Chapter Five: A Walk Down the Red Carpet, Maybe
Amanda and Janet — driven by Mrs. Donatelli — arrived precisely at 1 p.m., enough time to get to Woodside Plaza, find the Fashion Girl store and find a place to watch the fashion show. Like Brian, as Bailey, both girls wore dresses that seemed to make them older in appearance; they could best be described as classy.

“We three look like we’re going to church,” Janet said, following that with a giggle.

“Yeah, not like ratty tweens,” Amanda agreed. “But look at how sharp Bailey looks.”

“You both also look hot,” Brian said.

The three got to the store with about 20 minutes to spare, and after a brief tour looking at outfits, found three seats together on folding chairs arranged in a makeshift manner around displayed tables and mannequins on both sides of a red carpet that stretched down the middle of the store.

“We’re lucky to get these,” Amanda observed. “Look at all the kids here.”

“I feel out of place,” Janet said, obviously referring to her tiny, slender body since all of the young ladies already seated (some with mothers) were all what could euphemistically be called “chubby.” In truth, a number were clearly obese; even the portly Amanda and the less chubby Brian looked slender in comparison.

“This is a show for plus-size girls, after all,” Brian said, with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You are out of place here, Janet, and we all hate you.”

The three girls giggled in unison.

It appeared there were about six different models showing off the outfits, and when each one marched down the red carpet, and narrator, a woman called “Miss Temple,” described how each outfit would help flatter the girl and hide her fat body.

“You know what’s wrong with all of this,” Brian said. “All of the models are skinny. They should use some of us fat girls to model them.”

“I know, anything would look good on those models. They’re all so skinny,” Amanda agreed.

After the show, the three spent another half hour scouring the racks of fashions, holding them up at times in front of themselves. At one point, Brian held up a navy blue halter style dress, looking in the mirror.

“I like this one,” he said.

“It would look great on you,” said Janet.

At that point, a middle-aged woman, dressed in a brown suit, with a light blue blouse and cravat, approached. Her name tag said simply “Clarice.”

“Would you like to try that on, young lady?” she addressed Brian.

“Can I?” he said, his voice had a girlish tone. Thankfully his voice hadn’t changed yet and still had a soprano’s range.

“Of course, the fitting rooms are in back on the left. If you need any help, I can assist.”

“No thanks, I can manage,” he said.

It was an exhilarating feeling. She thought he was a girl.

“Why don’t you have some chubby models wear those clothes?” he heard Amanda ask the woman as he walked away. He kept going, eager to see how he’d look.

The dress looked divine on Brian; the halter developed a v-neck that showed his cleavage and was belted at the high waist level, accentuating his hips with pleats of cloth. The dress was sleeveless, exposing his smooth, lovely arms.

“That was made for you, young lady,” Claire said, as he modeled it in front of a full-length mirror.

Brian blushed; the continual reference to “young lady” excited him, and he pirouetted about, as if her were modeling it.

“What is your name, dear?” the woman asked.

“Bri . . .ah . . . er . . .Bailey,” he said haltingly, afraid he may have blown his cover.

“That’s a lovely name,” she replied, obviously not aware of his almost goof.

“I can’t afford this dress, though, ma’am,” he said.

“That’s fine and you’re not obligated, dear,” Claire said.

“Thank you for letting me try it on.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet, but girls can try on dozens of clothes sometimes without buying anything. That’s why we’re here.”

Of course, Brian knew better, but he wondered what she would say if she knew he was a boy underneath. She wouldn’t be so nice then, he was sure. By then Amanda and Janet had gathered and they, too, were excited how lovely Brian looked in the dress.

“She could be one of the models,” Amanda said, directing her comments to the woman.

The woman looked at Amanda, as if considering how to reply. “You know, she could,” she said finally.

“Yes, she’d be great to help you sell those plus sizes,” Janet agreed. “You should use more full-figured girls to model.”

“You girls are right,” Claire said. “Now Bailey, would you walk out about ten steps and turn and come back to me. I want to see how you walk.”

“Me?” Brian asked.

“Who else? You’re so pretty in that dress, dear,” Claire said.

Brian looked scared; it seemed a strange request and he wondered if his walk might give away his real gender. He could see both Janet and Amanda wearing silly grins on their faces, and he felt like slapping them.

But, he did as ordered, walking slowly toward the front of the store, drawing the attention of several other shoppers, hoping he didn’t take too long a stride so as to betray his boy-self. It felt so good to be modeling the dress he had to admit to himself. When he finished, he got a few claps of approval from his friends and the store clerk.

“Bailey, you’re really a lovely girl,” Claire said. “Is your mother or father in the mall now?”

“What?” he asked.

“Are they here, Bailey?”

“Ah, no, mom’s at home. My father’s not around.”

Claire told the three girls that she was manager of the Teen Plus section that the Fashion Girl store was initiating, and the store was holding a competition to select a girl about 12 years old as the lead model of the new line of Teen Plus clothes. “You might be perfect for the job, dear,” Claire said.

“Yeah, she would be so perfect,” Amanda said, enthusiastically.

“Oh I couldn’t ma’am,” Brian said.

“Yes, she could,” Amanda said, gaining an enthusiastic nod from Janet.

“No,” Brian said, flatly, knowing full well that such a task could expose his real identity.

Amanda and Janet, however, insisted and said they’d urge that “Bailey” would tell her mom about the offer.

“It’s not automatic that you’ll get the assignment,” Claire said. “You’ll have to compete with several other girls for the job, but I think right now you’re the cream of the group, Bailey. You really are lovely, and you have such sweet complexion.”

*****
Brian, however, didn’t tell his mother that night, afraid to admit that not only had his growing femininity completely fooled everyone so far, but fearful of admitting that he found the idea so appealing. Never in his young life had he felt so special, and almost so perfect; and, it was as a girl. Not the boy he was supposed to be.

His heart pumped hard that night as he tried to get to sleep — a chore that was made impossible by the thoughts running through his head about how lovely he’d look walking down a runway in the latest of fashions, his soft, white body so luscious in the gowns that were created for him.

At school on Monday, Amanda and Janet pestered him, asking if he’d told his mother yet, and then, why not? “We could tell all our friends we knew this hot model,” Janet squealed.

Brian tried to ignore the questions, but they persisted. Maybe, just maybe, he’d tell his mother after all. What would it hurt? She already knew that he often felt more like a girl. But then what?

Meanwhile, his days in school were always a challenge; rarely could he avoid the teasing and taunting — some of it downright nasty — that sometimes he got directly, but more often he could feel as eyes bore down upon him in the hallways, seemingly always accompanied by whispering, followed often by giggles. He knew the words: “The fairy,” “The faggot,” “The sissy,” “Girly,” and on and on they went. His ineptness in gym class even made it worse, even Coach Andrews saying one day as he was bringing up the rear in a running exercise, “You run like a girl!”

The one activity he liked was band; he had been selected as the No. 2 saxophone player, a rarity for a 7th grader. He had been known, too, for letting out with a couple of jazz licks at times, bringing admiration from some of the other band members, but a scowl from the band director.

Mark Eaton, one of the few boys who had befriended him, was also in the class as No. 1 trumpet.

“Hey you came out with a couple of hot licks there, Brian,” Mark said as the class ended. “I told you were should jam together sometime.”

“Really? You’d wanna do that with me?”

“Why not?” he said, “You sound pretty hot on that sax.”

“Thanks,” Brian said, blushing, and silently cursing his quick tendency to blush.

“Wanna come to my house and jam some day after school?” Mark said, not noticing Brian’s redness.

“Can’t. I have to pick up my sister in grade school and be with her after school ‘til my mom gets home.”

“Oh, we still need to do it sometime.”

“I know, you can come to my house. The girls won’t mind.”

“Girls?”

“Yes, I kind of care for my sister and her friend. They’re both eight. And they’d get a kick out of it. Come on.”

Mark smiled. “Why not?”

And it was agreed they’d try it two days later on a Thursday.

*****
Tuesday night came, and Brian was tense, realizing that if he wanted to model as a girl he’d have to let Claire at the store know of his desires. That meant he had to tell his mother of the offer. He knew he should just forget the idea it was so outlandish, but it nagged at him. He did look so pretty in the outfit. It excited him as he thought about it. But, no, he couldn’t. Or, could he?

After school, he followed his usual routine of stopping by to pick up Marietta from her school, and leading home. Tamara would not be joining them that night, as her mother had arranged to pick the child up.

Brian felt tense, though, as he led his sister home, thinking all the time about how he should approach his mother about the offer for him to become a girl model; the thought of modeling pretty clothes sounded so captivating, thrilling him immensely. He made sure Marietta was occupied before preparing dinner for his mother.

He changed from his boy clothes, putting on a pair of beige Capri pants with a blue camisole over his bra. He loved how he looked in the outfit, since the pants seemed to provide him with such a roundish, curvy shape. His lower legs, he knew, were slender and lovely, since he had such narrow feet. He found a pair of navy blue ballet flats, and wrapped a scarf about his head.

“Bailey,” his sister wailed from her bedroom. “Bailey I need you. I can’t figure this homework out.”

Marietta knew that when Brian dressed in a girlish manner that she was to treat him as his older sister, Bailey. The younger girl had found great joy in having an “older sister” and the two seemed to get along better than ever as “sisters,” a situation that pleased their mother.

“You smell pretty, Bailey,” Marietta said, as he hovered close to her, examining her math homework assignment.

“Do you like that, Marietta? It’s the new bath soap mommy got for me. Would you like to use it?”

“Oh nooooooo,” she protested loudly. “That’s too girly for me, but it smells so nice on you.”

“Well, you’re a girl, too,” he said, smiling.

“Oh I know, but my friends would laugh at me for smelling so girly,” she said. “It would smell weird when I play soccer.”

He laughed, and put his arms around his sister, drawing her tightly to his own ample bosom. She squirmed in his arms, and squealed, “You’ll get that perfumey smell all over me.”

He kissed her lightly on the cheek; it was almost a motherly kiss, and released his hold.

“Now let’s solve that math problem,” he said.

*****
“Aren’t you pretty,” his mother said. She had arrived home from work, seeming more tired and harried than usual.

Brian did a dainty twist of his body, as if to model his outfit. He so loved wearing capris, which not only felt comfortable, but seemed to add to his girliness. He loved also seeking his slender ankles a feet protruding from the pant leg. Of course, he blushed with the compliment, causing his mother to let out with “wow.”

“I made shepherd’s pie for us tonight, mommy,” he said. “I hope you’ll like it.”

“I will, honey,” she said. “Just seeing you brings joy to your tired, old mother. It seems every day you’re getting prettier.”

“I feel prettier, too, mommy.”

“Well, dear, I hardly think I have a son anymore,” she said, taking her shoes off and sinking into a kitchen chair, seemingly in exhaustion.

“Is that OK mommy?” he asked, worried about whether his mother approved of his desire to look so much like a girl.

“On honey, it’s OK if that’s what you want, but you really are a boy, you know?”

“Oh mommy, I’m not,” he said. “I’m just a pretend boy. I don’t like being a boy.”

She reached over and pulled him to her, hugging him and whispering. “I know honey. We’ll see what the doctor has to say about all this when we see him.”

Just then, Marietta came bounding into the room.

“Hi mommy,” she boomed. “Doesn’t Bailey smell nice?”

“Yes, honey, she does,” his mother said. “Wouldn’t you like to smell so pretty too?”

“Ohhhhhhhh, yucky, that’s soooooooooo girly. I can’t smell like that,” she exclaimed.

Brian looked at his sister, and in a stern tone: “Did you finish your arithmetic?”

“Yes, you’re worse than mommy about homework,” she said, sticking her tongue out at Brian.

“I’m glad she is stern with you about that,” their mother said.

“Mommy, mommy,” Marietta said, obviously changing the subject.

“What?”

“They want Bailey to be a model,” the child burst out.

“A model? For what? Who does?” Amy Kendall turned her face to look at Brian.

Brian scowled at his sister and quickly asked: “How did you find out about that?”

“Oh mommy,” Marietta sing-songed an answer. “Bailey’s goin’ to be a girl model. Won’t she be pretty?”

“How did you hear that?” Brian persisted.

“I overheard you and Amanda talking on the phone,” she answered. “How weird, my sister a model.”

“Now what’s all this about?” his mother demanded.

Brian explained the situation to his mother, who had banished Marietta from the room, so the two could talk privately. “And no listening in, Marietta. That’s naughty.”

“I don’t know about this,” his mother said when he had finished. “I’m not sure this is right for you.”

“But, mommy, they pay lots of money for models,” he said. “You should see how pretty I looked in some of the dresses.”

“What? When did you try them on?”

“When Amanda and Janet and I went shopping. I dressed as Bailey at Amanda’s house,” he confessed.

“Oh darling? Who else knows about this?” she asked.

“Only Janet and Amanda. Even the store people thought I was a girl. It was so cool, mommy. And, they need more plus-size teen girls who are pretty, Miss Claire told me. She’s eager to hire me.”

“Oh my God,” Amy said, putting her hand to her head. “What have I let happen? I can’t let you do this, Brian.”

“But, mommy, please,” he said. “Nobody will know.”

“No, Brian, please don’t push on this,” she said. “You can’t do this, honey. You might get hurt.”

“How, she just thinks I’m a kinda fat girl,” he said, blushing as he reflected on his own characterization of himself.

He folded his arms across his breasts, his soft arms flattening out as he pressed them against the two mounds of flesh.

Amy Kendall shook her head, worrying about where her son was going to end up. Brian began to cry; he couldn’t hold back, his brief moments of happiness as a girl shattered by his mother’s refusal to accept that reality.

“At least call Miss Claire at the store,” he said. “See what she says.”

Amy Kendall agreed to do that. “But remember, Brian,” she said, still using his boy’s name. “I’m going to tell her the whole story so she knows you’re a boy. It’s only fair to her.”

*****
Brian knew his mother was right; Miss Claire certainly should know the truth about his gender. And, the more he thought about it, the more he realized it would likely have been revealed anyway since the store might need his birth certificate and social security number.

In bed that night, he thought about how quickly he was beginning to enjoy the feeling that he was a girl; he was pleased to see how many people already knew him only as a girl, like Miss Claire and strangers who may have seen him at the mall. Even when he was dressed in jeans and other more typical boy clothes, he found himself being addressed quite often as “young lady” or “miss” by store clerks or others. He knew his hair — as long as it was — might prove to be a clue, but then many boys had even longer hair and were not mistaken for girls. It could also be his body, his relatively slim shoulders and wide hips, he thought.

“You walk like a girl,” one of the boys in school chided him one day, giving him a clue to the fact that his mannerisms had become girlish; he walked with his back straight, his steps short and almost dainty as his arms moved constantly.

For a while, he tried to change his movements, but soon unconsciously found himself back with his dainty movements.

Brian steered clear of other boys in school, gravitating to the group of girls that had accepted him. Besides Amanda and Janet, three of four others were usually in the group, gathered around the school doors at lunch breaks or before and after school to gossip, giggle and ogle boys.

In these groups, Brian often found himself the center of attention, using the situation to express himself in his high, lyrical voice on matters of girl fashions, makeup and hairdos. “Oh Brian, what do you think of that girl?” they’d ask about a passing girl.

“Oh I wouldn’t be seen dead in THAT outfit,” he’d state in an exaggerated, effeminate manner, and the girls would giggle.

These groups, while lots of fun, had an ugly side. Many of the boys, seeing their girl friends enamored by this “sissy boy,” often found ways to humiliate and torment Brian, either by sending nasty slurs or even pushing him in the hallways. Brian tried to avoid them, often walking with groups of girls as protection. Physically, he knew he could never fight back; he just wasn’t strong enough.

As he tried to get to sleep that night, he contemplated modeling clothes, and all the teasing and torment was forgotten as he reveled in being a girl. He hoped his mother would agree to the modeling job. It was during these musings, which excited him and kept him awake, that he soon found his thoughts moving ahead in his life by a few years to when he would be going to the prom as Bailey, wearing a light blue gown with a ruffled bodice, exposing a sweet cleavage and his soft round shoulders. He pictured Bailey in the Grand March on the arm of the handsomest boy in the ballroom — it was Mark Eaton, his square-jawed visage shining brightly and proudly in the realization that he was escorting the loveliest girl on the floor. Would that it ever happen?

*****
“Well, honey, if you still think you want to model for the Fashion Girl dress shop, you’ll have your chance,” his mother told him the next night when she returned home from work.

“You called her, mom?” he asked excitedly. He was dressed in his tight-fitting girl jeans, a cami with a built-in bra and white running shoes. His hair was tied in a bun at the back.

“Yes, dear, I did, and I told her everything, and she still wants you to audition for the designer and photographer.”

“Really? She knows all about me and still wants me?”

“Yes, honey, they’ve used men before to model hosiery, and this would be something new for them,” his mother said. “But she felt you really looked so good in their outfits, and that you’d be perfect to show how their outfits could make chubby girls look pretty. She thinks, if you’re chosen, you’d help their new line of clothes get marketed.”

Brian scowled at the term “chubby,” but in fairness it did describe his appearance aptly. His new exercise routine with Amanda had firmed his body a bit and seemed to reduce his tummy, but he still had that soft, big girl appearance.

His mother obviously sensed his dislike of the term, and quickly said: “Honey, it’s your cute chubbiness that makes you so appealing, so enjoy it.”

“Well, I’m trying to lose weight, mom,” he said defensively.

“And you’re doing a good job at it Bailey, but I wouldn’t worry too much about it. After all you’ll be modeling ‘plus’ size outfits.”

“Oh mommy,” he said, his voice rising in excitement. “I’m so happy. Thank you. Thank you.”

“We’ll be auditioning next Wednesday after school, dear,” she announced. “I’ll have to take off work that afternoon, since I’ll have to take you there and be there during the filming, since you’re so young.”

Brian hugged and kissed his mother. It seemed like a dream coming true, being a model for girl clothes. Yet, it scared him: what would happen if other people found out? How could he survive at school, with his friends, with his cousins and others? Would he be the laughingstock, the target of abuse? It was definitely a possibility, but he knew he must move ahead as Bailey Kendall.