(The Story Thus Far: Born out of wedlock in 1929, Merritt Lane McGraw has spent nearly all of his first five years with his mother while she worked as a live-in maid and nanny for a wealthy young widow and her two daughters. Merritt’s mother, Evelyn, found herself in a torrid love affair with Viola Buckner, her employer, while the women’s daughters loved to treat Merritt as a little girl. Merritt was becoming more and more like a girl. To escape the demanding sexual encounters with her employer (which Evelyn feels is sinful) and to take her son away from the feminine atmosphere of the estate, Evelyn left the Buckners and returned home to live with her parents. She soon married Bob Casey, the library clerk and former high school classmate, and they have moved into a second floor apartment above a craft and sewing supply store. Merritt’s days of enjoying “girl time” appear to have ended now that there’s a man in the house.

(Merritt’s stepfather has gone off to war, and was killed in the terrible battle of Tarawa in November, 1943, posthumously being awarded the Navy Cross. Merritt’s mother meantime has taken a job in a war plant making parachutes, and Merritt takes over her dress-making business, which he finds to be a natural fit. Now a high school student, he finds comfort only in being a girl, but still seeks to fit in as a boy.

(Merritt has ventured out as a girl, and his natural femininity attracts the eyes of high school boys as well as a high school girl, with whom he goes to bed. Their innocence — typical for youth of that period — makes for limited sexual experiences, but with much passion, girl-to-girl.

(Yet, he tries to fit in as a boy, believing his hopes of ever living as a girl in the 1940s and1950s would be nearly impossible. His growing femininity has brought him into more adventures as a girl, confusing him even more as he tries to fit in at school. Now in his sophomore high school year, Merritt finds his effort to become more and more masculine challenged.)

Within two weeks of the Our Lady of the Angels prom, the war in Europe was over! V-E Day, as it was called, signifying the “Victory in Europe,” came with great celebration, and Merritt joined Donna Mae and Edith after school in taking the streetcar to Grand Avenue, the city’s principal street, where people poured out, filling the street shoulder to shoulder for eight blocks. People cheered and kissed strangers; some swigged whisky or drank from bottles of beer, as they caroused down the avenue.

The crowd had cleared an opening on the pavement in front of the Avenue Record Shop, which was blaring music into the outdoors, mainly fast swing music such as the “One O’Clock Jump” and the “Johnson Rag.” Several couples were jitterbugging in the opening, one *Negro couple being particularly demonstrative in their acrobatics, while two other couples contented themselves with more conventional forms of the popular dance of the time.

*At the time, the most respectful form of address would have been the word ‘Negro,’ as ‘African-American’ is a relatively new usage.

“We can do that Merritt,” Edith said enthusiastically.

“What?” he answered.

“Do the jitterbug. We did it before, remember?”

Merritt smiled, recalling several times the two of them danced together at the various house parties the teens had held, playing records, drinking soda and eating popcorn.

Donna Mae and Edith were still in their school uniforms, wearing plaid skirts and white blouses, with blue cardigan sweaters carrying the Angel’s logo. Merritt had changed from his school clothes (West High had no uniform) and into a pair of dark blue jeans, with the cuffs rolled up very neatly. All three wore saddle shoes. His longish hair flowed freely.

“Go ahead,” Donna Mae encouraged. Despite her athleticism, she never was much of a dancer.

Edith grabbed Merritt’s hand and soon they were the fourth couple displaying their talents on the asphalt roadway, as the speaker system blared out “In the Mood,” a swinging standard with Benny Goodman’s orchestra.

Edith and Merritt moved in a gracefulness that soon attracted the eyes of the crowd, his hair flowing with each twirl. “Go, girls,” and “Look at those two girls swing” came among the “oohs’ and “aahs” of the gathering. Merritt saw Edith smiling as the words of praise came from the crowd, enjoying the idea that Merritt was being mistaken for a girl. Merritt’s face began to burn in embarrassment. They finished to loud applause, directed both at them and the Negro couple.

“They thought you were a girl,” Donna Mae said when the two returned to her.

“I know.”

“What do you expect?” she said. “You wear those jeans like girls do and with the saddle shoes and long hair.”

It was true, he realized, along with the fact that it was not uncommon to see two girls dancing the jitterbug together, same as it was to see two girls doing the polka together, a common sight at weddings in the area. It was easy, he knew, to mistake him for a girl when he dressed as he often did, coupled with his gracefulness and dainty manner of walking and stepping about.

The three continued down the street, bumping into people, bursting into dance or “hoorays” upon impulse. Nothing was restrained, and Merritt found himself grabbed and hugged more than once, as did his partners. Sailors from a nearby Naval Training Base, their white hats askew in a most rakish, unmilitary-like manner, grabbed them several times, one telling Merritt exuberantly, “Gimme a kiss, honey.”

He never thought to correct the young sailor, not more than a year or so older, who hugged him passionately, Merritt turning his face as the kiss came, to avert direct lip-upon-lips touches. “Aww come on, it’s V-E Day,” the sailor protested. The sailor was a tall, gawky youth with pimples still prominently on his face; he looked more like a high school classmate than a young man who might soon be manning a gun on a destroyer in the Pacific, Merritt thought.

Merritt, hearing his plea and recognizing the young man’s strength, yielded, letting the sailor kiss him fully on the lips. Merritt’s face was smooth, with just a hint of beard, which was light and fuzzy, not noticeable at all.

“You’re cute, and so pretty,” the sailor said, as he released Merritt. “You got a boy friend?”

“No,” he said, slowly, his face growing red.

“Gimme your phone number. I’ll be having several more liberties before I’m shipped out. We can do something.”

Edith, overhearing the exchange, interrupted, “Move on sailor. Her mom thinks she’s too young to date.”

The boy looked at Merritt and shook his head. “A shame. And so pretty, too.”

The three quickly left the sailor, moving on down the block.

*****
“I remember you,” said the young man who approached the three a few minutes later. He point at Merritt.

“You’re Marilyn, right? From Riverdale West?”

Merritt nodded, cursing his attire that accentuated his femininity, and causing him to get all this attention. Yet, he knew he was excited by all the attention he gained looking so much like a girl.

“We met at Morgan’s last winter. I’m Jim from Lincoln. Remember me?”

Merritt did indeed remember Jimmy; he had thought about the boy many times since, wishing he was truly a girl and could accept the attentions of a boy, much like Jimmy. Jimmy’s friend, Leo, was with him and the group gathered to talk, shared hoorays about the end of the war in Europe and asked each other how school was going.

“I wondered about you,” Jim said, moving next to Merritt. His friend moved toward Edith, and a conversation ensued between them.

“You did?”

“Oh yes, often. Did you think about me?”

“A little, maybe,” Merritt said hesitantly, not willing to open himself up to more advances.

“How about going somewhere? Let me buy you a coke,” the boy said, advancing toward Merritt, who back up, but was stopped by the milling crowd.

“Gimme a victory, kiss, darling,” he said, grabbing Merritt in his arms and placing a wet smack on the lips.

Merritt stiffened, his lips pressed together, holding firm and not responding, but too weak to resist the embrace of the other boy. The kiss lingered, and soon Merritt softened his lips, accepting the kiss, which Jim ended quickly, sensing the uneasiness of the person in his arms.

“We better get going,” interrupted Donna Mae, as Edith and Leo also enjoyed a kiss, which Edith seemed to welcome more readily than Merritt.

“Oh, Marilyn,” Jim whispered into Merritt’s ear, “Gimme your phone number so I can call.”

“I can’t, my mom would kill me,” he said, his voice soft, almost sultry in tone.

“Oh, please,” he held onto Merritt, but Donna Mae dragged them apart, and started to move up the avenue.

“Why did you do that, Donna?” asked Edith, who had to break away suddenly from Leo.

“I could see Merritt getting in too deep,” she said.

“Yes, she was,” agreed Edith, using the female pronoun. “Marilyn gets all the gorgeous guys.”

Merritt blushed, his walk assuming a sway of the hips and swing of the arms that accentuated his femininity. He had to admit he loved the attention of Jim, just as he had loved Billy’s adoration of “Marilyn” and Dolores’ when she thought he was Marilyn. It was a heady feeling, and Merritt felt light-headed, but also in great spirits.

*****
As the tennis season went on, Merritt established himself as the No. 3 singles player on the team, a pretty good accomplishment for a sophomore, and he had won his last four matches leading into the team’s last event of the season against Lakeview High School, from a nearby affluent suburb. The Lakeview team was easily the class of the area, always finishing high in the league. They were also arrogant, wearing fashionable uniforms, compared to the ragtag outfits of the teams from the city, like West, which wore uniforms now several seasons old, clean, but washed out of their sheen.

To make matters worse, Lakeview played its home matches at Coventry Country Club, which had built a small stadium to accommodate its own tennis club, which created many of the best players in the state. The locker rooms were bright and clean, built into the Gothic style buildings that featured the country club.

“It looks like we’re in bloody ol’ England,” mocked Bill Battle, of the Riverdale’s players as their bus coughed its decrepit way into the parking area at the club.

“Ah, yes matey,” Tommy Floyd quipped back. The team laughed, but it was a nervous laugh, since the boys all were nervous over playing this high-flying team, and not only getting beat but being humiliated in the process.

“We can win this year,” Merritt argued, over the sputtering noise of the barely muffled engine of the bus. “We’re on a streak.”

“Easy for you to say, Merritt,” Battle replied. “I played here last year and these people out here are mean! You just wait and see.”

The bus driver finally got the vehicle into its spot, turning off the engine, with a cough and a slight cloud of smoke.

“Here boys, follow me,” Coach Lawson said, as he lead the boys, each holding his gym bag and their rackets in hand, into a small rear entrance of a grey stone building that seemed to duplicate a castle in Merry Ol’ England.

“How fancy for a locker room!” gushed Tommy.

It was indeed, wide aisles, freshly polish floors, lined with rubber mats, all sparkling clean. And, surprisingly, there appeared to be no “jockstrap” stink so typical of boys’ locker rooms.

“At least they give us a nice locker room here,” said Bill. “But I bet they won’t be so nice out on the court. Their fans are vicious.”

The team was given a 15-minute warm-up time on the court, which was even more dazzling to the boys from West who were used to playing on a public courts, with a sparse audience looking on from outside the fences. Three of the Country Club’s courts were nestled together inside a stadium setting, with bleaches 5 rows high set on each side of the courts.

“Wow, it looks like we’re playing at Forest Hills,” commented Battle, referring to the famed tennis stadium in Queens, NY.

Merritt eyed the stands, with a crowd already filling in the seats; his heart jumped at sight, knowing he’d have to play his fairly poor game of tennis in front maybe a hundred people. As was customary, Coach Lawson had the boys make three jogs around the perimeter of the courts.

“Is that a girl on that team?” he heard someone ask loudly as he ran past the gathering crowd, his ponytail bobbing as he ran.

The next time he passed the area from which the comment came, he looked up into the stands, seeing three boys stand up, all husky and tanned, and yelling in unison, “Here she comes!” follow by laughter.

“Keep running, and think of your tennis match, Merritt,” he heard Battle say as they continued the run.

Merritt knew that was the best tactic, to ignore such catcalls, but he heard others follow when they must have realized he was a boy, who just looked a bit feminine. Actually, he said to himself, I may look “very feminine.”

When his name was announced later as the No. 3 match players were introduced, he heard more giggles and catcalls from the stands, only to be countered by a loud clapping and isolated cheers of “Go, Merritt, Go, Merritt.” He bowed to the crowd (resisting the urge to curtsey) and looked up to find the cheers coming from three people in the stands, his mother, Viola and Elizabeth.

He smiled, remembering that Viola had been a tennis star in her youth and had played against such stars as Alice Marble and Pauline Betz. Their presence both stirred Merritt and frightened him, since he hoped not to disgrace himself in front of everyone.

His opponent was introduced as Nick Woodbury, an obviously self conscious beanpole of a slim young man and a senior. He looked athletic, in spite of his wiry body, and Merritt felt he’d have a tough time against the man, who obviously came from wealth and was probably well-trained and coached.

Merritt had the honors in the first game of the first set, a role he abhorred since his serves were the weakest part of his game. They were too slow, since he still hadn’t developed the strength to send bullet type serves; when they played, Donna Mae’s serves were always stronger.

And, too make matters worse, Merritt ended up serving from right in front of the stand where the nasty comments came. “Go girl,” “Go sweetie,” calls came, which Merritt tried hard to block out. He failed, and true to his fears, he doubled-faulted, not once, but twice, and soon the score was love-30. The guffaws got stronger.

“Concentrate, Merritt,” Coach Lawson urged from the sidelines. “Send that dark one in.”

The “dark one,” as Merritt knew, was his spin ball, which he had been practicing but never used in a game.

He served the ball, as slow as he always hit the ball, and Nick Woodbury awaited its arrival with relish, ready to boom it back into Merritt’s face. The boy swung at the ball, and it ticked off the side of the racket, cutting into the adjoining court. “15-30,” announced Merritt as he planned his next serve.

He did it again, and scored another point. He had perfected a spin on his serve that caused the ball when it hit the surface to scoot off to one side.

Merritt saw his opponent stand warily for the next serve, obviously anticipating the spin to occur again. He’d be ready.

This time the serve came a bit faster (still slow by any standards) but it didn’t skip off to one side, but scooted by Nick Woodbury, who whiffed badly. Merritt’s next serve was again a straight one, which his opponent was able to return weakly and Merritt skillfully dumped just over the net eluding the player’s racket for victory in the match.

Eventually Merritt won the match in sets of 6-4, 5-7, 6-2. Soon, he heard no more catcalls and only cheers from the three supporters of West High in the audience, his mother, Viola and Beth.

“Good game,” said Nick Woodbury, who leaped the net to congratulate Merritt. “You sure kept me fooled in that game.”

“It was the only way I could win,” Merritt said. “Thank you for a good match.”

“At least you silenced those guys,” his opponent said. “I hate them; they always heckle the opposition.”

“Thank you,” Merritt said, as their conversation continued, a strange occurrence after a close match. Usually the loser leaves disappointed and dejected, giving out only with the perfunctory “good game.”

“Maybe I could play you again this summer,” the boy volunteered.

“I suppose,” Merritt said, surprised.

“I still know I can beat you.”

“You and who else?” Merritt said, his smile indicating he was teasing.

“Just me. I can beat you. My family’s a member here and I can invite you.”

“Thank you.”

“Call me, our phone number’s in the book under J. T. Woodbury on Range Line Rd.”

Merritt nodded in half-hearted agreement, knowing he’d probably never call the boy; yet, he was intrigued by the boy’s interest in him. The two were from two completely different worlds: Merritt’s life with a single mother in working class background and young Woodbury’s as a son of an obviously privileged family. He scooted off to join the rest of the team which was awaiting the results of the last players still competing. They all clapped as he ran up in his girlish gait, his ponytail flopping in the wind.

When the match finally ended West High won the meet, with Battle taking No. 1 singles, Merritt winning in No. 3 singles, and the No. 2 and No. 3 doubles teams winning. The tennis team had developed an unusual level of mutual respect, even though the competition of trying for their respective levels on the team could have splintered the group. Perhaps it was because tennis was such a neglected sport that it failed to engender the jealousies that covered other competitions, but Merritt found he was universally accepted by his teammates, in spite of his girlish mannerisms that might seem to turn off the others.

“You sure showed those hecklers, Merritt,” Battle said, as they lined up to shake the hands of the other teams.

As the two teams walked to shake each other’s hands, Woodbury whispered as he went by, “Call me, I mean it.”

*****
When the ritual ended, Merritt ran to the stands to greet his mother, Viola and Elizabeth, who were standing at the fence.

“Great game honey,” his mother said.

“Oh mom, I’m so happy you were able to get off work,” he said.

“Viola picked me up at the plant, and I didn’t have time to change,” she said, obviously feeling out of place still wearing her rather ordinary skirt and blouse from work, along with her scuffed brown oxfords.

“You look good to me, mom,” Merritt said, then turning to Viola, saying, “Thank you for bringing mom.”

“You were great darling,” Viola said.

“Yes, Merritt, you were,” Beth echoed.

“You know, Merritt, we’re members here,” Viola said. “I’m sure I can get you in as a guest anytime, and darling I’d love to play you.”

“Oh you’d beat me badly, Mrs. Buckner.”

“I wouldn’t be too tough on you darling, and I could show you some tips.”

“Yes, Merritt, do it,” Beth added. “Mom’s a good teacher and we could visit, too.”

“Thank you,” he said, turning to go back to join the team as they left for the locker room.

“Hey, Merritt,” Beth said. “Hold up. Maybe you can come back with us? You can tell coach you’ll be leaving with your mother.”

After some urging from all three, Merritt finally agreed to join them; they said he could shower and change clothes at the Buckner estate and then join them for supper and a short visit.

*****
After the four arrived at the Buckner home, Merritt and his mother had both gone to their old rooms, the ones they occupied more than ten years ago while his mother worked as a live-in maid and nanny for the household. Soon Beth followed Merritt into his old room.

“This room’s almost as I left it,” Merritt marveled. “Even some of my dolls are still here.”

“Well, we’ve had no use for this room after you left, Merritt,” Beth said. “And it was a shame to throw the dolls and stuffed animals out.

Merritt saw the same pink and frilly bed cover that had featured his room, the place he slept until he was five years old. The memories of dressing almost daily as a little girl flooded back into his mind, some obviously vague in form, but still very real. He went to the dresser, realizing now how totally girlish it looked, and nice light blue, covered with pink and white fluffy designs.

“My nighties, too!”

He pulled one out, a light yellow with trim of little green and blue flowers, and held it up before himself.

“You were so darling in it, Merry,” Beth said, using the name she attached to the young boy then. “You were the prettiest little girl.”

He blushed.

“And now, you’re still just as pretty,” Beth said, coming over to hold his slender body, still sweaty from the match. She kissed him lightly, and then released him.

“Why don’t you put these on after your shower, dear,” Beth suggested. She held out a pair of white tennis shorts and a tennis blouse, obviously tailored for a woman.

“Really, what will mom and Viola say about that?”

“They’ll be thrilled to see you all prettied up,” Beth said, with a wink.

He grew even more excited as Beth also displayed a matching panty and bra set, along with some makeup materials. For a few hours, he could again be Marilyn and be in the loving embrace of the only home he knew in his first few years of life. It felt so natural.