Barbara Scott - Fairytale Princess
copyright 2011 Faeriemage
For Donnie, life was about to end. For Barbara life hadn't yet begun.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: When I first read over the list of challenge ideas suggested by Melanie, a few sparked my interest, but none more than For Love Of Money. Some of you may remember a reality TV show from a few years ago called Joe Millionaire. When I saw the idea behind the challenge an immediate "What If" popped into my mind: What if a man had won the competition? Talk about reveal. I could imagine it in technicolor:

Joe: I'm not really a millionaire, but I really love you.
Contestant: I'm not really a woman, but I still love you.

Ok, so I liked it. The problem was, I started coming up with too much content to fit into the ~5k words of the contest. I tried to shoehorn it in, but I ended up with 'The Real Prince Charming', which, although it told the story, it really didn't satisfy me. I was introducing too many characters and I had so many plans for all of them.

But I just plain ran out of room. I had about 500 words left, and I hadn't gotten to the point.

So the ending ended up completely rushed, even more so that the rest of the story.

Now, let's see what I can do with infinite room.

As was suggested, I needed a bit of build up before the first scene, thanks Barbara. Hope you don't mind sharing a name with my character ;)

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The evening hadn't started well, and it ended worse.

One thing you will quickly learn about me is I'm a bit ADD. Friends have called me flighty, and I have even been called a ditz a time or seven. Take this paragraph for example. I introduced the action and then went directly to talking about myself. Yeah, I'm like that.

My wife and I had gone out for our seventh wedding anniversary. Luckily, at least in my book, we had no children, or the events that came next would have been a lot harder to handle.

Ok, I'm backing up again. I should start on a happier note. This is a fairytale after all, so why don't I begin with a traditional:

Once upon a time. . . there was an actor named Donnie. That's me. Now Donnie loved to act. He first caught the bug when he was in grade school during the infamous Sixth Grade Play. I say infamous because it was not only the first play that Donnie ever acted in, but it was also the first play that he crossed gender lines.

There was a shortage in girls that year, and they needed someone to play the Queen. No, the irony hasn't been lost on me over the years.

So, I had a few lines to say, and I said them okay, I think. My mother uploaded them to you tube, and you might even be still able to find them there. Do a search for Donnie the Queen.

Yeah, mom was never one to have a problem with any role I chose to play, and I know for a fact that she'd have preferred a daughter. She got her wish, but that part isn't for later.

So, I was an only child being raised by a single mother, and all I wanted to do was act. My friends thought I was great, but no one else seemed to agree. My mother refused to give up, however. I got my first screen time as an extra in 'The Life and Times of a Teenage Hypochondriac.' It was my first direct to DVD movie as well.

I ended up in a lot of those it seems. You see, when producers are desperate enough to cast their sister-in-law's cousin's son in a film because no one they really want will consider them, that's where I came in.

Contrary to some things people have said, there are only three types of actors: A list, B list, and everyone else.

I admit now that before my awakening, I was one of the everyone else, but I wanted to at least be a B list actor.

I didn't want to be Tom Hanks or Ben Stiller or Bruce Willis or any of the other big name stars.

No, sir, my idol was Bruce Campbell, king of the B list actors.

I saw all of his movies. I watched 'Xena' just on the off chance I'd see him. I watch 'Burn Notice' because he's there.

Yeah, I had a crush on Bruce Campbell.

So, I aspired to hit the big times of the B list, but all I could get was everyone else rolls, or unnamed un-credited roles in the background.

Mom moved us to Hollywood from our home in Dallas, Texas when I turned thirteen. As she said, it was to give me more opportunities to be a star. It did get me my first big screen appearance.

I was the first kid to die in 'Arcade Rampage.' Total screen time about three seconds.

It was a big deal for the fourteen-year-old me. I was in horror movies, and I was happy to see the backstage makeup. I loved the way that a person could be converted from themselves into just about anything else.

I was growing up in Hollywood and having the time of my life. I even got paid for a few of my roles. The role that really changed my life was one for which I got no credit, and was again unnamed. Unnamed male teen #14. Or was it #15. There was some confusion on the set about it if I recall. I had just turned 18 so I was able to get into my first real slasher. Nudity, blood and gore. "Sorority House Murders III," Even though it was a B list movie I got to run around for most of it as one of the unnamed teens stuck in the house from hell.

Yeah, I know, that's not exactly what the storyline says, but hey, it's what the people on set called it.

I have to admit that I fell in lust with her the first time she took off her clothing on set. Well, I had the same feeling for pretty much all the girls there, but Aimee was different.

She asked me out after production concluded.

Of course I said yes. We took it so slow, and I didn't even kiss her until we'd been dating for five months.

She asked me to marry her, and of course I said yes. We were married thirteen months to the day after our first date. We thought it was funny being in the horror movie industry and all. We were both nineteen and nothing could get us down.

The other person I met while we were doing "Sorority House Murders III," was Karl Romano. Karl was a special effects god. He just enjoyed the environment of low budget slashers more than big budget blockbusters. Especially as the advent of digital effects was putting people like him out of business.

Me, I think I like a rubber mask so much more than a post processed digital effect.

More about him later.

Shortly after we got married, I got my first B list role, and got to work with Karl again. I think this was the first time I was ever Barbara, even though I didn't have a proper name for her yet.

Okay, so some of you remember the film, but most of you are clueless as to what I'm talking about.

"The Transsexual Stalker." I know the bad light it cast transsexuals in, and I have tried to get it pulled, but apparently too many people like it. It became a cult classic after The Real Prince Charming aired.

So, I was in the title role as a transsexual serial killer who stalked her victims and then performed the GRS that she was denied due to her psychopathy.

I was much happier about the role at the time.

Unfortunately to understand what happens later, it is important to know what went on during the filming of the movie.

Have I mentioned yet that Karl is a perfectionist?

He could have sculpted me a couple of breast forms using a generic mannequin, but that wasn't good enough for Karl. He had a lifecast of my torso done so he could get an exact match to my chest wall on the inside. He wanted those breasts to be a part of me.

I've never thanked him enough for that.

Ok, what is a lifecast you ask? It is a plaster cast of a living body, which is then turned into a positive, or stone onto which custom appliances, also known as prosthetics, are molded. Often, the stone is interchangeably called a lifecast as well. Now, I wasn't that hairy of a man, but even so, my entire torso had to be waxed. Yes, underarm as well.

When he was done, I had a perfect pair of B cup breasts. They looked perfect on screen and you can even see about thirty seconds of 'nudity' with them fully exposed in the film. For those of you with a morbid curiosity the scene runs from 1:21:42 to 1:22:11. I think the scene might even be out there on the web somewhere since the whole The Real Prince Charming fiasco.

I even wore them home once or twice, at Aimee's insistence. She really got off on it.

Yes, they were good enough that even during, um, rigorous physical exercise they didn't reveal themselves as anything other than part of me.

The only problem with them was that they only really stayed looking good for 12 to 14 hours of normal use. After that cracks would begin to appear and they would start to fall apart under their own weight.

Great for movies, but horrible for anything else.

Just getting the role in that movie was getting me roles in other movies left and right, it seemed. Which was a good thing because production spent more time stopped than otherwise over the next three years. There were weeks where I would spend Monday with breasts, Tuesday through Friday as a mutant monster, and then Saturday with breasts again. I would never have given it up for the world.

The first role I got after Transsexual started production was the monster role in "Catastrophic Failure." Well, you know what I mean if you've seen the film. Yep, that was me under all that makeup. Ilene Carr joined my circle of friends at this point.

She was in charge of 'Special Wardrobe.' I don't know if there's another one like her in Hollywood, but what she does is this: She provide the under garments and generic appliances that give you to proper line on screen.

Guys need to look like girls? Those breasts need to disappear for the death scene? That's what she does. She assists the special effects artist in making his creations work.

She was as much an artist as Karl in her own way, and so Karl decided to hire her.

The first two years after she was hired were some of the stormiest at Washed Out Bridge, Kyle's special effects studio, that I can ever remember. Every time I saw them, apart or together, they would argue about whose job was more important to the process of making an actor presentable.

Eventually they did the only thing possible to end the argument: They got married, and have been blissfully happy ever since.

So, it took all of nine months of principle photography to finish "Catastrophic Failure," which has to be one of the more apropos movie names I've ever heard. It was out of theaters before the end of it's opening weekend. No one went.

Then I was in "L.A. Horror Story." You know, the one about the psychotic plastic surgeon? No, not the lead this time. I played the boyfriend Hank who ends up killing the evil surgeon.

I was completely ripped apart by the critics for that one.

The last movie I filmed while still doing 'Transsexual' was my only romantic movie role, and no, I will not be telling anyone, ever, what the name of it is.

They hired me to be the female lead.

I went up for the male lead, just for the fun of it and they hired me to be the female.

I was so embarrassed when I explained to them that I was male.

I think it was the shaved legs and shorts that did me in on that one. I'd just come from the set of 'Transsexual' and well, you know how it goes. Before I knew it I was reading for the girl. Cody isn't that feminine of a name, and I had no idea at the time, honest. I did think it was kind of a strange scene for a supposed hetero romance film, but I was a bit out of it after sixteen hours straight of filming.

Oh, yeah, I was so out of it that I'd forgotten to remove the breast forms before leaving the set. That also might have contributed to the confusion.

I don't think that IMDB has caught onto the fact that Dawn and Donnie are the same actor. Crap, now you're all going to look up Dawn Leary on IMDB and find my movie.

Yes, I am an attention whore.

So, Washed Out helped me with the makeup, and I got lessons in acting like a woman acting a role.

More specifically I learned how to present myself as a woman.

This was my true awakening. I enjoyed that role completely and was truly sad when principle photography was done. They had to re-shoot a couple of scenes over the next couple of months. And then Dawn made another appearance at the SAG awards. I actually got nominated for Best Actress in an Independent Film. They showed the film at both Sundance and Cannes, but it received no awards.

Unfortunately, that film was when things started falling apart for Aimee and myself.

I was out of work for almost two years after we finished filming the unnamed film, but I wasn't worried too much about it. Residuals from the unnamed film were keeping us afloat and slowly filling up our joint account.

Being out of work wasn't what caused the most friction. It was the fact that I'd gotten a role as a woman. . .in a movie that my wife had auditioned for.

We even separated for a while during this time. We never got divorced, but she went home to live with her mother for a while. My getting a role on "Huguenot" fixed things. I think playing a renaissance French Soldier instead of another female role helped. I never told her that I tried out twice for the movie. Once each as Dawn and Donnie. Yes, I have dual membership in the screen actors guild.

One of the stipulations for the film was that I never cut my hair. The movie was to take place chronologically over a two year period, and my character apparently made a pact with god to protect him in his crusade against the French Protestants.

So, it took two years to film the movie.

If you haven't guessed it yet, I was the villain of the piece, and I got a truly spectacular death scene in the last five minutes of the film.

It's on Netflix, if you're interested.

The scene is at 2:25:06.

Really cool, huh? I especially like how I fall off the wall after being shot with the musket and then get dragged away by the horse.

She was upset that my hair was longer and thicker than hers without my even trying, but she lived with it for the duration of the principle photography.

That was six months before our anniversary. I'd gotten it trimmed a little, but that only seemed to convince my hair to grow more. I'd averaged about ten inches a year, and my hair was just over two feet long from root to tip.

I would pull it into a high ponytail every time we went out. Which would start an argument.

That night, we went out to a fancy restaurant and were asked if we 'ladies' would like anything else, not once but three times, at which Aimee got so angry that she loudly informed the restaurant that I was a man.

Well, that sort of killed the evening.

We went out to the car, arguing the entire way. We stopped at a red light, and continued yelling at each other.

She said some things she didn't mean. I said things I never intended. She suggested something untoward. I told her it would be more satisfying that a similar act with her.

The light turned green and I slammed on the gas.

A sixteen year old was driving home from the prom with his date. They were otherwise distracted and ran the red light.

Up until that moment, I thought I was really doing something for the environment by driving a 'green' car. Like most of the high efficiency cars of the time it was more plastic than metal.

The teen was driving a 65 Mustang rag top that he'd restored with his father.

The passenger seat and most of the rest of my car disappeared. Aimee was dead at the scene. It was a miracle that I survived. Literally. I took a piece of shrapnel to my neck which cut into my carotid artery and my larynx. The scrap of plastic plugged the hole it created or I would have bled out before the EMTs got there.

They patched me up and got me to the hospital. They were able to repair the damage to my neck, but I will have a light scar there for the rest of my life. It's especially visible in certain lights, like under the camera. What's no longer visible, as it received the most damage, was my Adam's Apple. They had to work to get it to look normal, and ended up just shaving it down.

No broken bones. Just the open neck wound. They deemed me a danger to myself and kept me in a state run asylum until I was fully healed.

They held of on the funeral until I was released.

Everyone we knew was at the funeral. It was a closed casket because they hadn't been able to make her presentable. I cried as if my heart was breaking.

At our wedding we had made vows that we would be with each other forever. She promised me that there was only one person in this world she wanted. I vowed I would never love another woman as long as I lived.

But after seven years, she was already abandoning me. How would I survive without her?

I decided there and then not to survive without her.

"Thanks for coming, Karl. I really appreciate it."

"You going to be okay, Donnie?"

"I'm going to be just fine."

Julia looked concerned. She was one of Aimee's oldest friends, and she and I had been friends because of that. "I could come home with you, Donnie. To help you through this?"

I was pretty sure I knew what she meant, but it wasn't going to happen, "thanks for the offer, Julia. Not this time, okay?"

"Donnie, we're here for you. You're not alone."

"I know. I'll be okay, everyone. Really. Good bye." I waved and went to my rental. I drove that to the dealership and dropped it off. I realized in that moment that I'd been preparing for this since I got out of the hospital.

The cab I'd had to call arrived and I quietly got in the back. "Where can I take you, miss?"

I gave him my address and didn't bother to correct his mistake.

I got to our apartment and locked the door. After turning on the TV and turning on the sound I stripped myself naked and spread Aimee's clothing all over the bed. I put on one of her dresses and went out to get some alcohol early the next morning. I hadn't yet gotten up the courage to end it, but I couldn't bear to be away from the feel of her clothing.

There were no comments over my appearance.

Scotch is my poison of choice, and I purchased a gallon of it. Five fifths for me.

I drank the first one shortly after arriving home, and I began to feel looser and more in touch with what was going on. Halfway through the second fifth, my neighbors called the cops on me because they thought me yelling at the ghost of my dead wife was a domestic disturbance.

I showed them my apartment, to let them know I was the only one there. They called me 'miss' on the way out the door. It must have been because I was still wearing the dress. I took it off and put it back on the bed.

I finished the second half of my second fifth and slept it off.

I woke up the next morning bleary eyed and hung over. There were still three fifths left, and figured they'd only go to waste after I was dead so I started into the third.

The dregs were all that remained when I got out the shotgun and loaded it.

I looked over the reminders of my life. The pictures of Aimee, of Aimee and me, of our life, our hopes and our dreams.

I started taking gulps from the fourth fifth, and then figured it was now or never. I spent the next half an hour trying to figure out how to pull the trigger while pointing it at my head.

Luckily I was too drunk for critical thinking.

As I was trying to get back up off the floor after my most recent attempt failed, I heard something on the TV blaring away in the other room.

"Ladies! Producer Mark Shurtleff is looking for the most lovely single ladies for the opportunity of a lifetime. Do you have what it takes to be the next reality TV star? Do you want to be on a show similar to the Bachelor or Joe Millionaire? If you said yes then contact us now at the number 707-555-1432. Only the first thousand callers will have the opportunity to sit in a screening with Mark to see if you might just be the next reality TV star."

I admit: I was drunker than a skunk and as nervous as a whore in church when I made that call.

As you may have noticed from this statement, I've never lost my Texas accent or mannerisms in the years since I moved to the coast.

I put on my best lady Macbeth, without the horrible British accent, and said, "I saw your commercial on TV and I was wondering if I might have been one of the first thousand callers."

"Miss, there should be a spot for you. We are obligated to ask if you are now married, or if you are in a long term relationship and may become married within the next six months." The woman on the phone sounded like a bit of a hag. I imagined her to be overweight with wiry gray hair, and red lipstick.

"No, I'm not married, and I'm not in any sort of relationship at the present time."

"Perfect. What's your name, hun?"

"Your name?"

Name, name, name. . .crap! I looked at my DVD collection and the first thing that came to eye was my director's cut of Barbarella.

"Barb. . .ara"

"I need your last too name, honey."

Frantic I looked around, and there was my empty bottle of scotch on the floor. "Scott. My name is Barbara Scott."

"Ok, Barbara, I have an opening tomorrow at five, can you be here?"

"Sure, I can be there."

"Great, and wear something slinky and sexy. The producer will likely want to see how much fire you can ignite on the small screen." This last was said in a bored manner, as if she were reading from a script. For all I knew that is exactly what was happening.

It might have stopped there had I not lay down on the bed and felt my wife's clothing against my bare back. She'd loved the feel of satins and silks. I loved the feel of having them close to me.

What if I could keep them close to me for a longer period?

What if I really did show up at that casting call? Sure, I should have used the name Dawn Leary, but before that moment, like I said, I had no real intention of going through with it.

My heart began to beat a little faster, and my breathing became shallow. Could I do this? The unnamed movie proved I could. I'd fooled a director before, even if it was accidentally. Could I do it this time on purpose?

I would need to prepare. I'd need to do something with my hair and get my breast forms from Karl.

I was absent mindedly rubbing my leg, and something felt off. Crap. Hairy legs. I'd at least have to get a full body wax before all of this as well.

I picked up the phone again, "Hello, Julia."

"Donnie? What's wrong?"

"I'm drunk as a skunk. I just contemplated shooting myself with my shotgun. I have an audition tomorrow at five," I giggled after saying this.

"Ooookay. Donnie, maybe I should come over like I suggested earlier. . ."

"No, I wanted to know if I could come in. I need a complete wax, and you're the best at this sort of thing, Jules."

"Um, I only service women, Donnie."

I giggled at that, I don't know why. "I know that, Julia. I need to be a woman for my audition."

"Donnie. . ."

"I know. It sounds crazy, and it probably is, but I thought it would keep me closer to Aimee, and I'm drunk. Did I mention that? And so I figured that I'd get a full Brazilian, and. . .I don't know."

"Ok, look Donnie. I figure that you're too drunk to know what you're asking me to do, but if you haven't sobered up, and if you pay me $120 up front, then I'll give you the wax, for Aimee's sake." She didn't know about my time in the unnamed movie.

"Okay, I'll come right over."

"My last customer leaves at three. Come in about three thirty."

"Okay, Julia." I giggled again.

I figured her sober comment for a challenge so I went and got my last fifth out of the fridge and I finished polishing it off about two thirty. When I couldn't find my keys for ten minutes, only to realize they'd been in my hand the entire time, I figured that it was time to call a cab.

I'd called for cabs a lot to get home because I was too drunk to drive, but this would be the first time I called for one to leave home because I was too drunk to drive.

I giggled at the thought.

I walked to the door and began opening it, only to realize I was completely naked. I went back into my room and got on my clothing from the funeral. Stumbling, I made my way outside and waited for the cab on the curb.

I was dropped off at Julia's, yes that is the name of her establishment, at three twenty five, and I went and knocked on the door.

I was amazed I was even upright after the amount of alcohol I'd consumed in the last twenty-four hours. She got me into the room, and stripped me down. I was so sauced that I either couldn't feel it, or I didn't care. She left me the hair on top of my head, and a landing strip. I think she did my eyebrows as well.

I must have paid, as she performed her duty, although to this day I don't remember having done so. Then she bundled me out the back and up the stairs to her apartment, I presumed to sleep it off.

I remember her making a comment about me having drunk too much to be useful to her. I made a joke about scotch being the anti-Viagra which she laughed at. I remember glancing at the clock and seeing that it was five before I lost all consciousness.

I woke up the next morning with no clear recollection of what I'd done, and feeling strangely comfortable in my own skin for the first time in a while. The bedding felt really nice against me as I got up to use the restroom.

I was standing over the toilet, still waking up, when I really looked down at my legs for the first time. The really looked good. I wondered who the woman, standing in the bathroom with me, was.

I was still half asleep at this point, but I woke up quickly enough when I realized the woman in the bathroom was me.

"What in the heck did I do last night?"

"Not enough, Donnie."

Julia came into the bathroom wearing a smile. She had a gorgeous body, but I didn't have it in me to love her. She tried to hold it against me.

Then something occurred to me, "We didn't, I mean you and I weren't"

"No, we didn't, Donnie."

"Oh, thank god." I smiled in relief, "That would have been a mistake."

Her eyes flashed in anger and she began hitting me. "Get out of my house, you bastard. Get the hell out of my house."

I ran out of there in my boxers and undershirt. I left my wallet and everything else in her house. I turned to walk back up to get them and she threw my pants down the stairs at me.

I slipped on my pants, and walked barefoot to the nearest payphone.

Now, I had a splitting headache, and the sunrise that chose that moment to start did so maliciously. I squinted against the glare, and called a cab first, and then my favorite person in the world.

Karl had told me to come on over to his studio and they'd work me in.

The cab pulled up in front of the converted warehouse which housed Washed Out Bridge. I paid the cabbie and got out.

"Donnie, up for another role that they need to you come in makeup for?"

"You could say that."

I explained my plan from yesterday, what I remembered of it, and as I was telling him I had no idea why I was still going through with it. I was still embarrassed over being the female lead for the other show.

"So, how heavy are we going?"

"You're the expert. I need to pass up close and personal. I have to look 'hot'. We have to be able to apply it quickly and it has to last, I figure, 24 to 36 hours at a time."

"Sounds like you want me to use second skin."

"Huh? Never heard of that before."

"You wouldn't. People are still married to foam rubber or latex or silicone. That and second skin costs about eight thousand dollars per cubic foot."

I still had eighty thousand dollars in my bank account.

"I can cover ten cubic feet, anything beyond that. . ."

"With second skin we don't need to worry. It has been tested for up to six months continual use."

"It doesn't have to be reapplied?"

"Of course it has to be reapplied. The material lasts that long, even the edges. Not the glue."

I laughed at myself for that one.

"Basically, we use the right glue and you will be able to do pretty much anything except for go swimming. I have some ideas of glues that might even overcome that."

"So, what's the plan?"

"Well, we'll have to go with your breast forms from 'The Transsexual Stalker,' for today, I even have one of your bras from the movie. I can get sculpting for the second skin prosthetic right away. I still have a life cast of your face and torso, so I'll be able to come up with something really good."

I wasn't worried about my top. It's the down below that worried me.

I was still worried about it when Ilene walked into the room. I had one on and one off at the time, and she did a double take of my body. "Damn, Darko, you had a lot more body hair the last time I saw you in that chair getting that prosthetic attached."

She is punishing like that.

"Donni will need one of your gaffes."

"Sure think, honey."

Karl attached the breast forms to my chest, and I felt their familiar weight again. Hey, I spent three years, off and on, filming that movie, and an additional nine months filming the other movie after Transsexual wrapped. When all was said and done I'd spend almost two years total wearing them.

The slightest smudge of makeup and the line between me and my breasts completely disappeared. There wasn't even enough makeup there to really transfer to my clothing. These, unfortunately, would be a one use appliance. All the really good silicone prosthetics are one use.

I slipped into my red satin and black lace bra and settled my babies in place. I was starting to feel it again, what it was like to be a woman, and let my hips gently sway as I went in search of Ilene.

What she fitted onto me was a flesh-toned entrapment device designed to go seamlessly under another pair of underwear, and nothing like the gaffes I'd worn for that movie.

It went on, during which procedure I paid close attention so I could do it next time, and then she slipped a pair of satin panties that matched my bra on up my smooth legs.

I stepped out to go find a mirror. I was frankly a bit surprised, not that I should have been.

I was beautiful. I'd knew I could pass as a girl, but my hair was currently loose on my shoulders, and with that underwear? Looking at myself in that mirror, I knew that the woman standing there was me.

"There's no way I'm letting you out of here in what you came in wearing. It would be indecent."

"I have just the thing for him, honey."

"Wait, I wanted to wear one of Aimee's dresses for this."

"That can come later, when you land the role. Ilene is right. We need you in something that kills them dead."

Words almost fail me when describing this dress, but I'll try. Black. It had a turtle neck that covered me to my jaw line, but left my shoulders and back. It had a keyhole in the front. It was long enough, barely, that it still covered my panties when I sat, but not from a shallow angle.

I was sad to take off the bra, as it was one of my favorites, but for that dress, I would do just about anything.

"What are your plans for face and makeup?"

"Well, I thought I would do my own makeup and then a salon for my hair."

"There's no way that Barb is going anywhere the first time without the full treatment." Karl said.

"What are you going on about?"

"Look, do you want to simply enter this contest, or do you want to win it?"

"Well, I guess win it."

"Then you're going to need a lot more than just Ilene and I to pull this off. You'll need a full support team. The appliance will be about $12k, with backup, but other than that we need a voice coach and a makeup team to get you in and out in the shortest period of time possible. And you will have to be a woman one hundred percent of the time.

I thought of my life up to this point as a man. I thought about failed relationships and nights alone crying until I'd met Aimee, who had to ask me out that first time, and ask me to marry her.

Would it be so bad to be the woman for a while, or even to admit that it was more me than this male facade I'd presented to everyone else?

I took a deep breath and smiled, "Let's do this."

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of activity as Karl and Ilene called in the experts. I got crash courses in diction and poise. Walking in heels. My hair was impeccably styled, and my makeup was applied to perfection. At four we did last look in front of the mirror, and I was impressed. Really impressed. I didn't recognize myself at all.

Instruction on how to touch up my makeup were given and a leather clutch thrust into my hands.

Then I was out the door and into the back of Karl's car.