December 28, 2022. Alastair and I had just flown home to Los Angeles from New York. The moment it seemed we got off the plane, Michelle Gravesend, the Chief Content Officer at GlobalNet (Alastair’s boss) texted Alastair to remind him that we were expected to be on the company’s New Year’s Eve moonlight cruise. In fact, we were expected to board the yacht in Marina Del Rey at least a half hour earlier than our guests, in order to help greet them at the dock.

“Me too?” I asked.

“As the co-writer of GlobalNet’s next international box office smash hit – and soon to be in pre-production – it’ll be the first time our guests will have the opportunity to meet and interact with you. Also, as my bride-to-be, I want to show you off to that insular community we like to call…Hollywood!”

“Well, if you put it that way.”

“You like me showing you off?”

“No. Meeting all these Hollywood types. Is Chris Hemsworth or Idris Elba invited?”

“I thought you were more into the Paul Rudd or Tom Holland type—”

“I’d settle for Jennifer Lawrence or Emma Stone.”

“There’s a better chance of either of those two playing you in the movie than dating you, Jo.”

“Wait. Really? You’re joking—”

“We’ve had some preliminary discussions with them, among others. Jennifer is very interested actually. At least her agent tells me—”

“I’m going to check with Philippa to see if you’re pulling my leg.”

“She and Paul are coming on the cruise too. Ask her then.”

“If Philippa were believable as a Caucasian blonde woman, I’d have her play me. After all, she’s a transwoman…”

“I floated the suggestion to Michelle that you play yourself. In the contemporary portion of the story of course—”

“Alastair, that’s sweet. But two things. One, I haven’t acted since I played the Ghost of Christmas Present when I was 15. Two, the character in the movie is just that, a fictional character. Granted, it’s based on me but—”

“I know. A lot of people would be up in arms at how they’re portrayed…even though that’s exactly how they thought and behaved. Some were unnecessarily cruel, others just ignorant.”

“I changed things around enough so that no one can claim it’s libelous.”

After a light brunch at Bacari’s in Beverly Grove, Philippa and I went to our 11AM appointments at Weal & Spoke, the trendiest of trendy hair salons in Los Angeles, on West 3rd Street, a short distance away. I figured on spending a good 4 hours there before I could declare my hair presentable for the New Year’s Eve cruise the next evening. Philippa, on the other hand, would probably be finished an hour or more before me. Her youth and lovely Eurasian hair would make her stylist’s work quick and easy. Blow drying all that hair would be the biggest problem. Volume is one thing Philippa had no issue with.

By the luck of the draw, we were assigned to chairs facing each other and our stylists started work simultaneously, giving us the opportunity to converse freely and easily a mere few feet across from each other. We didn’t have to shout.

“Jo, are you really going to invite Rafe to the wedding?”

“Of course. Why shouldn’t I?”

“If I were Alastair, I don’t think I’d want my bride-to-be’s “love of her life” making googly eyes at her all through the ceremony. I hope Rafe’s a teetotaler. Resentment and regret make for loud drunks—”

“Rafe would never do anything to hurt me or ruin such an important day in my life—”

“He married some other woman, Jo! That was bad enough.”

“We all make bad decisions, Phil. Not everyone’s as lucky as you were with Paul.”

“That’s true. So, now that you’re back in town…for good…we need to knuckle down on the wedding planning. We barely started putting together your guest list. Oh, by the way, Paul thinks he can get that jazz quartet we went to see in October to play at the reception.”

“Oh, I really liked them. Alastair’s a real jazz buff though. He’ll have to sign off on them. Are they still playing weekends at the Vibrato Grill?”

“I’ll check. Speaking of the Vibrato, I still can’t believe Herb Alpert was there the same night we were there.”

“Well, he owns the place, Phil. I wanted to go and get his autograph but he was preoccupied with an older couple at his table. I didn’t want to intrude.”

“Oh, that was Shuggie Brennan and her husband Bobby what’s-his-name.”

“Who?”

“Jo! You don’t know who Shuggie Brennan is? Hint, hint. She’s got something in common with the both of us.” I wracked my brain for a moment before it came to me. She’s the transwoman who had a string of hit records in the ‘70s and ‘80s. I must have seen her a couple of times on The Midnight Special.

“Oh, how dumb of me. You’re right. I should have recognized her.”

“Are you going to invite Elizabeth?”

“I guess I should. Maybe she’ll bring her daughter Joey as her plus one. I hope so. I wonder if she’ll still be with that chef guy when the wedding takes place.”

“You don’t think they’ll last until February or March?”

“Knowing Elizabeth? Nah, odds are against it.”

About two hours into our ordeal, Philippa and I sprang for coffee and banana pudding from Magnolia Bakery, up the street, for everyone. I ordered three each of the Red Velvet and Chocolate Hazelnut cups.

Sometime after 3PM, we waltzed out of the salon and our hair was perfect! The rest of the afternoon was spent at Philippa and Paul’s house in Los Feliz, playing with their daughter Clarissa. She complimented me on my hair. Smart girl! She had the makings of a couturier before the age of three.

Alastair and I were assigned the duty of greeting guests at the gangway ramp. With the cool breeze coming off the Santa Monica Bay on an ostensibly 50° Fahrenheit evening, I was shivering in my black strapless party dress. Alastair put his arm around my shoulders and that helped a little bit. That and nibbling on my neck.

Sadly, neither Idris Elba nor Chris Hemsworth showed up to be greeted by me. Apparently, mega stars in Hollywood have better New Year’s Eve parties to attend than the GlobalNet cruise that circled the bay from Point Dume in Malibu to the Palos Verde peninsula. The majority of the 100 or so guests were a handful of GlobalNet lead actors, co-stars, some other above-the-line production people, top tier executives, board members, and a major investor or two. Most of them knew Alastair by name if not by sight. Me, I was a new face and name. A few of the older gentlemen sneaked a kiss on the cheek rather brazenly. One of them even kissed Alastair!

Late arriving but a welcome sight were Paul and Philippa. We hugged and kissed both cheeks.

“It’s almost time for them to retract the gangway. Dinner’s about to be served, guys.”

“Mom couldn’t get Clarissa to sleep. She wanted to come to the party,” laughed Philippa.

“I have a sneaky suspicion your mom’s going to let Clarissa stay up to watch the ball drop at Pacific Park on TV,” Paul noted as they made their way up the gangway ramp.

Our late dinner was served at almost 10PM after the obligatory cocktail hour and mingling on deck. GlobalNet provided guests with a choice of four main courses: pan-seared chicken breast, smoked chili-rubbed Atlantic salmon (Alastair’s choice), Za’atar flat iron steak, and potato gnocchi with winter vegetables (my choice). Dessert was either chocolate toffee crunch cake or Spanish Basque-style cheesecake souffle. Unfortunately, Paul and Philippa were seated halfway across the room at another table with mostly other directors and writers and their spouses.

The main attraction at our table was a young actor named Trent Foster, who had just been Golden Globe-nominated for his role as a young Albert Einstein in the screen adaptation of the Philip Glass opera, Einstein on the Beach. Charmingly, he had escorted his mother to the party. She didn’t contribute much to the conversation at our table but was very effusive in her praise of the food.

“So, Trent, I never knew Albert Einstein was a surfer,” asked Alastair in a mocking tone.

“Poetic license, Al. I mean, how do you make the opera relatable to a general audience? We’re not producing this for a bunch of scientists and mathematicians. When’s the last issue of Scientific American that had a music review column?”

“Oh, Alastair, Trent had nothing to do with the adaptation. He’s an actor. He just reads the lines on the pages they give him. I thought you were very good in the movie. Especially when you recited poetry while riding your board on what looked like a tsunami wave,” I said with sincere admiration.

“Yeah, those lines were written by Christopher Knowles, a thirteen-year-old poet on the autism spectrum. Knowles is in his 60s now. Still in Brooklyn I believe. Say, Alastair, are you related to Christopher?”

“Uh, no. I am related to Chris Knowles, the comic book writer and artist, who did “Halo, An Angel’s Story.”

“No shit! I loved that comic book series—”

“Trent! Language, please.”

“Sorry, mom. Of course, it’s a little before my time. I wasn’t even born in 1996 when that first came out.”

“This souffle is just yummy! Trent, how’s the crunch cake?”

“Alastair, we’re having a little impromptu meeting at my table right now. Excuse us, Joanne. Everyone.” Michelle Gravesend, Alastair’s boss, stood behind Alastair’s chair, smiling her gracious host smile. “Go up on deck and enjoy the music. It’s a beautiful night.”

After making a brief stop at the Ladies’ Room, I joined the crowd on deck. On the way, I passed by Michelle’s table and everyone seated there was involved in an intense discussion. Alastair was seated to Michelle’s right. Surrounding them were Harold Leong, Chairman and CEO, George Hollander, CFO, Rick Baldry, Director of International Production, and Mary Legler, EVP of the Legal Department. I couldn’t help but notice Alastair didn’t look too happy about whatever they were saying.

I had planned to reconnoiter with Paul and Philippa, the only couple I knew at the party, once I was out on deck but they were hidden somewhere in the throng. I decided to avail myself of a glass of Chardonnay. While I was sipping slowly, keeping an eye out for Paul and Philippa, a young person of indeterminate gender approached me. They were incongruously dressed in a rumpled sweatshirt, torn jeans, and a moth-eaten ball cap. My first thought was: doesn’t the catering staff have to wear a standard uniform?

“Are you Joanne Prentiss?” Their voice trembled.

“Yes? How can I help you?”

They took off their cap and brushed their hair back in place. “I’m Marla Mulholland. You don’t recognize me, do you?”

“Should I? Have we met?”

Their voice became squeakier and a torrent of words came out. “That’s my Twitch name. I’m the most streamed femboy in North America. I’m also on Only Fans but you have to pay to subscribe to that. I heard about your film and my friend who knows someone in the catering crew got me onto this cruise because they found out you were going to be here too. I’m really talented. You should watch my streams. Don’t let this get around but I’m really acting as this character of Marla Mulholland. It’s not the real me. I do it to get views—”

“Whoa, hold up, Marla, or whatever your real name is. I’m just the writer of this movie. I have nothing to do with casting.”

“But the main character is you, Joanne Prentiss. Wouldn’t you be the best judge of who could best play you on the silver screen?”

“That’s a fictional character. It’s not me.”

“But the character’s named Joey just like you. It’s you.”

“You’re too feminine looking to play the younger version of the main character anyway.”

“That’s no problem. I’m detransitioning. This whole femboy act is getting complicated.”

“You’re not trans or you’re tired of cross-dressing?”

“I have my doubts. It was fun for a while. And I was getting a lot of donations to my Twitch streams. But I do like acting! It’s what I really enjoy. The camera loves me too.”

“You’re very cute, Marla, I’ll give you that. But, like I said, I have nothing to do with casting.”

“Do you know Alastair Knowles, the production guy? My friend’s been trying to get in touch with him.”

“Is your friend an agent?”

“No, she’s my girlfriend. But she’s taking business classes at USC and plans on becoming one.”

“You need to get a real agent. They’ll be able to open up the channels of communication for you. It’s all about who you know in this town.”

“How do I get an agent?”

“Put together a reel of your best streaming bits. The ones that show off your acting chops. Then submit it to an agent who handles performers similar to you. Good luck. It’s the best advice I can give you.”

“Thank you, Joanne. You’re a sweetheart. Just the way I imagined you to be. I’ll do what you suggest. Since I’m here anyways, could you point out Alastair to me?”

“He’s in a meeting right now below deck. I don’t think he wants to be interrupted right now. Perhaps after midnight—”

“Oh, there’s Trent Foster! He’s absolutely dreamy, don’t you think? Thanks again, Joanne.” They walked quickly away toward where Trent Foster was standing, pointing at the sky, and surrounded by giggling women of all ages.

I turned to place my empty glass of Chardonnay down on the serving table when I almost crashed into Selena Portmanteaux, two-time Oscar winner and one of the grand dames of American cinema.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you standing there. Oh my God, it’s Selena Portmanteaux!”

“And you must be Joanne Prentiss.” She offered her right hand. We shook.

“I didn’t see you come aboard. And Alastair and I were the unofficial official greeters.”

“My husband Derek and I were…a little late. We arrived after the yacht had already departed.”

“How did you get on board?”

“A dinghy. We hired a dinghy. It’s a real struggle getting on board a yacht from a dinghy wearing a party dress and heels.”

“I can imagine.”

“Here, have another glass. Chardonnay?” I accepted the offered glass and took a quick sip.

“Well, you look stunning, nevertheless.”

“Thank you. So do you, Joanne. You’re very impressive…in the flesh. Your photos don’t do you justice.”

“Are you working on a GlobalNet project?”

“I hope to. You could help me out, Joanne.”

“Selena, you’re kidding. Me? Help you? I’m sure Michelle and Alastair would jump over hoops to get you involved with the network. How could I help?”

She took me by the crook of my arm and led me to the railing, away from the maddening sound of raised voices and clinking glasses.

“Your script is remarkable, Joanne. The best I’ve read in years. I need to play you—”

“It’s not me. It’s based on me but—wait a minute! How did you get your hands on the script? Philippa and I haven’t even gotten the final notes on it yet.”

“Derek plays racquetball with Harold Leong every Tuesday at the Athletic Club. They’re tight and Harold passed along his copy of the most recent draft. I read it immediately!”

“Alastair doesn’t know?”

“Harold’s his boss not the other way around. Come hell or high water, I’m playing you, honey.”

“I’d be incredibly flattered but, Selena, I would love to have the part played by a transwoman. Michelle thinks it could be a real breakthrough role for the trans community of actors—”

“Michelle’s a businesswoman, first and foremost. Not to humble brag but if I headlined this movie, you’d all be rolling in dinero, big time. My films have grossed a billion dollars in the last three years. I’m internationally known…”

“But you’re a cis woman. Sorry but you couldn’t portray the nuances of being a transwoman—”

“I’m an Oscar-winning actor, Joanne. I can inhabit the main character’s world, feel what she feels, behave the way she would, say the things she would say. Alright, here’s my proposition. Let me birddog you for a month, two months. Observe you. Learn about your life experiences from you. Get to know the people, places, and events that have shaped you. Better than reading a biography. Living alongside the subject herself!”

“What about your husband, Derek?”

“Joanne! I’m not proposing we engage in wife-swapping, for godsake,” she laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t be sharing your bed at night. Derek and I will rent a place very close by and spend as much time with you as possible. More like a 9 to 5 gig. With occasional overtime.”

“I don’t know what to say other than it sounds ludicrous on the face of it. I don’t think Alastair would go for it either.”

“He will. If he values his job. I’m putting together an agenda for Michelle right now. Harold is on board already.”

“I could pull the script from GlobalNet—”

“Let’s be real, Joanne. You can’t. They own it. They paid for it, lock, stock, and barrel. Happy New Year. Oh, there’s Trent Foster. He’s delicious, don’t you agree?”

“I think you’re older than his mom—”

“That could be a factor in my favor.” She walked away but not before turning to smirk and shoot me a playful cat wink.

I finally found Paul and Philippa at the other end of the deck. They were standing at another serving table filled with glasses of wine and champagne.

“Oh, there you are. I’ve been searching for half an hour.”

“We moved around a bit. Paul wanted to chat up some people about a project we want to do that…” Philippa cupped her mouth and whispered,”…we’re thinking of producing ourselves.”

“Yeah, don’t tell Alastair,” Paul implored. “Nothing against him, you understand.”

“We want to be the captains of our own ship, you know.”

“Well, good luck. I hope this doesn’t mean we won’t ever work together again, Phil.”

“Oh, no, Joanne, we’ll write together. I promise. I think of you as my older sister—”

“I’m old enough to be your mother. Even if it isn’t physically possible,” I laughed.

“Joanne Prentiss!” a distinct British accent practically bellowed. I turned and had to stoop down to see to whom the voice belonged. It was Felicia Framingham, the well-known British character actress and unintentional chat show comedian.

“Joanne Prentiss! I must speak to you!”

“Felicia, I’m delighted to meet you. I’m a fan. You were wonderful in the latest Star Wars movie—”

“That was Dame Maggie Smith. I’ve never been in a science fiction film. Hate those things. All those special effects and loud explosions. Not for me.”

“Lord of the Rings! You were marvelous in that trilogy—”

“You’re older than I thought! Those films were twenty years ago, my dear. Regardless, I must speak to you about this transgender movie that my agent keeps mentioning. I believe there’s a role for an actor of my age, as it were.”

“Yes, the epilogue of the movie is from the viewpoint of the main character when she’s living in an assisted living home…”

“Well, I don’t really know who you are. I’m halfway across the globe and I rarely pay too much attention to what transpires here in the States but my agent tells me this will be quite the cultural landmark when it’s released and…” She turned to Paul and Philippa. “I’m all for cultural landmarks. I’m a lesbian, you might know.”

“I’d be so honored to have you involved in the movie.”

“What’s more it would be convenient for me. I heard you’re going to shoot this in London at Pinewood.”

“That’s Alastair’s plan. We have a working agreement with them.”

“Oh, yes, Alastair Knowles. I knew his grandfather the baronet. He wasn’t too happy when Alastair’s father married that French girl and moved to the States.”

“I wonder if he would’ve been happy to see his grandson marry a transwoman.”

“He would have choked on his cigar. But we live in a different society now. At least I believe we’ve progressed. My nephew became my niece. She married the loveliest girl.” Again, she turned to Paul and Philippa. “I told her lesbians are the best. I did, most certainly.” She turned back to me. “I have the most adorable grandnieces now. Both in university. She had stored some sperm before her surgery. You know, for the bottom bits. You didn’t do that, did you, dear?”

“No, it didn’t occur to me that I’d want to have children back then. I suppose that was a miscalculation on my part. Emily and I could have had our own children—”

“Emily?”

“Yes, my wife. She passed almost ten years ago.”

“A modern Tiresias. Indeed. Well, I actually came over here to get a glass of champagne. Another example of synchronicity, don’t you think? Oh, look, is that Trent Foster? He’s a lovely young man. Reminds me of an American soldier I knew at Cambridge. Very nice to meet you all.” She walked briskly toward where Trent was last seen with more vigor than you could expect from an 80-year-old.

“I see you’ve met Felicia.” Alastair picked up a glass of champagne and toasted all three of us in turn. “Michelle asked me to send Paul and Philippa down below. She and some of the other officers of the company want to talk to you two.”

“What’s this about?” asked Paul.

“You’ll see.” He patted Paul on the shoulder. “It’s nothing bad. Now, get moving.”

They left Alastair and me alone and he led me to the railing.

“Jo, I just got new marching orders from top management.”

“Marching, as in…you’ve been fired?”

“No, honey. They could’ve just done that by text if they wanted. It’s something that’ll put a crimp in our plans for the near future.”

“Don’t say we’re not having the wedding—”

“Well, it might have to wait a couple of months.”

“Oh, Alastair. I can’t wait to be your wife…officially.”

“It’ll happen, I promise. But, first, we’re going to spend a few months in Paris—”

“Paris? Paris, France?”

“No, Paris, Texas. Of course, Paris, France. Old Alastair has been told to shepherd two co-productions with Gaumont. One of them is an international remake and update of Jules and Jim with dual dialogue tracks in English and French. The other project is still being decided. Probably an American noir from the classic period.”

“Rafe used to laugh at me for liking Jules and Jim so much. It’s such a masterpiece.”

“I guess you’ll never stop thinking about Rafe and what could have been.”

“I love you, Alastair. Only you.”

We kissed. I held onto Alastair for an eternity. The murmuring in the crowd got louder as they realized the yacht had returned to Marina Del Rey, timed so that the ball drop at Pacific Park at midnight, and the fireworks display could be in optimal view as it crossed the bay.

In a few minutes, 2023 arrived. There was a roar of exultation. Many among us looked forward to a joyful new year. Including Alastair and me.

A week before Alastair and I were scheduled to leave for France, I got a voice call from Elizabeth in the middle of the day. That surprised me. Elizabeth hated talking on the phone and, if it was something important, usually waited until the evening to make a call.

“Elizabeth? It’s a surprise to hear from you. You normally text.”

“Joey, I didn’t call to chat. Unfortunately, it’s Willard. He’s in a hospice in Seattle. The doctors tell him he hasn’t long—”

“I’m so sorry, Elizabeth. Is it cancer?”

“Pancreatic. It’s why he resigned from consulting with The Children’s Hospital. Jocelyn thought she drove him away but she was wrong. He really did want to patch things up between them.”

“Thank you for telling me. Next time I bump into Joey, I’ll extend my condolences.”

“I’m calling not just to inform you about Willard’s dire condition, Joey. It has to do with a request Willard made. He wanted Joey and I to see him before he entered the final phase where he wouldn’t be aware enough to register our presence.”

“You must go, Elizabeth. He’s dying. Put aside all your enmity. Joey too.”

“I spoke to Joey last night and she’s clearing the next few days to go to Seattle. She’s apprehensive about it but…”

“He’s her father, after all.”

“He asked for one other thing, Joey. He wants you to come with us. He wants to see all three of us…together.”

“But why? What does any of this have to do with me?”

“I think I know. But please come, Joey. If only for the day. You could come and go in less than a day. Please.”

“I’ll come. I’m pretty much all packed up already so I could spare the time.”

“Packed up? You’re moving again?”

“No. Alastair has to work in Paris for a couple of months. We’ll be back and then have the wedding like we planned, just 3 months later.”

“Aren’t you the jetsetter. Always lucky in love, Joey. There was Rafe, me, Emily, and now Alastair. Whatever it is, you ought to bottle it and sell it. You could be a billionaire.”

“Text me the coordinates, Elizabeth. I’ll see you in Seattle.”