Consuela was actually rubbing her hands together as we marched toward the entrance to Bridgewater Commons, the biggest shopping mall in Somerset County.

“Come on, chica. The mall closes at 9PM. Hurry!”

There were three reasons I was dawdling behind her. One: I was wearing my sister’s sandals with the kitten heels, causing me to step cautiously lest I slip on the pavement and fall flat on my face. Two: I was out in public for the first time ever in makeup, a pink barrette in my hair, clip on earrings, a peasant blouse with what Consuela told me was a strapless bra underneath, and the black denim jeans that unintentionally showed off my bubble butt. Debbie’s ankle socks served as extra padding in the breast region and they chafed like hell. Three: my boy bits were tucked away through a weird procedure involving some hide-and-seek maneuvers and the medical tape Consuela had swiped from the hospital. She assured me I could still pee if I needed to. I think I did at the moment.

Consuela had “transformed” me in the first half hour after she had returned home from work. I didn’t complain (much) because I was desperate. Richie Morrow, New York Titans rookie phenom pitcher, had invited me to see him pitch tomorrow night…and he was bringing his parents along! Worst of all, they all think I’m a girl! Which I’m not. I’m a 24-year-old guy named Evelyn. But everyone calls me Evie. Even my own dad and stepmom.

“I’ve always wanted to play with a life-sized doll. Artie and I couldn’t have children and then the Iraq War took him away from me. I never had the good fortune to shop for clothes with a daughter. But…now, Evie…I get to do this with you!”

“I’m in your hands, Consuela. I have no clue about women’s clothes. Jesus, these socks are chafing my nipples.” A woman and her teenage daughter walked by at that moment, giving me odd looks. “I never knew my nipples were so sensitive.”

“My little girl is becoming a woman. Hurry, this way. We’ll start with a couple of bra and panty sets. Then some nice everyday dresses. Maybe one special dress for tomorrow night—if we find something suitable. You can pick up some pants and tops yourself when you get a chance. A couple of purses. An over-the-shoulder bag and a clutch for going out. Oh…and finally, two pairs of shoes, one with sensible heels and some pumps for when you go out dancing with your date—”

“Consuela! I’m doing this for one night. It’s just ONE night! I don’t need a trousseau!”

“Evie, what kind of young lady goes around all the time in baggy sweats and tennis shoes? There’s a time for every tomboy to grow up.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me into Adore Me, where a saleswoman immediately rushed to greet us.

“Ladies, how may I help you?”

“My daughter…Evie…needs some nice new bra and panty sets. She’s such a career woman that she’s neglected her wardrobe. You know how driven young girls are these days—”

“Oh, you don’t need to tell me. My oldest daughter is getting her MBA and, most of the time, she dresses like Bill Belichick. You know, hoodies and sweatpants—”

“Exactly! But Evie’s got a special evening tomorrow. Richie Morrow’s parents are meeting her for the first time and they’re going to dinner at some fancy schmancy Manhattan restaurant.”

“Richie Morrow, the baseball player? I don’t know anything about baseball but I’ve seen him on TV being interviewed. Oh my, lucky girl, you.” I glared at Consuela but turned to smile at the saleslady.

“We’re…uh…just friends.”

“Well, well. Let me show you something in your sizes.” She gave me the once over and clucked her tongue. “You’re a slender girl, aren’t you?”

“Eats like a bird. Girls are so body conscious. I don’t know why. Men like a little meat on the bone—”

“Consuela! Please…” Sotto voce. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“I wish my daughter had that attitude. She could stand to lose a few pounds. I think…Evie, is it? Evie is fine. Those pro athletes really go for the supermodel types. Come this way.”

As we exited Adore Me, me carrying the rather ostentatious bag filled with lingerie (everyone seeing me knows I’ve just bought some probably spicy underwear…I could just die), I asked Consuela why she didn’t allow me to pay for the items. Instead, she beat me to the cashier, using dad’s gold Amex card.

“Your dad and I know you have limited funds until you get a new job. He said to think of it as an investment in your future. You’ll need nice clothes in your new job, whatever it turns out to be.”

“I sincerely doubt I’ll be wearing a bra and panties underneath my suit and tie. Especially this itchy bra I’m wearing right now.”

“Walk faster, chica. We’ve got two hours before the mall closes—”

“And many miles to go.”

“No, Evie, Macy’s is right around the corner, down the hall—”

I have to admit trying on dresses in Macy’s was kind of pleasant. When I first caught a glimpse in the full-length mirror in the changing stall, I didn’t recognize the reflection of the pretty girl smiling back at me. That was me! When I stepped out to show Consuela each dress, she sighed every time and exchanged beatific grins with the saleslady. For my part, I wished I had real breasts, at least a B cup, to do justice to the dresses. We went through a dozen or so dresses and outfits before settling on 4 dresses and a nice light jacket (that would come in handy tomorrow since it was still cool in the evening in early May).

Consuela talked me into doing a fashion show in full regalia for dad back home after we escaped the mall with our very lives (and a badly damaged charge account). Parading around our living room in high heels, a dress, and carrying a shoulder bag finally became too much. This was ludicrous.

“I’m sorry, dad. I guess I’m not much of a son. You probably think I’m mental or something.”

He looked up at me, placed his hands on the wheels of his chair, his voice choked with tears as he forced out his breath.

“Evie, you’re the spitting image of your mother when she was your age. If she could only see our beautiful eldest daughter now. She’d be as proud as I am.”

I rushed over and hugged him, our tears mingling. Consuela reached around both of us and joined in a group hug, her own tears dampening the blue fabric of my dress.

I decided to wear the blue dress with the floral pattern rather than the pale blue Swiss Dot dress. I was too self-conscious about my flat chest to wear the Swiss Dot dress first time at the plate, so to speak. I didn’t know too much about Richie’s parents but it’s always safer to assume they’re on the more conservative side. They wouldn’t want their son involved with some big city slut. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Leaving the house at 5:30, I calculated I’d arrive at the stadium in the South Bronx in just under an hour. It was difficult driving Consuela’s Corolla in heels; the pedals didn’t feel right under my feet. The game would start at five minutes past 7 so there’d be a half an hour to chit chat with Richie’s parents, seated in the players’ family section. I realized I had no idea what they looked like. I’d have to make an educated guess. Surely, they’d bear some resemblance to Richie. I parked a few blocks away from the Stadium. I know what you’re thinking. I live dangerously, don’t I?

I was about to pull out my driver’s license to show the security guy at Gate 3 when Lenny, the team’s comptroller, who had just arrived himself, waved the guy off.

“Mike, let the lady in. She’s a guest.” He turned to me as we walked down the corridor toward the ground level box seats. “Evie, quite a nice surprise seeing you. And you look brilliant. That color really flatters you.”

“Richie Morrow invited me. He wanted me to meet his parents. They’re here tonight.”

“I knew there was something between you two.” Conspiratorially, he lowered his voice. “I won’t say a word to anyone, much less the media. If his parents are ok with it, what’s the issue? Am I right?”

“It’s…it’s not what you think. It’s hard to explain—”

“Hey, this is New York, not East Dustbin, South Carolina or wherever Richie’s from. Even The New York Post won’t bat an eye. Listen, give my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Morrow. I’m heading up to my office. Nice to see you, Evie. Good luck to you and Richie.” He turned away and pressed the button for the elevator. I headed for the box seats where the players’ families and guests sat.

Ask anyone who has ever been to a baseball stadium packed with fans just before the game begins and they will tell you that the first thing you marvel at is the sight of the greener than green grass that covers the field from foul line to foul line. Then there’s the anticipatory buzz of the tens of thousands of fans in the stands. And the three decks of stands jutting out against the night sky illuminated by massive light towers around the perimeter of the stadium. Football is a sport best viewed on a television screen. Baseball is an experience best appreciated in the milieu of chanting fans, players moving across a geometry of space bordered by white lines whose vector is infinity, and the crackling sound of bats striking balls that sometimes soar into the vault of night. There is poetry here. That’s why Evie loves baseball. But baseball, like the impassive universe we exist in, doesn’t love Evie.

A clean-shaven man in his late forties, wearing horned rim glasses, in a sport jacket and golf shirt, stood in the aisle, waving to me as I descended the steps.

“Evie! Evie Rivers! Over here!”

“Mr. Morrow?”

“Call me Howard. This is my wife, Sylvia. And Richie’s friend Bonnie.”

Bonnie took me by surprise. Unsmiling, she stood up from her seat next to Mrs. Morrow and gave me a limp finger wave. She was dressed to the nines. Her long blonde hair cascading to the bare shoulders of her skin-tight, spaghetti-strapped red dress, her wrists encircled by several jangling bracelets and her right hand clutching a Botta Venega leather purse. Mrs. Morrow warmly embraced me and we brushed cheeks, careful not to smear our lipstick.

“Bonnie, could you move over one seat? Let Evie sit between Sylvia and me.”

Reluctantly, Bonnie did as Howard asked. I scooted into the seat between Richie’s parents and started to engage Sylvia in some small talk. It turns out the Morrows really were from South Carolina, not East Dustbin though but the state capitol, Columbia. Howard was a Senior Manager in the Corporate Underwriting Department of Colony Insurance, “the nation’s second largest supplemental insurance provider serving 49 of the 50 states,” he proudly stated.

“We’re not in Hawaii…presently. But Sylvia thinks I should push upper management to have me open an office in Maui. Isn’t that right, dear?” Sylvia laughed and nodded.

“Richie tells us you really helped him with his mechanics. I don’t understand all the inside baseball terminology but he says you increased his spin rates?” Sylvia smiled to denote total ignorance of what that meant. So I explained it to her, in layman’s terms so to speak.

Howard stood up and surveyed the stands, looked at his watch, and asked, “Anyone for refreshments? I don’t want to miss Richie’s first inning. Better go now and avoid the lines at the concessions. Bonnie? Sylvia? Evie?” We all shook our heads. He sighed and went to get his beer. He got two steps away before Sylvia spoke up.

“Howard, wait a minute. On second thought, maybe I’d like a hotdog and an orange pop. I haven’t eaten since lunchtime. Bonnie?”

“I’m fine, Sylvia. No, thanks.”

“Evie? Are you hungry or thirsty?”

“I’m good. My stepmom says I eat like a bird. I better save my appetite for dinner later on.”

That got a rise out of Bonnie. “You big city girls go for that skinny look. I know Richie likes—”

“Some meat on the bone. Yeah, I get that a lot. Dad says I was a picky eater even when I was little. My sister ate enough for both of us.”

The Titans staked Richie to an early lead that he safeguarded with seven innings of 2 hit, shutout ball. When he left the game, the crowd gave him a standing ovation and he tipped his cap in our direction, smiling when he met my eyes. I waved to him and Bonnie gave me the side eye with a vicious sneer. Sylvia squeezed my hand. I felt like the slice of bologna in a whole wheat sandwich. We sat through the final two innings of the game with Richie’s parents receiving congratulations from and high fiving the other player’s families in our section, Bonnie scrolling through the texts on her phone, and me looking at the pics I had shot with my phone of Richie’s delivery during the game, checking out his stride and release points.

As the sell-out crowd filed out after the last out, the four of us made our way to the team’s locker room, where we patiently waited outside the closed doors for Richie to emerge after showering, changing, and speaking to the media. Most of the media, even some stragglers among the players and coaches had already left before Richie finally appeared, his hair still wet from showering and wearing a dark blue windbreaker and dress slacks.

He embraced his mother and patted his father on the shoulder, a wide smile creasing his face. I was standing some feet apart from the quartet, preparing to shoot some group photos of them. I’m sure they’d like photos of the evening since it was their first time seeing Richie pitch in person in the majors. Unexpectedly, Richie pulled me into an embrace.

“Thanks for coming, Evie. I hope my parents didn’t bore you to tears during the game. Did dad talk his usual back-office insurance talk?”

“Oh, no, Richie. Your parents are very nice and hospitable. The only shop talk was about you losing the release point on your slider in the middle innings. You got away with a few hangers.”

He acted surprised to see Bonnie and seemed reluctant to embrace her, even as she reached up to kiss him on the cheek, wiping the lipstick off with her thumb.

“Well, let’s go. I’ve got reservations for Zhou Dynasty. Man, I had Lenny go through back channels to get them. That place is hopping even after six months!” He took me by the arm and turned to his parents. “You guys can wait by the gate while I walk Evie to her car. You parked up on Jerome Avenue, didn’t you?”

I blinked with surprise. “How did you know?”

“That’s my Evie. Free parking all the way. Come on.”

Consuela’s Corolla was intact when we reached the spot on Jerome Avenue where I’d parked it almost 4 hours before. Richie expected the car to be up on cinder blocks with shattered side windows.

“New York’s not that bad, Richie. By the way, it was nice meeting your girlfriend Bonnie. She’s very pretty.”

He shook his head, an annoyed look on his face. “She’s my ex-girlfriend. We broke up our junior year at Clemson just before I got drafted by the Titans. I don’t know how she talked her way into coming with mom and dad.”

“Well, she acts like she’s still your girlfriend. She gave me the cold shoulder all night. And I’m not even trying to compete with her.”

“Really, Evie? I’ve been so busy with the start of the season and all, I kind of forgot to tell you I’m…I really like you. Maybe you felt the same?”

“That’s really sweet, Richie. But I’m still unemployed and I’m not even sure I’m going to be in this area moving forward. My sister keeps hinting I should relocate to the West Coast. And... well, there are other complications I’d rather not get into—”

“Is there someone else you’re seeing?”

“No, Richie. I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.”

“Well, that means I’ve still got a shot, right?” We laughed, though there was an edge to his laughter that wasn’t in mine.

Zhou Dynasty was the latest trendy dining out spot in Manhattan, on the 39th floor of a commercial tower near the Empire State Building, with a spectacular view of the city skyline through its panoramic picture windows. The table Richie had reserved was by one of those windows. Rather pointedly, Richie sat next to me on my right-hand side. On my left sat Sylvia.

“It’s funny but the décor doesn’t look like a Chinese restaurant. But it’s certainly packed. And on a weekday evening too,” mused Sylvia as she donned her reading glasses to peruse the menu.

“It’s Asian Fusion, mom. The chef is a Caucasian dude. Lenny said the Sesame Chicken’s really good. Do you like Asian Fusion, Evie?”

“Can’t say I’ve had it before. But the Sesame Chicken sounds good to me. There’s a Chinese place in Bridgewater Commons that my dad loves to order from at least a couple a times a month…”

“You’d think you’d be more of a gourmand coming from New York. Maybe you’re just a small-town girl at heart?” Bonnie looked pointedly at Richie.

We all ordered the Sesame Chicken except for Bonnie who opted for the house special, the roast breast of duck breast with Asian soy glaze.
“This is yummy. Want some of this, Richie? I like my breast meaty and succulent, don’t you?”

Before Richie could respond, a bearded man in a chef’s apron who looked to be in his early thirties approached our table. At his side was a very pretty blonde woman in a tailored pantsuit who looked to be at least twenty years older. Perhaps his mother? There wasn’t a family resemblance though.

“Richie Morrow? I’m Mark Sheldon, executive chef here at Zhou Dynasty. And this is my partner, Elizabeth Greene. I saw your name on the reservations list and I just had to come over and meet you. And thank you for patronizing my establishment. Would you be so kind as to allow my photographer to take your picture later on? We’ll put it on our celebrity wall—”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Sheldon, Ms. Greene. This is my mom Sylvia and dad Howard. My friend Bonnie. And my special friend and Shaolin master Evie. She made me the pitcher I am today.”

“I think I read about you, Evie. A woman baseball coach. Rare indeed. Mark tells me Richie is a sure bet to win Rookie of the Year. You must know your baseball—”

“Well, I’m between assignments right now. I’m sure he’s in good hands with the Titans’ pitching coaches.”

“Well, I hope you’ve all enjoyed your meals. And please become a regular. It’s good publicity for us. I’ve got some friends in the film industry who would love to get the rights to your bio. Especially if you pitch the Titans to a World Series this Fall—”

“Oh, Mark, I think Alastair’s going to change his number if you keep pestering him with movie ideas. I don’t want Joey giving me an angry phone call.”

“I see you’ve ordered the breast of duck. My signature dish. Did you like?”

“Oh, yes, it was scrumptious. I’m a bit more adventurous than the others at this table. I love to try different things.” She fluttered her eyelashes at Mark.

“By the way, your meal is on the house. My treat.”

“No, we can’t possibly accept. We didn’t expect our dinner comped.”

“Yes, I’m paying.” Howard patted his jacket breast pocket. “The dinner was my idea. I told Richie to pick the restaurant. We’re from South Carolina, you understand. We’re not fans of needless charity.”

“Alright, Mr. Morrow. I didn’t intend to offend. As you wish. And thank you for choosing to dine in my humble establishment. Good evening, ladies, gentlemen.”

“Ladies! To the powder room. Time to freshen up before we vamoose. Evie, coming?”

I had no choice but to follow them as they headed to the ladies’ room. It would be the first ladies’ room I’d been in since my sister had that pigeon drop a load on her head at Bridgewater Commons when she was six and I was eight. Mom rushed us into the ladies’ room in Macy’s to wash the glob of bird poo out of Debbie’s hair. Apparently, the women who were lounging there had no qualms about allowing an eight-year-old boy into that feminine inner sanctum. I was impressed with how clean it was. And how it smelled a lot better than any men’s room I’d been in.

Since I was there anyway, I decided to enter a stall and do my business. In no time, I felt relieved. Carefully replacing my various bits of clothing and making sure everything was presentable, I emerged from the stall to discover Sylvia had already left. Bonnie stood alone at one of the sinks, re-applying her lipstick. She turned to me when I stood by the next sink.

“Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes, Evie.”

“Excuse me?”

“That act you’re putting on. I can see through it. Maybe you’ve got Richie and his parents bamboozled but I’m not buying it.” I shuddered, contemplating her circumlocutions and what she was about to accuse me of.

“I…I’m not putting on an act. What are talking about?”

“Oh, come off it. Look, Richie’s a rube to you but he doesn’t deserve some New York City sophisticate taking advantage of him because he’s their ticket to fame and millions.”

“What?”

“I know all about you WAGs. You set your sights on some up-and-coming pro athlete who’s all set to sign a 9-figure contract and you con them into thinking you love them. They’re suckers for skinny bitches who are more worldly wise than country bumpkins like them.”

“Bonnie, you’ve got the wrong idea about me. I’m not “after” Richie. We had a work relationship. I coached him. That’s all.”

“I see how he looks at you and treats you. Like I’m invisible. Like I’m not even here. You’ve got him hooked! Well, listen, little girl, go away. Far away. Or I’ll blow your scheme. Richie and his parents won’t think you’re so charming then, will they?”

“You’re insane—”

At that moment, I noticed Elizabeth Greene had come in. Catching the last part of our “discussion,” she quietly sat down on the couch and faced the mirrors above the sinks.

Bonnie lowered her voice and half-sneered, “Just think about it, Evie.” She fluffed her hair one last time and quickly exited the room. Elizabeth stood next to me, her arms folded beneath her breasts.

“It’s difficult being trans.”

“How did you know? I mean, I’m not…trans. This is all a huge misunderstanding—”

“I have some experience with trans people in my life. In retrospect, I didn’t really cover myself with glory in the way I treated them in the beginning. But they say age brings wisdom with it.”

“I’m not trans. People just refuse to see me as male. Even my own father thinks I’m a girl. He’s been trying to convince me that I am trans.”

“Listen to your own internal thoughts. It doesn’t matter what other people believe. Even your father. I see a beautiful young woman. And from what I’ve read about you, a very special young woman. If it’s your destiny—”

“Maybe you’re right. But I’m not sure.”

“You’re fortunate. You present convincingly as female. Bonnie is so convinced, she’s ready to scratch your eyes out over that overgrown jock. Are you interested in him?”

“No, not really. I’m not gay…or would that be straight? I’m confused about the whole thing.”

“My advice, for what it’s worth, is leave that one alone. It’s got too many sharp edges and where you are right now, it’s better to avoid unnecessary flesh wounds. Are you looking for another gig in baseball?”

“I think the ambiguity about my gender makes it unlikely I’ll catch on with another team. I’d be victimized by a double bias: against women and transgender. I’ve got an MBA in marketing.”

“Pursue that. If you need a lead, I’ve got some friends in corporate circles here in the city and Boston.”

“Thanks, Ms. Greene. I’ll think about that.”

“You do that, Evie. Good luck and remember what I said.” She went into one of the stalls and closed the door. I checked my makeup in the mirror one last time and walked out of the ladies’ room.

While Richie’s parents and Bonnie sat in his car, Richie walked me to my Corolla, parked half a block away.

“Richie, I had a really nice time tonight. And your parents are a hoot. I don’t think I’ve ever learned as much about insurance underwriting or Spanish Moss as I did during the game and dinner.”

“I’m glad you had a good time. Knowing you were sitting in the stands gave me extra adrenaline. That was the best game I’ve pitched since Opening Day.”

“Richie, I’m going through a lot of changes right now. I’m looking for a job. I don’t even know what industry I’ll be working in. Probably not baseball. I can’t just stay in my dad’s house forever. My sister wants me to move to the West Coast. I don’t know. Maybe it’s not the right time for us to get involved.” His face betrayed his disappointment and he turned away for a moment.

“You don’t have to sugar-coat it, Evie. I get it. You don’t feel the same way I feel about you. I’m a dumb jock trying to dance in your world. You’ve got an MBA, for God’s sake! Who am I kidding? You’re way above my league. It’s okay.”

“Richie, it’s not that. You’re a wonderful, talented guy. I’m not worthy of you, if anything. It’s just…you want someone who can give you everything a woman can. I don’t…I don’t think I’m able to do that right now. Maybe ever.”

“You’re not making sense, Evie. You’re talking in riddles. Let’s stay friends. Things can change. For both of us. Just let me know when you get that new job or if you decide to move out west. Stay beautiful, Evie.” He closed the passenger door and headed back to his car. Strapping myself in, I released the handbrake and turned the ignition.

It was close to one in the morning when I collapsed onto my bed, kicking off my Steve Madden kitten heel sandals, too tired to properly undress. I figured I’d be out cold within minutes. But my phone notified me I had a video call. It was from my sister Debbie.

“Evie, I tried calling you a couple of hours ago—”

“Sorry, Debbie. I was unavailable.”

“Yeah, I was worried so I called dad on the landline and he told me you were out on a date with that baseball player. He said you were meeting his parents. Is there something as your sister--I believe I am -that you need to tell me?”

“Nothing, Debbie. It was just a huge misunderstanding. The guy told his parents I’m a girl.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he thinks I AM a girl and he wants to start dating me. You can see that would be a problem.”

“Whatever, Evie. These things seem to happen to you a lot. Maybe the universe is trying to tell you something.”

“I’m really tired, Debbie. It’s past one in the morning here.”

“I am well aware of time zones, sis. Anyway, the reason I called is I got you an interview with my company. They’re looking for a senior staffer in the marketing department. It’s set for Friday—”

“This Friday? Debbie, that’s three days away—”

“Consuela says you went shopping yesterday so you’ve got some wardrobe choices. Maybe you could get your hair done today.”

“I’m not going to interview in a dress, Debbie. I’ll have to take my good suit to the cleaners.”

“But you have to wear a dress, Evie!”

“I’m afraid to ask. Why?”

“Because I told them you’re my sister. They’re expecting a young woman named Evie Rivers.”

“Oh, Debbie. HR will immediately see I’m a guy. In a dress no less! It’s stupid.”

“Evie, I’m in Human Resources. I’ll intercept your paperwork before it gets entered in the system. Switch the M to an F and voila, Ms. Evie Rivers, marketing associate. Ipso facto.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it does. Anyway, they’ll kick us to the curb when they eventually find out. Then we’ll both be out of work.”

“No, it’s foolproof, Evie. Trust me. Look, if you do a great job – which I’m sure you will – they’ll never consider firing you. So your gender’s ambiguous. So what. Big deal. Hey, it’s LA, not the boonies.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll do it but I just want to tell you something.”

“What, sis?”

“You’re insane!!!!”

“I don’t disagree. I booked you a flight out of Newark on Thursday morning. I’ll email you the particulars. Oh, this will be so much fun!”

“Good night, Debbie.”

“Good night, Evie.”