My brain was still not firing on all cylinders, and if I closed my eyes I'd feel the room start to spin, but even so I began to form a plan. I could tell Carl that I was Bill's twin sister, and ask if I could stay the night.

The limo's red tail lights disappeared in the distance. It did no good, but what the hell — I ran into the road, waved my arms and shouted, "Hey! HEY! HEY!" and then more softly, "hey," but of course no one heard.

No one in the limo, anyway.

Right. There I stood — in the road outside my apartment building. No keys, no money, no car, no phone. Alone, at night, and dressed like a girl. Dressed rather well... downright fetching, but still, dressed as a girl.

This day had been a real rollercoaster. I'd shot from despair to elation and back again; I'd find a way out and got boxed in; and now, after what was unarguably the biggest achievement of my professional life so far, I was stuck outside in the dark in a dress.

What else could possibly go wrong? Could this day, that I wished I'd stayed in bed and missed, hold any more surprises for me?

Behind me, a car approached. Even without turning I could hear its engine and see the light from its headlamps. I took a few steps back, well out of its way, and stood there listlessly. I screwed up my brain and tried to recall: did anyone have a spare key to my place? Anyone? Neighbour? Friend? Had I hidden one in the shrubbery? No no, no and no. No one had a key. Well, Dianne had mine, sitting on her dresser, and of course the landlord would have, but he didn't live nearby.

And I didn't fancy waking him in the night, dressed as I was.

I blame the alcohol for what happened next. You have to understand that though I wasn't rotten with drink, I'd drank my share. And what with the stress of the day and all, my brain was not going full throttle, to say the least.

As the car came closer, it sped up a bit and lit the road in front of me. I stood there like a twit and stared a strange patch of road. Why was it smoother and shinier than the rest? Then came the rushing sound of tires on wet pavement and...

"No!" I shrieked as a wave of water lifted into the air and smacked me hard from head to foot. Coughing and spitting, I stepped backward. The disgusting taste of roadway was all over my tongue and the smell of it was hard upon me. I flapped my arms helplessly and backed away. My sodden hair covered my face, and my soaked dress clung to me like a shroud. The cold, dirty, clammy water penetrated to my skin.

"Oh!" I cried, "Was there ever such a day! What ever else can go wrong?"

Right on cue, as I took another half-step backward, my heel hit the curb and down I went, bum-first in a patch of mud: fresh today, just for me. "Bloody hell!" I yelped.

I don't think I was exactly crying, but I must have been making a bit of a row because soon I heard footsteps and a voice that I knew rather well.

"Miss, you all right there? Do you need some help?"

"Ack," I replied, looking up in dismay through my bedraggled locks. Carl was standing there, barefoot, in jeans and a t-shirt. "I'm just sopping wet!" I cried. "This has been the worst day of my life!" I tried to work up the saliva to spit again, but failed there, too. The dry puh! puh! sounds I made did nothing to get the awful taste from my mouth. I sniffled, but only just a bit. "Honestly, I wish I'd just stayed in bed today and missed it all!"

"Don't say that!" he replied in a gentle voice. "Nothing's as bad as all that. Let's get you out of there. Looks like you landed square in the mud, sorry to say."

He held out a hand, but I wanted to save something of my dignity by getting to my feet myself. But when I put a hand down, I got a soft handful of mud. Looking at my dirty palm, and Carl's clean feet, I nearly lost it.

"Here you go," Carl offered. "Take my hand."

I gave him my clean hand and he pulled me to my feet. I shivered and looked down at the muddy mess I'd made of myself.

"This is actually a nice dress," I told him. "Not that you can tell."

"I can see that it must've looked lovely," Carl replied. "Can I help you get somewhere? Do you have a place nearby to go?"

"No," I said. "I don't have my key."

"Right. No purse," he observed. "Somebody nicked it? I can ring up a John Darme for you."

"No," I replied.

"Ah, mislaid then." He hesitated a moment, then said, "Is there anyone you'd like to phone? Someone who can come and get you? Someone with an extra key?"

I thought for a moment, but I didn't know Dianne's number, or Gillian's — or anyone else from work for that matter. So I shook my head no.

"I live right here," he said, gesturing to his open door, "You're welcome to come in and dry off and see if we can sort you out."

I sighed. The absolute last thing I wanted was for Carl to see me this way. He hadn't recognized me yet, but once he did, I felt I'd lose the very last shred of masculinity that remained in my life. I know he didn't see me as a macho man. I know he probably wondered whether I was gay. But if he saw me in a dress, with makeup and nails and a fake pair of breasts, for sure he'd never see me as a man like him, never again.

Not that he ever had, but...

... but what the hell. What else could I do? Where else could I go? How else could I spend the night? I'd catch my death outside, drenched like this, and I'd look crap tomorrow, when I'd have to make my way to work. I groaned quietly at the thought.

"Miss?" Carl prompted.

"Okay," I sighed, and clumped in my sodden pumps up the walk and into Carl's apartment. There I stood, dripping helplessly in the entry, and looked around.

His apartment was fairly clean, if spartan, and not decorated, excepting a framed sailing poster on the wall behind the couch.

"Go on inside," he coaxed.

"I don't want to drip on everything."

"No worries," he said. "A little water won't hurt anything." He hesitated, then said, "If you don't mind my saying so, you might want to get out of those clothes and have yourself a scrub in the shower. That wasn't the cleanest puddle, if you get my meaning."

"I do," I said. "It tastes like feet and old tires." And smells like it, too, I thought, sniffing and sniffling.

He pointed me to the bath and fetched a clean towel and robe. The moment I was alone, I stripped off everything and dropped it to the floor. There were bits of mud, little twigs, and dead leaves over everything, including my hair, face, arms, and legs.

I got my "breasts" dirty when I took them out, so I brought them in shower with me to rinse them off.

The hot water felt great, and after I was clean I let the shower play over my face and fill my mouth, washing out (as much as possible) the awful taste of the roadway. When I was done and shut the water off, Carl knocked softly on the door. "I don't mean anything by it, but you'll see I've put a set of pajamas in there," he said. "They're dry and I think they'll fit you."

"Okay, thanks," I called. I noticed he'd also carried off my wet clothes, and dried the floor where they'd lay.

Surprisingly, the pajamas did fit me. They consisted of a pale green tank top and matching shorts. Inevitably, the tiny polka dots and lace trim made it clear that these were women's clothes. He'd also give me a set of clean, dry underwear, so I put them on, and slipped my "breasts" inside the bra.

I covered it all with the robe, wrapped my hair in the towel, stepped into the slippers he provided, and opened the bathroom door. There was nothing for it: I had to tell him everything.

... or did I?

My brain was still not firing on all cylinders, and if I closed my eyes I'd feel the room start to spin, but even so I began to form a plan. I could tell Carl that I was Bill's twin sister, and ask if I could stay the night.

It was a stupid plan, for sure, but — as I told myself — it was stupid enough to actually work.

"All right there?" Carl asked. "I put on some water, in case you'd like a cuppa. There isn't much in the way of food, unless you fancy Vegemite on toast."

"Thanks, but I had a big dinner," I said. "I may not eat again for weeks. But I would like a cup of tea, thanks."

He looked into my face. "You know," he said, "You look awfully familiar, now that I can properly see you. Do we know each other?"

"Yes — well, no," I said. "Do you know my brother Bill? He lives upstairs."

"Ahhh," Carl replied thoughtfully, and turned away to fetch the tea. "Bill's younger sister, then? He's mentioned you, yes, and your name is..."

"Bel... Belinda," I replied.

"Belle Linda," Carl said, as if it were two words. "And are there any more of you?"

"Excuse me?" I didn't understand.

"Any more brothers or sisters?"

"No," I said, "just me and Bill."

"Good thing, that," he said, as he poured. "Bill, Belle... next comes Ball, Bull, and Bowl. Not the best names for children."

"No," I agreed, but I was a little puzzled by his tone.

"Or adults," he added, with a twinkle in his eye. Then as if suddenly remembering, he said, "Would you like a hairbrush? My old girlfriend bought one and never used it." He ran off to fetch it, explaining that Cheryl had left "half a wardrobe" behind when they broke up.

He watched me over the top of his teacup as I took the towel from my head and ran the brush through my hair. Right off I hit a snarl, and as I tugged at the brush, Carl asked, "We running tomorrow?"

"Naw," I replied, "I think I better sleep in." Then I froze.

A grin spread across Carl's face. "Can you tell me something, Belle: is Bill the only child?" he asked, "Or is it you?"

"Ohhh," I said, putting the brush in my lap and dropping my eyes. "I'm sorry, Carl. This isn't what it looks like."

"Oh, I was sure of that," he said. "But, just so I know, what does it look like?"

He was sarcastic, yes, but not mean, and he was smiling.

"Um, I don't know," I replied.

"It looks like you're having me on. Or, it looks like you're dressed as a girl. Or... it could be both!"

"I'm not trying to wind you up," I said. "I really and truly got stuck."

"Fair enough," he said. "Now, I just got to ask you, and no offense: you're not an escort or a prostitute, or some kind of perv, are you?"

"No, no!" I said. "This is just for work!"

"For work?" he repeated, puzzled. "I thought you worked for an ad agency."

"I do! It's just..." and then I told him the story, the whole story, from start to finish. He laughed at some parts, but got angry at others. He had some choice words for Gillian in particular, but Dianne as well.

"I know that kind of girl," he said of Dianne. "Anything for a laugh, as long as it's your expense. I'd like to set her straight, I would." My protests that she was a good person, and that she got as good as gave, fell on deaf ears.

But of Gillian, he said, "That woman's wrong from beginning to end. That's abuse of power, mate. She can't tell you, or ask you, or even suggest that you do what you did. Your friend Paul is right: you didn't think you had a choice."

Then of Roger: "It's a good thing you and he didn't go on drinking, right? Otherwise he would had a bone to pick with you." He found this inordinately funny and repeated it several times later.

When I was done with my story, I asked Carl what he would have done if he'd been in my place. "What would *I* have done?" he repeated. "In the first place, I wouldn't have gotten splashed. I think I pay a little more attention to my surroundings than you do, Billy boy.

"But... had I been splashed, I would have dashed out for a pair of khakis and a clean white shirt. In fact, why didn't you do that, Bill?"

I sat in silence for a moment thinking, and finally had to admit that it never occurred to me. "But I didn't have the money," I added.

"You could have borrowed it."

I searched for another defense, but couldn't find one. I shrugged. "I didn't think of it."

"And there hangs a tale!" Carl concluded.

With that, he gave me a blanket and told me I could sleep on the couch.

In the morning he produced more clothes from Cheryl's leavings: a dark brown dress and a pair of brown pumps.

"Don't you have any of your own clothes — men's clothes — you can lend me?" I asked.

He looked at me in disbelief. "You're joking! You'd be swimming in 'em, mate! You'd look like an orphan. Besides, you can sort out your true identity there at work, can't you." Then he laughed. "Whatever that may be."

I managed to make my hair look halfway decent, but nothing like what Tara had done, and I didn't dare fool with Cheryl's old makeup. After all, I only needed to get to the office, where my own clothes were waiting.

When Carl dropped me off in front of Sasha's, I actually felt good. I was hopeful, in fact. Today was the start of the new campaign: I already had a leg up there, and today I could put Bel back in the box. It had been fun at times, but it had been scary and humiliating as well.

"What, no kiss goodbye?" Carl joked, and I found myself blushing.

Luckily Sasha's was empty — a brief lull in the morning rush — so her loud greeting fell on my ears alone. "Beeleee! Look at you, girl! What have you done to yourself? You're so beautiful!"

"It's a long story, Sasha."

"Is this the new you?" she asked me. "I love it! You look so good!"

"Oh, no," I said, "This is just... a long story."

She looked disappointed for a moment, then she brightened up and said, "Well, you come and tell me this long story and I will buy you lunch. Okay? Is it a deal?"

Then she whipped me up one of her Columbian cappuccinos, and I ran to the door...

... and almost (but didn't!), almost spilled my coffee all over that man, that flamboyant, gay club-goer. His eyes opened wide at his narrow escape, and then they opened even wider when he recognized me.

I wanted to push past him, but he was standing in the opening, blocking the only way out.

"Whoa!" he said in a breathless tone. "I had no idea you swung that way, blondie. You have to come to the clubs with me, girl! You have no idea what you've got going on."

"Uh," I replied, "um, can I get past you?"

"I don't know if I should let you go," he replied, with a flicker of a smile.

"I have to get to work," I told him. He had to be teasing,right? I'm sure he was only teasing.

"Please?" I said.

[- the end -]

© 2011 by Kaleigh Way

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