Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 9
By Pentatonic

Wednesday, September 30, 2015:

The school had a course in Civics during the first semester of the year with U.S. History during the second semester. For reasons which were rather unclear, all seniors had to take the Civics course and pass periodic exams in Civics to be allowed to graduate. Those unfortunates who failed the course were required to re-take it during the second semester.

None of my crowd wanted to have to repeat the course, so we really applied ourselves to getting a good grade. With the baby due in the spring, Becky really wanted to pass the course the first time.

Becky, Sue, Joe and I were doing a joint study session at Joe’s house that Wednesday. The topic was the functions of the federal, state and local governments, and how they interrelated. Joe, the cynic, expounded, “All these layers of government do is pass silly laws, tax us to death, and then spend the money foolishly.”

“Yeah,” opined Sue, “let’s say that Roy was all dressed up as Renee, which washroom would he or she be allowed to use?” She turned to me and said, “What do you do?”

“Learn to hold your water and not drink too many soft drinks.” I responded, not wanting to go into the issue too deeply.

“Speaking of Renee, I haven’t seen much of her recently,” Joe said, “How come?”

“I’m trying to keep peace at home,” I responded, “I’m selective of the times I dress.”

“Yeah, but I miss Renee.” he said. Sue was now giving Joe and me strange looks.

“Well, I’m going to work the Holiday Season at the tall girls store, so if you want to see Renee, stop on by the store.”

After finishing the study session, the conversation turned to whether we wanted to attend the Homecoming dance again this fall.

Saturday, October 17, 2015:

All of us decided to attend the Homecoming dance. Joe, being silly, asked me if I was going to run for homecoming queen. “Joe,” I responded, “That’s not even funny. The girls who want to be homecoming queen take it very seriously, and they wouldn’t like it at all. You have to consider their feelings.” Shades of the essay a year ago.

The voting took place the week before the dance. If you bought a ticket to the dance, your ballot counted twice, to favor attendance at the dance. Girls who were running for the position had their names printed on the ballot. Naturally there was a space for a write-in candidate. “Don’t even think about it, Joe,” I warned him.

Despite the warning, I actually received some write-in votes, along with some other boys. I suspected that Joe had a hand in this. Thankfully, only the winner was announced, along with her court which consisted of the other girls who were on the ballot.

Saturday, October 31, 2015:

As the previous year, the girls threw a Halloween party. Becky, being pregnant, wasn’t as enthused this year, and rented a witch’s costume. I decided to go as a mechanic, and wore my coveralls. Although hardly original Becky and I had a good time.

Thursday, November 26, 2015:

Ms. Shay seemed very pleased when I signed up for seasonal work at the tall girls shop. “Do you think that you can work at all on Thanksgiving Day?” she asked.

“All day,” I answered.

“But you’ll miss Thanksgiving dinner with your family,” she said.

“After what happened with my family on New Year’s Day, that will hardly be a loss. In fact, I plan on using work as an excuse. There are some of my relatives who are real asses,” I answered, and I told her what had happened at that family dinner.

“I’m sad that you had such a horrible experience, but I’m glad, actually overjoyed, that you can be at the shop.” she said.

My mother was not happy to hear that I ‘had’ to work that day. “You’ll miss the dinner,” she said.

“But I won’t miss the money I’ll make,” I replied.

I arrived at the store a little after 8:00 on Thanksgiving Day. Ms. Shay had wheeled a rack of dresses outside the front door. There was a big sign on top of the rack which said: “70% DISCOUNT - ALL DRESSES ON THIS RACK.”

“You’re not going to make much money with such a deep discount,” I commented.

“They’re all old stock, and I just want to get rid of them to make room for new dresses,” she explained. She paused for a moment, and then said, “Why don’t you pick one you like, and wear it today? That way we can honestly say that your dress came from this rack. Look, you can have the dress you model.”

That was just too much for me to pass up. There was a satiny red dress with a peplum at the waist, all the better to make my hips look larger. It was exactly my size and when I tried it on, it fit perfectly.

“You look smashing!” Ms. Shay exclaimed when I walked out of the fitting room.

I looked at myself in the mirror. She was right. What was wrong were the colors of my makeup, lipstick and nails. I had worn black shoes to work, and I thought that red or pink shoes would look better with this dress. Ms. Shay saw my concern, and I explained the problem.

“I have a friend who works at a makeup counter. Let me phone her and see if she can give you a quick make over before we get busy. Then pop on down to a shoe store.” With that she reached into the cash drawer and handed me some money. “My treat,” she said, but be a sweety and remember to return what’s left with the receipts.” Her friend said that she could take care of me immediately.

Ms. Shay’s friend, Adele, was waiting for me. She looked me over from head to toe. “I like the french twist,” she said, “but your makeup and nails. . .”

“Ms. Shay wants me to model this dress today,” I responded. “The clothes I wore to work went with my makeup, but this dress doesn’t.”

Adele immediately went to work and cleaned off the makeup I had put on that morning. Out of the blue, she commented. “Your boss has sent some of her ‘special customers’ from time to time. Did you know that?”

“No,” I replied. I wondered if she suspected that I was a lot like the ‘special customers,’ but nothing was said.

When she was done, the results were spectacular. I paid her and gave her a generous tip. She gave me her business card and said, “Come see me again.” I told her that I would.

When I stood up she looked at my feet. “Those shoes. . .” she commented.

“I know,” I said in response. “ My next stop is a shoe store,” I added.

When I returned to the store, Ms. Shay was pleased with the result. “It’s lots of fun, dressing you up, sort of like having my own doll.”

When it finally came time to close, most of the 70% sale dresses had been sold, due, in part, to it being announced that I was wearing one of the sale dresses. Several times during the day customers asked me to model a dress or two, which I gladly did. Ms. Shay was pleased with the results of the day, and when we were closing up, she said. “I liked the way you were willing to model clothes for the customers. That produced a lot of sales. I’m planning some ads for the season, and I’d like to hire you as one of the models, at the going rate for models. How does that sound to you?”

“I’d love to.”

She told me that the photo shoot was scheduled for the next afternoon, and instructed me on what I should wear for the shoot.

When I arrived at home, my mother had brought home some food from the Thanksgiving dinner, which I hungrily attacked. My mother noticed the dress. “I’ve never seen that dress before.” she said, and I explained the circumstances.

It was then that I mentioned that Ms. Shay had hired me as a model for her ads. My sister must have heard the conversation, since she appeared in the kitchen a short time. She checked me out. “All dressed up, and no place to go?” she said with a smirk.

“I’ve been all dressed up, and earning money,” I responded. “The only place I want to go is to bed,” I added.

“How was the dinner?” I asked.

“Same old, same old,” my sister answered, “except for some nasty comments from your uncle. You didn’t miss much. Now tell me about this modeling?”

“I model a bunch of clothes and a photographer takes pictures.” I said, “not too much about it, except that I get paid.”

Amy was studying my dress. “I’d like to wear that dress for a party on Saturday. Is that okay with you?”

Sure, no problem,” I answered, “isn’t that what sisters do?”

“I like you a lot better as a sister than as a brother,” she said with a smile. “Maybe you should be Renee full time,”

Our mother frowned when she heard what Amy had said, so I didn’t answer her. As we were going upstairs, I said to Amy, “Help me get out of this dress. Oh by the way, it might have to go to the cleaners tomorrow, since I’ve been wearing it all day.”

Amy smiled, “As Roy, you sweat. As Renee, you glow. A little perfume will do the job. Oh, I’ll need to borrow some of the perfume you use. Conflicting aromas, you know.”

Friday, November 27, 2015:

The other models and I arrived at the store at about 10:00. I had brought along several pairs of shoes, some underclothing, slips, a short pink satiny robe for a cover-up between shots and my makeup. Ms. Shay had us try on the dresses and clothes she had selected for the shoot. I was lucky, All the clothes Ms. Shay had selected for me to model fit. By noon, we had loaded the clothes in Ms. Shay’s car, and Ms. Shay brought out some sandwiches for a light lunch.

When we arrived at the photography studio at about 1:00 I was surprised to see quite a few people there. First, there was the photographer Steve and his assistant, Sherry. Additionally there was a makeup lady, Ruth, and Shelly, a wardrobe lady who could make any quick alterations if necessary. Rounding out the crew was Annette, a writer from the newspaper for the ad copy and Sylvia, a representative from the modeling agency. It seemed to me to be a whole lot of people for a dozen or so pictures.

After introduction all around, Sylvia was the first to speak up. “Ms. Shay,” she said with a little menace in her voice, “I’m here because you hired two girls from our agency, but I heard that you have brought a third model. According to our contract with you, all of your models have to come from our agency for a photo shoot.”

“She’s one of my employees at my store,” Ms. Shay responded.

“That doesn’t matter,” Sylvia declared, “if she isn’t one of our models, the other models will refuse to participate in this photo shoot.”

Ms. Shay was getting angry. “Look,” she said, “Why don’t you just take your two models and get out of here. I’ll do the whole shoot with just Renee.”

“If you do that, you still have to pay my agency for my two girls.”

“No way!” expounded Ms. Shay, “You’re the one pulling them out.”

While this was going on, the photographer was getting visibly annoyed. “Look, I want to get on with this shoot. Can’t you seem to work this out?”

I was getting intimidated because of all of the hostility over me being a model. “Ms. Shay, if it’s causing a problem, I don’t have to be a model. It’s okay with me.”

It was then that the newspaper representative spoke. “Sylvia, there seems to be a simple solution,” she said, “why don’t you just sign up Renee as one of your models, and we can all get to work.”

“But...” Sylvia started to say before Ms. Shay cut her off.

“That’s okay with me, under the condition that you don’t use her for any of your other jobs without my permission. After all, she is my employee.” Everyone, except Sylvia, nodded their heads, indicating that this was an acceptable solution.

Sylvia just looked a bit deflated, having lost that argument, but she wasn’t going to give up without a few more comments. “But she hasn’t gone through our screening process and given modeling lessons. Also, the owner of the agency has to approve all new hires. She doesn’t even have a portfolio”

“Give it up, Sylvia,” the Photographer said, “I’ll make up a portfolio from the shots from today.”.

Hearing no further objection from Sylvia, the photographer then said, “Good, now that everything’s settled, let’s get to work.”

With that, the clothes to be modeled were put on a rack with numbered hangers, and Ms. Shay, with a smug smile, gave the details of the clothes to the newspaper representative. Then the actual photos were taken. I never realized how many photos were needed, since only one of each outfit would be in the ad. I also realized why so many people, aside from Sylvia, were necessary to make the photo shoot move smoothly and quickly.

There were digital prints made and the photographer studied them. He then turned to Sylvia and said, “You should be glad that you signed up Renee. The camera loves her. She doesn’t need any of your so called training.”

Saturday, November 28, 2015:

The day after the photo shoot, Ms. Shay had the proof of her ad on her desk. She also had a contract from the modeling agency for me to sign. “And how is the new star of the modeling business today?” she said, as she handed me a copy of the ad. One of my pictures was largest and most prominent.

Ms. Shay then added, “I spoke with Mrs. Bates, the head of the Bates modeling agency. She loves you. She even told me how proud she was of Sylvia ‘discovering’ you and signing you up before any other agency snapped you up. I just let all that slide, even if Sylvia was an ass, and had handed her boss a load of you-know-what. Oh, by the way, the lady from the newspaper was really impressed with you. She writes a column called ‘On The Runway’ which appears in the Sunday style section of the paper, and you and the store will be mentioned. Great advertising.”

Sunday, November 29, 2015:

Amy was sitting at the kitchen table reading the newspaper when I came downstairs for breakfast. When she saw me, she exclaimed, “Oooh, we have a celebrity in our midst!”

“Huh?” I responded.

“Look at the paper,” she said as she handed me the Style section of the paper. “Look at the ad for your store, you’re all over it. Not only that but check out the fashion column. Both you and your store are mentioned,” Amy continued and said, “and look at this photo in the column, you’re called a ‘rising star in modeling.’ I’m so happy that you’re my sister.”

My mother entered the kitchen at that moment. “Who’s you sister?” she asked. “You don’t have a sister.” With that, Amy thrust the paper into my mother’s hands. My mother looked at it. Her only comment was, “Oh my!”

Just then the phone rang and my mother answered it. “It’s Becky, and she wants to speak with the rising star in modeling.” I reluctantly took the phone.

“Did you see it?” she asked. I figured out what ‘it’ was.

“Yeah,” I responded. “So much for keeping my cross dressing low key,” I complained. “Now all the kids at school will know about it.”

I was scheduled to start work that afternoon at 1:00. When I arrived at the store, it seemed more crowded than usual. When Ms. Shay saw me she hurried across the store to greet me. “Isn’t it absolutely wonderful?” she exclaimed. “People have come here to see you, and lot of them have bought dresses.” It was then that I noticed that someone had printed out a photo of me and had written ‘Our own Renee’ on it and had pasted a border of gold stars around it like a frame. It was prominently posted by the cash register.

It was then that a customer recognized me. “After I saw the paper, I just had to come here and meet you,” she told me. Her attention to me caused other customers to notice and I soon had customers all around me. I noticed that Ms. Shay had loaded a rack with the clothes that had appeared in the ad.

“Ladies,” I announced, “the clothes in the ad are on the rack. We have a good collection of different sizes.”

“Not all the sizes, now,” Ms. Shay announced. “Get them while you can.”

Some of the customers had brought the Style section of the paper with them and asked me to autograph my picture which I gladly did.

There was a line at the fitting rooms, and when a customer approached me, I turned her over to one of the other clerks to ring up the sale. Ms. Shay noticed this and whispered to me. “You’re giving all your sales to the other girls.”

“Yeah,” I replied, “they didn’t get a chance to model, so it only seems right.” During the day the other girls came up to me and thanked me for letting them get the commissions.

I was tired and hungry when I arrived at my house. Amy and my parents were waiting for me in the kitchen. My father frowned when he saw how I was dressed, but said nothing.

“Well,” Amy asked, “how did it go today? Did anyone say anything about the stuff in the paper?”

“Oh boy,” I answered, “did they ever. The store was packed when I got there, and we were busy all day. Ms. Shay had copies of the column and pictures all over the store, and lots of people wanted to see me and talk with me. I guess that it was my ‘fifteen minutes of fame,’ except it lasted all day. I glad it’s all over, and things can go back to normal.”

“Don’t bet on it,” my father muttered.

Tuesday, December 1, 2015:

I was working an evening shift. The stuff from Sunday was still prominently displayed, and there were a lot of customers in the store. Ms. Shay came up to me as soon as I entered the store. “Our rising star!” she said as a greeting. I just blushed. “You really made a hit. We had a very profitable weekend, mainly because of you.”

Later on, Ms. Shay pulled me aside. “I’ve had several calls from Ms. Bates from the modeling agency. It appears that you are ‘hot stuff.’ She had calls from her clients who want you as a model, and she wants me to allow that. I want to talk with you and maybe allow a few. Think about it.”

“I don’t know,” I replied, and then continued, “I don’t have a lot of time, with school and all, and I don’t want to leave you short handed at the store while I’m at photo shoots.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, “but this might be your big chance.”

Later on, I recognized one of our ‘special customers.’ It was Mr. Stevens, who had been Mr. Thompson’s ‘date’ at the Jones’ New Year’s Eve party, except that at this time he didn’t look much like a ‘Mister.’ He, or maybe I should say ‘she’ was wearing a conservative dark blue dress with an A-line skirt. Her makeup was also conservatively done and she was wearing a styled wig. Altogether, she looked pretty good. “Hello, Renee,” she said.

“Oh, hi, Mr., er, ah. . .” I said with some hesitation in my voice.

“Stephanie,” he said. “Stephanie Stevens,” she added with a big smile. “I like the alliteration, Stephanie and Stevens.”

“So, how can we help you?” I said.

“Not ‘we’ but ‘you.’ I came to see you,” he said. “It appears that the Mr. and Mrs. Jones are hosting a formal New Year’s Eve party again this year, and Mr. Thompson has invited me as his date.”

“Oh?” I said.

“If you’re going to be there, in a formal gown, I want to wear a formal gown also.”

“I haven’t been invited,” I admitted.

“Oh,” she said. “Look,” she added, “my date, Mr. Thompson works with Mr. Jones, and maybe he can drop some non-subtle hints to see that you’re invited. For the moment, let’s assume that it works, so let’s find a smashing gown for me. I’m wearing padding on my butt and hips, so we can do a tight fitting gown,” she advised, “and with a slit, definitely a slit, so I can show off some leg.”

She tried on quite a few gowns. With pleasure, I noted that price was not a consideration. We finally selected a gown in cream colored satin. The skirt was form fitting and it did have a slit which came up to above mid thigh. It had spaghetti straps with a deep plunging vee neckline. It came with a short sleeve chiffon bolero jacket.

“So, what will you wear?” she asked.

“Probably what I wore last year,” I said. “Assuming, of course, I’m invited,” I added.

“But everyone already saw you wearing it,” she complained.

“And they’ll see it again.”