I yawned as I clambered into Chuck’s Honda Passport at the ungodly time of 8:20 on a Saturday morning. Chuck laughed and plopped a sun hat on top of my head, tousling my barely brushed hair.

“What’s this?” I asked after closing my gaping mouth. I placed the hat on my lap and tried to tame my wild auburn mane with the splayed fingers of my right hand.

“You’ll thank me when we get out into open water. The sun can be brutal this time of year. Did you bring a bathing suit?”

“No, I wasn’t planning on getting a tan or swimming in the ocean.”

“Clark will be sorely disappointed,” Chuck cracked as he gunned the engine. “So, your parents aren’t coming?”

“Dad and Consuela got invited to Trent’s parents’ house in Pacific Palisades. Debbie and Otis have to go along since they’re driving them there. Dad said it’d be impolite not to go, especially since today’s their last full day in LA.”

“I take it you’re okay with Trent’s extracurricular activities?”

“Oh, Chuck, it’s all show biz. You know that. We’re faking it until the show premieres. If the public wants to “ship” the two of us, so be it. I’m over him.”

“Still want to bear his babies?”

“Oh, shut up! My sister repeats everything to everybody.”

“Hungry?” I nodded. “Reach back behind you and grab that bag. I stopped off in Chinatown to pick up some breakfast burritos and beverages. Coffee or juice?”

I reached into the bag and handed one of the burritos to Chuck. He chose the coffee. I preferred the orange juice. We chomped on our burritos and sipped our liquids as Chuck drove in a southwesterly direction toward Marina Del Rey, a 45-minute trek from Alhambra.

In the latter third of the journey, we passed SoFi Stadium in Inglewood, where Clark’s Drillers played and Trent had warbled his public apology to me. I turned away from the sight and found myself looking straight at Chuck’s profile as he kept his gaze on the road ahead of us. In the clear light of morning, I couldn’t help but take notice of how handsome he was. He didn’t have Trent’s dark, smoldering, even petulant features but…

“I promised to help you find some professional counseling—”

“And I appreciate that, Chuck. I need some guidance. Some objectivity. Is what I’m feeling real or just a result of the wacky last few months I’ve been through? I can’t take everyone else’s opinion as fact.”

“I can’t begin to know what you’re going through but you’re certainly a smashing success as a woman…even if it’s not the “real” you. Although…well, you should explore your feelings with people who deal with cases of dysphoria on a daily basis.”

“Did you find anyone?”

“Yeah, Dr. Jocelyn Petry. She’s a pediatric endocrinologist at Children’s Hospital on Sunset.”

“I’m an adult, Chuck, not a child.”

“She can point you in the right direction. To the best therapists in the city. She’s a transwoman herself.”

“Oh, I think I saw her at the benefit gala that Juan took me to. That’s where I met Alastair Knowles from GlobalNet.”

“She’s got a free hour on Monday morning. 10AM.”

“I’d rather not go alone. Could you…would you…”

“I’ll take you, Evie.”

“Thanks, Chuck. You’re a good friend…and an okay boss.” He laughed and patted my thigh just below the hem of my shorts. I placed my left hand on top of his and smiled.

“You look so cute in that sun hat,” Misty declared as she greeted me with a hug when I stepped onto main deck of the motor yacht.

“Chuck gave it to me. He said the sun can be brutal—” Clark wrapped me in a friendly bear hug, grinning, his eyes hidden behind navigator sunglasses.

Chuck embraced his sister and shook Clark’s hand. “We’re a little late. The traffic was surprisingly congested for a weekend morning.”

“Your parents didn’t come, Evie?” wondered Misty. “Clark told me your dad was an avid fisherman.”

“Trent Foster’s parents invited them out to their home in Pacific Palisades. My sister and her fiancé had to drive them, of course. I’m afraid it’s just me today…”

“Well, a smaller sailing party will just make for a cozier outing. We can still get in some prime deep-sea fishing later in the afternoon,” brightly noted Clark.

“Let me give you a tour of the boat, Evie.” Misty took my arm and led me into the interior of the yacht.

“It’s a yacht, Misty! Not a boat. Right, Chuck, my boy?”

“It’s a question of semantics.”

“And a few tens of millions of dollars, Chuck.” Clark laughed. “Ready for another long drive contest? I’ve got the swim platform all set up. This way.” He pointed toward the stern of the yacht and waved Chuck toward him as he walked away.

Clark’s motor yacht was the largest size below Super Yacht at 90 meters from stem to stern. So large that it required a crew of six, including a pilot and a chef. It moved so smoothly that I hadn’t even noticed that we had raised anchor and was already leaving the marina, heading into Santa Monica Bay.

“My God, Misty, the price on this must have been 20 million at least.”

“40 million to be exact.” I let out a low whistle. “Of course, Clark’s savvy enough to write off business expenses on it that pretty much pay for its mortgage. Business meetings, corporate parties, donating the use of the yacht for charitable organizations to stage their events. We even used the yacht for week-long cruises down the coast all the way to Puerto Vallarta and back. Fans win them in these clever contests that Clark runs for the Drillers during the football season. I’ve been pushing for a couple of those cruises for our soccer team.”

“Sounds like a great idea. What does Clark say?”

“Still working on him. He says he needs some time on the yacht for himself after all. But, with our schedules, Clark and I don’t have the coinciding free time to use the boat. I say boat because I like to needle him about it, Evie. When he first bought the boat about five years ago, he was so excited that we took it to Hawaii. We cleared about a month off our schedules. You know, Evie, at 8 knots an hour, it took almost two weeks to get to Honolulu. The kicker is we spent a total of two days on the island and turned right around, took another two weeks to get back home. Almost 4 weeks on the ocean to visit Hawaii for less than 48 hours. Clark was happy though. He got to be the captain of his own boat. I didn’t even get to sleep in a luxury hotel suite. We came back to the boat each night.”

“Bummer.” Misty showed me the living quarters that she and Clark luxuriated in. It was like a penthouse version of a railroad apartment. We strolled through a living room with an entertainment center (they had a marine satellite dome mounted on top of the yacht) and enough space to seat a dozen people comfortably on couches.

“With Christy away in New Zealand as an assistant coach on the U.S. team in the World Cup for the next few weeks, I took the opportunity to spend some uninterrupted time with Clark. More than we’ve had in a long, long time. It’s good to actually see your husband more than a few days a month.”

“You’re really in love with Clark, aren’t you?”

“Why would you think otherwise, Evie?”

“Oh, nothing. I guess it’s just that since I’ve been working at Sisters, I’ve rarely if ever seen the two of you together. I was thinking…”

“That it’s purely a business relationship?” We walked past a fairly large kitchen area and waved to Chef Robby, who was busy preparing lunch.

“Well…it’s a logical assumption.” Misty stopped and faced me straight on.

“Clark and I first met over 15 years ago, when he was working for his dad’s waste management company and I was training for the Olympics in Beijing. His dad was a big sponsor and Clark came by our training facilities in San Jose. He asked me out within 15 minutes of being introduced. It was love at first sight for both of us.”

We continued the tour and entered a bedroom fit for a queen and her consort with an en suite bathroom almost equal in size.

“I know about Clark’s…shall we call them…dalliances. It’s partly my fault. A man has needs—”

“It’s the 21st century, Misty! That’s bullshit. Excuse my French.”

“Clark loves me and I love him. I forgive him his trespasses. He always comes back to me after these brief flings.” She put her hand up to stop me from interrupting. “I know about Mei Ling. Clark’s even told me about it. She’s very good at her job. Runs the office like a well-oiled machine. And Clark will get tired of her soon enough—”

“I’m not that sure about that.”

“I even know what he’s thinking…about you.” I gasped. “I’m a blonde but I’m not an idiot. I like you, Evie. And I think you’re strong enough and independent enough to block any and all of his attempts to seduce you. After all, you’ve already got two men pursuing you.”

“What two men?”

“Well, Trent Foster, for one. Word of advice, sweetie, he’s bad news. Loyalty is not one of his attributes—”

“Like Clark?”

“Trent doesn’t have an excuse. He’s just a player. He’s already played you.”

“Trent and I are…co-workers. This whole psychodrama is just something the studio cooked up to get some free publicity for the TV series. We haven’t even started shooting it yet. But millions are already aware of it because they believe Trent and I are a thing.” I laughed, convincingly I thought.

“Good. Then you can concentrate on the one who’s really perfect for you.” We both sat down on the Alaskan King size bed. She took my hands in hers.

“What do you think about Chuck?”

“He’s been really nice to me. He’s a wonderful boss to work for. Smart, dedicated, caring.”

“He really likes you. He can’t stop talking about you. And you’re the right kind of girl for him. Has he asked you out yet?”

“Noooo, Misty. That’s not happening. First of all, I’m not interested in dating anyone right now. I’m very career oriented. And my life is complicated enough trying to pursue three different careers – business, baseball, and acting – without getting involved in stuff like that. Secondly, Chuck doesn’t want someone like me. He needs a real woman.”

“What do you mean?” She poked my shoulder. “You seem real enough to me.”

“I…I can’t have children.”

“You can adopt. Chuck loves children. They don’t have to be biological—”

“I’m not sure I have a maternal instinct.”

“Oh, pish posh. Of course you do, Evie. All women do. Clark and I are undergoing another IVF cycle in September. I’m praying it clicks this time. They say third time’s the charm.”

“I didn’t know, Misty. I hope it goes well for you this time. Is this something Clark is really invested in? He doesn’t strike me as much of a family man. No offense.”

She laughed but her eyes were starting to water and redden. “Clark told me just the other day. He said “I hope we have a baby girl” because he wants another exact copy of me to love and cherish. And I want to give him a son. A little boy who’d remind me so much of his daddy…”

The cynic in me reeled. The love lives of the rich and famous astounded me. But could it be? Were Clark and Misty truly in love? And did she really want me to get involved with her brother? Get married? Adopt children? Oh, the humanity!

On our way back past the kitchen area, Chef Robby informed us that Clark wanted to see us on the swim platform. He and Chuck were about to begin their long drive contest.

“Clark never beats Chuck but he keeps trying. Come on, Evie. We can cheer our men on.”

Our men?

When we reached the swim platform at the stern of the yacht, the scene before us was reminiscent of something out of Fellini’s La Dolce Vita, his parodic send-up of the lives of the rich and famous.

Chuck and Clark, 1 iron golf clubs in hand, were standing on a patch of artificial turf, pointing into the distance of Santa Monica Bay, and engaged in a loud discussion of the finer aspects of golf. One of the crew members was holding a laser rangefinder at the ready while, some 300 yards away, another crew member was idling on a jet ski, holding a pin flag in one hand.

“Clark wanted to use a driver because he thinks he’s got Chuck on brute strength. It was Chuck’s idea to use a 1 iron because the face of the club is flat and smaller, giving the advantage to the golfer with the better swing. You’ll see. Chuck’s drives will be straight and true. Clark’s drives might be longer but they won’t be straight, subtracting yardage from his result. So, Clark always ends up losing.”

“Did Chuck play golf competitively? In high school or college?”

“No, our grandfather loved to play and started Chuck out on golf from the age of 7 or 8. Well, you know Chuck’s a natural athlete. He’s good at almost every sport. The two of you have so much in common.”

“You have no idea.”

Clark teed off first. He wiggled and waggled, taking a few practice swings before addressing the ball. As Misty had predicted, Clark’s drive veered off to the left, reducing its actual distance from the tee by almost 30 yards. The crew member in the jet ski quickly rode to the spot where the ball plopped into the water and raised his pin flag. The rangefinder measured the distance to the pin flag and it was announced as 195 yards. Clark stopped within a few inches of smashing his club against the floor, cursing loudly.

Chuck addressed the ball without taking any practice swings, composed himself, keeping his head down, and swung. His smooth, levered swing caught the golf ball dead solid perfect and it soared high and far into the distance, straight as an arrow. After it plopped into the bay, the jet skier rode to the spot and raised his pin flag. The drive was measured at 225 yards. Chuck walked away from the tee and nodded at Clark.

“It’s the average of three drives, Chuck. Don’t celebrate just yet. Wanna put some money on it?”

“Clark, keep your money. It’s just a friendly contest. You’re the one who insists on doing it every time I’m on the yacht.”

Unfortunately for Clark, his two other drives were almost identical to his first – hooking badly to the left. His average for the three drives was 198 yards. On the other hand, Chuck was just as consistent, in a positive sense. His straight drives, right down the middle of the fairway, averaged 220 yards. Clark punctuated the contest by tossing the rangefinder into the bay, accompanied by a slew of expletives. He stomped off the swim platform and climbed up to the main deck, leaving Chuck smirking as he handed his 1 iron to the crew member, now bereft of Clark’s cursed rangefinder.

Lunch was served on the upper deck. Chef Robby had prepared a delightful meal, starting with a Caesar salad (Clark had a bowl of New England clam chowder instead), followed by a choice of grilled Cajun mahi wraps or panko crusted sand dabs with lemon garlic cream sauce. Misty egged me on to feed Chuck some of my mahi wrap. He almost bit into my fingers but I laughed at his exaggerated response after tasting the grilled mahi. He moaned with pleasure and wrapped his arms around himself just like Snuffles the Dog did when Quick Draw McGraw fed him a delicious biscuit.

“Correction, Misty. Chuck doesn’t love children; he is a child.”

Everyone laughed. Except Clark.

“It’s very clear you like seafood, Chuck. Now let’s see if you can actually catch some fish this afternoon. Maybe even a sand dab or two.” He turned to me. “Not likely. Chuck’s really good at golf but a piss poor fisherman. Stick with me, Evie. Between us we’ll catch us something for dinner tonight. A couple of sea bass or sheepshead. It’s a cinch.”

“Clark, why are you always competing with Chuck? We’re having a fun day on the boat—”

“Yacht! Misty, it’s a yacht!”

Early afternoon. The sun was high in the sky and the dappled still waters of the bay shone in our eyes as Chuck and I stood by the railing, laughing about lunch. Misty had decided to change into a bikini and sunbathe on a lounge chair on deck. She was reading her kindle when Clark emerged from below, holding three rods and reels in his hands.

He handed one to Chuck, kept one for himself, and gave the last to me.

“Have you ever done any saltwater or sea fishing, Evie?”

“No, my dad and I used to go fishing in Lake Farrington in New Jersey where I grew up.”

“Well, what you have in your hands is a 7-foot medium-action rod with a heavy bait caster reel and 20-pound test monofilament line. Exactly what’s required for offshore saltwater fishing. Think you can handle it?”

“Chuck can help me if I have any trouble.”

“Not if he’s on the other side of the deck. Chuck, go over by your sister. If we’re all on this side, we’ll get our lines tangled up. I can help Evie. Okay, Evie?” I shrugged my shoulders as Chuck shuffled off to the other side of the yacht.

A crewman brought out a tackle box and set it at Clark’s feet. Clark opened it and I saw it full of lures and jigs, some shaped like tiny minnows and others like squid. They came in a rainbow of colors.

“Live bait is a little messy, even for an experienced angler like me. I find these lures work just as well. Let me bait your hook. What’s your pleasure? Minnows or squid?”

Chuck picked out a few squid lures. “I’m a squid guy myself.”

“Take the minnows, Evie,” Clark advised. “We’ll see who catches the first fish.” He winked at me.

The first hour or so went by uneventfully. Chuck caught a couple of small sea dabs and had a black cod wriggle off his line. Clark and I came up empty. I asked Clark if he wanted to try switching to squid lures. He brusquely declined, saying we should stay patient. “We’re after bigger fish, Evie.”

Misty stretched her arms and yawned loudly, putting her kindle down.

“Guys, I’m really sleepy. I think I’m going to go below and take a short nap.” She disappeared before getting an acknowledgement from any of us. Clark moved closer to me and took hold of my arms.

“Let’s recast. Maybe try a spot just a little more to the right. Over there. Betcha there’s some sea bass just waiting for some dancing little minnows to drop in.”

“I can recast myself. The rod’s not too heavy to handle. And the motion’s sort of like an overhand delivery by a baseball pitcher.”

“Just trying to help. Give me a shout if you hook something.”

Chuck glanced my way and shook his head. I smiled and returned the shake. About ten minutes later, I got a nibble on my line. I started to turn the reel.

“No, Evie! Give him some run. Slack off,” Clark exclaimed. “When it stops, then you reel it in. But slowly. Don’t jerk the line.” He stood behind me and kept my arms still so I couldn’t turn the reel. His hot breath poured over my neck as he crushed the brim of my hat.

“You’re hurting me, Clark. Back off!”

“I’m only trying to help you.”

Suddenly, I felt Chuck grabbing Clark’s shoulders and pulling him off me.

“What the fuck?!!” Clark turned around and pushed Chuck away. “Don’t put your hands on me!”

“Leave Evie alone, will you? She’s perfectly capable of reeling in her own catch. Stop trying to cop a cheap feel.”

“It’s alright, Chuck. Clark just got a little over-excited.”

“Don’t defend him, Evie. He’s a fucking horndog. He was just waiting for Misty to go below so he could molest you. I’m not having it.”

“Look who’s talking. The only reason Chuck hired you is he’s got a boner for you. Why do you think 99% of the staff at Sisters are women? He’s fucked at least half of them.”

“It’s not true, Evie. He’s lying.”

“I don’t care who’s lying and who’s telling the truth. I’m not interested in either of you. I’m not interested in dating anyone. Why can’t everyone get that through their tiny little minds? Meanwhile, I just lost the fish that was on my line. Whatever the heck it was.” I showed them the end of my line, minus the lure and the hook. There was a mystery fish out there somewhere with indigestion.

“You’re like a bad rash, Chuck. I wish I could get rid of you. If it weren’t for Misty begging me to give you the job in the first place—”

“Like you’re some kind of business tycoon? You broke a dozen federal laws dumping all that garbage on a landfill in Arizona. You’d be twice as rich if you didn’t have to pay off every politician in the state.”

“Shut the fuck up! Get off my yacht! Now! I’m calling a tender. I want you on it. You hear?”

“Fine! I hate your fucking boat anyway. I only came to keep your grubby hands off of Evie—”

Clark grabbed the front of Chuck’s shirt and they pushed against each other, sliding along the wet, slippery deck. I tried to pull them apart but it was futile. They were six-footers, each weighing 200 pounds at least, and pretty fit. I was athletic but small compared to them.

“What the hell is going on?” It was Misty. She emerged from below, wearing a kimono covering her bikini. “Stop it! Stop fighting. You’re scaring Evie.”

They separated but stood warily a few feet apart, still seething.

“I want him off the yacht, Misty. He’s a damned buzz kill. He just accused me of trying to rape Evie. For God’s sake, I was helping her reel in a fish. Then your moron brother attacked me.”

“Chuck, is that true?”

“Of course not. Evie told him to let her go. Ask Evie.”

“Evie?”

“I think it’s all a misunderstanding. Yes, Clark grabbed me a little too tightly but he was trying to help me reel in that fish. Chuck got a little too over-protective and…I guess things got out of hand. Please, I don’t want to come between you three. I should have just stayed away after my parents couldn’t come. You’ve all been so nice to me. And all these bad feelings are because of me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

Misty embraced me. “You’re not to blame, sweetie. It’s this stupid rivalry between them. I wish they’d act like adults instead of little boys.”

“Call for the tender, Clark. You’re not kicking me off. I’m leaving of my own accord. Happily.”

“Chuck, stay.”

“No, Misty. The fun’s over for today. I’ll wait on the swim platform for the tender.” He turned to me. “Sorry for ruining your afternoon, Evie. Misty’ll see that you get home. I’m sure Chef Robby has something special planned for dinner.”

As soon as Chuck left, it dawned on me that the rest of the day on the yacht would be a horror show. I had nothing to say to either Clark or Misty. I was as embarrassed for myself as I was for them. And I felt very bad for Chuck. He had acted to protect me from Clark. He risked Clark’s anger and retribution to save me from his clutches. And I had failed him by mealy mouthing the whole situation. I was ashamed of myself.

“I’m really exhausted, Misty. The heat’s getting to me. I think I should take that tender with Chuck and get back to solid ground before I swoon. Despite how it ended, I really enjoyed my time today. You’ll excuse me. Goodbye Clark. Misty.” They seemed a little stunned by my early exit and just nodded. I left them there, facing each other from opposite sides of the deck.

Sitting close together in the cramped confines of the tender as it sped toward the marina, Chuck gave me an incredulous look. Then he laughed.

“That wasn’t the smartest thing to do, Evie.”

“What? I alienated Clark…and maybe Misty too?”

“Yeah. Did you think were sticking up for me?”

“I should have been more…upfront about what happened.”

“Clark wouldn’t have gotten angry at you. If anything, he likes women with spunk. Makes him even hotter for them.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“What is it you want, Evie?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

“Maybe Dr. Petry can help you figure it out. Like I said, she’s a transwoman herself.”

“Chuck?”

“Yes?”

“Do you really like kids? Like Misty said you do?”

“Sure. I’d like to have a family someday. Why?”

“What if they weren’t your biological children? Would you love them just the same? Could you?”

“Of course. Parent-child bonding isn’t exclusively dependent upon sharing the same genetic material.”

I turned away to face the coastline and the marina just minutes away in the distance. The breeze felt cool against me and I pulled my sun hat down more securely to keep it from blowing away. I heard Chuck laughing as I must have looked silly. I stuck my tongue out at him.

Chuck drove me back home. I thanked him and apologized again for ruining the day. He waved me off and wouldn’t take back the sun hat.

“You’ve twisted it all out of shape anyway. It’s yours. Maybe you can make a fruit basket out of it. See you Monday morning. Oh, and wear clean underwear. You want to make a good impression on Dr. Petry.” I took a swipe at him with the battered sun hat.

I called Debbie and told her that I was already home from my yacht outing. I didn’t go into detail about the afternoon’s events. When I asked her how things were going with the visit to the Fosters, she told me dad and Consuela were getting along very well with Trent’s parents.

“The Fosters think you’re going to marry Trent. And they’ve practically convinced dad and Consuela that the two of you are deeply in love. You’ve got a real situation, sis.”

I poured myself a nice glass of iced tea and sank into the couch, deciding to take my mind off a thousand worrying thoughts by opening the mail which Debbie had allowed to pile up unopened on the coffee table. The third envelope contained my union card from the Screen Actors Guild. I guess I’m legitimately an actor now. I’ve got the card to prove it.