“So, what is it you want to talk about?” asked David Wetherell as he stabbed chunks of lamb with his plastic fork.

“It’s about Mom…and you.” He thrust his left palm out toward me and shook his head, choking on his food. “Wait…I just wanted to hear your side of things, David. This all happened before I was born and Mom never really talks about it. After all, ‘Thick As Thieves’ was a major turning point in both your careers. You were both nominated for Oscars—”

“Yeah, well, she won. I didn’t. Me and Clooney canceled each other out. That piker Douglas Blake won! A character actor! Bloody character actor…”

“Whatever. Before we get into the main topic, can I ask you what’s the state of your current marriage?”

“It’s kaput. I moved out two weeks ago, just before rehearsals started. She gets the house anyway.” He saw the confused look on my face. “Oh, I told everybody it was all just salacious rumors…about me and Roz. We’ve been separated basically for over a year. I guess I’m easier fodder for tabloid hacks than Meryl Streep. I mean, she and her ex were living apart for six years before she casually confirmed it. Six years! They can’t give me six weeks—”

“So you’re free, white and single?” I smirked.

“In a manner of speaking, yes. But what’s it you, little girl?”

“Nothing. Now, let’s get back to Mom and you during the making of ‘Thick As Thieves’.”

David took a long sip of iced tea before beginning. “Oh, lordy, that was almost 20 years ago. We were a lot younger then—”

“I wasn’t even born.”

“Nor were you even a glimmer in your mother’s eyes. And I looked into her eyes a lot during that filming.” He put his fork down on top of his half-full plate. “Your mother was very beautiful. Still is, of course. But when the Mediterranean sun lit up her face and hair, she was stunning. And I’ve worked with a lot of pretty actresses in my time. Let’s see now. We began shooting in New York in January. It was traitor cold. We had to write snow into the opening scenes. When she stepped onto our first location, while the crew was setting up, she took off her fashionable floppy hat and shook out her hair. The blush on her cheeks from the cold air made her look angelic. Downright cherubic. Of course, we had already been rehearsing in London at Shepperton but I hadn’t been able to take in the full effect of her beauty.”

“Weren’t you married at the time?” I looked him square in the eyes.

“Technically, yes. That was my first wife. Glasgow lass. We met in university. We…uh…grew apart over the years. Anyway, she had her own career. She hated traveling from location to location so I told her to just stay home. You know, like Pete Townshend told his wife. You can tramp around with me and be bored to death or you can stay home and stop worrying about whether or not I‘m philandering.”

“Did you philander?”

“Well, of course, dear girl. It’s one of the perks of being a matinee idol. I’m not offending your sensibilities, am I? Shattering your image of me?”

“No, your reputation precedes you. I was holding out hope that what I’d read about you was…exaggerated.”

“I’m 50 years old, Cherry. Two marriages and innumerable dalliances to the hindmost, as it were. I’m afraid I’m incorrigible.”

“Got your eye on anyone right now?” I teased.

He shielded his mouth with his left hand and lowered his voice. “Don’t spread this around but I’m very impressed with Annie. However, I’ve been told she doesn’t play on our side, if you know what I mean.”

“She’s gay?” I blurted out, genuinely surprised.

“I chatted up her…what is it Annie called her? Her assistant? Friend? I forget. I circled around the subject of Annie’s romantic entanglements and Philippa raised an eyebrow, just stating, ‘Well, she’s not dating any men.’ Now, that’s a pretty clear declaration, no?”

“Let’s get back to Mom and you—”

“Thick As Thieves” was the final film directed by Sir Bennett Josephs. He passed away at the age of eighty-one just two weeks after the movie premiered in September of 2000. It was his homage to the French New Wave and his enduring admiration for Truffaut, Goddard, and Melville. A heist movie with international locations including New York, London, Paris, and the French Riviera.

The plot, more stylistically limned than detailed, follows the efforts of a Middle Eastern Sultan to possess a number of the most valuable art pieces in The Louvre, including Géricault’s The Raft of the Medusa and Bernini’s sculpture, Sleeping Hermaphroditus. I had seen pictures of the Bernini. That the figure on the mattress was what we would now recognize as intersex made it particularly compelling to me.

Alain Delon plays a disgruntled assistant curator of The Louvre who is about to be mandatorily retired due to his age. The Sultan promises him a payout of half a billion U.S. dollars if he can mastermind a foolproof robbery of these objets d’art. Delon receives a down payment of $10 million to pay his crew and for expenses. He rounds up the usual suspects by first contacting David Wetherell’s character, a British gangster known for trafficking in expensive gems and goods. David’s character turns to his American compatriot, George Clooney, a suave, smooth-talking conman, who will pose as an American documentary filmmaker who wants to produce a cinematic tribute to The Louvre and French culture. Accompanying Clooney from the other side of the pond is his paramour, the beautiful and seductive, Dior couture wearing Lulu Brooks. My mom! The plan is to convince the Board of Directors of The Louvre to allow sole occupation of the museum overnight to Clooney’s film crew so that the museum and its works can be lovingly and properly captured. The list of artworks desired by The Sultan would then be loaded into the deceptively empty film trucks parked outside.

The outrageous art robbery is just the setting for the main gemstone of the film: the love (or lust) triangle among David, George, and Lulu. After their successful robbery, the whole gang boards a ship with their booty at the harbor in Antibes and heads for the Sultan’s home country. Unbeknownst to Clooney, Lulu and David decide to run off to Cannes where the annual film festival is being held. This unwise, self-possessed decision results in David being apprehended by The Police Nationale after being separated from Lulu in the midst of the festival throng. The shot of Lulu’s face as she witnesses her newfound love taken away in the scrum of the crowd probably won Mom the Oscar. As she turns to run away before the Police spot her, Clooney appears out of nowhere, takes her arm, and they run toward his car – a Sang Bleu Bugatti Veyron (of course it’s s-o-o cool). Clooney turns to her as he guns the engine. “Well, at least we get to keep this car.” They kiss and drive off into the sunset as the end titles roll and ZZ Top plays “Just Got Paid.”

“After we shot those scenes in Cannes, Sir Bennett had to return to Paris to speak to some studio execs who were apoplectic about the excessive cost overruns. Sir Bennett didn’t short anyone on hotel accommodations, fine wine or luxury transportation,” David proudly boasted. “So we had at least a week to wait around for his return. It was the perfect opportunity for your mother and I to have some alone time in the South of France. We rented a Peugeot and drove to Monaco, did some casino-hopping, and sight-seeing for a couple of days.”

“But mostly we spent a lot of time enjoying ourselves carnally. Is this making you uncomfortable, Cherry?”

“No, I’m more adult than people like Mom give me credit for. I know the way of the world. You were both young and attractive, with a lot of spare time on your hands. And you were on The French Riviera. Makes sense you would make it a romantic holiday.” I pushed my plate of lamb away, half-eaten.

“There was just so much magnetism between us, Cherry. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I can remember us walking hand in hand along those narrow, ancient streets in a dozen quaint towns along the coast, stopping to kiss in discreet alleyways, behind weathered stone buildings…” He closed his eyes and smiled.

“Did the two of you fall in love or just lust?” I asked, unable to restrain the edge in my voice.

“Sometimes there’s no difference, lass. Call it what you will, we had something really alive and growing.”

David’s choice of words was a gut punch. Was he about to reveal the inner sanctum of my birthright mystery?

“Did you make plans to leave your wife?” I took the leap.

“I thought seriously about it. But the shoot came to an end a couple of weeks later when we came back to London and things kind of ran off the rails—”

“Your wife?”

“No, she could’ve cared less at that point. No…it was something your mother said about wanting another child. She thought I’d make a great father—”

“Didn’t you want to have a son…or daughter?”

“Me? No, you’re bonkers. That’s what I told your mother. The last thing I could be would be a good father and the evidence was clear I made a terrible husband. But your mother really wanted another baby. I could see that losing custody of your half-brother really devastated her.”

“She always wanted another boy to replace Max.”

“She couldn’t have been disappointed having a pretty daughter like you, I’m sure.”

I didn’t reply. Instead, I turned away, afraid David might see my eyes reddening.

“We had a dreadful row in public. In the lobby of the London Hilton of all places! The Sun and Daily Mail had a field day with the photos of your mother and I shouting at each other. She left for Heathrow without even saying goodbye.”

“So, that was the end of it? This is the first time you’ve seen each other in 18 years?”

“Not quite. We had to attend premieres of the film later on that year, in September. L.A., New York, London, Paris. We kept bumping into each other over a three-week period. And I guess the rift between us had healed over in the time between. My wife and I had decided to divorce and your mother was dating the kid who was the assistant cinematographer on the movie. Still and all, I must confess, we did…uh…you know—”

“Renew old acquaintances?”

“I like the way you put it, Cherry. Very respectably. You strike me as a creative person. Do you write?”

I didn’t answer David immediately because I was doing calculations in my head. They had a reunion in September. My birthday is in June. The timing is perfect! I stared at the man who might very well be my biological father.

“Cherry? Do you write? Paint?” He looked at his watch. “Our 45 minutes is almost up. Are you finished with your lamb?”

I shook my head but pushed my plate farther away toward the middle of the table. David picked up my plate and walked over to a trash bin. After unloading our plates and empty cans of iced tea, he took my arm and we made our way back to 42nd Street Studios.

Buoyed by my lunch with David, my hope to reclaim my birthright rekindled, I hugged Mom the moment I stepped off the service elevator. She was nonplussed and nervously laughed.

“What brought that on?”

“I’m sorry about the fight we had last night. I over-stepped.”

“It’s forgotten already, sweetie.” She held my face in her hands, her eyes wet and threatening to cry. “I love you, Cherry. I’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you.”

“Love you too, Mom.” I hugged her again.

“If everyone is ready, let’s resume,” Danny bellowed, as everyone sat down at the long table and picked up their scripts. “Everyone?” he directed at us, pointing to the empty chair to his right.

“Mom, let’s do pizza and Netflix tonight. There’s a special movie I want to watch…again.”

“Whatever you want, baby.” She blew me a kiss as she ran to the reading table.

“Honey, why are we watching this? Last time I watched it on Netflix, you yawned and left the room. That was three years ago.” Mom nibbled on her slice of veggie pizza, letting the tomato juice escape her lips. I thought of the times when I was 4 or 5 and Alastair would make fun of the way I tried to pronounce arugula, even as he got bits of it between his front teeth, make me laugh.

“You never want to watch any of my old movies. Not even my new movies or my last TV series—”

“I told you Mom. I don’t have a TV in my dorm room and I don’t want one. I can watch streams of stuff on the internet. Plus, they give me a hefty workload at Mirage Canyon. I’ve told you that.”

“So…why ‘Thick As Thieves’ tonight?”

“Well, I had lunch with David today and he told me all about how beautiful the French Riviera is and ‘Thick As Thieves’ is set there, right?”

“Can’t you find streams of Riviera travelogues online?” She took out her glasses and put them on, then, using a hair tie, adroitly maneuvered her hair into a messy bun in less than 10 seconds.

I snuggled into her right side and looked up at her with puppy dog eyes. “I confess. Seeing you in rehearsals this week made me realize how good an actress you are. So I wanted to watch your Oscar-winning performance one more time. This time with added attentiveness.”

Mom took a pillow and softly thumped me on top of the head. “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

“It’s starting. Shhh. I remember this opening scene with Alain Delon and the Sultan’s emissary sitting on a park bench in Le Jardin des Champs-Élysées—”

“I don’t even appear on the screen until almost 15 minutes in. Alain, David, George. They all get introduced before I do.”

“Yeah, but, then your entrance was…how did the Times critic put it? Oh, right, he said every man in the audience gasped and wanted to whistle. Va va voom!”

“Sir Bennett made me watch Marilyn Monroe’s sexy strut in ‘Gentlemen Prefer Blondes’.”

“Is that why you dyed your hair blonde?”

“Well, Sir Bennett wanted me to go platinum blonde but I convinced him to compromise. I’m sort of dirty blonde in the movie.”

“Did you fall for George Clooney during the filming?”

“Oh, Cherry, as if. He was dating Charlize Theron and Lisa Snowden simultaneously at the time. I think he was already spoken for two times over!”

“David was married as well then, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was.” Mom adjusted her glasses and lifted Alice onto her lap, stroking her back.

“He told me he and his current wife are separated. Just within the last month. He’s moved out of their house and is living at The Midtown Hilton until he can find an apartment. That’s like $300 a night…at least.”

“He never told me. I thought they were still together and the nasty rumors were just bullshit. Well, he’s a very private person. Probably didn’t want his personal life to become a distraction to the production.”

“Mom, can’t you speak to Danny and see if the Netherlanders will spring for a suite here in The Carlyle for David? It’ll make working together a lot easier logistically.”

“You seem to be inordinately concerned about David’s housing arrangements. Why don’t you speak to Danny yourself? Oh, look, it’s the scene where David flies to New York to recruit George and I walk in from the bedroom of our apartment.” Mom leaned forward after placing Alice on my lap.

“After the movie, can you teach me how to do a Dutch Braid?”

Things were a lot better between Mom and me by Friday morning. She even let me borrow her pink leather biker jacket when I took Alice for her morning constitutional in Central Park. It was a cool morning for a late June day in the Northeast. Even so, native New Yorkers looked askance at me for wearing an unnecessary layer of clothing. But I really like leather jackets, especially Mom’s pink one. And it turned out to be a perfect fit!

I was unconsciously humming some Trent Foster song as Alice padded along at her slow pace. We headed down the Fifth Avenue side of the park, past the Alice in Wonderland statue, the Conservatory Water, where kids were already racing model boats at this hour and crossed Terrace Drive. We entered East Green where the path was lined with benches. Alice stopped abruptly and I bent down to see what the problem was. Her eyes were trained on someone sitting on the bench, reading from a tablet in his hands. The blond hair on his head and a hint of his horn-rimmed glasses were all I could discern from the position he was seated.

Alice barked and the person looked up. We locked eyes. It was Anders Lyle. He had been two years ahead of me at Mirage Canyon. We had been cordial floormates in our dorm, not really friends. But the look on his face told me he remembered me. He spoke first.

“Jerry? Jerry Brooks! I’d heard that you…uh…”

“Transitioned? Yeah, it’s been a year now. Right after you graduated from Mirage. I’m Cherry now. Gerald didn’t seem like a proper girl’s name, you know.”

“You look really nice, Cherry. What are you doing in New York?”

I approached the bench Anders was sitting on and Alice practically dragged me even closer. Anders reached down to pet Alice, who licked his hand. Alice probably had a crush on the boy. Naughty dog!

“What are you doing in New York?” I parried.

“You wanna sit down?” He patted the space to his left. “I just finished my freshman year at Columbia. Thought you knew.”

“Nobody told me. But why are you still in the city? It’s summer vacation time.”

“Second verse, same as the first. My dad’s stationed in Beijing nowadays. He didn’t think being in China for two months and then coming back to the U.S. was worth it for me. So I’m taking a summer course and living off-campus. There’s five of us living in a 3-bedroom apartment in Harlem. It’s only a few blocks north of the school but it is Harlem, just the same.”

“I thought your dad was going to quit the Diplomatic Service and take a teaching position at USC.”

“Well, the Beijing assignment was too exciting for him to turn down. So, tell me, what are you doing in New York?”

“My mom is rehearsing a play that’s opening on Broadway in September. They got us a suite in The Carlyle, rent free. Too exciting to turn down, right? And my stepdad Alastair got me into a summer course at Columbia too.

”Really? What course?”

“Introduction to Filmmaking.”

“I’m taking that too! Wow, what a coincidence. I’ll meet you at the front gates on Tuesday. I’m sure you have no idea how to find the building the class is in.”

“Great! Thanks. Let’s exchange phone numbers. By the way, what’s with starting the course the day before the 4th of July?”

“We have to. The only way to fit it in before the Fall semester begins the last week of August. Good to see you again, Cherry. You really do look nice. You were always pretty. Even when you were a boy.” He smiled as he handed back my phone. I had to pull on Alice’s leash to get her turned around as we walked away. She was still looking back at Anders when we reached Terrace Drive.

It was my sophomore year at Mirage Canyon High. Christmas recess. Mom was shooting a Hallmark movie in Vancouver. When I facetimed with her, she’d be sitting in her trailer, cursing a blue streak about having to play the mother of an actor only ten years her junior. Since no one was home in Calabasas, I had to stay in the dorm for the two-week break. The school was a veritable ghost town. On my floor, only two other students had no home to go to for the holidays.

Two days before Christmas, I was walking Alice outside the school grounds when I ran into Anders. I assumed he had gone home like 99% of the other students. He bent down to pet Alice. When he straightened up, I looked into his pale blue eyes and instantly recalled why all the girls in school thought he was cute. Indeed, it was easy to lose oneself in those cerulean irises.

“Not going home for Christmas and New Year’s, Jerry?”

“Oh, captain, my captain—”

“Just call me Anders and stop with the jokes,” laughed Anders.

“Nobody’s home. My mother’s shooting a movie in Vancouver and my stepfather is my ex-stepfather this year. So, I get to celebrate the New Year all by my lonesome, not counting Alice, who’s not known to be a real conversationalist.”

“We’re in the same boat, I guess. My Dad’s stationed in Seoul. He’s got another year in the Service before retiring. Maybe he’ll get that professorship in East Asian Languages at USC that he’s always wanted next year. But then I’ll be going away to college. Sucks not to go home for the holidays.”

Anders seemed to ponder my face for a few seconds before he started to turn away and walk toward our dorm building. Suddenly, he called to me from the corner of the block. Over his shoulder, he asked, “Do you have any plans for Christmas Day?”

“Pizza and Netflix?”

“No, I’m serious. I’m going hiking in Mirage Canyon Park. If you’re not doing anything, I’d appreciate the company. I’ve got an extra rucksack you can use.”

I thought about his offer. I’m not an outdoorsy person. In fact, I’ve never hiked anywhere in my life, short and uneventful as it’s been. “Okay but just the two of us? Are you bringing a shotgun or something with you?”

“Shotgun?”

“There’s bears in the park. Big ones. I’ve seen on the news when the stray bear or two comes down from the woods and goes rummaging through trash bins in Chatsworth.”

“Bears are more scared of us than we are of them. And we’ll be following along the trails with the most foot traffic. Besides, I ain’t scared of no bears,” he declared with infectious laughter.

“What do I do with Alice? I can’t keep her locked up in her crate all day and night.”

“Bring her along. She’ll probably enjoy it more than you.”

---

“I put everything you’ll need in your backpack. Water, a flashlight, compass, first-aid kit, a lighter, bandana for snake bites – just kidding, a towel, and a couple of PB&J sandwiches—”

“Wow, that’s really nice of you. You even made sandwiches for me—”

We were making our way through the school parking lot, Anders leading the way, as I looked through the backpack he had handed me when he came by my room that morning. Christmas morning.

“Nah, don’t thank me for the sandwiches. Giselle made those.”

“Who’s Giselle?”

Anders opened the rear side door of his silver-grey Honda Civic. Sitting in front, in the passenger’s seat, was a pretty blonde girl whose name I had never known but whose face was familiar. She was a senior like Anders.

“Hi, Jerry,” she greeted me as I slid into the back seat. “Oh, Alice is so cute! I hope you like PB&J. It’s the easiest thing to make and everybody likes them.”

“Oh, I love them. It reminds me of my mom’s cooking. Thanks!”

“You see, Giselle, you’re a better cook than you give yourself credit for. Jerry’s mom probably makes blue ribbon winning sandwiches.”

“My parents are big fans of your mom’s movies. They even subscribed to GlobalNet so they could watch her last TV series,” Giselle gushed.

“That’s nice to know. I’m sure Mom appreciates all of her fans.”

“Well, are we ready to hit the trail? By the way, Jerry, we didn’t bring a shotgun but Giselle learned Tae Kwan Do in middle school.”

“I feel safer already.”

“Are you sure you’re a boy?”

I turned to see Giselle walking alongside. Anders was ahead of us. I imagined him cutting through jungle vines with a machete, his bare arms glistening with sweat, exotic birds and chimpanzees filling the air with stereotypical Tarzan movie sounds. I did a double take when Giselle asked me that.

“What? Of course. What makes you think—”

“You’re too pretty to be a boy. And the long red hair framing that pretty face. If I weren’t straight, I’d be really attracted to you.”

“But you are and I am too. A straight boy. I like long hair. It’s been long since I was a toddler. Mom couldn’t ever talk me into cutting it.”

“Don’t be offended but it’s a shame you weren’t born a girl. I think Anders kinda likes you.”

“Don’t be jealous. I’m not attracted to boys.”

Giselle moved ahead of me and Alice, trying to catch up with Anders. She looked back at us.

“But they’re attracted to you. I’ve heard whispers in the hallways.”

I had found a spot overlooking the canyon, away from Anders and Giselle, as the early afternoon sun blazed in the blue sky above. Unwrapping my PB&J sandwich, I was about to chomp down when I felt Ander’s hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, buddy, don’t like our company?”

“No, the view here is so beautiful. I want to soak it all in as I eat my sandwich. I like you and Giselle. You’ve been very nice to me.”

“It’s the Christmas spirit, Jerry. Listen, I hope you didn’t feel insulted back there by Giselle. I’ve known her for four years and she’s prone to speaking without thinking.”

“It’s alright. A lot of people think I’m a girl. I can’t help the way I look.”

“But how do you feel about it? Do you feel like a boy or a girl?”

“I’m a boy. There’s no mystery. I was born with boy parts.”

“The canyon looks beautiful in this light. I’m glad you decided to come hiking with us.” He stood up and placed his hands on his hips. “My mother was a pediatric nurse before she married Dad. She saw a lot of gender dysphoria cases. Just a reminder, Jerry. There’s people who can help you work things out if you need to.”

I looked up at Anders. My annoyance melted as I saw the sincerity in his eyes. He wasn’t trolling me like the other boys at school.

“Thanks, Anders. I’ll remember that.”

---

Late in the afternoon, a dusky glow filled the distance between where I stood on a hillside and the Santa Susana Mountains. I took out my phone and snapped a series of photos. Behind me, several yards farther down the trail, Anders and Giselle were arm in arm, passing a water bottle between them. I had tried to give them space wherever I could, seeing that they were couple. I felt like a third wheel. I also felt absolutely alone in the world. Perhaps Anders was right. I need to speak to Mom. I need to confront my issues. Am I a boy or a girl? I snapped one last shot and saw the sun start its descent below the horizon.

Seeing Anders in the park put me in a tizzy that made me late for rehearsal. When I came back to our suite, Mom, uncharacteristically, had already left. After crating Alice, I loaded my backpack with all my necessities: hand sanitizer, hair ties, water bottles, Chapstick, chewing gum, hairbrush, earbuds, felt-tipped pen, wallet, lotion, tissues, deodorant, ibuprofen, key card, phone, and my tablet. Flying out the door, I had to endure the elevator stopping on a dozen floors before reaching the lobby. The doorman hailed a yellow cab for me which fought mid-day traffic to finally deliver me to 42nd Street Studios in less than 25 minutes.

I stepped out of the service elevator just in time to hear Mom addressing the group. With a broad smile, she was in the midst of her announcement.

“…since there’s no rehearsal on Saturday. Thank you, Danny. You’re so thoughtful. I hope that all of you will be able to come to our little dinner party Saturday evening in my suite. Don’t be frightened. I’m not cooking!”

The room filled with guffaws at Mom’s bit of humor. If only they knew!

“It’ll be a catered buffet-style dinner. Very casual. Don’t feel you have to wear anything too formal. Now, Danny, I’d appreciate it if you at least wore a clean tee shirt—”

More laughter, especially from Maia.

“But I will warn you. I’m going to prepare the official Rhode Island pie for dessert, Coconut Custard Pie. As you all know, I was born and raised in Rhode Island. My mother taught me the recipe and I’m handing it down to Cherry.”

Visions of a kitchen catastrophe filled my mind as Mom continued her speech.