It was a hot July night so we decided to sit outside the Shake Shack on the Upper East Side and watch Carson enjoy his favorite meal, a Black Truffle Shack Stack burger, crinkle cut fries on the side, and a large Mountain Dew. I took dainty little bites of my chicken sandwich and quiet sips of my Sprite while I listened to his enthusiastic torrent of words.

“…it’s too bad we can’t do it this week—”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“We have a bunch of one-nighters up in New England through Friday. Couple of clubs in Massachusetts, one in Rhode Island—”

“My grandparents on my mom’s side live in Providence.” I put my chicken sandwich down. “I’m bummed because I thought we might spend some time together next week. Maybe see a movie or a concert.” Frowning, I put the straw back in mouth to draw some Sprite in.

“We have all summer, right? Anyway, Leah wants to record our audition for Trent’s label and make it part of her next podcast. Isn’t that unbelievable? And I have you to thank for it, Cherry!”

“Go, Cherry! Go, Cherry!” The other members of the Vandal Savages, seated at a table behind us, chanted their gratitude, making all the other patrons outside Shake Shack stare at us. And, here I was, incongruously dressed in a green prom dress.

“You deserve it, Carson. You guys are so talented! So, when is your audition and can I come?”

“Uh, no, it’s only going to be Trent, a couple of A&R guys, and us in the studio. Trent had to clear it with the A&R guys to sneak Leah in. And, if it doesn’t go well, I wouldn’t want you to be there to see that.”

“How could it go badly? Just be yourselves. Imagine you’re playing in front of a crowd of fans like that night at Bowery Ballroom. You guys slayed!”

“It could be Saturday or Sunday. Plans haven’t been finalized. They’re doing it as favor to Trent, after all.”

“Will you miss seeing me all week?” I shyly asked.

“Sure, Cherry. But business is business, you know. We’ve got all summer to be together.”

---

Maris Lafferty looked unblinkingly into the lens of Anders’ camera as she continued her long, digression-filled answer to my simple question about the place of theater in modern day society.

“Theater, the human act of representing on stage in front of an audience the verities of our existence, in relation to society, nature, God, and the universe, is a barometer of the health of a civilization. Whether it is comedy or tragedy, as the ancient Greeks formulated, it is about life as we live it, yesterday, today, and tomorrow. And the musical adds the emotional resonance of song, notes and lyrics which delineate our strengths and frailties as human beings in society. I am proud to have worked in theater my entire adult life. I think it brings people together. In celebration, in contemplation, and, ultimately, in empathy for each other.”

“Hey, can we resume rehearsals, please? People, we’re on a tight schedule. Next week we move into the Richard Rodgers for dress rehearsals. And then two weeks after that, previews begin. God almighty, why did I take this assignment?”

Annoyingly, Danny clapped his hands as if the cast were unruly kids in kindergarten class. Maris slowly walked back into the studio as Anders put his camera down. Charlotte and I followed Anders as we went into the small room next to the studio that served as Danny’s office. He held the camera’s LCD screen out to us as we reviewed what had just been shot.

“She’s got piercing blue eyes,” remarked Charlotte.

“It’s the lighting in the hallway. They’re closer to gray,” Anders pointed out. “Cherry, you’re not watching. You keep looking at your phone—”

“I’ve been expecting a text from Carson all week. He barely replied to my text on Tuesday. Just a couple of words about driving to Needham. I don’t know when his audition is taking place.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make that party last week,” Charlotte sighed. “Leah Dalton’s latest Tik-Tok made The Vandal Savages sound like the second coming of Nirvana.”

“We’ll have to cut that soliloquy she gave us into two or three lines but it looks good to me,” Anders pronounced. “What about the interview with David and your mom?”

“David has a really interesting idea. He wants us to film him playing golf on Sunday. He says it’ll be more kinetic on screen than just having a talking head.”

“What? He’ll be playing by himself?”

“No, he wants us to play pairs golf. Two against two. Him and mom against you and me.”

“And where do I fit in?” asked Charlotte.

Anders and I both shouted, “Operating the camera!”

Anders muttered under his breath, “I shouldn’t have told him I was on the golf team at Mirage Canyon.”

Sunday afternoon. Somewhere in depths of Suffolk County on New York’s Long Island. Charlotte was driving her brother’s Jeep Cherokee with me riding shotgun and Anders sprawled on the back bench. We were following David’s motorcycle as we tooled along the Southern State Parkway toward the Bellmore Golf Club. Mom had her arms wrapped around David, shouting excitedly into David’s helmet earflap. Something barely audible above the roar of the bike’s engine.

“This was your idea wasn’t it, “ Anders accused me.

“Well, yeah, but David agreed to it right away. It’s no secret I want Mom to stop fooling around with Trent. She and David are much more suited for each other,” I replied.

“I guess you could argue it would heal some bruised feelings in the cast. And it has the added benefit of possibly getting your mother and father back together again—”

“David’s your father?” Charlotte interjected.

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it sometime…but not right now.”

“Oh, okay. By the way, love your outfit,” Charlotte complimented me.

“It’s identical to the one Mom’s going to wear.”

“Why didn’t you wait to change in the locker room?”

“Uhh…I’d rather not have to go into a ladies’ locker room.”

“No offense, Cherry, but you really are one strange duck,” Charlotte noted.

After Mom had changed into her golf fit and we looked like mismatched twins, bags of clubs were rented for everyone but David, who’d brought his own. Golf carts were acquired and we set off to play a round of best-ball golf on the “easier” course, used by amateurs like us. Charlotte wasn’t too happy having to sit in the back of our cart, jammed between two golf bags.

Aside from a few rounds of golf played with Alastair, my unofficial stepfather, when I was 12 and 13 years old, I couldn’t honestly tell you I’d given golf half a thought in my almost 17 years on Earth. However, I’ve been told I have excellent hand-eye coordination. Well, Alastair told me.

Despite my excellent hand-eye coordination, I was the worst player among our foursome. You see, David had been playing golf since his teens in Edinburgh, Mom’s dad, my grandfather, used to take her along when he went golfing on summer weekends back home in Providence, and Anders, of course, was on the golf team in our high school. It was only because Anders was so good that our pair wasn’t totally shut out of winning any holes. I got annoyed at Charlotte since she seemed to shoot extra footage of my errant swings. My ball landed everywhere but the greens: the deep rough, the paths that the golf carts rode out of bounds, almost every sand trap and bunker. I hit someone walking toward the clubhouse once. I was told to yell ‘fore’ whenever I mis-hit the ball. Rather angrily, I must say.

I tried to interview them, even as my woeful exhibition of wayward golf shots continued.

Sidling up to David and Mom, I asked, “Why haven’t you worked together again after ‘Thick As Thieves,” almost twenty years ago?”

“Well, I wanted to…but Lulu was always unavailable. Maybe she can tell you why she avoided working with me.”

Mom laughed. “I wasn’t avoiding you. You’ll recall that I had a baby nine months after the movie premiered.”

“That explains the immediate period of time after that movie but, correct me if I’m wrong, about two years later, you made that sci-fi picture instead of the Scorsese project I had the lead in. Marty told me he had you in mind for the female lead.”

“They offered me more money, David. Unlike you, I had a family to support—”

“Oh, come now, Lulu. Alastair was making good coin then, as he is now I presume.” He nodded at me. I was out of frame hopefully.

“It was a much larger part, David. I wasn’t too keen on playing the male lead’s side chick like Scorsese wanted. Although it’s the way you seem to see most women in your life anyway.”

“There’s your answer, Cherry. Your mother thinks I’m a player…to use the vernacular.”

“If the shoe fits,” Mom smirked.

“Oh, come on, Mom. You’re telling me Trent Foster isn’t a worse player? He’s a charter member of the fuck ‘em and forget ‘em club—”

“Cut, Charlotte. We’re not going to use this,” Anders ordered.

“I’m sorry, guys. Let’s tee off. There’s a group behind us that’s probably really pissed at us for holding them up.” I took the 4 Iron out to tee off on the par 3 13th hole.

“Remember your hips, Cherry,” Anders reminded me as I addressed the tee. Unfortunately, Anders’ serious advice made me laugh, right in the middle of my swing. Accordingly, I drove the ball all the way to the left of the fairway. It bounded and rolled to within an inch of a small stream that marked the boundary of the hole. It must have been the course designer’s idea of a cute water hazard.

After Anders drove his tee shot 200 yards down the middle of the fairway, he turned to me. “You can lay out if you want, Cherry. I can make this in three. That ball looks unplayable. You’d have to have one foot in the water to even try to hit it.”

“Perish the thought, Anders. I’m not a quitter.” Pretending to break away from Anders’ grasp, I shouted, “Let me go! Don’t try to hold me back!” I ran to our golf cart and gunned it down the cart path, making a right turn near the spot by the stream where my ball had rolled to. I drove so fast (relatively speaking) that I almost threw Charlotte out of the back along with one of the golf bags. I made a quick choice between a 5 or 6 Iron. With the 6 Iron in hand, I tried to stand tippy-toe on the precipice of the stream. I swung the club and immediately fell backward into the drink up to my shoulders in the shallow stream. The ball did make it onto the green though. There’s that.

Everyone ran over to help me out of the water. It was Anders whose hand I reached for. He pulled me out and Mom immediately tried to look for bruises and cuts.

“I’m okay, Mom. But it looks like our outfits don’t quite match anymore.”

“We have to get you out of those wet clothes. Forget about the game. I’m taking you to the locker room. You can shower and change into some dry clothes.” Mom took my arm and led me to the golf cart.

“But…but Mom. I didn’t bring any change of clothes—”

“You go in, take those wet clothes off, and shower. I’ll go to the pro shop and pick up something for you to wear. Any particular color, sweetie?”

“Pink?” I blurted out for no reason. Just the first color that came to mind.

“What about Anders and Charlotte and David?”

“David can finish the round against Anders. And Charlotte seems to enjoy filming David up close and personal.”

I cautiously entered the ladies’ locker room. I had kept my head down so as not to meet the eyes of anyone as I dripped my way through the country club. I did hear a few giggles but just started walking even more quickly. I exhaled and discovered the locker room was occupied by two middle-aged women, changing out of golf skirts and tops. One of them turned to me.

“Oh no, sweetie, looks like you fell into the water hazard. At least you didn’t injure yourself. Quick, get yourself into the shower.”

“I must look like a wet cocker spaniel,” I laughed as I passed her and quickly found Mom’s locker. Using the combination she had been given, I opened the locker and used the door to block myself from view as I shucked off my wet clothes. Grabbing a towel, I thanked the Goddess that it was large enough to wrap my body from my clavicle to my knees. With the grace of a feline, I slinked toward the showers. Inside, I was happy to see that each side of the room held stalls with curtains.

As I soaped myself, making sure I didn’t get my hair wet, I looked down at my budding breasts. Not bad for just a little more than a year on testosterone blockers and estrogen. I wonder if I’ll inherit my mother’s slightly bigger than average B cup breasts. I wonder how large David’s mother’s breasts were. Oh what a strange thought.

As I showered, thankfully alone in the room, I was of two minds. On the one hand, I was angry at myself for botching the whole effort at interviewing David and Mom in a quirky, unique way. On the other hand, I was glad I had come up with the idea in the first place. Despite the premature ending to the shoot, it was clear that there was still a lot of heat between them. The way she wrapped her arms around him on his bike. The way they strategized during the round, helping each other through the course, literally putting their heads together. There’s something there, alright. Just needs a little prodding and cultivation. And I’m just the one to do the prodding.

“Cherry? Are you in there? It’s me, Mom. I’ve got a nice outfit for you to change into.”

“I’m almost done, Mom.”

Five minutes later, after drying myself, I grabbed the outfit Mom had bought in the pro shop and put it on, again using the locker door as a divider to block anyone’s view.

“How did you know it would fit me, Mom?”

“Cherry, I’m your mother! I’ve known your sizes since you were a little…uh…girl.”

“You’ve barely seen me since I went away to boarding school. Nor have you seen me bare.”

The one woman remaining in the locker room looked over at us, a puzzled expression on her face.

“Just sit here and admire your new pink sweatsuit while I take a quick shower myself.”

“What then?”

“Then we’ll go over to the country club and have ourselves some coffee and maybe a Danish or two. I’m famished!”

---

Mom was threatening to have her third cup of coffee by the time David, Anders, and Charlotte walked into the Public House.

“Who won?” I asked.

“Your fair-haired boyfriend took the last five holes,” David sighed as he sat down at our table. “And to add insult to injury, he absconded with a hundred dollars of my money. $20 a hole. The kid’s a hustler.”

“He’s not Cherry’s boyfriend. That’s Carson Gabriel of The Vandal Savages,” Charlotte declared.

“And you’re the one who warns me against getting involved with musicians,” Mom snickered.

“That sweatsuit looks good on you, Cherry,” Anders said softly to me.

“Thank you, Anders. Mom knows what fits me.”

“That I do,” Mom nodded. “That I do.”

I got Anders and Charlotte to agree to go back to Columbia and edit what we had shot in the past week, including today’s golf outing. I’d just been laughed at in wet golf togs, so I didn’t blanche at the thought of walking on campus in this pink sweatsuit normally worn by middle-aged, suburban wives of corporate executives playing golf on weekends.

“But it’s Sunday evening, sweetie. Even the Lord rested on Sunday,” Mom admonished.

“It’s only an 8-week course, Mom. Time is of the essence. And Mom, don’t forget to pick up Alice from the kennel—”

Mom just waved to us as David kick started his bike and sped away from the parking lot.

Charlotte and I were sitting at the editing console, reviewing the footage we had shot over the last few days, when Anders excitedly came back into the room, holding out his phone to us.

“Guys, it’s Leah Dalton’s podcast. She’s live-streaming from a recording studio downtown. It’s The Vandal Savages’ audition that Trent Foster arranged for them—”

“Damn it, Carson! I missed it. He never got back to me with the coordinates for the audition,” I exclaimed.

“Charlotte, switch over to the podcast now. Put it on the computer so we can all see it,” Anders urged.

The audition was apparently over but, from the smile on Carson’s face as he spoke with Leah Dalton, it went well. Perhaps the label execs really liked what they heard.

Leah: “…how did you find your way to Trent Foster to get this audition from his label?”

Carson: “It’s a stroke of good luck. It all came about through this really special person I met at my family’s annual 4th of July barbecue in Westport, where we’re all from. She had a connection to Trent and when he heard us play at a cocktail party in Brooklyn, he talked his A&R department into giving us an audition. Here we are.”

Leah: “Who is this person? And why do you say she’s ‘special’?”

Carson: “Her name is Cherry Brooks. She’s Lulu Brooks’ daughter. You know, the actress.”

Leah: “And how is she special?”

Carson: “She’s special because of what she’s had to go through in life. She’s transgender. Hard to believe but she used to be a boy!”

I let out a shriek and placed my head in my hands.