Novelist J.D. Salinger passed away on January 27, 2010. This tale has a few minor similarities to J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye. To tell you the truth, Salinger's novel is absolutely terrific, way better than the story I made up. So maybe you might want to read Salinger's book because Holden Caulfield is an extremely funny character. Catch Her was first posted in the summer of 2003.

1

If you really want to know the truth about all the sissy stuff that happened to me last semester, I guess it's kinda difficult to know where to begin, what to include, and who to exclude. I mean, when famous celebrities write all those sensational kiss and tell memoirs, most of their former lovers have already been laid to rest. It's goddam difficult for the dead to speak ill of the living. But, my friends aren't lying tits up just yet and some of them might go ballistic when they find out I've been blabbing on and on about stuff they'd rather not have aired on the net. Consequently, I have had to change some of the details so that I can go on living, although these really aren't The Satanic Verses.

I wouldn't tell you my whole story anyway 'cause I don't feel up to writing a long and boring autobiography. For Chrissake, rich and famous luminaries have to hire ghostwriters to do that. And so far, I haven't even had my 15 minutes of fame.

Where I want to start telling is Halloween at Queen's University. It's this snobby institution in Kingston, Ontario. It's supposed to be the Oxford or Harvard of Canada. Everyone in the dominion has heard of it. They advertise in newspapers, magazines, on the radio, and they always try and make it sound like a degree from Queen's will get you some fabulous career. The other major institution in Kingston is the Penitentiary. Some Queen's grads have been known to work at the Pen, and some have even been guests of that ritzy 5 star establishment.

Anyway, it was the Saturday of the football game with our arch rivals, the McGill Redmen. For Chrissake, This was not just another football game. Reputations and bragging rights were at stake. And if Queen's didn't win, you had to show how much you cared about your school's honor and glory. You were supposed to fall on your sword or do some serious body piercing to yourself. You know, like put a ring through your nipple or something painful like that. McGill is the other snobby school in Canada, at least until Quebec separates.

I was standing in the last row of the Richardson Stadium bleachers, and you could see that the two teams really hated each other. The heavy hitting sent shock waves reverberating through the shaky stands. A running back would plough into the line, be met head on and then you'd see a helmet roll away from the pile of bruised bodies. Almost like clockwork, every 10 minutes or so, the action would be delayed while another carcass was carted away on a stretcher.

The game symbolized, in a way, a wrestling match between two vastly different education systems too. Did you know that all the people who grew up in the province of Ontario were retarded? I swear that's the gods' honest truth. To go to university, you had to graduate from grade 13. Does any other province or state in North America have a grade 13? No. But the government honchos finally figured out they could reduce education spending by phasing it out. Hasta la vista! Sayonara! Bye bye! But, the way I see it, grade 13 just delayed growing up by one year. I don't think mental retardation was such a bad thing after all, 'cause I'm in my first year of university and I still don't know what the hell I want to do when I grow up.

Although the crowd was pretty decent, there were not many girls in attendance that day, it being the end of October and the usual cold breezy weather you can expect at the mistake by the lake. I prefer to be where you can see the odd girl around, whether they're just standing around looking pretty or cheering or blowing the snot out of their noses or something. I spotted old reliable Thelma Montgomery, the dean's daughter. She showed up at the games quite often, but she wasn't exactly a supermodel waiting to be discovered. She was a genuinely nice girl. I sat down beside her one time at a pub night when some hick copycat band came to town. Shania Twin or something. Unfortunately, Thelma suffered from what appeared to be terminal acne and had a unibrow thing going on above her sweet blue eyes. Also, she had this well padded bra on that a lot of girls seemed to wear to enhance their self-esteem. You could see she was unnaturally top heavy even through her thick, colorful, Hudson Bay winter coat. But, you felt somewhat sorry for her plight. The physical blight wasn't entirely her fault. What I liked about her was she didn't give you crap about how cultured she was. So many girls put on phony airs about some play or ballet they saw and how wonderful it all was. They tried to impress you with their vast knowledge of the performing arts. There's not much ballet or theater locally. Kingston isn't the center of the universe like Toronto.

In any case, I had to leave the game early because I had to help my friend Paul Campbell. Everyone called him PC, or Laptop, 'cause he was kind of too small to be a desktop PC and he always carried an old obsolete Dell Inspiron to class that he got as a hand me down from his father, some big time exec with the goddam Royal Bank. He wanted some volunteer help with the decorations and the food and that sort of stuff. The party was going to take place in the cafeteria of our student residence. That was nothing unusual. The celebrations were always held in Leonard Cafeteria. It was the only room large enough and was pretty much damage proof. You didn't have to worry about spilling beer on the carpets or knocking over flower vases or burning cigarette holes in the imitation leather sofa because the cafeteria didn't have any carpeting or flower vases or couches. There were ceramic floor tiles, plain Formica tables and plastic-on-metal chairs. The furnishings didn't create much ambience, but in the dark with some candles and decorations and costumes and music and alcohol and munchies, who was going to notice?

I walked out of Richardson Stadium at half time. Being October, it was cold as a witch's teat. I had on my army surplus parka and Kodiak boots and long underwear and snowmobile mitts; everybody in Canada wears that kind of crap in the chilly weather. Did you know that the number one cause of death in snowmobile accidents was decapitation? I guess that happens when you run into clotheslines or tree branches in the dark at high speeds. And I think the number two way of ending tits up must be falling through the ice on a half-frozen lake. And then, of course, there's the alcohol factor. But I was still shivering in spite of my heavy winter clothing and high powered internal heating system. The wineskin under the parka was standard equipment at all Queen's games. I usually filled it with Rye Whisky.

I absolutely hate cold weather. Some foreigners think all Canadians live in igloos, speak Inuktitut, have a hundred different words to describe snow, that we rub our noses together when we have sex, and that we are genetically acclimatized to sub-zero temperatures. But, I've got a serious problem in coping with frigid air. The warmest, lightest winter clothing is down, as in feathers from geese. Unfortunately, I'm allergic to duck or geese down. I sneeze a lot when I'm around feathers of any type. Consequently, I shiver a lot as I dash from place to place. Rainy days and Mondays and winters always get me down. Did you know that complaining about the weather is Canada's national pastime? We even have a 24-hour weather channel on cable television to feed the devotees of fine meteorological conversation.

Anyway, the brisk damp wind off Lake Ontario could freeze the balls off a brass monkey. So I hurried over the dormant lawns of the sprawling Queen's campus toward the gray flat stone walls of the student residence. Three five-story buildings, built in the late 50s and 60s, consisting of Leonard Hall, Brockington House and Gordon House, were joined together to form one huge complex. As places go, the buildings lacked the ivy and tradition and architectural style of an Oxford or Cambridge University. Alternatively, you kinda hoped that the dorms were like the frat and sorority houses of National Lampoon's Animal House or The Revenge of the Nerds. But that's not a very realistic view of life at Queen's. We have too many serious students who don't want to lose their goddam precious scholarships.

My given name is William, but everyone calls me Hold'em, and for good reason. One night, my buddies and me are playing poker in PC's room. Being 3 in the morning, it's the last hand, so there's a pot as big as a witches' cauldron and just as hot. Anyway, just by coincidence, the old Kenny Rogers song, the Gambler, comes on the radio. I don't know whether to shit or get off the pot. I'm holding a natural full house, but deuces are wild, so it's not necessarily the best hand. With five players in the game, someone is bound to have four of a kind or a straight flush. Anyway, after the first round of 'through the stratosphere' betting, when it comes time to draw cards, I stand pat, hoping to bluff out a few of the contenders and then I raise like crazy. Nobody drops out. Since it's the last hand, the four other players match all the raises and stay in. Just like the song says, 'You've got to know when to hold'em, know when to fold'em...' So I hold with queens over eights...You know what? I had the fifth best hand. Ever since then I've been known as William Hold'em or simply Hold'em.

To compound matters, I've always taken a ribbing about my last name too. Copperfield is such an easy target. I've had a Dickens of a time with jokes about the magician David. I don't want to talk about it.

You remember what I said about helping PC decorate the Leonard Cafeteria? It was a lot of fun if you're an artistic guy and you like that artsy fartsy crap, but I'm not gifted that way. So mostly I tried to follow the directions of the less aesthetically challenged Rembrandts. The easy stuff was placing candles and lanterns around the caf. Also, I helped string up some rolls of the orange and black crepe paper; it being All Hallow's Eve and all. I had to admit it was hard to overcome my usual impression of the Leonard Cafeteria. For one thing, the food there was revolting. Mostly, the cuisine had a 'je ne sais quoi' quality, as in a 'I don't know what I just ate' type of blandness. Like the fish served on Fridays, for example, wasn't halibut or cod or sole or salmon, it was just fish, usually served with no name fries and no name Cole Slaw. On account of that, fine diners invented labels to spice up the menu, like 'Penitentiary' fish or 'Royal Military College' fries or 'Thousand Island' Cole Slaw. There's even Macdonald hamburgers, named in honor of Canada's first Prime Minister. Not to be confused with the burgers from that Scottish bistro McDonald's. And another thing we had to overcome was the furniture and appearance of the dining hall. It had an 'institutional anyplace' functional aspect. So I gave a hand in rolling a large hickory rain barrel down some stairs into the dining hall for the apple-bobbing contest. At least, that's what they told me the barrel was for. If you want to know the inside dope, I suspected that PC was going to take it back to his hometown of St. Catharines near Niagara and go over the Falls in it. Or use it as a diving bell in search of the wreck of the Titanic, even though it's already been discovered. Or for some other dumb death defying stunt like that. Extreme sports are in! Everybody goes white water rafting or skydiving or canyoning in the summer. Thrill seekers want those scrotum- shrinking adventures 'cause it's more fun than staying home and squeezing your zits.

Yeah I know when I tell a story, I tend to ramble on and on. I don't stick to the point like all good writers should. I drive my SUV off the road, but it's because I like digressions. I really do. It's like taking the path less traveled. It hurts my grades on essays and reports, but I can't help it. Precision and dullness are a tough combination to master.

Helping set up the costumed mannequins and all was actually kind of enjoyable. It was easy to get hold of a chainsaw and a goalie's mask, this being Southern Ontario, halfway between Toronto and Montreal, a long way from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre and wherever the hell Friday the Thirteenth took place. But, we didn't use real department store dummies. We 'borrowed' some of the scarecrows from the bayonet practice range at the Royal Military College and for the witches' costumes, we used some of the inflatable love dolls some of the guys and girls secretly had in their rooms. It's interesting what you find when you re-enact the Viking raids, you know the ones where they plundered the settlements of medieval England and other northern European countries. At least, that's what the History majors claimed we were doing. We pillaged the dorm rooms for fun, but for some inexplicable reason, stopped short of raping the other guys.

After the crew had put most of the decorations up and consumed about one third of the munchies and drinks, I had to go over to Allison's dorm room. She was Studlater's girlfriend, a real sweetie, a Drama major. If you want to know the truth, I really liked her and if she hadn't been going with my poker-playing friend since the beginning of school, I might have fancied a roll in the hay with her. Yeah, like I would ever get that lucky. I knew she liked me too because she always showed me her best smile and it was one of those toothpaste commercial type smiles for Colgate or Crest or whatever. She must have wore those barb wire braces when she was a kid 'cause every tooth was perfect porcelain, no extra tooth stuck out of the gums like a third eye and she didn't have any of those metallic fillings with that dementia causing mercury crap. And her breath was better than a Binaca blast or which ever breath mint people used. I kinda wondered what her mouth tasted like 'cause I had never gone beyond a sisterly smooch with Allison. Her skin was that real soft glowing complexion that you've seen pictured on a box of Ivory Snow or maybe radiating off some X-rated video cover. For Chrissake, I don't even know how Studlater ever got so lucky, but he was the real jealous type and he kept Allison on a tight leash. She was the last person in the world you'd ever call a dog or a bitch though.

Why was I going to Allison's room? Apparently Allison was going to help me get into a Halloween costume. I'm not called Hold'em for nothing. In another poker game the week before, I lost again. This time we were using chips instead of money, 'cause a lot of the dumb suckers had already been cleaned out of their dough. So the losers were going to have to suffer consequences, but I saw the game as being a chance to really humiliate my so-called poker friends, and revenge can be a thing of beauty. Anyhow, to make a short story shorter, in the climactic hand for all the buffalo chips, I had the third best hand.

PC and Studlater decided on the consequence. They got to pick out my Halloween costume, although they wouldn't tell me what it was. They didn't even want any of the other guys in the male section of the dorm to see my get up until the appropriate time. Since Kingston isn't a very big town, there aren't very many costumes available, even at Halloween. I mean you can go down to the K-Mart, Zeller's or Walmart and pick up a flimsy kiddie's outfit, but there's not much in the way of quality masquerade apparel for adult size children. There's lots of military stuff or convict wear since historic Fort Henry, the Royal Military College and the Kingston Penitentiary are what Kingston is known for. Ottawa, the nation's capital, isn't too far away. But, Jean Chretien masks aren't as popular as even the dead presidents of the United States 'cause nobody wants to talk out of the side of their mouth all evening. I swear to you, many of the people, excluding the students in Political Science, thought Bill Clinton was Canada's President. But, he was a popular guy. On the other hand, no one in Canada has ever mistaken George W. Bush for our leader. For Chrissake, Bush has never been to Canada while he's been President. Not that I blame him.

This university town is also known as the gateway to the world famous Thousand Islands, but I couldn't see Studlater and PC forcing me to come to the party as Thousand Islands Dressing. Nah...lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, croutons and bacon bit condiments would be too messy, not to mention the dressing itself. It would be as innovative as Pizza the Hut in the old film Spaceballs, but not practical enough for even a short appearance at the party.

You know, probably the best part of the torture for Laptop and Studlater was simply keeping me guessing for a whole week about what my costume would be. I mean my imagination could dream up far worse consequences than Studlater or Laptop ever could. Those guys made a thousand suggestions, but they wouldn't tell me which of the thousand guises it would be. It drove me bonkers.

2

Allison Simon was a lovely, sweet dream. When I knocked on her door, she greeted me with a warm hug and kisses on both cheeks.

"Hi Hold'em! Come on in!"

"Allie! You look wonderful tonight!" And she did. She had that fresh beauty without any makeup that every girl would kill for, yet she never let on that she knew she was gorgeous. I had a hard time deciding what exactly was her best feature. Perhaps it was the large, dark brown, almost black eyes. If eyes were the windows to the soul, I yearned to explore the depths of Allie's existence, for the inner person I was certain possessed great tenderness and compassion. As well, her clear milky white skin glowed. It was as if a golden aura surrounded her. But, I suppose these were the perceptions of an infatuated fool. She was dressed casually in blue Gap crap jeans, moccasins and a Queen's Golden Gaels sweatshirt. She was about a half-foot shorter than my six feet. I imagined that if I ever kissed her for real, I'd have to lift her 115 pounds off the ground and hold her in my arms to make out standing up. It's funny how guys can let their imaginations run rampant after innocent incidental contact like a hug and a brother- sister type peck on the cheek.

"It's just you and me kid," she responded when I looked around, half expecting Studlater to emerge from the bathroom at any moment.

Her dorm room was the same size as mine. But she had a large full length mirror on the closet door and some Snoopy and Garfield dolls, photos of family and friends, and souvenirs from her travels as decorations, giving her space a cozy atmosphere that contrasted with the Spartan feel of my hellish room.

"So where's Studlater or Laptop? Aren't they going to join us? Don't they want to orchestrate my humiliation?"

"No. Actually, they both said they'd have plenty of opportunity to enjoy it later. Transforming you is going to take awhile. Besides, knowing them, they probably are scrambling around trying to dig up costumes for themselves."

"So, don't keep me in suspenders. What's my punishment?"

"All I'm going to tell you for now is that you are going to dress up as a girl."

"Oh, is that all? I guess that's not too bad. I think I can survive that."

"Are you sure? We'll see...There's a can of shaving gel and some brand new razors in the bathroom. First, shave off all the body hair and ..."

"What? You can't be serious. You want me to shave my legs? What kind of pervert do you think I am?"

"Just the normal run-of-the-mill kind that you used to see on Jerry Springer every night. Shaving your legs isn't going to damage you like the heartbreak of psoriasis. It will grow back in no time. Who's going to see your bare legs during the winter anyway? Don't make it sound like a big deal...Actually that's probably the least of your concerns."

That sounded ominous. "I suppose it's not as embarrassing as getting a buzz cut like some army stiff at the Royal Military College."

"After you've shaved your legs...you don't have much chest hair, do you?"

"No, not even peach fuzz."

"Once you've done the legs, then you can enjoy a scented bubble bath. It'll give your whole body a nice light fragrance. There are strawberry, raspberry or apple bubble bath flavors available. Take your choice."

"Will you come in and scrub my back?"

"I don't think so, not unless you want Eric to beat you up?"

I never called Studlater by his proper name of Eric Stradlater because he never called me William or Bill. It was always Hold'em, so he was always Studlater.

"Actually, a beating just might be worth the pleasure of your company."

"You are such a flirt...and you'll have plenty of opportunity to use your charms tonight. So many guys, so little time. You'll have to beat them back with a stick."

If I had been in a guy's dressing room, a crass jock would've said, "Stick this!" with a gesture of his favored masturbating hand on his crotch, but I knew Allison was a real lady and didn't care for dirty language. It's one of the reasons I still hoped she might break up with the truly rude and crude Studlater. He could swear like a sailor, but I never saw him do it in front of girls. Eric's romancing technique was kind of a thing of beauty though. I had gone on a double date with him once during Orientation week. We went to see a movie at the Kingston Family Fun Drive In 'cause it was cheaper than a regular Cineplex. He and this pretty girl were in the back seat of my old broken down Toyauto. My date sat in the front with me. At the very beginning of the evening, he snowed his date in this quiet, sincere voice like he wasn't just a handsome stud, but this sensitive millennium kind of guy who really listened and was kind and considerate and not egotistical. I damn near puked, listening to his phony crap. The girl kept saying, 'Don't, please don't.' This would be repeated every few minutes. After a while, there was this long silence in the back seat. Then some smooching and sucking sounds and rhythmic panting and grunting. That damned 'Studlater' was making out with her. I didn't care to witness it. Meanwhile, I felt as useless as a third tit on Jabba the Hut's disgusting carcass 'cause I behaved like a gentleman with my date.

The white tile bathroom was just like mine, except Allison had brushes, cosmetics, Tampax pads, fashion magazines and other girly stuff on the counter around the sink.

I decided to take the green apple bath first, figuring it would help soften the legs before shaving. The warm soft foam was really quite relaxing and sensual, but I sincerely wished Allison would come in and scrub my back. I mean, with all the suds and stuff, she wouldn't even be able to see Mister Wiggly. I hadn't had a bubble bath since I was a little kid. Immersion in foam was kinda boring though without any rubber duckies or toys to play with.

"Hey Allison, come on in here! See! It floats!"

She didn't dignify my crude remark with a response.

After draining the antique original equipment bathtub and drying myself off with the dorm's standard white towels, I spread the shaving gel on my long thin legs. I used to take a ribbing back in high school about having a girl's gams, but that kind of bull crap never bothered me a bit. So I got called 'fag' occasionally. I loved girls; I didn't want to be one. I gave the gel a minute or two to be absorbed by the hair, and then I carefully stroked my limbs with a triple-edged razor. I want you to know I'm really a wimp beneath my gruff pseudo-macho exterior. It took a few minutes, but I managed it without a nick of any kind. I got back into the bathtub and turned on the shower to clear off the gel film. The spray of water felt a little different on my hairless limbs. After toweling down again, I ran my fingers over my legs. I never would have believed my gams could feel so smooth and sensuous. And I hate to admit it, but I actually liked the goddam perverted way they felt.

There was a knock on the bathroom door. I quickly covered up Mr. Wiggly with the towel.

"Yes," I called out.

"Are you decent?" yelled Allison on the other side of the door.

"I'm better than decent. I'm a goddam sex goddess," I replied with my usual bombast as I considered letting the towel drop accidentally if Allison entered. But, I remembered David Niven's famous line at the Oscars when some glory hog streaked across the stage in his birthday suit. And the ever cool Niven, after a dismissive glance, quipped something like, "Why anyone would want to display his shortcomings is beyond me."

When she opened the door, Allison was wearing a Cruella De Ville costume, you know, the one from Disney's 101 Dalmatians. But she didn't have any makeup on yet and her dark hair didn't yet resemble the wild half black-half white coiffure that characterized Cruella. The dark pinstripe suit suggested that villainous dognapping character. It had a very wide 'over the top' lapel and collar with broad shoulder pads. The pinstripe skirt was slit down the sides. Dark nylons and high heels completed the venomous Glenn Close vamp look. Talk about going against type.

"Wow!" Where did you dig up that outfit?"

"In the theatrical arts, wardrobe is a skill. I sewed the pinstripe suit myself. Do you like it?"

"It's perfect! You are quite a talent."

She looked me over and whistled. "Oh, sexy legs!"

I twirled around to give her the full view, although I decided not to drop the white towel skirt just yet.

Allison began singing for some strange reason. I thought it was her way of teasing me.

"Holly came from Miami F.L.A.
Hitchhiked her way across the U.S.A.
Plucked her eyebrows on the way
Shaved her legs then he was a she"

I sang the Walk on the Wildside chorus along with Allie.

She says, hey babe, take a walk on the wild side
Said, hey honey, take a walk on the wild side
And the colored girls go
Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo..."

It was a real laugh!

It was quite amazing we both knew the words, but for reasons unknown to me, Lou Reed had become a cult figure on the Queen's University campus.

Allie had a crazy creative side to her that I thought was really cute. What else would you expect from a Drama major? And she sounded a lot better than Lou Reed's 'talking in tune' voice, but my 'colored girl' singing voice needed a little work.

"Not bad, Hold'em. When you try to talk like a woman, think about how you sing in a higher register than your normal speaking voice. A woman's voice has a kind of musicality to it. But don't use a falsetto. It's too high. Stay in the vocal range you just used, and you might make a passable woman...However, you still need to shave your face. Your blond peach fuzz would show right through the base makeup," said Allison as she felt my "beard" with her smooth, manicured hand.

With that, she turned around and wiggled her sexy butt back to her bedroom, and let me continue. But shaving my face was something I could do in the dark with a crummy rusty old razor and no shaving cream, although I really wouldn't do that. But, as I stared into the mirror, I kinda wondered what type of goddam woman would I make? Sometimes, when I was much younger, people would comment on my girlish face, even complete strangers. I don't have a big nose, a heavy- set jaw or other butch features, but I am six feet tall, a definite drawback unless you're a supermodel. Would I be pretty, or would I look like Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie?

After I emerged from the bathroom, Allie sat me down on a wooden chair. She didn't want me to look at my face while she worked her makeup magic, so I faced the bed and the curtained windows rather than the full-length mirror on the closet door. I felt rather uncomfortable with my bare skinny body, covered only by boxer shorts, being so exposed while in the charismatic presence of such a wonderful girl, but I just hoped Mr. Wiggly would behave himself.

Being a Drama student, Allie knew so much about makeup application. She took off her Cruella De Ville jacket and put a protective light blue smock over her blouse and skirt before beginning. After hanging up the jacket in her closet, Allie wandered over to her desk and popped the Very Best of the Eagles CD into her Sony mini system. A moment later, the Eagles' soulful song, Desperado, started up. It helped to ease the fears of my threatened male persona. "Desperado, why don't you come to your senses..." I can't remember every makeup item or all the different brand names Allie had in her arsenal, but there were a lot of creams, sponges, brushes, pencils, eyelashes, tweezers, eye shadows, concealors, an eyelash curler, foundation makeup, lip gloss, lipstick, and whatever the hell else was needed. She even pulled out some green contact lenses from her dresser drawer. Wow! It made me feel extra special. Privileged to observe life through the eyes of another; kinda like walking a mile in her shoes so to speak. Some of the brands I can remember seeing were Cover Girl, Maybelline, and Mac.

Allie didn't believe in doing anything in a half-assed kind of way.

"First, I'm going to cover your face with a protective moisturizer," said Allison, as she spread some kind of whisper light cream onto my face. "Then, I'll put a foundation makeup on that will essentially smooth out your complexion, giving us a kind of blank canvas to start with. I'll tweeze a few of your unruly eyebrow hairs and..."

"Stop right there! I'm not going to allow you to tweeze away my damn eyebrows. That's going too far. I don't have to look like Miss Canada."

"Hold'em, you wimp, you don't look tough enough. Didn't a recent Miss Canada get into some barroom brawl with another girl?"

"I think you're right...Weren't charges laid too? I remember seeing some Canucklehead babe on the cover of some men's magazine. She was wearing boxing gloves."

"Hold'em, did you ever box?"

"Yeah, I boxed professionally in the paperweight division when I worked at the A&P." I can be really sarcastic when I want to be.

"Well, macho man, I'll pluck just a few stray hairs. Luckily, you don't have thick eyebrows. And, if I need to, I can use some spirit gum, theatrical putty and a thick makeup to thin the eyebrows."

"Sounds like a lot of work," I mumbled. To tell the truth, I wasn't feeling all that comfortable about this weird sex change crap, although I kinda liked spending time with Allie. But, I mean, when I was a kid, I never really cared for the old ever-ready 'fag' putdown used by all the bullying jocks and rednecks since before Creation.

"You've got nice, high cheekbones Hold'em. We'll bring that out a little more, use some dark makeup to diminish your jaw-line and to give the cheeks that hollow, sunken look favored by fashion models...Then, I can work on your eyes. The green contact lenses will change you dramatically...After that, we'll make your tempting lips irresistible...Add a gorgeous red wig...And we can't forget your fingernails."

Somehow, I began to feel like a Barbie doll being manipulated by a young girl who loved playing house or whatever it was girls did with their goddam Barbie dolls, with their impossibly thin long necks, tiny waists, and physically impossible proportions. Everyone knows Barbie's not anatomically correct. She's the leading cause of the 'living dead' eating disorders in North America, you know, a 'n b, anorexia nervosa and bulimia. Now, I want to tell you that this procedure she described so quickly wasn't gonna be no instantaneous transformation. For example, fake fingernails aren't as simple as they sound. I know I would have been all thumbs trying to file those phony plastic nails to the proper fit and then putting the adhesive and polish on. Hell, it took several minutes to shape each nail using a crummy file, maybe ten minutes or so to apply the polish and seemingly forever or longer for the stinky red gook to dry. Allie wasn't kidding when she said Laptop and Studlater would probably get two hemorrhoids apiece waiting for this transformation to be completed.

Allie picked up the telephone from the night table beside her bed and pushed the speed dial button.

"Hi Eric...Yes, I'm still working on Hold'em, but it's going to be absolutely fabulous! Well worth the wait...No. Let's change the plan a little. Please, do not come over. I want our costumes to be a total surprise to you guys...No, don't tell me what you're going as. Oh, and you can tell PC too...Thanks...I'll find you downstairs...Okay, we'll see you later."

When Allison put down the phone, for a moment, she seemed lost in thought.

"Allison, how did you get involved in this anyway?"

She looked at me with a mischievous smile. "When Eric told me he needed to find you a really humiliating costume, I volunteered."

"Thanks."

"Hold'em, I also wanted to spend this time to get to know you a little better."

"Well, I'm afraid you're getting to see a side of me that's never been seen before."

She laughed. "I see the potential in you Hold'em. Underneath that tough, wisecracking exterior...I see a real wimp." Then she giggled mirthfully.

"Gee, and I thought we were going to share an intimate Kodak moment there. Instead, Cruella De Ville just whizzed all over me."

"I'm sorry, Hold'em. I couldn't resist. But, you know, if I wasn't going with Eric..."

"Yeah right, but you're a one man woman. Please spare me that Paul Anka sentimental mush. So whose idea was this costume anyway, Allie?"

"Oh, PC and Eric made some suggestions, like Catwoman or Elvira or just some sexy lingerie. They said they'd be happy as long as it would be really embarrassing for you."

I put the thumb, index and middle fingers of my right hand together. I held it up to my forehead, then dropped it down to my stomach, over to my left armpit, across to my right tit, and whispered, "Please forgive her Father for what she is about to do. She will fall victim to the Devil's temptation on All Hallow's Eve. She knows not what the true consequences of her evil actions are."

"Pretty feeble, Hold'em," Allie clucked, as she shook her head. "You're not even Catholic, are you?" But, you'll be thanking me later once you see how good you'll look."

"Uh huh...So, I know Kingston doesn't have a lot of costume shops. Where'd you come up with the masquerade outfit?"

"Well, I went over to the Drama Department's storage room. They had oodles and oodles of costumes to choose from. But, I also had to find something that would fit. The fact that you're so thin helped. Although you are tall for a girl, luckily, most of your height comes from your long legs. So, the key was just finding something that would fit."

"I must admit I've been taking a ribbing about those 'daddy long legs' since I was in kindergarten."

"You've got fabulous, shapely, sexy legs! Although with your size 11 feet, I had to go shopping for the high heels at Boats 'R Us."

"You are such a kidder. But I'm just dying to see the costume."

"I've got it in a garment bag. Just be patient. You can try it on right after your makeup is done...Those guys are going to laugh so hard when they see you all dressed up."

Now I was getting a little apprehensive and frustrated. For Chrissake, I hate not knowing and I hate being put on hold. "You enjoy torturing guys, don't you?"

"Guys? Just you Hold'em. You're such an easy mark," she giggled. "So Hold'em, if you could be a woman, which famous female would you want to look like?"

"I don't know. I never really thought about it." I wondered if I should describe Allie's beautiful features. Hey! A little flattery might get me somewhere. You never know 'cause some people enjoy being flattered. And some are really gullible. But she was a really intelligent girl. She could see right through me. I didn't think I could snow her.

"With your height, long legs and thin frame, maybe we could make you into some kind of supermodel," said Allie encouragingly.

"You mean like Rupaul?"

"No silly. How about Claudia Schiffer? It would be a natural for a guy with the last name of Copperfield."

"Did you know that magician David Copperfield used to pay Claudia Schiffer to make appearances with him?"

"Are you saying Claudia Schiffer is a whore?"

"I don't know, but sometimes escorts call themselves models."

"In the final analysis, I suppose we all sell our services. We prostitute ourselves."

"Wait, I've got it. Make me look like supermodel Linda Evangelista. I wonder if she is still around. Anyway, she's originally from Laptop's hometown of St. Catharines. If you could get me an accordion, I'd serenade PC with a Schmenge Polka tune just the way Linda would."

"Oh Hold'em, you're nuts," Allie said with a playful shove.

"So...what's your point?"

3

When Allison pushed me out her dorm room and told me to go down to the Leonard Cafeteria by myself, I felt like I was going back to my own room and taking all the girl crap off. She said she would join me in a few minutes at the party, after she finished her own makeup. Besides, she said, if we showed up together, Laptop, Studlater and my other card- playing cronies would immediately know who we were. And Allison said, if it weren't for my height, they'd have never recognized me, which kinda intrigued me.

The difficult part of the stroll from Allison's fifth story room down to the basement cafeteria was managing the high heels. The elevator took me to the main floor, but I had to walk down a flight of stairs from the main floor to the basement. Although, I have to admit, it wasn't the first time I'd worn high heels, but that's another story. And I don't feel like going into that. I really don't.

Probably the only thing that kept up my courage to carry on was the fact that Allison provided me with a mid-length black cape that covered up a portion of my rather revealing costume. And you know, after walking down the stairs, that walk through the hallway was a real cinch.

Anyway, when I strutted into the festive dining hall all by myself, I felt so completely naked, like I had been hit with a spotlight and the three hundred or so people in the cafeteria were all staring at me. You never saw so many gawkers in your life. I mean, you'd think at least some of these people had seen a Las Vegas showgirl before, or at least a guy wearing a goddam embarrassing costume.

I must admit, when Allison first allowed me to look at myself in the mirror, I was amazed at my reflection. I mean, if the Miss Canada Pageant would allow it, I might have entered right away. Imagine a skimpy shiny silver bathing suit type of outfit, low cut, without any straps. I mean, when I looked down at my bosom, I kinda got turned on myself. The tape, padding, padded bra and contour makeup gave me magnificent tits where there were none before. Long sensuous legs encased in sheer nylons tottering on black stiletto heels were probably the best of my feminine features. The long legs that I had been teased about all my life seemed to be a better proportional fit on a girl's body than a boy's. Allison had given me some foam padding to enhance my fabulous butt and flaring hips. Underneath the silvery suit, my hanging gardens were all scrunched together under a very tight elasticized thong. I couldn't see any hint of Mr. Wiggly, but I must confess, it did hurt, a kinda omnipresent ache that I just knew would be with me for a few more ultra-sensitive days. Long black velvet evening gloves sensuously hugged my thin, underdeveloped, non-muscular arms. A fake diamond necklace and matching earrings added the glitz and glitter of Vegas!

But, I have to admit Allison's makeup magic was astounding! I had a nice oval shape to my face, a smooth healthy complexion, and high prominent cheekbones. Thin arched eyebrows, mesmerizing large eyes with smoky eye shadow, long seductive eyelashes, and yearning glossy red luscious lips looked back at me in the mirror. I loved the curly ringlets of my fiery auburn tresses, which were topped by a futuristic silvery Vegas headdress/crown that must have stretched me to an intimidating seven feet. I gotta admit, the Vegas showgirl kinda turned me on. Maybe, if there were a contest tonight, I'd have a real shot at best costume!

And when Allison reached up to give me a congratulatory kiss for looking so delectable, it was the first time I ever tasted her tongue as we French kissed. What a reward!

I always called Allison's boyfriend 'Studlater,' but I wished she'd tell him, 'See you later.'

As I glided over to the refreshment stand, one confident body builder type dressed in a Zorro costume approached me.

"Hey there, sexy senorita! Como esta usted?"

It kinda caught me by surprise. I looked around for a moment to see if he might have been talking to someone else. With a shrug, I said in my best, breathy singsong voice, "I am well, Senor Zorro."

"That's an amazing costume! That headdress reminds me of Queen Amidala in The Phantom Menace, only much nicer."

"Thank you. Aren't you a dashing figure? I like your outfit. The boots, whip and sword, they are nice touches."

"And you are absolutely stunning!"

I smiled. "It seems that the last time I saw you, sometime ago now, you were sweeping Catherine Zeta-Jones off her feet."

"Yes, but that was a long, long time ago. And her beauty pales by comparison."

"Aren't you laying it on rather thick?"

"Laying with you would be a dream come true."

"You are rather forward. But I think a lady would prefer to be romanced rather than propositioned."

"I wouldn't call it a proposition. More like a heartfelt dream." He paused for a moment to consider his next move. "Then, would you please share a drink with me?"

"Yes, I think I'd enjoy that."

"What would you like?"

"A Blue Light, please."

"Good. Your wish is my command."

Zorro smiled, then with a flourish of his dark cape, did a dramatic turn and walked over to the drink counter to order refreshments from a pretty 'nurse,' although he'd have to wait, as there were a few others already ahead of him. I'm not sure who Zorro was. I was trying to figure out if he looked more like the Antonio Banderas version or George Hamilton's Zorro: the Gay Blade. With the mask, phony mustache and distinctive hat, all Zorros looked pretty much alike. Unfortunately, in my spiked heels and futuristic headdress/crown, I towered over him.

So far, I didn't think Zorro had any clue that I was a guy. His flattering comments about my appearance were a really big boost to my confidence. Even my voice didn't suck as bad as I thought it would.

I looked around the crowded dance floor. The Cher song Believe was just starting up. It was like a signal for everyone in the whole place to get up and boogie.

Somebody tapped me on the shoulder from behind. When I turned to face the guy, I almost gasped. It was Studlater, dressed in a Dracula outfit. The white makeup, the slicked- back hair, the wax fangs, dark clothing and long cape gave him a passing resemblance to that film Dracula. What was his name? Gary Oldman? Studlater was an impressive vampire. He could look me straight in the eye, being six foot three, and he had these hypnotic eyes. The bloodsucker was a handsome guy and he knew it. But, he could drive me batty with his horsing around all the time. I guess he had come over to torture me.

"A beautiful outfit! You make all the other girls here look less than ordinary!"

Surprised by the compliment, it took me a moment to recover. "Why thank you, Count Dracula." I had some difficulty finding the right vocal intonation.

"Actually, in the daytime, my name is Eric. And yours?"

Could it be he didn't recognize me? "Linda," I said in the best feminine voice I could muster. "Pleased to meet you."

He gracefully caught my hand, bowed and kissed the back of it in the European style, just like the real fictional Dracula would.

"Count Eric at your service...Would you please do me the honor of this dance?" he asked as he gave me the once over from head to toe, pausing momentarily at my gravity defying cleavage.

I glanced over to Zorro who was still waiting in line for the drink. I wanted to tell Studlater to 'bite me.' Instead, I said, "Yes, it would be a pleasure."

Studlater spun me onto the dance floor. The others parted like the Red Sea before Moses. Instead of dancing apart in a free style like most of the costumed celebrants out there, he put his right hand in the small of my back and held up his left hand. Naturally, I responded in kind, although the positioning was the reverse of what I was accustomed to.

Count Dracula was an accomplished dancer. He confidently led me through what can best be described as a disco jive. First, he led me through some simple steps to get me accustomed to the basics. Then, he introduced a variation from the basic moves. His light directive touches with his hands and deft quick movements had me whirling about the dance floor as if I was some kind of goddam ballroom professional. The cuddles, turns, spins, and dips flowed effortlessly. For Chrissake, I had to admire Studlater's skill! It also shocked me that I could follow so easily, given the high heels and the lack of experience as a girl.

As Cher's Believe faded away, Studlater thanked me and drew me into a tight embrace and gave me a deep kiss flush on the mouth. He stuck his tongue through my lips and I could sense the taste of beer.

I broke off the kiss. "Please don't."

"Dancing with you is such a pleasure, Linda."

While jammed close together in his tight embrace, I could feel Studlater's aroused member poke me across the crotch area. Now I was really convinced he didn't recognize me. I gave him a gentle push away from me.

The next song I'd never heard before. It might have been by that Cuban group, the Buena Vista Social Club. Maybe it was Salsa stuff. Anyway, I wanted to sit this one out, but then it struck me. Maybe I could have some fun with this. It was a dirty trick, but maybe I could toy with Studlater a little. So we stayed on the dance floor. I watched the other girls and tried to copy their arm and leg movements as they responded to the rhythm of the flamenco inspired Latin music. Some chicks had those glowing green light sticks and they put on quite a baton show with their tosses, flips and twirls. So I got a little bolder with my movements. When I pirouetted, my black cape swirled in the breeze. It made me feel like some classy chorus dancer on the stage of the Folies Bergere. At other times, I simply raised my arms and used the cape to form airy wings. Studlater smiled approvingly at my antics. He danced smoothly, easily and confidently. Looking to create some other innovative moves, I reached up to my cape and undid the tie. Next, I used the cape like a bullfighter teasing an angry animal into a mad charge. Studlater playfully joined the mock bullfight and charged. Then I gracefully sidestepped the raging bull. I turned, and Studlater lowered his head and charged again. I don't know what the others on the dance floor thought of our 'caper,' but what the heck. It was fun!

When the song ended, I didn't want to give Studlater a chance to embrace me again for Chrissake. I headed off to the refreshment stand in search of Zorro. But when I got over by the drink counter, the lineup had evaporated, and I was disappointed to find that Zorro was no longer there, but I couldn't really blame him, could I?

Studlater, however, had followed me.

"Good idea, getting a drink," he said, trying to minimize my abrupt departure.

However, talking with Studlater was going to be a test of my skills of deception. "What would you like to drink?" I croaked, struggling to find the right pitch.

"I'll have whatever you're having."

I got the bartender's attention. "Hi, could we have two spiked lemonades, please?" I changed the drink selection from my usual preferences just in case it would jog Studlater's memory.

"Coming right up," replied the cheerful nurse.

"A good choice, just what I would have ordered," added Studlater like he really meant it, but I knew he always drank Molson Canadian. "Linda, you're really a cool dancer." Studlater was trying to snow me with his usual sincerity routine.

"You are too. Where'd you learn to dance like that?"

"Oh, I used to take lessons with one of my old girlfriends in high school."

"I had some lessons in Phys. Ed. class at our old high school."

"So where are you from?"

"Ottawa." I'm the world's biggest liar. I really am. I couldn't very well tell him the truth, or he might have figured out who I really was. "And you?" Like I didn't already know.

"Montreal."

I turned back to the pretty blonde nurse for a moment. "Thank you." I reached for a pocket in my cape to pay for the drinks.

But Studlater was already prepared and forked over a twenty. "Keep the change."

"Thanks," replied the 'nurse' with a big smile.

Studlater was a naturally generous guy. He'd give you the coat off his mother's back if you really wanted it. He came from a wealthy family in Montreal's Westmount. But he didn't want to go to McGill University 'cause he wanted to leave the nest and spread his wings. Handsome, smart, and wealthy, he was lucky at cards and love as well. Some guys had it all. The least he could do was buy a girl a drink. Considering Studlater was probably paying the nurse with money he had won from me in poker, for Chrissake, it didn't feel like this was a freebie for me. I earned it by getting into this fabulous costume and all.

I put a straw in my glass and took a sip. I didn't want to smear my lipstick. Allie cautioned me about that. "Thank you for buying the lemonade."

"You're welcome, although I'm accustomed to having drinks with a little more bite. Like a Bloody Caesar or just straight blood...I don't believe I've ever seen you around campus before," remarked Studlater.

I paused to push some of the curly red ringlets of my wig away from my eyes. "Oh, I'm in my first year here."

"So am I."

"Your tie is crooked. Here, Let me adjust it for you." I reached up to straighten his tie with my gloved hands, making sure to caress his chest gently. "There, that's better."

"Thank you," he replied with a smile. "I'm trying to figure out why I've never seen you before."

"Who knows? Perhaps you have."

"No, you I would have remembered." Studlater knew how to make a girl feel special.

"Well, I'm in English, with a Drama minor."

"Ah, that explains it. Business and Commerce for me...Drama eh. Do you by chance happen to know Allison Simon?"

"I've met a girl named Allison, but I'm not sure of her last name. Why? Is she your girlfriend?" I wanted to put him on the spot.

"Oh, I have lots of friends. I just thought you might know her 'cause she's in Drama too."

The slimeball! He sidestepped the question. What a smoothie!

I looked over to the entrance of the cafeteria, straining to spot the familiar Cruella De Ville outfit. Allison should have been here by now. In the dark lantern lit hall, I thought I might have spotted her in the crowd of revelers some distance away on the dance floor. They were all struttin' their stuff to the sounds of Alanis Morissette. But, goddammit, I'll tell you whom I did see out among the dancers. Paul Campbell. He was wearing two gray painted cardboard panels. One of the panels displayed a large keyboard that had been painted on with a shiny acrylic. The other side was an attempt to show a Microsoft Windows image on a flat panel notebook screen. PC Laptop was true to his name. He kills me, he really does.

"There are some really innovative costumes out there," I yelled above the sound of the music.

"Yeah, but I think my vote for best costume would have to go to you. You're sssmoking!"

"Thank you Count Dracula," I said as I gave his hand a squeeze.

"I am possessed by the hunger," roared Studlater, as he playfully showed his wax fangs.

"What is this hunger?" Wasn't there a vampire film with that title?

"An insatiable lust for blood."

"I thought modern vampires just went down to the local blood bank to get topped up."

"There are times when our urges are stirred up and we must have it."

"You mean like a drug addict's craving for a hit."

"Exactly. Haven't you ever had the hunger?"

"Occasionally, but I can't puff on a fag in here." It was hard to yell above the din of the music and maintain a semblance of a feminine tone.

Studlater's face lit up. "Then why don't we go to the smoking area and get some air?"

Count Dracula just wanted to be alone with me so that he could make his move. I knew the scumbag's routine. "I'd love too. Please, lead the way."

We left our half-finished drinks on the counter.

Studlater wrapped his arm around my waist and led me through the throng of party-goers, into the empty, quiet hallway, then down the corridor a short distance toward a staircase.

The hunk of a vampire assisted me up the stairs, with his arm still wrapped around my silvery costume-clad waist. In the stairwell on the main floor we paused.

"You know, Linda, you look really hot tonight. You are as beautiful a girl as I've ever met. You can really fill out a showgirl's outfit. And you have such gorgeous, sparkling green eyes."

Allie's contact lenses worked their magic. "Well, thank you." Studlater was giving me those smooth, flattering lines like he did with all the girls, and I wanted to encourage him. So, I smiled and batted my false eyelashes.

Then Count Dracula gave me a peck on the cheek. When I accepted it without a hint of reluctance, he gathered me in both arms, wrapping me in his cape, and planted his eager lips firmly on mine. It was a deep, passionate kiss! Charged with electricity!

What a turn-on! It took my breath away!

"You know Linda, it's likely to be extremely cold out in the smoking area and really crowded. Why don't we find somewhere else to go?" he said with gentle pressure around my waist.

"What did you have in mind?" I responded by grabbing him around the waist.

"Well, we could go back to my room. As long as we open the windows a crack, it's unlikely we'll get caught smoking. Besides, I know security won't be around now."

"Is your room close by?"

"Just up one more floor, on the right."

"Okay lover." I kissed him lightly on the cheek. This was going to be dangerous fun. I hadn't felt like this since I was twelve years old when I stole a jacket from Eaton's. So nervous and excited! So afraid of getting caught! Studlater was never going to live this down when he found out that he was being turned on by one of his goddam male poker companions.

Up another flight of stairs, down the corridor, past ten or so doors, then Studlater fumbled with the door handle and led me into the room.

He didn't even turn on the light. Studlater just enveloped me in a strong bold embrace and kissed me long and hard and deep. He practically Hoovered me. Then he snaked his tongue in and out of my mouth. His hands groped around my backside, squeezing my ass cheeks like Mr. Whipple squeezing rolls of Charmin. I clung to him, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck and head, playfully mussing up his hair a little. We must have been standing there for several eternities doing the tongue in cheek thing. My hands lowered to his shoulders, then the middle of his back, then I caressed his chest. Pretty soon my hands had migrated further south to his hips and buns. Then he backed me up toward the bed, our tongues still intertwined, and we fell onto the bed together.

Our descent into sin was cushioned by a plump, airy down duvet. Oh no! My allergies! I'd go into sneezing fits when exposed to feathers. So I rolled over on top of Studlater, still maintaining the lip lock. He seemed to like the position reversal. There was a 'stake' sticking out of the vampire that threatened to impale me. Maybe I could tolerate the feather-filled comforter for a few minutes more, or perhaps I could nonchalantly push the duvet off the bed. A sneezing fit could prove to be my undoing 'cause Studlater knew Hold'em Copperfield was allergic to feathers.

Count Dracula began nibbling on my neck. Maybe I shoulda wore a garlic necklace instead of the phony diamonds, but at least the glitzy accessory kept him from giving me a hickey.

I gently caressed his smooth, handsome face with my black velvet gloved hands. As I nuzzled and licked and blew on his ears, I was absolutely convinced he had no idea that I was a girl with something extra.

His wandering hands squeezed my padded breasts. And I'm the one nicknamed Hold'em?

Shit! I was getting real nervous. This was going much too far too fast! I was getting scared! He didn't have a clue! He'd be madder than hell when he found out!

I needed some of that Copperfield magic right now to help me disappear.

"Don't, please don't," I cried.

That had no effect. Studlater wrapped his thick, muscular legs around my sheer nylon clad limbs. He fumbled for the zipper on the back of my sexy silver suit.

Studlater was a stud now!

Maybe if I became the aggressor and gave him a blowjob, he'd never be the wiser?

Studlater peeled the silver suit away while I reached for his belt buckle.

My black bra and thong were now on display.

I unzipped Studlater and pulled his black pants down as Studlater struggled to kick off his boots.

What an erection! His jockey shorts almost ripped under the strain!

I reached down to Studlater's feet and wrenched off one of his boots.

"Ah, ah...achoooo!" Unable to hold it, I sneezed. "Pardon me."

"Bless you."

Would Studlater know I was William?

Then, suddenly, the door opened and the light flicked on, and we were no longer alone in the dark. My eyes squinted involuntarily, trying to adjust to the brightness. Standing at the door was Allison!

"You cheating scumbag!" exclaimed an incensed Cruella De Ville. A look of incredulity! Her hands went up to her cheeks. Horror! A freakin' nightmare! "How could you?" She turned, sobbing with her head in her hands, and ran away, tears already streaming from her mascara smudged eyes.

For Chrissake! It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

Studlater pushed me aside, bounced off the bed and ran out the door after her.

"Wait Allison! I can explain! Please Allison..."

4

A half-hour later, I was walking down a corridor, trying to figure things out. What just happened? This embarrassing mess needed to be resolved. I stumbled along in stunned amazement! What had been intended as a big joke, a cruel trick on Studlater, had ended in disaster! The last thing in the world I wanted was to see Allison hurt in any way.

I hobbled down the empty hallway in the elegant high heels. They were beginning to hurt in the toes. Damn it! Why did I have to look like such a sexy fox! A showgirl monster! Created by Allison herself!

She must have recognized me! She must have thought Studlater and I were gay! That's why she must have been upset!

I needed to talk to her. I figured by now, Studlater and Allison had to have cleared the air.

I knocked on her door. I wondered who'd be there. Would it be Allison by herself, or Studlater and Allison together?

I could sense some movement behind the door. Somebody looked through the peephole. Then the door opened.

"Allison! I'm so sorry Allie!"

"Really? It seems that the last time I saw you, 'Linda' was doing the horizontal tango with my boyfriend!"

"Oh Allison, let me explain. I never should have tried to play such a dirty trick, even if it was on Studlater."

There was an awkward pause. Allie had been crying and the mascara had run, giving her the trademark raccoon look. And the Cruella De Ville wig had been removed so she wore that 'bad hair day' do.

"Please let me come in," I said. "I don't want to broadcast this to the whole lousy dorm."

She shrugged. I stepped in and closed the door.

"Look Allie, I was just trying to play a big joke on Studlater."

"Do you mean to say Eric didn't know it was you?"

"I really think I had him fooled. I mean, at no time did he ever let on that he knew it was really me...and I played along. I tried my best to keep up the deception. I really don't think he knew it was me."

"Actually, from where I'm standing, I don't find that too hard to believe," she said as she gave me a long admiring look, "although your makeup could use a touch up."

I struck a classic showgirl pose and batted my false eyelashes.

Allie giggled briefly.

"So what did Studlater have to say?"

"I don't know. I refused to talk to him. As far as I'm concerned, Eric and I are through."

I didn't know what to say next. So I improvised with the truth.

"I'm sorry, Allie. I thought I'd get a measure of revenge on Studlater. For Chrissake, I mean he's been teasing me all week about what embarrassing thing I'd be wearing for Halloween, and when he didn't seem to recognize me, I was really surprised. So we danced and I led him on a little. I was just horsing around with him. He bought me a drink. We chatted. But, as I gained a little more confidence, one thing led to another. Then, Studlater put on his best moves. Things just got a little out of control. In fact, if you hadn't turned on the lights at that moment, I think Studlater was about to get the shock of his life."

A smile came to Allie's face.

"So Eric was going to cheat on me with what he thought was a beautiful girl."

"Yeah, he's called Studlater for good reason."

"And Hold'em, are you gay? Not that I have anything against homosexuals."

"I like girls; I don't really want to be a girl. And except for tonight, I haven't experienced contact of any sort with a guy."

"Have you ever had sex with a girl?"

"Uh...Look, remember when you sent me into the bathroom to shave my legs and take a bubble bath, I asked if you would scrub my back. Well, I really would have enjoyed sharing a bubble bath with you. I think you are a beautiful girl. Not only are you physically magnificent, you are so kind and considerate and smart and fun loving. You've got a compassionate heart. I think you deserve a lot better than that philanderer Studlater."

Allie snuggled up to me. We hugged forgivingly. Before we knew it, Cruella De Ville and a very tall Las Vegas showgirl were wrapped in a hot embrace, kissing like lemmings in heat or whatever the hell those animals are that reproduce faster than rabbits. At first, I had to stoop down to kiss Allison. But, I want to tell you, when we sat down on the bed together, we were a good fit physically. Allie was so sensual, so gentle, so loving, so caring! We were very happy together that night.

But, that's all I can tell you, 'cause I promised Allie I wouldn't go blabbing on and on, especially about affairs of the heart. 'You've got to know when to hold'em, know when to fold'em...Every gambler knows the secret to survive is knowing what to throw away and knowing what to keep.' Goddammit! I have to stop! Allie would kill me, she really would.

THE END