Author’s Note: Welcome back, readers, to what I call the Joanne Prentiss Universe. Those who are not familiar with that fictional universe might want to visit my Author Page and begin with “Painted From Memory.” However, you don’t need to do that to follow this specific story since “A Daughter Enters” introduces a new main character to the universe: Cherry Brooks, the youngest child of film and TV star, Lulu Brooks, formerly married to film executive Alastair Knowles, who, of course, some years after the events herein chronicled, married Joanne Prentiss. Our story begins on the morning of the day after Cherry’s junior year of high school ends, waiting outside of the dorm to be picked up to catch a flight to New York City and rejoin mother already rehearsing for a Broadway play scheduled to open that Fall.

I already regretted my decision to purchase my breakfast from the gas station three blocks away from my dorm building. The Cheese Danish tasted like cardboard and had a rubbery texture. Maybe I should have microwaved it first. I chugged my bottle of Yoo Hoo to cleanse my taste buds. Good old ersatz chocolate milk! The beverage of champions. I walked back across the street to station myself on the curb, waiting for my escort to LAX to arrive. She was fifteen minutes late.

While I wait, I should tell you some important facts about myself.

My name is Cherry Brooks. I’m 17 years old and I just finished my junior year at Mirage Canyon High School yesterday, Monday, June 25th. Mirage Canyon is a boarding school in Chatsworth, smack dab in the San Fernando Valley, for grades 7 thru 12 but Mom placed me there to start high school, right after divorcing Alastair, who, she insists, is not my biological father. Nor is he my stepfather since she didn’t allow him to legally adopt me after they got hitched. I was instructed to call him Alastair.

My 11-year-old Bishon Frise named Alice seems quite content to be holed up in the carry-on kennel at my feet. She’s named Alice after Alastair. He gave her to me for Christmas when I was six. I had to rush order the kennel from Amazon because of the airline’s rules on flying with pets. Mom told me that The Carlyle Hotel where we’ll be staying is pet-friendly for long-term guest residents and Central Park is just a block away. Convenient for daily dog walks.

Oh, my mom is Lulu Brooks, the Oscar-winning actress who first burst upon the screen as the titular (and I mean titular) star of Space Babe, the summer blockbuster hit of 1996, five years before I was even a glimmer in my mother’s eyes, or for that matter, in my father’s eyes, whoever he is. (Mom won’t divulge his identity)

She’s rehearsing a play right now in New York. Been there for two weeks already. The play is entitled “Blues for a Diva.” Mom plays an aging pop singer (she’s an aging film actress…ouch!) who falls in lust for the newest teen idol (played by that dreamy but creepy Trent Foster). Unfortunately, the object of her lust falls in turn for one of her backup singers, played by that blonde ingenue, Annie Flaherty. Her manager, played by the dashing but hard-drinking British actor, David Wetherell, tries to pick up the pieces before his star client succumbs to the bottle and other remedies. I didn’t really want to spend the summer in New York but Mom gave me two choices: stay with her wacky friend, soap opera veteran actress, Claire Montrose, in ritzy Arcadia or take a summer pre-college filmmaking course at Columbia University (she had Alastair pull some strings with his Ivy League buddies). I volunteered to just stay at home alone in our palatial Calabasas manor (it’s actually a relatively modest 3-bedroom, 2-car garage Bungalow style house with a medium-sized pool in the back). She had visions of me becoming embroiled in Kevin McCallister-type exploits so here I am, boarding a flight to JFK in two hours. Reluctantly.

And, finally, I should let you know. It’s pretty important, I guess. I’m a trans girl.

Yep, I was born Gerald Fintan Brooks in the maternity ward of Cedars-Sinai Hospital in Beverly Hills, where celebrities go to give birth, and immediately assigned male gender. Up until my 16th birthday, everyone called me Jerry.

Then, one fine day, I told Lulu I was really a girl and wanted to start transitioning. My dysphoria had been apparent to Alastair at least since I was five or 6 years old. There were a lot of back-and-forth Skype calls between her and Alastair before she was convinced I wasn’t trolling her. (We don’t have the best relationship. You can gather that.)

Because of my shockingly red hair and annoying freckles, I chose my new name of Cherry (I thought it would be easier for people to deal with then the name my half-brother Max suggested, Clytemnestra. You can guess what he wanted to call me for short.) After consulting her spiritual advisor, the famous psychic Glenda Goodman, Mom set me up with counseling and a cool endocrinologist. I’ve spent my junior year in school as a girl named Cherry Brooks. Alastair helped me get all my paperwork sorted out. I’m even denoted as a female on my driver’s license! There’s some benefits in living in California, I suppose.

A white Toyota Camry rolled up to the curb in front of me and I peered in to look at the driver. At the wheel was a slightly heavy-set woman in her mid-30s with her hair tied up in a messy bun. She lowered her sunglasses onto the end of her nose and asked, “Are you Cherry Brooks?”

“Yes, that’s me,” I brightly replied, hefting Alice’s kennel and grabbing my carry-on spinner covered in a cute floral pattern of cherry stems.

“Get in. Just put your case in the back seat…and the dog kennel too. I’m Maia Everly. Your mother told me you’re on the same flight with me.”

“Can I take Alice out and have her sit on my lap?”

“Just keep a firm grip on her, okay? And does she bark?”

“She’s a very quiet little lady,” I said, trying to make my eyes twinkle.

“I’m not a dog person. I got bitten by our neighbor’s bulldog when I was a young boy—”

I did a double take. “What did you just say?”

“Oh, I thought you knew. Your mother didn’t tell you? I’m trans.”

“I thought you and Dan Dantley were, you know, in a relationship. I just assumed you were a woman.”

“Well, I’ve always been a female, you know. It’s just my body didn’t match my true gender. I tried to act and dress like a guy until I left home for college. It’s been a journey. A hard one—”

“I can only imagine,” I offered, as I stroked Alice under her chin. Can dogs smile?

“Of course, I’m still pre-op. That’s the next big step. A little late in life. I’m 36. I’m sure I look every last hour of every day of my age.”

“No, I would never have guessed. You look just fine. So how did you and Dan meet?”

“It’s a long story. Now, don’t be offended but I prefer not talking while I’m driving. I’m not the best driver. I’m from Brooklyn. I didn’t learn to drive until I got out to California. With the traffic and the glare, I have to concentrate. No distractions. You understand, don’t you?”

“It’s an hour’s drive from here to LAX. No talking, huh. I can listen to tunes on my phone with my buds, I guess.”

“Hey, it took me an hour from my house in Santa Monica to get here in Chatsworth. The silence was exquisite. Plus, we can talk on the plane. It’s a five-hour flight.”

We were sitting in business class in adjoining seats as our Airbus cruised some 35,000 miles high above Nevada when a flight attendant leaned over to speak to us. I had sat Alice on my lap once the seatbelts indicator was turned off.

“You can’t take the dog out of the kennel, miss,” she said in a slightly condescending tone. “The rules are you can either keep the kennel under your seat or you can hold the kennel on your lap…with your dog inside it.”

“I’m sorry. I guess I didn’t read the fine print. I’ll put her back inside.” Maia held the kennel flap open while I gently put Alice back in.

“Thank you. Cute dog, by the way. My sister owns a Bichon. Now, ladies, can I get you something to drink this morning? Everything we serve is on the menu card.”

Maia replied almost immediately. “I’d like a Bloody Mary, please.”

Tentatively, in a tiny voice, I looked up at the attendant and asked, “Can I have the same?”

“Sure, just let me see some I.D. The drinking age on domestic flights is 21, miss.”

“How about a tall glass of OJ?”

“That’s better. Looking like Pippi Longstocking like you do, no one will believe you’re 21. I’ll be back with your drinks in a few.” She laughed as she walked back up the aisle.

“I don’t look like Pippi Longstocking, do I?”

“Stop pouting,” Maia advised. “It just makes you look even younger.”

“I know I should be way past it now but I still feel relieved every time I pass in public. The attendant just reflexively called me a lady. It was years before I was confident no one would read me when I did something as simple as paying my parking charges. And the years I spent working on my voice, my god.” Maia shook her head as she paused briefly before continuing to sip her Bloody Mary.

“I can’t even imagine,” I said. “No, Alice you can’t have any orange juice. It’s bad for your tummy.”

“I first met Danny when he gave a guest lecture at USC Film School. I was in the writing program and I was a big fan of Danny’s film adaptation of Rechy’s ‘City of Night’.

“What’s that?” I asked as I made goofy faces at Alice.

“’City of Night?’ That’s a landmark novel about a young gay man who travels across the country working as a hustler. That was before people gave that kind of occupation the more decorous name of sex work. Anyway, I thought the way he handled the scenes about the Cooper Do-nuts Riot in LA where the LGBTQ patrons finally fought back against the cops who routinely harassed them for no good reason than just getting their kicks was thrilling filmmaking. The way the camera moves across the tableau of the action. The audio mix was also stunning. Not a word of real dialogue but you actually felt the hot breath of the cops as donuts and cups of coffee flew across the screen. Genius. Pure genius! It’s a crime Danny didn’t get an Oscar nomination. But straights would rather watch vapid bimbos shake their tits and ass.”

“Are you throwing shade at my mom, Maia?” I pretended to be offended.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean your mom. She’s a real actress. And she’s got the Oscar to prove it. But, back to how Danny and I got together. I got to talk to him after his lecture and he invited me out for a cup of coffee. We ended up at Dulce on McClintock and talked for over an hour over coffee and…and donuts!” She laughed uproariously at that last bit.

“What’s so funny?”

“Dulce’s famous for their donuts. Don’t you get it? That scene in ‘City of Night’? The donut shop riot? I guess you had to be there. Well, we started seeing each other, casually at first, then it got serious. Finally, after I graduated, I moved in with him. We’ve been together for almost 12 years now. I’m nominally his script supervisor and assistant line producer.”

“Were you presenting as a woman when you first met? Is that why you two got involved?”

“Oh no. I was a bit of a twink then. Danny thought I was just an effeminate gay man. It wasn’t until a couple of years later that I finally confronted my dysphoria and started transitioning.”

“And Danny was okay with that?”

“We’ve had our ups and downs. He had an affair or two or three. There’s always some young hunk catching his eye on these projects he directs. That’s why I’m worried about this Trent Foster character.”

“I think Trent’s supposed to be straight,” I interjected, deciding to put Alice underneath my seat as I saw the attendants coming around to take our lunch orders.

“That’s what they all say, dear.”

As we dug into our lunch, Maia started to ask questions about me, my life, and my mother.

“You’re a ginger. But your mother has kind of dirty blonde hair. You father must have been a ginger then,” she mused, chomping on her order of Mustard Marinated Chicken Thigh.

“That’s what I guess too.”

“Guess? Don’t you know?”

“My mother had me between marriages so in legal terms I was born out of wedlock. I never knew my biological father.”

“That’s right! I remember reading that your mother married Alastair Knowles when you must have been…what? A year old? And your mom was wearing a maternity dress at the Oscars the year she won. You were there too!” Maia laughed as I studied my Baked Rigatoni, hoping to drop this particular line of conversation.

“I’m sorry to laugh,” Maia said gently. “But you had Alastair. Even though your mom and he split up, I’m sure he was a great dad. Danny tells me he’s a good dude.”

“Mom didn’t want me to call him Dad. Just Alastair. I’m told he wanted to legally adopt me but she wouldn’t agree to it. Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. I didn’t know.” There was an awkward silence between us as we finished our meals.

I watched as Maia guzzled down a tall glass of water, her Adam’s Apple moving up and down as she leaned back her head. She put the empty glass down on her tray table. I thought she was going to give out a monstrous burp but she just turned to me, smiling.

“Water. It helps digestion. All the nutrients from a meal can be more easily absorbed. It’s healthier than the soda you just drank. That’s full of nasty sugar.”

“I’m sorry, Alice, but I can’t give you anything to eat or drink until the flight is over.” I had taken the kennel out from beneath my seat and was making sad faces at Alice.

“I’m going to take a little nap, Cherry. Got up way too early this morning. Us film people usually don’t fall out of bed until noon when we’re not on set.” She yawned. “One more question before I get some shuteye. What are you going to do all summer while your mother rehearses six days a week?”

“Alastair got me into a pre-college course in filmmaking at Columbia. It runs for 8 weeks and I can get credit for it when I go to college. I’d love to go to USC Film School in a few years.”

“With both your mom and Alastair in the industry, it’s clear sailing for you if that’s what your heart desires. But have you ever considered acting? I mean, you’re a pretty girl.”

“Well, I’m not as beautiful as my mother. Not by a long stretch. And I never considered being in front of the camera as an actress because up until a year ago I…” I looked at Maia and she was snoring softly, her chin tight against her sternum, eyes shut.

“Well, Alice,” I whispered to my canine sister, “I almost let the cat out of the bag, didn’t I? I wish I could let my dog out of her kennel. I know you would like that.”

I waved at the flight attendant as she walked purposely down the aisle, headed for the kitchen area. When she stopped by my seat, I asked very politely, “Can I have a tall glass of water? I need to make sure my nutrients are being absorbed.”

“I have to go pick up my luggage. I guess you’re already carrying everything you brought with you. Unless you’re in a hurry, we can share an Uber,” Maia offered, as she searched the signs for directions to Baggage Claim.

“Thanks, Maia, but mom is picking me up. We landed right on the dot. I don’t even have to call her.”

“Are you sure? She’s in rehearsal. Danny loves to work late. Sometimes he can lose track of time. You better call her just to make sure.”

“It’s fine, really, Maia. See you tomorrow at the hotel or the rehearsal studio.”

“Well, don’t count on seeing me before noon, okay? See ya, kiddo.” She walked over to the down escalator, turning one last time to wave goodbye. I waved back. I looked at the big digital clock on the far wall of the terminal to check the time and decided to sit down and wait for mom.

After fifteen minutes, I started to worry. Maybe Maia was right. Knowing mom, it wouldn’t surprise me if she completely forgot about my arrival today. Feeling uneasy, I pulled out my phone and sent her a text.

It’s stuff like this that makes me really angry at my mother sometimes. Sometimes? Who am I kidding? Well, I guess the traffic in New York can be almost as bad as the traffic in Los Angeles. Nothing I can do except keep waiting. Thundercrack! Now it’s pouring down in torrents. The sky is black except for the flashes of lightning in the distance. I should have just stayed in Calabasas like I wanted to. But I have a mission to complete. Something beneficial to both myself and mom. World peace can wait.

I had been staring into the gloom outside of the terminal’s floor to wall windows for the better part of an hour when I felt the urge to free Alice from her kennel and, against all the rules of the airport, hug her to my breast. I was a scared little girl, all alone in a strange city. Would they believe my tiny Bichon was my service animal?

“Cherry? Is that you?” A voice pierced the darkness of my thoughts. I turned to see the voice’s source. It was my half-brother Max. A tall, slim young man of 25, clean-shaven, wearing a tailored suit and tie, his blond hair cut in a perfect short back and sides style.

“Max! You’re a fuckin’ hour late!”

“Nice to see you too, Cherry. Aside from the nasty sneer on your face right now, you get prettier and prettier every time I see you. Here, let me take your carry-on. My car is parked on the third level. Let’s go.”

“Last time you saw me, Max, I was a boy named Jerry. And you thought I was pretty?”

“Always have, Cherry. Remember the summer I stayed with you and mom when you were 8 or 9 and Alastair took us to Disneyland?”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“You wanted to ride that Chip ‘n’ Dale rollercoaster and there was this woman who thought you were my little sister. She kept telling us what a cute little girl you were. She kept calling you Ginger Spice. She even bought you a Princess Elsa plush doll. You wouldn’t let go of it. I tried to explain to the woman you were a boy but she wasn’t buying any of it. Then I looked at you with the doll in your arms and I knew you were a girl. A pretty girl with red hair and freckles.”

“Really? I thought you hated me.”

“Far from it. My dad wouldn’t let me spend more than a couple a weeks with you and mom. Mom’s busy schedule made it easy for dad to sway the judge. Here’s my car.”

The traffic going into Manhattan was horrendous, even at that time of the evening. The rain aggravated the situation further. I couldn’t get a good look at the city as we progressed at a snail’s pace. Of course, I’d been to New York a few times, mostly when mom was still married to Alastair, the archetypal bicoastal man.

“Do they know you’re coming?” asked Max.

“Who?”

“The Carlyle. Do they know you’re Lulu Brooks’ daughter?”

“Yeah, mom notified the front desk. At least, I think she did. You never can be totally sure with her.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Hey, Max, a change of plans. Take me to Alastair’s apartment. You know the address, don’t you?”

“Sure. But is he home?”

“I spoke to him over the weekend. He’s in New York through the 4th. His mother’s having a barbecue on the 4th up in Connecticut. You wanna come? I’m sure he won’t mind if you tag along.”

“I’m heading down to D.C. for the 4th. My girlfriend’s parents are having a wingding too. Her whole extended family is invited. I guess that includes me now…”

“You mean…”

“I proposed last Thursday. I’m going to be moving down there anyway. New job. I’m going to work for Metheny Architectural Design, under Rafe Metheny.”

“Wow, that’s great. Am I invited to the wedding?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t think of not having my beautiful little sister there, driving all the boys crazy with her ginger spice looks.”

“Oh…do go on.” I laughed.

“I sense you’ve got some kind of scheme you’re about to unfold. What are you up to, little sis?”

“I was going to stay in California this summer, even if I had to live with that crazy old witch, Claire Montrose—”

“What’s wrong with her? She seems like a harmless older lady.”

“She’s the one who got mom started with these psychics she’s always consulting. And I really do think she’s a witch. She probably flies around Arcadia at night on a broom. Anyway, I initially thought the most boring thing I could do with my summer was spend it in New York while mom rehearsed this bomb of a play for eight weeks, away from all my friends—”

“You don’t have any friends, Cherry.”

“Statistically, you may be correct but a null set in California is better than a null set in New York.”

“Who knows, maybe you’ll meet a boy here.”

“Get serious, Max. I’m packing something the boys won’t be too pleased to chance upon.”

“Didn’t the boys at Mirage Canyon ask you out?”

“One boy! And it turned out he wanted to meet mom. He had a thing for milfs.”

“It’s good to see you, Cherry. Mom tells me her only free days are Sundays. So, the Sunday after the 4th, let’s all get together. You can meet my girlfriend too.”

“Park right in front of the entrance, Max. I can run between the raindrops and buzz Alastair’s apartment with a minimum of drench.”

“Okay but I’ll stay here until you get buzzed in. Just in case you’re wrong about Alastair being home.”

“Thanks, Max. You’re a lifesaver.” I ran, swinging my carry-on and the kennel at my sides. Alice didn’t like the air turbulence one bit, barking loudly.

Falling against the doorway, I pushed the buzzer for Alastair’s apartment. I was sure he was home. I was, really. I got buzzed in. Quickly waving Max to leave, I redistributed my burden from one arm to the other and pushed the door in.

I emerged from the elevator on Alastair’s floor and he was already holding the door to his apartment open, a big smile on his face. I ran down the corridor and he hugged me, lifting me with my carry-on and Alice’s kennel into the air.

“How’s my girl? You look a little wet but beautiful all the same.” He set me down inside the apartment and took the carry-on from my right hand. “I’ll get you a towel to dry your hair.”

As I swiped the towel across my hair, Alastair stared at me. It made me very self-conscious.

“What?”

“I’m wondering how I got to be so lucky having such a pretty daughter.”

“And smart too. I’m not just a pretty face, Alastair.”

“Your mother’s not here. You can call me Dad if you want. I’d like you to.”

“Okay…Dad. There I’ve said it!” I threw my arms around his neck and pressed my cheek against his.

“Now, why are you here instead of at The Carlyle?” Alastair gave me a serious look.

“No, it’s not what you think. I didn’t have another screaming match with mom. In fact, I haven’t seen her yet. Max picked me up at the airport because mom was still in rehearsal for that stupid play.”

“It’s not a stupid play, Cherry. I’ve read the playscript and you know Dan Dantley is a really fine director. They pulled off a real coup by signing Trent Foster to play your mother’s love interest. He’s the male equivalent of Taylor Swift right now. They’ll sell out the first month for sure.”

“Until the reviews come in,” I snarked.

“Cut your mother some slack, Cherry. This play could give her career a second life. She’s too talented to be playing middle-aged supporting roles.”

“Boy, you’d think you were still in love with her,” I remarked, knowing it was the wrong thing to say.

“I’ll always love your mother, Cherry. But it takes two, doesn’t it? Now, why are you here for the summer? Just last month, you hated the idea.”

“I’m here to get some answers, for once and for all.”

“Answers to what?”

“I want to know who my biological father is. I think I deserve to know.”

“Well, I have a guess but your mother wouldn’t tell me either. I didn’t even start dating your mother until you were almost a year old.”

“Dad, I think my biological father is right here…in New York City. And I’m going to confront him before I have to go back to school.”