Lost and Found
By Missy Crystal

David Benton's parents couldn't understand his wanting to be a girl and sent him to a psychologist for behavior modification. They thought it was working, but, when David turned eighteen, he left home and they haven't heard from him for five years. Now Mrs. Benton has terminal cancer and desperately wants to be reunited with her son. Private Investigator Jack Blaine has been hired to locate him. What will he find?

It started out like any other day. I was in my office finishing up a report for an attorney who had hired me to shadow his client's husband. The photos I took of him going into a motel with his secretary and a photocopy of the registration and credit card slip, which the desk clerk was happy to give me for twenty bucks, would get the wife a nice big settlement when she divorced him. The phone rang.

"Hello, Jack Blaine Investigations. This is Jack Blaine."

"Mr. Blaine, this is Dr. Charles Benton," the caller introduced himself. "I'd like to hire you to find my son David. He left home about five years ago and I need to get in touch with him."

"My rate is $500 a day plus expenses, Dr. Benton."

Damn, I thought to myself, the guy's a doctor, not a cheap-ass lawyer. He's probably loaded. I should have said $1,000 a day. He'd probably have paid it. Well, too late now.

"I am pretty busy, but I could work you in," I promoted myself. "Why don't you come down to my office this afternoon and we can talk about it. Do you have the address?"

He read the address from the phone book.

"Yes, right. How about one o'clock?"

He agreed.

"Bring any information you have. You know, physical description, height, weight, eye and hair color, distinguishing marks or scars, and photos, as many recent photos as you can find. Any personal information he left behind too, passport, driver's license, credit cards, address book, letters, diary, and, oh, if he left a computer or cell phone, those are really helpful."

He would bring what he had.

"Good, I'll see you this afternoon."

I hung up, finished writing the report, made up a bill, put them in a manila envelope, added postage and stuck it on top of my coat, so I wouldn't forget to mail it. It was only eleven o'clock, so I had time to go out and get a cup of coffee and a sandwich. I ate a leisurely lunch at the café across the street, flirted with the cute blonde waitress, not that it ever did any good, she had a boyfriend, and got back to my office about twelve thirty. I neatened up my desk and waited for Dr. Benton.

At precisely one o'clock the office door opened. A well dressed man entered carrying an expensive looking leather briefcase. Damn, I should have told him $1,000.00 a day. He would have paid it. You’re an idiot. I stood up and came around the desk. He crossed the room and stopped in front of me.

"Mr. Blaine, I am Dr. Benton," he formally introduced himself, shifting the briefcase to his left hand and extended his right hand.

I took the hand he offered, shook it, directed him to a chair and returned to sit behind my desk. He put the briefcase on the floor next to him.

"I understand you want me to find your son, is that correct, Dr. Benton."

"Yes, Mr. Blaine. Should it be Detective Blaine? I have no experience in dealing with people like you."

"Mister works. Technically, I'm not a detective. They're police officers who investigate crimes. I'm a licensed private investigator."

"I suppose you want to know about David," he got right to the point.

"The more information you give me, the more likely it is that I will be able to locate him. First off, have you filed a missing person report with the police? They're the ones who handle this type of case initially."

"At my wife's insistence, I tried to report David missing a few years ago, when it became clear that he wasn't coming home. The police said that if he was an adult and left voluntarily, they could not do anything, unless I suspected that he was the victim of a crime, such as being abducted or murdered."

"Okay, so I gather that your son was an adult and that he left home voluntarily, correct?"

"Correct. David graduated from high school five years ago. We thought that his nonsense about wanting to be a girl was over, that the therapy had worked and that he would be going to college; we woke up one morning and he was gone. Just like that. My wife cried for days. She blames me. She thinks that it was my fault for being so hard on him. It was for his own good," Dr. Benton insisted defensively. "He was a bright boy. He did well in school. He had a future. I wasn't going to let him throw it away."

"Hold on, Dr. Benton. You said you son was missing," emphasizing 'son'. "What's this about a girl?"

"The term the psychologist used was 'transgendered,' Mr. Blaine. My wife caught him dressing up in her clothes when he was younger. I put an end to that. At least I thought I did."

"Is that why he left home, Dr. Benton.?" I conjectured.

"I don't know."

"Did he leave a note?"

"No."

"Was there a friend or relative he might have been close to and he went to live with them?"

"I have a brother. I haven't seen him in years. We don't get along. David wouldn't have gone there. Phyllis, my wife, has two sisters, but David hasn't contacted them. My parents are both deceased. Phyllis's parents are retired and live in Florida. They haven't heard from David either."

"Does David have any brothers or sisters or a close friend? Maybe he confided in one of them."

"David is an only child. I should have seen this coming and sent him to military school," Dr. Benton digressed. "They would have made a man out of him. I had the catalogs, but my wife was against it. You know women." He shook his head. Returning to my question, Dr. Benton went on, "after David left we spoke to his teachers and his classmates, but he kept to himself."

"You mentioned that David was seeing a psychologist for his problem with dressing up in women's clothes. What did he, was it a man, have to tell you?"

"Yes, a male psychologist, Dr. George Miller. Unfortunately, David waited to leave until he turned eighteen, so Doctor Miller could not disclose any information without David's permission, not that I believe he would have anyway. I paid him tens of thousands of dollars, because our health insurance wouldn't cover his controversial therapy. He assured us that it works and I doubt he would say anything to contradict the success of his program," Dr. Benton accused him.

Reaching down, Dr. Benton picked up the briefcase and opened it, removing some papers and a videotape.

"I wrote down his physical description, here are some pictures of David which Phyllis took about a month before he left, at his graduation, and here's a videotape of the ceremony."

"Do you mind if I look at the video while you're here. It would be helpful, if I have any questions about what I see."

Dr. Benton looked at his watch.

"Go ahead. It's not that long," Dr. Benton conceded, mistaking my question to be about his schedule.

I had a set-up I used for reviewing surveillance videos. I put in the cassette and hit the play button. The video started. You could hear voices in the background and see an empty stage. The scene panned to a long shot of a group of kids standing around in black caps and grounds. The music started, they marched towards the stage and filed into seats. There was a long boring address, which I fast forwarded through, and then they went up to get their diplomas. There were congratulatory shouts and applause for most of them. From the way the camera quickly zoomed in, I assumed the boy with the long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail was David. There was no sound from his parents or the audience as he took his diploma and walked off. The camera followed him off stage. The video resumed with David standing next to an overdressed, compared to the casual attire of the parents around her, brunette decked out in a lot of diamond jewelry, who I assumed was his mother. Strangely, at least it would have been strange if I didn't know what was going on, he showed no excitement. He just stood there. His mother hugged him and gave him a kiss on his cheek. David continued to stand without showing any emotion. He was shorter than average with fine features. I couldn't tell much about his body with the gown covering him up. When the video ended, I hit stop and rewind. I'd seen what I needed to and gave the cassette back to Dr. Benton. Looking over the photos, I picked out two. One of them was a full body shot and the other a close up showing him from the waist up.

"Did David have a driver's license, Dr. Benton? Did he have a job? Did he have any hobbies or activities he liked?"

"He never got his driver's license," Dr. Benton answered. "David never worked. He didn't have any hobbies or outside activities either. When he was younger, I tried to get him interested in playing sports. I signed him up for a soccer team. He just sat on the bench. He preferred to stay in his room and use his computer."

"Did you check his computer? Often kids get into chat rooms and meet people who talk them into leaving home to meet them. It's very dangerous. Were you able to retrieve any information?"

"David was good with computers. I thought that I would find something, but everything was erased. I took it to a computer specialist. He said that David had reformatted the hard disc and that he couldn't recover the files."

Obviously, David was a smart kid and didn't want to leave any way for his parents to find him. This was going to be hard."

"Did David have a cell phone? Often you can check the call logs or at least look at the phone bill to see who he was calling or who is calling him. It could be a lead."

"David left his cell phone in his room. I checked it out. The only numbers he called or which called him belong to our home phone and my wife's cell phone. I went through the bills too. They did not show any anything."

"Dr. Benton, you've given me no information to work with. I can't run a skip trace with just his name and social security number. The ID has to key into a data base, the police, FBI, Interpol, court records, job inquiries, hospitals. The photos aren't going to be any help either, if you son is dressing up as a girl. With a wig and makeup, he could be sitting right next to me and I wouldn't recognize him. I'm really sorry. I'd like to help you," if he only knew how much, "but I can't take your money." I was really going to hate myself for turning down the case.

Dr. Benton opened up his briefcase again and took out a checkbook.

"Mr. Blaine, I don't know how long my wife has left. The hope of finding David is of some comfort to her and I'm willing to pay for it. Do whatever you can. How much of a retainer do you want?"

Well, I tried to do the right thing I assured myself.

"Tell you what, Dr. Benton. I know someone in the records section of the Police Department who does me a favor from time to time. I can ask her to run a check on David. It's a long shot, but a kid on the street is likely to get himself in trouble, so maybe he's got a record we can find. Today's Wednesday, just give me fifteen hundred for three days work. I'll get back to you on Friday. Give me a number where you can be reached."

Dr. Benton filled out the check.

"My office telephone number is on the check and the answering service knows how to reach me," he said as he handed it to me over the desk.

I looked at the check and did a double take.

"Dr. Benton, you must have misunderstood. I said fifteen hundred. This is for five thousand. I can't accept this."

I handed it back to him.

"Mr. Blaine, take the check and do whatever you can to earn the fee."

I wasn't going to argue with him.

"I'll try, Dr. Benton, but I don't charge for a result I can't produce. I won't take the case otherwise. Do we have an understanding?

"Yes, Mr. Blaine. We have an understanding. I'll look forward to hearing from you."

Dr. Benton got up, picked up his briefcase and started towards the door.

"One more question, Dr. Benton."

He stopped and turned around.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but is your son gay. It makes a difference how I go about looking for him."

"I don't know, Mr. Blaine. He never had a girlfriend and he had no boyfriend either. Dr. Miller claimed that he wasn't. We never talked about it, but from his affect, the long hair, the way he behaved, I'd have to say that he was."

After Dr. Benton left, I stashed the check in my desk drawer. I decided not to deposit it until Friday, because having the money in my account would be too much of a temptation to spend it on something foolish, like paying my bills, and I would probably be giving most of it back. Way to go Jack. I picked up the phone, looked through my Rolodex and found Doris's number. I called her.

"Hello, Records Department," Doris answered.

"Hi, Doris, it's Jack, Jack Blaine. How are you?"

"I'm busy Jack. What do you want?"

"Listen Doris, this isn't my usual BS case. I have a client who's looking for his son. He left home about five years ago and they haven't heard from him since. His name is David Benton. All I have is his date of birth, his social and a description. I gave her the information. Could you run a check and see if there's any record for him, please. It's worth a dinner at the best restaurant in town," I enticed her.

"Forget it Jack. I'm not having dinner with you. I want two tickets for the next rock concert at the Arena, deal?"

It was Dr. Benton's money.

"No problem, Doris. Deal. Front row center. Just find the kid for me."

"Okay, Jack. I'll give you a call later today, but you better not welch on me, if you know what's good for you. The meter maid in your area is a good friend. Your car will end up booted and towed to Oshkosh. Understand."

"Doris, how could you?"

"I could, because I know you Jack. Talk to you later."

Doris hung up. I had nothing else going on, so I decided to do some old fashioned leg work. If David was gay, maybe I could find someone who knew him at one of the bars on Tenth Street. I got in my car and drove over. It took me about twenty minutes to find a parking space. The first place I came to was called "The Rawhide Room," whatever. The windows were blacked out, so I opened the door and looked in. It seemed like any other bar, tables, a small stage, dance floor and a long bar, except that it was upholstered in black leather. Not much in the way of décor, in fact, nothing in the way of décor, but then I supposed ambiance wasn't what the customers were looking for. I entered and walked to the bar. The bartender was a young man with dark close cropped hair and a mustache. He was wearing a black t-shirt with a leather vest and had studded cuffs on his wrist. As I got closer and could look over the bar, I saw that he had leather pants with a thick silver chain for a belt. Very tough looking, so I scowled, to let him know I was no pansy, and did my best Bogie impression.

"Hey, bud. I'm looking for a guy."

"Yeah, well, so what. This ain't no dating service. Come back when we're busy and find somebody," he challenged me.

That didn't go well.

"No, I'm a P.I. and I'm looking for a guy, name's David Benton. Ever heard of him?"

I took out the pictures and put them on the bar. He ignored me. I took out a twenty and put it on the bar next to the pictures. That got his attention. He came over, looked briefly, took the twenty and walked away."

"Nope, never saw him."

"He might be dressing as a girl."

The bartender rolled his eyes and gestured around him.

"Buddy, this is a leather bar. We don't get any drag queens in here. Try Ginger's Club about two blocks down."

"Okay, thanks."

He walked off like I wasn't there. I left and walked over to Ginger's. It looked a lot nicer than the other bar from the outside. It was also closed. The sign on the door said that it opened at five. I looked at my watch and it was a little before three. I decided to go back to my office and wait for Doris to call. If I was lucky, I wouldn't need to deal with drag queens. I drove back and parked. It was about three thirty, so I went over to the café and got a piece of apple pie and a cup of coffee. Betty the waitress still ignored my efforts to be social. It was her loss. I picked up a newspaper on my way to my office. I was struggling with the crossword puzzle when the phone rang.

"Hello, Jack Blaine Investigations. This is Jack Blaine."

"No luck," Doris put it succinctly."

"That's okay, Doris. I was hoping that maybe the kid got picked up for something."

"Even if he was in custody, Jack, without any ID on him, he could give a phony name and we couldn't check it out. You're still going to make good on the tickets, aren't you," Doris asked suspiciously.

"Yes, they're yours. Thanks."

"Welcome."

She hung up. Okay, Jack, you get to check out Ginger's after all. It was a little after four. I killed another half hour and then headed back to Tenth Street. I got there just after five. I opened the door and looked in. There was a circular bar in the middle of the room surrounded by tables and booths against the wall. I couldn't see anyone. As I was approaching the bar a woman came around from the other side and smiled when she saw me. I walked over to her and she greeted me enthusiastically.

"Hey lover, I haven't seen you in here before. Are you new in town?"

"No, I'm from around here. I'm looking for someone."

"Aren't we all, sweetie. I'm Lola and you're early, if you're an admirer. The girls don't start showing up until after dark. I get off work at one though. Stick around."

She gave me a smile and winked.

"What's an admirer?"

"You're kidding. An admirer is a guy who likes to date T-girls. You, know, the best of both worlds."

"What's a T-girl?"

She shook her head.

"A transsexual, of course. Are you sure you're in the right bar?"

"I'm not looking for a date. I'm a private investigator and I'm trying to find a boy who may be dressing up as a girl."

I took out my ID card and showed it to her.

"Jack Blaine," she read off my name. "It's nice to meet you, Jack."

She held out her hand and I took it. She didn't shake, just held my hand gently and let it go.

"I still get off at one. Kill two birds with one stone," she offered suggestively.

I took the two photographs out of my pocket and put them on the bar.

"His name is David Benton. Have you seen him?"

She looked at the photos, covered his forehead in the headshot, studied it and then told me no. I took a twenty out of my wallet and put it on the bar next to the photos.

"Would this help your memory?"

She picked up the twenty.

"No, but it will buy you a drink while you wait. Penny is the girl you want to talk to. She works at an outreach program and knows all the T-girls. She usually comes in about eight. What's you pleasure, beer, booze or me? Actually, you can choose two of the three."

I still wasn't sure whether Lola was a man or a woman. She had a husky voice, but her mannerisms were feminine. She flirted with me the way I did with Betty. I didn't want to be rude and study her closely, not that it mattered.

"You say Penny will be in around eight?"

"Usually, but I'm not her social secretary. So, what'll it be?"

"Scotch, please, on the rocks with a twist of lemon."

"Jack, right"

"Yes."

"Well, Jack, I'll even give you the private label stuff."

She reached under the bar, took out a bottle, poured a jigger of scotch into a glass with ice cubes, took a piece of lemon rind from the garnish box, twisted it, dropped it into my glass and stirred it with a swizzle stick. She put down a cocktail napkin and pointed to a booth towards the back of the room. I took the drink and sat at the table. She gave me a smile and went back to work. Every now and then she'd look my way and smile. I tried to be as impassive as possible, so as not to encourage her. I wasn't exactly a ladies many, but maybe she wasn't lady.

I nursed my drink and watched the door. Two guys walked in. They were obviously a couple and from their identical short hair and the fact that they were holding hands, it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out they were gay. I thought this was a place for men who liked to dress as women, but I guess it also attracted men who weren't into dating cowboys. The couple, I guess you'd call them that, gave me a quick once over, ordered drinks and settled into a booth on the opposite side of the bar

About twenty minutes later, a tall black woman came in. She was heavily made up with glittery purple eye shadow, purple lipstick and wearing a tight fitting red mini dress that showed off a set of huge boobs. On her feet were what had to be at least four inch red leather spike heels. What really caught my eye though was that she was a blonde. I assumed she must be a T-girl. She strode over to the bar and got a drink. I could see Lola talking to her and then they both looked over to where I was sitting. The black woman, T-girl, whatever she was, started to come over. Geez Louise, was this Penny? Well, maybe it was just as well. I could get it over with and get going.

"Hey daddy, I'm Jezebel," she introduced herself. "Mind if I join you?"

She slid in next to me. Her big dangly earrings swung back and forth as she moved. Apparently, Jezebel wasn't going to take no for an answer. I suppose the good news was that she wasn't Penny, so I could blow her off. Whoa, careful Jack, better watch what you say around here, I warned myself.

"Lola says you're looking for a T-girl in particular," Jezebel inquired as she pressed up against me.

"Yes, his name is David Benton."

I took out the photos to show her.

"I thought she was TS?"

"TS?"

"TS, a transsexual."

"Oh, well, he dresses up like a girl. Does that make him a transsexual?" I naively asked her.

"You're kidding?"

"No?"

She shook her head and her earrings swung dangerously.

"A guy who just wears women's clothes is a cross-dresser. If that's who you're looking for, you won't find him here. They have their own private clubs where they go to get dressed and hang out. They sashay around for a while and then go back to their wives or girlfriends."

"They're not gay?"

"Most of them aren't. It's a fetish more than a lifestyle. Once they start dressing full time, then they're TV's, transvestites."

"I'm confused."

"Join the club," she said with a deep laugh.

"What's the difference between a TV, a TS and T-girl?"

"It depends on who you talk to. For my money, CD's are straight guys, TV's are gay guys and TS's are females, T-girls."

"What are you, Jezebel, if you don't mind my asking?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," she answered provocatively. "Want to dance and we can talk about whatever pops up?"

I hadn't noticed, but there was music playing in the background. There must be a sound system that was turned on when it started to get busier.

"No thanks, I'm waiting for Penny."

"What's she got that I haven't got," she questioned me, putting her hands under her breasts and bouncing them in my direction.

"Information, I hope," I replied, avoiding her invitation for closer inspection.

"Oh well, your loss. I'll be around if you change your mind."

Jezebel got up and went over to the bar to talk to Lola. I guessed they were commiserating over my not being an admirer. I looked anxiously at my watch. I really wanted to go before more of these T-girls started hitting on me. As I waited, additional women came in, some flamboyant like Jezebel and others less, and a few men. I concentrated on my drink, trying to make it last and glancing at the door each time it opened. It began to get crowded. A few T-girls started dancing with each other, confirming my impression that admirers were in short supply.

I continued to wait. The ice cubes in my glass melted. Watered down scotch, even good scotch, is not enjoyable. I didn't want to get up, because I'd lose my table, which meant I'd have to mingle. I checked my watch again. It was past eight. When I looked up, there was a woman standing in front of my table.

"Hi, I'm Penny."

I was taken by surprise. Her voice was soft and pleasant and she was stunning from the quick look I got, a gray dress of some soft material which accented her figure, the neckline revealing a modest amount of cleavage, red lipstick and a pretty smile showing white teeth.

"May I sit down?" she asked politely.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. It's just, well, you're different, umm, good different, umm, this is very awkward, I'm sorry," I stammered, finally apologizing.

She gave a little laugh.

"May I take that as an invitation to join you?"

"Yes, of course. Please. I'm Jack, Jack Blaine. You're Penny?"

"Yes. Lola said that you’re a private investigator and you're looking for someone who might be transgendered?"

"I think so. I'm not familiar with the terms. I've been embarrassing myself all night, but that was what his father said about what the psychologist called him."

"The psychologist?"

"They, his parents, sent him to one for therapy when they found out he was dressing up in his mother's clothes. They thought he was cured, but then he ran way when he turned eighteen and they haven't heard from him since."

Penny shook her head and sighed.

"I'm not surprised, Jack," she said with dismay. "There are some very misguided people who want to treat alternative gender and sexual preference as diseases. There is no cure. I know. I work in a gay, lesbian and transgendered outreach program. I deal with the messed up lives that their so called therapy causes."

"I'm sorry, Penny. I'm just doing my job. If it's any consolation, the boy's parents have forgiven him. His mother's very sick and they want him to come home. Any help you could give me in finding him would be appreciated. I have some pictures."

I took the pictures out and put them on the table.

Instead of looking at them, Penny frowned and said angrily, "forgive him, Jack? Forgive him," she raised her voice, "for what, Jack, for being transgendered? They rejected him at the time he was most vulnerable and their insistence on conformity took away his family and his home."

"As his parents, I'm sure they believed that they were doing what was best for him," I offered defensively.

"Yes, well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, Jack."

"Penny, I don't want to argue with you. Can you help me find him?"

She calmed down.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I shouldn't shoot the messenger. You said his name is David. Does he have a drag name?"

"What's that, Penny?"

When you dress as a woman, you give yourself a female name. It's a part of your feminine persona. The convention used to be to combine the name of your first pet with your mother's maiden name. If you had a St. Bernard called 'Brandy' and your mother's maiden name was 'Smith,' you'd be Brandy Smith. It's more common and convenient to use the female version of your name, yours would be Jacqueline, but sometimes it's an unpleasant reminder or you just want something more exotic. Celebrity names or even cartoon characters are popular."

"I wasn't told anything about him using a woman's name. I'll check with his father. Would you mind looking at the photos? Maybe you will recognize him."

She studied the photos on the table, tilting her head slightly and paging her hair behind her ear to keep if off of her face. After a few minutes she shook her head.

"Sorry, he doesn't look familiar."

"Those photos were taken five years ago. He probably doesn't look like that now."

She shrugged.

"I can ask around. Can I take the photos? A name to go with them would help. Why don't you call me at work," she suggested.

She opened up her pocket book and handed me a business card from a red leather case. I read, 'Penny Johnson, MSW, LICSW, Director, Tri-City GLBT Outreach Services,' with an address, telephone and fax number and email address."

"Yes, take the photos," I agreed, putting her card in my wallet.

Then it dawned on me that she had offered to help me and I had not offered her anything in return.

"Penny, would you, umm, can I buy you a drink?"

"A glass of wine would be nice, Jack, thank you. Lola knows what I like."

"Excuse me."

I got up and made my way to the bar. Lola came over. I ordered the wine for Penny and another scotch for me, paying with a twenty and telling her to keep the change, which got me a big smile, although she deserved it for recommending I speak to Penny. I took the drinks and returned to the table. Penny was sitting demurely with her legs crossed. I put her wine on the table and sat down."

"Thank you, Jack."

"You're welcome."

"Tell me," I asked, making social conversation, "how did you get involved with these T-girls?"

"I was lucky, Jack. My family was very accepting and supportive. I got my graduate degree in social work and wanted to help others less fortunate, so I started the outreach program."

"You mean accepting and supportive of your wanting to work with transgendered men?"

"No, accepting and supportive of my being transgendered," she said matter-of-factly.

I couldn't help myself.

"No way," I said in astonishment.

"Way," she contradicted me pleasantly. "I'm a pre-op transsexual, Jack."

"Penny, I don't understand. You look so, I mean you are so, you're a woman."

"Yes, Jack, I'm a woman. Unfortunately, I have some extraneous anatomy that I need to reconfigure before my body matches up. Hormones and implants can only do so much."

"Your name, it's what you called a drag name?"

"It was once. Now it's my own name. It's on my diplomas, my certificates and my driver's license. Although it is confusing when I use the license for an ID, since the name and photo are female and it says my sex is male. I simply offer to drop my panties and show that the gender designation is correct. So far I haven't had anyone take me up it," she said with a pretend pout, "but I always wear pretty undies, just in case."

I didn't know what to say. I would have bet anything she was a woman.

"Was Penny your pet?" I tried to recover our conversation.

"No, not a pet, she was a character from a TV show."

"Which show?"

"It was before your time. My dad has a private pilot's license. He got interested in flying from watching a TV show called 'Sky King' when he was a kid. The main character's actual name was 'Skyler,' so, when I was born, that's what dad wanted to name me. Mom wasn't enthusiastic, but she gave in." She laughed. "Dad's concession was that Mom could pick the name if they had a girl." She laughed again. "I have two sisters, Chrissy and Janet."

She looked at me waiting for a response, but I didn't get it.

"They're the two roommates from "Three's Company." It's another old TV show. Remind me not to take you as a partner for trivia night, Jack."

"How did you get Penny from Skyler? Wouldn't your drag name have been Skye? I've heard that used as a girl's name."

"I never liked Skyler and Sky was an awful nickname for a boy. The kids would tease me, so I started calling myself Kyle. You know, ess-Kyle -err."

"That still doesn't explain Penny."

"Hold on, I'm not done. My dad had the complete collection of Sky King episodes on videotape and I would watch them with him. A lot. Sky King had a niece named Penny. She was always getting caught by some crooks or spies and outwitting them to call for Uncle Sky to rescue her. So I thought, if Dad couldn't have Sky King, he could at least have Penny and I liked her character. She was very self-reliant and resourceful. So here I am."

She turned to face me, put the backs of her hands under her chin, gave a little smile and batted her eyes like an innocent young girl. I couldn't help laugh. I was at a complete loss. Either Penny put the women I knew to shame or I had really poor taste in women, probably both. She finished her wine and looked at her watch.

"Oh, my, it's getting late and I have an early appointment tomorrow, Jack. Thank you for the drink and your company. Give me a call if you get any more information. In the meantime, I'll circulate the photos. If you like, we can meet here tomorrow night. I will return them and let you know what I found out."

"Yes, please, Penny, that would be fine and thank you for your company and for your help. I'm sorry I was, I don't know, dumb I guess."

"No, Jack, not dumb, uninformed. Hopefully we can correct that. Goodnight."

I wasn't exactly sure what she meant, but whatever it was, I was all for it. She stood up and I got up.

"Goodnight, Penny. Thanks again."

"You're welcome."

She went over to the bar and spoke to Lola. Lola looked over to me and nodded. Penny turned and left. I got up and headed for the door.

"Night Jack," Lola called after me.

"Night," I called back and quickly left before Jezebel decided to reassert her amorous intentions in Penny's absence.

I walked back to my car and drove home. I turned on the news, but I couldn't get Penny out of my mind. I was sure she was a woman when I met her. How could I have been fooled? I knew a babe when I saw one. At least I used to think so. Should I start questioning my masculinity? I gave up and went to bed. It took me a long time to fall asleep. I think I had a dream about flying.

The next morning I showered, shaved and put on my best slacks and my good shirt that just came back from the cleaners. I have no idea why I was getting dressed up. Not that I needed a reason. Penny looked professional when I met her, so I should too. Definitely, I should start looking more professional. I stopped at the convenience store on the corner near my office and picked up a cup of coffee and a couple of blueberry jelly donuts. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all. With some cream and sugar in my coffee, I pretty much had one of each of the essential food groups, round, sweet, black and white, together with the fruit vitamins. I got to my office, unlocked the door, picked up the mail that had been pushed through the door slot, all bills, sat at my desk, finished the donuts, washed them down with the coffee, wiped the remnants of the donuts off my face with a paper napkin and, having prepared myself for work, I looked up Dr. Benton's number. I called him.

"Hello," Dr. Benton's office a woman answered.

"Dr. Benton, please."

"He's with a patient, may I take a message?"

"Ask him to call Jack Blaine, please."

"Are you a patient, Mr. Blaine?"

"No, I'm doing a job for him and he asked me to call him if I needed anything."

"I will give him the message, Mr. Blaine."

"Thank you."

I hung up the phone.

"About forty minutes later Dr. Benton returned my call.

"Have you found him?" he asked abruptly.

"No, not yet Doctor. The records search didn't turn up anything. I didn't think it would, but it was worth a shot. I do have someone checking, umm, around. She wanted to know if you ever heard your son refer to himself with a girl's name. He might still be using it."

"Not that I know of, Mr. Blaine, but David knew that I disapproved of his behavior, so he wouldn't refer to himself as a girl around me. I told you everything I know about David when I was in your office."

"I understand, Dr. Benton. Penny, the woman who's helping me," no need to explain about her, "she suggested that he might be using the name of a pet or a character he identified with. Did you have a family pet when David was growing up?"

"No, no pets."

"What about a favorite character?"

"I have no idea what he liked, except to wear his mother's clothes. If that's all, Mr. Blaine, I have to get back to my practice," Dr. Benton dismissed me curtly.

I wasn't sure if this was a difficult subject for him to deal with or it was his personality. If I had to guess, not that I was doing very well figuring people out recently, I would say it was the latter.

"No, that's all for now, Dr. Benton. I'll be in touch."

I hung up. Even though I didn't have anything to tell her, I decided to call Penny. I got her business card out of my wallet and dialed her office number.

"Good morning, Tri-City Outreach, this is Carla."

"Good morning Carla," I greeted her politely. I tried to tell if she was a man from her voice, but I couldn't hear anything distinctive. Then again, just because Penny was a transsexual didn't mean that everyone who worked there was one too.

Hello, my I help you?" the woman repeated, reminding me that I had not responded.

"Hello, may I speak to," I had to pause to look at the card to get her get her last name, "Ms. Johnson," trying to be deferential by addressing her as Ms.

"May I have your name, please?"

"Jack, Jack Blaine."

"Are you a client, Mr. Blaine?"

"Umm, no, I'm, umm, a friend."

"One moment please."

I was put on hold and elevator music played over the phone.

"Jack, hi. How are you?" Penny greeted me.

"I'm fine, Penny. How are you?"

"Fine, Jack. Did you find out anything about what name David might be using?"

"No, I'm sorry. His father had never heard him use a girl's name. Has anyone been able to identify his picture?"

"Honestly, I've been busy and haven't had time to show the photos around. It should slow down around lunch time. Will you still meet me at Ginger's tonight and I'll tell you what I found?"

"Uh huh."

Brilliant conversational skills Jack, I congratulated myself. Penny didn't seem to mind.

"Good, I'll see you then. Bye."

"Bye."

The rest of the day was a waste. I puttered around the office, took the five thousand dollar check out of my drawer, looked at it and put it back, since I wasn't going to earn the full fee, unless Penny came up with something. I kept checking my watch. Around noon, I thought about going across the street, but I wasn't in the mood to flirt with Betty. I popped over to the convenience store and got a hot dog to complete my nutritional requirements with something from the foot long tubular food group and the piccalilli healthy vegetable family, washed down with a waist slimming large diet cola. It was a nice day, so I decided to walk off my meal. That killed another half hour. On my way back to the office I picked up a paper. Reading the news, sports and comics and playing with the crossword got me to four thirty. I got in my car and drove to Tenth Street. This was really dumb. You can't hang out in Ginger's waiting for Penny. I got back in my car and drove to my apartment. I sat around watching television until seven and headed back to Ginger's. By the time I went in, it was almost eight and fairly crowded. I noticed Lola behind the bar and Jezebel, obviously a regular, was sitting with a group of T-girls in one of the booths. I was hoping that there would be an open table, but they were all taken, so I sat at the bar. Lola came over and gave me a big smile.

"Jack, welcome back. What's your pleasure, booze or me?"

"What happened to two out of three?" I repeated her come-on from last night.

"I didn't think you liked beer."

"I don't."

"I wish you were serious, Jack."

She made up a scotch on the rocks and put it down in front of me. I reached for my wallet and she put her hand gently on my arm.

"It's on the house, lover. In case you change your mind, I still get off work at one."

"Thanks, Lola."

She walked off to serve the other customers and I sipped my scotch, keeping an eye on the door. About half way through my drink I saw Penny come in. I turned to catch her eye. She saw me and came over.

"Hi, Jack. I hope I didn't keep you waiting."

"No, not at all, I just got here.

She looked around to find a table, but none had opened up. She caught Lola's eye and she came over.

"Hi Penny," Lola greeted her enthusiastically.

"Hi Lola. Is there someplace I can talk to Jack privately?"

Lola gave her a silly smirk.

"Evil mind, Lola." Penny playfully admonished her. "It's business."

"In that case, you can use the office. It's in back past the rest rooms. I'll get you the key."

Lola walked to the cash register, opened the drawer, came back and handed a key to Penny.

"You’re a doll, Lola," Penny said appreciatively.

"Seconds on your boyfriend?"

"Evil mind, Lola," Penny repeated. "He's not my boyfriend," she disclaimed. "Like I said, it's business. When I'm done with him, he's all yours," which got a raised eyebrow and a chuckle from Lola.

Penny started towards the back of the bar. It was crowded when she came in and the whole exchange with Lola took place so quickly I didn't have a chance to get a good look at her. Following along, I could see she had on a dark blue straight skirt that came a couple of inches above her knee and fit her nicely rounded butt, bad Jack, which wiggled as she walked, bad, bad Jack, and a white blouse, nylon or silk, some shiny material, I didn't have much experience with women's clothes, which put me in the minority at Ginger's, and heels. I completed my assessment of her wardrobe as we reached the door to the office. She unlocked it, opened the door, went in and turned on the light. There was a plain wood desk, a standard desk chair and a brown leather couch that had seen better days. I could imagine the reason for its condition. Penny went over and sat down on the couch, waiting for me. I joined her.

"Any luck," I asked skeptically.

"Yes," she replied to my surprise.

I was going to keep the five grand after all, I congratulated myself. Then she qualified her answer.

"Before I talk to you about what I found, I need something from you."

"Dr. Benton was very generous with his payment for my services, Penny. I'd be glad to share it with you in exchange for your information." I offered.

She frowned.

"I don't want a reward, Jack."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to kiss me."

"What?" I blurted out.

"You know, a kiss. You put your lips against my lips and smooch. It doesn't have to be deep or passionate, no tongue, just a common garden variety kiss."

"Penny, I can't."

"Can't, as in physically unable? Your lips aren't functional?"

"No, of course not. It's just that, well, …"

"That I'm a transsexual? You've seen gangster movies, Jack. Those tough guys are always kissing each other on the mouth." She paused. "Hmm, actually, I think that's the kiss of death. Is that it, Jack? You're worried that I have AIDS? I don't and it’s a well established scientific fact you can't get it from saliva. Not that I drool when I kiss. Those select few who have had the privilege haven't complained about my slobbering all over them."

"No, it's not that, really. It's just that, well, you took me by surprise, Penny. I umm, I wasn't, umm, prepared to be, umm, romantic."

"Oh, I see. You need soft music, candlelight and me in a something sexy to get you in the mood, is that it?"

"No," I protested.

"Jack, before I confide in you, I need to know that you accept and trust me. Kiss me and prove it. Otherwise, it's been nice knowing you. I'm going to close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them either you better be smooching or gone. One," she turned towards me and tilted her head, lips slightly parted.

I couldn't afford to lose the fee and I wouldn't get paid, if I didn't find the boy. Penny was really sweet and, certain anatomical issues out of sight, out of mind, she was better looking than most, make that all, of the women I had dated. I leaned forward.

"Five," she counted out loud.

I pressed my lips against hers. She passively accepted the pressure. I pulled back.

"Jack, you have kissed a girl before, haven't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"May I assume that you don't get many second dates with that technique? I want a real kiss, Jack. I will give you another chance. One."

I leaned towards her and this time gave her a peck.

"Better, but the smooch part is still missing. Third time's a charm. One."

I gave her a real kiss.

"Mmm, much better. No permanent physical or psychological damage?" she teased me.

"No, I'm fine, Penny," I conceded, "but you've had your kiss, now how do I find David?"

"What makes you think that she wants to be found, Jack?"

"Penny, that's not fair," I complained. "You said you would tell me where he is."

"No, I was very careful with my words, Jack. I said I would talk to you about what I found and I will, but it's not that simple. Please be patient."

I waited.

"Look at me, Jack. Tell me what you see."

I wasn't anticipating that our conversation would be about Penny. I didn't know if her question was another test or what answer to give, if it was. After some thought, I decided to be truthful, hoping that at least I'd get some points for sincerity, if I was wrong.

"I see an attractive woman."

"Thank you, Jack."

I breathed a sign of relief.

"I'm not sure about the attractive part, but I am a woman. At work, here at Ginger's, shopping for clothes, getting my hair done, I'm Penny."

Her voice quavered. She paused, taking some tissues out of her pocketbook and dabbing at her eyes.

"Sorry, Jack, my hormone replacement therapy makes me overly emotional sometimes," she explained.

Composing herself, she continued.

"I love my parents. They've always tried to be supportive, but when I go home, Jack, to them I'll always be their son. They call me Penny and Mom treats me like she does my sisters, but there's a photo on the bookcase in our family room of Chrissy and Janet on the beach in their cute bikini's and me in my bathing trunks and we have shoe boxes full of photos of our birthdays with them in pretty party dresses and me in pants and a shirt. I wouldn't deprive my parents of those memories, Jack, but that's not me in those photos. My sisters too, Jack. They try very hard to accept me as a woman, but, shopping with Mom for their first bra, commiserating over their periods, doing makeovers, giggling about their crushes on boys, all of those things girls do growing up and that I didn't do with them, I'll always be their brother. Do you understand? These are people who I love dearly and who love me and yet going home is a struggle for me."

I looked at Penny sympathetically, but I couldn't see what it had to do with my finding the Benton's son.

"Now let me tell you about the woman you're trying to find. Her name is Dawn. At least it's the name she took after she completed her drug rehabilitation. Her name on the street when she was working as a prostitute was Tiffany."

Penny picked up on my expression of disbelief.

"Does that surprise you, Jack? A teenage runaway is easy prey. No money, no work experience, what do you think is going to happen to him? Some pimp befriends him, gives him a place to crash, hooks him on drugs and sends him out to turn tricks. There are men who pay premium for sex with a pretty young tranny. A couple of years on the street and you wouldn't recognize her as the boy in the photographs. I didn't. She did. I showed the photos around and Dawn became hysterical when she saw them. Do you have any comprehension of how awful I feel about doing that to her?"

Penny took out the tissues and dabbed at her eyes again. She took a deep breath, paused, took another deep breath, and went on.

"Dawn has worked so hard to create a new life for herself. That was why she chose the name, to symbolize her new beginning. I met her when she was in the hospital. She had OD'd on drugs. When they realized she was transgendered, they called our program. I got her into rehab and have been working with her for the last two years. She has been a tremendous resource, because she knows the street scene and she is passionate about preventing kids from ending up like her."

I didn't know what to say. I just sat there in stunned silence.

"Jack, do you understand now why I told you about my family? Dawn can't go home. It would destroy her and it would destroy her parents. Picture the reunion with their recovering drug addict, ex-prostitute, former adult film actress, did I mention she was forced to perform in some porno movies, HIV positive, unfortunately an occupational hazard, transsexual son?"

"I can't, Penny, but shouldn't that be Dawn's decision?"

"Yes, Jack, and she told me to tell you that she has nothing to say to them and wants nothing from them or to do with them. Her mother may be dying, but so is Dawn, perhaps not as soon, but inevitably. She could go home and punish them with the truth, Jack. She's beyond that, an incredibly strong woman," Penny sniffled and dabbed at her eyes, "she wants both her mother and her to die with no remorse. So, Jack, what will you tell her parents?"

I didn't hesitate.

"I will tell them the truth, Penny."

"What truth is that Jack?"

"That they've lost their son. David has disappeared."

Penny looked at me, tears welled up in her eyes and she broke down. I moved over and took her in my arms to comfort her. She rested her head on my shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably. I held her and gently stroked her hair.

"Penny, I said softly into her ear, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad. Please believe me, please."

"Jack, I'm not sad. I'm incredibly happy. Can't you tell the difference?"

"Umm, no, actually, I guess I'm not very good at this kind of thing. If my dates cry, well, this isn't a date, I know that, but anyway, it's usually because I've said or done something to embarrass them, I, umm, I don't exactly have impeccable social skills," I conceded.

"Stupid hormones. I, I can't help it and anyway, it's a woman's prerogative to cry when she's happy and I'm going to take full advantage of my gender. Now if you will stop interrupting me, she sobbed into my shoulder, I can get on with it."

I continued to hold Penny until she began to calm down and the sobs turned into whimpers and finally she relaxed and I reluctantly released her, noticing that the shoulder of my shirt was very wet. Good thing it was permanent press I complimented myself on my wardrobe choice of this morning. She sat up.

"Than you, Jack, for being so understanding," she said in a soft voice, retrieving the tissues and gently blowing her nose."

"Jack, I'm emotionally drained. Would you take me home please?"

"Of course, Penny," I gallantly agreed.

Opening her pocketbook, she took out a compact and opened it, letting out a squeal of dismay when she saw herself in the mirror.

"Oh my God, Jack. I can't be seen in public like this. I look like a raccoon. I should invest in waterproof mascara, but it is such a pain to take off."

She found the tissues, licked one and started to repair her appearance. She produced an impressive collection of cosmetics from her pocketbook and proceeded to apply powders and paints with little brushes and applicators, concentrating on her mirror and oblivious to my admiration for her proficiency, until she finally ran a brush through her hair and pronounced herself presentable. Actually, I was kind of fond of raccoons, but I thought that was probably another of my socially inept comments I would be better off keeping to myself. I stood up and gave her my hand. She took it and stood up, adjusting her blouse and skirt. We went to the door and left, locking it behind us. On our way out, Penny stopped at the bar to return the key to Lola. She must have sensed something, could she have women's intuition, and refrained from her usual provocative patter. I escorted Penny to my car and she gave me directions to her apartment, which was on the other side of town. We drove in silence. I wasn't very good at making small talk with women anyway and understandably she wasn't feeling chatty.

I pulled up in front of her building, got out, went around, opened the door for Penny and she got out.

"Thank you, Jack. I, I appreciate your sensitivity in this matter."

She extended her hand and I took it. She looked at me for a few seconds, gave me a smile, withdrew her hand and started to walk away. I watched her for a minute and then realized that I wasn't going to see her again.

"Penny," I called to her.

She stopped and turned, walking back to me.

"Yes, Jack?" she asked curiously.

"Umm, would you go out with me?"

"Out with you, Jack?"

"Umm, yes, on a date."

"You mean dinner, holding hands, a movie, making out, that kind of date?"

"Yes," I replied without hesitation, "that kind of date."

Penny looked at me and I could see tears starting to form in her eyes again.

"Jack, you are really sweet, but it wouldn't work and I don't want my heart broken."

"Why wouldn't it work, Penny?"

"Think about it, Jack. I'm not the kind of girl you bring home to meet your parents. What would you tell them about me?"

"I'd tell them the truth."

"What truth is that, Jack?"

"That I've found the perfect woman."

Penny broke down again. I assume she was happy and I cuddled her against my chest. I was happy anyway. I've got no complaint about the hormones. Penny was right too. She doesn't give wet kisses, which I found out when she stopped crying.

THE END