“I swear I didn’t know you wanted to keep it a secret! I’d never do anything to hurt you! Please believe me!”

I emphatically pressed the button to turn off my phone after reading Carson’s text reply to my screed about his blithely outing me to the teeming millions online. I wanted to toss the phone out of Charlotte’s car but decided not to at the last second. Charlotte was driving me home after our editing session at Columbia. Anders was sitting next to me in the back seat, his hand brushing my shoulder to attempt to calm me down.

“The guy’s a douche, Cherry. Forget him,” Anders advised.

“I really liked him. What a jerk!”

“He is really cute, though. You could try to forgive him?” Charlotte ventured.

“No, no, a thousand times no! He was just using me to get to Trent. To get an audition with his label. And he had no respect for my privacy. I don’t need the whole world to know I’m trans…”

“Sooner or later, people would have put 2 and 2 together, Cherry,” Anders pointed out.

“On my own terms. In my own time!”

“This is New York, Cherry, I don’t think it’s a biggie. People here will be cool about it,” Charlotte assured.

“That’s not the point.”

I texted Mom to tell her I was minutes away.

---

“I wouldn’t worry about it, sweetie. After all, who watches those podcasts anyway—”

“Mom! Leah Dalton has over a million subs!” I shook my head at Mom, speechless at her obliviousness.

“Whatever. I’ll bet you no one will even bring it up tomorrow when we move into the Richard Rodgers to start dress rehearsals. Honey, brew us some Chamomile tea. It’ll help us get some good sleep for the big day ahead.”

Like a dutiful daughter, I trudged into the kitchenette and filled a kettle with water.

Within the first five minutes after we set foot in the Richard Rodgers Theatre on Monday morning, Mom and I were summoned to a small office backstage. Seated at a cluttered desk was Danny Dantley, an uneasy smile on his face. Also in the windowless, cramped room were a pair of middle-aged gentlemen I recognized from Chris Chang’s cocktail party as the Balsam brothers, the play’s producers. They had nervous looks on their faces. It was Danny who spoke up first.

“Sit down, ladies. I wish you had told me, Lulu.”

“It’s really nobody’s business. Cherry’s my daughter. That’s all people need to know,” Mom declared.

“Unfortunately, it’s a hot button issue these days, Lulu,” Bob Balsam interjected.

“We’ve got to figure out how to deal with the media on this,” Frank Balsam added.

“Yeah, we’ve already gotten a dozen interview requests from all the usual media suspects and it’s not even noon.” Danny drummed his fingers on the desktop.

“I don’t want to speak to anyone. It’s my personal business. Why does it matter?” I protested.

“We can turn this into a positive p.r. story. Broadway star is proud of her transgender child. We’ll get tons of free publicity,” Frank suggested. “You know pre-sales have been really slow. We should set up interviews with Lulu and Cherry here in the theater. The stage backdrop would be perfect.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Danny agreed.

Mom hesitated. She looked at me for confirmation. I shook my head slowly but she turned to the three men facing us.

“Well, it might help get the word out on the play. And if we don’t consent to media access, they’ll just make shit up and publish regardless. What do you think, Cherry? We’ll face them together—”

I panicked. Visions of me being dissected ruthlessly by pushy, hate-mongering media voices and politicians raced through my mind at light speed. I had never wanted to accompany Mom to New York in the first place. The only thing that made me come was the prospect of meeting my biological father, once and for all. Well, that plan didn’t pan out. And now I’m about to be subjected to the wrath of transgender hate. Something I was shielded from back in boarding school, where everyone seemed to either be supportive or oblivious. I dreaded the probability of my face being plastered all over mass media, the object of prurient curiosity or abject disdain.

I ran.

---

I ran out through the stage and almost face-planted when I tripped on a lighting tech’s size 14 right shoe. I ran through the lobby and out onto West 46th Street where I collided with David Wetherell, whistling his way to work.

“Cherry! Where’s the fire?”

“David! Thank god I bumped into you!”

“Literally, I see.”

“I need to go back home. Can you take me back on your bike?”

“Well, of course. Is there some sort of emergency?”

“Not really…but I have to pick up Alice.”

“Okay. Let me call Danny and tell him I’m chauffeuring you—”

“No, please don’t.” I grabbed his arm and pulled him back in the direction he had come from. “We have to hurry. Is your bike parked nearby?”

“It’s parked on 48th.”

A warm breeze wafted into my face whenever I peeked above David’s shoulders as we moved across Manhattan toward the East Side on his motorcycle. I could still smell Mom’s Oribe shampoo in the helmet David gave me to wear. It made me hug David tighter.

“What’s this all about, Cherry?”

“Carson doxed me on Leah Dalton’s podcast and the media are descending upon me and Mom like vultures circling over carrion—”

“Doxed? How? Why?”

“I’m transgender, David. My dead name is Gerald Fintan Brooks. I started transitioning over a year ago.”

I waited for David’s reaction but he remained silent.

“Are you disgusted by me? Is that why you’re silent?”

We waited at a red light near the lower end of Central Park, on its eastern border.

“Of course not, sweetheart. You’re a girl to me. Absolutely. And as pretty a ginger as I’ve ever met. Look at you! You’re blushing through your freckles.” We both laughed as the light turned green.

“Thank you, David. I only wish everybody felt the way you do about trans girls like me. That’s why I don’t want to be interviewed or interrogated by the media. I want to be left alone. But it’s impossible with Mom about to open in a Broadway show. The Balsam brothers think I’m a public relations asset. They want to exploit me to get free publicity for the play.”

“And what does your mother think about that?”

“You know her as well as I do. Her career comes before her own flesh and blood. Does your career?”

“Does my career what?”

“Come before your own flesh and blood.” I leaned closer to David’s earhole on his helmet and squeezed his midriff through his jacket. “David, let me ask you flat out.”

“What?”

“Are you my biological father?”

David laughed, almost snorting at the ludicrous thought. “What gives you that idea?”

“You and Mom were hot and heavy during the filming of ‘Thick As Thieves’ and got together again during the worldwide premieres. Nine months later I popped out. It’s pretty obvious.”

“Now, Cherry, I sincerely wish I was your father. I couldn’t be prouder of having a daughter like you. But, it’s simply impossible—”

“How’s that?”

“It was one of the reasons why your mum and I broke up, rather explosively as you probably know. She wanted to have another child, especially after losing custody of your half-brother Max. But I’d gotten a vasectomy. At the time, I was the worst possible candidate for parenthood. Probably still am.”

“You’re not my father?” I mumbled, distraught at the utter collapse of my precious hypothesis.

“Afraid not, sweetheart. I did truly love your mother…if that’s any consolation to you.”

“Can’t vasectomies be reversed?”

“Percentages for success are not high. Anyway, your mother was the only woman who ever wanted me to sire her children.”

We rode in silence until David parked his bike in front of the Carlyle. As I hopped off, he gently grabbed my arm.

“What now, Cherry? You really want to go back to California?”

“My return flight is valid for a year, you know. I’ll go back to the dorm at boarding school. There are always a few students who stay there year-round. And Mom’s already paid up through graduation.”

“Speaking of your mum, you should at least call to tell her you’re leaving. I’m sure she’s terribly worried about your abrupt disappearance.”

“I’ll text her. Maybe from the airport. Promise me you won’t tell her when you get back to the theater. If you do, they’ll send out the National Guard after me.”

I burst out in tears as David rode off. I tried to wipe the wetness from my cheeks as I approached the revolving doors of the hotel entrance. The doorman’s smile turned to a concerned frown when he saw my red eyes.

“Miss Brooks, everything alright?”

“No, everything’s not alright.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“I’ll be alright in a few hours when I’m back where I belong in sunny Southern California.”

As I sat on the divan of our hotel suite, my solitary piece of luggage and Alice’s kennel at my feet, I scrolled through my phone to review the seeming torrent of texts and voice calls I’d received and ignored in the last hour and a half. Mom had called or texted a dozen times. Carson had called and left a message twice. Maris Lafferty had called. Danny Dantley texted twice. Maia Everly left a voicemail. Philippa texted me. Even Trent Foster had sent me a text. The only one I decided to answer was the text from Anders. I told him I was going home and that I really enjoyed the brief time we spent together in New York. I apologized for parachuting out of the film class but was confident that Danny would allow him and Charlotte to finish the project.

The text prompted thoughts of Tony Webster, our film class instructor. I should explain the reasons behind dropping out of the course. I owed him that. And then it occurred to me that if David Wetherell wasn’t my father, the next best suspect was Tony Webster. After all, by his own admission, he’d been there to pick up the pieces after Mom’s break-up with David. And he was still dating Mom into October of 2000.

Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, I hefted Alice’s kennel and rolled my spinner to the elevator. Emerging from the lobby, my friendly doorman hailed a cab for me. There are always a fleet of taxis circling the block, hoping to catch a fare, most times to one of the airports.

I had hoped to find Tony sitting behind the desk of his office in Dodge Hall but I was told by the receptionist that he didn’t have a class on Mondays. He was probably at home. When I convinced her that I was a student in his class, she reluctantly gave me Tony’s home address. Fortunately, his apartment was nearby on Amsterdam Avenue. I must have been quite a ditzy sight. A red-headed, freckled trans girl walking with her head tilted to the sky, searching for Tony’s building, while carrying a dog kennel in one hand and pulling a suitcase on rollers behind me with the other.

To my relief, I was buzzed into the building and took the elevator up to Tony’s floor. When he opened the door, he let out a guffaw at the image I presented.

“Come in. Come in. You look like you’re about to go on a trip. Are you going to miss a couple of classes?”

“I’m going to be missing all the rest of the classes. I’m going back home. To California.”

“May I ask why? Was it something I did?” He smiled at his own innocent witticism.

“I should just tell you straight out. I’m transgender and the media has found out because someone I thought I could trust blabbed to a podcaster. I just want to be left alone instead of having a spotlight shone on me by curious, possibly hateful people. You can understand, can’t you?”

“I’m…I’m stunned. I would never have guessed. You look so much like a teenage girl—”

“I am a teenage girl. I was just assigned the wrong gender because society doesn’t understand the reality of dysphoria. I started transitioning over a year ago.”

“I thought Lulu had a boy. I thought you were a boy. I didn’t know. How could I? We haven’t spoken in 18 years.”

“You must be doubly upset at my mother,” I cautiously said.

“Why do you say that? I…I was very much in love with her. Of course, she obviously didn’t feel the same about me—”

“Well, she unceremoniously dumped you and then didn’t even inform you that she was pregnant.”

“Why would she tell me she was having a baby?”

“Who do you think the baby’s father…my father…was?”

“The heck I know. I always assumed it was David Wetherell.”

“It wasn’t David. I just had that confirmed. It was the other man she was dating at the time.”

“I don’t know who else she was dating at the time. Like I told you, we never saw each other again after October 2000.”

I turned in my seat on the sofa and scanned the framed photos on display on various surfaces around the room. A pleasant looking brunette woman squinted at the camera in one photo. His wife obviously. A series of photos showed the progressive growth of his redheaded, freckled daughter, from a pig-tailed toddler to a studious looking tween with outsized glasses, sitting on a piano bench.

I interrupted my own sightseeing interlude by sitting up straight and declaring in a loud voice which made Alice bark in sympathy, “You were never curious enough to ask about your own son?”

“What son? You mean you? Cherry, I’m not your father,” Tony stated very clearly.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to ask you for money or anything. I just want to know who my biological father is. And it looks like you’re the one.”

“It’s impossible for me to be your father, Cherry.”

“Don’t tell me you had your vasectomy reversed when you got married to the mother of your youngest daughter—”

“Maybe it’s my fault. My vanity. Did I lead you to believe that your mother and I ever had a…physical relationship? We never did. We were good friends. I was sort of a convenient shoulder to cry on. I fell in love with your mother. Who wouldn’t? Her beauty jumps off the screen and is just as stunning in real life. Even now at her age. Sorry, that was clumsy of me. What I mean is that she’s eternally beautiful—”

“You’re telling me that you never…”

“Never.”

“Forgive me, Tony. I jumped to conclusions. I’m sorry if I’ve insulted you.”

“Insulted? Far from it. I wish you were my child. I’m happily married with a wonderful daughter of my own but I can’t deny your mother was the love of my life. Are you sure you want to drop out of my class? Your teammates will be at a real disadvantage without their third wheel.”

“I’ll make sure Danny Dantley will let them finish the project. I mean, I’m leaving the scene but the play’s still opening in September. And Anders and Charlotte don’t need me. I was the weak link, after all. A high school student taking a college level course. Wow, what an overreach.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Cherry. You strike me as pretty advanced for your age. Are you sure that leaving is the right option to take? You could do a lot of good for trans kids if you took the media on full frontal. Look, I’m so far afield from my own knowledge of things but I would think the world needs good role models for transgender children. You’d make a good one…”

“Me? I’m not special in any way. To be honest, I’ve been privileged. Unlike most trans kids who don’t have a famous parent with oodles of money and access to the best doctors, therapists, and schools. How could I be a role model?”

“Think about it, Cherry. Before you run away. Isn’t there someone you could talk to? Maybe help you form a better gameplan than just going back into hiding? Even if the hiding place is nicely upholstered and sound-proofed?”

Tony’s words swam in my thoughts as I sat on the steps in front of Low Library, searching through the contact list on my phone for the number of the one person in New York City who might offer me some much-needed advice. Joanne Prentiss, Alastair’s good friend, whom I had met on the 4th of July when she came with us to grand-mère’s barbecue in Westport. She was a transwoman. She might understand my dilemma.

Although she had quickly agreed to meet with me in her office at work, when I stepped through the doorway, her face displayed a hint of apprehension, as if to say this wasn’t going to be a simple, friendly chat.

“Cherry, have a seat.” She pointed to the sofa. A pacific blue plush velvet sofa pushed up against a wall perpendicular to windows that looked out on Sixth Avenue. It was an office one would expect the Marketing and Branding Vice President of a television network to occupy, angular, modern, and professionally uncluttered. She sat down on the other end from me.

“How can I help?” she asked. “I’ve read about your situation this morning. Unfortunately, it’s all over the internet news sites and social media.”

“The producers, Danny the director, and my own mother want me to do interviews and talk to the media. I just want to be left alone. I’m seriously thinking about flying back to California and locking myself in my dorm room at boarding school.”

“I gathered that’s why you brought a suitcase and your dog with you. Thinking of making a hasty retreat?”

“You’re a transwoman. Did you want all this media attention when you transitioned?”

“Oh no, mercy! I did my best to walk in the shadows, so to speak. I wasn’t ashamed of who I was but, all the same, life was a lot easier if I didn’t call undue attention to myself. Of course, we’re talking about twenty-five years ago. I was almost thirty when I transitioned. There were few role models for people like me…like us…back then.”

“I can imagine.”

“Alastair tells me your mother’s been very supportive of your transitioning.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Have you told your mother your plans? Does she even know where you are right now?”

“I’ll text her when I’m at the airport. Look, what do you advise me to do?”

“I can’t advise you to do anything. That’s completely up to you. However, I will tell you this. You’re in a unique and enviable position. Unlike so many trans children who have to live in the shadows for fear of social ostracization or even their physical safety, you’re the child of a famous person who, like it or not, serves as a role model for millions—”

“Some role model, my mother—”

“Be that as it may, Cherry, she’s an influencer, in her own way. And, you…you could be an influencer, a role model…someone who could show the society-at-large that transgender people are human beings, not unnatural monsters, who want to live their reality just like everyone else…in peace and hope. Think about that. I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to run away and hide but, sooner than later, you’ll have to confront society and vice versa. No?”

“I need time to think.”

“Go home. Your mom’s probably terrified you’ve done something rash. Talk it through with her or just sort it out yourself. But don’t run away and hide.” She got up from the sofa and reached for her handbag. “I’ll drive you home.”

“I don’t think I can think clearly with my mother there. I need space. Can you take me to my grand-mère’s house?”

“That’s in Westport. That’s an hour drive from here.”

“How stupid of me to ask you. I’ll just take the train. Sorry to disturb you. I’m going now. Thanks, Joanne. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Wait, Cherry. I’ll drive you. I promised Alastair I’d keep an eye on you while you’re in the city. And I’d never break a promise to Alastair.”

“Alastair should have married you instead of my Mom.”

The hour-long drive to Westport was strangely tense and mostly silent. I suppose Joanne had had her say about my situation and didn’t need to expand on it. For my part, I tried to ask her about her relationship with Alastair but ended up telling her anecdotes from my childhood that involved Alastair. She got a good laugh out of how Alastair sneaked Alice past my Mom one Christmas and a 30-piece kids’ baking set for my ninth birthday.

I had phoned ahead to grand-mère and she was standing outside her house, a look of loving concern on her face as she held out her arms to greet me. I ran to her and hugged her for dear life as I sobbed uncontrollably into her shoulder. She waved to Joanne as she drove away.

“Now what has the world done to ma petite oignon?”