I’m a lazy person. Notwithstanding the image I like to present to colleagues and acquaintances, those who really know me well, know I’m an unrepentant slacker. Especially on Sunday mornings, when I can lie in bed until noon. Of course, recently, on the weekends when Alastair stayed with me in New York, he’d find ways to wake me from my mostly happy dreams. There were the delicious foot massages that had me awake and purring in no time (although I kicked him in the head once – he’s got strong thumbs!), playing his scratchy vinyl copy of Grieg’s Morning Mood from Peer Gynt and drawing a waiting bath for me, and leaving a new dress I’d seen in a shop window the day before next to me on the bed with a note that read: “I can’t wait to see you in this, baby. Rise and shine for me.”

So, you can imagine my dismay when I was awakened by loud raps on my front door unspeakable hours before noon. Knocking so loud the sound penetrated the closed door of my bedroom. Groggily, I flipped the covers off and grabbed my peony and butterfly kimono robe. Almost blindly stumbling toward the front door, I had just angrily managed to tie the belt of my kimono when I opened the door to find Eliot standing there, a bag of breakfast goodies from Blu Jam Café in Brentwood dangling from his left hand.

“I knew you wouldn’t be up yet. Lazybones.”

We hugged and Eliot stepped into the house.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather stay in Alastair’s house next door? This isn’t much bigger than those tiny bungalows in Oceanside near the beach.”

“Well, you know I’ve been living alone for a decade now. I kind of enjoy my fortress of solitude. And, at the end of the day, I’m only here for a few months.”

“I thought you and Alastair were a thing, you know. He seems like a good dude.”

“He is. He is. I like him a lot.” We stood there for a long moment. Finally, Eliot pointed to his bag of goodies.

“Shakshuka for you and me.” I blinked and shook my head. What is a shakshuka? “North African dish of poached eggs in a sauce of tomatoes, olive oil, peppers, onion, and garlic, spiced with cumin, paprika and cayenne pepper. It’s wonderful! And…two large spiced chai lattes. Yum yum.” He placed the bag on the kitchen table. “Sit, mom. We’ve got a fun day ahead of us. I’m going to take you on a tour of Venice Beach. It’s a trip. You’ll love it. Especially the canals.”

“Isn’t that where Muscle Beach is? I figure you’d find that part of Venice Beach especially interesting—”

“Why do you say that?”

“Let’s eat. Then I’ll take a quick shower, change, and we’ll be out the door in half an hour.”

We hopped into Eliot’s leased white BMW 2 coupe and sped west along the Hollywood Freeway toward the ocean. 40 minutes later, we slid into an open parking space in The South City Parking Lot on Venice Boulevard, just mere yards away from the boardwalk. As we perused the busy Sunday scene of early morning strollers and youngsters of all sizes and ages running serpentine through the crowded stalls, I picked up the conversation we had started in the car.

“How did you get permission to leave the team the day before tomorrow night’s game?”

“I told coach it was a family emergency.”

“I’m in fine health, as far as I know.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t know that. I just needed to see you. Joey told me about letting the cat out of the bag—”

“Eliot, why didn’t you ever tell me? Did you think I wouldn’t accept your being gay? How silly—”
“Of course not. But being a professional athlete, there’s a lot of public scrutiny and peer pressure. Nobody who plays, even in college, wants his teammates to ostracize him.”

“Even in 2022?”

“Mom, lots of things take a long time to change. If ever. You know that as well as I do. People say politically correct things to you, but their attitudes and prejudices are hard to overcome. If I told you, it’d come out eventually. And then my career would be over. I’m not a superstar. They can say I’m just not good enough to play anymore and cut me. Look what they did to Kaepernick for protesting.”

“You know I love you, whatever your orientation is.” I hooked my arm tighter into his as we walked along. “I’m glad you’ve become such good friends with Joey. She’s been through a lot herself. I don’t think I could have survived emotionally if I had transitioned at her young age. She’s really a remarkable young woman.”

“The universe threw her a curve with her father being part of the administration at the hospital. Blindsided. She told me she never wanted to see him again as long as she lives.”

“Don’t tell Joey but her father came to see me a couple of days ago. Just showed up at the house, puff out of thin air.”

“What did he want?” Eliot stopped at one of the stalls and picked out a wide-brimmed straw hat with a floral band. “Here, try this on. You’ll get sunburnt if you’re not wearing one. This is sunny Cali not the dark canyons of Manhattan.”

“He wanted me to arrange a meeting with Joey. Kind of unbeknownst to her—” I was looking at myself in the dinky little mirror in the stall, turning my head side to side, to find the perfect angle at which to seat the hat.

“Oh, Joey won’t like that at all. I mean really hate it if you do that.” He ambled over to the cashier and had an animated conversation with the man. He came back with a smirk on his face.

“Problem?” I took my Audrey Hepburn sunglasses out of my tote bag and put them on, taking one last peek at the mirror.

“The guy recognized me and wouldn’t take my card. It’s only ten bucks but…He said my mom is a beautiful lady.”

“He didn’t.”

“In that hat and the shades? Come on. You’re hot!”

“So, you don’t think I should’ve agreed to get them together?”

“When is this supposed to go down?”

“Tuesday night at my house. I’m making dinner and, after dinner, she’s going to tell me more about her first year after her GCS. I thought I’d have her dad “drop by” to see me…out of the blue. Does it look like too much of a setup?”

“Mom, I thought you were a really smart woman. Now, this gives me pause.”

“But he’s her father. Don’t they both deserve closure? Isn’t it better than eternal bitterness?”

“You know I was abandoned by my father. I don’t have warm feelings toward him. I’d probably get violent if I met up with him. He obviously couldn’t care less about his wife or his only child. What kind of man would do that?”

I looked out at the ocean for a long stretch as we walked the length of the boardwalk, heading in the direction of the Skate Park. Both Alastair and Eliot must think I’m a dolt, agreeing to Dr. Petry’s clandestine plan. I’m beginning to see their point. But what if Dr. Petry is contrite and truly wants to ask for Joey’s forgiveness? Perhaps my good intentions are digging a hole straight to hell?

We spent the next part of the morning watching teenagers executing skateboard tricks. Eliot knew all the tricks: ollies, heelflips, kickflips, Caballerials, grinds, and, of course, switch stances. Growing up in the ‘70s on the East Coast, I never skateboarded. By the time skateboarding became a worldwide phenomenon in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s, I was already approaching 30 and transitioning. I shook my head at Eliot’s enthusiasm for the sport. The closest he came to actual skateboarding when he was a kid was playing Tony Hawk’s bestselling video game on his Sony PlayStation. Once he got to high school, Eliot’s attention turned to basketball. That turned out for the best.

Before having lunch at the Venice Beach chapter of Zinqué, a trendy chain of restaurants with French-based cuisine that dots the L.A. landscape, we strolled by Muscle Beach and watched an army of hulks working out on the iconic weightlifting platform. After about ten minutes, we made our way to South Lincoln Boulevard and stood in line to wait for a table at Zinqué. While we waited, we looked over the lunch menu. I decided to try their ratatouille quiche. Eliot wanted to order their smoked salmon carpaccio.

“Sorry, Mom, but they don’t take reservations until after 3 in the afternoon. Good thing I got you the hat though.” Just at that moment, a young woman in a smart-looking business suit, came out of the restaurant and waved to us.

“Please accept our apologies, Mr. Bradshaw. It was just pointed out to us that you and your…uh—”

“Mom.”

“…your mother were standing out here on line. Please follow me. We have a table ready for you.” We quickly followed her inside, grateful to get out of the noonday sun. There were some groans from touristy types who weren’t impressed that they had been standing on line with an L.A. Laker.

The best part of the day was traversing the waterways of The Venice Canals district. There are four parallel canals in a small, 4-and-a-half-mile area of land. When Venice, California was first established it was intended to be a beach resort and miles of canals were dug to make it resemble its namesake in Italy. However, the town grew, roads were needed, and, over time, only these four canals have remained.

You can wend your way along these canals in a little under an hour. Picturesque houses, many with docks that tether replica Venetian gondolas, line the canals. There are bridges that make it easy to cross from side to side, each bearing a distinct, individual design. Several times in our journey through this American Venice, I had to simply stop and look over the balustrade to scan the breathtaking horizon. Several fellow strollers recognized Eliot and asked for his autograph. I heard one woman whisper to her companion that Eliot’s date seemed a lot older. Her companion whispered in reply “This is Hollywood. What do you expect?”

Late in the afternoon, Eliot drove me home. He had to catch a flight to get back to the team by 11PM Eastern time. Just before I stepped out of the car, he gave me a quick peck on the cheek.

“You know, after the final game, I’m a free agent. I’m not sure the Lakers will re-sign me. I might get a better offer somewhere else. If you’re going to be in LA permanently—”

“Whoa. I’m here to write a screenplay. Three months, four on the outside. I’ll be back in New York before next basketball season starts. For my sake, try to sign with the Knicks or the Nets.”

“You seem happier than you’ve been in years, mom. Because of Alastair. Don’t toss a good chance out the window. I’ve asked around, everyone likes him. Not a bad word about him. I know he’s told you he loves you. He told me himself. I could tell he wasn’t lying.”

I hugged him and quickly stepped out of the car. Wordlessly, we parted. I watched his car go down Hidalgo Avenue, then turned to walk up the driveway to the guest house.

Monday was my official first day working on the screenplay. I showed up at Philippa’s house punctually at 10AM and was greeted at the door by her husband, Paul. He was wearing a Lakers jersey and baggy shorts. Behind him was Philippa, dressed in a similar outfit, a large tote bag slung over her shoulder, pushing a stroller with baby Clarissa burbling away in her own private language.

“Good morning, Joanne! It’s such a nice day, I thought we could go to Griffith Park and mix a little fresh air with our brainstorming. Clarissa likes the park, don’t you, sweetie?” Clarissa replied with a snorting giggle and clapped her tiny hands. “I thought you’d be wearing Eliot’s number 37 jersey.”

“I’ll be wearing that for Game 5 at Crypto.com. All things considered, I’m glad I decided to wear a light top and jeans today instead of something more business formal.”

“Well, let’s go.” She and Paul shared a lingering kiss and then Paul leaned down to kiss Clarissa as she reached out with her hands to touch his face. I took the tote bag from Philippa and followed her to their car.

There are benches conveniently placed along the hiking trails in Griffith Park every quarter mile or so. We stopped at one so Philippa could give Clarissa her bottle. As the little tyke serenely drank her fill, I kept recording our conversation on Philippa’s phone.

“With Joey’s story as one of the arcs, we can have three different aspects of the transgender experience in one narrative. So much more interesting and compelling than just my snooze-inducing life story—”

“Three aspects? I’m counting two: yours and Joey’s stories.”

“Well, we need your story, Philippa, for the perfect balance. Look at you! You have love, a successful career, a baby…you’re every transwoman’s paragon.”

“I don’t know, Joanne.”

“It’s not a documentary, Philippa. These characters will just be based on us. The audience doesn’t need to know our real names.” I laughed. “Don’t they always say, “write what you know”? Well, what do we know better than our own lives?” Philippa handed me a bottle of water, which I chugged rather greedily. It was getting warmer as we approached mid-day.

“I’ll have to talk it over with Paul. But I guess if he doesn’t object—”

“Maa-maa,” Clarissa interjected as her lips released the nipple of her bottle.

“I think Clarissa wants to be in the movie. Maybe you could add stage mother to your resume.”

“Oh no, filmmaking is a nasty business. I’d rather Clarissa become a professional. Maybe a doctor or lawyer.”

“If we do a sequel in 35 years, maybe she can be the first President with a transwoman mother!”

“Oh, Joanne, you are a riot."

I expected Joey to show up around 7PM on Tuesday evening, as we had agreed to. I was doubly nervous. The first reason for my nerves was trying not to ruin the dinner I had planned to serve. I had boasted to Joey that I could make a mean Penne Alla Vodka with Shrimp. I’ve made it before to generally nice reviews, but Eliot, Alastair, and a couple of other close friends would be too kind to say anything negative.

Shopping for the ingredients was so stressful that I begged off my writing session with Philippa early in the afternoon to round up everything I needed. Not being familiar at all with LA’s best markets, I asked Philippa to give me a list of her favorites. I ldrove myself nearly insane crisscrossing the city filling the back seat of Alastair’s Audi with groceries. For the shrimp, I found myself in Little Tokyo at the Los Angeles Fish Co. 2 pounds of peeled and de-veined shrimp, done for a little extra cost (I hate doing it myself…poo!). Then a hop, skip and a jump to Grand Central Market in Downtown, where I picked out some fresh produce, onions, cloves, peppers, tomatoes, and spinach (for the side dish, sauteed with garlic). On the way back home in Silver Lake, I walked into Silver Lake Wine on Glendale Blvd. and walked out with a bottle of Smirnoff Vodka for cooking and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc for drinking. I paid for it, of course.

But the real reason I was nervous, beside wondering whether I should serve soup with dinner, was my uneasiness now with having Dr. Petry “drop by” later in the evening. Eliot and Alastair voiced serious reservations about this clandestine summit meeting and even Philippa said it was a bad idea. And, on top of that, Joey said she was bringing someone along as well. In any case, I’ve got Dr. Petry’s number. I’ll just call and tell him to abort the mission if things go pear-shaped.

I was twirling my June Cleaver pearls when I heard the knocking on the front door. I lowered the flame under the sauce pan and shucked my apron, composing myself, flipping hair away from my face, and walked elegantly to the door. Standing there were Joey and her mother, Elizabeth, all smiles. I was stunned momentarily before I waved them inside.

“Hello, Joanne. Good to see you again.” She held up a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. “Joey told me you’re serving shrimp.”

“Good to see you too, Elizabeth. I wasn’t expecting Joey’s plus one to be you.” I took the bottle from her. “That makes two bottles of the same wine on the table.”

“Great winos drink alike, eh?” laughed Joey. Abruptly, Elizabeth hugged me. I had assumed we’d just shake hands. Awkwardly, I held her hand in both of mine, speechless for a count of ten. Finally, I took my eyes off hers and motioned to the couch.

“Have a seat. Dinner’ll be served in ten minutes. So, tell me, Elizabeth, what besides visiting Joey, has you out here in the wild, wild west?”

“I’m finally done with Tufts. I resigned over a year ago, but they wanted me to stay on the administrative board until they could find a permanent replacement for me. I’m putting my house on the market.”

“So…you’re moving out here? Some more quality mother/daughter time?” I poured the sauce over the penne and quickly sauteed the spinach. Maybe I should have made that bean soup after all. I wasn’t really listening to Elizabeth. I needed a minute to text Dr. Petry.

“I’m sure Joey would not be happy if I even hinted at moving out here. No, I’m thinking of moving back to New York. Our old loft was placed on the market last month.”

“The one on Spring & Wooster, mom?”

“Wow, Joey, you remember it? Your dad and I took you to the city when you were 5 or 6. You wanted to go up and see the inside of it, but we explained that someone else was living there now and probably wouldn’t want us intruding on them.”

“I saw it again that summer you sent me off to Gran’s. I told you I stayed with my friend Julia for a couple of days in her dorm room.”

“Yes, you had your grandmother complicit in your little deception. Had I known you…”

I tried to shield my phone from view as I sent this text to Dr. Petry:

“You can’t come by! E is here with J. We’ll re-sched.”

A droplet of sweat traversed my forehead as I carried the dish of pasta and plate of sauteed spinach to the dinner table. I had already set the table for three.

“Dinner is served. Your last chance to leave before you taste my cooking.”

Dinner went well. I had succeeded in not giving Joey and Elizabeth food poisoning. In fact, they swore they enjoyed the meal. I can only fully trust Joey’s sworn testimony since she didn’t have any wine, opting for some bottled water I had in the refrigerator. On the other hand, Elizabeth always loved her wine. The rosy glow of her cheeks wasn’t due to rouge. We moved to the couch, and Joey volunteered to fix us cups of coffee. She walked into the kitchen and Elizabeth and I were left to stare at each other. I would have started to whistle a tune but, sadly, I don’t know how to whistle. I guess Betty Bacall would have been disappointed in me.

I hadn’t received a return text from Dr. Petry. I was worried. I’ll have to find an opportunity to actually speak to him if he doesn’t answer my text. Don’t tell me he turned off his phone. I placed my head in my hands.

“Headache, Joanne?”

“It’s nothing. Just a little tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Joey tells me you’re writing a screenplay.”

“For Alastair Knowles at GlobalNet, mom. This is his guest house.”

“Yes, I’ve seen photos of you and him together at various social events. The Met Gala last month. That dress you wore was beautiful. You looked gorgeous.”

“Oh, gorgeous, please no. Stunning, perhaps.” I laughed just as Joey handed us our coffee.

“So, is your relationship with Mr. Knowles strictly business or is there something more?”

“Mom, that’s a really personal question.”

“Well, we’re all old friends here. Is it a secret? Does Mr. Knowles have a wife somewhere?”

“No, Alastair’s divorced.”

“Joanne told me she and Alastair were co-workers at FOX for years. He was married to that actress who was in all those kooky independent films, Lulu Brooks. She plays mother roles on TV nowadays.”

“She used to use this guest house as an art studio. There’s still some of her canvases in the back somewhere.”

“I take it you’re only here temporarily.”

“The screenplay should be finished in three or four months. Then I can skedaddle back to my house on Long Island—”

“We’ll be in the same state, won’t we? You can see the loft after I’ve moved in.”

“I’m not sure I’m all that interested in seeing that loft again. My last memories of it aren’t that pleasant—”

“Or I could drive out to where you are. The Hamptons are only 2 hours away from Manhattan.”

“If you drive like Lewis Hamilton. I need to go powder my nose. I’ll be right back.”

Behind the closed bathroom door, I quickly punched in Dr. Petry’s number on my cell. After a couple of rings, he accepted the call.

“Willard Petry.”

“Dr. Petry, it’s Joanne Prentiss. Did you get my text?”

“I had my phone turned off. I was in an off-site meeting all afternoon that didn’t end until after seven. What’s up? We’re still on, right?”

“No, that’s why I sent you a text. Elizabeth is here with Joey. It’s not a good time to show up unannounced. We’ll have to do this another time…if at all.”

“I’m already on my way. I figure it’ll be another 20 minutes if the traffic lets up. It doesn’t matter Elizabeth’s there. It might actually help things—”

“I’m not too sure of that. Just turn the car around and live to fight another day, doctor. Believe me, this isn’t a good time—” He disconnected. Maybe I can get everyone out of the house. Yeah, that’s the ticket. We’ll go visit Eliot. He’s back in town today. He’ll do his old mom a solid. I checked my makeup, fluffed up my hair, and re-applied my lip gloss. A few steps later, I was standing in front of them, hands on my hips.

“I just got the greatest idea. We should introduce your mother, Joey, to Eliot. Do you want to call him to see if he’s home or meet us for drinks somewhere?”

“Should we bother him? He’s got a game tomorrow night. He’ll probably want to go to bed early.”

“Let me call him. I’ll see whether he’s available. We could meet up at the Rendition Room on Tujunga. It’s got a cute little speakeasy décor. And they have a magic act on Tuesdays!” I was about to punch in Eliot’s number when someone knocked loudly on the front door.

“Joanne, were you expecting someone?”

“No. Who could that be?” With my heart thumping, I went to open the door, fearing the cataclysm about to take place if it was Dr. Petry. Instead, my mouth flew open when I saw Alastair standing there, holding a bouquet of yellow roses.

“I switched my schedule around. I thought you could use some support.”

“Oh, Alastair, you’re incorrigible. You love surprises! And you know it throws me for a loop—”
He stepped in and kissed me deeply, almost crushing the flowers between us.

“Who’s this, Joanne,” asked Elizabeth as she walked toward them, Joey a step or two behind.

“Elizabeth, this is Alastair Knowles. He’s…”

“Her landlord, sort of. Hello, Elizabeth, nice to finally get to meet you.” He extended his hand and Elizabeth shook it.

“And nice to meet you. Joey’s told me a lot about you.”

“All good stuff, Alastair. I just told mom how impressed I am with you.”

“Well, thank you, Joey. Let me return the compliment. You have a wonderful daughter there, Elizabeth. You should be very proud of her. And she of you, as a parent.”

“Okay, enough of tonight’s meeting of the mutual admiration society. We were just about to set up a run for after dinner drinks with Eliot when you knocked. Here, I’ll take the flowers. Thank you, dear.” I kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll find something to put this in water and then we can call Eliot—”

“Let the man sit down for a moment, Joanne. Joey, can you heat up a cup of coffee for Alastair? Sit, sit. Tell me how you and Joanne met.” She leaned into Alastair to whisper. “Joanne’s a little bashful about spilling. But you can tell me. It looks really serious, you two.”

“I’m standing right here, Elizabeth. I can hear you.”

“It’s still early, Joanne. We can go for drinks later. Now, Alastair, Joey tells me you met Joanne shortly after she transitioned.”

“Maybe we should leave, Joanne,” Joey whispered, standing next to me with the coffee pot in her right hand. “I think mom’s a little “expansive” because of the wine. She gets like that when she’s had a little too much to drink.”

“Joey, you don’t have to tell me. I lived with your mom for five years. But, maybe it’s a good idea to take your mom back to your apartment. We can get together some other time. My only regret is that you didn’t get to continue your story tonight. Is Thursday good for you?”

“Yeah, Thursday’s good for me. I’ll think of something for mom to do that night. Heaven knows when she’s going back East. She’s up to something, I’m afraid.” She handed the cup of coffee to Alastair, who was hemming and hawing as Elizabeth bombarded him with questions.

“Mom, let’s head out in a few minutes. I’ve got an early shift tomorrow, as you know.”

“Oh, I’m having such a good time talking to Alastair. Joanne, you’ve got a winner here.” She gave me the thumbs up sign. Alastair’s eyes pleaded with me to end his torture. “Okay, we’re out. Joanne, thank you so much for dinner. You’ve become a better cook than I ever was. Let me reciprocate the hospitality and take you and Alastair out for dinner. You name the place. Price is no object!”

“Mom! Here’s your purse. We’ll make arrangements some other time. It’s getting late.”

Joey half pushed, half pulled her mother toward the front door. Holding on to her arm with her left hand, she turned the front doorknob and swung it open to see Dr. Willard Petry standing on the doorstep.

“Dad!”

“Willard!”

“What are you doing here?!!” they shouted in unison.

Alastair almost choked on his coffee and looked up at me from the couch.

“Well, Stanley, here's another fine mess you've gotten us into!”