The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 2419 by Angharad Copyright© 2014 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I drove into the university, thank goodness it was Friday and I could relax for two whole days. I determined I wasn’t even going to switch on my computer once I got home that evening. Danni came to the office with me, she was going to do some filing for me, supervised by Delia. Her outfit surprised me, she wore tiny shorts with tights and ankle boots plus a skimpy top and thin jacket. For someone who claimed to be a boy really, she had me fooled, not that it’s difficult. She was also made up to the nines and had spent a bit of time doing her hair as well. Every time she moved her wrist, her bracelets tinkled which would have driven me mad, she’d become so girly—yet she was determined to stay near me until the two thugs who’d frightened her were locked up for a long period.

With Delia’s help, I waded through a mountain of paperwork, signing this or that and at the same time, I kept a note of things that occurred to me while I was dealing with things. If I was acting head of department for any length of time, things might change more permanently. Another part of me felt like it would be nice to retire and spend Simon’s cash, but I’d be itching to get stuck into wildlife again. I’m an ecologist, it’s what I do.

After lunch, Danni went to see Cindy and Carly—ah, now it became apparent why the OTT outfit for the university. So she was going to see them and like any self respecting female, competing with them. What we compete for is anyone’s business, but it’s what we do and that applies to ordinary women and we neo-females.

The afternoon was a struggle to stay awake, should I have had the glass of beer? It certainly tasted fresh but the consequences of wanting to sleep made me question the validity of the meal. I shouldn’t have had the beer, that was just asking for trouble and I’m silly not to have seen the consequences, but I closed my eyes for just a moment and nearly fell off the chair when Delia knocked the door and announced a visitor.

I struggled to open my eyes, yawning as I did so, gulping in oxygen to restart my comatose brain. “Who did you say it was?” I asked her.

“The chair of the university GLBT society.”

“Who?” I didn’t even know we had one.

“Sharon Stone, Professor.”

I must have done a double take because she laughed, “Not the American actress, but a lecturer from the technology department. Could she have a word?”

“Any chance of a cuppa?” I asked, my mouth feeling like a camel’s armpit.

“Of course, Professor.”

“What’s with the professor stuff?” I hissed at her.

“The dean told me it was your formal title.”

“It’s only a temporary thing.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts, then,” she smirked back at me and held the door open while Ms Sharon Stone entered. Any resemblance to the American movie star ended with the name. This Ms Stone was tall, very tall, about six feet including the stilt high court shoes she wore. She offered a long hand upon which were elegantly painted nails in a hot pink colour which matched her shoes and bag. She wore navy suit with hot pink scooped neck top, visible through the open suit jacket; her skirt ended mid thigh showing her glossy navy tights. Round her neck she wore a chunky necklace that matched the blue of her suit. Her bleached blonde hair was long and reached below her shoulders and her makeup was as elegant as the rest of her. I felt slightly intimidated by this creature who should have been lunching at a private club on the arm of an executive as she towered over me making me feel scruffy. I was clad in a black tee shirt with Tour de France logos all over it and Yorkshire 2014 written across the front, and black linen pants which ended mid calf showing my bare legs down to my black mary jane barred shoes. My hair was clean but pulled back into a ponytail and I wore no makeup. I did have a gold chain round my neck with matching bracelet and small diamond ear studs.

“I’m so glad to meet you at long last, Professor Watts.”

“How d’you do?” I replied still trying to take on board someone who looked as if they’d just escaped from Harvey Nicks window.

I offered her a seat and she sat elegantly—did she do everything elegantly? I felt clumsy and scruffy by comparison, sitting more heavily than I usually did, my body still trying to wake itself up from its impromptu nap.

Before my visitor could explain her presence, Delia returned with two cups of tea, well mugs, though they should have been bone china cups and saucers to match her outfit. She left taking the paperwork I’d finished before lapsing into snooze mode, smirking behind my visitor as she closed my office door.

“What can I do for you?” I enquired sipping my tea.

“Professor Watts, this is a real privilege.” Her husky voice was a bit like Lauren Bacall’s.

“You’ve lost me I’m afraid.”

“You’re the most famous teacher on the staff, a television celebrity, author, film maker, and aristocrat’s wife.”

“So?” I failed to see what relevance that had on anything, and she forgot banker’s wife.

“We’d like you to be patron of the university Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans group.”

I am still astonished that I didn’t spray tea all over the papers on my desk, almost as astonished as I was by her request. There was no way I was going to agree to it.

“I don’t honestly think I’d have time,” which was true on a number of levels.

“It won’t involve much time, perhaps a few letters and showing your lovely face at the AGM, that’s about it really.”

“Why me?”

“Lady Cameron, if I might call you that, your name and title carry a bit more weight than mere academic ones.”

“I’m not sure I agree, I had to work for my PhD, I only had to marry Simon for the title.”

“You’ve helped with gay and trans students in the past, counselling or representing them.”

“I’ve done the same with non GLBT students as well and they don’t want me to act as patron.”

Here it comes, my history is to be dropped on my desk. “We know about your having a transgender daughter or two.”

“I’m not sure my children are of interest to the university or any of its agents,” I said defensively.

“I know Julie, she cuts my hair.”

“I’m not sure of the relevance of my daughter to your group.”

“When I told her of my transition and said she was lucky being a natural female, she fell over laughing. She confided in me that she was transgender as well.”

“Actually, she’s now legally female.”

“Yes, so am I.”

How had I missed it, her hands and feet were a little large, but so was the rest of her. I glanced at her face and neck and everything seemed well—elegant.

“Full facial surgery,” she said blushing.