Chapter One

He really stuck out like a sore thumb.

We usually say that all types come clubbing at Grande Illusions. Crossdressers, transgender, gay men, women out for a good time and occasionally a couple looking for a night on the town.

He looked like a lonely businessman in his 50s seated in the area of the club where I served as a waiter...or waitress...depending on your perspective. On nights that I didn't perform, which was most nights, I spent the evening serving the clientele drinks and food.

He was polite and had the club sandwich. He wasn't a heavy drinker. I was a bit surprised when he asked me to come sit with him during my break. I usually refused. Most requests came from drunk men, who well, wanted something a little extra.

I was just glad to get off my feet. Walking in heels isn't anything new for me, but my feet still ached during a long shift.

He asked genuine questions. Why he showed an interest in me, I really wasn't sure. Where was I from? How did I come to work in a place like this...they weren't unusual questions. I heard them all before.

"I'm 32." "I come from a small town near Jackson, Mississippi." "My family would be shocked if they knew."

He was fascinated to find out I worked at Grande Illusions when I was in college. In case you haven't guessed, it's a club that features female impersonaters. They performed every night. Then there were those like me, we worked the tables as "waitresses" five nights out of the week and got to perform on the sixth as the warmup acts for the headliners.

I minored in dance in college, crossdressed and wrestled with transgender issues most of my life. Most of all, I was passable, that made me an ideal employee for Grande Illusions, which also employed actual female waitresses and performers, too, to keep the clientele guessing.

He was fascinated to find out my actual career was in graphic design, but lost my job when company went bellyup in the economic downtown.

"I was just in town visiting the club when the owner asked me if I wanted my old job back," I told him.

I was surprised when he opened up to me. He was 58, an engineer nearing retirement. His wife of nearly 30 years died of cancer the year before. He didn't want to go to a strip club because he felt he was dishonoring her memory. And he said he felt like he would be having an affair if he found himself attracted to one of the women at the strip club.

So hence he came to a club that featured female impersonaters.

"I know it sounds strange," he said.

I told him I wasn't judging. I mean, how could I wearing a T-shirt and a short skirt?

He was amazed when I told him I wasn't on hormones, that I was wearing falsies instead of breast implants.

"Some of the headliners do that," I told him. "Some of them are a bit hard core. If I ever did anything like that, it would be for the right reasons, not for money or for performance sake."

"And what are the right reasons?" he asked.

"If I ever decided I wanted to become a woman," I said, but was a bit embarrassed when I told him.

"Is that something you're considering doing?" he asked.

"I think about it sometimes, but not a whole lot," I confided. "It's not something I'm seriously considering doing. Just a thought I have sometimes."

He didn't seem very shocked. I was a bit surprised when he handed me his card near the end of my break. He also asked me for my phone number, which I scribbled on the back of a napkin.

"Would you be interested in getting a cup of coffee sometime?" he asked.

"Sure, why not?" I said. "But I got to warn you, I don't dress enfemme outside of this place."

He laughed.

"You look very beautiful as a woman," he said. "You should try it sometime."