Every breath you take, Desdemona flies better than first class, and I'll be watching you.

I've signed a contract with Spotlight Studios and now I'm in the midst of recording a CD. I have to finish it in two days since I have to be in New York for a performance on Saturday. I've quit my old job, and left Gretchen at home. What new does this day have in store for me?

At 3 am I was awakened by my phone playing "My life with you is Hell." It incorporated itself into my dreams, and I only woke up as it stopped ringing. I looked at my phone to see who'd called me. The number was blocked. I figured it must have been a telemarketer or something, so I want back to sleep.

It rang again at 4 am. I woke up faster this time and answered.

"Hello?" I said drowsily. I wasn't fully awake, but I hadn't gotten fully to sleep either. I was sort of in a half state. No one responded. I looked at the phone and it said it was till connected. "Look, if anyone's there, you'll have to try back later. I can't hear you."

I lay back down, and slowly drifted off again.

It rang again at 5am. I was getting a little irritated now. "Who is this?"

"Hi Desdemona. I called back like you asked." Something in the voice creeped me out a bit. I hung up.

I was fully awake now, so I checked my clothing and it was almost dry. I put it on damp. I checked my face in the mirror, thanking my ancestry for the fact I didn't need to shave today. With my plucked eyebrows, I could at least pass without makeup. I adjusted my wig, pinning it in place again, and was walking out to watch some TV when I heard a knock at the front door.

I looked out through the spy hole, but didn't see anyone. I opened the door and there was a bouquet of black roses. Attached to one of those ubiquitous plastic stand thingies there was a black card with gold writing on it. I picked up the card and opened it: I know your secret, Desdemona. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. They wouldn't understand. I just wanted to let you know that I know, and understand. Your secret is something we share.

Ok, this was getting a little weird. I dumped the flowers in the trash and followed by the note, which I tore up. I didn't know what to make of it, but it made me fell a little uncomfortable.

My phone rang at 6 am. The number was blocked again. I picked up, but didn't say anything.

"That's good, Desdemona, you never know who could be calling you. I see you got my gift. I hope you like it. Good luck at the studio today."

He hung up. No one but the band knew my schedule today, so it must be a prank. Should I talk to them about it? Or should I just ignore it and figure if they got no reaction they'd stop without me saying anything?

I sat back on the bed to watch some TV. At 7, I got another call. This one to Keith from Gretchen. "Hey babe."

"Hey, Keith. Whatcha doin?"

"Watching TV."

"What are you doing up already? I was planning on giving you a wake-up call."

"I couldn't sleep." I briefly considered telling her about the calls, but she might be in on it. Nope, no satisfaction on this one. I'd just have to plan my revenge and let it sit until I figured out who'd come up with this idea.

"Poor baby. Miss me in your bed?"

"Definitely."

I looked at the time. Well, I needed to get going. Sure, it was close, but I didn't want to be late like yesterday.

When I walked into the building, the guard behind the desk said, "Ms. Desdemona?"

"Yes."

"Brad said to tell you that you're in the same room as yesterday. You can go on up."

I walked up the stairs this morning, since I needed all the exercise I could get. I was the first one there, except for the sound tech. I waved to him and went into the Studio. I started warming up, both on my instrument and my voice. I wanted to be loose today. The sound tech's voice came over the studio speakers. "Can I get you anything, Desdemona?"

"Some water for later would be nice."

"Ok, I'll get them to send a case up."

"Thank you. I really appreciate that."

I smiled and he went back to whatever he was doing on the board. "Where would you like it, Ma'am?"

The brunette from yesterday was there with the case. She didn't seem to be straining under it, but I got up anyway. "I can take that the rest of the way."

"It's my job. So where?"

"Next to the couch is fine. Thanks."

"No problem."

I gave her a smile and she walked out in a swish of layered ankle length skirts. I'm not sure I was man enough to wear something like that. They seemed a bit heavy, and I wondered why she wore them to work.

The guys came in at almost the same time as Brad. They were a couple of minutes before 8 am. "Glad that at least one of us could get here with time to get ready. Let's get started as soon as you're all ready."

Guthrie and Davey got ready, and I ran through a couple more vocal exercises before stopping for a drink. My throat was starting to feel a bit sore. I figured it was just dry. I drank more water than I planned initially. We had a case after all.

"Ok, since you have had it the longest, and since the guys already know it, let's start out with 'My life with you is Hell.'"

I shrugged and we started into the opening riff. The bass duel ended up with a more mellow tone when I played it across from Guthrie. It was almost as if we were dancing more than fighting, and the challenge at the end ended up being more a bow between partners. The feel of the song had subtly changed with the new players.

I sang through the song, putting myself into it. We played the key changes and everything seemed to come together, but when we played it back, it sounded a bit flat. Not out of tune, just. . .lifeless.

"You guys need to step it up a bit. Get some feeling into it. Do it like you mean it."

We played through it again, and again, it was lifeless. "Damnit, guys. What the hell is wrong with you this morning? This is an easy song, and you two are screwing it up."

"You're the one sounding like a limp rag."

I had no idea how you 'sounded' like a limp rag, and I just started laughing. Eventually Guthrie and Davey joined in.

This time we had it. We got the interplay right at the beginning, and everything flowed from there. I hadn't realized how much the beginning pumped us up for the rest of the song, but I could see it now. This would be a challenging song live, with one chance to get it right. Definitely not something we wanted to come at cold, even if I'd done it cold in Vegas.

Well, not cold exactly. We'd had the other acts to get us ready for it.

"Finally. Let's get 'Black Flag' while we're on a roll."

We lit through "Blag flag" and it only took us two passes before we were through.

"Bodies" was a real romp. It was a pointless song when you got right down to it, and it took itself way too seriously. It took us longer than "Black Flag" to get down, but we eventually got it.

At this point, my throat was really starting to bother me. I coughed a couple of times, then drank some more water, but it didn't seem to help. We had one more song, though, and I just wanted to get it done.

We muddled through "My Own Person" a couple of times. I wasn't feeling it, and neither was the band. I took a deep breath, and started speaking to them.

"Look, guys, I know this is a bit out there compared to the last three songs we did, but this song is a lot like 'Just a Girl.' It is pushing against expectations. To really get the feel of it, we need to ignore who we are for the moment. We need to look into ourselves and find the independent individual that wants to break free of all of our limitations. It should be a bit ragged. The instruments fighting a bit for supremacy. But it should be a unified raggedness. Know what I mean?"

"Why don't we try this, Desi: Guthrie, you start playing something, same key, but not the song. Preferably something that you wrote yourself. You've got something right?"

"Yeah, Davey."

"I'm going to play a bit of 'Distracting Trash.' at varying tempos. After we have been going for about thirty seconds, use the song to gather us back in, Desi."

It was a bit strange, but I figured it was worth a try. They began, and it was cacophony. The percussion interrupting the bass line. The notes moving from base to treble and back. I felt my moment and joined in. First, I wrestled with the bass, fighting to get it into position, finally, Guthrie started playing a sullen version of the bass line. Next, I had a shooting war with the percussion. In the middle Guthrie tried to escape, but I reigned him in, and pointed him at the percussion. With two against one, we quickly subjugated Guthrie. Then, I shifted into the verse and we were off.

I sang with feeling, every once in a while snarling as I had to reign in either the percussion or the bass. Finally, we got to the end and we all broke apart in shattered sound.

"Ok, well, that's a wrap."

"Can we get a playback?"

"Sure, but we're not doing it again. Don't know if we can beat this one. I want it to be the first song on the album."

It was played back, and I sat there in rapt attention. It was, to say a word, perfect. It was exactly who I saw us to be, and from the looks on their faces, I could tell that the other two felt the same way. This was an opener. It gave us time to work out kinks, and have a bit of Jazz style fun. There was improvisation everywhere in it, and it would never play the same way twice, but that was fine by me. This song was. . .perfect.

"Thanks, Brad." I said, but he didn't respond other than to motion at me to come into the control room, as he was on the phone. I walked into the control room just as he was finishing up.

“Ok, I’ll let her know.” He closed his phone and looked up at me. “Ok, Desi, we need you in LA for a screen test.”

“Um. . .”

“I know that your manager would normally be booking things like this for you, but at Spotlight we’re trying to get back to the good ole days of having a stable of stars. We will try internally for parts, first, and then farm out. On the flip side, we promise to offer you parts first, but will not prevent you from going elsewhere.”

“Ok, kind of a best of both worlds, huh?”

“Yep, something like that.”

“Ok, will you guys be flying me, or should I get there myself?”

“We have a private jet. It is leaving in thirty minutes from the airport. Can you be there?”

I was so going to need to shop for clothing in LA, once I had a moment. I nodded.

“Ok, they can’t hold the plane for you, since the flight plan is already filed. You’ll simply be hitching a ride with some of the studio execs.”

“Alright.” I ran out to my car, and drove it out to the airport. I had ten minutes to spare when I got there and out to the private field.

“No luggage I see, Ms. Desdemona,” said Mr. Praetor as I climbed aboard.

“No time to get any. I stayed up here in Salt Lake last night, and had to hand wash my clothing in the motel.”

“Well, how frugal of you.” It could have been an insult, but his smile took any possible bite out of the remark.

“One does what one must.” I said, putting the back of my hand to my forehead. He broke out in laughter.

“Well, you won’t be doing anything quite that melodramatic, but I would like you to read for the part of the female lead for a new movie we’re producing.”

“Am I going to have time for this? Where is it filming?”

“Utah, actually. It’s a bit of a sci-fi piece, and they need a barren alien wasteland. Like usual, we are using Goblin Valley.”

I shook my head and chuckled. “Don’t people get bored of alien wastelands that all look like they have red rocks and mounds?”

“We’re using a new technique that will automatically change the color of the rocks. We’ll be able to shift it to anything we want. We’re going with a sort of purple hue for most of it, with some blues and greens interspersed.”

“I guess I’ll have to see it. Do I get to read the screen play before I audition?”

“Nope, we want everyone coming to this cold. The screenwriter tells me we have several directions that we can take the female role, and he wants to see what interpretations people bring to the lines.”

“Fine, I’m going to get some more sleep then.”

I went over to a couch against the side of the plane and lay down. I fell asleep quickly. Some one was shaking my shoulder. “Desi, it’s time to land. Return to your seat please.”

It was the flight attendant, male strangely enough. I returned to my seat and buckled myself in. We landed, and I was about to head to the terminal to rent a car when I heard Mr. Praetor clear his throat, “Desi, you can ride with me to the studio. I wouldn’t normally offer, but we gave you no advance warning on this one.”

I shrugged and we walked to the gate where a limo was awaiting him. It may have been my heightened sense of paranoia, but this seemed a bit off.

“Mr. Praetor, you sure it’s alright?”

“I understand your concern, Desi, and trust me, I don’t normally offer this sort of thing. It just happens that the two of us are heading in the same direction. The director thinks he’s found the next Brad Pitt, and I want to see what he’s gushing about. That means I had to use my jet to get out here today, and since I wanted you to read anyway, it worked out perfectly.”

“Ok. . .”

“Look, I know you have a girlfriend, and trust me when I say I’m happily married. Beyond that, I’ve always preferred more mature women. My wife is ten years older than I am.”

I still didn’t know if I believed him, but any time he made the moves on me, it would be obvious he’d been lying. Wait, what am I saying. He knows I’m a boy, and told me that he prefers. . .ok, this whole line of thought it totally convoluted. Somewhere in there it’s obvious to me that he only see’s me as a girl, no matter what he “knows”. I’m subtly disturbed by all of this.

We arrive at the studio, and he helps me to my feet. I walk about five feet apart from him so the paparazzi, real this time, don’t get the wrong impression. I’m definitely looking a little rumpled next to the big shot CEO in his silk suit.

We get inside, and there are a few girls sitting around with sheaves of paper. “You here to read for Liza?” said a woman with a nasal twang and a headset.

“Yes, she is.”

“Oh, Mr. Praetor, I didn’t see you there. Take these. You’re number eighteen.”

I looked at the papers and cringed. Who writes this crap.

Luke: Liza, we need to find some shelter before nightfall
Liza: But where can we find it on this desolate moon.
Luke: I won’t let anything happen to you, Liza.
Liza: I feel so safe with you. Do you think we’ll ever get rescued?
Luke: I don’t know, babe, but even if we don’t we still have each other.
Liza: What’s that?
(Luke and Liza look camera left. Monster will be generated post production)
Liza: Eeek. Save me.
(Luke reaches for his hip. gun missing)
Luke: I must have lost my laser blaster while we were climbing the cliff. Run Liza!
(Liza begins to run, but collapses on her bad ankle)
Liza: Oh! Luke, save yourself.
Luke: I’m not going anywhere without you.
. . .
And on and on. After the first page I wanted to strangle Liza myself. I noticed a clip board and a pencil.

Well, if this was the script, then I didn’t want the part, but maybe I could improve it a bit. Luke’s lines would have to remain the same, but what could I do to Liza. . .

"Number four?"

Ok, so this was going to take a while. A raven haired beauty got up in front of the camera and ran through her lines. She tried to do it serious, and she got a few chuckles out of the people running the equipment. This script was that bad.

"Number five?" No one got up, so after a moment, the nasal voice called out, "Number six?"

This was a bottle blond, who proceeded to toss a valley girl accent into the whole thing. Ditz, like, totally.

The lines seemed written for her, and I knew there was no way I would watch this movie if she was in it.

"Number seven? Number eight? Number nine?"

Nine was another ditz, but a brunette trying to pull it off.

"Number ten?"

Two in a row, I might actually faint from surprise. She tried to pull lovesick teen out of it, and almost got it to work. It was funny watching her hang onto the guy they had playing Luke.

"Number eleven? Num. . ."

"Wait, I'm here. Number eleven."

"Miss, you need to be here and ready when we call your name. Behavior like that is unacceptable."

"Sorry."

She walked up and sat down. She stuttered her lines. If she was acting, it was a good job, and one of the better ways that they could have been played as written. It made her seem shy and naive.

"Number twelve?"

Ok, what in the heck. This girl made Buffy seem petite. She made the guy seem petite. The chair creaked when she sat down. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing every time she opened her mouth. Her voice was this squeaky little Betty Boop thing, and coming out of that body. . .well, you get the picture. I know it wasn't kind, but it was what it was.

I could see her on the big screen in some space opera outfit, and it would almost make the movie Cult Worthy.

"Number thirteen?"

She tripped over the camera cable. "Sorry." The light went off. A couple of techs looked at the camera while she sat there, beet red, trying to hide in her chair while the guy tried to chat her up.

When she finally got the opportunity to say her lines, she mumbled and then ran out halfway through in tears. I felt sorry for her.

"Number fourteen? Number fifteen? Number sixteen? Number seventeen?"

I guess no one wanted to read for this mess.

Another blond, this one just hammed it up. Melodrama to the hilt and beyond. It was almost entertaining.

“Number eighteen?”

I walked up to the chair in front of the camera. A nice looking guy was sitting there. Look, just because I love women doesn’t mean I can’t tell which guys look good.

“Hi, I’m Jeff.”

“Desdemona”

“Like the rocker?”

“Yes, like the rocker.”

I’d begun to feel a little bad for what I was about to do to this guy. . .until he opened his mouth.

“Liza, we need to find some shelter before nightfall.”

“Luke, I realize your need to overcompensate for your lacking manhood, but if you hadn’t dropped me, I wouldn’t have a hurt ankle.”

There were some chuckles from the tech crew. Jeff blushed, paused a moment, and then glanced at the director and then his sheet.

“Jeff, keep going!”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Liza.”

“I don’t trust your ability to lead us out of a paper bag, Luke. I mean, do you really think we'll find any shelter around here?”

“I don’t know, babe, but even if we don’t we still have each other.”

One of the techs laughed for a moment before he stifled it.

“Luke, I’m sorry, but I don’t feel that way about you,” a couple of the techs, and the camera man, laughed at this, “What in the heck?!” I pointed off camera right. I looked intense and, while Jeff was looking a bit surprised.

“Luke, your gun. Hurry!”

“I must have lost my laser blaster while we were climbing the cliff. Run Liza!”

“Damn you, Luke, I can’t run. My ankle, remember? Maybe you should feed yourself to that thing to give me a head start?”

The laughter of everyone in the studio almost drowned out Jeff’s next line.

“I'm not going anywhere without you.”

“Cut!! What was that? Who told you that you could rewrite my script?”

A short guy with glasses stormed past the director and walked over to me.

“Look, your writing sucked. It was over the top, and straight out of the 50’s. It was derivative and trite and pointless. If it’s going to be like it was, I don’t even want the part. So, since I need to be here contractually, I figured I’d at least improve it a bit.”

He opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked like a huge fish out of water.

“Stop teasing the poor man, Desi. Just because he couldn't write a screenplay to save his life is no reason to torment him."

Mr. Praetor had walked up.

"Mr. Praetor, you don't understand. . ."

"Your vision? This is supposed to be a space opera, not some grand sweeping artistic vision. The concept you pitched me was very good. Then I get this drivel. The fact that a sixteen year old came in and jotted down some lines that run circles around yours only makes it worse."

"Mr. Praetor, you can't expect. . ."

"You to do your job? Apparently not. You're fired William. Escort him off the premises please."

Mr. Praetor walked over to the director. "Oscar, I'm sorry, but I'm less impressed with Jeff than I thought I'd be. He can't ad lib to save his life. He was given a prime opportunity with Desdemona's new lines, but she ran him into the punch line and he never saw it coming."

"Mr. Praetor. . ."

"Why do people keep invoking my name like some sort of supplication to the gods? Look, Oscar, the guy looks good on film, sure, but he can't act. I need a male lead who can act, or anything I put Desdemona into will just make everyone else look bad. You saw her up there, with her own lines, and no direction."

Oscar simply nodded.

"Think how she could be with a decent writer, and your direction."

Oscar was looking into the distance, and then a smile appeared on his face. "Mind if I make you the bad guy?"

"Not at all, Oscar, that's part of my job."

"Jeff?"

The guy looked up from his flirting with thirteen.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Praetor says no. Thanks for your time."

Jeff shrugged and went back to flirting. Well, I guess you could tell what his priorities were.

Mr. Praetor turned to me. "Thanks for the help, Desi, you were more helpful than even I imagined. I do have a screen test I want you to sit for, but it won't be til tomorrow. I've got to head back. Will you be good out here until tomorrow?"

"Why did you do this, Mr. Praetor? I feel a bit used."

"Well, I knew that you wouldn't stand for this drivel, so yes, I did use you. Look, I'm not here to make friends. I was hired by the board to clear out the deadwood. It's what I do. I come into a company, make it profitable, and move on. The longest I've been in any company so far is about six months. It has made me a very rich man, though. That was my personal Jet we took to get here. Look, can we talk somewhere more private?"

I shrugged, and we went into one of the back rooms. I wondered where this was going.

"Look, Desi, I understand that what I do can be distasteful to some people. It is a job, and I'm good at it. I use people in the role they are best suited for. with your help, as Keith, not as Desdemona, we could make this studio into a niche one. We could cover the topics, in a tasteful light, that plague this society right now. Strangely, your being turned down by the last CEO prompted the board to hire me, and told me that my job was to make the company more conscious of societal pressures. You could be our poster girl/boy."

"I just want to have a music career, Mr. Praetor."

"I appreciate that. You could have so much more. You could support the cause for so many young people."

"Look, I don't think you even believe what you're saying, Mr. Praetor."

"Truthfully? No, but it's what the board wants, and that's what I do believe in. They want this company to go in a specific direction. I see you as someone who could help that, but only if you want to. I will not force you into that direction. I figure that, eventually, when it comes out that you were Keith all along, you'll be in that role for the company anyway."

"But. . ."

He smiled at me, a kindly fatherly smile. "I know that you think this is something that will never happen, but you've told too many people already. The time that a secret stays kept is inversely proportional to the square of the number of people who know it. Sooner or later, your secret will get out. It's going to happen. If you were simply a girl playing a part onstage, it would blow over in no time. This is going to be bigger, however. It's not simply going to go away."

"Mr. Praetor. this isn't what I signed up for. I can't be anyone's example."

"You may not have any choice in the matter."

"Sir. . ."

"No, Desi. You need to get to the point where you're ok with this. I may not be with the company at that point, but realize this: You are going to be used as an example, good or bad, by a lot of people. You will be hounded by religious groups who think you're evil. You will be supported by fringe groups who will see you as a shining example. You're music will be lauded and vilified. You will be famous and infamous at the same time."

"You can't know that, Mr. Praetor. No one can know that."

"Think about some of the more outrageous musicians. Take Prince for example. He changed his name to a symbol because he broke contract and the studio owned his name. The move, without all the facts, was considered to be huge, and a solidarity with issues of slavery and choice. When he got his name back, he faded into the woodwork. Sure, people still listen to his music, but he lost some of his fame.

"While his name was a symbol, he became the punch line to jokes everywhere from sitcoms, to animated cartoons. I even read an online comic that used this as the basis for a story line. You weren't allowed to play Chess in public because it was obscene. A bard, whose name was a symbol 'to represent the loss of freedom in society' sang a song called, 'Let's talk about Chess.'"

I looked at him blankly for a moment, and then a light dawned, "but that isn't even a Prince song."

"And that's not the point. They included two controversial items to show the absurdity of the controversy. It's called satire.

"You are going to find yourself in the same position. You will be a joke told everywhere. Now, like Prince, you can ride that train for a little while, until the reality hits people and you fade away, or you can use it to the advantage of people in similar situations."

I was about to spout off something, but I stopped to think. There were people in my life who were living with what I only dabbled. They had lives that were difficult because of the perceptions of society. They were already jokes in a lot of popular culture. I'd caught some episodes of a sitcom on reruns a couple of years ago. The title character's brother was obviously a man in a dress. He didn't pass, and wasn't supposed to. I don't know if he was supposed to be transgendered or a transvestite or what, but he was supposed to be laughed at.

I couldn't be said to be a boy in a dress. I'd passed in public so far. Public? I'd just passed in a closed environment where people were looking at every move I made.

I made a decision right there. I would push Desdemona as far as she could go. When I was revealed, I would keep pushing for acceptance as Desdemona. I think that was the moment where I realized that I would be living as a transvestite for a long time. Could I really live with that? I thought so at the time, and even now I'm pretty sure of it. Who are we really? Are we the person that the world sees, or are we the person that he hide inside ourselves. We all have secrets that we never share.

"Yes, Sir, in answer to your earlier question, I'll be fine. Back in here tomorrow then?"

"Yes."

I left the studio, making sure I knew which building it was, and went out to the gate.

I walked out to the guard shack. "So, if I leave, will you let me back in tomorrow?"

"Of course, Miss. I'll let you back in. Your name?"

"Desdemona."

"No, I meant your real name, not who you're pretending to be for some movie. Although, come to think of it, isn't she a little too new to already have a story about her life made?"

"Um, actually, I'm that Desdemona." I showed my ID to him.

"So sorry, Ms. Desdemona. I just thought. . .well I already told you what I thought."

"Look, it's fine. I don't think anyone should bow to me or anything. I'm just a g. . .irl like anyone else."

"Well, my son doesn't think so."

"What's with guys in uniform and their sons who listen to my music?"

"Well, according to him, you're hot. A little young for my tastes though."

I blushed. That reminded me that I needed some makeup and. . .I needed to go shopping. By myself. As Desdemona. . .in LA. This would be fun.

"Anything the matter, Desdemona?"

"Friends can call me Desi, or pretty much anyone who doesn't like to use that mouthful I guess."

"You went pale for a moment, Desi. Something wrong?"

I looked at the plump guard for a moment, and then thought 'what the hell.'

"I didn't have time to pack a bag before I got whisked into the whirlwind I'm currently in. I need to buy some essentials, like a change of clothes and makeup and. . .well you don't care about that. I just have no idea where to go out here."

"Well, although a date with you would make his day, I'm not going to thrust my son on you. I will, however, offer the services of my daughter, if she is up for it. She'll probably be delighted to spend someone else's money while shopping, so I can pretty much guarantee she'd be up for it."

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a bother."

"You're a nice kid, Desi, and I wouldn't want my own sixteen year old daughter unaccompanied out here. Where are your parents by the way?"

I chuckled a bit at that. . .and turned it into a giggle about halfway though. I needed to work on that. "My Mom disowned me just before I started my music career and I haven't seen my Dad in a few years. Last I heard he was in Seattle. I am emancipated, so I can legally look after myself." I said this last with a sour smile. Just because I could, didn't mean I wouldn't have loved to have one of my parents, or even Gretchen, or anyone else with me right now.

"Ok, well, emancipated or not, I'd love for you to stay with me and my family while you're in LA."

"But, I couldn't impose. I mean, you don't know me, and I don't know you."

"I've listened to your songs, Desi. I do that for all music I allow into my home. I want to know what my kids are actually listening to. Now, all this black and sadness you're into isn't for me, but I don't get the sense that you'd be a bad influence on my family. Do you disagree with me? Would you be a bad influence?"

Could I pass in a family situation? Did I want to? If I told another person about my secret, it would get out faster. It was also possible that telling him would get him to remove the invitation. I stood there for a moment and thought while he looked at me. In the end I realized that lying to him by not telling him would be worse on me if my secret came out later. The only choice I had was to turn down his offer, or tell him the truth.

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable, we could always discuss it after you’ve spent some time with my girl.”

“That’s not it. I’m considering the ramifications. You see, I have a secret. If I stay with your family, I’d need to tell you, since I really couldn’t consider myself a proper guest by keeping it from you. If I do tell you, and it gets out, it could hurt me. It will get out eventually, probably, but I’m not ready for it yet.”

He looked at me, considering for a moment. “Will this secret hurt my family, whether or not you tell me?”

“I’m not a murderer or anything like that. It’s just. . .”

“Is there something about this that would be impossible to keep if you stayed with us?”

“Yes.”

“And you’d be willing to tell me instead of simply staying in a motel and muddling on through?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re not a boy or something are you.” I looked at him with shock, “wait, you’re a boy? Crap. I meant that as a joke. Look, sorry I brought it up.”

“I understand, sir, if. . .”

“Now, hold on a minute here, Desi, I never said anything about retracting the offer. You’re not going to be a danger to my daughter are you. . .I mean you like girls?”

“I have a girlfriend, if that’s what you’re asking. Her father trusts me to do nothing, and I live under their roof. Actually, here.”

I dialed Tom up. “Tom? Yes, could you talk to someone for me? He has some questions about me. Yes, he knows.”

I handed my phone to the guard, who I realized I had never asked the name of, and they talked for a couple of minutes. I looked around at the road, wondering if I’d done the right thing. Sure, I hadn’t specifically told him my secret, but I’d told him I had a secret, and he accidentally worked it out. I needed to work on my poker face. In the future I would assume no one knew, and treat comments like that one just made like a joke. I would have just given my secret away to anyone in a situation like this, and it could have been a bigger audience that I gave it away to.

He handed my phone back to me.

“Well, Tom certainly gives you high praise, and I can tell that he trusts you with his daughter, whom you love, so I think I can trust you with my daughter whom you don’t even know.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“No sirs with me, Desi. Call me Urban.”

I blinked at him, “Urban?”

“Yep, I’m Urban Planning. My parents had a bit of a sense of humor. I passed it on to my first born. His name is Public.”

I laughed. “Really?”

“Yep, well, his middle name. We considered having his first name Department, but were kind and called him Joe.”

Wait, so he’s Joe Public, or Public Planning?” I died laughing. Urban joined in.

A thought occurred to me, "Why are you so ready to accept my secret, sir? I meant, Urban?"

"Well, Desi, you seem like a pleasant enough young lady. You have good manners and a good sense of humor. Whatever the truth may be, you are a good person in my book."

"But you don't know Tom either."

"If you had the forethought to prepare a character witness for someone you didn't plan to meet, for a situation that shouldn't have come up, then you are more organized than most adults, let alone a sixteen year old. You could have kept your secret from me. I can't see someone as beautiful as you seem to be lying about that, and if you told the truth about that, the reason for lying about a character witness just becomes mind bogglingly complicated."

I giggled a bit at this.

"Let me call my daughter." He picked up the phone and called someone, "Malenka? Yes, it's your Dad. I met someone who needs to go shopping, and I thought you could show her the local scene. Yes, she has money. Yes, she's at least a little famous. No, but your brother will be jealous. Ok. Love you."

"Malenka is a strange name."

"Well, it fits the rest of my family."

I looked at him blankly.

"It's from a Russian word: malyenkii. It means small or little."

I groaned.

"Just cause I said I followed my parent's version for my first born, doesn't mean I didn't change it for the rest of my family."

"True. Does your daughter know where her name comes from?"

"Yep," he said with an evil grin.

We talked a bit more while we waited for his daughter. I thought of something right before she arrived.

"So, are you planning on telling your family about me?"

"Nah, I'll just put you in the guest room. That should be enough."

His daughter arrived in a beetle. No, not the new flashy ones, the original ones. It was a hard top, of course. The base was white, and the top was black. It was shiny though, so I thought it was cool.

She hopped out and ran to her Dad, and then stopped, looked at me, and her mouth dropped open.

"Desdemona?"

"Hi." I gave her a finger wave.

"This is a put on, isn't it."

"Nope, hon, it's not. This is the real Desdemona. She has ID to prove it."

"Joe's so gonna freak"

"She needs to go shopping."

"Let me do this, Urban. Malenka, wanna go shopping?" I had a grin on my face.

She squealed. I joined in. It was kind of fun actually.

"Desi's staying with us tonight, Malenka, so bring her to our house when you're done."

"You mean if we're done, don't you?" I had no idea where that came from. I said it, but I still was a little shocked by it.

This set off giggles, and Urban just rolled his eyes.

"Have fun you two."

We got in her car, and she turned to me with her hand out, "My friends call me Molly."

"Desi."

"So, I take it this is your first time to LA?"

"Yep, mostly gone back east when I've traveled." Listen to me act the sophisticate. I'd only ever been to one place.

Well, that and Las Vegas, but everyone's been to Las Vegas.

I had no reference to tell where we were exactly, so I can't even say which mall type edifice we ended up with.

"Let's go shopping!"

"You are way too chipper, Molly."

"And you are way too Goth. Lighten up."

I snorted at this. "Ok, yay, let's go shopping," I said without any enthusiasm, playing Goth to the hilt. She giggled at this and I couldn't resist joining in

I'm glad that I pin the wig in place, or I would have lost it after the first time that she pulled my hair away from my ears to try different earrings against my face. She was a very touchy person, and I just went with it. We looked at jewelry first, and I have to say that I really had no clue what I was doing here. I had my Bleach bracelet on and a pair of stud earrings. We tried tons of things.

"I love the way these silver and blue dangles look with your pink hair."

"Aren't these bracelets sooo cute."

"Look at this necklace." Here's something I never expected to find at a department store jewelry counter. It was a little dusty, like it had been sitting there for a long time, undisturbed, and I almost felt like an archaeologist, especially with what it was. It was an ankh in platinum and gold. The boundary between the platinum and the gold was sinuous. It wasn't a big one either. It seemed to scream feminine, while at the same time it was individual. You know, it was like a girls fashion cross for Goth's. It was only the second piece of jewelry that had screamed "Desdemona" at me. The first were the earrings of course. It was on a fine chain of alternating platinum and gold links.

"Where's a saleswoman when you need one."

"I was mostly kidding, Desi. Look at the price. You can't seriously be considering buying it."

"Well, first I want to see how it looks on me." I said with a big evil smile.

Molly just looked at me. "What?" I said.

"It's so expensive. I usually only get to look at stuff here."

I realized something in that moment. My bracelet had cost twice as much as the necklace, and the necklace was one of the more expensive pieces here. This was bargain jewelry, and Molly wasn't able to purchase it.

What did I do? I needed to buy stuff, and realized that my tastes, which I thought conservative, were kind of expensive. Something dawned on me.

"You really like those earrings, don't you?"

She blushed but nodded. "Wait here a moment."

I wandered around the store until I found an employee. He stared at my legs. Better than my fake boobs I guess. "I need some assistance at the jewelry counter, so unless you want to help me, could you get someone who should be there?"

"They're having a meeting of some sort." He sneered at me. I blinked at him.

"Excuse me?"

"You can do your window shopping later. I need to watch the entire store and can't go back there."

He'd glanced at the employees only entrance while he said this. "Thanks for pointing the way."

"Wait, you can't go back there."

"Stop me."

I walked into the back and followed the sound of voices. Apparently they were talking about improving their customer service skills. I almost laughed out loud at this, but kept myself in check until I got to the room.

"So, anyone have any suggestions what we can do to improve are relationship with customers?"

"First off, you can hold these meetings at times when the store's not busy. There are about fifty people out there, and all of your real sales staff are back here."

"Who are you? What are you doing back here?"

"Well, the only person you apparently left out there decided that I was here to window shop. I don't know, must have been the pink hair or shoes. I know you don't sell pink shoes, but I do buy jewelry whenever I find something I like."

"You have no business. . ."

"Shut up, Carl. I thought this meeting was a waste of time anyway. Desdemona, if you'll wait outside, I'll join you in a minute."

I didn't know what was going on here, but some voices became raised, and a couple of cell phones were brought out. I walked out to the jewelry counter and waited with molly while we looked at some things. I was a bit surprised that some of the items were left out when everyone was in the back.

I could tell what Molly was looking at, and I had a plan. The woman finally came out about five or ten minutes later. "Thanks for waiting. Hello, Molly, seems you found a new friend to shop with."

"Hey, Stacy. It's a favor for my Dad. Desi is in town for the day and needed some essential shopping."

"Desi?"

"Anyone who knows me calls me Desi." I smiled at her and she smiled back. I liked this woman. She had a real strength of character.

"And you brought her here," she asked, turning back to Molly.

"Well, I always stop here when I'm at the mall."

"Ok, first, I'd like to take a look at the ankh."

She seemed a bit surprised by my request, "But no one. . .never mind."

"Look, Stacy? Yes, well look, Stacy, I have a tendency of taking things that 'no one would buy/wear' and making them popular. Me, I just wear what I like. I've never seen anything like it."

"Well, it's not one of a kind, like your famous skull earrings, but we haven't sold a single one of these. Apparently the owner's daughter wanted one, but then decided against it when it got here. Here it's sat since then."

She'd gotten it out while she talked, and brushed the dust off with a cloth. The cuts in the metal made it glitter like diamonds. I put it on and looked at myself in the mirror there. "Wow, it's so you."

"Can I wear it out of the store when I buy it?"

Molly looked at me. I pulled out my Desdemona card and handed it to her. Somewhere in here I forgot to mention I added Desdemona as another person on my account. I did it the week after school got out.

"Of course you can."

"Well, I have some other purchases to make. You hold on to that, and we'll walk around the store a bit while we find out if there's anything else we would like. Oh, and Molly wants those earrings."

"I couldn't"

"Molly, they're a gift from me. Please take them?"

It didn't take long for her to give in. I helped her to put them in, and she smiled. A really big smile. "You're scaring me, Molly."

"Thank you sooo much, Desi. You're my new best friend." We giggled, and I said, "I certainly hope not."

"I'm kidding of course. Can't buy my love." She was looking in the mirror while she said this.

"I need a bit of everything while I'm here. Especially lingerie."

Molly and I walked over to clothing. "Here," she said, thrusting some bras at me. "I know my size, Molly."

"It's obvious that someone else has gone shopping for you, then. A girl needs to try on a bra to figure out if it has just the right fit. The right fit is heaven. The wrong fit and you'll be adjusting your top all the time, like I've seen you do, trying to get it to fit right."

How did I tell her I kept adjusting when I thought no one was looking because my false breasts were moving all over the place. There had to be a better way to keep them in place. Hmm. maybe we'd have to stop by a costume supply store and get some liquid latex. This was LA after all. Hollywood was a hop, skip, and a jump from here.

I think so anyway.

I tried on the bras. . .and then suddenly I knew what she was talking about. The third bra just fit. Sure, I couldn't feel it around the fake things, but I could tell that everything was securely in place. Maybe no glue would be necessary. I twisted and moved a bit, and nothing shifted. Well, much. When I went back to my normal standing position, it settled back into place.

It was pink with a bit of black lace over the front of the cup, and I thought it looked perfectly me. I mean Desdemona. You know what I mean.

I took off the tag and put my turtleneck back on. When I got out of the changing room, Stacy was standing there. I handed her the tag.

"I never knew how good a properly fitting bra could feel," I said with a little grin.

Stacy looked at me.

"I usually just grabbed something and used it. I was more worried about the overwear than the underwear."

Molly and I giggled about this.

The wig was getting a little hot, and it had been hard to get my turtleneck on and off. I had a weird notion. A really weird notion. I sat down, hard. My hair in front was chin length, just like my Desdemona wig. It had always been a matter of taking off the wig, and I was back to being Keith. Could I give that up? Should I?

Who was I? Did hair change who I was?

Over the past few days, I'd spent a lot more time as Desdemona than I'd spent as Keith. I knew who I was inside, and I saw that me as male. Would I be changing my hair for convenience, or would I be letting Desdemona take control? Was Desdemona someone other than me?

"Desi, are you Ok?"

"Sorry, I have a lot on my mind. That and I haven't eaten since a little continental breakfast this morning in Salt Lake." I noticed that my throat was a bit scratchy again, but I put it out of my mind.

We grabbed some more bras and some panties. I kept them as dark as I could, but Molly grabbed some pastels as well. I laughed at this, but didn't make her put them back. I was wearing the necklace on top of the turtleneck when I left the store, and the gold and silver popped on the black background.

We walked around the mall. Ok, we shopped around the mall. Sometimes we bought. Usually we just tried stuff on. I did buy a huge black purse the size of a minivan that doubled as a tent and a life raft.

Ok, it wasn't that big. It was, however, big enough to act as an overnight bag, and would fit a couple of changes of clothes, my makeup, some underwear, and all of the other essentials a girl needed. I was black with pink piping and a pink logo.

Black and pink must be popular in LA.

While Molly was trying on clothing at one store, I called Gretchen.

"Hey, hon."

"Where are you?"

"LA. I got roped into a couple of screen tests. They need me here until tomorrow."

"Ok, but you don't have any clothing."

"That's why I'm shopping.."

"Without me?"

"I know. It's not the same. I've even been trying on bras. You'd love the one I'm wearing." I described it to her.

"I'd love to take it off you, you mean."

"That too, but not this week."

"You're a spoil sport."

"I know."

"So, the reason I called. . .Um, well, do you thing I should get my hair styled like the wig? Pink and all?"

"I don't know, Keith. It would mean a big change in your life."

"Etch, Desdemona is already a big change. I play this role most of the time. I only figure it would be easier if I really had the hair, and it wasn't a wig."

"I remember when you first talked about this. You wouldn't cut or dye your hair like Desdemona's."

"Right now, I'm Desdemona more than not. When I go back to school, I can shave most of it and make it black again. Until then. . ."

"I can see your point. I did tell you I loved that wig, right? I always thought it was a really sexy hairstyle, which is why I got the wig."

"Who are you talking to?" Molly had just come back

"My girlfriend."

"Who was that, Keith?"

"Molly. We're out shopping together. I met her father after the screen test, and he offered her to help me out."

"Ok, just so long as you don't go getting any ideas."

"You know I only have eyes for you, Etch."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

Molly was looking at me a little strangely. "That's too bad about you having a girlfriend. My bro's going to be crushed. So, what was that all about?"

"I was asking my girlfriend if it was ok if I came home with pink hair."

Molly began laughing before she realized it wasn't a joke. "Um. . .don't you already have pink hair?"

"Wig."

"Ah. . .so, hmmm. I don't know where you can get a dye job like that."

I looked down, disappointed that I couldn't get this taken care of. Wait, disappointed? Did I want it this much?

"Wait, I know who can tell us." Molly pulled out her phone, and dialed a number. "Heather? Hey, it's Molly. Where did your sister get her hair done? Yeah, when she got it dyed blue. . .really? I thought. . .oh, that make sense. Bye."

She hung up her phone and looked at me. "Apparently, the salon here in the mall does weird hair colors as well. . .not to say that pink is. . ."

"Don't worry about it, Molly, pink is a weird hair color."

We giggled and went off down the mall. I'd pick up some toiletries on the way over to Molly's house. We'd pretty much exhausted all of the shops here for what we needed, wanted, or plain had to have. I'd even picked up a couple of new things for Molly.

We walked into the hair salon.

"There's currently a ten minute wait, how can I help you ladies."

"I need a trim and a dye please."

She looked up and down and said, "Trying to look like that Desdemona chick, I see."

Molly started to say something, but I gave her a look. "Don't you think I can pull it off?"

"Well, your hair and shoes are right, but I think she has a little more body."

"Well, I thought of that, but then, don't the cameras tend to put on fifteen pounds?"

"I'd say it was more like thirty in her case, and I'm not sure going behind the camera takes it off, but ya know."

I pulled out my credit card and put in on her podium. "So, do I pay in advance?"

"Not at all Miss. . .um" She'd looked at my card to see the name so she could use it. Common retail trick. Too bad for her it said Desdemona on the card.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know. . ."

"Your store is very lucky today. I need my hair done, and I don't know of anywhere else to get it done in LA at the moment. In the future, though, I'd suggest you treat my fans like you now want to treat me."

"Yes, ma'am."

"There are no ma'ams with me. It's either Desdemona, or Desi if you like, okay" I beamed a smile at her. She mutely nodded.

"Thanks."

Molly and I sat down to read the magazines. I grabbed the closest beauty one, since I had to act the part. I was surprised to find that there were actually some good articles in it. Before I knew it I heard someone call out, "Desi?"

I stood up and followed the woman into the back room. Apparently, this was a private salon. Each of the stations was separated from the others. I couldn't imagine why they would do that.

"What can we do for you today, Miss?"

"I do prefer Ms, actually, and I am tired of my wig." I smiled as I said this and unpinned it at the same time.

I revealed my matted hair. I ran my fingers through it a bit to loosen it up.

"you have nice hair, why did you hide it under this wig?"

"Long story. Short answer is that sometimes I needed to shift from me to Desdemona quickly, and the wig seemed the way to go. As I'm going to be Desdemona more than myself for a few months, I figure I need the actual styling."

"Ok, but so you know, this won't be an easy dye job. We need to strip the black a bit, and then go pink. We could be looking at four or five dyes to get it to the right color.

"Ok, I have the funds for it."

"Let's get to it then."

She washed my hair first. There is something soothing about having someone wash your hair. I'd suggest even the men in the audience try it sometime. "Now, you want your hair cut in the same style?"

"Yes please."

"Ok, let's get it cut, and then we'll start with the dye."

I relaxed and let her cut my hair. She talked to me about numerous things and I responded where I felt comfortable. We finished with the cutting, and my head felt so different. I was used to keeping my hair a bit longer, but it was short in back, letting air cool my neck, where the front still framed my face. Using the wig as a guide, she mixed some batches of hair color. First, she ran a blond to bleach out some of the black. Then she started working on the pink. It was a heavy dye, but even so it required a number of applications before it got to the cotton candy I was used to.

When she was done, and I was looking in the mirror, there was a subtle difference to my hair. It was more me, even though the style was the same, and the color was close. I ran my fingers through my hair, and felt it along my scalp. I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach, and for a moment I thought I'd done something wrong.

"Something the matter, Desi? We need to change anything?"

That question was enough for me to get past myself. I smiled a huge and bright smile. "It's perfect. Just jitters is all."

"If you're sure?"

I kept my marker on me always. I'd been signing things yesterday I figured now was a good time to do another. ^#68Thanks for the hair, Desdemona.

I left a lipstick kiss with this one as well.

I put it as high as I could reach on the mirror, and put the kiss with me on tip toes. The stylist was smiling when I finished. "That's so cool. No one's ever signed my mirror before."

"Well, hope it brings you luck."

I went out and paid, and left a good tip. These ladies deserved it.

Molly put down her magazine and we went out to her car. We stopped by a grocery store on the way to her house, and I got the essentials: razors, shampoo, deodorant. I made sure they were all girl brands. On a whim I picked up a box of tampons. I checked the sizes and picked regular.

I paid for my purchases and we finished our drive to her house.

We pulled into the driveway and went inside.

"Hey Molly, Mom says you went to help out a. . .um. . ."

"You must be, Joe." I said putting out my hand.

He swallowed and nodded.

"I'm staying at your house today."

He smiled at me, and I knew this was going to be a fun night, for all definitions of the word.

So, I'm staying at the house of Urban Planning, a guard at the studio where I'm doing a screen test tomorrow. He knows my secret, but none of the rest of the family does. Tonight and tomorrow will be a real test of my acting skills as I try to pass myself in a family setting. . .Wait, what's that. The story's over for this week.

My phone begins to ring, and it's playing "My life with you is Hell."

Bruno the Bandit is copyright Ian McDonald. It is mentioned obliquely. The link to the specific story mentioned is http://www.brunothebandit.com/d/19990719.html. The idea of a CEO reading a web comic is not impossible, since I know a lot of people who read Bruno, some of them with multiple doctorate degrees. And User Friendly is read by thousands of IT professionals.