Sorry for being a bit late with this latest chapter. Real life caused some delay in my posting schedule. To make up for this, please enjoy this longer than usual chapter.

The cartoon elephant that was extruding from the wall loomed above my head, looking every bit as ponderously large as the real thing. I couldn’t help glancing nervously over my left shoulder at it.

“Want to switch seats?” Chuck asked me, a wry smile on his lips.

“No, it’s okay. That thing looks almost real…for a cartoon, of course. You’d think it’d scare the bejesus out of a little kid…”

We were sitting in the waiting room of the Gender Health Services Division of Children’s Hospital on Monday morning. Chuck had arranged an appointment for me with Dr. Jocelyn Petry, a pediatric endocrinologist. I don’t know why but I was dressed in a summery blouse and skirt combination and open-toe low heel sandals. My right leg was anxiously bouncing.

“Boy or girl?” asked a woman seated across from us, a male child of about 10 or 11, just before the onset of puberty, quietly playing a video game on his handheld console.

“Excuse me?” I stuttered, not knowing who or what she was referring to.

“Boy or girl? Is your child a boy or a girl?”

“Neither.”

“Oh, dear. You’re like me. My child…” Looking at her child with an expression of profound sympathy. “The doctors suspect he or she… They? They might be intersex. Is your child in with Dr. Petry right now?”

“No, you misunderstood. We’re not…we don’t have any children. We’re here to see Dr. Petry about another matter…”

“Well, if I may say so, when the two of you do have children, they’ll be absolutely gorgeous. What an attractive couple you make.” She leaned forward to take a closer look at me. “Oh, can it be? You’re Evie Rivers! Trent Foster’s girlfriend! I’ve seen you on TV.”

The other people in the waiting room and the two nurses behind the reception desk turned their heads our way. Unconsciously, I retreated into Chuck’s side. He placed his arm around my shoulders as I tried to shrink from view.

“Please, lady, don’t make a scene. Can we have some privacy?” Chuck pulled me into his side even further.

“I’m sorry.” She surveyed the room before lowering her voice. “I’m confused. Can doctors determine gender dysphoria in fetuses now? What wonders will they come up with next?”

“She’s not pregnant,” spluttered Chuck.

“Don’t worry, I won’t blab it to the media. You can confide in me.”

At that moment, a nurse emerged from Dr. Petry’s office, looked around the room and settled her gaze on Chuck and me.

“Evie Rivers? The doctor will see you now.”

Both Chuck and I rose from our chairs. I placed my hand on his chest.

“It’s alright, Chuck. You can go back to the office now. I’ll order an Uber later.” He shook his head and squeezed my hand.

“Are you sure? I’m good at hand holding…”

“Go. I’ll be okay. I’d rather do this one on one.”

As I walked into Dr. Petry’s office, I overheard the inquisitive woman say to Chuck in a chiding tone: “You seem like a nice young man. I’d stay away from these Hollywood types if I were you. Her baby daddy won’t even take her to see the doctor. Take my advice. She’s beautiful but she’s not worth the trouble.”

“Evie? Evie?”

I was deep in thought, mesmerized by the low bookcase in Dr. Petry’s office, lined with conventionally gender-assigned toys. Reeling in the years, I wondered. Would I have reached for the plush animals or the die-cast model cars? Or both?

“Sorry, Dr. Petry. I was lost in thought. Those toys…”

“There’s a minor diagnostic utility to them but, in all honesty, they’re to occupy my younger patients while I speak to their parents. Oh, and you can call me Joey. My patients call me Dr. Joey.”

“I feel a little awkward seeing you, Doctor. I think I’ve aged out of your core demographic.”

“Gender dysphoria exists in all age groups, from toddlers to senior citizens, Evie. May I ask you how long you’ve been presenting as female?”

“About two months, give or take a week.”

“That surprises me. You look so…so convincing as a young woman. When Chuck first told me about you, I expected to see someone…let’s say…less evolved in the real-life test. But then I googled you. Forgive me, I’m not a big pop culture consumer. However, one can’t avoid seeing video of you and Trent Foster all over TV and social media—”

“It’s a nuisance, really, Doctor. I only decided to “present” as a woman to land a job here in LA. It’s my sister’s wacky idea. Everything else that’s happened – the acting job, the press coverage, the need to keep up appearances – wasn’t what I wanted or expected.”

“Before you go on, Evie, I must tell you. I am not very tolerant of people who come to me to sign off on hormone replacement therapy so they can further their professional careers, be it performing in legitimate theater and film, drag revues, or, heaven forbid, porn. I deal with patients who have medical conditions or suffer from real gender dysphoria. Strictly. So, if that’s not the case with you, we can end this session right now. You can obtain hormones through other means and from other sources, although I’d caution you not to use them independent of any medical supervision—”

“No, I want to go through the proper channels and everything. The last two months have confirmed what everyone in my family has been trying to tell me since I was 6 or 7 years old. That I’m really, in mind and soul if not body, a girl. I’ve fought against accepting it. I tried to be what a male person is supposed to be, to feel, to act. And now, I’m ready. Ready to claim my true identity. I’m a woman. I’ve always been a woman.”

“Well, that’s quite a little speech. I’m inclined to believe you. However, it’s my professional and ethical duty to verify that you suffer from dysphoria. That’s how I roll.”

“I understand totally. How do we start?”

“I’m going to refer you to a therapist who is among the best in the region. Don’t worry, she works with adults. But first, I want to do some blood tests to check your hormone levels. You might be suffering from partial androgen insensitivity syndrome.”

“What’s that?”

“Inability or reduced capability of your body to process testosterone. But it’s only a hunch. We’ll confirm or rule it out when the results come back in a few days. Then, we’ll proceed. Okay?”

“Sounds good to me. I don’t know if my company’s health plan covers this—”

“Chuck’s taken care of it. I thought you knew that.”

“Chuck shouldn’t have. I can pay. Down the road, when my SAG-AFTRA plan kicks in—”

“So GlobalNet knows you’re not a biological female?”

“Well, no…not yet. I’m not sure it’ll go over well if I tell them. They might fire me on the spot.”

“Alastair Knowles is your producer, right?”

“Yes, he is.”

“You lucked out, Evie. If there’s anyone in Hollywood who is supportive of transgender people, it’s Alastair. His wife, Joanne, is a transwoman. I’m sure he’d be sympathetic to your situation. But don’t act like you were trying to hide the facts from him. No one likes being deceived.”

“Chuck told me you’re friends with Alastair and Joanne. How do you come about knowing them?”

“Through my mother. It’s a long story. And not that pertinent to your situation. Now, if you’ll go into the next room, Nurse Krumholtz will come and draw your blood samples in a few minutes.”

I shivered. “I don’t like having my blood drawn. It gives me the willies.”

“It’s only 30 milliliters. That’s a little bit more than one ounce, Evie. You’ll survive. After you’re done, you’ll be asked to fill out our patient forms with your contact information, etcetera, etcetera. This is the first step in what I hope is a successful journey on the road to womanhood.”

We shook hands and I sauntered into the adjoining room, plopped myself onto the exam table, and waited for the nurse to appear and do her thing. About two minutes in, my phone rang. It was Juan Moskowitz, my intrepid agent.

“Hi Juan. What’s good?”

“Hi, Evie. Alastair Knowles confirmed with me that you’re on strike—”

“What? But I’m not a writer—”

“SAG-AFTRA voted to strike in solidarity with the WGA. Pretty much every production in town has been shut down. Sorry, Evie, this might go on for a while. Maybe even until deep into the Fall if past strikes are any indication.”

“But how am I going to make a living in the meantime? Hypothetically, I’ve given notice at Sisters Sportswear—”

“Maybe they’ll rip up your resignation, Evie. I’m sure they’ll understand the circumstances.”

“Not if Clark Ruskin has any say about it.”

“That’s tough, Evie. But, hey, I’m working on an acting job for you that could happen as soon as next week.”

“How’s that possible? I’m on strike—”

“Under the working agreement we have with the industry, there are loopholes. Music videos are one such loophole. Union members are allowed to work on those, among some other things.”

“But I’m not a singer or musician, Juan.”

“Evie, they just want you to appear in it. It’s a video to support a music track that’s being released as soon as they can finish editing it. And the best thing about it is the artist is your good friend Trent Foster!”

“Oh, no, Juan!”

“Oh, yes, Evie. Danny Dantley’s directing and he and Trent are desperate to cast you in it. Like real, real desperate. I can get you top dollar…no, make it over the top dollar for this. I’ll close the deal in the next 24 to 36 hours. Hey, the label’s paying for it anyway. Get your passport ready, Evie. You’ll be in Berlin next week!”

“I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Gotta go, Evie. I’m meeting with Trent’s label execs in thirty minutes. I’ll update you when I can.”

“Berlin?!!!”

He had already disconnected. I stared at my phone, incredulous. Nurse Krumholtz walked in.

“Which arm do you prefer, Ms. Rivers?”

I stumbled out into the midday sun, still a bit woozy from having had my blood drawn. That nurse took more than an ounce, I swear. The orange juice didn’t help. I felt weak. And hungry. As I headed west on Sunset Boulevard on foot (was I the only pedestrian in sight?), I dismissed the choice of eateries I passed: Starbucks, Sunset Bistro aka Café 233, Los Burritos (the Original), Fun Ol’ Cakes. I was five long blocks west of Children’s Hospital, slowly being baked by the sun, with the famous Palm Trees that the city was planning to replace with native plants providing no shade as well as breaking the cooling breeze that might have partly remedied my threatened incineration.

Not only was I hungry (and thirsty), but I also badly needed some time to process my morning and what had transpired over the weekend. Here I was, getting a prospective green light to begin my transition, feeling good about being proactive about my gender issues, when I get smacked in the head by this darned SAG-AFTRA strike. On top of facing being fired the minute I walk into the office, what a comedown! Even with the advance I got from GlobalNet (minus tax, Juan’s 10% commission, and all the billed-back expenses), how am I going to survive in Los Angeles if the strike goes into late Fall or even winter? Now I can’t even afford a car, of which the sweat dripping down my forehead is a cruel reminder. And forget about paying for the therapy sessions, hormone treatment, and medical consultations!

Finally, I reached Shangri-La, otherwise known as Burger King. You can get a real meal there. A Whopper of a meal. As expected, most of their business was through the drive-by window. Inside, only a handful of patrons sat at scattered tables, and I was already second in line to give my order at the counter. Five minutes later, I carried my tray of the vaunted Whopper Meal (Whopper with cheese, medium fries, and a medium Diet Coke) to a secluded table close to the exit. As I was about to chomp down on my Whopper, a woman who looked to be in her 60s suddenly appeared behind my left shoulder.

“You’re Evie Rivers, aren’t you?” I pegged her as a woman in her 60s, but she was dressed like Kendall Jenner: cropped white tank top, beneath which just a tad bit too much flesh was protruding, lime green wide-legged trousers (likely a knock-off of the Frankie Shop original), and mahogany brown platform sandals. To literally top it off, her sunglasses sat on her head.

“Yes?” Instead of shaking my hand, she gave me a tiny finger wave from less than a foot away.

“I’m so excited to meet you. Especially here. Where the elite meet to eat!” She laughed a smoker’s laugh, ending in a sound that made you think she was about to spit up a furball. “I’m Hanna Van Gogh.” She emphasized the pronunciation of her last name. It was with a soft g, the way people living in the South of The Netherlands did in Vincent’s time.

“Nice to meet you. Do you want an autograph?” I reached into my purse for a pen.

“No, thanks. I want the same thing you want at the present time: a job.”

“Does everyone in this town read the trades? Don’t you people have other things to follow like sports or politics?”

“I don’t know about everyone, but I do. I’m an extra in the same boat as you. I’m on strike. In fact, I just applied for unemployment this morning. You should probably do the same.”

“Unfortunately, I’m not eligible in this state. I haven’t worked the minimum three months prior to applying and, technically, I quit my regular job, thinking they’d start shooting the series at the end of next month. I’m fucked. Excuse my French.”

“Well, you’re lucky though. You’re handled by CAA. They’ll find you some work in the meantime. Me, I’m going to be eating a lot of PB&J sandwiches. Not this haute cuisine.” She dramatically spread her arms.

“Hanna, give me your name and contact information. I’m not 100% sure but there might be some work on a music video—”

“For Trent Foster? Oh, girl, you need to close the deal with that boy. Hang on for dear life. There’s community property in this state!”

“I’m not about to marry him just for a meal ticket. I’m not really into him anyway. So, do you have a valid passport, Hanna?”

“Umm, yeah, why?”

“Clear your calendar for next week, just in case. I promise I’ll get you in on this if my agent isn’t talking out of his rear end. Let me finish my lunch. I’ve already ordered an Uber. It should be here… (I looked at the app on my phone) …in ten minutes.”

The Uber ride back to the office was…exasperating. The driver immediately recognized me. Duh. I ordered the car under my name, brother. Then he annoyingly teased me about being picked up at a Burger King on Sunset and North Kenmore. I snapped back at him by replying that I liked finding out how the other half lived, like using a ride-share service. The snarl in my voice kept him silent for the rest of the ride.

When I came out of the elevator on our office floor, I was greeted by Debbie, who peppered me with questions about my appointment with Dr. Petry. As we walked toward Chuck’s office, I tried to shush her. Too late. Buzz Feiten, leaving the office on his way to a sales call, crossed our path, stopped, and asked why I had gone to a doctor. Debbie blurted out, “Female troubles!” At that, Buzz frowned and walked quickly toward the elevators. “Well, best of luck. No need to go into detail. See you, ladies.”

I ignored Mei Ling as we approached the open door to Chuck’s office. “I have to speak to Chuck, Debbie. Something’s come up. Something unexpected.” She nodded and didn’t slip her arm from mine. We both just managed to squeeze through the doorway together. There was a groan but not from me. Good thing I ordered the Diet Coke instead of a regular Coke.

Chuck looked up from his desk and smiled, greeting me warmly. He moved quickly to close the door.

“How did it go?”

“Well. It went very well. Dr. Petry took some blood samples to check my hormone levels. Once we get the results, she’ll refer me to a therapist who’ll confirm that I’m ready to undergo HRT. That’s what I’m hoping anyway. But there’s something else. First of all, Chuck, I didn’t expect you to pay for my treatment. I was capable of paying for it myself—”

“Don’t argue with me, Evie. It’s something I want to do.”

“Unfortunately, things may have changed. Drastically. I can’t turn down your help now. I’m on strike and the series has been shut down indefinitely. Who knows if GlobalNet won’t just scrub the whole project if the strike goes past November! And I’ve technically tendered my resignation from Sisters. And Clark is going to fire me anyway—”

“Whoa, Evie. Take a breath. Clark’s not firing you. Not that I’ve heard. Misty said he was sorry that whole episode took place on Saturday. Told her it was all a huge misunderstanding.” He shrugged his shoulders. “As far as I’m concerned, you can work here as long as you want. Now stop hyperventilating, okay?”

“Are you sure Clark’s not thinking of firing me?”

“I’m still here too. He would’ve fired me first if he was still hot about what happened.”

Chuck’s office phone rang. He picked up. There was a brief exchange, and he replaced the receiver.

“Well, that’s strange. Clark wants to see both of us—”

“I knew it! It’s been one thing after another today.”

“What’s strange is he’s not coming up. He wants us to meet him in the parking lot. He’s there right now. Let’s see what he wants.” Chuck followed me out of his office. Debbie caught up to us at the elevators. “I’ve got your back, sis. I’ll quit if he fires you!”

“Don’t be an ass, Debbie. One unemployed daughter is all our dad can tolerate.”

By the time we got down to the parking lot, we had unwittingly brought along almost half of the office with us. Clark Ruskin stood by a shiny new red Corvette Stingray Coupe, a mile-wide smile on his face.

“Come get your new car, Evie Torch red. I hope it’s your favorite color. Kinda goes perfect with your hair.”

With one hand over my mouth, I approached the car slowly, my other hand trembling as I touched the smooth, warm carapace of the Corvette. It was a sensual experience. I looked at Clark, then Debbie, and finally, Chuck.

“I’m flabbergasted. Thank you! Thank you, Clark. I need a car, badly. But I thought you were going to fire me after what…what happened…”

“Fire you? Why would I do that? Because of the little kerfuffle on Saturday? Come on. It’s forgotten already. Hey, Chuck has apologized. Not a big deal.”

“I never apologized, Clark—”

“Well, not in so many words but I could sense the spirit behind what you did say.”

“Whatever, Clark. I did not apologize—”

“Boys, boys. Let’s bury the hatchet, okay?”

“Mei Ling, can you pass me the hatchet? I know the perfect place to bury it.”

“I know you’re joking, Chuck. Cause there’s no hatchets in the office. Right, Mei Ling?” He laughed and took my arm. “Now, Evie, let’s take this baby out for a spin. It’s got a top speed of 194. Shame the speed limit is about 130 miles per hour below that.”

Clark handed me the keys and I slipped into the driver’s seat. Before Clark could turn the corner to take the seat next to me, Debbie rushed in and claimed it for herself. Undeterred, Clark leaned in and gestured for Debbie to step out.

“Debbie, don’t you have some work to do this afternoon?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry. I guess there’s plenty of opportunity to ride in it. After all, we’re sisters. We share everything.”

“Just step out.” Debbie extricated herself from the car and walked back toward the rest of the gathered office crew. Clark sat down and took the remote to raise the barrier gate out of his shirt pocket. “Let’s roll! Gun that engine!”

“Where are we going? Once around the block?”

“Nah, what’s the fun in that? Let’s see how this baby handles. Head north on East Main and make a right onto South Mission Drive.”

“I never realized there were so many Jack-in-the-Boxes in this part of town.”

“Never been to one. I’m a Burger King guy myself.”

“That’s funny. I just had a Whopper meal for lunch.”

“I like women with a hearty appetite. Misty was a vegan for a while. What a buzz kill. Good thing she gave it up finally. I’m glad you like meat, Evie.”

“Clark, about my leaving the company to start shooting that TV show—”

“Yeah, I know. You’re on strike. Every production in town is on hold. Bob Iger’s a close friend and he tells me the strike could go until November, maybe December. No offense, Evie, but you can’t have the peasants running the castle, if you get my drift.”

“So, you see me as a peasant?”

“Just a figure of speech, honey—”

“Don’t call me honey.”

“Look, there’s another In and Out. Speaking of which, you’re welcome to stay in the company as long as you want. I told Chuck to tear up your resignation letter.”

“Well, that’s a load off my mind, Clark. I thought I’d lost two jobs in one fell swoop. I was out of work for almost two months before I came to L.A. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. Where can we turn back? Do we take a right on Valley Boulevard?”

“No keep going. Up ahead, we can merge onto I-10.”

“Why are we getting onto I-10?”

“It’s the quickest route to Las Vegas. I’d say we’ll be in downtown Vegas in less than 4 hours. We can switch seats if you get tired after a while.”

“I’m not going to Las Vegas with you, Clark!”

“Come on! It’ll be fun. I’ll stake you a couple of grand and you can try the poker or blackjack tables. Or you could just sit by me and watch me break the bank. I’m a high roller just like my dear old daddy.”

“Don’t you have a wife to go home to?”

“Misty decided to go watch Christy coach our World Cup team in New Zealand. She left on Sunday.”

“That was sudden.”

“We…uh…had some words. You don’t know Misty that well. She’s got a temper on her.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t something you might have said or done over the weekend—”

“I like a woman with a sarcastic streak. But let’s not talk about Misty. Let’s talk about how much fun we’ll be having in Vegas tonight.”

When the light turned green at the intersection of South Mission and Valley, I made a right. I had turned on the GPS while Clark was fantasizing about Las Vegas and set a course to return to the office.

“You’re a hard nut to crack, Evie, but I’ve got the right size pliers for the job. And I’m a very patient man.”

The man was building a great harassment suit against himself. But I needed the job and there was something about me that just didn’t need to be exposed right now. I just have to remain strong and grin and bear it…for now.

Every night that week, Debbie and I drove through Los Angeles from east to west, Pasadena to Santa Monica, and north to south, Van Nuys to Irvine. 1500 square miles of neighborhoods, communities, and towns. The City of Angels transforms itself into The City of Night. A sprawling mass of humanity like no other in the Western World. I thought about how different it would be if I had experienced this as a man, not the woman I am now. Yes, I am woman. Hear me roar!

Wherever we stopped to gas up the car, purchase some drinks and snacks, or have a taste of more than a hundred different world cuisines, I got recognized, sometimes ogled and whistled at. I posed for countless selfies, signed a few autographs, and petted several dogs. I was even asked to kiss a baby, though I don’t recall ever declaring a run for political office. Debbie was thrilled and shot picture after picture on her phone, which she showed Otis after we returned home at the stroke of midnight.

By Friday morning, I had convinced myself that my surprising interlude in show business had ended abruptly with the ill-timed strike halting all TV and film production. I hadn’t heard from Juan since Monday morning, so I assumed the music video gig had fallen through. Not that I especially looked forward to working with that player Trent, but the money would’ve come in handy in paying for my transition costs.

But I did receive some good news that morning. The results of my blood test had come back. Dr. Petry said my hormone levels were well within the parameters of “normal” people assigned male gender at birth. Now we have a baseline to use as a guide to determine the proper dosage of hormones when I start HRT. She also gave me the name of the therapist she had recommended and left it to me to set up an appointment at my convenience.

Chuck took Debbie and me out for a celebratory lunch: the house special Green Stripe pizza at Blaze’s, a few blocks down the street from the office. We came back to the office, laughing like characters in a network sitcom. You could almost hear the upbeat background music choreographing our happy steps. Buzz Feiten crossed our path, as is his wont, and asked us what the joke was. Debbie answered quickly, “Evie’s female troubles are over!”

“That was quick. It’s amazing what medical science can do these days. We should leave for Cucamonga in fifteen minutes. Let’s take your car this time. I haven’t ridden in a Corvette since my college buddy’s father got him one for his graduation. Can’t wait!”

Rancho Cucamonga is part of the Inland Empire in San Bernadino County, 45 miles east of downtown Los Angeles. Named after the native tribe that inhabited the region, the Kukamonga. Buzz and I tooled my brand-new Corvette Stingray to LoanMart Field, home of The Rancho Cucamonga Quakes, Single-A affiliate of The Los Angeles Dodgers, where we hoped to finalize a deal to produce 10,000 Quakes t-shirts, sponsored by LoanMart, a company that processes car title loans, for a Labor Day give-away.

Buzz practically jumped out of the car 10 seconds after I parked near the bungalow next to the stadium which housed the team’s executive offices.

“Come on, Evie. Get a move on. We’re ten minutes late!”

“Hold on, Buzz. I gotta change shoes. It sucks trying to drive in heels.” I switched into my black 3-inch pumps and carefully got out of the car, mindful not to flash Buzz.

“Women,” he harumphed. “But the heels do make your—”

“Watch it, Buzz. And don’t lag behind me. I know what you’re doing.”

“That went really well, Evie. Nice touch getting them to order 10,000 more. They severely underestimate the national market for minor league tchotchkes these days.”

As we reached the front door of The Quakes’ offices, a tall figure in a Quakes warmup jersey came into view behind us.

“Evie? Evie Rivers?”

I almost dropped my briefcase when I recognized Ray Crawford, my old college teammate. My heart skipped a beat. My free hand went right to my mouth to suppress the embarrassing squeal I felt about to emerge.

“Evie, my brother told me he’d bumped into you. My God, you…you look different. Different and beautiful. How?”

“Ray. It’s been a dog’s age. What are you doing…” I noticed Buzz holding the door handle, his expression a mixture of amusement and confusion. “Buzz, could you wait for me in the car. I’ll be out in a few. Okay?”

“Old boyfriend? Gotcha. I’ll…uh…give you some privacy. Nice to meet you…”

“Ray. Ray Crawford.”

“I’ll be in the car with the A/C full blast.” Buzz left us alone.

“He doesn’t know.”

“Neither do I, Evie. Somehow, I’m not surprised but how did you suddenly become a Hollywood starlet and Trent Foster’s new squeeze? I couldn’t believe the hot babe on TV and my old Rutgers teammate were the same person. But here you are. It is you!”

“It’s me,” I admitted, grinning goofily. “It’s a long, crazy story. But what are you doing here?”

“I’m the Quakes’ general manager. The youngest GM in pro ball.”

“You disappeared after you wrecked your knee in that stupid bike race—”

“Motocross is not stupid, Evie. Well, I couldn’t pitch anymore so, being it was my senior year, I buckled down to get my degree on time. I guess I didn’t hang out with you guys because I didn’t want to be reminded and distracted.”

“Was I a distraction, Ray? I thought we were best buds. We roomed together on road trips—”

“That was the problem, Evie. Hey, you disappeared too. I tried to contact you after graduation, but your dad said you didn’t want to return my call.”

“I guess I didn’t want the distraction either. Getting my MBA was hard. You know I wasn’t the best student in the world.”

“Bullshit. You’re the smartest girl…I mean guy…or girl I’ve ever met.”

“I’ve got to go. Buzz will try to hot wire my car if I don’t hurry back.”

“I’ll walk you.” We stepped out into the hot afternoon sun. With my free hand, I reached into my briefcase, took out my sunglasses, and put them on.

“I’d like to catch up with you, Evie. Come to the game tonight. You can sit with me behind the dugout. Maybe you can scout my pitchers. You were always good at analysis. And then, after the game, we can get a bite nearby in Victoria Gardens. Please?”

“I’d like that, Ray.” We stopped at my car and turned to face each other. Awkwardly, Ray first held out his hand to shake, then raised both arms to embrace me. I walked into his arms and looked up at him. Even in three-inch heels, Ray was half a head taller. He leaned in and kissed me. I was shocked but my lips responded, my heart beating fast and furious.

Moments later, after changing my shoes again, I settled into the driver’s seat, and Buzz deadpanned, “I think he likes you.”

The stadium was packed on a hot summer Friday night and the hometown Quakes were destroying the opposition, 7 zip, in the 5th inning. Between innings, they showed my face on the giant scoreboard. Sitting behind the Quakes’ dugout, Ray and I kept being interrupted by players popping their heads out from under the dugout roof and whistling. The worst was the batboy, a pimply teenager who kept repeating in a sing-song lilt, “Ray Ray’s got a new girlfriend. Trent’s gonna kill you. Na na na na na.”

I was providing my scouting notes on the Quakes as the game progressed but, every few minutes, a line of fans would form in the aisle, asking for autographs and selfies…from me. I could see Ray wince every time some young girl or woman would ask me if Trent Foster was as dreamy in person as he seemed on screen.

“So, you and Trent are pretty tight, huh?”

“It’s just good publicity for the show…whenever the hell this strike ends. It’s professional, not personal.”

“Things would have been a lot different if I had known back in school that you liked guys.”

“What does that mean?”

“Can you sign my autograph book, Evie?” I looked up at the teenage girl holding out a spiral notebook, open to a page that already had Trent Foster’s signature on it.

“I got Trent’s autograph at SoFi last week. But it was the show the night after he sang that apology song to you. It’d be so epic if you signed right below him. I can’t even…”

“Ray Ray’s got a new girlfriend. Trent’s gonna kill you. Na na na na na.”

“Just shut up already. Wanna see me play whack-a-batboy?” Ray turned to me and mock-laughed. “You’re a bigger draw than the team, Evie. Sorry to interrupt your fanfest with a baseball game.”

“Who’s he? Your bodyguard?” the girl asked, as I posed for a selfie with her, taken at arm’s length, Ray’s bemused face in the background.

“Man, you’re on top of the world, Evie. Look at this car! It makes my Dodge Challenger look like shit. Your boss just gave you this like a bonus or something?”

“Sort of. It’s kind of a make-up gift for something he shouldn’t have done.”

“Clark Ruskin, huh. Yeah, he’s a well-known horn dog. I would’ve punched his lights out. Just take the next right.”

“Oh, wow, you’ve got a Shake Shack here.”

“Just opened this Spring. Unfortunately, it closes promptly at 9:30. Pretty much everything in Victoria Gardens closes at 9:30. It’s not like L.A. where things are open 24/7. But Silverlake Ramen is still open. There’s free parking.”

Being the only restaurant in the area still open, the place was filled almost to capacity. Because of Ray’s celebrity status, we were led to a corner table almost immediately. The maître d showed no sign that he recognized me. Which was fine and boosted Ray’s ego a bit.

“Didn’t you once tell me that once you graduated, you’d never eat another bowl of ramen again to save your life?”

“Okay, I exaggerated. But they’ve got other good stuff here. Check out the menu.” He pointed to the items on the sheet. “There’s rice dishes like the Spicy Tuna and the Chicken Karaage. Or if you’re into sushi, there’s the California Roll or the Shrimp Tempura Hand Roll. My favorite is the Pork Bun. I order that when I want to pig out—”

“Your sense of humor hasn’t changed since school, Ray. Awful. Just short of dad jokes.”

“Tell me about it, Evie.”

“It’s Debbie’s idea. When the Titans fired me, I was desperate for a job. My MBA’s in marketing and branding so…she got me an interview with her company here in L.A. Quite by accident, an agent for CAA recruited me in a dog park and got me a screen test for this new show on GlobalNet, starring Trent Foster. Before I could exhale, they signed me to a million-dollar deal. And everyone thinks I’m a girl. That’s about it.”

“You convinced me you’re a girl back in college.”

“Really? I mean, you knew I was guy…anatomically. We roomed together. I showered with the rest of the team. You must have peeked over the partition—”

“Turns out I was sure but you weren’t. That about sums it up, no? I would’ve told you how I felt about you, but you never gave it away. I didn’t want to make you think I was gay or something.”

“I didn’t know, Ray.”

“So, are you going to transition or just keep hiding behind the pretense? Everyone’s bound to find out. Especially Trent. If you two are serious—”

I placed my hands on my hips and kept my voice low, but my expression hinted at a scream.

“Look, there’s nothing between Trent and I. Nothing, zilch, nada. He’s a…a co-worker. That is if they don’t scrub the show due to the strike. I get to keep my advance in any case but that’ll be the end of my brief but meteoric career in show business. Evie, we hardly knew ye.”

In his best Jim Carrey voice, “So you’re telling me there’s a chance?”

“Don’t make stupid jokes, Ray. You don’t want to be involved with me. I’m a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.”

“I love a mystery, Sir Winston. I’m not making a funny, Evie. If you’re not involved with anyone right now… Would you want to spend some time together? We’re both in SoCal now. I’m not seeing anyone—”

“I’m starting my transition. I got referred to a therapist and I could be on hormones soon. Do you really need to be dating someone going through that?”

Ray took both my hands in his and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I fell in love with you the first year we made varsity. All the time we were in school, I thought it was an impossible dream. But now, here we are. I love you, Evie. I always have.”

“This is crazy talk, Ray. You want someone less complicated, more stable. You need a real woman—”

“But that’s what you are…already. Is it because I’m just some low-paid baseball wonk in a backwater minor league town? I believe in myself, Evie. I’m gonna make the majors. You’ll see.”

“Ray…I…” My phone rang. “Excuse me. It’s Debbie. I’ve got to take this.”

“Yeah, Debbie. What’s up?”

“Evie! Juan’s been trying to get in touch with you all evening. Voice calls, texts, everything.”

“Oh, shit, Debbie. I turned my phone off when the game started. I just turned it back on when we sat down to eat. I didn’t even check to see if I’d gotten any calls or texts.”

“Well, call him. He’s at home. Do it now! It’s very important.”

“What’s it about?”

“Just call him, Evie!”

She disconnected.

“My agent’s been trying to get in touch with me. I’ve got to return his call. Do you mind?”

“Of course not, go ahead. I’ll have some of your California Roll while you make the call.”

I crossed forks with Ray. “Don’t you dare. You’ll get cooties all over it.”

A woman answered my call.

“Oh, Evie! Juan’s been trying to get in touch all night.”

“Hi, Glynnis. Stupid me. I had my phone off until just now. Is Juan available?”

“He’s coming now. He just got back from putting the garbage out. Here, Juan. It’s Evie.”

“Thanks, honey. Evie! Evie Rivers! I’ve got great news!”

“The strike is over?”

“No, not that. I just closed a deal with Trent’s label. You’re in his new music video. I got you in way over scale. I had them over a barrel because Trent and Danny really, really wanted you. How does $20,000 for two, maybe three days’ work sound?”

“Oh my God, Juan. You’re a wizard of an agent. I need that money in the worst way!”

“Okay. I am good, aren’t I? Anyway, the shoot begins next week Wednesday. In Berlin. That’s Berlin, Germany. They’re emailing the e-ticket to you. Flight's on Tuesday morning.”

“Can I request two things, Juan?”

“Sure. What are they?”

“I know someone who could be used as an extra. I’ll send you her name and contact info. I sort of promised her I'd find her work—”

“I thought you were going to ask to have all the red M&Ms removed from the candy bowls in your trailer.”

“That too, Juan. Just kidding. The other thing is I must have Peg Somersby as my makeup & wardrobe mistress. That’s non-negotiable.”

“Peg? Sure. No problem. Danny’s worked with her a lot. Okay. We’ll be in touch. Don’t turn your phone off, Evie. Please.”

“Sorry, Juan. It won’t happen again. Good night.”

I put my phone down on the table and looked at Ray. He was chewing on a piece of my California Roll. His eyes flashed guilty surprise, but he didn’t stop chewing.

“You’re going to have to order another California Roll for me, buster.”

“Done. So, what’s the word from your agent?”

“I’m shooting a music video next week in Berlin, of all places. And I’m getting paid $20,000 for two days’ work.”

“$20,000 for standing around, just looking beautiful. What a racket. I guess the video is with—”

“Trent Foster. He’s touring Europe right now.”

“Looks like you can’t get away from him. Try as you might.”

“He does have his good points…”