Undercover Girl – Chapter 23
By Katherine Day

Chapter Twenty-Three – Becoming Trudy

Five months later – in early April – she was returned to the city to give testimony to the Federal Grand Jury. She was registered as Trudy Selery in an off-the-beaten-track motel where she stayed with U.S. Marshals Feld and Jimenez. They were in adjoining motel rooms. The motel had all the markings of having been built in the 1950s, but it was clean and solidly constructed. A diner was attached to the motel. The food there was simple and unadorned but well-prepared and the place was popular with residents of the neighborhood.

Trudy Selery looked nothing like Miranda Whiting, except in the fact that both were beautiful women. Miranda’s once flowing brown hair had been turned into a dirty blond shade and was trimmed short and fixed into a boyish style. While Miranda dressed stylishly and wore bright colors, Trudy wore drab, almost ugly clothing, favoring slacks instead of skirts and rarely displaying her lovely legs.

She had made some acquaintances at her new workplace, even though she was careful not to divulge her real reason for taking employment at the agency. One of them, the agency’s main receptionist, Carrie Jamison, repeatedly told her that Trudy should reveal her beauty, recommending that she wear more revealing and colorful outfits and begin using additional makeup.

Trudy always thanked her for the advice, most of which she agreed with. As Miranda, she loved lovely, colorful clothing, but she knew that she needed to stay undercover and to remain a “plain Jane” so as not to attract attention. Instead, she would reply to Carrie that “I’m a shy girl, Carrie, and I’m more comfortable the way I am.”

“I’m sure your fiancé would love to see you in pretty clothes. He’d really be proud to be with you,” Carrie replied, referring to the young man who Miranda had created to ward off any other advances from other men.

“I suppose, but thank you, Carrie.”

“You know that I see that really you could be the most beautiful woman in this whole building if you’d try.”

This comment caused Trudy (i.e. Miranda) to blush.

For her grand jury testimony, she dressed simply and colorlessly. She wore a brown pleated knee-length skirt, a beige blouse and a grey cardigan sweater. She wore coffee-colored stockings and brown pumps with thick, schoolmarm heels.

“We need to indicate to the jurors that beneath your plain exterior lies an intelligent, sensible young woman, but also a woman who could indeed be attractive and even sexy,” said the U.S. attorney who quizzed her before the grand jury appearance.

*****
Transcript from U.S. Federal Court Grand Jury, April 18, 2017, convened by order of U.S. Judge Henry Simonson.

(Grand Jury transcripts are kept secret. This was smuggled out.)

Prosecutor Stanley Adams: Thank you Judge Simonson and I want to welcome and thank the jurors here today for their public service. I know this task can inconvenience and burden all of you by interrupting the normal flow of your lives. Recognize it, however, as more than an obligation but as a privilege to serve your community. We hope that our nation’s justice system is the fairest and most democratic in the world and it’s through sacrifices like you’re all making that serve to keep it that way. Thank you very much.

The first witness today will not be identified by her real name, but will be called Miss Jane Doe. Testimony later will explain why her identity will remain secret.

[The witness was sworn in.]

Miss Doe: Yes sir.

Adams: Miss Doe, thank you for appearing as a witness. I know you’re taking part in this process at a risk to yourself. Can you explain that?

Doe: Yes sir. I’m in the witness protection program by the U.S. Marshals. They think my life is in danger.

Adams: Do you believe your life is in danger?

Doe: I believe I’ve been under surveillance for nearly a year now. I’ve seen men sitting in cars outside my window and I’ve been followed and warned to keep my mouth shut. I sneaked out of my apartment with the help of the police and was living with a female police officer until I was placed in witness protection.

Adams: Thank you, Miss Doe. I know it must be most stressing for you.

Doe: Yes sir, but the marshals have been kind and helpful and made my life easier than it might have been. I’m grateful.

Adams: Now, Miss Doe, in examining your birth certificate I see you were identified there as male. Is that correct?

Doe: Yes sir.

Adams: But you’re here as a young woman, right?

Doe: Let me explain.

Adams: We’re all waiting.

Doe: Sir, I was born a boy, but I seemed always to be drawn to girl things, like dolls and such. And it seems I always wondered what it was like to be a girl. Finally, after I got my first professional job as a social worker where most of my co-workers were women, I finally realized I truly was a woman. I just fit in, sir, so recently I have begun my transition.

Adams: Transition? From male to female?

Doe: Yes sir.

Question from Juror #14: Is she or he – whatever – a drag queen?

Adams: Thank you juror for the question. What would you call yourself, Miss Doe?

Doe: A woman.

Adams: Wouldn’t you more correctly be called transgender or transwoman?

Doe: Others might call me that. I am a woman, sir.

Question from Juror #21: What does this have to do with this case, Mr. Adams?

Adams: You’ll see, since it does have relevance to the facts that she’ll testify to.

Question from Juror #7: Can I have her phone number?

(Laughter)

Judge: Juror #7. I must warn you and the others here that this is a serious procedure and while humor might have its place in some proceedings it is not here. Even though this is more informal than a courtroom, we must still retain judicial decorum.

Juror #7: I’m sorry judge. I apologize.

Adams: Thank you, judge, but Juror #7 does have a relevant observation. Obviously, Juror #7 considers Miss Doe to be an attractive young woman, maybe even one he’d like to date. Miss Doe, would you say you’re a beautiful woman?

Doe: That’s not for me to say sir.

Adams: I merely suggest the jurors to make their own judgment on that, but I believe all of us in this room find it hard to believe you once were a boy.

(Several pages of testimony followed in which Miranda discussed her upbringing, her education and other matters in her life. She then described how she met Jefferson Turner, referred to only by a pseudonym – Jason. She fully described her venture as a teenage prostitute, being picked up and spirited away to the Browning mansion in Madison Heights. The transcript continues below.)

Adams: Please describe what occurred when the car stopped and you were led out of the it. Please tell us what you observed.

Doe: Since it was nighttime, I couldn’t see exactly where we were, but there were driveway lights on and I could see what appeared to be a large, older house. What you might call a mansion. You know, where rich people live. It seemed like a vine-covered castle and it had what I might call turrets. It was kind of distinctive. It was on a large lot, with woods around it. I know we drove through some gates.

Adams: Miss Doe, I will be showing a picture on the screen of a house and I want you to tell me whether you recognize it as the house into which you were led on that night of Oct. 16, 2015.

(Projector is turned on and screen shows photo of house, identified as Exh. 12.)

Doe: Yes sir, it appears to be the same house.

Adams: I want you to be sure. Not just that it appears as the same house.

Doe: Well, I can’t say for sure. But it has the same details I remember from that night. If it isn’t the same house, it’s one just like it.

Adams: Thank you. I’d like to inform the jurors that the photo shown as Exhibit 12 is that of the home of Paul Browning, Sr. of Madison Heights.

(Miranda had been tense and uneasy as she began her testimony, but as the morning dragged on she became more comfortable. Adams treated her gently, as a prosecutor would do in a Grand Jury hearing where there is no opposing attorney and his only goal is to gain a ruling that there was probable cause that a crime had occurred and that the perpetrators could be properly indicted. Testimony continued.)

Adams: Now, Miss Doe, I will put several slides on the screen and ask you to tell me if you recognize anyone. Are you ready?

Doe: Yes.

(A court clerk posted several slides each showing three head shots of men. When the third set was put up on the screen.)

Doe: That one, the man in the middle.

Adams: Let the jurors know that Miss Doe has identified photo number eight. And where did you see this man.

Doe: He was in the car that picked me up off the street. Actually, he was nice to me. That other two men were kind of mean.

Adams: He was nice, but he still wouldn’t let you leave, right?

Doe: Yes sir. He was big and strong. But I liked him. He seemed sympathetic.

(The court clerk continued showing slides of head shots of men, from which Miranda identified one of the other two men in the car and finally she was shown a set of head shots of women.)

Doe: I know that woman, the one on the right.

Adams: Jurors, Miss Doe has recognized the woman in photo number thirty-three. How do you know her?

Doe: She was the woman who fixed my makeup and groomed me to meet the man I was supposed to see. They called her Kerry, but I don’t think that was her real name. She was nice, too, but she scolded me for being on the streets. Told me it was a rough life.

Adams: You liked her as well, I guess.

Doe: Yes sir.

(More slides were shown of men until Miranda identified photo number fifty-four.)

Doe: That man. He was creepy. He talked nice, but there was something weird about him. I was supposed to have sex with him. The thought of that made me want to vomit.

Adams: What did he do to make you feel that way?

Doe: Well, it’s hard to say. One thing I do remember is that just when I got in there he asked the woman called Kerry about whether something was ready. I wasn’t sure what he meant at first but then he added something making sure it was focused this time. Yes, that’s what he said, “Make sure it’s focused this time.” I remember those words now.

Adams: You mean like they were taking pictures.

Doe: Yes sir. That’s really creepy, isn’t it, sir?

Adams: That’s for the jurors to decide, miss. Was there anything else that would lead you to believe they were photographing the scene? Anything hanging on the walls or suspicious holes in the wall. Anything at all that might strike you as odd?

Doe: It’s was hard to see into the corners of the room, but I did see the man position me and himself, like we were posing. At one time, he told me to stand up and walk back and forth, like I was in a fashion show. You know, like I had to sway my hips.

Adams: Go on.

Doe: He actually had a red carpet in the room and I had to walk on that. He began to shake and moan almost like he was in pain and then he’d scream out. Then, he’d grow quiet and just pant, like he was out of breath.

Adams: Was he masturbating, Miss Doe?

Doe: It sounded like it, but he had spotlights on me all the time making it hard for me to see him. Then he told me to come to him and then they turned the spotlights off and I could see he was now totally nude. He was kind of chubby, sir, and he held a towel in his hand. He told me to kneel before him. I didn’t want to and said, ‘no.’

Adams: What did he do?

Doe: (Beginning to cry)

Adams: Take your time, dear. I know this may be hard and unpleasant, but it’s important to the case.

(Doe is given several tissues. She dried her eyes.)

Doe: I’m sorry for that. Well, he had a whip in his hands and he held it up and whipped it through the air. So, I did what he said, sir. I knelt before him and cleaned him up.

Adams: With the towel?

Doe: First with my tongue. I had to lick his thighs and his . . . ah . . . penis. And then he pushed my head down into his crotch area and it smelled sort of bad. It was awful.

Adams: I think we have enough now about that. Now, do you think he was filming that?

Doe: I suppose.

(Trudy was on the stand for two more hours before she was released into the custody of Harry Feld and Maria Jimenez and returned to the farmhouse where she was held in protective custody.)

*****
“Do you think this will end soon, now that I’ve testified? When can I return to my old life?” Trudy asked Harry Feld a few nights later.

“Hard to say, Trudy,” he answered honestly.

“I can’t wait to see Amy,” she said, and then added as if an after-thought, “or my mother.”

Feld smiled. The two sat at the kitchen table of the old farmhouse in which Trudy had been housed during the period of time in protective custody. She had been spirited to this location outside of the mid-sized Midwestern city of Gossen seven months earlier under the federal witness protection program. Feld and Marshal Jimenez, a female in her early thirties, had served as Trudy’s guards, sharing shifts with asleep and personal time for the entire period, while substitutes came in periodically to spell the two to return for week-long vacation periods to their homes.

It was only natural that Trudy came to know the two marshals fairly intimately during their months together. At first, both had acted professionally and rarely engaged in personal discussions. Trudy first learned about Feld, as he was more garrulous. He had been married nearly thirty years to a school teacher in a city some four hours away; the couple had two grown children, now out of the house.

He eventually unloaded information about his family, about his courtship with his wife, having met her at a party after a football game while in college. They married right out of college and quickly had the two children while Feld had spent one season with the Detroit Lions, playing only sparingly, following that with four years in the Army. Upon discharge, he soon learned that his degree in history was hardly an attractive quality in hunting for a job. He finally answered an advertisement to join the U.S. marshal’s office. For the couple, it meant many weeks of separation during his long career.

“That must have been hard for you two,” Trudy commiserated.

“It was, particularly when the kids were young. My wife was a trouper, though. I never heard her complain.”

“She sounds wonderful, Harry.”

“She is.”

Trudy looked admiringly at the older man. She saw tears flow down his face and she leaned over to kiss him.

Marshal Feld looked up at her and smile. “That was sweet of you.”

“I’m sorry,” Trudy said. “I shouldn’t have done that, but I wanted to comfort you.”

Eventually, Trudy and Marshal Jimenez became more talkative; yet, they failed to build the same close relationship she enjoyed with Harry Feld. Nonetheless, the three occupants of the farmhouse that served as their “safe house” settled into a pleasant, friendly routine, with Trudy and Harry leaving each weekday for their jobs at the agency, while Maria remained in the house. Even though she was still considered temporary in her job, Trudy found herself becoming merely one of the women in the office. She fought off her own inclination to become close and open with people and remained a friendly but somewhat aloof co-worker. She had to avoid getting into close relations with anyone, lest she expose her “witness protection” status.

*****
In August, nearly five months after Trudy’s testimony, the indictment and arrests of six persons in a human trafficking ring were announced. Channel Four News showed U.S. Attorney Nelson Cunningham with Assistant Attorney General Stanley Adams discussing the arrests from a podium set up before the city’s Federal Courthouse. The newscast cut away to show scenes of several handcuffed men being led by a phalanx of law enforcement officers; all of the arrested men held their heads down to avoid the cameras but Trudy was sure she recognized the chubby man who had subjected her. He was identified as Paul Browning Jr., age thirty-five of Madison Heights, and an heir to the Browning Industries fortune.

“This crime syndicate is involved in many areas, even beyond the human trafficking charges that have brought about these arrests today,” U.S. Atty. Cunningham intoned on the screen. “We would like to acknowledge and praise several citizens who played key roles in providing the evidence that has led to these arrests. For now, their identities will remain secret for their own protection. Several of them put their lives on the line and we salute them.”

“Hurray!” yelled Harry. “He means you, Trudy.”

The two marshals and Trudy watched the evening newscast in the living room, while they awaited their evening dinner. Trudy had fashioned a meatloaf that was baking in the kitchen. She had created her own recipe that kept it moist and a bit tangy and became pleased when Harry Feld announced it was “my favorite.”

“Does that mean I can resume my life?” Trudy asked.

“I doubt it, dear,” Maria Jimenez said. “You may have to testify in court, yet.”

Trudy began to cry; she hadn’t seen or communicated with Amy for nearly a year; the same with her mother. She knew Amy must have forgotten her and found someone else.

“You’ll be free soon,” Marshal Jimenez said, hugging Trudy. It was the female marshal’s first showing of warmth and it made Trudy cry even harder as she melted into the firm, comforting grasp of Maria Jimenez.

*****
Often at night, Trudy cried herself to sleep. Her love for Amy grew stronger; even though she knew her love for the older woman might be never requited. Occasionally, Trudy’s thoughts would stray to Emery Harrington and wondered whether he still thought of her and cared for her. For a time, when she first became involved in the Jefferson Turner case, Trudy had a crush on the assistant district attorney and she began to wonder whether her future would include a woman (Amy) or a man (Emery).

As the months in protective custody continued through the summer, Trudy had plenty of time to think about her life. Several facts became clear: First, she was a woman and would remain one until her death, and secondly, she wanted to be with Amy, to be in the comfort of her arms. She loved the gentleness of Amy, the smooth soft feeling of the other woman’s flesh and the fullness of her marvelous lips. She had never been in bed with Emery, and she was frightened of being with a man, even though she knew Emery to be a kind and gentle man. Also, she wondered, could she satisfy a man as he would need to be?

Trudy’s sobs grew intense one Thursday night in August; the evening had cooled down and she had shut down the window air conditioner in the house, opting to welcome in the chilly evening breeze through one of the two windows in her bedroom on the second floor of the old farmhouse.

The door to her room opened.

“Are you all right, Trudy?” It was Maria Jimenez.

“I’m . . . OK,” Trudy said, her voice breaking through the sobs.

“You don’t sound OK,” Maria said gently. She moved next to Trudy and sat on the side of her bed, putting her hand on Trudy’s forehead.

“It’s just . . . that . . . I’m missing Amy. I know she’s not waiting for me.”

“You don’t know that, dear.”

After Trudy finally quelled her crying, she asked, “Why would she wait for me? She’s got her own life to lead. I’m going to be doomed to be in custody forever.”

“Not anything’s forever, dear,” Maria said, moving onto the bed to lay next to Trudy and bring her into her arms.

“That feels so good. Thank you.”

“Now just go to sleep, dear Trudy,” Maria said, holding her tightly.

That night, Trudy dreamed she was again in the arms of Amy. Maria wore shorts and a loose t-shirt – the same as Amy would – and the marshal had the same firm, smooth body. It was a dream that ended too soon.

*****
She awoke the next morning to a chilly room; a cold front had moved in bringing brisk winds from the northwest, dumping temperatures some twenty degrees below normal for an August day. Trudy suddenly felt the chill and moved her arm to look for the warm body that had comforted her last night. She was alone in bed. Suddenly a shiver went through her as she wondered whether she and Maria had sex? Hadn’t she dreamed of having sex? But wasn’t that with Amy? No, how could it be? Oh, my God? Did I do something wrong?

Maria Jimenez was preparing pancakes the next morning when Trudy finally padded into the kitchen, cuddled up in a terry cloth robe and wearing fluffy pink slippers.

“Hope you’re feeling better this morning,” Maria asked.

“Yes, I am, thank you.”

“Good. You sounded pretty bad last night.”

“I’m sorry for that. I’m such a weakling, crying at the drop of a hat.”

“You’re no weakling, Trudy,” Maria said, turning from the stove. “You’ve been terribly brave through all this. And, it’s only natural after all these months for you to break down.”

Maria brought over a stack of pancakes, filled the coffee cups of both and sat down.

“You make the lightest pancakes ever,” Trudy said. “So good.”

“Not as good as Harry’s,” she quipped.

“True, his are the greatest, but where is he?”

“He got up early and has gone to town to pick up some plumbing supplies. You know, to fix that leak in the shower.”

Trudy ate her pancakes, surprised that she was hungry enough to down four of them. So much for her figure, but then the fact was that she had lost weight while in custody, likely due to stress that seemed to curb her eating.

*****
Autumn came and went, and Trudy’s hopes of returning home by Christmas were soon dashed. Instead, she was given a chance to make two video recordings, with one being sent to Amy and the other to her mother. Harry and Maria heavily edited them to assure that Trudy’s identity would continue to be a mystery. Each one was different, of course, since she had to try hard to look masculine in the video to her mother, chagrined and angered with herself since she had yet to reveal her transition.

Harry tried hard to coach her to be less feminine, and largely succeeded. He provided a flannel shirt to Trudy and Maria tied his hair in somewhat masculine ponytail; by and large, she succeeded in passing herself off as a young man, even one whose mannerisms had become noticeably effeminate.

The message to Amy was easier to manage for Trudy.

“Amy, I want you to know that I think of you constantly and miss you terribly,” she began, trying to make her voice strong, though she did feel it began to crack a bit. “But, I would understand if you’ve forgotten me. I’ve been gone a year by now and I have no idea if I’ll ever be able to resume my old life. I’m not sure when I’ll be free again and will be able to see you. So, if you’ve gone on with your life and found someone else, I understand.

“I miss you so much and want to feel you snuggled up against me again. Perhaps it’s our fate to be forever separated. It’s all my fault for getting involved in this, but I felt I could do something for Jefferson and boys like him. Please forgive me. I feel . . . (Trudy began sobbing).”

Eventually, Trudy composed herself and finished the short video by telling Amy she was safe and comfortable and that she had a good job. She apologized for not being able to tell her more but assured that sometime in the future she’d explain the whole thing.

“I love you, Amy,” she said, finishing the video by blowing her friend a kiss.

After reverting to her boy mode, she began her video to her mother:

“Mom, I’m so sorry that I can’t visit you. I know that the U. S. Marshal’s office has told you of my situation, though not all. I will miss you at Christmas. I will never forget the nice tree we always had in our house. Never a fake one. Remember how we used to go out to that tree farm near Prairie du Chien and cut one every year. Remember how we froze every year, but you always wanted us to have a fresh tree. Are you going to have one this year?

“Mom, you were always good to me. You tolerated the weird stuff I did, even when I wanted you to buy me a Barbie Doll when I turned ten. You told me boys don’t get Barbie, but I insisted. I told you there was nothing wrong with a boy having a Barbie and you got me Barbie and some clothes for her. I loved that doll. I loved you for that. Of course, we didn’t tell anybody else I played with Barbie, did we?

“I’m very safe here and living comfortably. I have a nice job and work with nice people and I hope this will end soon and I can see you. I love you, mom, and Merry Christmas.”

Several days before Christmas, Harry Feld returned from his daily trip to the postoffice where they had set up a postal box to receive mail.

“I’ve got a flash drive here, Trudy,” he said. “It’s from both your friend Amy and your mother.”

“Really?” she asked, her face lighting up. “What a great Christmas present!”

She looked at the tape in private. Her mother said little, since she cried through most of it as she stressed her love for her son, calling him “such a lovely boy.” Amy’s message was fairly matter-of-fact, and she said she “loved Miranda” and that she had no new lovers. She was now director of the agency, having replaced Hector Rodriguez who had been fired and arrested for fraud because of his dishonesty in setting up programs so that Paul Browning, Jr. could be afforded a regular supply of young boys for his sex trafficking scheme.

Trudy looked at Amy’s tape four times, seeking to find a hint at the woman’s feelings. Amy said she loved Miranda (Amy knew nothing of Trudy), but did she mean it? She wasn’t sure that Amy would love Trudy Selery.

*****
One Year and One Month Later

It was as if Marcus Whiting (a/k/a Miranda Whiting and Trudy Selery) had vanished off the face of the earth. Amy Dacosta no longer had contact with her; the marshals who had arranged the two to communicate told her that Ms. Whiting had been moved to a new location and given a new identity, both to be kept secret.

“But, I know she cares for me and I miss her so much,” she pleaded with the stone-faced marshal she visited.

“Do you care whether Ms. Whiting stays alive, Ms. Dacosta?”

It had been a blunt question of which there could be but one answer. No amount of pleading, of pledging her own word to keep Miranda’s identity and location a secret could move the marshal. That night and for many nights later, Amy Dacosta cried herself to sleep; in her mind, she worried about the fate of her friend. She doubted Miranda had the strength to survive due to her fragility. She remembered how the slender, soft girl would bury herself and surrender into Amy’s more sturdy body.

So, it was that Amy Dacosta dedicated herself to her job as the new executive director of Opportunities, Inc., where she worked day-and-night to restore the agency’s trust after Rodriguez’s perfidy. She won several new grants, including one to monitor the state’s child protection system to assure the safety of the children, some of which had been compromised in the trafficking scandal. No longer did she handle cases, but she kept a special interest on two of the cases, that of Jefferson Turner and LaGrande Jackson Marquis, both of whom were nearing their eighteenth birthdays and would be “aging out” of foster care. She knew it would be a fearsome time for the two youth, since they would literally be thrown out on the street to fend for themselves without support from the state.

Amy, however, had faith in the two, due principally to the influence of Marcus Whiting. Both were to graduate from the High School for the Arts with honors; Turner who had become Jasmine Turner in her senior year was given a partial scholarship at the State University in sociology in hopes of becoming a social worker, mimicking Miranda (as Jasmine now referred to her). LaGrande had shown skill as jazz saxophonist and himself was looking forward to attending college to further his musical skills.

LaGrande and Jasmine became tight friends, possibly even lovers, though Amy wasn’t sure about that. They often were seen together holding hands and they made a charming young couple. Both boys often asked about Miranda, as they now both knew her. Sadly, Amy could tell them nothing other than she had been told that Miranda was in a safe place and leading a good life.

“She taught me to believe in myself,” Jasmine told Amy during one of her frequent visits to his foster home.

“Miranda’s a remarkable woman,” Amy agreed.

“I thought I was a worthless piece of shit, but it was only her faith in me and in believing me when I was picked up by that Browning crew that saved me, I think.”

“Jasmine, you’re right. There’ll never be another young woman like her.”

“You love her, don’t you, Miss Dacosta?” Jasmine asked.

“Forever and forever, Jasmine dear.”
(To Be Continued)