~o~O~o~

CHAPTER NINE
“A mes voeux a daigné sourire”
– Donizetti, La Fille du Régiment, Ah! mes amis (Aria)

Washington, D.C., March 12, immediately following

The door to the conference room closed behind Daviana, who – seeing me remain behind – looked concerned. Eileen and I were alone.

She gave me a lawyerly half smile. “I don’t suggest you wait to take care of personal issues until after trial now, Cam. So . . . if I remember correctly, there were some things you wanted to talk to me about?”

I nodded. “As a mentor, as a friend . . . and as my supervisor.”

Hearing the last item on my list, she looked more serious, but she just nodded in return. “Of course.”

I tried to think of a good way to explain. Lord knows, I’d had plenty of time to think of what I would say and how I would say it, but facing the reality of the moment, my erudition failed me. I knew deep down that all the smooth words, the careful words, were useless here anyway. The truth, and nothing but the truth, is usually brief.

“I’m trans, Eileen. And I’m running out of the strength, even the ability, to present as male. I could have made it through the trial. I convinced myself I needed to, that it was the right thing to do. But that’s when we were looking at three weeks. Not three months.”

“Three months, minimum,” Eileen added. “Probably more.”

She had listened to me quietly, displaying no change in her demeanor. Not surprise. Not – thank God – revulsion or even discomfort. “I’m glad you told me. I had an inkling something was troubling you, and after that morning in Hartford, I had a guess what it might be. I think I understand why you waited, but it’s going to be okay. Really.”

She leaned forward slightly. “Now. There are things I need to say as a member of the firm’s leadership team, so let me get them out of the way. We have a nondiscrimination policy. I assume you’ve read it?”

I nodded, mentally thanking my sister’s fiancé for bringing it to my attention. And, I thought, Henry can also cook!

“Good,” Eileen continued. “You know it is the policy of this firm not to discriminate against any employee on the basis of gender identification. And I will tell you – me, personally, Eileen O’Donnell – that the day we don’t live up to that policy is the day I walk out. Which they won’t want,” she said with a predatory grin, “because I’m hands down their best trial lawyer.”

In a more normal tone, she added, “But I also know this firm. I’ve done as much as anyone to create its modern incarnation. I know all of the partners to one degree or another. And I know every member of the management committee very well; I strong-armed half of them into doing a stint. I’m confident that we’ll do right by you.”

She gave me her most direct look, making sure her words had sunk in. “Better?”

“Better,” I said with a somewhat relieved smile. “Though, honestly, I wasn’t really worried about outright discrimination. This has just never struck me as that kind of place. I do worry that I’ll make people uncomfortable – and, I guess, the other way ’round. And I know that’s not something management can ‘fix.’ People are people. They have comfort zones, and trans people are outside of those zones for a whole lot of people.”

Eileen nodded. “I understand. And to be fair, I really don’t know what you’ll experience that way. This is a big place. We insist that everyone always behave professionally, and that is something we can enforce. And have. Beyond that, though, you’re right. Not much we can do. But, honestly, I don’t think you’re going to find yourself isolated or friendless. The fact that this is a big place cuts both ways. Everyone tends to find their own group. I think many, if not most, of our people are not going to be put off by your being trans.”

She was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Your bigger problem may be the world outside the firm. Life’s no cakewalk for women lawyers, much less trial lawyers. I’m in lots of meetings with all the bigwigs from some Fortune 50 company and I’m the only woman there – unless maybe the head of HR is a woman. Even now, in 2020.

“People will tell you it’s different today, but they told me the same thing forty years ago. News flash: it wasn’t then and it isn’t now. You’ll have to go through extra hoops to be taken seriously, and I can’t begin to tell you how tiresome that gets. I don’t know if that’s going to be even worse for you as a transwoman. But it sure as hell won’t be any easier.”

I protested. “Eileen, I’ve seen you completely dominate every room you’re in, no matter who’s there!”

She grinned. “There are some tricks to that, and I expect you’ll master them. But mostly it comes from building my reputation to a point where now it can do a lot of the heavy lifting for me. That takes decades.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“I know,” she replied. “I wish there were some silver bullet or magic wand that would eliminate bigotry and harmful stereotypes, but there isn’t. It’s just long, grinding work.” She added, jokingly, “Are you sure you want to be a woman?”

I returned her smile. “Yes, I am. Very. But it wouldn’t matter if I wasn’t. I am what I am. I just can’t hide it any more.”

She looked thoughtful and leaned back in her chair – a slight movement, barely changing her normal perfect posture. Simply a small signal that our conversation would now be less formal. She was taking off her supervisor hat, insofar as she ever could.

“Can you tell me about it? What’s it been like for you? How long have you known?”

“I guess I’ve always known that I didn’t quite fit. I just assumed it was me, though – just stupid insecurities everyone feels. Nothing really felt natural; I didn’t know why. Or rather, I didn’t even know it was possible for things to feel natural.

“Everything I did, how I interacted with people, how I responded to things, was calculated. I would think, ‘What is it that I’m supposed to be doing in this situation,’ or ‘What’s the correct way for me to respond to this individual.’ I would game it out in my head and make a careful decision on what to do. I assumed everyone was like that.”

I paused, searching for the right words. Eileen regarded me calmly and attentively, waiting for me to collect my thoughts. I should have this down by now, I thought to myself.

“Last year, I started to realize that people didn’t operate like that at all. Oh, maybe for big, important decisions. Sometimes. For everyday stuff, though, people were generally spontaneous – their actions simply flowed naturally from who they really are. But I had blocked those natural, instinctive reactions.

“And the reason I had was because, when I did express myself naturally, everything about my expression was female. Deep down, that’s who I am. That's when everything started to make sense. I knew what was ‘wrong’ inside me, and I suspected that I could 'fix' it by presenting as a woman.”

“So you tried it,” she said, making it a statement rather than a question.

I nodded. “I’ve been living as a woman for the past several months, except at work.”

“Given how many hours you’re here, a large exception,” she said dryly.

I chuckled. “Yeah, that part’s been hard. Because just as I was discovering how wonderful it was to just be myself, be the person I am inside, I was also making a very conscious effort to suppress all of that here.”

We talked a bit about my recent experiences. I told her about the change in my living situation, and how I was temporarily living in a house in Baltimore with two cisgendered women who were professional opera singers. And how they both accepted me as a woman.

“Twofer!” Eileen exclaimed. “You get fabulous roommates and you get to learn about one of the truly great art forms!”

I laughed, delighted. “You know opera?”

“I enjoy it. Your roommates know it. Big difference.”

I nodded. “I’ve been incredibly fortunate, but it’s really just a short-term solution. The commute is a real bear. And, I don’t know how they would feel about my being there full-time.”

We talked some more, then she said, “Well, I suppose I should put my supervisor hat back on and ask you what’s next. How do you want to go about changing your status here, and when, and what are the next steps in your transition?”

I took a deep breath. “You know, I’ve just been pushing off thinking about the nuts and bolts of this until after the trial. I want to begin hormone therapy. That will take some time to produce physical results – probably a few months before any noticeable changes occur, and the changes can take as much as two years to finish.

“I gather at the outset I might have to deal with mood swings triggered by hormones, just like a girl going through puberty – which is one of the reasons I thought I’d better wait until the trial was done. I think I can handle it. I certainly hope I can, but . . . I wasn’t so confident that I wanted to risk having a breakdown in the courtroom!”

She laughed lightly and said, “Yeah, that would have been suboptimal for sure. It’s been a while, but I do remember puberty – my own, and, much worse, my daughter’s!”

I laughed. “Yeah, not looking forward to that. But I do, at least, have resources and experience a fourteen-year-old lacks.”

Returning to the immediate issue, I said, “The treatment should allow me to present a more natural feminine appearance. But I don’t think there’s any need to delay changing over until that process is complete. I’ve worked hard at this, and as I said a fair bit seems to come naturally.

“I’m pretty confident in my ability to present convincingly as a woman here at work with the assistance of some padding. So I can start right away. I’m just not sure whether that’s the best way to go about it. I was hoping you might be able to advise me on that.”

“Hmmm,” she said. “Probably doesn’t make sense for you to go home today as you are and then just show up on Monday as a woman, no matter how convincing you are.”

She clicked a nail against her teeth, thinking. “I tell you what. Let me talk to my colleagues on the management committee. What they’re probably going to want to do is send out a firm-wide notice similar to the one we send out when new employees arrive. Though it might feel like putting an unwelcome spotlight on your situation, it would also spare you a lot of individual conversations. And, it would underscore the fact that the management committee is in your corner. Do you think that would work?”

I thought about it, thought some more, then nodded emphatically. “Yes, I think that would be best. Hopefully it’s no more than a one-day story.”

“Okay,” she said. “It may take a bit more time to get that taken care of. We’ve got a meeting scheduled for Tuesday anyway; I was going to have to miss it because of the trial, but now – Joy! – I can be there.”

From her expression, management meetings rated somewhere between orthodonture and amputation.

“Once I get their blessing on the strategy, I’ll draft some text and run it by you. In the meantime, why don’t you take next week off and get yourself sorted out. Just for example,” she said with a warm smile, “you might have to get yourself a work-appropriate wardrobe. I can probably arrange for the memo to go out by Thursday of next week.”

“But . . . we’ve got work to do next week. I don’t want to leave you short-staffed!”

She gave me a kind look. “Keeping a trial team functioning well as a team requires a lot of work and forbearance from every team member. You obviously understand that, but you’ve gone above and beyond your duty. It shouldn’t require completely suppressing your identity, which you’ve done for months. We can spare you for a week.

“Question is, do you want me to tell the team what’s going on when I meet with them on Monday? Would you rather tell them yourself? Or, have them find out when the rest of the firm does?”

“If you could tell them, that would be great. These conversations . . . really aren’t easy. You’ve been wonderful, but I’m always worried about how people will react.”

“I’ll be happy to,” she said.

We had to talk, of course, about the tail that so often seems to wag this particular dog.

“You are welcome to use the women’s restrooms throughout the office,” Eileen said. “Understand, that may make some people uncomfortable. Alternatively, it might make you uncomfortable. I don’t know, and mercifully I don’t have to care. We provide unisex restrooms on the sixth and eighth floors for people who, for whatever reason, are uncomfortable with the gender-differentiated common restrooms. Whether you use those instead of the women’s rooms is entirely your decision.”

As we were winding down our discussion, I said, “There’s one more thing I guess I’d better tell you. I promised I’d let you know if anything that was going on would adversely affect my work . . . . I have been dealing with PTSD since an incident at Christmas. I didn’t say anything because it had only affected me at night. But I had an incident in the office two days ago. Gave Daviana quite a scare. I am getting treatment, and Dr. Chun is confident it will get better. But I thought you’d better know.”

Eileen said, more formally, “Thank you for telling me. Communication on issues like this is important, so we can provide a supportive environment and make accommodations where necessary. Was there anything here you’re aware of that triggered the episode?”

I shook my head emphatically. “No; it was something else. That containment area they’ve established in New Rochelle – my brother Iain lives and works there. I talked to him; he’s not leaving. And I was just overwhelmed by fear. For Iain, for my sister – for the whole world. It’s not rational, but it suddenly just scared the bejesus out of me.”

“Or else you’re rational, and the rest of us are just whistling past the graveyard. You’re seriously worried about this virus, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know why, but it really scares me. Not so much for myself. But I feel like it’s coming on like some sort of tsunami wave, and we’re all frolicking on the beach building our sandcastles . . . . Anytime I start going down that rabbit hole, though, I ask myself what I should be doing differently – what all of us should be doing differently – and I keep coming up empty. So I just get on with life.”

Eileen nodded. “Yeah, that’s where I keep coming out too, though I don’t think I’ve had your visceral reaction to the news that’s been coming out. I also don’t have anyone in a hotspot, though obviously that can change.”

She paused a moment, shook her head, then returned to the earlier issue. “Anyhow, on the subject of your PTSD, you’re doing what you can for treatment and you’re normally fine. If there’s anything we can do, let me know. Keep me posted, but otherwise, just take care of yourself, okay?”

I agreed.

That seemed to cover everything, so I said, “Eileen, thank you so much. For everything. I’ll make it work, really I will. And I think I’ll be more of an asset here than I have been, trying to be male.”

She smiled. “You were doing just fine, and I don’t doubt you’ll continue to do fine. I’m looking forward to working with this woman you’ve been hiding from us. But . . . what should we call you? Will you use the same name?”

“You know, I should have an answer for that, and I’m sorry to say I don’t. Cameron can be a woman’s name as well as a man’s, but I’d like to make a break, somehow. On the other hand, the name I use with my friends doesn’t really work in a professional environment.”

Eileen stood up and started moving to the door, and I did as well.

“Well, give it some thought and let me know,” she said, “so we can put it in the memo that goes out to the firm. In the meantime, when we’re behind closed doors, not speaking as partner and associate, may I use your friend name?”

“I would really like that,” I said, fighting the prickling of tears. “Please, call me Cami.”

She smiled and held out her hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Cami.”

We shook hands, formally, both smiling, then she was gone.

~o~O~o~
CHAPTER TEN
“Achevons la métamorphose”
– Gounod, Faust, Ah! je ris de me voir (Aria)

Washington, D.C., March 12, immediately following

I went back to my office in something of a daze. I had taken the plunge! That thought dominated my mind. But at the same time, there were plenty more worries behind it. Until just a couple hours ago, I was one hundred percent prepared to be in a trial next week; now, I would be on vacation.

And then what? What work would I be doing when I got back? There’s always plenty of legal work to be done, but I wasn’t just a lawyer, I was a litigator. If we had the British legal system, I would be considered to be training to be a barrister, not a solicitor. What happens if all the courts close down?

But, as with everything COVID-related, there wasn’t anything I could do about that right now. I sat at my desk, closed my laptop, and put it in my bag, then took a moment to look around, realizing that this would be the last time I would sit here in a suit and tie. When I returned, I would look completely different. I would be, finally, myself.

A very Cami-like smile lifted my lips, and I left with a spring in my step.

~o~O~o~
Baltimore, Maryland, Later the same day

As I walked up the street towards Opera House, I heard the sound of Nicole giving a voice lesson in the front room. So as not to disturb her, I went around to the back, came in through the kitchen and headed for the staircase.

Nicole paused her lesson long enough to stick her head into the hallway to make sure it was me. She gave me an inquisitive look and I mouthed, “Later,” then she went back to her lesson.

In my room, I removed my suit jacket and hung it, untied my necktie and put it on the rack. Unbuttoned my dress shirt, dropping it into the bag I was using as a clothes hamper. I sat on the couch and removed my wingtip oxfords, then the regulation black dress socks. Finally, the heavy wool pants joined the jacket on the hanger.

I unpeeled myself from Sarah’s present – a stretchy, nylon-spandex undergarment that looked like a man’s t-shirt and brief, but felt and operated much like a leotard. It had served its purpose. I thought, I’m finally done with half-way measures.

Finished.

I put on my dark green dressing gown, grabbed some critical supplies and went into the bathroom. After taking the time to Nair everywhere, I stepped into the shower, cranked up the heat, and in my imagination washed my male persona straight down the drain.

Finished, I thought again.

I carefully shampooed, using something fragrant, then worked conditioner into my hair. I waited five minutes, then rinsed it all away, too.

Finished.

I patted myself dry, put in some mousse and curlers, then attached my breast forms. Once they were set, I put my robe back on, poured myself a tall glass of water and went back to my bedroom. Next, I attached extensions to each of my nails, let them dry and smoothed them out with an emery board. I selected a deep red nail polish and lovingly, carefully applied it to each finger nail. Then I did the same with each of my toenails.

Suddenly hit with the memory of another singular moment of transformation, I sat on the couch and pulled Stravinsky’s Firebird from my phone’s playlist. Cradled in the palms of my hands, I held a small, brown plastic tube-like container with a bright white lid. It had been a talisman, a promise for the future. But the future had arrived much sooner than I had expected.

I was still sitting there when Nicole knocked softly and poked her head in. She took one look at me, came in, and sat on the other end of the couch. “Okay, girlfriend. It’s Thursday; it’s not even 5:00, and you’re not only here, you’re rounding third base and sliding headfirst into gorgeous. What happened? Did you lose your job?”

She sounded concerned, so I smiled reassuringly. “No. It’s all good. Well. Mostly good. I’m still employed. But our trial’s been put off because of COVID; we don’t know how long. Eileen thinks three months minimum.”

“Oh, God! What will you do?”

“For work? I don’t know. Lawyers can usually find trouble to get into. COVID’s a disaster, and disasters breed lawsuits like prize bitch spaniels breed puppies. But I doubt I’ll see the inside of a courtroom anytime soon. So, I decided.”

“Decided what?”

I opened my hands and showed her the bottle.

Her eyes grew wide as saucers. “Really? Now?”

“Now . . . and forever. No more hiding.”

She leaned back, a look of wonder still on her face. “I know you, Cami. No way you’re doing this on the sly. You told your boss.”

I smiled. “Yes. You do, and I did. Eileen and I had a great conversation. She’s going to let the firm know next week. I am on vacation until a week from Monday, so I can get things sorted out.”

Nicole’s smile was big enough to split her face. She bounced to my side of the couch and enveloped me in a huge hug. “Oh my God!!! That is SO wonderful! I am so happy for you! We have to tell Maggie! And we need to celebrate! Damn, I wish we were in New York!”

Nicole, enthusiastic, was practically a force of nature, but her mention of New York brought reality roaring back into my own mind. There was a pandemic out there, and it was growing. Spreading. And among the places where it was spreading fast was New Rochelle, a suburb of New York City.

I squeezed my wonderful roommate, then pulled back and held her at arm’s length.

“Nicole, honey, it’s good that we aren’t in New York tonight. I wish none of our family members were there either. So far, Maryland hasn’t seen much COVID, and I don’t think Baltimore has seen any. I’m sure it’ll come soon. But in New York . . . in New York, it’s now.”

She gave me a long, thoughtful look and, just like Eileen, asked, “This is really worrying you, isn’t it?”

I thought about my day terror in the conference room two days ago, and nodded. “Yes. I’m worried. No, that’s too tame. I’m scared. Terrified. For all of us. And I know I’m probably being silly.”

“Me too. They announced today that they’re starting to close schools and churches in Maryland and DC. Had you heard?"

I nodded.

She continued, distress growing in her voice, "Now you tell me they’re closing courts. I’m living in constant fear of a call that tells me they’re closing opera houses and concert halls, even though I know . . . . I mean, they almost have to, don’t they? I don’t know what I’ll do, what Maggie will do, if that happens. When that happens. And my parents are in New York City, right now. That’s their home. I feel like the world is just about to come crashing down on top of all of us."

She paused, took a breath, and very visibly slowed herself down. "But right now – right now, tonight, the world is still standing, and my very dear new friend has something amazing to celebrate. Please, Cami? Let’s steal a moment from whatever is coming, and do something fun, while we still can?”

I absolutely can’t resist Nicole, especially when she’s right. I smiled bravely at her. “‘Take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!’”

Her own smile returned, strong and bright. “That’s the spirit!”

“Welllll,” I said, drawing out the single syllable. “I think I might have something that will do the trick. It’s not Vissi d’Arte in Rockefeller Center at midnight, but Eileen did mention the importance of my acquiring a ‘suitable wardrobe for work.’ And I’ve never, ever, been shopping with a girlfriend before. Will you take me?”

She beamed. “Yes!!! But, two conditions. First, we find someplace nice to eat. And second, you have to promise that we won’t spend the whole time looking at work clothes. Lawyers dress funny!”

“Done!” I said, laughing.

She sprang off the couch to get ready, but I stopped her. “Nicole, before you go . . . .”

She looked back at me. “Yesssss?”

“My nails are still sticky, and I can’t get one of these pills out. Could you help?”

Her face softened; she came over and sat right beside me on the couch, took the bottle from my hands, pushed and twisted the top, and removed a single, precious pill. She closed the container and set it down, then put her left arm around my neck, brought her right hand to my lips, and said, “Open up, princess.”

When I complied, she set the pill right on my tongue, reached over, and picked up my water glass. “Now this,” she said, and handed it to me.

I drank the pill down, and deep inside, finally, a powerful dose of estrogen began to flow into my body. “Thank you,” I said, my voice sounding soft and warm.

“I’m glad I could share the moment with you,” she replied. Amazingly, she leaned in and kissed me lightly on the lips. “Now, get yourself ready!” She flowed off the couch and was out the door.

As soon as my nails were dry, I went back to the bathroom, took off my turban, removed my curlers and started blowing out my hair. I got it dry and headed back to my room, but Nicole stopped me in the hallway.

“Let me do your hair — I’ve been itching to try something.”

Intrigued, I readily agreed and we went back to her room (she has a suitable chair!). She first began to brush it out, using long rhythmic strokes as she hummed something under her breath. She took her time about it, too, brushing from both above and below, so I just closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation.

When she was done brushing, she created loose, twisted braids on both sides of my head, brought them around to the back, and rolled them together into a complicated, loose over-under knot that she held in place with a long hairpin. She pulled a few curled tendrils to dangle down past my left ear and down almost to my shoulder. The end result created the appearance of a lot of movement and volume around my face.

She turned my head this way and that, pulled out a few more tendrils, then pronounced herself satisfied. I was admonished to go find something nice to wear to dinner, but not so nice that we couldn’t go shopping.

I settled on a short, tight black skirt and a flowing royal blue top with a wide, relatively shallow u-shaped neckline that did a nice job showcasing Nicole’s hairstyling efforts. Drop earrings, Liz’s watch, sheer black nylons and black pumps with a three-inch kitten heel added to the look. I wore a black bra and my new black camisole, and the cut of the neckline on my top allowed the straps to occasionally peak through, left or right. It was a bit flirty, but then again, I was celebrating!

I put on some evening makeup, enough to really bring out my blue eyes, and carefully painted my lips with a deep red gloss that matched my nails. Finally satisfied, I went to find Nicole.

She was still in her bedroom, almost ready, wearing a creamy silk sleeveless blouse over a classic white camisole, all tucked into a full, asymmetrical skirt in an almost tweedy sage-green. Her long, curly hair was loosely braided and piled on top of her head. She looked even more stunning than usual.

“Could you give me a hand with this?” She showed me a thin gold necklace. “I’m all thumbs this evening.”

I managed it, despite the complication of my nail extensions, and we went off to the mall.

Shopping with Nicole was completely different, and a thousand times more fun, than shopping by myself. She would give me useful feedback like “Yuck!” and “Absolutely!” Finding things I never would have considered, she would insist that I try them, and blow me away. She even came with me into the dressing room and help me with all of the unusual ways designers devise to fasten womens’ garments.

Sometimes I would talk her into trying something on and seeing how well my own eye was developing. She liked a lot of my suggestions, but said she wasn’t buying anything today. “Just window shopping – and I love window shopping,” she said with real enthusiasm.

But I decided that, regardless of all the fun things we were trying on, I would only actually buy work clothes today. Nicole was equally helpful there, despite her earlier finger-wagging.

“The key,” she told me, “is to get some really good foundational pieces, then add things so that you can mix and match.” Three conservative skirts (black, red, gray), a couple of well-made jackets, and several tops, including a couple of white or off-white shells. A couple pretty scarves to change things up. “And that will really do for you to start,” she said. We did add a dove-gray sleeveless dress that I could wear with the jackets, but that, she said, was gravy.

We brought the purchases out to the car, then it was time to get some food. Nicole drove to a seafood restaurant that she liked and we had a very nice dinner by a lovely wood fire. It was only 9:00 when we finished – my strange circumstances had allowed us to make a very early start – but Nicole stopped on the way home and we picked up a bottle of champagne.

“What are you two beauties celebrating?” asked the old guy behind the register.

I said, “Trust me, you really don’t want to know!”

Back at Opera House, we grabbed some glasses, went into the front room and popped the champagne.

“To Cami,” said Nicole, “long may she blossom!”

I raised my glass. “Soon may she blossom!” – which, as intended, got a laugh.

Nicole sat in a large chair, folded her legs and tucked her stocking-clad feet. “Cami, we’ve talked a lot since we first met, but I feel like there’s so much I just don’t know. You’ve been on this amazing journey, and it’s like I’m getting on the train late. Tell me your story!”

This was not the sort of conversation I could ever imagine Cameron Savin having with a male friend. I also wasn’t sure how to answer her. But I started somehow, and soon we were exchanging stories. Our families. Friends we had known. Moments that had been important to us. The difficulties we had been through. Our loves.

As wonderful as our first conversation had been, this one was far deeper, far more intimate. It was, simply, amazing. I had never experienced an evening like it; not even with Liz. Liz had been meaningfully older, far more experienced, and always very much in charge. Nicole was my contemporary.

~o~O~o~
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Mentr'io fremente le belle forme disciogliea dai veli!”
– Puccini, Tosca, E lucevan le stelle (Aria)

Baltimore, Maryland, March 13

It was 1:00 a.m., the champagne was long gone, and Nicole gave me a wide, sleepy smile. “Welcome to one of the best parts of being a woman.”

“If guys find out it’s like this, they’ll be lining up to get snipped!”

We made our way up the stairs, removed our makeup, and did our nighttime rituals.

Nicole caught me again on the way back from the bathroom. “You’re not going to want that hairpin in your hair while you are sleeping.” Her deft fingers released my hair to flow down my back.

I went back to my room, took off my outfit, and got into my short blue nightie and my green dressing gown. Then I padded into the hallway and went into Maggie’s room, which I was currently using to sleep.

I had just pulled the covers back when I heard Nicole’s voice behind me. “Cami,” she said, very softly, “will you stay with me tonight? Please? I’m scared . . . scared about what tomorrow will bring. I don’t want to be alone.”

She was standing in the doorway, dressed again in the cream-colored négligée that hugged her flawless curves. My heart began to pound in my chest; I was surprised she did not hear it. I walked over to her and brought my hands up, resting them lightly on her torso, thumbs on her ribs, fingers curling around her back.

“Nicole,” I said, my voice suddenly husky, “I’m a woman, and I’m attracted to men, but honestly, I don’t think I can keep my hands off you if I sleep in your bed tonight.”

“I'm a woman,” she replied. “And I’m attracted to men. But tonight, I just want to love, and be loved, by someone I care about deeply. Someone I can hold on to. Gender isn’t very important right now. I have been with other women before. Is that so wrong?”

A million thoughts raced through my head. Reasons why this might be a very bad idea. I knew that I wanted to be with a man, as a heterosexual woman. But, my attraction to Nicole was real, immediate, and undeniable. My love for her was real, too. I knew that, like Liz, she was also heterosexual. And it had been hard — so very hard! — to make the break from Liz in similar circumstances. Unlike Liz, Nicole did not live a long distance away.

Because of the love between us, it was not wrong in my book. It was no sleazy one-night stand; nothing like what Liz’s friend Tim had offered back in January. It wasn’t wrong.

But it might be unwise.

None of that mattered. I would no more deny Nicole in her moment of need than I would cut off my right hand. I moved that hand up to cup the smooth curve of her cheek. “No. It’s not wrong.”

She stepped forward, folded her perfect arms around my neck, and kissed me with her soft, sweet lips. I was lost in her embrace, and found my hands moving across her back, feeling her frame, taught and powerful, under the silk of her négligée.

She broke off our kiss and leaned her forehead into mine. “So, that’s a yes?”

“I withdraw my objection,” I murmured.

“Come,” she invited, and led me back to her room. Once there, she ran her fingers down the front of my green dressing gown and undid the sash. Then she ran her fingers back up my sides, hooked her thumbs into the lapels of my gown at the shoulders and deftly slid it off. She turned and hung it behind her door.

While she was facing away, I stepped behind her, and pulled the pins – there were several – that held her hair in place, allowing the enormous mass to cascade down her back, like a lake suddenly released from a dam. I ran my fingers through it, marveling at its silkiness, its sweet perfume.

She turned to face me, took my hand, and led me to her bed.

We were under her sheets, this time facing each other. I ran a finger over her cheek, across the fine line of her jaw, down her slender neck. “You are so incredible,” I breathed.

She smiled. “So kiss me, you fool!”

I did. But even as our lips reconnected, my hands began to explore her magnificent body, fondling her full breasts, caressing her slender arms, the gentle swell of her belly, her firm thighs. My fingers curled around her round backside and squeezed gently.

She was breathing heavily, as excited now as I was myself.

I lifted one of her lingerie straps and slid it down her arm, freeing her left breast. Her skin was so soft . . . so smooth! I broke off our kiss and dropped my lips to the hollow at the base of her throat, then to her chest, before planting a series of soft kisses across the breast I had exposed.

One of her hands was tangled in my curls; the other was pressing the thin fabric of my nightie against the small of my back. Her exposed nipple was hard and dark; as I took it in my mouth she cried out and began to whimper.

My hand slipped under her négligée, caressed her thigh and rested lightly on her bush. I began to massage her pelvis as my tongue lashed her nipple.

She groaned, and I groaned with her.

I could no longer stop myself; I brought my head down, down, and kissed the engorged lips of her vulva.

Her excitement was intoxicating, electrifying. My tongue found her passage.

She gave a great cry, and another. Her breath was coming fast, she was whimpering, moaning, quivering.

I continued, giving her no rest, taking her juices, lovingly worshiping her perfection as it deserved.

She climaxed several times, bucking and crying out with pleasure. With a final, great shudder, she finally subsided.

I raised myself back to the top of the bed, slipped my arm under her, then rolled her body, unresisting, until her head lay on my shoulder and her long silky curls spilled across me.

She was utterly, completely spent.

I kissed the top of her head. “Sleep, angel. No dreams tonight.”

But I dreamt. I was on the pier over the ocean, but I was no longer running. I had reached the end. Wind whipped my long, black hair and tore at the planking and supports that held me above the waves. Rain lashed my body in sheets, soaking my lime-green one-piece swimsuit, making it cling to the curves that, in my dream, were all real, all mine. The water below me was inky black, turbid and impenetrable.

But my face was calm, peaceful. My legs were together, my feet side-by-side, lacquered toenails curled over the last plank of the pier. I looked straight out and raised my white arms to shoulder height. Then I bent my knees, pushed off strongly, and dove into space.

An instant later, the pier collapsed behind me and vanished.

~o~O~o~
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Un solo instante i palpiti del suo bel cor sentir!”
– Donizetti, L’Elisir d’amore, Una furtiva lagrima (Aria)

Baltimore, Maryland, March 13, morning

If my alarm went off, somewhere, I didn’t notice it. My body’s internal alarm likewise took the night off, or at least the morning. When I awoke, the sun was already shining, and The Most Beautiful Woman I Had Ever Personally Met was gazing up at me from where her head rested on my shoulder, looking thoughtful.

“Good morning,” I said to her with a smile. “You look like someone who is thinking deep thoughts before breakfast. Which is just wrong. So you know.”

She smiled back at me. “I was actually trying to decide the best way to return the favor from last night. I might as well have been a man — one of the more thoughtless ones — for all the effort I took to give you pleasure.” Her lingerie strap had found its way back onto her shoulder, and she had one hand lying lightly on my nightie just over my stomach.

I covered it with my own left hand. “I have never been more satisfied.”

She looked unconvinced.

I raised my free hand to stroke her hair, her cheek, her bare shoulder. “Nicole, there’s nothing here you would want to see or experience. I can’t even pretend to be a man anymore, and as a woman, I’m mostly silicone. My breasts are fake, my hips, ass, and pelvis are padded. I wouldn’t want you, of all people, to see the kind of freak I am right now. I don’t want you to think of me that way.”

She gazed at me calmly. “Here’s a lesson in being a woman, Cami. It’s not all about appearances. It matters, sure. Especially in the beginning. And at the margins. But other things are more important. Like the fact that you are a truly wonderful person. And last night, when I was honestly desperate to be loved, to be comforted, you were there for me. You kept the darkness away, for a little while.”

She turned her head to plant a gentle kiss on my chest. “I know that your body isn't what you want it to be. What it will be someday. But it’s your body, and you are important to me. So I would like you to forget what you look like. Close your eyes if it helps, and imagine you are a beautiful woman. Because that’s what I see when I look at you. And that’s the woman I want to make love to. Right now.”

She rolled and straddled me, her négligée riding up on her hips. In a single, graceful motion she drew it over her head and dropped it on the pillow.

I couldn’t close my eyes, because I didn’t want to stop looking at her. Her hair surrounded her body like a cloak, tendrils caressing her breasts.

She began rocking back and forth, while her hands petted me, caressed my arms, my face, my torso. She bent down and kissed me, hard. Then she folded her legs together, slid her body down my own, and used both hands to remove my panty gaff entirely, exposing my inadequate, but very excited, male member.

I looked away, ashamed.

“Cami. . . . Cami. Look at me.”

Unwillingly, I brought my head around and saw her, crouched between my legs, surrounded by a nimbus of light brown curls.

“There is nothing you need to be embarrassed about. Nothing that shocks me. I am not disgusted. You are beautiful. Now close your eyes, girl, and let me prove it.”

Naked and vulnerable, I was now happy to comply. I lay on my back, arms at my sides, passive, as Nicole stoked the tender skin inside my thighs, stroked my stomach, and began to kiss me, intimately.

I was rock hard.

She gave my shaft the lightest touch and I gasped. She continued, and now I was the one who was whimpering and crying as my excitement mounted, mounted, and began to crest. Suddenly, her lips parted and she took it all in her mouth. Her tongue folded around me and I felt myself go, hot and hard.

In a moment, she had reversed our position from the previous night. My head was on her shoulder, my mouth inches from her breast. My dark hair spilled across her body, and she stroked me with her free hand as I wept cleansing, healing tears.

“It’s okay, Cami,” she crooned. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be a superwoman every minute. I’ve got you.”

I don't know how long that moment lasted, but eventually my tears did stop flowing. I blinked them away, in the process delivering a few angel kisses to Nicole’s upper chest. I brushed my lips against her lovely breast and levered myself onto my elbow so I could look at her. There was nothing in her face but tenderness and compassion.

“I hate to be the one to say this,” I said, “but I really need to pee.”

She groaned. “You had to say it!”

“Race you!” I said, leaping from the bed.

She followed me, naked, beautiful, and cursing a blue steak, but I got there first, sat down primly, arranged my nightie, and asked, “Have you ever been to Niagara Falls?”

She gaped, stopped cursing, then started to hop up and down. “Christ! Don’t take all day, or I’ll go on the floor and you'll have to clean it up!”

I laughed, but I finished quickly and abdicated the throne.

She closed her eyes and slumped, relieved.

I retreated to her room while she finished her business and stripped the bed, bundled the sheets and pillow cases, and put the covers back in place.

Nicole poked her head in. “I get dibs on the first shower!”

I smiled, blew her a kiss, and made a motion of dismissal with my hands.

She disappeared down the hall.

I brought the sheets, our nighties, and our dressing gowns down to the laundry, pausing at my room to snag my flannel nightgown. The sheets were dark, so I set the washer on a cold rinse setting, put everything in, and started it. Returning to the main floor, I made Nicole some green tea, and myself some coffee.

As the last of the hot water was flowing through my drip cone, Nicole came in, her hair turbaned, wearing her own flannels. She saw the tea, smiled, and took it to the table.

I joined her a moment later. “So . . . I guess we need to talk.”

She nodded, but looked – mercifully – unconcerned. “I’ll let you win this race,” she said, smiling. “So you can start.”

I took a sip of coffee, then set it down. “Where to start? I didn’t mean for that to happen last night, and I can think of a lot of reasons why it was a bad idea. But . . . I love you, so it was wonderful.”

I was silent for a bit. Then I said, “Your turn.”

She looked at me over the rim of her coffee mug. “I love you too, Cami. And it was wonderful, and I don’t have any regrets at all. None. So, now that we’ve taken care of the easy part, we can talk about the harder parts.” She smiled again. “Your turn.”

“Last night, we both said we were attracted to men. I know I don’t have any actual experience that way. Maybe I never will. But you do, and . . . and I’d like to. So, there’s that.”

She put down her mug and covered my hands with her own. “I think what you’re saying is that we can’t have ‘always.’ There’s something else that we both want, something different. I know that. We needed each other last night, and we were able to be there for each other. That’s enough for me. It could happen again. It might not.”

She paused and looked at me carefully. “But I need to know if that makes you uncomfortable. Or unhappy.”

I shook my head and smiled, clear and untroubled. “No. Not at all. I don’t have casual relationships, but this wasn’t – isn’t – casual. Love makes all the difference. I’m relieved that my physical attraction to you isn’t a problem. I was worried about it. A lot, really, the last time we shared a bed.”

“I’m probably more strongly heterosexual than you are,” she said, “but like I told you last night, I have been with other women, in somewhat similar circumstances. And enjoyed it. . . . Maggie included.”

I thought about that for a minute while we sipped our drinks. “Nicole, I’m a guest here. And I care about you both. I don’t want to do anything that hurts either of you.”

She stopped me and squeezed my hand. “It's not like that. Mags is hetero too. But we’ve shared a lot of ups and downs, heartaches and heartbreaks. There have been nights when we’ve been there for each other, just like you and I were there for each other last night. Then we get up again the next morning, and keep our eyes out for a good catch. Maggie wouldn’t have any issue with what happened last night.”

I couldn’t help but ask, “You’re sure?”

“Positive.” Then she grinned. “But, feel free to ask her about it!”

I stuck out my tongue at her.

“What do you have going on today,” I asked.

“Pretty much a normal day,” she responded. “I’ve got a lesson with the Dottoressa at 11:30, and I’ve got two students coming in for a joint lesson at 2:00. But other than that, it's just vocal workouts and studying parts. How about you?”

I said, “Since I actually planned to be working all day today, I don’t have anything else on my schedule. I think I’ll get in a proper workout – with you, for my voice, and on my own, for the rest of me. Then I might do some wandering. It’s going to be in the 70s today, if you can believe it. I might just go for a walk in a park. Wouldn’t that be wild!”

She laughed. “I’ll need the car when I go to see The Dottoressa, but otherwise feel free to use it.”

We ate some fruit and yogurt for breakfast, then Nicole went upstairs to make herself (even more) beautiful. I was surprisingly serene about the events of the prior night. It had been wonderful, and I treasured every moment. But, I did not feel any anxiety, any need to lay a claim on Nicole.

I washed, dried, and put away the dishes, poured myself a big glass of water, then went and rotated the laundry. Nicole came down around 10:00 and we did our vocal exercises in the front room. I changed into exercise clothes, went into the basement and started my exercise routine, late but very welcome.

By the time I came back upstairs, Nicole was off at her voice lesson. I took a leisurely shower and got dressed in a new pair of stretchy jeans, a sleeveless T-shirt, and a fleece. I added a pair of sneakers and put my hair into its usual loose side braid.

It suddenly occurred to me that Al could cut it properly now, since I didn’t need to preserve the option of a “male look.” I thought about calling the salon, since it was a work day, but it occurred to me that Tina might well be hanging out there during the day. So I shot him a text instead. I gave Sarah a call and filled her in on my good news.

~o~O~o~
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Denn der Götter Ende dämmert nun auf”
– Wagner, Götterdämmerung, Fliegt heim ihr Raben (Aria)

Baltimore, Maryland, March 13, later that day

Around 1:00 I went down to the basement, opened my laptop and checked my emails. Unsurprisingly, under the circumstances, there was nothing particularly pressing. I went to my usual online news sources to see what was going on in the world. And saw a news flash that, following the President’s declaration of a state of emergency, the Metropolitan Opera of New York had canceled its entire season.

Just then, I heard someone come in the front door. I ran upstairs and saw Nicole, looking happy, as she often did coming back from her lessons. She saw my face, blanched, and walked slowly in my direction.

I met her half way and folded her in my arms. “Nicole, honey, the Met’s just canceled the rest of their season.”

She stiffened, brought up her arms and held me wordlessly.

I said, “Maybe . . . maybe it’s just New York. Because, you know . . . .”

I felt her head nod, but she said nothing.

Her cell phone rang. She squeezed me hard, then let go and fished it out of her back pocket. She swallowed, but then she straightened up, swiped, and accepted the call. “Nicole Fontaine. Yes. Good afternoon, director. . . . Yes, I just heard. . . . I see. The whole cycle? . . . . No, I understand. Thank you for the call.”

She ended the call and looked blankly at her phone.

“Chicago?” I said.

She nodded. “Not just Götterdämmerung. They were doing the entire ring cycle. It’s all canceled. Every performance.”

“Oh, Nicole!” My heart was breaking for her.

She shook her head, looking a bit dazed. She swayed a bit on her feet and her arm came up, haphazardly, looking for a wall.

I jumped in, put a steadying arm around her, led her into the living room and eased her back into the chair where she had sat, just last night, during our wonderful talk-a-thon.

“Stay here!” I dashed into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of cold water.

Her hands looked shaky, so I helped guide the water to her lips and she drank. Her eyes started to come back into focus, and she waved the water away.

“Thanks,” she said, carefully.

Her phone rang again. She closed her eyes, pain etched every line of her face. “Dear God, that’ll be Mags.”

She took a steading breath, looked at her phone, and answered it. “Hi sweetie.”

I could hear the sounds of distress coming from the speaker.

“The rest of this show? What about the others? . . . . Yeah, I guess there’s hope. But not much, huh? . . . . Yeah, Chicago too. Seems like everyone was waiting for the Met to pull the trigger. . . .”

There’s was a long pause on Nicole’s side, while I could hear Maggie talking rapidly. Then Nicole said, “Of course. What time? . . . Not a problem. Text me the flight info? . . . Okay. . . . Yes. . . .Yes. . . . No, she’s here. Her trial was canceled too. . . . I know, right? ‘The end of the world as we know it.’ . . . . I’ll do that. . . . I love you too. See you at 6:30. Bye.”

She closed her eyes and sat still as a stone. I ached for her, but had no idea what I could do that would make a difference.

Finally she stirred and, without opening her eyes, said, “She told me to give you a hug and a squeeze for her. She’s sorry about your trial.” She sounded tired, broken, and flat. Not like Nicole at all.

I found myself kneeling at her side. I took her hands in mine and bent over them, feeling the splash of my tears. “Oh, Sweetheart,” I choked. “I don’t even know what to say!”

Her eyes opened and a ghost of her smile returned. “Thank you for last night, Cami. I’m so glad we had that moment.”

“Don’t give up, Nicole!”

She whispered, “Remember what you sang to me, in New York? ‘How can I keep from singing?’ How can I, Cami? How?”

“You can’t,” I said. “And you won’t. I don’t know how, but you won’t.” I squeezed her hands and took a deep breath. “I promise you, Nicole. We’re going to get through this somehow. You, me, Maggie. We’re going to make this work. We will find a way.”

She looked at me for a long, long moment. “Superwoman’s back, huh?”

“Damned right, she is.”

“Okay, Cami. I’ve got nothing in the tank right now. But I’ll hang in there. We’ll come up with something.” She still sounded lifeless, but at least she was willing to listen.

Desperate for some further inspiration, I thought to myself, what would Eileen do? And the answer came to me.

I gave her hands a last squeeze, released them and stood over her. “Good.” I kept my voice warm, but for the first time I allowed steel to show through. “Here’s the first thing that’s going to happen. You’re going to go upstairs and take a cool washcloth to your eyelids. Then you’re going to sit down and have a mug of tea to open your throat again. Because you’ve got two students coming in half an hour. Their world is probably about to come crashing down, too, if it hasn’t already. They will need you to be Dottoressa Fontaine for them, even if it’s the last time. Can you do it?”

Her eyes had gotten wide at the change in me.

I hoped it would work; what I had done was the verbal equivalent of pouring ice water down her shirt. But I had guessed right.

At the mention of her students, she sat bolt upright. “Sadie and Terry!!! Oh my God!!” She jumped up and ran upstairs.

I sagged with relief, then went into the kitchen to make her tea.

I was very worried that Nicole’s students would also cancel, but they bounced up the stairs promptly at 2:00.

Nicole was ready for them. Whatever agony she was feeling inside, she was able to suppress it when some of “her girls” needed her.

While she was teaching, I took the opportunity to make a run to the grocery store and get something for dinner and tomorrow’s breakfast and lunch. I was thinking hard and making plans. I was just finishing putting away the groceries when I heard Nicole seeing Sadie and Terry out.

A few moments later she came in and leaned against the doorframe. “Thanks for the dope slap. I needed it. I’m going to go upstairs for a bit. I’ve got to call Mom and Dad. And a few other people, too. Then I might take a bath. Can you hold the fort?”

“Against all comers,” I said. “Go on now.”

She blew me a kiss and went upstairs.

I followed a few minutes later with cleaning supplies and fresh sheets. Nicole was talking in her bedroom so I closed the door to Maggie’s room to avoid disturbing her. I stripped down the bed and put on the fresh sheets, cleaned every surface and dust-mopped the floor. Everything looked as neat as Maggie always left it.

While I had everything handy, I cleaned our common bathroom as well, then tidied my own room. The dirty sheets went downstairs to the wash, and I pulled the earlier load from the drier. I folded Nicole’s sheets and our sexy sleepwear, and brought it all back upstairs.

I didn’t hear any talking from Nicole’s room, so I shot her a text asking if she wanted me to draw her a bath. She sent back a thumb’s up and a heart emoji, so I followed through. When it was finished, I went back to my room.

While Nicole was having her bath, I made up her bed, laid out her négligée, closed the door softly and went back downstairs. We needed ideas, so I opened my laptop, checked my mail, then started doing some furious research.

Around 5:00, I got a text back from Al. “Cami! I can finally cut your hair properly? Yay! I’ve had a ton of cancellations :-( so I can fit you in tomorrow at 1 if that works.”

Al and Javi’s business, like Nicole and Maggie’s, was under direct threat. I sent back a cheerful “I’ll be there,” and prayed they would be alright.

Nicole came down around 5:30. “Groceries, fresh sheets, clean rooms, a bath . . . I’m getting some kind of spoiled! But honestly, Cami. You don’t have to do all of this.”

I had some tea ready, so I put a mug down for each of us and sat down at the table.

As she sat to join me, I said, “I know that. But you and Maggie just had your stuffings kicked out, and a little pampering can’t hurt. Besides, between work and travel I haven’t been able to do much here to earn my keep.”

She clinked her cup to mine, sipped, and said, “My brain still seems slow. What’s the plan?”

I looked at her carefully as she sat across from me. She appeared to be fine. Not her usual self, obviously, but fine. Still . . . “Are you okay to drive?”

She took the question seriously – a worrisome sign in its own way – but after a moment’s thought said, “Yes. My reflexes are fine. I’m just having trouble planning.”

I relaxed. “What I’d suggest is that you pick up Maggie while I make something light for dinner. After that, I’d recommend an early bed. We’ll all think better when we’ve had some sleep and this day is behind us.”

She nodded. “Works for me.”

She left around 6:00, by which time I already had a marinated pork loin in the oven. Around 7:15 I heard them pull up.

I went out to help unload the car and found them both looking red-eyed and tired. I gave Maggie a big hug and just held her a moment. “Dinner’s on the table. Go get started; I’ll take care of this and join you shortly.” It was a measure of how far gone they were that they went along with my suggestion.

Maggie gave me a squeeze and a muffled, “Thanks,” then they both went inside.

I rolled Maggie’s big bag to the porch stairs and had to use two hands to get it up. My morning exercises were not designed to increase upper body strength! I went back to the car, unloaded her two smaller bags, then brought everything in and upstairs.

Neither of my roommates had eaten a lot by the time I joined them, but they were eating and talking quietly.

When it was apparent that they both eaten as much as they were going to, I told them both to go upstairs and get some sleep. “But I’m laying down a marker,” I said. “9:30 tomorrow, we’re going to have breakfast and we’re going to brainstorm. However bad this pandemic gets, we’re going to get through it.”

Nicole had heard it already; Maggie looked thoughtful. “Thanks, Cami. I’ve done a lot of crying today. Too much for my own good. I’ll be better tomorrow. Planning will help.”

I reached out and touched them both, wanting the contact. “Love you guys,” I said. “Now scoot!”

They went.

I cleaned the kitchen then went downstairs. It was a bit after 9:00.

I really, really wanted to talk to Fiona. I had sent her a few supportive texts over the last few weeks – nothing requiring a response – just to let her know I was thinking about her – and I had one exchange with her following my failed attempt to get Iain out of New Rochelle. I hemmed, hawed, and finally tried a skype call to Fi and Henry’s condo.

In a moment there was a connection, and Henry’s face appeared on the monitor. He looked, as usual, calm, competent and friendly, but he also looked tired.

He smiled and greeted me warmly, but said, “I’m sorry, Cami. She’s still at work. Biogen had a big conference here and scores of participants got sick. Naturally they’re at MassGeneral. If there’s something urgent I can get her a message, but mostly I’m just staying out of her hair so she can do what she needs to do.”

I put on a brave face, but I found my disappointment was so great it hurt. To keep from showing it, I asked, “Are you staying safe? Both of you?”

He nodded. “Yes. Fi’s in full PPE when she’s dealing with patients, of course, including, I gather, a face shield over her respirator. She also changes before she leaves work, then she gets home, showers downstairs and changes again before coming upstairs. She’s talking about staying downstairs in the guest bedroom to lower the risk that she’ll infect me, but hopefully it won’t come to that.”

I shook my head. “Henry, I knew it was bad, but . . . .”

“I know,” he said. “However bad people think it is, it’s worse.”

“How are you doing, Henry?”

He shrugged. “Work’s crazy. With all the shutdowns that are being announced, everyone wants to sell. Then people hear promising things about a stimulus bill, or about widespread availability of COVID tests – which is bullshit, by the way – and they want to buy. But we’ve got a longer-term strategy and so far it’s been working and our investors are on board with it. Long days, but nothing like what Fi is coping with.”

I told him about the trial, and about coming out at work. I told him about my current living situation and how my roommates had been impacted by the shutdowns. Finally I asked what he’d heard from Fi on the best ways to keep safe, since what was coming out of the White House seemed to go six different directions at once.

He snorted. “That crowd couldn’t find their backsides with a GPS. Don’t get me started on ‘anyone who wants a test can get one;’ you’ve got no idea how much trouble that piece of misinformation is causing for hospitals. In terms of advice, what Fi’s told me is still pretty much common sense stuff. Good hygiene. Wash your hands a lot. Cover coughs and sneezes, and not with your hand. Avoid crowds, especially indoors. Try to keep your distance from people.”

“What about masks?”

He shrugged. “Nothing new there either. Fi still says they probably help, but there aren’t enough available for use by healthy people who aren’t caring for sick people. It’s going to take a bit to ramp up production. I’m feeling pretty good about our investment in 3M, that’s for sure.”

I asked him to please give Fi a huge hug for me, and tell her that she was my hero and I missed her. I managed to keep from getting weepy, at least until I had signed off, but it was tough.

I really, really wanted to see Fi.

~o~O~o~
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Il mio tesoro intanto andate a consolar”
– Mozart, Don Giovanni, Il mio tesoro (Aria)

Baltimore, Maryland, March 14

I had gotten up at my usual time, done an hour of stretches and exercises, showered and gotten dressed. It was only 7:00; early still, but not for me. I was brewing some coffee when Maggie came into the kitchen, still in pajamas and a robe. She looked a thousand times better than she had. I gave her a hug. “Good morning. How are you doing? Can I get you some tea?”

She hugged me back and smiled warmly. “Me do, Mommy!”

I laughed. “Sure thing, Sweetie!”

I sat down at the table with my coffee and watched as she made herself a cup of tea. Once she poured the water, she took the cup back to the table and joined me.

“I’m doing better,” she told me. “You were right; sleep helped.” She pulled the tea bag out of her mug, set it on a saucer, then blew gently on her steaming brew. “I slept in Nickie’s bed last night. You knew?” Her tone was more careful than casual.

“I assumed. You two needed each other yesterday.”

She was watching me carefully. She laid a hand on my wrist. “Are you okay? Nickie was worried that you might be . . . .”

“Hurt? Jealous? No. Not at all.” I paused, then added, “So Nicole told you about two nights ago?”

She nodded.

“Maggie, I care about you both. Deeply. I told Nicole I didn’t want to do anything that would hurt either of you. If I have, I’m sorry. Very, very sorry.”

She shook her head, hand still on my wrist. “You didn’t. I’m glad you were able to be here for her – and glad she was here for you. It’s not like we’re an item, Nickie and I. Sometimes we’ve shared a bed, like last night. Sometimes there’s been more. But mostly we’re just very, very close friends. ‘Friends with benefits’ sounds tawdry, but it’s never felt that way, between us.”

I gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “So we’re good?”

She smiled back. “Better than good. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re with us. Especially now. I don’t think Nickie or I could have made it through the day without you, yesterday.”

Then she gave me a stern look. “But I won’t have you playing housewife to the both of us. I can look after myself. Most of the time, anyway. And so can Nick. You don’t have to carry everything all the time.”

“But maybe some of the time?” I responded, “when for some reason like, I don’t know, a global pandemic, you might be feeling a bit low?”

“Maybe,” she said, smiling. She got up to go get her shower.

“Maggie, there’s something you and Nicole need to talk about, without me around. Might be better if you did it before our pow-wow this morning, because it impacts financial planning.”

She gave me a questioning look.

“When I came here, I only asked if I could stay a few weeks, until the trial was over, when I’d have a chance to look for a place of my own. That’s still an option. But . . . would you like me to stay? I know there are pros and cons.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but I put my index finger over her lips.

“No,” I said. “Talk to Nicole first. Don’t worry about hurting my feelings; you need to figure out what makes sense for you both, then we can take it from there.”

She touched my arm, smiled, and went upstairs.

When I was shopping the day before I decided to try making a quiche. I got everything prepared, put it in the oven, and sat down at the table, using the opportunity to do a bit more research. By the time Maggie and Nicole came down at 9:30, the quiche was done, the table was set; there was fresh fruit, tea for two (and coffee for one!), and grapefruit juice.

Nicole came and gave me a hug. “Thanks, Sweetie,” she said. “for everything.”

We dug in, and after we were getting down to nibbling on fruit, started our talk.

Nicole said, “Cami, of course we want you to stay. And we would even if we didn’t need to rent out that room. Which we do now, for sure. But we love having you here with us.”

Maggie nodded her agreement. “But . . . do you want to stay? It’s a nasty commute.”

“Yes. I want to. I’ve never shared a space like this . . . I mean, except when I was living at home with my parents. I never even realized how lonely I was, living by myself all the time. . . . And besides . . . .” I stopped, trying to figure out how to express what I was feeling.

Nicole prompted, “And besides?”

“Did you ever see that Disney movie, Lilo and Stitch?” I asked

They both nodded; Maggie said, “Of course.”

“I don't remember all that much about the movie,” I confessed, “but there’s one line I never forgot.”

Immediately understanding, Nicole said, softly, “Ohana.”

I nodded. “‘Ohana means family.’ I want that. Here. I feel like we have it. One Ohana.”

Looking just a touch misty eyed, Nicole raised her juice glass. “Ohana!”

We clinked glasses, and Maggie and I returned her toast.

Then I said, “Okay, so that’s decided. Now, we need to talk about how we get through this pandemic. Together. I can see a couple of issues that will come up; I’m sure you’ll spot others. First, we need to get a handle on our financial situation. As long as I’ve got my job, we won’t starve or have the heat shut off.”

Maggie looked momentarily rebellious.

But I gently said, “Ohana, Maggie. We’re all going to pitch in. This is one way that I can. But you will want to find work that pays as well, for your own sake if nothing else. So we need to talk about that. I have some ideas.

“Second, one way or another, we have to find opportunities for both of you to sing. I have only the barest idea. But whether or not you get paid for it, both of you have to sing, and do it where people can hear it. No ifs, ands, or buts. You. Must. Sing. Period.

“Finally, we’ve also got to find ways to not go batshit crazy here, because I think opportunities to do things outside the house are going to disappear in a hurry. There may even be lockdown orders; we’ve seen it in China and Italy. It can happen here. So . . . projects. Things we can teach each other. Things we can learn, together or separately.

“I don’t know how busy I’ll be at work, but I doubt it will be anything like the last few months. And you two will have more spare time then you’ve ever had. You didn’t want it, but you’ve got it anyway. So let’s think about productive ways to use it. Let’s see the opportunities as well as the losses. The pandemic will be over someday. If we think creatively, if we use this time like a gift we may never see again, we could come out of it stronger and more resilient than when we went in.”

I was channeling Eileen, and how she had gotten our team refocused after the stunning news on Wednesday. Get people thinking. Make a plan. Create some direction.

Looking at my friends, I could tell by their posture, by their eyes, that it was working. They weren’t just listening, they were actively engaged. Considering a way forward, rather than wallowing in despair over what had been lost.

Maggie nodded. “I like it. I do. So, let’s start with the yucky stuff. Money.”

“Okay. Most important, Maggie, what’s the story with the house?” I asked. “I know your parents have been letting you use it rent-free for now, but it’s part of their retirement savings too. Do you know how long this arrangement will last?”

“They’re both a few years from retiring, and there’s no way they’ll kick me to the curb in the middle of all of this,” Maggie responded. “I’ll talk to them about it – I need to talk to them anyway – but I’m sure we don’t have a problem on that score.”

“Great,” I said. So . . . what are our expenses? Who even handles that?”

Nicole smiled. “I usually handle the bills. The regular household expenses are gas, electric, water, cable and groceries. Probably twelve to fifteen hundred dollars a month. Our regular individual bills are, I guess, cell phones and payments for voice lessons.”

I thought about Al’s cancellations. “I wonder whether in-person vocal lessons are going to continue if this goes on – which will obviously affect your incomes as well as your expenses.”

Nicole frowned. “Yeah, I’d thought about that. I don’t know how that will go.”

“Well, you’ve got one pupil anyway,” I said. “Me. I’m going to continue to need lessons, and if Dottoressa Trelli isn’t giving them, I’d like to work with you two. You’ve already been helping, for free. For the immediate future, she’s got me working on expanding my range and improving my articulation, and you’re both more than qualified. I don’t know what else she had planned, but I need to take care of first things first.”

I asked whether they had sources of income apart from voice lessons and professional singing.

Maggie sighed. “No, and I’m not sure I’m good for much else, either.”

“That,” I said confidently, “is where I’m sure you’re wrong. There are things you can do. Some of them might not appeal to you, and some might not work out. But you are smart, articulate, motivated . . . there’s plenty you can do. Let me throw out a specific idea. Have you ever done a podcast?”

They looked at me blankly.

“I’m guessing a lot of people will think about doing this . . . eventually. But let’s be out of the gate first. Remember that night when we got back from dinner and you both gave me a tutorial about opera? Or, when I told you how much I enjoyed listening to the two of you geek out about it? There’s an audience out there – people who will want to learn; who may want to hear fresh voices. And, like us, may suddenly have some spare time they didn’t want.”

Nicole shook her head, bemused. “I wouldn’t have the first idea how to do something like that.”

“The technical elements are easy, and you already have a very nice sound studio downstairs. How to get paid for it . . . that’ll be more difficult, and will take time. But if it doesn’t pan out, you won’t have lost anything. And, you will have given your co-host an education in opera!”

Maggie laughed. “You’re willing to co-host a podcast about opera?”

“Absolutely!” I grinned wickedly. “You need me. Unless you just want to talk to other out-of-work opera singers, you have to speak to people who are interested but not knowledgeable. I’ll be there to ask the questions that are so basic they won’t even occur to you doyennes – and, asking questions is what lawyers like me do best.” I sounded like Tigger.

Nicole seemed willing. “Try me!”

“Okay,” I responded, “why is it that everyone always ends up dead at the end of an opera? We have happy movies. We have happy songs. Happy plays. Why can’t we have happy operas?”

That did it – they both busted a gut.

We talked about other opportunities as well, areas where they could develop or hone skills that were useful, if ancillary, to their careers.

I mentioned that I had learned to design websites in high school and college, and marketing is important in the entrepreneurial world of opera.

Both Nicole and Maggie were interested in improving their dance skills, since that might open up musical performance opportunities outside of opera. Sort of like diversifying a portfolio.

Then Maggie grinned. “You know what I want to learn? It’ll help with the dance. I want to learn how to be a cheerleader!”

“Huh?” Nicole looked puzzled.

I just giggled.

“You didn’t know? That one” –Maggie pointed at me – “is up at the crack of dawn, doing cheer routines. Every day. I saw her, and I tell you what: it’s GREAT exercise. I want to learn it!”

I thought about how Liz would react if she heard that her cheer squad reject was going to be giving lessons, and laughed out loud.

We continued in this vein, brainstorming. There was a lot of positive energy. By the time we were done, everyone was feeling sharper and more optimistic. I thought to myself, Thank you, Eileen!

And, speaking of which . . . . “Hey . . . I was wrestling with something, and with everything that happened yesterday it slipped my mind. I need a name. For work.”

Maggie looked puzzled. “Why not Cami? It’s a great name. It’s you.”

I smiled at her. “Thanks for that. It is me. But, Eileen was right when she said women have a harder time being taken seriously as lawyers . . . as litigators. ‘Cami’ is . . . I don’t know. Informal doesn’t quite capture it. Intimate, maybe?”

“I can see that,” Nicole said. “It’s one of the reasons I like your name, I think. But that wouldn’t be a plus at work.”

Maggie asked, “You’ve ruled out staying with Cameron?”

I shook my head. “I wouldn’t say I’ve ruled it out. It’s sort of a default. But . . . I’d prefer to make a break. Something that respects the fact that I’ve changed. I’m not just the same person wearing different clothes.”

Nicole looked thoughtful. She pulled out her phone, ran a search, then nodded. “What about ‘Camryn?’ It’s the same name, but it’s not. Just like you are the same person, but also different.”

It was perfect. I jumped up and gave her a quick but exuberant kiss. “You’re amazing! That’s it!”

We all got up, and it was a healthy sign that once again everyone worked cooperatively to get the kitchen spotless.

Then I said, “Now if you girls will excuse me, I’m going to get a one hundred percent, no hedging, ‘Camryn’ haircut!”

They cheered me on my way; Nicole had already insisted that I take her car.

~o~O~o~
College Park, Maryland, the same afternoon

I parked in front of the salon and came in the front door. Which felt strange; normally I had come in from the back. But I wasn’t living on premises anymore.

Tina was sitting at the reception desk. She looked at me with an unreadable expression. “I’ll get Al.”

But he came in before she had a chance to move and gave me a quick hug. “Cami! So I finally get to give you a proper cut!”

I laughed, and we went over to the sink so he could give me a rinse.

I filled him in on my news, but didn’t ask much about how he and Javi were doing, assuming that Tina could overhear. I explained that I had decided to stay in Baltimore and commute since my roommates were fabulous and it was at least convenient to all of the health care professionals from Haverford, if not to work.

He sat me in his chair and asked what I was thinking about for a cut.

“I like it long; I want to continue growing it out. I like being able to wear my loose side braid. But . . . I want it to look one hundred percent feminine. No more straddling the fence. Cameron is done.”

Al smiled. “I think I can manage. Let me trim the front into long bangs; you can do different things with those, but won’t always have to pin them back. Then, I want to layer the rest, and of course trim all of the ends. You’ll still be able to do your braid, but if you want to just blow dry it and let it hang free, it will look pretty and feminine and frame your face nicely. Okay?’

“I’m in your hands, Maestro!”

He got to work. At some point Javier wandered in and we chatted a bit, too. Business was slowing considerably, and quickly. But they were still getting by.

“It’ll be tight,” Al said. “Maybe real tight. But we’ve been in tight spots before, Javi and me. We’ll get by.” They shared a look that carried a long freight train of memories.

When he was finished cutting, Al took a blow dryer to my hair, sprayed on some product and began brushing it out. When he was finished, he handed me a mirror. “Let me introduce you to my friend ‘Camryn!’”

Wonderful! The cut made my hair look much, much more full. It looks . . . fun. Interesting. Very feminine.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you so much!”

We made our goodbyes, and I held my finger and thumb to my cheek and ear in the universal sign for “call me,” so that I might hear how things were going with their new tenant. But I needn’t have bothered; she was no longer at the front desk. I walked out and discovered that she was, instead, out by Nicole’s car.

“So, you decided to get off the fence?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Ah . . . congratulations.”

This was a bit unexpected, but to be encouraged. “Thanks.”

“Listen,” she said. “That note you left? I wouldn’t steal from these guys. Never. I don’t know you. But these guys are everything. Okay?”

Ah. Well, an apology would have been nice, I suppose, since she had tried to rob me, but I wasn’t going to stand on protocol. Besides, there were more important things to think about. “I’m very glad to hear that. Very glad. But . . . they’re going to need more than that.”

She looked at me warily.

“This pandemic . . . . their business is going to be hurting. They’re going to be struggling. They’ll need you.”

“Huh?”

“Tina,” I said patiently, “you need to find ways to pitch in. Find ways to make some money. Without stealing it. They’re paying all the bills and their income is about to go in the crapper. You’re living here, you’re an adult. For your sake, and for their sakes, you need to pitch in.”

She looked like she’d been pole-axed. “I . . . I don’t . . . I mean . . . what can I do?”

“I don’t know. But you need to figure it out. They need you to figure it out. They do, but they won’t ask. And they’ll probably be angry with me for saying this. But honestly, you can contribute. You just need to figure out how.”

My phone rang; I pulled it from my back pocket to make sure it wasn’t someone I had to talk to. I didn’t recognize the number, but . . . the ID said that the call originated in New Rochelle. I felt a stiletto of fear pierce my heart, an echo of my panic attack.

“I’m sorry,” I said absently, “I think I need to take this.”

She stood still, watching me.

“Hello?” I said, answering the phone.

An accented male voice that I did not recognize said, “Hello? Is this Cameron Savin?”

“Speaking,” I said.

“Are you Iain’s brother?”

I wasn’t going to quibble about gender. “Yes. Is he okay?”

“My name is Mahmoud Masoumi. We haven’t met, but I’m Iain’s roommate. He . . . I don’t know if he’s okay. He was okay yesterday, but I came home from my shift last night and he wasn’t here. He left a note saying that he thinks he has the COVID, you know? The virus?

“The note, he said, he didn’t want to infect me. I don’t know where he went. He won’t answer his phone. I’m worried about him. He mentioned his brother was a lawyer in DC, so I was able to find you. Not too many Savins, I think. Do you know where Iain is?”

As soon as he started speaking, I knew. I knew what he was going to say. I knew that COVID had finally hit home. And my mind immediately clicked into hyperdrive, eliminating all emotion, stripping away everything but purpose. A decision tree began to unfold in my mind, which began clicking down the list of things that suddenly needed to be done. Right away. Now.

Click. Click. Click.

To be continued.