Time is spent on the road; Keith dodges a bullet, twice; finally arrives home; and makes it, alive, to his seventeenth birthday.

Sunlight played on the trees in central park outside my window and I could hear Gretchen's soft breathing next to me.

I sat there in bed just looking at this beautiful woman lying next to me. I loved this woman, and truly wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

As I lay there watching her the recent past washed over me. In the past month, I'd begun performing as a woman in an independent Goth rock band named Up in Flames. I'd visited Juilliard, and planned to audition there. I had tried out for a movie, and been offered a role, again as a woman, and even performed on Saturday Night Live as the music act.

And I didn't even mind, much, that the world didn't know that I was really a guy.

Gretchen didn't get up until almost noon, at which point Rachel and I were more than ready to get going. Well, more me than Rachel, since she had lived here for a few years already.

She had at least gotten a replacement for the slim-line Kevlar she'd been wearing the night before. It wouldn't stop most heavy caliber bullets apparently, but it would blunt most pistol fire without any problems.

Thinking about it gave me a thought. Gretchen was getting ready, so I figured that now was as good a time as any. "Rachel. . .how difficult would it be to get a corset made out of that stuff."

"What stuff?"

"The light weight Kevlar you're wearing?"

"They can make it to almost any specifications, the only real issue is the cost. Most people wouldn't be willing to shell out the cost of a new car for a little bit of protection."

"If it's that expensive, how can your company afford to keep you in it?"

"The ones they provide for me only cost a few thousand each because they can be mass produced. That and the fact that I don't get shot every day make it affordable."

"Well, according to my agent, the other is affordable to me as well, and I figure that having something on me, and Gretchen, will make your job a little easier."

"But would you really want to wear a corset under everything?"

"Girl, didn't you know? Corsets go with everything." Gretchen's joke set us laughing.

Arm in arm the three of us went out to take the town by storm. We slipped out the back, hoping to avoid the greater throng, but we were still hit by paparazzi.

"Desdemona, over here!"

I'm not sure if they were trying to call people over, or get my attention, but I figured it was part of the price of fame, so I walked over to them. I felt Rachel tense at my side, but tried to ignore it.

"Hello, guys. Looks like you caught me."

There were general chuckles at this.

I pulled out my secret weapon as I got closer to them. I hadn't yet gotten a chance to use it. It had been sitting in my purse since LA, well, not that long really.

I figured, at some point while wandering the mall with Molly that I needed a pink marker just in case someone asked me to sign something black, or at least too dark to see a black marker on. I smiled like a shark at the paparazzi. I would leave my mark here today.

"Anyone who wants to take my picture has to let me sign their camera."

That got their attention. I signed fifteen cameras. The other photographers thought it wasn't worth it. I even gave one of the nicer guys a kiss. . .on the camera.

"Ok, be nice you guys. Remember this is my first time."

There was some more laughter at that, but they kept their distance. Apparently they'd gotten all of the close shots they needed while I was signing cameras.

It probably wouldn't last, but at least for the moment the paparazzi were a little less of a pain than popular media would have you believe.

We saw most of what we wanted to see, and I even convinced a couple of the camera guys to take normal touristy pictures of us at a number of places. They promised to send me copies, and we agreed the best place to send them was the studio.

I got a couple of business cards and requests that if I ever wanted to get into modeling I'd give them a call.

Like that was going to ever happen.

We ate dinner in the suite and went to bed assuming that the most difficult thing tomorrow would be getting our few possessions packed so we could get to the airport by one pm.

We were just heading out the door when my phone rang.

"Desi speaking."

"Glad I caught you. We have a problem."

"What is it, Richard?"

"Do you remember Greg Kondie?"

"Um, wait, wasn't he the guy at Riverside Records who wanted. . ."

"That's the one. Apparently they are trying to get the case thrown out of court and get me charged with interfering in a criminal investigation."'

"Um, but didn't you interfere in a criminal investigation? You called the chief of police to get those police called off us."

"What I did was ask the chief, a friend, to get them to do their jobs. You may notice I'm not calling him to get the charges dropped."

"If it helps you sleep at night."

"Desi, are you going to hear what's going on, or what?"

"Yes, Richard, go on."

"They even tried to cut Chief Terrell out of the loop, so he almost didn't hear about this. They're holding a hearing tomorrow morning at eight. They've gotten Ryan, the sound tech, to recant his statement. He's being charged with unlawful detainment again."

"Then how did they convince him to change. . ."

"With an agreement to reduce sentence. I'm flying out from here this evening. You can either drive down, which will get you there in twelve to fourteen hours, or you can fly."

I turned to my fellow passengers and put the question to them. "We're apparently going to Nashville. Do we fly or drive down there?"

"I'm fine with driving. How 'bout you, Rachel?"

"Sounds good to me."

I went back to Richard on the phone. "We're driving. We'll rent a car and be on our way within the hour."

"Sounds good. Anything else you need?"

"Nope. Nothing for now. Kisses."

"I'll see you there. I'll give you a call when I get our rooms booked so you know where to stop."

"Great, and make sure you bring a new change of clothing for me and Gretchen. You need something to wear to court Rachel?"

"Sure, can we stop by my apartment on our way out of town?"

"Definitely."

"Bye, Richard."

"Bye, Desi, and be safe."

"We will."

We rented the car, stopped at Rachel's apartment, and were out of the city by 1:30.

We switched drivers every couple of hours, talking about a lot of different things. It was a perfect time for us to get to know Rachel and for her to get comfortable with us.

Isn't that the way road trips work? They either bring you together or tear you apart. They don't let you really stay neutral with one another.

It was nine o'clock before I realized that there was something I needed to do today.

I picked up my phone and dialed the number from memory, hoping that she would be there to answer.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Keith?"

"Yes, Mom. It's me. I realized this weekend that I never gave you a fair chance through all of this, and I'm sorry."

"So you're giving up this cross-dressing nonsense?"

I took a deep breath. I would be the adult in this relationship.

"Mom, I love you. I wanted to let you know. I'm getting married in a couple of months and I want you there."

"They don't allow homosexual marriages in Utah, so are you flying me wherever you're 'tying the knot'? Wait, never mind. I won't be there."

"Mom, we're getting married in Utah."

"What? How? It's just a fake ceremony, right?"

"She is legally female, Mom. She's PHYSICALLY female."

"That doesn't change. . ."

"I'm not Dad, Mom."

"Don't you dare. . ."

"Just stop it, Mom. I spoke to him this weekend. He works on Saturday Night Live."

"He's not an actor."

"No, he's with the crew. That's not the point, Mom. I talked to him about what happened."

"He blamed me, I'm sure, for chasing him into the arms of that man."

"No, he didn't. He blamed himself and was sorry for ever hurting you."

"Look, Keith. I don't have time for this. Can we talk later?"

"You don't have time for your own son?"

"I literally don't have time for this, but I could have been a little more. . .motherly about it."

I wracked my mind for a moment, but I came up blank. "Um, what do you have tonight. I know it's not a Church function and. . .are you preparing for another concert with the choir? Thursday is their normal night and I thought that the fifth of July was your next concert. . ."

"Will you be quiet for a moment, Keith."

There was a tone in her voice I'd never heard before. I shut up and listened.

"You were gone from the house and I realized for the first time that I was about to be all alone, Keith. Completely alone for the first time in my life. You knew I married young, right?"

"Yes, you were just eighteen."

"I went from my parent's home to my home with your father, Keith. When he left me, it hurt. I'm sorry I took it out on you. I really am."

"What does this have to do with you being alone?"

"I met someone recently, Keith. I'm going on a date tonight."

Gretchen looked at me in alarm. We were both sitting in the back seat while Rachel drove us for the moment. "Keith, What's wrong?"

"My Mom's going on a date." I couldn't help it. I smiled. I glowed.

"Go for it, Mrs. Robison!"

My Mom giggled at Gretchen's statement. "You take care of my son, Gretchen."

"Mom? I'm giving Gretchen the phone. You two can talk for a moment."

Gretchen shook her head at me, but I just dropped the phone in her hands and turned to Rachel.

"So, is it about my turn to drive?"

"Yep, anytime you're ready."

We pulled over to the side of the road and did the Chinese fire drill thing. I got us back on the road, and periodically glanced at Gretchen in the rear view mirror. She was smiling and laughing so I figured that it must be going well. They were talking about what she should wear on her date, a second from what I could tell from the conversation.

I turned my attention to the road and making sure that I was following the directions from the GPS properly. Not that it was that hard to follow a GPS' directions.

I sighed and drove. It was another half an hour before Gretchen put the phone on speaker.

"Keith, I just wanted to let you know I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the way I thought about you, and your choices. Gretchen is a wonderful girl, and I want you to hold onto her, no matter what anyone else says."

"Yes, ma'am. I will."

"Good boy. Now I need to finish getting ready."

"Ok, mom. You'll have to give us a call and let us know how it went."

She hung up and I just smiled. Why did I let it go as long as I did before giving her a call.

My mom and I had been close for a very long time. She was one of my best friends, which was why her betrayal had hurt me so much when she kicked me out.

I know, it's not cool for a boy to have his mom as one of his friends, but she was. She was the one who drove me to little league and Junior Jazz basketball. She'd been there for heartIbreak and triumph.

She was my Mom.

***
I hate night driving. To tell you the truth, part of the reason that I'd taken over from Rachel was that I knew my ability to keep us on the road would degrade the later in the evening that it got.

By eleven, when we switched again, I was almost dead to the world. Gretchen took over from me and I lay down in the back while Rachel took shotgun.

The GPS said what we were another three hours out from our destination. Richard had the rooms ready for us, and we just had to drive up, and get the key from the front desk.

The car stopping woke me up. I was disoriented for a moment, and realized I was the only one in the car.

I was getting ready to get out, when Rachel and Gretchen got back in. "We've got the keys, Keith, and we just need to head back to our rooms and get some sleep."

We parked the car and went up to our rooms. I collapsed on the bed in my clothing and only vaguely noticed Gretchen climbing into bed next to me.

I'd barely closed my eyes when I heard someone pounding on the door.

I stumbled over to it and opened the door a crack.

"Oh good, you're awake." Richard pushed his way in with a couple of garment bags in tow.

I heard Gretchen shriek and saw a naked streak flash into the bathroom.

"If you weren't fully clothed. . ."

"I promise I have not had sex with Gretchen, Richard."

"Good. Let's keep it that way. . .for another couple of weeks at least."

I snorted at this, and closed the door behind him.

"So, I've got a couple of outfits for you and Gretchen so that we can be presentable in court today. I want you to look your absolute best, okay?"

"I will."

"I want it to be obvious to every man in that courtroom exactly what Greg Kondie was thinking when he had you flown out here from Utah."

"He paid for our tickets?"

"Yes, he did."

"Ok, good to know."

Gretchen called from the bathroom. "Hey, Keith. . .um. . .all my clothing is out there."

"I've got this one, Keith." Richard grabbed her bag and handed both the garment bag, and her clothes bag, to her around the door.

"Thanks."

Richard and I talked for a moment while Gretchen got ready, and then I took my turn in the bathroom.

I went to town on my makeup. Not to say that I put it on thick. No. That would have been out of place. I applied it with my two months practice and years of training. I enhanced and emphasized. I matched colors. I made myself perfect.

"Are you sure you're only sixteen?" Richard asked as I left the bathroom.

"Of course I am," I said with a smile.

"I'm jealous." Rachel was sitting in the room with them when I came out. Frankly, I'd never have pegged her as a bodyguard. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she was a supermodel. And she said she was jealous of me.

I did the only thing I could. I blushed.

"So, Ladies, shall we?"

I glared at Richard, but answered, "Yes, we shall."

I guess in a way I deserved it. There's no way I looked like a guy in this getup.

We headed out to the cars and were met by Richard's wife.

"Aunt Daisy!"

"Niece Gretchen!"

They laughed at this. Daisy Mae Fields always thought that 'Aunt' made her sound too old, so she wanted Gretchen, and her other nieces and nephews to just call her Daisy.

"What are you doing out here, Daisy?" I asked.

"Well, I was tired of having Richard gone all the time, so, since we just shipped our youngest off to college I'm going to be travelling with my husband from now on."

Gretchen cheered at this, and I smiled.

"So, who is THIS young lady?"

"Daisy, meet Rachel, my bodyguard. Rachel, this is Daisy. . ."

"Gretchen's aunt. I got it."

I know, I'm silly with formal introductions occasionally. Sue me.

We climbed into the cars, leaving Richard and Daisy in theirs and the rest of us in ours. We followed Richard over to the courthouse, and were in our seats thirty minutes before the eight am deadline.

Mr. Kondie was joking with his lawyer until he spotted me. At first, he didn't realize who I was, and he simply leered. Then he caught sight of Richard and all of the color drained from his face. He looked back at me, and then started whispering frantically to his lawyer.

"All please rise."

The judge walked in, and Mr. Kondie continued to whisper.

"All of you may be seated, except for the corpulent fellow at the defendant's table."

Mr. Kondie snapped his mouth shut and turned to face the judge.

"Your honor," began his lawyer.

"Mr. Prince, I'll remind you that you spent the money to earn your law degree for a reason, and to keep outbursts to a minimum. I'm talking to your client for a moment."

The judge turned his attention to Mr. Kondie. "What's your name?"

"Greg Kondie, your honor."

"Now, Mr. Kondie, did you hear the bailiff announce my arrival?"

"Yes, your honor."

"So, you didn't just stand up to continue talking to your lawyer?"

"No, your honor, I mean yes I did, but. . ."

"Well, which is it, Mr. Kondie."

"I heard you being announced, but I just became aware of something pertinent to my case and I needed. . ."

"Mr. Kondie, let me remind you that the charges against you are serious. Be that as it may, contempt of court is equally serious. I'm of half a mind to let you sit in jail a couple of days while you think about your actions."

"Your honor, if I may?" Richard stood up in the back of the small room.

"You are?"

"Richard Fields, your honor."

"Ah, Mr. Fields. Mr. Prince here told the court that you were unavailable for questioning, and should have charges brought against both you and Ms. Desdemona."

"I was never informed that my presence was required, your honor, and have no desire to avoid my duties here in court."

"As I can see. And why did you interject?"

"I am here from Utah at my own expense, as is Desdemona. We found out that this hearing would be held to throw out the case today, and flew out yesterday in order to be here."

"Your point?"

"If you hold him in contempt of court before these proceedings, then we will be required to stay over until this hearing can be held again. As always it is your choice how to run your courtroom."

"It is, but I recognize your concern. Let me take a moment to consider the facts as I have them and I'll make my decision."

We sat there in that Nashville courtroom wondering what the judge would decide. What would the decision be, and could I live with it when it came down?

The judge took a moment or two to deliberate and then turned his attention back on us. "Mr. Kondie, I actually find the actions of yourself and your lawyer constitutes contempt. I recognize however that the other individuals involved in the case can't be expected to fly out here repeatedly at the whims of yourself and your legal team."

"I am going to put you both in jail for the next seven days so that you can think about your behavior in this courtroom. I am rescheduling this hearing for. . ."

He turned to his clerk who looked at the calendar on her computer screen and told him, "the fifteenth of August is your next available date."

"The fifteenth of August. Due to the way in which you tried to twist the legal system to your own end, I am also assessing a penalty equaling the amount of all reasonable travel expenses to and from this courtroom for the duration of your trial."

"Your honor, if I may have a moment?"

"Go ahead, Mr. Prince."

"The charges against Mr. Fields and Miss Desdemona are severe, to say the least, and since they are the only witnesses to this crime, I feel that the validity of their testimony is questionable to say the least."

"Mr. Prince, that is truly none of your concern. While they may be charged for their actions in relation to the crime at hand, this does little more than point to the mistakes on both sides of this interaction. It doesn't in any way excuse your behavior."

"But your honor. . ."

"Bailiff, please escort these individuals to jail."

I'd finally realized what was bothering me with this whole proceeding so I spoke up, "Your honor? What happened to the recording of the conversation between Mr. Kondie and myself?"

"What recording?"

"We were in a studio at the time, and the sound tech recorded the conversation. The officers who came threatened us with legal action, saying nothing about Mr. Kondie's actions. They took the tape with them when they left."

"This is the first that I've heard about a recording."

"Your honor. . .I think that might be my fault. It's actually in the mail to the DA currently." Richard was blushing profusely.

"Mr. Fields?"

"We had recorded a song before the events that are mentioned. The tape was still in when Mr. Kondie went into the studio with Desdemona. When I took the tape, I was unaware of this, and it wasn't until we were transcribing the master that we found out our mistake. The police were given a blank tape. I sent the tape by certified mail when I discovered my mistake."

"Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Fields. There is still the matter of the charges against yourself and Ms. Desdemona. Unfortunately, or fortunately in your case, no charges have been formally filed. That bothers me to say the least. If you will all sit tight, I'd like to bring the DA in on this discussion."

We sat around the courtroom, talking amongst ourselves. The judge left after a minute or two, and we were left to our own devices. The feelings I was getting in that moment started to formulate themselves into words, and I got a piece of paper from Richard and began to write them down.

They said something to me as I wrote, but I wasn't really paying attention to them at that moment. The words encompassed me. I felt good when I finished, but I really wanted to get the music down as well. I jotted out cheat notes to myself, and occasional tablature, and in general wrote down the impression of the song I would have to more formally record later.

"Done."

"So, what's this one called?" Richard asked me.

I turned to look in his direction, and it was only at this moment that I realized that Gretchen was leaning on my shoulder. I started a bit and then we laughed and kissed.

"I'm calling this one 'Blind Justice.'"

"Fair enough, I guess."

I proceeded to explain the song to them as we waited for the Judge to return. One of the most striking women I'd ever seen walked into the courtroom. The click of her heels on the hardwood floor pounded out a staccato beat as she walked over to us.

"Andy Simms." She said as she arrived and thrust out a hand in our direction. Richard took it first, introducing us.

"So, you are more than just a legend, Desdemona. I had a bet going with the rest of the office that you were a publicity stunt of some sort. You rarely hear of one pop star coming from nowhere and to have two at almost the same time. . ."

"I'm not a pop star."

"Could have fooled me with 'Daddy's Little Princess' on Saturday Night Live. . ."

"You saw that?" I did what any red blooded American would at being caught in my misstatement. I blushed.

"You're cute, you know that? Sometimes it's really easy to see that you're 'only sixteen.'"

Everyone else had a laugh at my expense while I blushed more furiously.

"Regardless, these are some serious charges against you two."

"Why isn't the sound tech being included in the charges? He's the one who locked Mr. Kondie in. Apparently if you turn the key in the lock halfway, it prevents the person on the inside from undoing the dead bolt."

"Oh, that's very interesting. I've never heard of a lock that worked that way, personally."

"Neither had I until we locked Mr. Kondie in," I replied with sincerity.

"Well, I've run into them before."

All of us turned to look at Richard.

"Honey, now isn't the time to be bringing that up," Daisy said. She looked genuinely scared.

"Daisy, honey. It's okay. I'm sure that none of these people are in league with. . ."

"Don't say his name. Every time you say his name he appears like a bad spirit or something."

"The kids are all moved away, honey. We're going to be alright. It's been almost fifteen years."

"What are you talking about, Mr. Fields?"

"Call me Richard, please."

"Sorry, I like to keep my professional dealings professional."

"Ok, then, Ms. Simms."

"I prefer Mrs." There was something to her smile, some sort of sweet wistfulness. It was as if being married was more important to her than anything else in the world.

Something dawned on me in that moment, and I opened my mouth to speak, but Richard continued, interrupting me.

"I wasn't always an agent, or I should say, I wasn't always a talent agent.

"I graduated college with a degree in criminology. I was bright and wanted to right the wrongs of this world. Like many idealistic youngsters, I thought I could make a difference so I joined the FBI."

"What?" Richard had been in the FBI? From the look on her face, this was news to Gretchen as well.

"I actually worked in the cyber-crimes division. We spend our days tracking down ones and zeroes that led to some pretty bad people. Some of the things I've seen still give me nightmares."

Daisy took his hand and held onto it.

"That's actually where I got a lot of my contacts that allowed me to become the agent you know today."

"In more ways than one," Daisy said softly.

"While working on a case involving bootleg DVDs of movies that weren't even released to theaters we found a warehouse filled with something else entirely: people.

"They'd altered the locks so that they didn't need to worry about their product getting a key somehow and escaping. When I saw the lock on that studio, I knew things were about to get ugly."

"What do you know about this? You need to tell me Mr. Fields."

"My advice to you, Mrs. Simms, is that you just go after Mr. Kondie. Pretend that he's the only catch in this pond. You don't have the equipment you need to go after a shark."

"I can handle myself, Mr. Fields."

"You can't handle this, Andy." Daisy spoke up. There was a strange light in her eyes. "He'll start calling your husband while you're at work, and ask him if he knows where you are. There will be strange men who stop by your house at all hours and just walk in. They'll be gone before the police get there, and when you install cameras, they start wearing masks. That's when they start breaking things.

"The police will tell you there's nothing they can do, and your FBI buddies will tell you that it can't be bad enough to warrant a real investigation. Then, one day, they'll pick up your oldest from school and give him a ride around the city. Just a ride. . ."

There were tears in her eyes when she turned to look at Mrs. Simms again. "You are not ready to take on this monster. No-one is ready to take on this monster. Accept your victory and move on, Andy. And pray that you're not on his radar yet."

"What is he? Russian mafia or something? Yakuza?"

Richard looked at Mrs. Simms sadly. "Mrs. Simms, the person behind all of this lives in the shadows cast by the media with names like Yakuza and Mafia. He is a man of business, and he is involved in anything that will gain him a profit."

"Why not give him a name?"

"Because I never found out his name. The Russians who ran the warehouse called him Apparatchik, so that's what we called him."

"So you have a name. . ."

"No, we just have a title. It's sort of a derogatory title for a boss, with references back to the communist party. It would be like one of us calling him The Senator or The Politician."

"You don't mean. . ."

"No, I don't, and if you're smart, you won't either."

Mrs. Simms gave a little shudder. "It's too beautiful a morning for ghost stories. And I think I'll take you up on that suggestion. I'll let the FBI play with Apparatchik. That's more their jurisdiction anyway. So, what am I to do with the two of you?"

"Let us go for a song?"

Mrs. Simms laughed outright at that one. "Oh, I like you, Desdemona. You've got a fire to you. With Richard's prior knowledge, I could easily bring charges against you two, except the likelihood that his specific lock would have the same modification as those he saw fifteen years ago. . .I came in this room all fired up to make an example of you two.

"If either of you had tried in any way to get out of this by trying to influence me with money or favors, I would have brought you up on charges and included graft to them. However, I hate people who lie to my face even more than I hate people who bend the law to their will."

"That sound tech told me that it was Mr. Fields who locked Mr. Kondie into the room, and never mentioned anything about the key needing a half turn to do it. . .

"Look, you two, I still reserve the right to bring you up on charges for this at a later date, but for right now, you're free to go."

"Thank you so much, Andy." I said and went to hug her.

"We're not friends, Desdemona."

I stopped, stunned.

She smirked and then gave me a real smile, "but maybe after all of this is over we might become friends."

She gave me a quick hug and then walked out, the sound of her heels retreating into the distance in the courthouse.

Everyone else was smiling, but I could see the worry on Richard's face. He hadn't hired Rachel because of Lady Anne. He'd hired her because he thought I'd come onto Apparatchik's radar.

For the first time since early Sunday morning, I was worried. As soon as we left the courthouse, I called out, "Richard, why not have Daisy ride with the girls. I want to talk to you for a moment."

After getting a good look at my face, he spoke to Daisy, "It's probably a good idea, honey. Desdemona probably wants to talk a bit of business with me. We'll meet up back at the motel."

As soon as we got into the car, Richard spoke, "before you get indignant, let me explain something. I didn't know that this was related to Apparatchik, but I had a good idea it might be. Hopefully, we can keep this low key enough that he won't try anything, but I hired Rachel just in case something happens."

"Aren't you worried about your kids?"

"Of course I'm worried, but I've spent the last fifteen years worried. Mostly that he'd find out that the agency was a front."

"Wait. . .what?"

Richard laughed at my reaction. "I'm holding on to your secret, so I'll let you hold onto mine for a while. About fifteen years ago, my entire life turned into an undercover operation. We had information that Apparatchik wanted to get into the music industry at that time, and so I became a talent agent. Because he already knew who I was, and knew I didn't know him, we thought the risk was worth it."

"He could have been playing you all this time. He might realize that you know that he knows who you are."

"We don't think that this is a problem. I'm not really the main arm of the investigation. I'm the bait. There are certain things we know about him. The first is that he loves irony. He is also a 'long view' kind of guy. We ran into one plan that he made thirty years ago, that only came to fruition at the time that we were investigating him."

"But, that would make him an old man."

"We figure him to be in his mid to late 50's at this point."

"Like I said, old."

We both got a good laugh out of this, but I sobered up quickly.

"Does Daisy know?"

"Of course she knows. There isn't anything that I won't tell her."

I sat in silence for the rest of the trip, contemplating what I was going to do. In that moment, I decided that I wouldn't let this affect me. Maybe I was finally letting the brashness of youth affect me, but I felt untouchable. I wasn't some unknown FBI agent whom the Apparatchik could disappear. I was a famous pop star.

I began to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"I just called myself a 'pop star' in my head."

Richard chuckled at this. "Speaking of which, you have studio time booked for Wednesday to get 'Daddy's Little Princess' recorded."

"Tomorrow or in a week?"

"Tomorrow of course. Mr. Praetor wants to get your song on the radio as quickly as possible. Apparently he believes that we might just have a #1 single on our hands."

I smiled at this. During our conversation we'd arrived at the motel, and I got out as soon as the car came to a stop. I went up to my room, gave Gretchen a quick kiss, and then packed up my belongings.

Just before we all left for the airport, I pulled Richard aside one last time. "So, does this mean you're really my agent?"

"Yes, it does. In fact, the only thing that keeps this investigation going is the fact that I'm not currently being paid by the FBI."

I shook my head at this and walked out to the car where Rachel and Gretchen were already waiting for me.

We got to the airport about two hours early and decided to get ourselves through security and wait in the lounge.

Everyone was through except for me. I took off my boots and put all of my jewelry into the container and walked through the metal detector. It went off.

"Miss? If you could step over here please?"

Confused and a bit alarmed, I stepped over to the side. They ran the wand over me, but it didn't beep at any point. I was really starting to get worried now. What had they detected. I put my had to my ears to make sure that I'd out my earrings into the tray. I had. I didn't have any underwire bras, so I felt safe there.

"We're going to have to ask you to step this way please," said a strict looking female security officer.

"I'd like for my bodyguard to accompany us, if that's alright?"

She looked a little upset at the suggestion, but nodded. Rachel walked over to me and we followed the security personnel into a back room. The two of them walked in first and shut the door behind us as we entered.

"I'm going to have to touch you, miss. I'm looking for any weapons and so I will be giving you a pat-down."

Oh, shit. Could I pass. . .did I want to even attempt to pass as a female during a pat-down? Sure I was securely tucked, but. . .

"Where exactly do you plan on touching me?"

It was her turn to blush, "I need to check everywhere, miss, so pretty much. . .everywhere." There was something off about her smile.

This could be a real problem for my secret, so I took a deep breath, and imagined that I was in the same room as Lady Anne. I figured that would be enough to keep any. . .involuntary. . .reaction of this to a minimum.

I shuddered when she began, and soon enough she had touched everything from my shoulders to my waist. She caressed my behind a bit longer than I really felt comfortable with, and I pulled away.

"What's the idea, here?" I was beginning to get angry. "There's nothing in my ass that would set that detector off."

"Maybe we need to do a strip search," the other woman suggested

"Excuse me?" I walked over to the door and walked out as Rachel opened it for me. She prevented the two women from grabbing me, and we walked back out to where everyone else was waiting.

"Richard, could you get Jordan on the line. . .or Tom. . .this womanbegan to caress my butt while patting me down for weapons, and then suggested they were going to strip search me."

"What, is he your servant?"

I turned and glared at the security agent who'd just arrived next to us. "No, he's my agent, and he's currently calling my lawyers. Considering that you just did that to a minor, without any consideration of legal status, I figure that there's going to be some sort of. . ."

"Wait, did you say you're a minor?" Her face went as white as a sheet. I showed my driver's license to her.

She rushed over to a garbage can and proceeded to vomit. The other guard just kept mumbling to herself. Another security guard, a man this time, came over to us.

"What seems to be the problem here?"

Before anyone else could answer, Richard hung up the phone and turned to the new arrival, "your employees just violated my client and her rights. She's a minor, and they performed a 'pet'-down on her, which apparently isn't something that the FAA regulations allow."

"Children can be put through pat-downs."

"A modified one, yes. Apparently this individual caressed her behind."

"None of my. . ."

"I witnessed this act."

"Are you one of her girl friends?"

"No, I'm her bodyguard. Sir, why don't you make it easier on yourself; discipline your employees and let us get about our business?"

Seeing all of us standing there, me still blushing fire-engine red, he decided to go for the better part of valor.

"I'll take care of this. Thank you for bringing it to my attention."

We gathered our things and got our shoes back on. As soon as we were ready we continued to the lounge where we would be waiting for our airplane. Gretchen held me while I tried to relax and put this event behind me. Nothing had happened, but I'd felt so dirty in that moment and I'd just wanted to lash out or run or something.

I shuddered and burrowed deeper into Gretchen's arms.

She rubbed my back and I simply relaxed into her. I really loved this girl.

Flight 1993 to Salt Lake City will be boarding shortly at gate A.

The sound of the PA startled me and we got up to get onto the plane.

I smiled at the flight attendants, and we made our way into business class. It was a fairly uneventful flight back to Utah. I was finally home, with no plans to go anywhere else for a while. Tom and Jordan met us at the airport and Gretchen and I piled into the back seat of the car.

"So, I hear you proposed to my daughter without talking to me first."

"Actually, Sir, I made my intentions to marry your daughter clear shortly after I came to live with you."

"You mentioned it to me, Daddy, so he does have a point."

"Tom, I think you lost this one."

"Hush, Jordan, I'm trying to give him a hard time."

Gretchen and I chuckled in the back seat.

All four of us talked and laughed for a while in the car, as we travelled toward home. My phone rang, interrupting us.

"Keith here."

"Hey, baby. I was wondering if you'd mind coming over. I'd like to talk to you in person for a little while."

"Is something wrong, Mom?"

"No, nothing is wrong, per se. I just wanted. . .damn it Keith, why is it so hard to talk to you? I just wanted to spend some time with you."

"Mom, I'm not sure that it would be a good idea to see you right now. I really look like a girl."

I waited for her response for a moment or two, "Mom, are you there?"

"Yes, Keith. Trying not to say something I'll regret."

"I was flying back and forth across the country this week, hardly spending any time at home, so I decided to get my hair cut and styled. I'm not becoming a woman, Mom, but I needed to make something in my life a little easier and that was it."

"You don't have breasts do you?"

"No mom. I don't have actual breasts. I'm using padding on stage."

"Oh. . .I'm sorry, Keith, this is just so strange for me. I'm finding it hard to accept."

"I will be your son for my wedding, Mom. That, at least, you can remember."

"But with pink hair?"

"I'll either shave it all off, or wear a wig."

"Um. . ."

"I'll give it time to grow back, mom. You don't have to worry."

Something occurred to me, and I needed to give Richard a call.

"Mom, I'll talk to you when I get home. We're on the road from the airport."

"Airport?"

"Like I said, I've been flying around, literally."

"Where are you coming from?"

"New York by way of Nashville."

"New York?"

"I told you this. I was on Saturday Night Live."

"I just have so much trouble grasping that. My son. . .a famous female pop star." She laughed a bit at that. Maybe there was some hope for her after all. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, Keith."

I hung up and dialed Richard.

"Desi, what's up?"

"What sort of endorsement deal could we get for wigs should we let my fans know it wasn't my real hair. . .and offer wigs for sale as part of my swag."

I could almost hear the gears turning on the other end of the phone.

"I have to admit, that's something I never considered. It would also resolve one of the major issues with your image we've been running into. We keep the color, but you can have costume changes during the concert to change styles."

"Issues with my image?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you. Mr. Praetor wants you to get an image consultant, so I have been talking to a couple of them."

"Richard, you need to remember to run things like this by me. I want to know I can get along with anyone I'm going to have to be spending that much time with."

"I didn't think of it that way. You're right. This is a bit new to me as well. I've had some good talent in my stable before, but you are the biggest thing that's ever happened to me. Ok, we'll devote some time on Thursday to meeting with the consultants."

"Thursday is my birthday, Richard. I'd prefer not to. . ."

"Adults are called upon to work through birthdays and the like. I know, it's not something you thought about in the past, but there it is. . .look, we'll compromise on this one. We'll work with image consultants 'til noon, and then the rest of the day is yours. Does that work?"

"Yes, Richard, that works. Kisses."

I sat and thought for a moment, considering the direction that my life was heading in. I smiled and joined back into the conversation. It didn't take us too much longer before we were home.

It felt good to actually be done for a little while. Sure, I'd stopped here on Wednesday night of last week, but there wasn't this feeling of being home then. Finally, for at least a little while, I was home.

I looked next door to my Mom's house, and that feeling went away for a moment. Well, no time like the present, but first. . .

I went up to my room and changed out of Desdemona and back into Keith, or as much of Keith as I could right now. I switched my diamond studs for something a little less girly. Ok, so it was a small pair of skulls in silver, but they were skulls.

There was nothing I could do about the eyebrows or hair, but I at least looked mostly like myself right now.

For the first time in days I left the house in shoes that weren't pink, and I actually felt naked. I was used to the pink shoes, and sort of missed them there on my feet.

Black shoes just didn't do it for me anymore. I'd have to think of something that fit Keith, but wasn't black.

I felt weird doing it, but I knocked on the door instead of just walking in. I was now a guest in my mother's house.

She answered the door, and she smiled at me, "Keith! Come in."

I followed her into the house. Immediately I felt as if this was a bad idea. I was uncomfortable in this house.

"Mom, I know I said I'd come over and talk, but I'm not sure if this is a good idea."

"Nonsense, Keith. I'm sorry for the trouble I've put you through. I want to change. I really do. None of my family will talk to me right now."

"Mom, is this about me telling the family to talk to you so you feel better, or about the two of us getting along?"

She looked embarrassed for a moment, and before she could answer I spoke again, "Yeah, Mom, I'm not here to fix your relationship with your family. I can tell why you want to do this. You need to talk to someone about this. A professional."

"I'm not crazy, Keith. These behaviors and relationships aren't natural."

"I never said you were crazy, Mom. Look, let me be the first to agree with you, at least in part. For you and I, these types of relationships aren't in the cards. We aren't wired that way. However, you have to admit that we're here to make our own decisions, right?"

"Well. . ."

"Mom, how can you believe we have the right to choose, and not afford that right to everyone else."

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, as if trying to find the right words to say, and finally gave up. She sighed and closed her mouth. She took a deep breath and tried again, "Just because we have the right to choose. . ."

"Unless we have the right to fail, success means nothing. Just because your personal morality does not allow for you to have a sexual relationship with a woman, does not mean that someone else's morality is wrong for allowing it."

"But God has said it is a sin."

"Are you God, Mom?"

"No, but. . ."

"There are no buts, Mom. Either you are the arbiter of morality for the entire world, or you aren't. If you aren't then you have to allow them to choose their own path. No matter what you feel is correct, other people have to be allowed to set what is correct for themselves."

"Why don't we just go and murder people then, Keith. If you can't set morality for another person. . ."

"There is a difference between a behavior that affects only yourself, like drug use or sexual orientation, and murder. Freedom only exists in our personal living space. As soon as we begin to impinge upon the rights of others we lose our right to act."

"What about freedom of speech? That automatically impinges upon the rights of others."

"We have the right to express, but not the right to be heard. We can't force anyone to listen to our opinions."

I shook my head. "Look, Mom, I love you, I do, but I'm not here to argue with you."

"Keith, I need my son in my life."

"Then stop pushing me away, and accept me for who I am. I don't drink. I don't do drugs. I don't even engage in sexual activity. Can't you allow me to express myself in other ways? I am good, Mom. I'm really good. I might even be getting in to Juilliard this fall for their pre-college program."

"What? Juilliard? That's amazing, Keith."

I smiled at her. Someone chose that moment to ring the doorbell. Mom went down the short hallway and let someone in. I heard them talking in the entryway as they walked toward the living room where I was still standing.

A handsome middle-aged man walked in with my mother.

"Keith, this is Lyle Jensen. We've dated a couple of times, and I wanted him to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you, Keith." His voice said it, but there was a look of distaste in his eyes as he looked at my hair.

"Sorry about the hair, Mr. Jensen. Occupational hazard, I guess."

"Occupational hazard?" He looked a bit confused.

"I'm a pop rock star."

"Oh." He didn't look any less confused.

I figured that now was as good a time as any to beat a hasty retreat, "Mom, call me with the details for your concert on Monday. Mr. Jensen, nice to meet you. Love ya, Mom."

I left them there and went back home. I went up to my room and relaxed on the bed. I stared up at the white ceiling, just breathing in the aromas of the house. I must have dozed off, as the next thing I knew, Gretchen was gently shaking me awake.

I pretended not to react. I think she knew I was faking it.

"Oh whatever shall I do," she said in a fake southern accent. "My man is here and dead to the world. Maybe a kiss will wake him up?"

I puckered a bit, and the next thing I knew I had a face full of breast.

I pushed away and opened my eyes, "Gretchen!?"

A moment later, I closed my eyes again. "Honey, would you please put some clothing on? We can do all of this that you want to after we get married. For right now. . ."

"Keith, I want you now."

"That's all well and good, but aren't we supposed to wait at least eight weeks from your surgery before we. . ."

"Um, well." I felt my bed moving and opened my eyes to see what was happened. Gretchen was just slipping under my covers.

"You know, it gets harder to resist you every time you throw yourself at me."

"Then stop resisting."

"Roll over, dearest."

She looked a bit confused, but did as I requested. I pulled down the blanket and sheets and began rubbing her back. She purred a bit and stretched, luxuriating in the feel of my touch. I just continued to rub her back until she began to snore softly.

Chuckling, I covered her up again and left her there in my bed. I set the door so that it would lock when I pulled it shut behind me, and left the room.

I went out to the garage and practiced my 12-String. It had been so long since I'd actually just played. I closed my eyes and let the music flow over me. Pure jazz.

I heard a bass join me, and I just continued to play. Our songs interwove and teased around each other. and then the percussion joined in. I looked at the other two members of my band. They were smiling and laughing occasionally as we accomplished a particularly complex passage.

I began the opening chords for 'Daddy's Little Princess' and their attitudes changed. They didn't stopped smiling, but their posture straightened up, and they got a little more exact in their playing.

I sang the words, just feeling them, and practicing at the same time, and we went all the way through without a break. I didn't stop playing at the end, and morphed into the opening of 'My Life with You is Hell.'

We played through that, and I morphed it into 'U + Ur Hand,' and then 'Just a Girl,' 'Stupid Girl'. . .yeah, we went through our entire repertoire in one set.

My fingers were cramping, and I was sweating a little by the time we were done. Davey was drenched in sweat. Guthrie on the other hand didn't act like he was put out at all.

"Hey, we can keep going," he said.

Davey threw a drumstick at him.

I just laughed. "So, what did the two of you show up for?"

"Impromptu jazz session which turned into practice."

"I have no idea how to interact with you guys. I'm still a kid for all intents and purposes."

"Treat us like your friends," replied Guthrie.

"But we have nothing in common. . ."

"Boss-lady, we have the music in common."

"You guys don't have a problem with pop?"

"I love to play, and as long as we have a good bass line, I'm glad."

"I feel the same, but only with a good percussion line."

These guys were so different from the two friends that I'd started this with. I was so different from how I'd been when I started this. I'd thought it was about making a statement when I started, but I finished my statement with Gothplosion.

I'd proven that an indie band, writing their own songs, could beat corporate music.

I realized that after that moment, I was playing for myself and myself alone. 'Don't Blame the Girls,' was only the first of my songs that was more pop than anything else.

Was I really a pop princess at heart? I shuddered at the thought.

"You cold, boss-lady?"

"No, just the image of me as a pop princess."

The other two shuddered as well, although Guthrie got a goofy grin on his face.

"Guthrie!?"

"Sorry, Keith. Just the idea of you and Miley or Sarah up on the same stage doing a duet or something."

I snorted at this. "I don't think that's ever going to happen. We just don't appeal. . ."

"To the same audience? I think you'll be surprised. Sure, you're a little heavier than Sarah Carerra, but you're still pretty pop. You write many more songs like 'Daddy's Pop Princess', and you are going to be competing directly with her."

We spent the rest of the evening just hanging out in the front room and watching TV. Tom and Jordan came home around nine, and went directly up to Tom's room. Guthrie and Davey took that as their cue to leave. I waited until eleven before I went to my room, which happened to be next door.

* * *
I was sitting in an uncomfortable stadium chair, that the upholstery just barely seemed to cover. I was in a stunning white, black, and pink floor-length dress holding Gretchen's hand. I couldn't believe that I was here. When I'd heard about my nomination, I was at first stunned, but that had quickly given way to feelings of pride and anticipation. Best Female Artist of the year. Sure, I had to go against Sarah Carerra, but it was worth it.

I'd seen Sarah walking up the red carpet when I got out of the limo. I almost rushed over to greet her, but since I hadn't seen her since our very public falling out, I just didn't know what to say. I tried calling her a couple of times, but I'd never completed dialing.

She was such a sweet girl. Not one of my smarter moves. Gretchen brought me back to myself and we walked up the carpet. Our infinity engagement rings glinted on our fingers. We always wore the matching engagement rings when I was out with her as Desdemona. Zeela had really known what she was doing when she chose emeralds for the main stone.

I signed autographs, and was surprised for a moment when I signed #300. I kept track, but sometimes it felt like I'd signed so many more. I answered the normal raft of questions from the talking heads from numerous networks and channels.

"We heard rumors that you and Gretchen were married. Is there any truth to this?" Like all the variations on this, I answered it the same way.

"Desdemona is not now, nor has she ever been married. You know that these rumors all started with the music video for 'My Own Person'. There was no real minister on site at the video."

"But what about the rings?"

Gretchen picked this one up for us, "Zeela made me this ring at the request of my husband. He is a bit reclusive, so likes me to go out with Desdemona." She gave a blinding smile at this.

I continue, "I liked the ring so much, that I asked Madam Zeela to make one for me. She wouldn't do it without the permission of Gretchen's spouse, but eventually he allowed me to get one made. We've been friends for a long time."

We answered this a number of different ways, and eventually made our way to the doors to the theater where they were holding the Tween Music Awards this year.

It seems the organizers had heard about the problems that I'd been having with Sarah, because they seated us on opposite sides of the room.

I had to smile at this.

I sat through the awards program, unable to mock them like I had just a year ago with my friends.

So much had changed between the three of us in that year. So much had happened to me in that year. A few tears fell at the memories I'd made, the plans broken, and the hearts torn in two.

It hadn't all been bad, however. Most of it had been wonderful. I smiled at my wife sitting next to me and squeezed her hand.

I just zoned out thinking about the past year when something caught my attention.

"For Best Female Artist for the year of two thousand eleven," the girl announcing fumbled with the envelope for a moment or two and read the name. She smiled and took a deep breath to speak. . .

. . .and Gretchen pushed me off the bed onto the floor.

"Gretchen!?"

"You were crushing me, Keith." She sat up, forgetting for a moment that she was naked. She gave a little eep and covered herself with her hands. She rushed out of my room heading toward hers.

What was I going to do with that girl beyond marrying her?

I heard the water start in the shower and I started looking for what I was going to wear out on the town today. It was probably time that I started looking into some other hair styles for Desdemona, as well as getting a wig for times when my real hair was pink and I wanted to be Keith.

I collected my clothing and went in to get my own shower for the day.

I went with the leggings and tulle skirt that I wore the first time I went out as Desdemona. On the top I wore the corset and a maroon half jacket. I put in the skulls and crossbones. Their weight was a lot for me after wearing studs almost exclusively for a week.

I put on my necklace and a couple of bracelets.

As had become more normal for me, I went with light makeup, and not all of it in traditional Goth colors. I used a light pink lip balm.

I would forgo the breast forms today.

"Ready to go?" I said walking into Gretchen's room.

She leaped up and gave me a kiss. "Yep."

We hopped in her car, me for once in a long time a passenger instead of a driver in this car. We talked about nothing much as we drove to Madam Zeela's shop in Orem.

We walked in hand-in-hand. The girl was pretty in a faded sort of way. She definitely needed to work a bit on her style.

"Welcome to Madam Zeela's. Can I help you?"

I recognized the voice from the phone on Friday. "Yes, please get Zeela for us."

"She is busy finishing up some jewelry for a client. How can I help you?"

I couldn't help it, I laughed. "Look, while I realize that you might not have recognized me over the phone, surely you recognize me in person?"

"I'm sure that you think you're important but. . ."

I sang the opening bars of 'Daddy's Little Princess,' and her eyes grew wide. At that moment Zeela came out of the back room. She'd pushed the door open with her back, so she didn't notice us yet.

"Tonya, could you give Desdemona a call. . . perfect timing. I've finished them."

"Desi, what's this?" Gretchen asked me.

There were two wooden boxes on a tray. They were hinged in the middle and octagonal when looking down at them from the top.

"Two?"

"Yes, this is the one for you, and the other is hers."

At that moment I realized that I wanted to do this a little more special, but I'd forgotten and brought Gretchen in with me. I picked up the box that Zeela had indicated would be Gretchen's and turned toward her. I dropped to one knee and opened the box for her.

"Will you marry me, Gretchen?"

"Of course. I already said yes," she said with a giggle. I stood up and looked at the ring for the first time. Looking down at the emerald stone from the top, the ring formed a perfect figure eight. The top and bottom loops would go below the finger, making the symbol invisible most of the time. It was encrusted with diamonds. The emerald in the middle, one band passing over, and the other passing under, was the size of the tip of my thumb.

I slipped the ring onto Gretchen's finger, and it fit perfectly. It was gorgeous on her hand.

She grabbed the other box, dropped to one knee, and opened the box for me. "Desdemona, will you marry me?"

"Always and forever."

She slipped the ring, a twin to her own, onto my finger.

It fit perfectly as well.

It was only after I felt it on my finger that I realized it was the same one as from my dream. Everything blurred around me for a moment, and I got dizzy.

"Desi, are you ok?"

"Yes, Etch. I'm fine. Just a really bad case of deja vu."

I turned to Zeela. "You haven't ever made a ring like this for someone else, have you? Inspired by another ring? Called me when I was half asleep and described it to me?"

Zeela looked a bit puzzled but said, "no."

"I dreamed last night about this ring."

Zeela chuckled. "That might just be your mind filling in details. . ."

"It wasn't the look of the ring I remembered from my dream, it was the feel of it on my finger."

"Weird."

"I'll say." We talked price, and I paid, and then we headed out toward Salt Lake. It was a little weird having the ring be the same one from my dream, but I figured that the rest of my dream would eventually prove false. There just wasn't any way that I could see Sarah Carerra and I running into each other.

The things that the subconscious will do to you with a little outside guidance.

We arrived at the Spotlight office a little after ten, and I headed up to the studio.

We laid down the track for my first single in just under four hours. It's not that we had any trouble with the song, but that they wanted us to play with the styles of the three segments a bit.

By the time that we were done we had a definite bouncy pop tune for the first part of it. We shifted into a melodic rock middle section, and then closed up with a slower version of the original pop opener. It still had a beat and just made you want to dance, but it was more of a hold your partner close dance style, than the frenetic bounce around the room that the first part was.

All in all I was really happy with it by the time we got done.

We stopped in at the South Towne mall on our way home to get some more wigs. We ended up with an androgynous wig that framed my face, and was in a color somewhere close to my natural one.

"That makes you look really cute," Gretchen said with a smile.

"Boy cute, or girl cute?"

"Does it really matter?"

"No, I guess not," I said with a chuckle.

We drove home and got some swimming in. The summer seemed to be getting over so quickly, even thought it was barely July. It seemed half the time that I simply never had any time left to be me.

After taking a shower and changing into some of my more masculine clothing I decided to try the new wig on and see how I looked in full blown "Keith" mode.

I pinned it in place and went into the bathroom to take a look in the mirror.

I looked into the mirror and immediately turned to look behind me. There wasn't anyone there. I was thinking at the time that I could have sworn that I saw. . .a girl.

I quickly turned back around and looked into the mirror. I was wearing no makeup. I'd taken out my earrings. My clothing was very masculine.

And yet I saw a girl looking back at me. For the first time I realized that there was a name for the haircut that the wig was styled after: Pixie.

I laughed until I cried, and just sat there on the floor of the bathroom. What was I doing? Who was I really?

Was I the role or was I. . .something else?

Gretchen found me on the bathroom floor and just wrapped me in her arms as I continued to alternate between laughing and sobbing. I knew I was completely out of control, but I couldn't help it. She just held me and rubbed my back and eventually the hysteria left me and I just cried. It cleansed the emotion from me and left me feeling drained.

She guided me to the bed and I lay there as she continued to rub my back.

The crying had stopped by that point and I just relaxed into the feeling of being close to the woman I loved.

"Am I a man or a woman, Etch? Who am I?"

I heard her breath catch, but she didn't answer immediately. She waited for a moment, and I almost turned over to look at her to see if she was alright.

"Keith, you are a good person. That is what you've always been. Playing a role this long would make anyone worry about losing themselves."

"That's not the answer I expected to hear from you, Etch."

"That's because it's not the answer I thought I would give."

"Huh?"

"You say that a lot recently."

I blushed at the unintended slight and waited for her to continue.

"Keith, I loved becoming a woman. It occupied my entire life and for a while it was my life. The act of becoming a woman. Recently, though, I've come to the realization that while I am a woman, it's not what my life revolves around. I am a fiancée. I am a student. I am a rock music enthusiast. I am a driver. None of that requires me to be a woman. It just makes all of it more enjoyable to me. You helped me realize this."

I smiled into the bed, keeping my blushing face from view, mostly anyway.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"You didn't embarrass me, Etch."

"Then why are you blushing?"

"Because I'm pleased."

"Keith, you really don't act like a woman. Sure, you're sweet and caring, but those are not things that women have a monopoly on. You go after things aggressively."

"You mean I'm driven?"

"Yes, but not just that. You really. . .tear into your work. You get this single minded purpose that takes you to the completion of a task. You tune everything out around you. There is only yourself and your goal."

"I never meant. . ."

"I know. You don't mean to shut me out. You do, though. It's like there are two of you. There's the you that recognizes that there are people around you. Then there's the solitary Keith. You won't take no for an answer, and you don't take prisoners."

"There are women who exhibit those traits. . ."

"Yes, but they are more masculine traits. I heard a statistic once about the prevalence of females who felt out of the right body to males feeling out of the right body, well at least gender wise."

"And?"

"I forget the exact number, but genetic males who felt they were women were much more prevalent than genetic females who thought they were men."

"What does this have to do with. . ?"

"I'm getting to that. Our society is much more forgiving of a masculine woman than an effeminate man. I should say feminine man, but I used the other to prove my point. While the words we have for masculinity can be used derogatorily, they can also be used to compliment.

"If I call a woman butch, it depends on the context as to whether I am insulting or not. I call a guy effeminate and it is a cut.

"Tomboys are allowed in all walks of life. Ball-busters are looked up to, even as they are feared. What do we call men in the same positions? Sissy? Pansy? It is as if our society only allows crossing of the gender barrier one way."

"Gretchen, how can you say that. I mean look at you. You're perfect."

"And how hard was it for me to be accepted? I had to go through surgery, and keep my genetic identity to myself, or face derision and scorn."

I looked sadly at her as she continued.

"Keith, I am happy presenting who I am to the world. I couldn't stop short of where I went. It doesn't change the fact that I chose the hardest of roads.

"A man realizing that he was born with the incorrect gender has many more options available to him. He doesn't have to follow a single path or become outcast by society. He can act masculine even while presenting as female.

"That is the main reason for the discrepancy in genders. It isn't the incidence that is different. It is what society allows."

"Gretchen, even you can't believe that is true. I mean, lesbians face a lot of difficulty."

"We're not talking about sexual orientation, but it does have some bearing. Lesbians are doing the same thing with sexual orientation that other girls simply do by action. They are becoming more masculine in the eyes of society at large.

"There was a paper written about research into human sexuality. They tracked the brainwaves of people looking at erotic imagery. They wanted a true baseline of what people were aroused by. Want to know what they found?"

"Sure. What did they find?"

"They found that most women were aroused by both lesbian and heterosexual images. Whether or not they were aroused by images of gay men seemed to be determined by their sexual orientation, but even then it was a very small percentage.

"Heterosexual men were aroused by images of lesbian women and heterosexual couples. Gay men were aroused by pretty much everything."

"Ok, is there a point to this lecture?"

She blushed prettily, but continued. "Sorry, I've been thinking about your situation a lot, and wanted to get this all off my chest before I lost my nerve."

I rolled over and caressed her breasts. "And such a nice chest it is too."

Her eyes glazed over a bit and then she shook her head and removed my hands. "You always pick the worst times to get physical, Keith."

"No, I pick the times I know you won't reciprocate," I said with a huge grin.

She glowered at me as she continued, "Society accepts women acting like men, but not men acting like women. That is my point."

"So, because I like to have a lot of choices in my wardrobe, I'm breaking social mores?"

"What?"

Oh, shit. Did I say that aloud? Crap, crap, crap, crap. . .

Gretchen grabbed my chin and turned me to face her. The self flagellation would have to wait.

"Keith, what are you trying to tell me?"

"Look, I'm not aroused by clothing in any way. Wearing it just feels like, well clothing."

"I didn't say you were."

"I like having choices. I like pants and shirts. . .and dresses and skirts and blouses and everything. I love wearing different styles of clothing. It has been freeing being Desdemona this past month. I've gotten the opportunity to explore my sense of style. Sure I'm still learning, but I LOVE the clothing."

Gretchen giggled at me. I had to chuckle myself. "It's not that funny, Etch."

"It's hilarious, Keith. You're a cross-dresser."

"Um, but wasn't that obvious?"

"There's obvious, and then there's you. You just realized that a lot of your dressing as Desdemona was all your choice."

"Of course it was."

"I mean, have you noticed you have tried some really girly styles along the way?"

I blushed but nodded.

"It's so wonderful!"

"Why do you say that?"

"Because, you are my girlfriend and my fiancé all wrapped in one. Um, I have a question. . .promise you won't get mad?"

"I make no promises."

"Do you like shopping as much as you seem to?"

"I love shopping. . .with you. I went shopping with Molly in LA, but it just wasn't the same. Sure, I loved getting more clothing, since I needed some, but I missed seeing you while I tried things on. It's just not the same without you."

She smiled at me and I figured I must have said the right thing. For the first time in more than a week, I figured I'd actually won. Guys have to work a lot harder at it that women.

"So. . ." Gretchen got a gleam in her eye, "now that we're done talking. . ." She put a hand to the bottom of her shirt and began lifting it off. I was out of that room like a bullet and I didn't stop 'til I found Tom, Jordanless for once.

"So, whatcha up to?" I asked.

"Did my daughter try to seduce you again?"

I chuckled at him.

"Like the hair. Makes you look like a girl though."

I laughed at that. "I know. Apparently I'm the last one to recognize that I really like dressing like a girl."

He got a concerned look on his face. "Gretchen's not pushing you into. . ."

"Oh, no. Nothing like that. I just like the ability to pick from both sides of the wardrobe, so to speak."

He chuckled at my turn of phrase.

"Well, as long as you're sure."

We called it an early night, since I would be getting up at six to start talking to image consultants.

Six came much too early.

I got up, bleary eyed, put my wig back on, and pinned it in place. I picked a very subdued selection of clothing. No breast forms. Light makeup. A pair of dangly garnet earrings I'd stolen from Gretchen the night before. No pink whatsoever.

All in all, I don't think I looked like anything other than a teenager, probably a female because of the hair and makeup.

I was ignored by consultant after consultant. It was a very inauspicious beginning for many of them. They talked to Richard about color schemes and cloth types. I would interject a question like:

"How well would something like that breathe?"

or

"What would that look like on stage?"

or

"Wouldn't something like that get really hot under the spots?"

or

"How well will that go with pink?"

The answer to this one is notable: "Pink is a nice gimmick to get into the game, but we need to tone that back a bit as we move forward." The answer was spoken to Richard, even though I'd ask the question.

I ended all of the interviews the same way: "Thank you for your time, but I think that we're looking for a different vision for me."

I loved their reactions when it dawned upon them who I was. Shock, dismay, and a light of fear in their eyes. Then the bargaining began, which would end with one simple statement from me. The words changed, but the concept was the same.

"You ignored me until you found out I was famous."

I was getting tired and cranky and I just wanted to go spend some time with Gretchen. I wanted to see my Mom. I wanted someone to remind me it was a good thing I was now seventeen.

"Sweetie, can I do something for you before we get started?"

"Huh?"

"You look tired and a bit down. I know this is Richard's office, but can I get something for you?"

I smiled a weak smile and shook my head. "Sorry, it's been a long morning for me."

"Are you Richard's daughter?"

Richard was sitting up in his chair watching the interaction. I think he was hopeful about this one.

I shook my head, "No. I'm a friend of the family, you might say."

"If you're not his daughter. . .then. . .it's a pleasure to meet you Desdemona."

Shock was the only emotion I felt. Not a single person this morning had acknowledged me, let alone guessed who I was.

"I'm sorry, am I wrong? I didn't mean to offend you."

I pulled out the bobby pins holding the wig to my head and pulled it off.

"Does this answer your question?"

"I was sure that the hair was a wig. . .I mean the pink hair."

"I only got my hair styled this way last week. I can tell you why after you sign an NDA that Richard said my lawyer prepared."

"I can hold onto my curiosity. Let's decide if we fit each other first."

"I like this one, Richard."

"Finally."

"You don't want to hear my ideas first?"

"Of course we do. I'm just saying I like your personality, which is a point in your favor."

"Ok, well, let's hit it then. Assuming that the hair was a wig, I thought we might want to try different styles for each song. Each song has a specific emotion to it, and the hair could underscore that emotion. It would be the most flamboyant part of most of your costumes. I prepared a portfolio of style ideas if you'd like to see them. . ."

"I'd love to, as long as you explain it all to me."

"I call the overall concept Goth-next-door. There is a certain innocence to most of your songs. It is as if you are a really wholesome person underneath the persona that you present onstage. So, I took your initial costumes I've seen you in, including the one for 'Don't Blame the Girls,' and worked an overall concept for it. To begin with I have costumes for most of your current songs. Notice the sort of Goth-pirate-wench look that I provided for 'Black Flag.'"

I looked through the sketches. None of it looked off the rack.

"Are you an image consultant or a designer?"

"A bit of both, actually. I couldn't ever break into the world of fashion. My ideas weren't out there enough I guess. I did succeed in telling people what to wear, so here I am. I employ a small shop to provide the one-of-a-kind pieces, but most of this is actually just repurposed clothing from other sources."

"You do realize that during most concerts I may have seconds between songs."

"Which is why I will be modifying the clothing to be changed quickly just off stage. You'll be wearing a leotard underneath it to make it so that even if there is not an 'off-stage' then you can make the changes you need in public."

"Doesn't that end up just being little more than a gimmick?"

She sighed, but gave me a smile. "I figured you'd say that, but I had to try. Most of the rest of the clothing, after the ones titled for the songs, are my more 'normal' ideas for a full concert getup. I'll be making changes as we go along, of course, but those are some of my initial ideas."

I was flipping through and I stopped at an off-the-shoulder gown in white, black, and pink. I stopped and gaped at it.

"Not possible," I muttered to myself.

"What was that?"

"So, is this just a repurposed gown?"

"Nope. I designed that one a couple of days ago. The idea wouldn't leave me alone."

"I looked. . .I mean I would look gorgeous in that gown."

"Well, don't get your hopes up on that one. I figured that if I got the job I'd make it for an awards show. I wanted to get my label out there and see if maybe I could someday get into the industry I love."

"I want to wear this dress to the Tween Music Awards."

"Does that mean. . ."

"Only if you tell me your name."

"Linda Nesmith."

"No wonder you had trouble getting into the fashion world."

We all laughed for a moment at this. "Linda, thanks for being yourself. I have a birthday party to attend."

"Wish them a happy new year."

"You just did." I gave her a huge smile as I left.

Linda was certainly a character.

But what would I do about that dream? Did I even believe the dream? . .There are no such thing as visions or prophetic dreams. No psychic abilities. This is real life. My mind is simply making connections to a dream that had a limit of detail. That's what it is. Nothing more sinister than that.

Edited by the ever patient Julia Phillips.