look it to me.”

“I’m okay, Jeff, really. I just feel emotions much more strongly than I did before. Guess it comes as part of the new package.”

“I’d say that I understand, except that I really don’t understand it.”

I turned to face Jeff. “As I told Nell, I really don’t expect people to understand what happened to me, I don’t understand it myself. To even begin to understand what I’ve been through, you’d have to go through it yourself.”

“Uh, no thanks, Jen. I’ll keep the family jewels if you don’t mind.”

That got a chuckle out of me making me feel a bit better. “That’s what I like about you, Jeff, Don’t go changing the way you treat me too much. I need a friend that gives me a ration of shit now and then to keep me sane.”

“I’ll do my best, Jen. Now don’t you have something to do to take your mind off of all of your troubles?”

I snapped to attention and gave Jeff a nice crisp salute. “Yes, SIR!” I barked.

“Now I think I’ve had my ration of crap for the day. See you over in the hospitality tent for lunch? I’m buying.”

“You’ve got a deal, Jeff.”

Jeff headed back to his office. I watched as he went in then closed the door again.

My next stop was the workshop. The first task was to bring up the public address system and make the rounds to make sure all of the speakers in the various locations were working. The main amplifiers were located in an equipment rack tucked into one corner of the shop. I turned them all on then turned on a small FM tuner and set it to a favorite oldies station. I slowly turned up the system to a low level, loud enough to let me hear the speakers when I checked them, but not loud enough to disturb anyone.

As the workshop door closed behind me, I went back down the hallway to go up to the upper floors. Everything I checked there was working, so I headed back to the stairs. A door on the fourth floor landing led out to a short catwalk that connected to the top level of the grandstand seating.

A few clouds drifted across the sky, occasionally blotting out the sun, as I walked the length of the grandstand on the upper deck. Like the tower speakers, everything I could see was working properly. My next stop was the pit area, and it took a couple of minutes to go from the top of the grandstand to the gates that led out of the public area into the business side of the track.

Several of the pole-mounted speakers appeared to be dead, so I headed for a small garage at the edge of the pit area. Jeff had a fleet of golf carts for various purposes at the track. About half were rigged as pushers to get the cars without starters going during the races. A couple of the carts were set up as emergency carts, complete with oxygen tanks and a stretcher mounted under the canopy. They were especially good at getting into some of the more crowded public areas during a race, if someone got sick or injured.

The golf cart I needed was set up as my maintenance cart. Behind the front bench seat were mounted a couple of steel tool boxes where the golf club bags would normally be carried. Each box contained a supply of hardware and tools for the general electronics work I did. The back of the cart used to have a bench seat, too, but a flat bed and side rails for carrying a limited amount of cargo had replaced it. The canopy was reinforced, and could carry a two-section twelve-foot ladder. The ladder could reach nearly to the twenty-foot level when fully extended, and it was what I needed to reach the speakers mounted on a wooden pole.

The tank on the cart was filled was gas, and it started easily. I pulled it just outside the door of the garage then turned off the engine. I struggled to get the ladder off of the storage hooks on the wall and onto the cart. It had been much easier when I was male, but my knees would have bitterly complained about all the walking I did and the extra stress of trying to carry the ladder over uneven ground. The ladder was made of aluminum and was rather cumbersome, but I managed without any additional help although I did have to stretch to reach the hooks on top of the cart to secure the ladder.

The cart roared to life again, and it took only a minute to get back to the pole with the bad speakers. The ladder came off the top of the cart a little easier than it went on, since gravity does have a way of working like that. With no help available, I put the end of the ladder against the pole then walked the ladder into a vertical position, before carefully pulling the bottom of the ladder out a few feet to make it lean properly into the wooden pole. A couple of hard pulls on the rope attached to the top of the lower section extended the top section to the height I needed. After making sure the top section was firmly locked in place, I made sure that the ladder was far enough back from the pole to remain in place with my weight on it. The ground was soft from all the rain of the past few days, but with the bigger feet on the ladder, and my now much lower weight, I reasoned that it should be okay to climb.

A quick scan of the area around the speakers, with a small pair of binoculars, told me that a wire nut had come off one of the joints that tied several of the speakers into the main feed line. It looked like a very simple fix, so I stuffed a handful of new wire nuts into the tool belt then climbed up the ladder to almost as high as I could go to be able to reach the broken connection.

It was quite a stretch for me to reach the hanging wires with my shorter arms. I had to lean further out than I was comfortable doing, but I managed to get everything back together and a new wire nut in place. The speakers came on, and I listened for a few moments to make sure all of them were now working.

As I started to climb down, I’d only taken one step when the ladder lurched suddenly to the side. Unfortunately, it was to the side where a crushed stone roadway was. The sudden bump to the side made me go even more out of balance, as the ladder lurched one final time before the top slipped off of the pole.

Part 6 — “What, you again?”

The view as my eyes fluttered open again was of the slightly overcast sky. Somehow, I’d managed to survive the fall. I slowly wiggled around trying to figure out if something was broken and if I still had complete control of my arms and legs.

Slowly I managed to figure out that I hadn’t landed on the crushed stone paving. Something under me was soft and squishy and warm. I tried to twist around enough to see what I’d landed on. As I did, I heard a male voice groan softly.

“Crap! Someone get the number of that bus that hit me.”

It took a few moments for me to realize just who the voice belonged to. “Josh, is that you?”

“Who else is crazy enough to try to catch you when you fell?”

I squirmed a little more, trying to get a look at him, but I wasn’t having much luck. My head was still spinning, and I felt something hard and round under my bottom.

“Is that a pistol in your pocket, Josh? I don’t want it to go off accidentally.”

“Well, darlin’, that ain’t no pistol, and if you keep squirming around like that it’ll go off all on its own!”

I’d finally managed to sit up enough to learn that I was seated in his lap with my backside squarely over his crotch. It took another moment or two as I finally realized what was poking my bottom. It was a body part I no longer had!

I probably turned a brilliant shade of pink, as I rolled off of Josh into the grass.

“Sorry bout that, Josh. Didn’t know where I’d landed.”

Josh groaned a bit as he managed to sit up. “So that’s it, huh? Wham … bam … thank you, ma’am?”

“JOSH! Get your mind out of the gutter!”

“Can’t. It’s attached to the rest of my body. ‘case you haven’t noticed, we’re both in the gutter.”

Josh was right! Somehow we’d wound up in the drainage ditch that ran between the road and the pole I’d been working on. Now I know why my backside, and most of the back of my jeans, felt very soggy. The rainwater from the last few days still hadn’t completely drained away, and some was still left in the ditch.

“So all I remember is falling off the ladder. What happened?”

“Um … Jen … can we get out of here before we sort all that out?”

“You do have a point there, Josh!”

I rolled over onto my knees then hand-walked up the slope of the ditch until my hands were at the edge. With a bit of effort, I forced my wobbly legs to straighten out, forcing my butt upwards. There I stood with my feet about three feet apart, my head and my butt at about the same level, and my breasts hanging out of my blouse since the top buttons had popped open from my landing on Josh. I sighed at the indignity of it all. At least my bra still covered my breasts as they hung down. It might have been much worse.

Josh laughed, as I wobbled in place. “Now there’s a sight I might have paid real money to see.”

“Laugh it up, nature boy! Can you get up or are you hurt?”

In response to my question, Josh slowly turned over then followed my example by hand walking up the side of the ditch. When his hands reached the top, he forced his own wobbly legs to straighten up pushing his own butt high in the air. He stood in the same position as me for several seconds. I noticed he was wobbling, much as I had at first.

“Got your bell rung, Josh?” It was my turn to giggle a little, as he slowly swayed back and forth.

He wheezed slightly, as he talked. “Yah. I’d say so, Jen. I was out checking the rest of the grounds for any other varmint problems. I saw you go up and was headed over to steady the ladder. I managed to get here just before the ladder went over. I did catch you in my arms, but your momentum to the side knocked me off my feet. When I hit the ground, you landed on my chest.” A cough made him grimace. “Think I cracked at least one rib, when you bounced, though.”

“Oh, Josh! I’m so sorry about teasing you. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I liked the view.” He was far enough away that it was easy to glance back at my bottom.

“Well, at least I know that you’re not hurt badly then.” I managed a butt wiggle that also shook my partially exposed breasts. Josh smiled then grimaced, as he coughed again.

“You know we can’t stay here like this all day. Together or separately?”

“You go first. I may need some help.”

“I’m not certain that I can carry you, but here goes.” I forced my aching back muscles into action in an effort to stand up. I made it, but still wobbled a little as my head pounded.

“Want to try that, Josh?”

“No, but I know that I can’t stay here like this either.” Josh groaned, as he managed to get vertical then clutched at his middle with one arm. “Yup, at least one cracked rib I think.”

“Take off your shirt, Josh.”

“What?”

“You heard me; take off your shirt!”

“Is this just a way to ogle my chest, Jen?”

I was finally stable enough to button up my own blouse then moved slowly toward Josh. “As appealing as that may be, Josh, I’ve had EMT training. I want to check to see if you’ve got a broken rib or if it’s just cracked. A broken rib is dangerous. Move wrong, and it could puncture a lung.”

I got the very same words I’d used earlier today tossed back at me.

“Can’t argue with that, I guess.”

I helped Josh take his shirt off enough to get a good look at his chest. His muscles rippled above a classic six-pack stomach, as he moved. What wasn’t classic were the bruises developing just around his lower ribs. Some gentle probing told me his ribs weren’t broken, just possibly cracked, and that was a good sign.

“You’ve got some bruises already. They’re sure gonna hurt, though. Come on, let’s get us both checked out then I’ll take you back to the campgrounds to get a little rest. I think both of us could use it.”

After pulling his shirt back down, I put my arm around his waist to help steady both of as we slogged out of the ditch.

Josh slumped into the front bench seat of the golf cart. I managed to pull the fallen ladder out of the way enough so it wasn’t a safety hazard.

“What about the ladder, Jen?”

“Screw it! I’ll have someone else come to pick it up. You’re hurt, and we’ve got to see to that first.”

The golf cart bounced along the rutted road around the track, as I headed for the care center. Each bump brought a slight grimace from Josh, and I tried my best to avoid the potholes that always developed after a good rain and a little use of the dirt and gravel road.

Fortunately for us, the nurse had just come on duty and immediately went to work on us. My injuries were basically bruises and a few muscle pulls. Josh, as I’d thought, hadn’t broken any ribs, but did have some pretty bad bruises. A more in depth examination showed that none of his ribs were cracked or broken. About the most the nurse could do for our injuries was to apply bandages to a few scrapes and give us some Tylenol for the aches and pains.

After a few seconds deliberation, I offered to let Josh stay in my tent overnight, if he felt that he couldn’t make it back home okay. He’d saved me some serious hurt twice today, and I felt that I should try to help him if he felt he needed it.

While Josh wouldn’t admit it directly, I could tell he was hurting almost anytime he used any of the muscles in his chest in or near the bruised areas. I assumed that it was stupid male pride that made him turn down my offer and only accept a golf cart ride back to his car near the farm. At least that’s what I would have done before my own transformation. I couldn’t be mad at him for something I would have done, but I was also confused at the same time of my need to try to take care of him. What did that say about my current mental mindset? Was I changing more than I thought or more quickly than I wanted to?

Part 7 — “Pressing onward”

As much as I wanted to take the rest of the day and rest up, so my body got a better chance to repair the damage I’d caused it, I still had to complete getting the systems at the track ready. While the rest of my tasks could wait until tomorrow, the tech folks needed the car transponders ready for check-in in the morning. That meant a trip back to the control tower workshop.

Deciding against changing clothes, I pointed the cart back to the workshop to complete that critical task. The sooner I was finished, the sooner I could go get some rest and food to recover.

The testing procedure for each transponder wasn’t very tiring, since all it involved was placing each of the metal and plastic transponder enclosures into a test fixture above a simulated track sensor coil then letting a computer run the test and certification cycle. At best, it took only a few seconds to change the transponder in the fixture between each testing cycle. The worst was that each cycle took about a minute to complete. I could have easily trained someone to do the testing, but it was my job, and I was determined to see it through.

With over a hundred transponders to test, the procedure usually took around two hours to complete. There were invariably a few that didn’t pass muster, and they were replaced from a surplus of transponders in the workshop. The duds were sent back to the manufacturer for analysis and repair, before being returned to the track.

By the time I finished, my brain was in meltdown mode. My body was sore in more places than I knew I had, and my stomach thought my throat had been cut since I’d worked straight through lunchtime. I packed the transponders into a couple of boxes and left the essential paperwork with each box on the counter near the door. The tech crew would come and get them in the morning to assign one to each car during tech inspections. The transponder number would then be assigned to each car in the timing and scoring system, so that the proper information was displayed each time the transponder passed a scoring loop set into the track.

To save some time, and possibly some pain, I took the golf cart back to the campground. The first stop on the way was the hospitality tent. My body was sending my brain messages about my empty stomach. I suspected that I’d need to eat quite a bit more than normal, if I wanted to heal my injuries as quickly as possible. I’d learned from other incidents that it was best to give my body whatever it wanted, when it needed it, to promote the best healing, and right now that was simply food and quite a bit of it.

Darla hurried over, as she saw me come in. “Jen! What in the world happened to you? You’re an absolute mess!”

“Really? Do I look that good?” I plunked down at the table nearest the serving line. “Food! Can I get some food, please?”

“What would you like?”

“Anything that’s ready now, and keep bringing until I say stop, okay?”

Darla gave me a strange look then scurried off. In a few moments, she returned with a plate containing four chilidogs and another filled with a huge pile of fries. She also brought a large glass filled with orange soda and ice. Everything was on a large tray that she placed in front of me.

She watched in amazement, as I went into attack mode and devoured the dogs and fries. I finished the glass of soda with the last bite of a chilidog. Darla’s jaw was hanging open, as I pushed the tray toward her.

“More, Jen?”

“Got something sweet? And some milk?” The sugar would provide some quick energy while my body worked on the hotdogs and fries.

“Coming right up.”

She came back with about half of an apple pie and another glass the same size as the soda glass filled to the top with milk and a few ice cubes. She was about to cut a piece of the pie and serve it to me on a plate.

I stopped her and reached for the pie. She hesitated for a moment before shrugging then handing it over. Darla sat down across from me and watched in amazement, as I finished off the pie and the entire glass of milk. Finally sated, I pushed the pie tin and the glass away.

“Jen, what the heck was that all about? You never used to eat like that!”

“You promise me that what I tell you won’t go any further?”

“Would anyone believe me?”

“I doubt it.”

“Okay, I promise. Now, how could you eat that much and so fast?”

“Well, a few hours ago I fell off a ladder and dropped about twenty feet. Someone was there to break my fall, but I still got hurt, just a lot of bruises and some cuts. This morning I got a bruise from a run-in with a rabid raccoon. A DEC fellow came along and shot it before it could bite me, but it still rammed pretty hard into my leg.” I pulled up the pant leg to show her a very ugly bruise. “I needed food to be able to heal, Darla. It’s a side effect of my transformation. I heal faster than normal, but my body needs a large energy reserve to do it. I didn’t have any lunch, and my body was starving for energy since it used up most of my reserves. I had to eat all of that stuff.”

“I never would have believed it.”

“Oh, you’ll believe it when I show you my leg tomorrow morning; all traces of that bruise will be gone like it never happened.”

“I’ll have to take your word right now on that, but I do want to look at it again in the morning. Anything else you need?”

“Just a good hot shower and some rest, Darla. I’ll be over at my campsite, if anyone is looking for me. Please do come and get me for supper, if I don’t show up on my own. I think I need to eat a normal meal, then, to let the process finish properly.”

“Good. If anyone else saw what I just did, they’d have lots of questions.”

“Thanks, Darla. I know you’ll keep my secret. Thanks for the pie too. It was my favorite. All cinnamon and nutmeg spicy!”

I waved to Darla as I pointed the golf cart toward the campsite. It was still early in the afternoon, and the campground had filled up a little bit. The biggest inrush of the crews and staff would be on Friday morning, so I might get the showers all to myself again.

My tent was as I’d left it, so I grabbed a few things and my supply bag then headed for the showers. I really wanted a tub to soak in to relieve the pain of the bruises, but there just wasn’t a tub available here. I’d make do with the shower and run the water as hot as I could stand it for as long as it stayed hot.

An hour later, I’d completed my shower including washing my hair to get the grunge from my fall out. It was still a little damp, even after using a blow dryer on it. I wrapped a towel around it then changed into the shorts and halter-top for the dash back to my tent. The bruises on my legs, arms and torso were clearly visible. It looked like I’d gone through fifteen rounds with a first-rate boxer and lost. They really looked much worse than they felt since the first thing my body did was to repair the nerve damage so the pain lessened considerably.

The dash back to the tent went without incident. Nobody saw me to question how I got to look like I did. I took a couple of Tylenol to reduce the last of the pain, before I set the clock radio to wake me up around six in the evening for supper. I crawled into the back bed of the truck after securing the tent and was asleep moments after my head hit the pillow.

The incessant beeping of the clock radio, plus a growing hunger, was more than enough to wake me out of a very sound sleep. The memory of the earlier events of the day reminded me to be careful as I tried to stretch the kinks out of my legs and back muscles. While there was still some pain involved in stretching, it just wasn’t as much as I would have expected given that it was less than half a day ago that I fell off that ladder.

The one thing I hadn’t counted on, when I packed my clothes, was the fact that I’d go through two pairs of jeans in less than a day. That left only one pair clean and useable out of the three pairs I’d packed. Tomorrow (Friday) was supposed to be really hot and humid, and despite the fact that wearing jeans would be safer, I decided to wear shorts on my rounds into the pit area. Fully knowing the eye candy I’d be to the guys in the pits, I rationalized my decision away by the fact that I’d be a whole lot cooler if I didn’t wear the jeans. That also meant that I couldn’t risk getting them dirty tonight either.

With a big lump in my throat, I dressed in short-shorts and a halter-top for my trip to the hospitality tent. I could have used another blouse, but the combination of rather revealing shorts and a cover-up blouse seemed odd to me. If I was going to expose lots of leg, I might as well go for the rest of it and get used to it. I stepped into a pair of open-toed clogs, revealing the red toenail polish applied on my trip to a salon earlier in the week. I hadn’t asked to have my nails done either. I woke up after dozing in the chair, only to find both my finger and toe nails polished in the brilliant red color. They hadn’t applied any extensions to my fingernails, since I needed shorter nails for the work I did with computers. I did try the longer nails once or twice, but I always kept breaking them.

A glance in the small mirror I brought told me that I had some serious pillow head hair. Some time with a brush fixed that then I put my ponytail back in place. It worked very well for me, since it kept the hair out of my eyes and out of the way in general as I worked on whatever I needed to. The few times I’d tried it in other styles, I’d been bothered by my hair always being in the way. I knew that I could easily have it cut short and styled, but I liked the look I had and was determined to keep it for as long as possible.

I absentmindedly wondered what that said about my vanity. The old me never cared much about my overall appearance, other than to be reasonably clean and neat. Now, as a woman, I felt driven to do better. Again, my ‘rationalization engine’ started up, and I accepted that fact that, as a woman, more was expected of me. A sloppy appearance was no longer acceptable and would likely call even more attention to me than maintaining a proper appearance and hygiene.

As I’d done earlier in the day, I decided to go without makeup. I’d fit in with the other women in the campground, since they rarely ever wore it unless it was a formal occasion, like the party tomorrow night. My stomach rumbled, reminding me that it was almost past time to eat again. I checked my appearance one last time in the mirror noting that the bruises had healed enough that they shouldn’t be a problem while wearing the shorts and a halter-top.

My ID tag got clipped to my top then I placed my fanny pack around my waist. Another check of my appearance told me for the tenth time I looked just fine. My stomach complained again, and another revelation swept through me. It wasn’t hunger that I was feeling so much as it was a nagging fear!

For any other woman, what I was about to do was completely natural. Then again, I wasn’t ‘any other woman’. I’d only been one for a relatively short time. My growing fear was that I’d become a piece of raw meat destined for a cage full of hungry lions. I just didn’t have the years of experience someone born as a woman has in dealing with the opposite sex. It wasn’t so long ago that I was the opposite sex!

It took a bit of effort, but I eventually forced the fear back into the little cubbyhole in my mind that it had sprung from. It was still there fighting to get out though. The only way to get rid of it was to get through the ordeal ahead.

The golf cart started up, despite a small prayer that it wouldn’t. It took only a couple of minutes to work my way across the half-filled campground to the hospitality tent. I could have walked, but the incident with the raccoon this morning still had me a little on edge. Better I scare off the local wildlife with a noisy golf cart than risk another attack.

The campground was filling up, and that fact did very little to enhance my level of confidence. As I pulled up at the tent, I saw it was about half-filled with people all chatting away, and the smell of hot food made my stomach twist in ways it never had before. It’s funny what the combination of fear and hunger can do to you.

Several deep breaths later, I slowly walked into the tent. Much to my growing surprise, very little attention was paid to my entrance. A few people did notice my entrance, including a table full of guys that studied me intensely. Everyone else went about their business filling trays with hot food and chatting with their friends.

The line wasn’t too long, and it took just a couple of minutes to work my way through it, filling my tray with food as I went. I got a few questioning looks, since my plate was filled with two burgers loaded with catsup, mustard, tomato, lettuce, onion and relish, a big dollop of macaroni salad and a dill pickle. A saucer contained a piece of apple pie that I hoped would be as good as the half a pie I wolfed down earlier. I’d barely tasted the other pie, and I wanted to savor every bite of this piece. People seemed to accept the explanation that I hadn’t had a proper lunch. I know it was a bit of a stretch, but for most people, the huge meal that I ate wasn’t a proper lunch.

A table in one corner of the tent was empty, and I made a beeline straight to it. I’d barely taken a dozen steps when I heard my name called several times. Jeff was at a table by himself waving me to come in his direction. Rather than risk eating all alone, I welcomed the company of someone I knew, especially an old friend like Jeff. I know it was a crutch, at least a mental one anyway, but it was one I was very glad to have.

“Saving damsels in distress now, are we?” I put the tray on the table then carefully sat down on the wooden bench. The last thing I wanted was splinters in my backside or thighs.

“Why? Are you in distress?” Jeff looked concerned.

“Just my first time in this kind of situation, that’s all.” I took a sip of the cold glass of milk, hoping that it would clear the lump of fear in my throat.

”Just what do you have to be afraid of anyway?”

“I feel like a mouse in a room full of cats. Any second, I could get jumped on.”

“Jen, just remember that you’re the one in charge of the situation. You’re a beautiful woman now, and of course the guys are going to want to talk with you. On top of that, your face is famous around here. It’s been all over the news. The hospital press conference, the bus rescue, and the science fair at the mall, all made you a local celebrity. Better get used to it, and learn how to handle it, now.”

I hung my head for a few moments. “I know you’re right, Jeff. I just hoped that things could go back to normal for me. I so desperately wanted to go back to just being one of the crowd, instead of someone the crowd looks up to. Guess that isn’t possible any more, huh?”

“It wasn’t from the moment your transformation became public. You sealed your own fate when you rescued those kids from that burning bus.”

“I screwed up in reverse, didn’t I?”

“I’d say so, yes.” My stomach rumbled loud enough that Jeff heard it. “So, you going to eat or what?”

“Guess I’d better dig in before this gets cold, right?”

“Why are you looking for my approval, Jen? You’ve been doing pretty good on your own, so far.”

“Guess I have, haven’t I?”

“Yup. Now shut up and eat!”

As I ate, I took the time to really taste all of the food on my plate. The burgers were great, as was the macaroni and cheese. I even enjoyed the dill pickle. It was nice and crunchy and had a great twangy taste. The apple pie seemed to be a duplicate of the earlier pie, and I savored every bite of it then washed it all down with a few last gulps of milk.

Jeff was staring at me, as I put the glass back on the table. “Do you always eat like that, Jen? Aren’t you afraid of ruining that killer figure of yours?”

I just shrugged, as I used a napkin to wipe the corners of my mouth. “What can I say, Jeff? The transformation left me with a weird metabolism. I seem to be able to eat whatever I want and not gain weight. I haven’t varied more than a pound either side of a hundred and twenty five pounds, since I woke up in the hospital.” I hated lying, but then again I really wasn’t lying to anyone. I just hadn’t told the complete truth.

“You ought to figure out how that happened to you and bottle it. You’d be rich!”

“But I’m rich, now. What do I need more money for?”

“Just think of what you could do with more money!”

“I can’t think of what to do with the money I’ve got now, Jeff.”

Jeff laughed. “Jen, you truly are priceless.”

I looked around me at my clothes. “Really? Did my price tag come off? It’s gotta be around here somewhere.”

“Give up the blonde ditz act, will ya? Remember? I’m your old friend, Jeff.” He waved his hand in front of my face. “We’ve known each other for over twenty years, and I know that there’s a light on in that head of yours somewhere!”

I laughed as a smile spread across his face. “Just trying to get in some practice. I’ve learned that the ditz routine can have its uses on occasion.”

“It’s not going to work on me, and I strongly urge you not to practice it around here again. Everyone knew that they couldn’t get anything past the old you, and I don’t want that image to change now.”

“And just why is that, Jeff?”

“I’m going to correct an error that’s been bugging me for nearly the last twenty years.” He put a pile of t-shirts on the table then pushed them toward me.

“T-shirts? What do these have to do with anything?”

“You know that we color-code the t’s here, right?”

“Yup. Red is the medical folks so their shirts are easy to spot. The safety folks are yellow. If I remember right, yours are a light green with a white stripe on top of the shoulders and sleeves, right?”

He nodded. “Look at those.”

The t-shirts were the same green color as I remembered Jeff wearing. They had ‘Oxbow Motor Speedway' emblazoned on the back, with the word ‘Official’ above ‘J. Stevens’ embroidered just above where my left breast would be. They even had the same matching white stripe on the shoulders and sleeves that Jeff wore. All of a sudden, I realized what the t-shirts meant.

“But why, Jeff?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, you’ve been helping me run this place whenever you’ve been here, for the last twenty years, Jen. Whenever someone needs a decision made, and they can’t find me, they go find you. While I can’t say I agree completely with every single decision you’ve been asked to make over the years, I can’t overlook the fact that whatever was tossed your way was handled quickly and efficiently to the satisfaction of almost everyone involved. That says a lot to me, Jen.”

“Only ‘almost everyone’, Jeff?”

“Yes. The only complaints I’ve ever had were from people that never should have gone to you in the first place. We don’t over-ride the League officials or the safety crews at all, and they know that.”

“Especially since I told them that little fact at the time!” I was still puzzled. “So why the t-shirts? I never needed one, before.”

“And you weren’t a woman then, either. I just want to make it extremely clear to everyone that you have my complete trust and support, no matter what happened to you. You know as well as I that there are people that will see you as weak and indecisive, two qualities that you don’t have and will never have. Those shirts say that you’re not going to take a load of shi … uh … crap from anyone, and you’ve got me to back you up.”

“Guess I’ll go along with you then, Jeff.”

“Good, because you don’t have any choice, Jen. I’ll play by your rules on the way people treat you and what you do about it, but these are my rules and they’re non-negotiable.”

“Want me to wear one of these now?”

“Just tomorrow and Saturday, except for the party tomorrow night. Oh, by the way, I know all about your little ladder incident. Pretty foolish to be out there by yourself, wasn’t it?”

“I know I broke my own safety rules, Jeff. I won’t let that happen again.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “And how many times have I heard that line before?”

“Too many, probably.”

He laughed then pushed the pile of t-shirts the rest of the way across the table. “Now go get some rest, you bum. It’ll be a busy two days. Oh, by the way, are you still doing the radio frequency co-ordination?”

“Don’t I always, when I’m here?”

“Thought so. The TV crew pulled in around three this afternoon. I got word from them that they want to talk to you about their radio needs. They have several systems, and we need to make sure that they won’t conflict with our systems or the race teams stuff.”

“Did they say what time they wanted to meet?”

“How about tomorrow after the driver’s meeting in the morning? You’re going to be there anyway.”

“Why? I’ve seldom gone to those meetings.”

“You’ll be at the drivers meeting tomorrow morning wearing one of those t-shirts, or I’ll take you over my knee, young lady.”

“Why, Jeff! What would your wife say about you spanking me?”

“She’d probably tell me to give you another thump on the rump for being so stupid as to go up a ladder with nobody else around to hold the damned thing.”

There was a fair amount of logic in what Jeff had said just then. “Knowing her, she probably would tell you to do just that and give me a couple extra too. All right, see you at the drivers meeting in the morning.”

Jeff waved as I left the tent with the stack of t-shirts under my arm. I used the golf cart again since, by this time, darkness was approaching and the nighttime critters were starting to stir.

After making a much-needed stop at the women’s restroom facilities, I pulled the golf cart up next to my tent and shut down the engine. I knew from experience that there was little on the cart that a soaking rain would damage, other than the radio equipment that I planned on carrying with me into the tent. Everything else was in the locked weather resistant cabinets. I made sure to remove the key and stuff it in my fanny pack, so nobody else could drive off with the cart overnight.

A quick glance at my watch told me it was far too early for me to jump into bed or at least what passed for one while I was camping. After my experience in the hospitality tent, and my little talk with Jeff, I was far too wound up to even think about sleeping for another few hours at best.

I gave in to the gentle attraction of a stash of chocolate I’d hidden in my cooler. I still hadn’t placed it into the little refrigerator, but the ice in the cooler had kept it cold anyway. Cream-filled chocolates were a weakness of mine before my transformation and continued to be afterwards. I’d managed to find several sources of bulk chocolates on the Internet, and what I carried with me was the last of the batch I’d ordered a few weeks before the accident. Dark chocolates, filled with vanilla buttercream, or orange, or raspberry cream, were special favorites, and I had at least a half a pound of each left.

The master antenna still wasn’t connected to my TV, so I settled for another DVD. This time an old movie called “The Great Race,” with Jack Lemmon, Tony Curtis and Natalie Wood, provided the evening’s entertainment. Somehow, it seemed fitting, considering where I was and what I’d be doing over the next couple of days.

The movie was well over two hours long, and I realized nearly at the ending that the chocolate had the desired calming effect, as I yawned several times. The leftover chocolates got stuffed into the little refrigerator. I changed into some looser fitting clothes, after making good use of the portable toilet, then set the alarm clocks for something around oh-dark-thirty in the morning.

With the tent as secure as I could make it, I crawled into the back of the pickup truck bed and settled in for the night.

Friday —

I woke up almost covered in sweat or, as one of my ‘female education’ teachers said, perspiration, because “Ladies do NOT sweat; we perspire.” The temperature had gone up into the high 70’s overnight as the warm front moved in. This didn’t bode well for what the weather would be like the rest of the day.

To add some additional misery to a day that was already headed into the toilet, I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach. A dull ache in my middle, and an occasional cramp, told me that my monthly visitor had decided to move in overnight. The slight odor that my now more sensitive nose picked up, as I slid out of the truck bed, told me that I’d already spotted my panties and possibly the shorts I’d worn to bed. That made the first order of business a trip to the showers to clean up. I grabbed my usual supplies, and two clean towels, then headed for the rest room building.

Fortunately, I’d gotten up early enough that there was a fair chance that I’d have the showers all to myself. That thought lifted my sprits a little, as I walked across the short distance to the building. The campground had really filled up, but there weren’t very many people active at this early hour of the morning.

Luck was on my side, as I walked in to a deserted woman’s room. As I’d done before, I got things all set for my shower then stripped off and stepped under the water. I left the water a little on the cold side, since I needed to cool off after a rather warm night’s sleep.

The door opened, and an older woman walked in just as I was turning off the water. She saw me standing behind the shower door. She looked at me for a few moments then smiled and set her things down on the bench seat.

“If you’ll give me a couple of minutes to dry off, I’ll get out of here, okay?”

She looked up at me, after she plopped down on the bench. “You don’t need to leave. We’re both girls, right?”

“Well …”

“Oh, Ms. Stevens, I do know who you are and what you used to be.”

“And that doesn’t bother you, me being in here?”

“Why should it? You got something different than I’ve got?”

“No, nothing different.”

“Well then don’t worry about it, dearie.”

“But I do worry about it. I’ve had more than a few women upset that I was using ‘their’ restroom and complain to the management at wherever I was at the time. I try very hard to be sensitive to the feelings of the people around me. Not everyone has been so accepting of my transformation as you seem to be.”

“When you’re as old as I am, you learn there isn’t a whole lot left to get upset about.”

“I can’t argue at all with that. I’m quite a bit older than I look.” I’d been able to towel off during our conversation. “Ummm … I need to take care of something. Be right with you.”

“Take your time, Miss Stevens.”

“It’s Jen, please call me Jen. Um … I don’t even know your name….”

“Katherine Callard but please call me Kate.”

“Well, Kate. I need to get a tampon in place. It’ll only take a minute or so.” I’d barely gotten used to putting in a tampon and felt quite apprehensive with someone else nearby. It took a couple of tries to get it right. “There, all set.”

“You’re having periods? The change was that complete?”

I stuffed a liner into the crotch of my panties and put them on then struggled to get my bra on properly. I still wasn’t as used to it as a woman that had grown up with putting them on every day. “Yes, it was, I’m afraid. And yes, I can get pregnant.”

“Wow, I never heard that before.”

“It’s not something I talk about much, so let’s just keep that to ourselves, okay?”

“All right. So how well are you handling your periods?”

“Okay I guess. They’re harder on the people around me than they are on me, since I tend to get really bitchy sometimes. I don’t mean to get snappy with people, but there are times I just can’t help it.”

“I used to get like that too. At least those days are long past.”

“I learned long ago that asking a woman her age or trying to guess it was a double edged sword. It’s a no-win situation for any male or so I’ve come to find out.”

“I’m sixty-three and damned proud of every gray hair that my kids have given me, Jen.”

“And I’ll bet you’re hoping that their kids give them all the grief they’ve given you over the years, yes?”

“If there’s any justice in this world then I’m counting on it! You sure you were born male? You seem to understand a thing or two about being a woman.”

“I’m quite certain that I was born a male. I just had some great teachers, and I’m doing my best to adapt.” I managed to get the bra hooked up properly then put on a bathrobe from my supply bag. I stuffed the dirty clothes and underwear into separate plastic bags then loaded everything back into my bag. “Well, that about does it for me, Kate. I’ve got to get going since there’s loads of things on my to-do list for today.”

“It’s been a pleasure chatting with you, Jen. I’d like to continue our talk sometime, if you can find a few spare minutes.”

“I think I’d like that too, Kate. I’m going to have breakfast at the hospitality tent in about an hour; if you’re available just stop by my tent. I’m over there with the Dodge RAM 1500 pickup with the tent grafted on the back.”

“I saw that one on the way over here. Very nice the way you had that put together.”

“Oh, that wasn’t put together for me. I did that myself a few years ago. Some places will custom make that tent for you now, but mine was the original.”

“So I’ll see you in about an hour then, Jen?”

“Sure, Kate. Bye!” I waved as I headed out the door in my bathrobe and clogs.

The robe wasn’t quite as long as I would have liked, leaving a fair amount of my upper thighs visible below the hem. The ground I was walking on was rather uneven as well, making me bounce and wiggle more than normal just to keep my balance. Put both of those together, and I must have presented quite a sight as I walked back to my tent.

Several whistles interrupted the quiet morning air in the campground. Most of the men awake at that hour had come out to watch the parade from the showers, and I guess that I was the first one to be the subject of their interest. In a way, I felt proud that they thought enough of me to let their attraction be known. In a completely different way, I was more than a little scared that I found their interest appealing.

As I looked around, I realized that most of the men whistling were the drivers of some of the cars that were going to race over the next two days. It hit me that most of them had absolutely no idea who I really was, only that a good-looking young woman was on parade in front of them in her bathrobe. These guys weren’t interested in anything beyond racing while the season was in full swing, so they probably hadn’t heard about my transformation. Knowing that I’d see them later at the driver’s meeting, and that my true identity would be revealed, I decided to have a bit of fun.

Adding some extra sway to my walk wasn’t very hard to do, and it actually helped me walk on the uneven ground. A few additional whistles told me I was on the right track. A few steps away from the tent, I fumbled with my bag then dropped it on the ground. I stopped then looked at the bag and frowned then started to bend at the waist to pick it up, fully knowing the view that the guys might get if I went past a certain point. When I was almost at the point that my robe would have revealed my panties, I stopped bending then instead bent my knees and squatted down the rest of the way to reach the bag. More than a few low groans told me that my little tease act had the desired effect. Now, the men that watched me would surely remember me. All that was left was to see what their reaction to me would be when I was introduced at the meeting later this morning.

One thing I’d decided, early on after my transformation, was that I wasn’t going to crawl in a hole and hide from the rest of the world just because I’d been changed. With that goal in mind, I’d also decided that I was going to do everything I could within reason to convince people that I was all girl, and that included wearing feminine clothing. In a way, it turned out that my transformation coming in early summertime was something of a blessing.

The long hot days of summer forced me into halter-tops and shorts on those sweltering days. Less clothing meant more skin exposed to the air, and that meant that I’d be a bit cooler even in the humidity-laden air of upstate New York. I’d practically lived in a shirt and jeans during the summertime before I changed. Now, outside of work, I could most often be found wearing short shorts and a halter-top, on days where the mercury topped eighty degrees.

The weather forecast said that this could be one of the hottest days of the year, with the temperature nearing a hundred degrees. Add in the humidity, and the ‘feels like’ temperature was certainly going to be up in the low triple digits, maybe as much as a hundred ten degrees. As much as I wanted to, and as much as I knew the males at the track would have appreciated it, I just couldn’t wear shorts today. I was going into the pit area, and with all the metal around with sharp edges and for other safety reasons, I put on my best pair of stone washed jeans. In line with my need to prove my femininity, they hugged my hips and upper thighs like a second skin and ended just two inches below my naval. The crotch area was a tight fit, too, leaving no doubt of my status below the belt loops on the jeans.

While the jeans fit perfectly, I was going to need a belt today. I had to carry a couple of different radios and a pager, and I didn’t want their extra weight to pull down my jeans at a bad time. I threaded a belt about an inch wide through the loops and tightened it down one more notch than was normal for me before clipping on my pager. I’d clip on my ham radio handheld and the track radio later.

Jeff had said that I needed to wear one of the t-shirts to the morning meetings, but he hadn’t said that I had to wear it all of the time, so I put on a short halter top with a built-in bra then clipped my track ID badge to it. The top more closely resembled a bikini top with its plunging neckline, narrow straps and thin back tie. I debated for a few moments about wearing something else that showed less of my cleavage, but changed my mind when I remembered what the temperature was going to hit today. A couple of the special t-shirts got tossed in my day bag for later use.

I’d had a couple of pairs of special shoes made for work, and I took advantage of a pair them today. They looked like standard running shoes, but they had a much more puncture resistant sole than normal running shoes. I’d worked enough construction sites before my change to know all about foot safety when working around any metal preparation or welding operation. I’d owned several pairs of running shoes that had metal shards nearly puncture the standard soles, before I had a special pair made to fit my then-huge feet. I also had included a steel toe guard just in case something got dropped on my foot too. Since some of the work I still did involved the occasional construction site I’d had a couple pairs made to fit my ‘new’ feet and always carried a pair in the pickup just in case.

I’d kept my hair dry during my shower, since I knew that it would take forever to dry in the almost overpowering humidity this morning. All it needed was a good brushing to make it gleam again, as I put it up in my usual ponytail style.

My makeup today would be extremely simple. There wouldn’t be any at all. The heat and humidity today would only make it run all over my face anyway. As a concession to the heat and overall safety, I put some surgical steel ‘keeper’ studs in my pierced ears in place of the larger dangly ones I’d planned to wear. Then I sprayed a small cloud of my favorite lilac scent in the air and stepped through it. I knew that it wouldn’t last, but I could ward off that sweaty smell for part of the day anyway.

Satisfied I was going to look okay, I loaded up the day bag with extra panties, pads and tampons along with a couple of pairs of shorts and my last clean halter-top. In went the radios and anything else I thought I might need when I was out today. My fanny pack got strapped around my waist at about the level of the belt in my jeans moments before I heard a voice outside my tent. The voice turned out to be Kate. She was right on time.

By the time we reached the hospitality tent for breakfast, we were chattering away like we’d known each other for a few years. I was still trying to figure out why it seemed so easy to talk to her about stuff I never thought I’d be talking about with anyone else. We talked almost an hour as we ate breakfast. Very few topics were off-limits, but I did manage to skirt any medical issues related to my change, including my reduced aging and increased healing ability. I had to admit that I felt much better about my situation after our talk, and it was a great help to know that a lot of my concerns weren’t unique to my unusual situation. My feeling and fears about relationships and having kids were common to all women. It was just that I had a somewhat different view of the problems than someone that was female since birth. As much as I would have loved to continue our talk, I had things to do this morning, so I reluctantly said goodbye to Kate and headed for the control tower.

The first order of business was a final quick check of the timing and scoring system. A fast stop in the tower told me that the track’s staff had things well in hand and that all of the critical systems were up and running. The data from the tech inspections was entered so that the system could equate a specific transponder back to a particular car.

My next stop was a large garage like building at the side of the pit area. The building housed a small fleet of dune-buggy type vehicles. Normally, they were used as a for-pay attraction to provide rides, when there was no other activity going on out on the track. The little cars were quite popular with the race fans.

Of much more interest to me were a couple of slightly larger buggies. Unlike the smaller group, these weren’t limited by a governor system and could hit speeds over a hundred miles an hour on the track. Both were outfitted with safety lights and were used alternately as pace cars for the races. All of the buggies were outfitted with the transponders that the larger cars carried.

My task was to take one of the pace buggies out onto the track and run a few laps to test the system. I paused only momentarily at the rack of fire suits hanging on a rack in the office of the building. The extra large suit labeled with my old name wouldn’t fit me any more; it would be so large on me that it would be a safety hazard. I started to search the rack of suits for one that would fit. Before I got very far, I found one with a note attached to it. The note read —

“Jen,

I know you’re going to need this. Hope I got the size right. It may be a little large on you, though. We’ll get you a better one later. Jeff”

The suit had “J. Stevens” neatly embroidered over the left breast area. I found a helmet on the top shelf of the rack also lettered neatly with J. Stevens just above the visor.

The temperature outside had warmed up into the low 90’s, so I decided to change out of the jeans into a pair of my shorts before putting on the fire suit. I used the bathroom off the office to make the change then walked out to the car in the full suit and helmet.

One of the large buggies had been fully prepped, and that was the one I used for the test run. Later on, it would be the official pace car for the races, after I certified that the speedometer and the timing system agreed for the pace speed.

I did the first three laps at a relatively low speed, to allow the car to warm up and the tires to reach the optimum temperature. The next two laps, I ran at the pace speed of about thirty miles an hour. When the scoring pylon speed agreed with the speedometer in the car, I opened up the throttle. The next twenty laps just flew by as the car bounced around the track. I’d never been able to go this fast before, since my body weight wouldn’t let the car perform properly. Now that I was at least three hundred pounds lighter, the little car reached speeds I didn’t think I’d ever see.

Finally, I’d had enough bouncing and slowed to pull the car off the track. A quick glance at the scoring pylon told me that, for most of the twenty-five laps I’d run, I’d hit speeds nearing a hundred and twenty miles an hour and been able to maintain that speed as the car flew around the track. I think I was grinning from ear to ear, as I stopped the car just outside the garage.

With the car stopped, even for those few seconds, the heat in the suit became unbearable. I struggled to get the belts unbuckled then crawled out of the car before taking off the helmet. The fire suit was next. Even the warm, humid air felt cool, as it caressed the exposed skin on my body and legs. I tossed the suit over the rear wheel of the car on the driver’s side and sat down to catch my breath for a few moments.

After a couple of minutes, I felt a whole lot better. I grabbed the helmet and the suit then headed back into the office to complete the paperwork on the pace car. I left the paperwork on the desk then used the bathroom to change back into my jeans, before heading out to the driver’s meeting.

The meeting was in the hospitality tent, since it was the only place that could comfortably accommodate over a hundred people. I’d seen the registration list and knew that Jeff was expecting over a hundred and thirty cars to try to qualify over the next day and a half. Between the drivers and crew chiefs that attended we could have well over two hundred people at the meeting.

By the time I got to the tent, it had filled up considerably. A podium had been placed on the small stage at the far end of the tent away from the food area. Several chairs were arranged around the podium along with a couple of folding tables.

I recognized a few of the officials, as I entered the tent and waved. I got a few odd looks, as they couldn’t quite place why a young woman should be waving at them. I worked my way through the growing crowd over to the food side of the tent.

The soda machines were humming along nicely, as I filled a large cup with ice then added soda to the top. After adding a plastic top to the cup I pushed a straw through the hole in the top then took a long draw on the straw. It really didn’t matter what was in the cup as long as it was wet and very cold.

A tap on my shoulder made me turn around to see Jeff looking at me.

“Hi, Jeff! I’m here.”

“I see. What about that t-shirt we agreed you’d wear?”

“It’s in my bag right here. See?” I held up the bag then zipped it open and pointed to the green t-shirt. “I’ll put it on in a few minutes when the meeting starts. I’m still trying to cool down from the timing run I did a little while ago.”

“I saw you out there. So did most everyone in the pits. The TV folks were testing out the cameras and the link into the jumbo TV screen. Pretty impressive! You’ve got more than a few teams wondering who the new speed demon is. They freaked out even more, when you took off the fire suit!”

I started laughing. “I gotta admit that I’d love to see the look on their faces when they realized that it was a woman behind the wheel of that car.”

“Oh, you’ll get your chance all right. The TV folks have some crews out roving the grounds doing background pieces. I saw one of their pit reporters asking what the crews thought about your driving. More than a few crews wanted to know if you were available to drive today.”

“Really?”

“Yup. When the camera focused on the scoring pylon, and showed you got almost a hundred and thirty miles an hour out of that buggy, almost every crew chief here wanted to know who you were.”

“Did you tell them?”

“Of course not. I didn’t want to spoil the fun when I introduced you in a little while.”

“Well, that explains the looks I’m getting then.” As Jeff and I were talking, I’d noticed quite a few people looking my way then pointing me out to other people. “Guess it’s about time we ended the confusion, isn’t it?”

“I think so, Jen. Gonna put that t-shirt on?”

“Have I gotta?” I pouted like a little kid after she was told that she couldn’t have a new dolly. I tossed in that big-eyed look as an extra inducement to answer in my favor.

“Nice try, Jen, but I’m NOT buyin’ it. Now get it on!”

“Okay.” I handed my cup to Jeff then took the shirt out of the bag and slipped it over my head. I pulled it down over my jeans then fished my ponytail out from the neck of the shirt. “Well, it’s tighter than I’d like, but I guess I’ll just have to accept it. There, happy now?”

The shirt was quite tight across my chest hugging my breasts and pushing them together quite a bit. It didn’t help much that it was clearly a woman’s t-shirt with a rather low-cut neckline that exposed most of my cleavage. I’d wanted to let everyone know in no uncertain terms that I was now a female, and the t-shirt made it pretty evident to anyone looking and there was more than enough to look at!

He handed my cup back. “Yup. Sorry about the shirts being a little tight. I had to take a guess at your size. Not much we can do about it now, though. Let’s go meet your adoring public.”

Jeff and I worked our way through the growing crowd finally making it to the steps up to the stage. Jeff indicated that I should go up ahead of him onto the stage.

As I walked across the stage to the chair that Jeff indicated, I was greeted with a lot of whistling and quite a bit of applause including a few Bronx cheers. It was a challenge to not show any emotion, as I quietly sat down in the chair. I looked out over the crowd, as the rest of the officials and a few of the race sponsors filed onto the stage.

Jeff opened the meeting.

“Welcome to the Speedway, again. I hope that we’ll have another great race this time around and that everyone will be as safe as possible. Before the rest of this meeting, I have to introduce someone you all knew in the past. A few of you have heard that Robert Stevens was seriously injured by a lightning strike earlier this summer. I’m pleased to report that he’s fully recovered and with us here today. Now, I know that many of you are busy racing and may not have heard exactly what happened to him. If you’ve been following the news then you’ve heard that the lightning strike somehow changed him into a woman. I know it’s hard to believe, but it is true. I’d like to introduce you to Jennifer Stevens.”

Jeff motioned for me to come and say a few words. With a huge lump in my throat, I stepped up to the podium. The tent was strangely silent, as I looked out at the crowd. A few mouths were hanging wide open, other faces carried a look of revulsion while others carried no emotion. A few faces, surely a minority of those present, had large smiles on them.

“Yes, I was Robert Stevens. I still don’t know how or why I was transformed, but this is what I’ve become. I didn’t ask to become a woman. By all I know about lightning strikes, I should be seriously injured and probably disabled, or more likely dead. Instead, I’ve become the woman you see now. I can’t go back to who and what I was, so I’ve decided to make the most of this situation.”

“I want to assure all of you that all the knowledge I had before I still retain. Nothing has changed in that respect. Yes, I have physically changed, and while I’m all female now there isn’t much that I did before that I can’t do now. And before one of you wise-asses yells it, I certainly can’t pee standing up any more.”

That seemed to break the wall of silence in the crowd, and laughter rippled through the tent.

“Before my transformation, I considered many of you as friends. All I can ask is that the friendship continue, if you can accept what happened to me. For those of you that refuse to accept my change, all I ask is that we maintain the same professional working relationship that we had. My job here at the track remains exactly as it was, and I can assure all of you that my change has no effect on my doing that job as well as I did it before my transformation.”

A subdued wave of applause swept across the tent. “Thank you, folks. Your tentative acceptance means a lot to me. I also need to remind everyone that my nerves are still a little on edge, and I ask that you refrain from pulling any pranks on the ‘new kid’ in the pits. I’d hate to see anyone, either you or I, get hurt in an accident because of me. Let’s all have a good, safe race, okay?”

This time my comments were greeted with a much larger wave of polite applause as I walked back to my chair. Jeff resumed his place behind the podium.

“I want to make it extremely clear to everyone that Jen’s position at the track is the same as it has always been. Just because this accident has changed her does not mean that she’s any less capable than she was. She still has my complete support to make any decisions she needs to to officiate this weekend’s racing activities. There will also be no harassment of her or any other woman either. Anyone doing that will be escorted off the grounds, drivers and crew members included.”

I followed Jeff’s line of sight leading directly to one particular driver. His name was Tony Warner, and he considered himself God’s gift to the female population of the world. Before my transformation, my opinion of him was one of strong repulsion. Now that I might be the target of his unwanted attention, my feelings about him bordered on the paranoid. I wouldn’t mind it in the least, if he were one of the people that couldn’t or wouldn’t accept my change.

“Now that Jen’s introduction is out of the way, many of you already know that this weekend’s racing will be the first to be televised live from the track to homes all over the country. I’m pleased to introduce Mister Fred Sampson from the network responsible for the broadcast. Mister Sampson …”

An older man with graying hair walked over to the podium.

“I’m delighted to be here for this weekend’s racing. We’ve looked long and hard for racing action as intense as that found in your league. We’re looking forward to providing that excitement to our audience in a relationship that’s profitable for us, the track, and the league as well as the drivers and crews. To help to bring the racing action to our viewers, several of the drivers will be asked to allow our technical crews to mount TV cameras on your cars. I’m certain you’ve seen them used during other races, so you know that they’re not an impediment to you or your cars. Those of you that accept our cameras will receive a small payment as our way of saying thanks for carrying them.”

Another, more enthusiastic, round of applause swept through the tent, mostly from the drivers and crews.

“Although she doesn’t know it yet, Ms. Stevens will be assisting us in coordinating the cameras and their installation in the cars, since she’s the most experienced person available.” He looked over at me with an expression of hope on his face. I smiled and simply nodded in agreement, noting that he looked quite relieved. “Our crew will be visiting each team in the pits this morning, as she makes her rounds for frequency coordination for the racing radios. We’ll also be using her services to make sure our own communications needs don’t affect the racing action in any way.”

“As Ms Stevens said earlier, let’s have a safe and exciting race.”

I noticed him looking over at Tony Warner, briefly, and wondered just what was going on. Tony was known as the ‘bad boy’ in the league and was continually on the brink of being kicked out. The main reason the league and everyone else put up with him was that he was the driver the fans loved to hate. Whenever he ran in a race, it was a given that the fans would flock to the track to see for themselves whatever bag of dirty tricks and risky driving he tried that week. Increased fan attendance meant increased gate receipts and refreshment stand income, and the league knew it.

The league was well aware that he was probably their biggest draw with the fans and tolerated his shenanigans to a point. Several times, Tony had crossed the line and caused accidents with his ‘let it all hang out’ style of driving. The league had penalized him thousands of dollars and taken away driver and team points, but it seemed to have little effect on him. He knew he was ‘untouchable,’ and that made him even more arrogant than he normally was.

I’d sort of zoned out, as I thought about Tony Warner, and came back to reality as Mister Sampson finished speaking.

“Oh, by the way, you’ll notice camera crews and some of our pit reporters around during the day. They’re building some background on each driver and team as well as some background on the track itself. Please give them all the help you can.”

Jeff took the podium again.

“Well, that’s all I have folks. We’ll take a break for a few minutes then you’ll have the usual meeting with the league and track officials.”

This time the applause was loud, and I suspect that the crowd was glad to see us go. Then again, maybe it was the sway of my hips and my bouncing breasts as I walked across the stage toward the set of stairs on the side.

I got sidetracked by a few people that wanted to talk to me and spent the next ten minutes or so answering questions about my transformation. Most wanted to know the usual question. You know, “What is it like?” The only response that I could give them was that there was no frame of reference that would let me give them an answer that they could easily understand. They weren’t happy with my answer either, but there wasn’t a lot I could do about it.

Thankfully, I got called away as the crowd around me started to grow. I followed Jeff and Mr. Sampson out of the tent toward a nearby picnic table in the shade.

Sampson extended a hand, as I sat down at the table. “A pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Stevens. Jeff, here, has told me all about you -- well at least of the old you. I must say that your reputation precedes you. Our technical staff uses your book on wiring standards as their bible. We’ve never gone wrong yet, using your recommendations.”

I took the offered hand and shook it. “Oh, that book. It was just something I put together out of frustration in looking for the various standards for wiring when I had to build a computer network from scratch. There were so many different standards conflicting with each other that I sorted them all out and made sense out them. I never expected the thing to get published or that it might become the bible of so many industries.”

“Still, it’s a most useful book and an accomplishment that you should be proud of, Ms. Stevens.”

“Mr. Sampson, somehow I suspect that I’ve just been given a load of whipped cream on top of my dessert to hide what’s underneath. What’s the real reason for this little meeting?”

“As perceptive as I’d been told to expect. All right, I’ll lay it all out in to open. There’s nothing sinister, I can assure you.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Sampson. I’m listening.” I crossed my arms under my breasts and got a bit more comfortable on the bench.

“First, we do want your cooperation on the installation of the cameras in the cars and on the frequency coordination issues.”

“I’ll be glad to help with the frequency issues; that’s part of my job here. Just how much use I’ll be on the camera installation, I’m not certain. I’ve never worked with equipment similar to yours before.”

“But you have worked on installing electronics in these cars before, yes?”

“Certainly.”

“Then you’re just the person we need. Our staff has extensive experience with the electronic gear, but they’ve never worked on this kind of car. Your experience in knowing what you can safely install and how will be invaluable.”

“If that’s what you need then I’m your man … err … woman, Mr. Sampson.”

“Great. That’ll help us a lot.”

“A few moments ago you said ‘first’. That implies there’s more than one thing you wanted to ask me, Mr. Sampson.”

He took a deep breath then exhaled slowly, as if to calm his nerves before he spoke. “Quite right! Very perceptive, Jennifer. May I call you Jennifer?”

“It works for the moment, Mr. Sampson. I reserve the right to alter my acceptance after I hear what you have to say next however.”

“As I expected. I’m reluctant to bring this up, but quite frankly almost anything about you is news and to find you working at the track so soon after your accident certainly qualifies as news. I’d like to have one of our video crews follow you around so we can eventually do a documentary on your progress.”

“I’m hardly news, Mr. Sampson. The folks out there, putting their lives on the line for your entertainment, are the real news here. I suggest that your crews follow them around instead.”

“But none of them have undergone what you did, Ms. Stevens.”

“And why should that make me more interesting than them? I don’t intend to live in a fish bowl like the press seems to think I should. I can’t do anything about you videotaping me in public areas around the track, Mr. Sampson, but I will not allow taping in private areas, nor will I wear any wireless microphones to facilitate taping. You want to tape me, you’ll just have to take it as you can get it.”

“Well, I can’t say it makes me happy, but it is what I was told to expect. All right, Ms. Stevens, we will respect your privacy, and we will stop taping whenever you request us to.”

“Fair enough, Mr. Sampson. I think we can establish a good working relationship, despite the fact that we seem to be of opposite opinions on my newsworthy status.”

The meeting broke up a few minutes later after we worked out details of the camera installations and their need for protected frequencies for their communications gear and video links. I left with a list of the capabilities of their equipment so I could work around their needs as I met with each of the teams. Safety communications would come first, of course, followed by the radio and TV needs then basic team communications.

The meeting was still in progress in the hospitality tent with the drivers and crews. I slipped back inside as quietly as I could and got a cup full of ice and water then took a seat at the back of the crowd of people. There wasn’t much that I could do until the meeting broke up and the crews returned to the pit area.

Twenty minutes later, the meeting broke up. As the crews left to tend to their cars in the pits, I finished the cup of water and made a quick comfort stop in the closest ladies room. Fortunately, it was a portable restroom of the ‘single hole’ variety, so I didn’t take any flack for being in it when I came out. I did get a few whistles from a few of the guys nearby though. I guess it was in reaction to my tying the t-shirt in a knot just below my breasts in an effort to try to stay cool in the quickly growing heat. While the air itself wasn’t all that cool, it did help a little to evaporate the moisture that was building up on my exposed skin.

With the meeting finished, I hopped on my golf cart then pointed it toward the TV compound on the other side of the track. It wasn’t the easiest location to get to though. A survey of the track indicated that the location just outside turn three, between the edge of the track’s outside access loop road and the woods bordering the track, was the best location for the miniature city of trucks and trailers, including a massive satellite dish mounted on a flatbed trailer.

The access road had been widened and additional crushed stone added to handle the weight of all the equipment. In addition to the road modifications, a large area had been leveled and covered in compacted crushed stone to make the needed space available.

The closest trailer to the track sat a good fifty feet away from the edge of the access road. Massive cables came out of a hatch on the side of the trailer running over the ground to a culvert that ran under the access road and track to the infield. Several more cables followed a route around the outside of the access road to another culvert to get to the control tower. I assumed these were for the various TV cameras used to cover the race around the track.

A fifty-foot crank-up tower mounted on a trailer sat next to the first trailer. Another bundle of cables from a small hut on the tower trailer ran into a hatch on the first trailer. The tower contained several antennas and a small dish. I knew from the frequency charts I’d been given by the TV folks that the antennas were used to communicate with the pit reporters, and the small dish was used for the RF link from the man-pack camera systems to the production trailer. That meant that the trailer with all the cables going into it was the production center for the compound. As if to reinforce that, Mr. Sampson came out of a side door on the trailer as I slowed to a stop.

“Punctual I see, Ms. Stevens.”

“Let’s dispense with the formalities, Mr. Sampson. You can call me Jennifer, or Jen if you prefer. You’ve been quite honest with me so far, and I’m willing to give you the benefit of any doubts that I have so far.”

“Fair enough, Jen, and please feel free to call me Fred. I completely understand your reluctance to be taped. I’ve instructed the crew that will be accompanying you to stop the taping, whenever you instruct them to do so. They’ll also mark any footage they do tape off-limits, if you request it. I hope they don’t interfere with your activities for the weekend either.”

“I think you’ll find that I live a rather boring life, Fred. Not quite the stuff that major news stories are made of, I’m afraid.”

“From the way the network was clamoring for information when I told them you were here, I think that you’re going to be the target of public interest for some time to come.”

I took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “You know, Fred, I was given the chance before my introduction to the world of disappearing completely. They would have held a press conference to tell people that I’d died then I could have simply slipped away and moved somewhere else. There are days that it looks like the better of the two options I had.”

“All I can say is to just hang in there. If things are as dull as you say they are then I’m sure that this will all blow over and some degree of privacy might return to you.”

“I hope so, Fred. I really do.” I glanced at my watch briefly. “Looks like we have about three hours before the track opens for practice laps. Your installation crews may need that much time to get the cameras in place and tested.”

“Quite right. Let me get you with the crews, and you can get things rolling.”

Fred motioned toward the golf cart. We climbed in, and he directed me to the tech area of the compound. A small caravan of vehicles was waiting; two small pickup trucks with caps and another two golf carts stood at the ready.

I got an all-around introduction to the staff and the camera crew that would be following me at a discreet distance. The two pickups were from the company that was under contract to supply the cameras in the cars. One of the golf carts was with the production company to take care of the paperwork with each of the teams, while the other cart belonged to the crew that would follow me around like a devoted puppy.

Quite a few heads turned toward our little caravan, as we pulled into the pit area. The plan was for the TV camera installation crews to work with me in installing the first of the cameras in one of the cars. As soon as they had the initial installation up and running, they would go off on their own and do the rest of the installations. If they needed me, they had a radio to contact the camera crew that would be following me around.

The installation crews certainly were very good at their craft. It took less than thirty minutes to get the three cameras installed in the car. The only uncertainty in the entire process was finding just the right spot to mount the electronics package and antenna used to link the cameras back to the production trailer. It took a couple of tries to find a spot for the electronics box that didn’t block the driver’s line of sight or that wasn’t a potential problem to the safety of the car or the crew servicing it.

The small microwave antenna was a bit more complex. It needed to be mounted so that it had a clear line of sight to the small balloon anchored in the middle of the track. The balloon carried a small electronics package that relayed the microwave signals back to the antennas on the tower. On a larger track, a helicopter would have been used to replace the balloon. We finally found a spot on top of the roll bar out of the way of the other parts of the car. With the installation completed, the tech crews left to tend to the rest of the cars leaving me to do my rounds and frequency tests.

The camera crew was following me to each of the pit areas. The fact that they were taping me was obvious to anyone looking, and I began to wonder just how much their presence was affecting the greeting I got from each of the crews.

While none were overtly hostile, many of the people were rather cold to my appearance in their pit area. Some of the people that I’d known for years disappeared as they saw me approach, and in one case everyone except a single person selected to deal with me left as I walked over to inspect the communications gear on the car.

It hurt a lot that people were shunning me just because I’d undergone an unwanted sex change. I know the image I presented to the world screamed loud and clear that I was all-girl and usually left little room for any other assumption. I’d learned from the first few months after my transformation that it was far easier to simply become the woman I appeared to be rather than fight to maintain my old male ways.

Adjusting to the change in clothing was relatively minor, compared to the microscopic inspection I got from the press. Everything I did was analyzed to determine if I was growing more feminine or if I was slipping back to my old male mindset. I’d worked very hard to try to fit in with the generally accepted idea of what a woman should and shouldn’t do, but I wasn’t willing to give up the things I liked to do just to please some ill-informed people. So what if I did my own truck oil changes, climbed on my roof to fix a broken amateur radio antenna, or repaired the railing on my front porch? Where was it written that I had to be a man to do those or any other tasks that required a bit of skill and strength?

I’d gone through nearly three-quarters of the teams, when I just couldn’t take any more and declared a break. The one place the camera crew couldn’t follow was into the lady’s room, and that’s exactly where I headed.

I must have been in there for almost half an hour, just sitting in one of the stalls with the stall door locked and crying my eyes out as quietly as possible. Doors on the stalls to either side of the one I was in opened and closed several times; a the toilets flushing must have covered my quiet sobs enough, since nobody bothered me. Or so I thought until I heard a quiet tapping on the stall door.

“Miss Stevens, are you all right? The camera crew outside asked me to check on you, since you’ve been in here so long.”

I folded several sheets of toilet paper and mopped up the tears drizzling down my face. “I’m okay, I think. Just a little overwhelmed at things. You can tell them I’ll be out in a few more minutes, please.”

“Are you sure? I can wait here if you need help?”

The tissue was nearly saturated and made a small plop as I deposited it into the toilet then flushed. I stepped out of the stall to find a young woman wearing one of the network’s pit reporter uniforms standing there.

“I think I can handle it from here, thanks.”

“Where are my manners? I’m Jody Grant, the only female on the broadcast team for this race.” She looked at my reddened eyes. “You’ve been crying, haven’t you?”

“Do I look that bad?”

She nodded. “If those bastards did to you what they usually try to do to me, I’d want to cry too.”

“The camera crew didn’t do anything to me, Miss Grant.”

She laughed then motioned for me to follow her into the outer room so we could sit on the old couch. “No, not our crews. They’d never do anything like that. Good-natured teasing and stuff, but nothing like those testosterone charged wrench jockeys and drivers out there. I get so damned mad every time they treat me like they want to pat me on the head and tell me to go play with my dollies or something.”

“But I thought it was me they.…”

“It isn’t you. Well, it isn’t just you, Miss Stevens. They do that to anything with tits and a pretty face. Damned male attitude that someone that has hooters and bleeds every month can’t possibly know anything about racing.”

“And here I was feeling that they were rejecting me because of my transformation. By the way, please call me Jennifer or just Jen. I’m not much for formalities most of the time, Miss Grant.”

“Well, just Jen, please call me Judy. Hang on a minute.” She walked over to the door and told the crew that it would be a few more minutes, and that I was fine. “There, now they’ll stop worrying. Your change may be partly involved, but that’s not all of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look … remember the old saying about how a male dog behaves?”

I nodded. “I think it went, ‘If you can't eat it or screw it, then piss on it.’ Right?”

“Close enough. You’re not food, and they know that you’re off-limits for sex. That leaves them with their last option. They can’t be too bad to you because of that green shirt you’re wearing, so all that they can do is to be as unfriendly as possible. Right now, I’d say that a few of them feel like they’ve been ‘fixed’ without an anesthetic. That only makes them even meaner, like a junkyard dog.”

“You know it all suddenly makes sense to me. Before I wasn’t a threat to them and since I was male they knew how to react to me. Now, they view me as a threat, and they have no idea how to react to me.”

“The light finally dawns, Jen! When they don’t know how to deal with you, they try to push you away so they won’t do something wrong and piss you off. Remember what Jeff said in the meeting?”

“You were at the meeting this morning? I didn’t see you there.”

“I wasn’t dressed like this, but I was there. Jeff laid down the law and so did you about teasing you, so they pushed you away to prevent any problems. It’s an instinct sort of thing with guys.”

“It never was with me, but then what the hell do I know. I’ve only been a woman for a relatively short time.”

“Just remember that you’re the one that’s going to have to break that ice wall. They won’t.”

“But how do I do that?”

“Don’t have the slightest idea, but you’ll know how when the way presents itself. Take it when it comes, ‘cause you may only have one chance, Jen.”

“Thanks, Jody. Guess I just didn’t think things through enough before my emotions over-rode my brain.”

“Welcome to womanhood, hon. Go fix your face, and get back out there. Don’t let those bastards see that they’ve upset you either.”

“I left my stuff out in the golf cart.”

“You’re a real mess. Where is it?”

“In the green sports bag in the back tool chest. Thanks again, Jody.” I handed the key to the cabinet to her.

She came back in a minute or so carrying my gym bag. “I told the crew that it was that time of month, and you were feeling a little out of it. A couple of ‘em are married, so they’ll cut you some slack.”

“Well at least you didn’t have to lie for me.”

“You mean that.…”

“Yup, for real, Judy. Started this morning too.”

“No wonder you were an emotional wreck.” She looked at her watch and frowned. “I’d love to stay and chat more, but I need to talk to the grease apes.”

“Grease apes does fit them doesn’t it?”

“Catch you for lunch maybe?”

“In the hospitality tent. You got a pass?”

“We all got one with our track credentials. I’ll try to make it, if I can finish all of these damned background interviews.”

“I should be done with the dirt jockeys by about twelve thirty, Jody. See you then.”

I felt quite a bit better, after talking with Jody. What she said carried a large degree of truth, and coming from someone born as a female it all made perfect sense now. It took a few more minutes for me to gather myself and get presentable again. I really did need to change my tampon and pad, and a couple more pills of the cramp medication would eventually help settle my insides, too.

The camera crew noticed my improved mood, as I went back to the golf cart. “Feeling better now?”

Instead of telling them why I was really upset, I went with the simple explanation that Judy set up. “Much better, thanks. I’m still getting used to this girl stuff. I won’t bother you with the details either.”

“It would be a case of TMI (Too Much Information) you know.”

“Thanks, guys, for understanding. Umm … I need to ask a bit of a favor. This next stop is an old friend that I haven’t had a chance to talk with yet. Is it possible to hold off shooting, until I tell you its okay?”

“Sure. The boss said that you had the right to ask us to stop shooting, and we’ll honor any of your requests. We all want to keep a good working relationship with you, Miss Stevens.”

“It’s Jen, Mister…?”

“Jack Keaton, and that’s Bill Vanch on the camera and George Fuller, our all around gopher and utility person.”

“Pleased to meet you, guys. I’ll give you a thumbs up, when you can start shooting again. Just to let you know, I’m breaking about twelve thirty for lunch. I’ll be heading for the hospitality tent. You coming?”

“We sure are! I’ve heard nothing but great things about the food at these races.”

“Good. You go look up Darla Timson, when you get there. She’s the one that started that hospitality tent years ago. She’d make a great interview, Jack.”

“We’ll remember that, Jen”

It took a minute or two to travel across part of the pit area to get to the last group of cars I needed to visit. A big smile spread across the face of one of the men, as I guided the golf cart to a stop next to the car.

“Jen! Been busy, eh? Haven’t seen you much since we pulled in yesterday.”

“True. Jeff’s been keeping me real busy, Eddie.” He picked me up and gave me a big hug before gently setting me back down.

“Sorry ‘bout the way the others have been treating you, Jen. I told them they had nothing to fear from you, but they just wouldn’t listen.”

“But you’ve known me for years both here at the track and at home, Eddie. The rest of them have just known me here. I know you well enough that if you tell me to stuff something where the sun don’t shine that you don’t me any real harm in saying it. It’s not the same with them.”

“It’s a shame then that they don’t know you like we know you, right, Rusty?”

A loud clank came from beneath the car followed by a curse that would make a sailor blush.

“RUSTY! There’s a lady out here!”

“’sall right, Eddie. I’d have said the same thing myself, if I just hit my hand with a wrench like that. I’d even say it now.”

Rusty poked his head out from under the car. “WOW! Dad said that you were here, Bob … er … Jen. Sorry.”

“About what, the cussing or getting my name wrong?”

“Either, both … whatever!” He pulled himself out from under the car, favoring his left hand a bit.

“Got a boo-boo, have we?”

“Nailed it between the frame rail and the wrench handle, when the bolt broke loose.” He shook his hand trying to work out the pain.

“That hadda hurt like hell.”

“It did.” A smile crossed Rusty’s face. “Swearing from a lady? Whatever is the world coming to?”

“Hey, just because I look like a woman doesn’t mean that I always act completely like one. Remember that buster.” I poked at his chest in mock anger.

Rusty smiled again. “Glad you’re back, old friend.” He moved toward me with his arms outstretched to give me a hug.

I put my hand on his chest and held him an arms length away from me. “Uh, have you looked at yourself ,lately? You’re all covered in grease and dirt.”

“You don’t want a hug, then?”

“Oh, I’d love one, but I don’t want to get as dirty as you are.”

“That’s convenient. Acting like a woman now?”

“Well, I did say that I didn’t act like one all of the time, didn’t I? I have my reasons.”

“Like what?”

“Well, so your motorheads will understand, think of my old body like a good old reliable Chevy or Ford. Keep it in gas and oil, and occasionally hose it off to keep it clean, and it’ll run forever with a little tinkering now and then.”

“So?”

“My body now is sort of like a Ferrari. It takes a lot of work to keep it properly maintained, and just hosing it off just won’t do. For example, it takes at least an hour to properly wash, condition and dry my hair now.”

“I think I see where you’re coming from, Jen.”

“Thanks, Rusty.”

Eddie interrupted our conversation. “Hey kids, I need to go get some parts. I’ll be back later. It was nice seeing you again, Jen. Stop by for breakfast again tomorrow morning, will you?”

“I’ll try, Eddie, if Jeff doesn’t pile any more things to do on me before then.”

We watched as Eddie got into their old battered pickup and headed for the parts place that had opened up next to the pit driveway near the track.

“So what were you working on, Rusty?”

“The fuel pump isn’t working quite right.”

“I see. Well, I’m here to do the usual frequency coordination. Is your radio working right?” I gave the signal to the camera crew to start taping, if they wanted. I saw the camera come up, and Jack signaled that they were rolling.

“We can find out easy enough.”

The simple tests we tried told us that something was wrong. I got out a couple of pieces of test gear from the golf cart and took some measurements. They told me that the little handheld was working and that RF was available at the antenna jack on it. The RF wasn’t making it to the antenna though.

While doing a quick visual inspection, we found that the fuel line rubbing against it damaged the coaxial cable between the radio and the antenna. That explained the problems with the fuel pump and the radio at the same time. The rubbing had worn a tiny hole in the fuel line letting it suck in air instead of fuel from the tank. Since there was a valve that got shut off at the tank for fire safety it was hard to find any drips coming from the hole in the fuel line unless you went through some extra testing procedures.

Rusty called his dad on the cell phone and had him get some replacement fuel line, while I shimmied headfirst into the driver’s compartment of the car to begin the removal of the damaged coax cable. My feet were hanging out of the car in the air, as my shoulder was braced against a roll bar strut to let me reach the damaged cable.

I’d almost completed the task of clipping all of the cable ties when I felt a hand not so gently feeling up my butt. I yelped loudly, as I tried to scramble out of the cramped space and wound up banging my head against the strut.

As I regained my feet in a rather unsteady wobble, I came face to face with a leering Tony Warner!

“Hey, babe. That’s a fine ass you got there!”

“And it wasn’t very nice of you to cop a feel, Mister Warner. Do you do that to all the women you meet?”

“Only foxes like you babe! Have you tried it with a real man yet! I’d like to be your first.”

“You made me sick to my stomach when I was a man, and you still nauseate me.”

His hand strayed behind me and started to massage my bottom again. I pushed it away. “I’m warning you, Mister Warner. I do not want your attention. Any further contact with you will result in someone getting hurt.”

“Oooo. A feisty one aren’t you! Have you tried a few sex games? They can be very entertaining.” His hand roamed again, this time stroking the outside of my right leg. Again, I pushed it away.

“This is your second warning, Mister Warner. Do not touch me again. I do not give a third warning. Is that clear?”

“It’s clear that you’re playing hard to get babe. I like that in a woman!” This time his hands came to rest on my breasts. I flinched at the contact then went into action.

I remembered a technique I’d seen in one of the self-defense videos I’d helped to shoot at the college. I grabbed both of his hands and pushed them away from my breasts, as I pushed his wrists backward. That pressure, plus a pinch in a certain spot on each hand, sent him crumbling to the ground like an imploding building.

A howl of pain escaped his lips, as Rusty came running over from their car trailer. I eased back a little on the pressure on Tony’s wrists.

“What part of NO didn’t you understand, Mister Warner? You were warned twice that what you were doing was wrong, yet you persisted. I also warned you that there would not be any third warning, yet you still persisted. You do intend on driving this weekend?”

I hear him groan a muted ‘Yes' through the pain I was inflicting. “Then you do want to use your hands then?” Again a muted ‘Yes’ came through clenched jaws.

“You’ll be okay in a couple of hours.” I released the pressure on his wrists, but still held onto them. “You’re getting off easy this time. Apparently the racing league places some value on your participation and has tolerated your crap for some time now. I, on the other hand, am under no such delusions about your value to anyone else, you miserable piece of shit. If I hear that you’ve attempted this with anyone else at the track this weekend, your sorry ass will be in jail so fast you’re won’t believe it. Have I made myself clear, Mister Warner?”

“Completely, Miss Stevens.”

“Good! Now get out of my sight before I have you tossed in jail just for the hell of it!” I released my grip on his wrists as he staggered to his feet then ran away toward his own pit area.

Rusty’s jaw was hanging open. I reached over and gently closed it. “Keep that up and the flies are going to use your mouth for landing practice.”

“I wish I could have seen the whole thing, Jen. I was getting some parts out of the trailer.”

“Maybe you can see it, Rusty.” I turned toward the camera crew and made a slashing motion across my throat. I saw the camera come down then motioned them over.

“You guys got all of that, I hope?”

Jack was grinning from ear to ear. “You bet we did; wanna see it?”

Rusty and I both nodded that we did, so he motioned for us to follow him over to their golf cart. They connected the camera to a larger LCD screen then played back a portion of the tape.

The video and sound was crystal clear and showed Tony Warner walking up and putting his hand on my backside, while I was headfirst inside the car with my legs in the air. The small parabolic microphone they’d used provided clear sound, so that my words and his responses were clearly audible. They’d gotten the whole incident, and it left absolutely no wiggle room for Tony Warner. He’d clearly been warned that his advances were unwanted and that he had ignored those warnings.

Rusty returned to working on the car since his dad returned with the new fuel line. Rusty said that they’d take care of replacing the bad coax cable to the radio, too. That left me alone with the camera crew.

“You know that we’ve got a real piece of dynamite here, don’t you, Jen.”

“I know that all too well, Jack. So what are you going to do with it?”

“All depends on you doesn’t it?”

“All I know, Jack, is that it was taken in a public area, and as such I’ve already told the network that it was fair game. I don’t intend to go back on my word.”

A big smile spread across his face. “I can think of several things we could do with this, all hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“Oh, of course, Jack!”

“A copy might find its way into the league’s hands, might it?”

“Sounds like a fair use to me, Jack.”

“Then there’s airing it on the network during the race, possibly.”

“I know that it certainly wouldn’t offend me, Jack.”

“Maybe a copy even gets into his sponsor’s hands?”

“Now, Jack, you know that I would never personally do something as nasty as that, but I have absolutely no control over this have I? Speaking hypothetically, of course.”

“Absolutely, Jen. No control whatsoever.”

“It’s good we’re only talking conjecture here, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is. I suppose that you might like a copy for yourself, too?”

“It’s possible, Jack, but not before the excrement hits the high-speed, industrial-strength air handling device. Things might settle down in a month, don’t you think?”

“Sounds about right to me, Jen. DVD format, if it were to be available that way?”

“That does provide the best quality doesn’t it?”

“It certainly does. We never really talked about this did we?”

“About what, Jack?”

“Oh, never mind. I must have been hearing things.”

The rest of the pit visits went smoothly. Word seemed to spread rather quickly about what happened to Tony Warner, and my acceptance in the pits seemed to be more cordial than it was before. Very few drivers of pit crew members really liked Tony and it showed in the knowing winks and occasional whispered thanks I got.

One of the last pits I visited was Tony’s, and I barely spent thirty seconds there. A list of the frequencies they were using was shoved in my hand, and I was on my way before anyone there could say anything about the incident.

Since the time was nearing fifteen past noontime, I headed toward the hospitality tent. A stop at a restroom along the way provided some much needed relief.

Jack and the camera crew had disappeared, when I came out of the restroom. While I had a deep curiosity as to where they went, I decided that it was really better that I didn’t know. I couldn’t be blamed for something, if I had no knowledge of it I suppose. Well, I could be blamed, but they wouldn’t be able to make it stick, if I was somewhere else when they dropped the bombshell on Tony Warner.

The tent was filling up as I walked over to the food line. Several people said hello and offered me their places in line, but I politely refused. Just because I was wearing a green shirt, I wasn’t going to let my artificially elevated status go to my head. The other folks waiting in line got there before I did and shouldn’t give up their places just to let me get through the line a little faster.

Fortunately, the food crew was very efficient and kept all of the food trays as full as possible so nobody had to wait very long in line. I fixed myself a pulled pork sandwich on a fresh roll, adding a big side of macaroni salad and some green beans. A large glass of milk over ice completed the food on my tray.

A small area of the tent was always reserved for the track officials, and now that I was clearly one of them, I decided to use one of the empty tables in that area. I still had to prepare the frequency report before the tech inspections started in a couple of hours so working on it as I had lunch would save some time. The empty table would let me spread out all of the paperwork, too.

I must have lost track of time, since the tent had almost completely emptied out by the time I finished my report. I managed to get the attention of one of the tech inspection crew just as he was leaving and handed a copy of the report to him. As each car came through the inspection line just before qualifying they’d confirm the frequencies that the various teams and drivers would use.

I suppose that I could have left my tray on the table for the clean-up crew, but I always felt funny about letting them do it when it was just as easy for me to do it and spare them a bit of extra work. It took only a few seconds to empty the plastic fork, spoon, cup and paper plate into the waste can then slide the tray on top of the pile on a cart next to the can.

I’d been looking forward to another talk with Jody Grant, but she never turned up for lunch.

Moments before I would have stepped outside of the tent, there was a loud pop then someone vented his frustration with a string of language that might make a construction worker blush. I looked over in the direction of the stage at the far end of the tent where the noise was coming from. I saw a small puff of smoke hanging in the air and someone shaking their fingers.

The guy on the stage looked at an electrical box on the floor then gave it a bit of a kick, causing yet another popping sound and a larger puff of smoke and sparks. Deciding that there was a safety issue here, I walked over to the stairs next to the stage.

“Having some problems there? Need a little help?”

He looked at me a moment or two before shaking his head. “What I need is an electrician. Know of anyone around here?”

“Yup. I know of someone. Be back in a minute or two.”

“Thanks Miss…?”

“Stevens. Jennifer Stevens.”

It took a minute to get to the golf cart and start it up to pull it into the tent next to the stage. The look on the guy’s face was priceless.

“You? You’re an electrician?”

I took the twenty-pound tool belt out of the storage compartment on the cart and placed it around my waist. “Among many other things Mister…?”

He extended a rather grungy hand expecting, I suppose, for me to take one look and cringe at the dust and grime on it. Without flinching even one tiny bit, I shook his hand.

“Kelley, Jason Kelley, Miss Stevens.”

“Please call me Jen, if I can call you Jason.”

A big smile spread across his face, as I saw a flash of recognition.

“You’re him, err … her aren’t you?”

“I’m just me, Jason, but if you mean am I the guy that turned into a woman, yes.”

“The band’s been talking about you. I’m the roadie for The All-Nighters.”

“So what happened here?”

“I’m setting up for our gig tonight, and this extension shorted out.”

“I’ll go kill the power and take a look. Keep everyone away from it, okay?”

“Right.”

The cord was plugged into a portable power panel that the track used when the food tent was set up. I hit the breaker then used my test light to make sure the power was off to the bank of outlets that the cord was plugged into. I pulled the extension cord and put a twist tie through the holes in the prongs just to make sure someone didn’t plug it in while I was working on it then pulled the cord behind me as I climbed the steps onto the stage.

A few quick checks with my meter told me that there was probably a loose wire inside end of the cable with the sockets. It was a standard duplex box with two standard three wire outlets mounted in it. I took off the front cover and found that it was covered in soot. The loose wire, the hot wire of course, had touched the top of the steel box causing an arc. When Jason kicked the box it arced again.

I just shook my head then looked up at Jason. “Don’t you folks ever check all this stuff out?”

“We used to. I haven’t seen the guy that does our electrical stuff in a couple of months or more.”

“Does someone want to get killed because a cord failed? You’ve got to keep at these cords to make sure they’re in good shape.”

“I’ll talk to the band about it.”

It took just a couple of minutes to repair the cord and run a safety check on both ends. I took the plug back to the electrical panel, hit the breaker to turn on the outlets again then plugged in the cord. Returning to the other end, I plugged in one of those cheap little three light testers. The proper lights came on telling me that the repairs to the cord had worked.

“Now, where’s the rest of the cables?”

“In the truck still.”

“Well, go get ‘em, and put them all in a pile right here. And bring your toolbox, if ya got one.”

“That I can do.”

As Jason created a huge pile of wires on the stage, I got myself a large cup of soda with ice and began to sort through the pile. Many of the cords were the store-bought plastic molded variety. I set those aside for later testing, since we couldn’t get past the plastic molding to actually fix anything.

The rest were the home-grown electrical box and wire variety that was common with small bands. I handed Jason a meter I found in his toolbox, and, after showing him how to use it, had him run the same simple tests I’d used on the first cable. Fortunately, only a few cords failed the tests and needed more work to fix. The others we tested using the three light tester and included the molded cords as well.

The few remaining cords had various problems including loose wires, crossed wires, and a few spots on the cable that has been cut down to the copper inside the cable. We fixed what we could then I used my diagonal cutters to disable the rest so they couldn’t be used again. The band had an abundance of extension cords, so the half a dozen or so that couldn’t be fixed weren’t a problem.

Jason was smiling, as we took a short break for some sodas. The temperature in the tent had gone up quite a bit to match the growing heat outside. The sun beating down on the dark blue stripes of the blue and white tent didn’t help all that much either.

The t-shirt wound up plastered to my body from the sweat that accumulated making it feel much warmer than it probably was. Since I no longer was working at the track itself, I peeled off the shirt leaving the halter-top that I’d started with earlier in the day. What little breeze there was helped to evaporate the remaining perspiration on my tummy leaving me feeling cooler. I wondered how long that was going to last, since the forecast predicted that the humidity was going to soar into the uncomfortable range before the sun went down later.

With our break over, I helped him unload the equipment then stood aside and watched as he expertly plugged it all in then brought up the band’s sound system. With everything working, I was ready to go back to the truck and start the long process of getting ready to go to the party tonight. Attendance was optional for most people, but not for me. Jeff let me know in highly specific terms that I was required to attend to meet the sponsors.

As I was stowing my tool belt in the golf cart, a rag-tag group of maybe ten people walked into the tent at the far end nearest the parking lot. I watched as they waved to Jason then headed across the length of the tent toward the stage. I was a second or so from turning the key to start the cart and pull out, when Jason yelled at me.

“JEN! Don’t go yet! The band wants to meet you!”

Since I was supposed to be a representative of the track, I didn’t want to snub the band so I hopped out of the cart and walked back to the steps at the front of the stage.

Jason introduced each of the band members present then told me that their lead vocalist, a woman, was running late from work. He then told everyone that I’d fixed the power cords for safety reasons and helped him unload the gear.

I’d gotten the request to stay around and listen to a bit of their rehearsal, and there was no way I could refuse as an official representative of the track. As the band was getting their instruments all set, I went over to the food area and snagged a large cup of orange soda and ice to help cool me off.

Just as I got back to stand next to the front of the stage, the band launched into “Grazing in the Grass”, an old instrumental tune. They did a pretty good version of it then launched into another old tune by the Champs called “Tequila”.

Again the band did a credible job on the song, but I also perceived something else. While the band was very good, there was something in their sound that told me there was some special magic at work. I looked over toward the mixing board location off to the side of the stage and saw a large man with a moustache dressed all in black. With him was a short woman lurking back in the shadows. As far as I could tell, she was wearing a shirt several sizes too large for her small frame. It was tied in a knot just under her breasts. She also had on a pair of cut-off ragged jeans that ended just above her knees, the threads of the cut fraying into a soft fringe. She wore a pair of sneakers that had definitely seen much better days, while her hair was tucked up under what looked like an old well-worn Syracuse Chiefs baseball cap.

The man I instantly recognized as someone that I’d known rather well in school. We were both “AV geeks” at the time, being responsible for the operation and maintenance of the schools film projectors and other AV gear. Since both of our first names were the same (Robert) I took to calling Bob Thompson by the name of “Bear” since his middle name was “Bayer”. It seemed to catch on and he’s been known as Bear Thompson ever since then.

Bear’s performance with Toni Baker in the Carrier Dome the previous weekend had knocked any mention of me off the front pages of the local newspapers, a fact for which I was eternally grateful. If the woman with Bear was who I thought she was, the last thing either of them wanted was for me to call attention to them.

I waved slightly at Bear and got a big smile and a wave in return. I turned my attention back to the band just as they finished a rousing rendition of Billy Joel’s Root Beer Rag.

The band took a short break and grabbed a few sodas from the food area of the tent. They seemed to be waiting for someone to turn up and finally got back together on the stage.

Eddie Dezon, their bass player, a seven-foot tall man with chocolate brown skin, looked at his watch then sighed. “She’s late again, guys. We’ll have to practice without her. Wanna do Longest Time?”

Everyone nodded in agreement then stepped up to the microphones. Four of the band members started to sing, as Eddie played the lone bass line that made up the song. The Billy Joel hit was one of my favorites, and I closed my eyes as the band got going.

Suddenly, less than a minute into the song, the band stopped playing. When I opened my eyes, everyone was staring at me. I felt my face start to get hot, when I realized that I’d been singing along to the music!

Eddie’s smile was wider than ever, as he walked over to where I was standing at the edge of the stage.

“Why’d you stop? That was great!”

I felt my stomach tie itself into a huge knot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb your rehearsal. I’d better go now….” I’d left my tool belt on the edge of the stage, and as I started to grab for it a huge brown hand enveloped my own hand.

I looked up into Eddie’s face and realized that it held no trace of malice toward me. If anything, the twinkle in his eyes made me feel a whole lot more comfortable.

“Will you come up on stage and help us practice?”

“I really should be going now. I’ve got so much to do to get ready for the party tonight.”

“Our lead singer isn’t here yet, and we could really use the help you know.”

I looked at the other band members to see each of them nodding slightly at me.

“But I’ve never really been on stage as a singer. It’s just a sort of rush-hour rock star type of thing with me. Before my transformation, I had a speech defect that made it hard to speak. I got past it by learning to sing in a school choir then later kept going when I drove back and forth to work every day. I never had a good enough voice to sing in front of people.”

Eddie shook his head and laughed. “I think you needn’t worry about that now, my dear.”

He extended his other hand toward my free hand. When our hands connected, I found myself being lifted several feet in the air before being gently placed on the stage.

He gently turned me around to face the front of the stage then guided me to a lone microphone between the four band members that had been singing. “This is where Donna usually stands. Let’s see what you can do, shall we?”

I felt like I should run out of the tent and go hide in my truck. The butterflies in my stomach felt like they grew about ten sizes, since I’d opened my eyes when the band stopped playing. My brain was yelling at full volume for my feet to run, but I was frozen to the spot.

The band began again, and I just stood there like a stone statue. I heard the music stop then I jumped as a hand gently squeezed my shoulder.

I looked up into Eddie’s face again. “So how did you get started before?”

“I just closed my eyes and listened to the music, while trying to tune everything else out.”

“Well, try it again and close your eyes then!” The band started again, and I closed my eyes trying to tune out the rest of the world around me. I must have achieved my goal, since I heard myself singing with the band.

It took me a full minute to realize that I was okay and gently opened my eyes as the song continued. Eddie’s smile was so big I wondered if it met itself in the back of his head!

I made it through the song, and as the last note sounded, a wave of applause came from the rest of the tent. I guessed somewhere around thirty people wear standing out there, and they were clapping for me! Now I finally, completely, understood the reaction of all the people I’d known as performers over the many years I’d run sound systems for plays and bands.

It felt so good that it didn’t take very much persuasion (okay it took absolutely NO persuasion) by the band to continue on for a few more songs. There was enough common ground between the band and myself that we got in another ten or twelve songs. They were mostly oldies and a few newer songs mixed in.

Somewhere during the practice session, the TV crew returned and started shooting me singing on the stage. The food tent was, after all, a very public area and I could hardly refuse their right to tape in there.

I was feeling pretty loose as the band started the last number we’d agreed on, Van Halen’s “Jump”. By this time a second TV crew had turned up, and as I began the song, one crew stayed a few feet in front of the stage while the other got on stage and started to shoot the band in MTV music video style. I’m certain that most people have seen the style, lots of close-ups of the band playing their instruments and even a few close-ups of me singing. I even managed a fair David Lee Roth impression when the first camera got nearer to the stage. I leaned over to get my face right in the cameras lens and probably gave them a pretty good look at my cleavage in all its sweaty glory.

As the last of the notes faded away, the applause was overwhelming. Much to my shock, the audience in the tent had grown from around thirty to well over a hundred. After waving a little to the crowd, I started to head off the stage since I still had to get ready for the party. The yelling for an encore started, and as I looked over at Eddie he started to give me the big puppy dog eyes. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have thought that it was possible for a seven-foot tall guy with dreadlocks to do that as effectively as he did.

It took a minute or two to decide on one more song, and I was pleased that the band knew a tune by Leann Rimes called ‘Can’t Fight the Moonlight’. I decided that I was going to do it right and poured all my heart into the song. The TV crews were in action again, filming as the song progressed. As before, one crew taped from the front of the stage while the other was on the stage getting close-ups of me, the band, and the audience.

I wondered why things were sounding so good, until I saw a young woman with black hair singing backup for me on the harmony parts of the song. Eddie didn’t seem to be worried, so I just concentrated on getting through the song without making a mistake.

Again, as the last notes of the song faded away, the audience exploded into a wave of applause. With approval like this, I thought it would be vary easy to become addicted to performing like this. Who needed any kind of drugs when a natural high like this one was possible?

The applause finally died off, as the band gathered around me.

Eddie was standing off to the side of the stage with the black haired woman in a rather animated conversation that I couldn’t hear. A few moments later, they both joined the group around me.

“That was wonderful, Jen.”

“Thanks, Eddie. Ummm … who is the angel that sang backup on that last number?” I hoped that the praise would blunt any problems that seemed to be festering.

The woman with the black hair extended her hand. “I’m the angel. I’m Donna Martin, the band’s lead singer. Quite impressive for someone that hasn’t sung much before.”

I felt the heat start to rise in my face. “Thanks for the compliment. Don’t worry though; I’m not trying to take your place. While I did have fun, I’m supposed to be doing other things tonight at the party.”

“Damn, and here I was trying to convince Eddie that he should ask you to do a few sets with us tonight.”

“While I’m honored that you all think enough of my meager singing, I’m one of the track officials and will probably have to schmooze the sponsors tonight instead of having fun with you folks.”

The big smile on Eddie’s face quickly turned into a frown. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Jen.”

“I am too, Eddie.” I glanced at my watch noting the time was almost three in the afternoon. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go and start getting ready for tonight. It takes me a lot longer than it used to, when I have to get ready for a special event like tonight. Just taking care of my hair alone can take an hour or more, especially in this humidity.”

Donna laughed. “I know what you mean. It takes me hours to get ready for a performance, if I want to look my best. Sorry you can’t come and play with us tonight though.”

“Well, I’ll be back before seven tonight. I really want to get supper before this thing starts. I’ve been on the go all day long, and by then I’ll be running on fumes.”

The band waved as I gathered my tool belt and bag then I made my way through the crowd that remained. Most just wanted to congratulate me on the performance, while a few of the braver men wanted to ask me for a date to the party.

After politely, but quite firmly, turning down the offers of a date, I finally got back to the golf cart and headed back to the camp to start the torturous process of getting ready for the party. It was torture to me, since I could no longer get ready for something in less than an hour. All of the little details now had to be just right to be presentable, and that bothered me greatly. Everything I did got picked apart in the press, and something as little as a stray hair out of place or a chipped fingernail was taken as an attempt on my part to return to my formerly male status. It really angered me that I was being held to a much higher standard than someone that was born a female.

I made it back to my tent unscathed by the gauntlet of admirers I had to go through. While it wasn’t really a crowd of people, I did have to stop every twenty feet or so to accept the thanks of the people that had been in the tent during my one and only singing performance.

When I entered the tent, a blast of hot air hit me full in the face. In spite of being in a well-shaded area, the tent had built up a fair amount of heat with just the little bit of sunlight that filtered through the trees. I managed to unzip and open the plastic rain shields over the screened windows, before beating a temporary retreat from the tent.

All the soda I’d been drinking in the food tent caught up with me, and I reluctantly headed toward the small building a few yards away that housed the woman’s rest rooms and showers for this part of the campgrounds. At this time of day, I suspected that the place might be in moderately heavy use, since the other women needed to get ready for the party too. A thought struck me that I’d referred to them as ‘the other women’ meaning that I may finally be accepting my transformation.

The outer room was a little cooler than it was outside, and a few women were seated at the mirrors and bench. A few more could be heard in the other room, as I stepped inside. The conversation in the outer room seemed to be about my earlier run-in with Tony Warner. All eyes turned toward me, as the door slammed closed behind me.

One woman seemed upset at my presence and quickly gathered her things then left as the others applauded loudly. I wasn’t certain that the applause was for my performance in the food tent or for what I’d done to Tony Warner.

As I entered the inner room, a couple of the women quickly covered up, but none of them left in a hurry. I just shrugged it off and got set up for a shower. This time I made a point of stripping off outside the shower stall in full view of the rest of the women, instead of in the shower with the door closed. I think I’d made my point clearly when I gave them a full frontal view before entering the toilet stall. The string from the tampon I was wearing was visible, and it was gone as I stepped out of the toilet and walked over to the shower stall.

The water was cool and felt wonderful as it cascaded over my breasts then down between them to finally trickle off the slight bulge between my legs. It took a few minutes to properly wash my hair and rinse it completely. Reluctantly, I turned off the water and carefully dried off before wrapping a towel around my wet hair.

When I stepped out of the stall the same group of women was still there along with a few of the women from the outside. I managed to get my bra and panties on then slipped into the terrycloth robe I’d brought for the trip back to my tent. I slipped my feet into a pair of flip-flops for the short walk back.

My tent had cooled off a little more while I was showering, and it was at least tolerable to be in there. It took me a little over two hours to get my hair dried and prepare for the party. The effort included some repairs to the polish on my toes and fingers along with some major makeup work. I’d finally gotten comfortable wearing it for things like this but still wasn’t very good at applying it. It took me three tries before I got the look I wanted and neat enough to be useable.

My little black dress was designed to be either worn strapless or with two narrow spaghetti straps that tied behind your neck. I opted for the straps, so I wouldn’t have to keep readjusting the dress upwards. The dress ended almost six inches above my knees, and with the panties and black short-shorts I was wearing, there was no chance that I’d be doing any accidental flashing.

On the slim chance that I’d be called upon to fix something or other, I packed a couple of the green t-shirts and a pair of cut-offs in the bag and tossed in a pair of ankle sox and my tennis shoes. I’d leave it tucked away in one of the cabinets of the golf cart, just in case. Another reason for taking the golf cart was the rather uneven ground between the campsite and the food tent. I was still a bit shaky on those damned heels and didn’t want to risk hurting an ankle stumbling on a hole or a rock.

There was a relatively out of the way place to park the golf cart near the food tent, and I was glad that nobody else had used the spot. I locked everything away in one of the cabinets on the cart and then put the keys into my hand purse. Fortunately, it had a short loop-type strap that I could slide my wrist through so I wouldn’t forget that I was carrying it.

The closest entrance to the food tent was about twenty feet away. It led to the food preparation area behind the food line. I managed to travel the twenty feet without stumbling and stressing out an ankle. Inside the tent it was a bit easier to walk, since the tent kept the water from saturating the ground and turning it into a spongy, muddy mess.

For once, nobody paid any attention to me as I slipped out of the prep area and headed for the tail end of the line to get food. The main thing I was determined to do was eat a good supper, since I suspected that I’d be on my feet all night long schmoozing the sponsors. As I waited patiently in line, I noticed a lot of activity over at the other end of the tent around the stage area.

The television crews had set up three small scaffolds each with a TV camera on top. Another camera was mounted on a long boom with the boom’s base off to the side of the audience area. A lighting bar had been erected over the stage, and a couple of spotlights were mounted on the scaffolding to provide an overall flood of light on the stage. A large screen was installed across the back of the stage with the bottom a good six feet off the stage floor. I assumed that they were using some kind of rear screen projector since there was no other projection equipment in sight to be able to display a set of color bars on the screen.

The stage had been rearranged a little from the setup I has last seen with the band’s gear. Their stuff had been moved off to the right side of the stage, and where their gear had been sat a fancy desk and a few tall stools. The network’s logo was all over the desk as was the logo of the racing league. A couple of the techs I’d seen earlier in the day in the TV compound were busy adding microphones and other wiring to the area around the desk and stools.

“Quite impressive how much we can do in a short time isn’t it, Miss Stevens?”

I looked toward the voice to see Fred Sampson from the network.

“May I join you for a few minutes, Miss Stevens?”

“Yes, and there’s no need to be so formal, Fred.” He placed his tray on the table then slid into a seat across from me. “You’ll find the barbeque beef quite tasty, and the apple pie is to die for.”

“So I’ve been told already.” He picked up the huge bun filled with the spicy beef from his plate sampled a small bite. He chewed several times before swallowing then wiped his lips with a napkin since a bead of the sauce was dripping from a corner of his mouth. “Excellent! I love the way the spices sneak up on you. Very spicy but not overpowering.”

“I think we can agree on that point. I hate food that is so hot that it’s all you can taste with the first mouth full.”

He took a long sip of his soda before pointing to the stage. “We had to move it all in here. The weather service says that it will probably rain before the show is over tonight. We go live at nine and end at eleven.”

“I know.” I took the pager out of my purse just as it decided to go off. I looked at the display then showed it to Fred. The display read that the weather service had just called a Severe Thunderstorm Watch for the county we were in until three in the morning.

“How did you do that, Jennifer?”

“It took a bit of doing. I have my computers at home monitoring the weather bulletins and news services. Anything interesting like this and it will send me a text message.”

“Nice work!”

“So how did the band take it? I thought they were supposed to play from around seven to ten or so?”

“I gave them the news about half an hour ago, and they took it fine. We’re going to hire them to be the ‘house’ band for the show and are paying them an extra five thousand over what they’re getting to play tonight.”

“I’m glad to hear that. As I was helping them set up, I learned that they’re a bunch of college students with heavy bills to pay. I know that they could really use the extra money. Are they going to be able to handle it?”

Fred’s face took on a slightly pained look. “Well, that’s what I’m here to talk to you about, Miss Stevens.”

“Back to the formalities again, Fred?” He just nodded. “All right, Mr. Sampson, what can I do for you?”

“We were most impressed with the footage our crew brought back from the band's practice earlier today.”

“I wondered why they beat feet so fast. Well, Mr. Sampson, I’m waiting for the bomb to drop. You may as well lay it all out now.”

“All right. We’d like you to open the show with another performance of ‘Jump’ just like you did it this afternoon. While you’re singing, we’ll project clips of some of the qualifying action and other things on the screen behind you. Sort of a live music video if you know what I mean.”

“Is that all?”

“Not quite. We’d like you to do a few more songs during the rest of the show and to possibly help host it as well.”

“Mr. Sampson, my little performance this afternoon was my first time in front of any kind of audience since my transformation, and while I’ve done live radio shows before as a host, I’ve never done any kind of live TV before. Well, that’s not quite true. Once I tried to help a local public TV station with their TV auction. I stunk pretty badly at it. They pulled me after only a few minutes, and I must admit I had to agree with their decision. Are you sure you want to risk a disaster on live television, Mister Sampson?”

“I’m willing to compromise, Miss Sevens. If you’re able to sing for us, we’ll pay you twenty thousand dollars for your performance tonight.”

“You’re that set on having me sing tonight then?”

“Yes, we are.”

“You know that I’ll have to check with Jeff Davidson, before I can say one way or the other. I’ve promised to meet his sponsors tonight, and that has to come first.”

He handed me a folded sheet of paper. “I’ve already spoken to him and he’s seen the video of your performance this afternoon.”

I recognized Jeff’s handwriting as I opened the folded paper. It read:

Jen,

I know what Fred has asked you to do, and I won’t stand in your way if you want to go ahead with it. You said earlier that you had to learn to deal with the effects of your transformation on your own, so whatever you choose to do I’ll support you either way.

Jeff

Well, I had asked that I be left on my own this weekend and Jeff was only doing what I’d asked of him.

“Mister Sampson, is it possible that I could have a few minutes to think about this?”

“Certainly, Miss Stevens. This food is too good to let it go to waste. Shall I move away and give you some space?”

“I’d appreciate that, Mister Sampson. I, too, would like to finish my supper. I also have quite a bit to think about.”

Fred simply nodded then moved to another table.

My stomach had developed a case of industrial strength butterflies, and it took a fair bit of willpower to force myself to eat something as my mind raced at all the possibilities.

A few minutes later my head was starting to throb from trying to make a decision. I could come up with as many reasons not to do it as I could to go ahead with it. Knowing that I had to come up with decision soon, I took the easy way out and dug a quarter out of my purse. Heads meant that I’d sing, tails meant that I’d refuse. I tossed it into the air and watched as it arched up a couple of feet.

(End of Part 1 — To be continued)