(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. Merritt has completed his sophomore year of high school, having attended two proms, one as a boy and one as a girl, where his date’s infatuation for Marilyn has prompted Merritt to tell the boy the truth, only to be rudely rejected. His faith in the Catholic Church has been shattered when a priest he respected makes a “pass” and Merritt feels shame, not only for himself, but also for the priest. Following his high school graduation, Merritt has taken a job as the first and only male in the typing pool of a large law firm, where he excels in his work and soon is accepted by his women co-workers as one of them.)

Chapter 29: The Prodigal Father

It wasn’t long before Merritt was accepted by nearly all the women in the typing pool. For the most part, the women were young, having been recent high school or secretarial school graduates, and it was typical that after several years, most of the girls would have gotten married and left the firm; even in the late 1940s, it was still expected that most husbands could support a wife and family on his income alone, and most young women rarely worked after marriage, or after they got pregnant. Those who didn’t marry quickly usually found their way out of the pool to become personal secretaries to one of the partners. Others moved on to other jobs.

In truth, Merritt was wishing that he were one of the girls, wearing skirts that would show his pretty knees as he would cross his legs, or a blouse that might show a hint of breast cleavage. He found himself often musing, as he looked at a typist at her station laboring away at the clunky standard typewriter that he’d love to be in a bright skirt and blouse, looking cheerful and girlish.

His friend Cindy soon discovered that he had great taste in women’s clothes during a recent lunch hour. They often walked through the women’s department at Engelman’s — the city’s biggest department store — and the two had often stopped to look at the fashions.

“You’d look great in this Cindy,” Merritt suggested one day, as they paused to look at a summer dress.

He was running the colorful cloth of the dress through his fingers. It was a warm yellow with light blue and green floral design, and he was standing back from the dress as far as his arm would permit, while still holding the dress out to get a better look at its contours.

“No Merritt, I’d look too fat in it,” she protested.

Merritt knew Cindy fretted constantly about her weight, in spite of the fact that her plump figure seemed to be most attracting to men. He didn’t think she was “fat,” and he had been thinking about the possibility of creating a dress for her that she’d like.

“No, you won’t,” he protested, recognizing that lighter colors sometimes did indeed accentuate a woman’s weight. “This dress has a nice free shape and a nice vertical flow to it. You’d look great in it, Cindy.”

“Ok, Merritt,” she said. “But it’s too much anyway. I can’t afford $29 right now. That’s nearly a whole week’s wages.”

“I know,” he said, letting go of the dress as they continued their walk through the store.

Merritt mused that he’d like to design a dress just like that for her; she had become such a nice friend, easy to talk with and to share ideas and thoughts.

“How about this one?” he asked, pulling a halter dress of forest green material that reached to below the knee. He held the dress up before himself, causing Cindy to smile.

“Oh, you’d look pretty in that one, Merritt,” she said, with a giggle.

“No, silly, for you!” he said, holding it out for her to take.

She took it, muttering, “Well, that’s better, I guess. It’s still too expensive.”

He put it back on the rack, saying, “It’s getting late, we better get back, or else we’ll get the eye from the witch.”

“Oh she’s not so bad,” Cindy protested.

“I know, she’s been OK to me, but she is strict about time.”

As they paused for a traffic light on their way back to the office, Cindy said turned to Merritt, and said, “How come you seem to know so much about dresses? You seem to know more than any of my girl friends.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Cindy. It’s just that my mom must have shown me lots of that stuff,” he said, his face reddening.

“But, you really seem to know so much,” she repeated. “And I hope you won’t mind me saying, that you really are so pretty, Merritt, really, for a boy.”

Just then the light changed and the downtown lunch hour crowd on the sidewalk surged across the street, taking Merritt and Cindy along with the flow, and the conversation ended.

*****
Several days later, Merritt and Cindy again were lunching together at the Woolworth’s lunch counter, him with a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich on toast and her with a tuna salad sandwich. They had become regulars at the counter and Ann Marie, the waitress, had gotten to know them. She accommodated them, permitting them to share a chocolate malt, setting before them the frosted silver container and two glasses.

“Tell me, Merritt, just how do you know so much about dresses?” Her question came out of the blue, but Merritt expected it would come again. He had been tortured for days after the girl’s original inquiry, wondering how much he should tell her. He truly was fond of Cindy, and the two shared so many confidences.

“For one thing, Cindy, mom and I live above a craft and materials shop, and I work there parttime,” he said. “We sell patterns and material, and there’s a seamstress service there too.”

“Oh? Which one?”

“Swenson’s, on the South Side, in the flats.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of that,” Cindy said, her voice gaining enthusiasm. “A girl at my high school had a prom dress made for her from there. She loved it. I hear there’s a good dress designer there.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard,” he said, wishing the conversation would end.

“Well, you must know that, since you live above the store, and you said you worked there?”

“Actually, I still do, on Saturdays and some nights. My mom works there too.”

“What do you do?”

“Just stock shelves, clean up and that kind of stuff,” he said, realizing he was lying. “And, do a bit of selling, too.”

Cindy smiled. “Well I guess that explains how much you know about dresses and stuff. You’re always so right, it seems.”

The two finished their sandwiches and left the counter; they still had a few extra minutes and the day was sunny and warm. They strolled to the Sweetwater River which wound through the center of the downtown, finding a vacant bench along a walk that paralleled the river. Merritt was nervous; he so wanted to tell Cindy about his dressmaking talents, and to offer to make a nice outfit for her. She was so sweet.

“You’re really so different from so many boys I know, Merritt,” she said. Her words came slowly, as if she was concerned as to how they would sound to him.

“Is that good?” he asked.

“Oh yes, yes. So kind and not rude.”

“Thank you, and you know how I like you. You’re such a friend.”

“I know, and I think we can share everything with each other. But somehow . . .”

Cindy’s voice trailed off.

“Somehow? What are you trying to say, Cindy?”

“Oh nothing.”

“It’s something, I know. Tell me,” Merritt persisted.

“Well . . . ah . . . ah . . . it’s just that I don’t see you as my boy friend. Don’t take it wrong, Merritt, please. I don’t see us as boy friend-girl friend. Even though I think you’d be a nice boy friend. But I don’t see us that way.”

Merritt smiled. He understood, and nodded, encouraging her to continue.

“It’s almost like you’re . . . ah . . . what shall I say . . .?”

“Like a girl friend to you,” he finished.

“Yes, yes,” she said, triumphantly. “Just like we were girl friends. Is that so bad, Merritt?”

“No,” he smiled.

She gave him a short kiss on his cheek. Merritt felt strangely relieved and pleased as the two trudged back to work. He was sorry he hadn’t told her about how he loved designing and making dresses and how he’d love to make one for her. That would be for another day.

*****
Merritt had spent more than a month being Drake Kosgrove’s principal typist; he had adjusted to the man’s haphazard way of doing business, and the two had developed a compatible working relationship. It had gotten to the point that the lawyer had only to suggest the wording of a letter or sentence, and Merritt could easily construct the letter so that it was quickly ready for signature. Kosgrove learned to trust Merritt with virtually any task. If Merritt had problems understanding a portion of the law, he took advantage of Miss Bukowski’s offer for help. Sometimes, he sought out Donna for her assistance, too, but soon he was able to do much of it on his own.

“We’re going to give you a three-cent an hour raise, Merritt,” Miss Bukowski said, when he entered the office on the two-month anniversary of his hiring.

“Thank you, Miss Bukowski.”

“Don’t thank me,” she said, smiling. “Thank Mr. Kosgrove. He recommended it, but I opposed it, saying we usually wait for three months. He thinks you’re the best he ever had, and since none of the other girls like working for him, that’s a real compliment.”

“I still thank you, ma’am.”

“Well, don’t let it go to your head,” she added, but then smiled warmly. “You’re really special and I’m glad you’re here.”

Merritt was summoned to Kosgrove’s office later that day, and he approached the lawyer immediately, thanking him for recommending the raise.

“Mom and I can use the extra money, sir,” he said.

“Oh, you live with your mother?” the lawyer asked.

“Yes, sir, there’s just me and my mom.”

“Oh, no father?”

“No sir, I never knew my real father, and my stepfather was killed during the war.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Merritt,” Kosgrove said, showing sincere concern. “Were you close to him?”

“Oh yes, he was like my real dad, but mom and I are doing fine now.”

“That’s good. You’re last name is McGraw, I know. Is that your mom’s family name? Or your father’s name?”

Merritt told him that McGraw was his mother’s family name, and that she never used his father’s name. Merritt admitted, too, that he had no idea who his real father was, or what his name was.

“You’re about 18 now, Merritt?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. Turned 18 in June.”

The lawyer paused a minute, as if pondering whether to continue the conversation.

“I used to know some McGraws. What’s your mom’s name? Maybe I knew the family.”

“My family’s been here since the Irish moved here nearly 100 years ago, sir. My mom’s name is Evelyn.”

Kosgrove’s expression grew momentarily blank. He looked down at papers on his desk, avoiding looking at Merritt.

“Let’s get to work,” he said, suddenly.

The lawyer proceeded to be even more disjointed in his dictation that day, a factor that weighed heavily on Merritt’s mind as the day progressed. It was a strange conversation, he reflected, as if something about Merritt’s family involved the lawyer. Maybe, he thought, he’d ask his mother if she knew what it was all about.

*****
“Oh, your granddad once worked for Kosgrove Tanneries,” his mother explained, when Merritt told her of the strange conversation he’d had with the lawyer.

At first his mother expressed mystification that Kosgrove would know the McGraw name; Merritt noticed she grew flush, before quickly recovering and telling Merritt that her father worked a number of years for the tannery until his illness forced him to quit.

“Maybe that’s why he knew the McGraw name, Merritt,” she said further.

Merritt felt his mother was not being totally honest with him, but felt it best to let the question drop for the time being, hoping for a more complete answer soon. He also felt it completely strange that the lawyer had been so interested in his own age, that being 18 years old was significant for some reason.

*****
Merritt and Dolores spent many free hours together that summer; she worked fulltime at Swenson’s, her own seamstress skills having grown immensely; she had learned too to measure potential customers, and to advise them on colors and fabrics. Much of the skill she got from working side-by-side with Merritt, who worked at the shop several nights a week and on Saturdays.

Dolores graduated from high school as well, and though she had a chance at a scholarship at the local Catholic woman’s college, she decided against continuing her schooling for now. Her family simply didn’t have the money to supplement her tuition beyond what the scholarship might have provided. Besides, Swenson’s was providing a good income for her.

The “Fashions by Marilyn” identity had continued to grow in popularity, and Evelyn McGraw and Dolores Graham — the only two fulltime employees — were hard-pressed to keep up with the demand. They turned to Merritt more and more for his assistance, causing him to work many more evenings than he would have liked.

Yet, he found he lost himself in his designing and sewing once on the job. Nearly always he was able to suggest an improvement to a design or pattern that Dolores or his mother had developed for a client.

“Girl,” Dolores teased him one night as they completed work, “I think you have a better handle on what girls like than I do.”

Merritt smiled at the good natured comment, even letting out a little giggle. He was dressed as he always was on hot summer nights, wearing light fabric pedal pushers and a loose blouse. Again to any customers glancing into the workrooms behind Swenson’s their gazes would fall upon an older woman and two younger women toiling at their machines and cutting boards.

“You should quit that secretarial job,” his mother suggested several days after their conversation about Drake Kosgrove. “We need you here and you can concentrate on building the business. Darling, you’ve got a natural talent.”

“I know mom, but I am growing so interested in the law,” he said. “Miss Bukowski said I’d be good candidate for becoming a legal assistant at the firm. The firm will help me get qualified for that.”

“Oh, that’s good, but I know how hard you work.”

“Mom, that’s OK. This way I can learn more about the law and still keep my hand in designing dresses. I love doing both, mom.”

*****
It was a Sunday night in late August, when the evenings already were becoming cool, when the calm of the night was shattered by a phone call. Merritt and his mother had just finished listening to the Burns and Allen radio show, when the phone in the hallway rang, and Evelyn left the room to answer it.

Merritt had returned to his book and he heard his mother’s gasps and a “Oh no!” from the hallway. Though he was deeply engrossed and moved to tears while reading “The Diary of Anne Frank,” which had just been published, his concentration wandered, as he heard his mother’s gasps and wondered what the call was all about.

He heard his mother hang up, and then apparently walk into the kitchen, not returning to the living room. Merritt found her sitting at the kitchen table, her hands in her face. She wasn’t crying; in fact she was still, and didn’t move at all.

“Mom, who was that?”

She didn’t answer.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” she mumbled, still not looking at him, her face still buried in her hands. “Go back to your book, honey.”

“But mom!” he protested.

He went over a put his arms around his mother, comforting her from whatever news that phone call had prompted. “Is it grandpa? Grandma?” he asked.

“No,” she mumbled into her hands again. “Leave me alone for a minute. I’ll talk to you in a minute about the call.”

Reluctantly, he left, and went to his own room, where he doodled out some dress designs, in hopes of getting his mind off the questions that whirled in his head over the call.

*****
It was nearly an hour before his mother entered his bedroom, but it had felt like a whole evening, as Merritt wondered about the call. It had obviously stressed his mother, but he couldn’t figure out what it might be about. It seemed also to have involved him, from her reaction.

When his doodling began to bore him, he took to braiding his hair, still long enough to permit several short rows of twists. He had also put on a padded bra, his light blue slip, panties and stockings, and had settled in on the vanity. He began to file his nails, and had just finished painting them a blush pink when Evelyn entered.

She was carrying two wine glasses and a bottle of red wine that had been sitting in the refrigerator for nearly a month, unopened.

“Maybe you’d like a little wine, honey?” she asked.

It was obvious she’d already had some herself, since the bottle had been opened, and one of the glasses showed a residue of wine in the bottom.

He nodded that “yes,” he’d enjoy a glass. His mother wanted company, he felt. There rarely was any alcohol, either beer, wine or liquor consumed in the McGraw household, his mother acutely aware of how drink had ruled her own father’s life so dramatically.

“I needed this,” she said, after pouring the drinks. She sat on his bed, while holding the glass in her hand, her eyes red from apparently crying.

“It’s the phone call, mother, isn’t it?” he asked, turning on the vanity stool to face his mother and crossing his legs in a most feminine manner.

“Yes,” she said. “I don’t know how to tell you this. It’ll be so hard.”

“Mother, please. Just tell me.”

“Oh honey, I’m afraid you’ll hate me when I do,” she said. “I’ve kept a terrible secret from you all of your life.”

“Mother, what is it? Please.”

“Merritt, oh my dearest, my Marilyn, too, you’re my life, my whole life, and I never want to hurt you, but I’m afraid I have.”

Merritt got up and sat on the bed next to his mother, taking the glass from her and placing it on the floor, as he put an arm around her.

“Whatever you do, mother, you would never hurt me and, mother, I’ll never, ever hate you, no matter what.”

His mother freed herself from his hold, reached down, finding the glass and taking a sip. She straightened herself up, took hold of his hand, and began to speak.

“Have you ever wondered who your father was, Merritt?”

“Yes, often, but you always told me he deserted you when you became pregnant. I just thought he was some guy you met briefly and he took advantage of you.”

She nodded: “Part of that is true. But he didn’t quite desert us; he’s always lived here, and he’s a prominent man in the community.”

Merritt sat quietly, wondering now whether he knew of the man.

“That call was from your real father, honey, calling after all these years,” she began. “That call was from Mr. Kosgrove.”

“Mr. Kosgrove,” Merritt gasped. “My boss Mr. Kosgrove?”

“Yes, dear, Mr. Drake Kosgrove.”

“Oh my,” Merritt said, now experiencing true shock. It was too much to contemplate. He picked up his wine glass, looking blankly into the red liquid, his mind whirling about.

“That was why he expressed such an interest in who my mother was,” Merritt said, finally.

“Yes, that’s what he said, Merritt,” Evelyn replied. “Mr. Kosgrove wondered what had become of me all these years. But, Merritt, you must understand, you were born under difficult circumstances then. I wasn’t married.”

“I always knew that mother, but you’ve been such a good mother, how could I care about that?”

“We tried to do the best for you, honey, and Mrs. Buckner proved to be a lifesaver in hiring me to be their maid and nanny so I could raise you in dignity.”

“You did that, mother,” he said, kissing her.

Merritt soon returned t ohis room, putting on a nightie and robe for the evening. He returned and they talked well past midnight, finishing the bottle of wine, and munching on cheddar cheese.

Evelyn explained only that she had had a brief love affair with Drake, but left out the details of how he literally raped her to leave the seed that created Merritt. She said the shame of being an unwed mother concerned her parents and that she had lived much of her pregnancy at a special home in Green Bay, where Merritt was born.

“Why didn’t you tell Mr. Kosgrove about me?” Merritt asked finally.

“Oh honey. It would have raised all sorts of fuss at the time,” she said. “Girls weren’t supposed to let themselves get pregnant, so we decided to hide the fact of your birth and your real father.”

Merritt suddenly felt guilty. His birth had caused his mother untold shame, humiliation and ruined her future.

“I’m sorry, mother. I’m sorry I was born to cause you so much trouble.”

“Oh darling, please don’t think that way,” she said, tears welling up in her eyes. “You’ve been such a gift to me. No one could ask for a sweeter son . . . ah . . . or daughter.”

“Mother, mother, I love you so much,” he said, finding himself being suddenly cradled in her arms. They both cried.

*****
His mother said that she had arranged to meet Mr. Kosgrove the following day. He had asked to take her to dinner to discuss the situation.

“I don’t know what he wants to do about it, Merritt,” she said. “But he expressed an interest in helping you out, now that he knows you’re his son. He thinks you’re a really smart and good young man.”

“He’s told me that, you know, mom.”

“I know, he says you’re the best secretary he’s ever had, and you have picked up the law so quickly. He thinks you can do more than merely being a secretary.”

Merritt blushed. He hated it when people praised him, not knowing how to respond.

“Mr. Kosgrove said, too, that being a secretary is no job for a young man,” his mother continued.

“What if he finds out about Marilyn?”

“Honey, we’ll cross that bridge when we have to.”

“But being Marilyn is part of me, mother. You know that?”

“How could I forget that?” she said smiling.

They both laughed. Merritt knew, however, it was no laughing matter.

*****
Miss Bukowski called Merritt into her office when he arrived at work the following day. He had been wondering how he’d act if he was called into Mr. Kosgrove’s office that day. He was even considering calling in sick, but decided he had to face up to the situation sooner or later.

“Merritt,” she began. “We’ve been pleased with your work so far, and we have an opportunity for you.”

“Thank you, Miss Bukowski.”

“Mr. Kosgrove will be out of the office for a week, and he phoned me last night at home to tell me that he won’t need you to work for him for a while,” she said.

Merritt felt relieved, but felt he better not show how pleased he was with that decision, since he’d not have to see the man in such close quarters.

“Didn’t he like my work?” Merritt asked, compelled to raise the question to mask his true understanding of why the lawyer had said he’d not need Merritt.

“Oh just the reverse, he thought you were great, but he thinks you should be groomed for better things.”

The supervisor informed Merritt that he could join the legal research department the law firm had; it would mean a small increase in pay and a title of “legal research assistant.”

“Oh, Miss Bukowski, I’m not sure I’m ready for it,” he said.

“I’m wondering, too, but Mr. Kosgrove seems so determined that you try for it,” she said. “He was quite insistent, and, you know, he is a partner.”

Merritt accepted the offer, realizing it may have been the lawyer’s way of keeping the two, now being father and son, separated. He still felt he might not yet be well enough educated to avoid being lost in the complexities of legal research, but he knew he better accept the offer. He’d give it a try.

Besides, he was worried how to adjust to his newly revealed father. What would the man think about having a son who truly wished to be a girl and, in fact, had lived in so many way as a girl in his habits and likes, in his thinking and attitudes and in his sweetness and gentleness? The future indeed was challenging.