“Alex. It’s just one night. No one will ever know but us. Please, I’m begging you, do this for me?”

I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no. I didn’t nod or shake my head. I just let Lara slip my athletic socks off my feet and, one after the other, slide the high-heeled shoes into place.

They fit like they were made for me.

IF THE SHOE FITS...

Chapter 1 - Friends in Need

Earlier that day.

I awoke in the center of the sun. The light of a million stars screaming in my head. I was a nocturnal creature whose nest had been suddenly and violently exposed to ancient searing light. That or, more likely, I was hungover and my roommate Lara had pulled the curtains open on me. I dove under my sheets in a vain attempt to keep what little darkness remained.

“Dude, I’m not saying you have to go to class, but you have to get up. Now,” she said flatly as she pulled away my security.

“Gimme just, like, ten more minutes.” Or ten more lifetimes.

“Alex... it’s 2 O’Clock. We had a deal.” Her voice was like a jackhammer on cement.

“Deal? What deal?” Lara came charging at me, so frustrated by her lack of bludgeoning implement that she made do with a rolled up catalog. I got several whacks for my lapse in memory.

“What deal? I swear to god you’ve killed your last brain cell. You promised me that you would let me have the apartment tonight for my photoshoot!”

“Oh yeah... “ I vaguely recalled something like that. “For your little online catalog thingy.”

“No, for my business.”

“Same difference.” My atttiude was met with several more licks from the catalog and an exasperated scream.

“Just get the fuck out of here. The photographer is coming at 8 and the UPS guy is late and... ” Lara pushed on me with everything she could muster until I was at the edge of the bed. “Just get your ass up and put on some goddamn clothes!” Lara threw the sheets over my naked lower half. My naked erect lower half.

“Hey! It’s my room. You’re the one busting up in here at...” I saw the clock and my heart sank. “The fuck!? It’s 2:15! Why didn’t you tell me it’s 2:15? I’m fucking late.”

Lara stormed away slamming the door as she went. I swooped down like a bird of prey snatching various pieces of clothing off the floor. Shirt? Check. Shoes? Check? Pants... in progress... check. Underwear was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Today I’d be going to meet my financial counselor commando style. I’d already missed two classes, and I was late for my meeting but it was imperative that I not miss it altogether. I gathered the rest of my things and ran for the door.

Lara blocked me.

“Forgetting something?”

She directed my gaze to the couch where a blonde girl I didn’t recognize, stripped down to her panties, was soundly sleeping.

“Oh hey, um... girl? Time to wake up.” The girl was definitely cute. She was tall with an athletic build, had long dirty blonde hair, a fine set of titties, and an immaculately sculpted ass. Almost the opposite of Lara who had the proportions of a teenage boy and dark raven black hair with severe bangs that straddled that delicate line between Betty Page and goth girl. Our friendship had nothing to do with her looks and everything to do with her living next door to me since I was 8 years old.

The girl stirred awake. “Oh hey...” It wasn’t a sexy ‘Oh hey you were great last night’, it was a ‘did I sleep with you’ type greeting.

“I’m sorry. You need to get dressed. My roomate needs the apartment.”

“Oh... OK. Um...” The girl scanned her immediate vicinity for her clothes. Lara handed me a pile of her stuff which I passed over. She put on what was there but then stopped when she got to the pants.

“Um...”

“We don’t have time for this. Just get dressed. I’m in a hurry.”

“Yeah, but like, you’re wearing my jeans.” The girl was smirking. Probably because I’d been an asshole to her.

In my rush to get to my meeting I had apparently put on her skinny jeans. I thought they fit a little snug. I wiggled my way out of the girl’s pants (carefully cupping my bits from view) and took my own from her hands. Heh. Never thought I’d be trying to get out of a girl’s pants.

“They looked good on you.” Lara said laughing.

“Glad I could cheer you up.” I said as I burst out the door into the hall and raced across campus.

....

I arrived at the financial services building just as my advisor was walking out. She did not look happy to see me and in fact, pretended not to see me as she strolled past. Her pace quickened as I gave chase.

“I’m so sorry I’m late Mrs. Clarke. You wouldn’t believe what happened.”
“I’m sure I wouldn’t.” said the stout black lady in her no nonsense business suit. “And if it’s just more lame excuses that you intend to subject me to, I don’t even care to hear.”

“I... Please just come back inside and meet with me.“ Mrs. Clarke stopped walking and took me aside to scold me as if I was her own.

“How many chances do you think a person gets in this life? How long do you think you can make with the pretty face and get people to roll over for you?”

“Just give me one more chance. I promise...”

“Don’t. Don’t you say that to me. Not that word. Not again. You say anything about promises and I will wash my hands of your punk ass.” This was the sharpest Mrs. Clarke had ever been with me. I can’t say I didn’t deserve it. “Come on. You got ten minutes.”

I followed Mrs. Clarke back inside. I couldn’t help feeling like a villain as we passed by her co-workers and I was bathed in stink eyes from all corners. They whispered about me. I imagine the words “failed potential” and “lost cause” were on their lips but all I could hear was the rustling leaves on the gossip tree.

Once in Mrs. Clarke’s office, I took a seat as directed and prepared what I was going to say. Mrs. Clarke would have none of that.

“Academic probation.” I squirmed in my chair. “I put my faith in you, I take you at your word and what do I get for my faith. Academic Probation, Again.”

“I can explain...”

“I told you I don’t want to hear an explanation. That time has passed.”

“Well, then what can I do?”

“Nothing. Your financial aid is done. That boat is sailed. That pooch is screwed.”

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. Honestly, it had been so long since I required real human reaction that I couldn’t tell if I was sincere in my despair or not. Mrs. Clarke studied my face for a bit before looking down at her notes.

“Can I appeal?”

“You a damn fool.”

“There must be something I can do.” Mrs. Clarke was letting me suffer. She wanted me to feel the weight of all my hard partying ways and the foolish choices I’d made since starting here at the University. She didn’t realize how committed I was to my own destruction. Even now, as I fret over how I was going to cover the cost of my tuition, I was already planning more ways to cheat the system.

“This is your last chance.” I let a smile break across my face as relief flooded me. “Don’t you go all smiley on me. This ain’t gonna be easy. Your free ride is over.”

“Of course.” I hid my smile behind a furrowed brow and leaned in eager to learn
how we were going to dig me out of this.

“There are three conditions to my helping you and these are not up for negotiation. First of all, you’re gonna get a job” I tried to mask my annoyance. “Second, you’re gonna get yourself off academic probation. And finally, you’re gonna declare your major this year and show the upper ups that you’ve got some direction and there’s some reason to keep your stupid ass around.”

“But...” Mrs. Clarke shushed me with one raised hand. “IF, you do these three things I will support your reapplication for full financial aid starting from next Spring.”

“Next year! That’s, like, thirty grand.”

“More like thirty-five including books.” She corrected. Finally satisfied by the sheer panic her words wrought.

How am I supposed to come up with that much money? How am I supposed to get my grades up if I’m working all the time?”

“You show me some progress, Alex, and I’ll get you some of your financial aid back to help cover costs, but if I don’t see effort on your part... you may as well just quit and move back home.”

Her words sunk in slowly as I left the building. I decided to go for a run to clear my head as I thought back on the last two years. I had started Chesapeake University as a rising star; top of my graduating class in high school and winner of a prestigious math scholarship. That first semester I made good on my pedigree but then something changed. I’d never had much of a social life in high school. Being thin and lanky, people would get excited assuming I’d be a basketball player but when I never showed interest in sports I only disappointed them. By the time everybody else caught up to my height and stopped assuming some greater purpose of me, I had isolated myself from everyone. I only ever grew to 5’9” of skin and bones, nature’s cruel gag, I suppose.

So, I went a little nuts when I got to college and found out that girls liked my emo demeanor and book smarts. The first sign that things had changed came at a party that Lara threw for me when I moved in with her and our fellow Hambletonian, Caleb. Lara practically begged me to put my studying aside and loosen up. She was always my only connection to whatever social scene existed around me. When I finally gave in and crawled out of my cave, her friends mock cheered but rather than feel repelled I felt a sense of belonging. This sense grew only stronger the more alcohol fueled my ego became. Flash forward a couple months, and suddenly there was a very different picture of Alex Hoth. This was no longer the introverted socially awkward nerd who studied all day and night. The new Alex Hoth was a party freak and something of a manwhore. Girls bought into my tortured genius schtick and I, let them. I was with so many I actually lost count, or maybe I just fried the part of my brain that counted. The more time I spent with the ladies and my new friends the less I spent in class and soon enough I could no longer fake my way through. I was legitimately failing.

That’s when I met Mrs. Clarke. She had seen cases like mine before. College was overwhelming for some people. She gently reminded me to prioritize my life and before long my grades were on the rise again and I was out of trouble. That didn’t last long.

Which as you now know, lead me here; drenched in sweat, fiddling with the keys to my apartment on the verge of complete and total despair.

....

I stepped across the floor mat of our apartment, carefully removing my shoes so as not to scuff the wooden flooring which had been polished to a healthy shine. There was an extra pair of ladies’ running shoes next to mine which meant that the models had started arriving.

I was certain I was not supposed to be here, but the thought of being anywhere else right now, out there with temptation, filled me with dread. Where had the time gone? Five hours ago, when I had been so rudely awakened, the apartment had been mostly empty and obsessively clean but now there were boxes strewn everywhere some opened, some not.

I carefully navigated the cardboard jungle, picking up a loose skirt or belt along the way as I went and placing them up where they could not be stepped on. I heard sounds of muffled shuffling coming from Lara’s room.

I quietly poked my head in. Lara’s room was a ridiculous place. Her walls were covered in postcards of foreign movie’s she’d never seen and black and white photos of exotic locales she’d never heard of. She was something of a fashion freak (thus her new business venture) so everything down to her polkadot bedside lamp had a girlish retro feel. As I peaked in I saw her curly red-haired friend Caitlyn in the final moments of a zip-up. I chose not to look away.

“Alex!” Lara screeched. Caitlyn gave a modest nod and shied away as I stepped inside.

“Sorry, I know I’m not supposed to be here but...”

“Thank god you’re here. I’ve been texting you for half an hour.” I check my phone. 12 new messages.

“What’s wrong?” As if it could possibly be any worse than my current situation.

“Lara’s freaking out.” Caitlyn said as Lara made alterations to the sleek little black dress she was wearing.

“Do you know any girls who wear a size ten?” Lara looked up in a very matter of fact way and left the question hanging.

“Shoes.” Caitlyn filled in.

“Um... How would I know? Maybe? What this about?”

Lara stopped what she was doing and stuck her sewing needle into one of those tomato things that seamstresses use. She looked panicked like I had rarely seen her. Tears were dropping down her face.

“The stupid motherf...” She did some kind of zen breathing thing and continued, “the... company whose shoes I am going to be selling sent over the samples in a size that’s too big for any of my models. The clothes that were supposed to fit Caitlyn are too big. The photographer, who I only just managed to get because of a last minute cancellation, just told me that she’s coming in half an hour and would like to start early and I am so in over my head right now. It would be really awesome if you could find me a girl with pretty feet who wears a size 10.”

My problems would have to wait. If I was going to turn over a new leaf I may as well start by helping out a friend in need.

“I dunno. I’ll call around.”

“Hey, how’d the meeting go?”

“Great”

“Really?”

“Nope, I’m boned. They’re revoking my financial aid. I gotta find a way to pay my tuition.”

“Alex, I’m so sorry. If you need to take care of that, don’t worry about me. We’ll figure something out.”

“No, I want to get my mind off it. I’ll call around.”

“Thanks and I’m sorry if I’ve been a bitch lately. I really want this to work.”

Lara came and gave me a quick hug that lasted a little longer than normal. It was always weird hugging each other because we were both so thin that we’d get jabbed by each other’s bones.

“When you call tell them I’m paying $350 for the night.”

I called a bunch of people I sort of knew from various social settings but either they weren’t a size 10 (and were offended that I might even think so) or they didn’t like the idea of someone photographing their feet. People were weird about feet.They probably thought it was some fetish thing or something. I told everyone to spread the word but I doubt they would put half the energy into canvassing their friends as I just had. I even called some of my guy friends and asked them if they knew anyone but they didn’t even know their own girlfriend’s shoe size.

I went in to Lara’s room to deliver the bad news expecting to see her still crying dejectedly on the floor but instead was greeted by the sight of Caitlyn and her giggling conspiratorially together on the bed.

“Did you find anyone?” Lara asked.

“No... nobody who fit the bill was willing to do it. There’s not that many girls who wear a size 10.”

“No, not many girls... but...” Lara was looking at me. Her eyes becoming more doe-like with each passing second.

Caitlyn had slid off the bed now, having since changed into her street clothes. She stepped up right aside of me demonstrating something to Lara that I was slow to process.
Lara nodded mischievously as she ran her gaze from my face down to my feet.

“Lara? What is it? Did I step in something?”

....

“No way. Absolutely, no way.”

“You said you wanted to help. This would be helping.”

“I am not going to dress up like a girl and let you take photos of me! That’s insane.”

“I’m not asking you to dress up like a girl. You just have to wear the shoes and maybe some stockings.”

“Are you listening to yourself? What self respecting guy would possibly consider this.”

“Weren’t you just saying that you needed to make a lot of money?” interjected Caitlyn while she twirled a coil of curly hair innocently around the tip of her finger.

“You stay out of this!” I was being rude but this was my masculinity at stake here!

“Alex.” Lara had since picked up a black patent leather pump, which she held like a baretta pointed at my chest and was now stepping closer to me. I let my knees buckle behind me as I flopped onto the bed. Caitlyn, put a hand on my shoulder, not to physically hold me down which was impossible, but to place a mental stop sign on further struggles while Lara convinced me of her plan. Lara leaned in close. The smell of arthouse coffee reminded me of the brief time we had hooked up back in 12th grade and my tongue had tasted the back of her teeth. “Alex. It’s just one night. No one will ever know but us. Please, I’m begging you, do this for me?”

I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no. I didn’t nod or shake my head. I just let Lara slip my athletic socks off my feet and, one after the other, slide the high-heeled shoes into place.

They fit like they were made for me.

“If the shoe fits...” Lara was suddenly overjoyed. Caitlyn gave me a golf clap. “Caitlyn guessed, but I would have never thought... stand up for a sec.”

I stood and immediately lost my balance. My legs trembled beneath me. There must have been a good 4 inches between my heel and the floor. My foot was contorted into brand new and very foreign angles which it at once stood in awe and rejection of. I steadied myself on Lara’s shoulder and we hobbled together towards the mirror.

“I feel like a cripple.”

“Well, I’m not asking you to run a marathon in them.” Lara had me turn this way and that before declaring my feet ‘beautiful’. Caitlyn was stifling her laughter with a pillow. I wanted to die.

It was decided by the girls while I was in the shower cleaning off the sweat from my earlier run, that in order to sell the look of these spring/summer shoes I would need to go bare.

I knew it was coming but it didn’t hurt any less. As I readied to step out of the shower, Lara handed me her razor and a canister of ladies’ shaving gel which promised to make my legs “touchably smooth,” a sentiment I had never aspired to. I suppose most women don’t start out as Chewbacca because it took me several passes to clear off most of the hair and only after Caitlyn came in and talked me through the whole sordid affair. Working around the knobby part of my ankle lead to several nicks and cuts that became a major shouting point when I unveiled them to the girls.

When I showed off the finished product, I was met with boos. Apparently, half my leg wasn’t good enough. Lara wanted the option of doing full leg shots with me. So back in again I went to chip away further at my dwindling manhood. I rinsed away the evidence as I waved goodbye to the last of my valiant leg hairs. You served your captain well, soldiers.

I stepped out with the towel yanked up around my balls to show off my poor barren legs.
Lara and Caitlyn gasped and began to whisper amongst themselves in that appraising way girls often do.

“OK. I’m a freak. I get it. This was a bad idea.” I really, really wanted out of this. It wasn’t too late to scour the drain for hair and glue it back on.

“You’re not a freak. They look great.” Lara didn’t laugh when she handed me a bottle of lotion and a container of baby powder. Her face was dead serious. “Spread some of this on your legs and join us out here we don’t have much time.”

I did as I was told. And the burning, itching bleeding sensations slowly abated into a smooth silky feeling that betrayed every neuron in my head. This is not my leg. I am not touching my leg. How could my usually manly leg feel so much like warm butter?

When I rejoined the ladies wearing only my boxers, I saw that other models had since arrived and a strange older man in a knit cap was setting up a camera on a tripod. I suddenly became very aware of my situation and instinctively pulled the towel up to cover my chest. That was not a normal reaction.

“Don’t be shy, sweetie. I’ve been doing this for 25 years. I’ve seen everything.” The models who had been absorbed in getting their clothing and makeup right were all of a sudden aware of me and the reaction was far less generous than the older dude's. There was pointing and laughing and fucking-a I was back in high school again. They brushed past me and into the bathroom. I guess I’d been in there a while.

“This was a bad idea. I should go put on some pants.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Don’t be such a pussy. Come here and let me get a look at those beautiful things.”

This dude was seriously starting to creep me out but again, I was hardly in the position to argue with anyone. I had already been seen by everyone who would see me. Maybe the worst of it was over.

"What's your name, doll?" Was this dude hitting on me? Did he not see my adam's apple?

"This is Alex." Lara popped back in to reply for me. "Alex this is Emmanuel Corbin."

"Nice to meet you." It wasn't.

“Well, Ally, you have lovely feet. Slender, shapely, virginal. I'm being honest when I say, if I only saw your feet and legs I would think you were a girl. I was a little worried when Lara told me your story but this is going to work out just fine.” The way Emmanuel looked at me made me intensely uncomfortable. Luckily his assistant a plucky Southern girl who looked like she was just out of high school pulled him away to consult on the lighting.

“I’m so relieved to hear that. Aren't you?” Lara said slipping an arm around my shoulders.

"Ecstatic."

"Oh don't be such a sourpuss. I know what'll cheer you up! Caitlyn here is going to make you even prettier."

"Oh yeah, cause that's what my shattered ego needs right now."

“Don't be snarky.” said Lara.

“I'm thinking we start off with a nice bold red? You game?” Caitlyn was a year behind us and as annoyingly perky as a cocker spaniel.

Lara, sensing my growing impatience softened her business-like demeanor when she spoke to me. “Listen, I know we didn’t discuss this but Caitlyn’s going to be giving you a pedicure. You’re the only foot model we have tonight so we’ll be changing shades a few times to match the different styles. Just sit back and go with the flow.”

"I hate you."

"You're getting paid. Man up."

I nodded my ascent and waited for Caitlyn as I wondered whether, once I let her sculpt and paint me, I could ever claim my foot as my own again. Caitlyn arrived shortly and began by soaking my toes in a warm bath.

“I think it’s really awesome what you’re doing for Lara. I don’t think I know of any other guy who would.”

“Well, I need the money. She's paying me you know?”

“Yeah I guess... Still, I think most guys would run the other way if a girl asked them to wear high heels. But then again, most guys wouldn’t look so good in them.”

“Thanks... I think?”

Caitlyn, was pushing away cuticles now and rubbing cream into the nail beds. Before long the file was sawing up and down revealing a hidden gleam underneath with each buff of the nail.

“You know, you have kind of a round face. I wonder what you’d look like with...” Caitlyn trailed off and then shook her head as if banishing the thought. I knew what she was hinting at and I wasn’t pleased. I wasn’t going to pry the rest of that sentence out of her. I suddenly wanted to shave off all the scraggly brown hair that hung to just below my shoulders to dispel any further fantasies Caitlyn might be having.

My nails no longer looked like my own, they were clean and neat and faintly shimmering. The sound of Caitlyn shaking up the tiny bottle of nail color heralded a new era in Alexdom. I could have gone my whole life without ever having brightly colored toenails but now I would have them. With each even brushstroke, my natural nail color disappeared under the vibrant red of the polish. As I sat there, under strict orders not to move until they were completely dry, I tried to justify them. They looked like the color of a sports car. Plenty of men had colored nails. Rockers these days wore black fingernail polish. This wasn’t that out of the ordinary. However, the evidence before my eyes made me think not of rockers or sports cars but of Hollywood starlets and how somewhere out there my own mother might be getting the same shade applied to her nails. If only she knew, at least from the hips down, I could be the daughter she never had.

I got a chill up my spine.

After Caitlyn declared me all dry and removed my toes from the styrofoam mold that had held them prisoner, I was brought over to a seat where a whole array of sandals, pumps and ballet shoes were eagerly anticipating my feet to make them beautiful.

....

Emmanuel continued to call me Ally and talk about me as if I were a girl. Because he did so and he was the King of the Roost, his assistant and even Caitlyn started doing it too.

“Ally,” he’d say, “Let’s have you try on the purple peekaboos with the lime green tights”

To which I would reply, “Peekaboos?”

To which his assistant would say, “Those are the pumps with the toe open in the front just peeking out. They’re called peekaboo style. You really should know this stuff if you're going to make a career of this.”

And then I’d say nothing. I’d don the tights (which I learned quickly had to be rolled onto the tips of my toes and unfurled up my legs,) find the shoe she was referring to, slip it on my foot and assume a number of poses as I was instructed. Eventually we got to the silk stockings which I was warned were designer label and cost upward of a hundred and fifty dollars each. I took extra time and care smoothing them up my leg. The slowdown of the process made the act almost erotic, and I inwardly shuddered when the indulgent sensation cause twitching in my nether regions. The stockings made slipping on the heels even easier than usual and I couldn't help wiggling my toes a bit to feel the material stretch against me.

I thought things were going well (as in, almost finished) until Emmanuel told me to take five and went off to have a private pow-wow with Lara. Caitlyn was also on break and we had a chance to bond over bottled water and wine.

“You’re really taking to this.” She said in her friendly, high-pitched voice. A far cry from Lara’s husky purr.

“I’m just trying not to screw it up. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I don’t know. I saw you really getting into it over there.”

“At first I felt so ridiculous but by the fifth shoe I was like, it’s just a job, you know?”

“That’s true. But it’s also an art. Kind of. I mean I don’t want to sound pretentious but it is. You’re telling a story with your body.”

“Well mine is a tall tale then.”

“Hah. That’s funny.” Caitlyn snorted. “But seriously, who knew you had such gorgeous legs under all that bushy hair?”

There was a mirror across from me which had been left at an angle so I could only see my legs and for the first time I let myself see what everyone had been saying about me since the start of the evening. My lower half was indistinguishable from Caitlyn’s or any of the other girls. In fact if there were a contest to pick who had the longest, most attractive legs and feet, I had a good chance of winning it. I looked so... supple and delicate. This was a 180 from the usual feeling I got looking at my slender weenie of a body. When looked at as a specimen of the male species I was basically a failure. I was too thin, too soft, and my angles were too yielding. Something about taking all those negatives and twisting them into positives was empowering. Although my foot was starting to scream in agony as I had crammed it into increasingly outrageous footwear, I allowed myself, for a moment, to admire how the strappy stiletto heels I was currently wearing made my leg look taut and svelte. The way my toes (by this time a shimmery peach pearl color) poked out was kind of turning me on.

“Don’t fall in love, now. It’s almost 12 O’Clock and you’re about to turn back into a pumpkin.” Lara with a wakeup call. I quickly looked away from myself, the shame splashed all over my face.

“I wasn’t.” Wasn’t what? Realizing that I was better looking than most normal girls including, Lara?

“Whatever you say.” Lara bent down and pulled the shoe off my foot. “Here, we’re going to use these clear bandaids to cheat a little. I see you’re getting raw in some places. These should help you. Trade secret.”

Lara put a bandaid on just under where most of the heels touched the middle part of my toes and on my ankle where the straps were digging in. The style of the day seemed to be a very shallow foot. Sometimes it was a struggle just to keep my toes from slipping out and the delicate ankle straps and backs usually did nothing. The only pair that had really kept everything in place comfortably was this weird shoe that looked like a boot that had been cut up; its toe wide open, back missing, with a thick belt-like wrap around ankle sleeve. I was told this look was very now, but really what did that mean? I was just grateful to be able to relax when wearing it.

“Thanks.”

“Hey listen. Sweetie, you’ve been awesome tonight.” Something about the way Lara was babying me built a growing sense of dread in my gut. “I know we just talked about tights and shoes, but Emmanuel is insisting that we get some fuller shots for the Lookbook and...”

“Lookbook?”

“Yeah, it’s a more editorial look at the clothes so girls can see other girls, or um, guys wearing them practically -in life situations. The thing is... these shots have to be more full bodied-ish.” Lara cringed at the last word.

“Fuck off.” I stood. Something I’d gotten good at doing in even the most unrealistic shoes. Walking however... not happening. I stumbled and nearly took out one of the prettier models, Deana, with my flailing arms.

“Please!”

”Now you want to put me in a dress?”

“Not a dress. A skirt and a sweater. We won’t show your face. We’ll just get some shots of you sitting at the table there looking demure; legs crossed, or folded under your chair. It’s so easy and it’ll really sell the look.” Lara had a way of playing me and a history of getting what she wanted out of me. She looked so pathetic with her puppy dog eyes and quivering lip. When she saw that I was wobbling she went in for the kill. “We only see from the bottom of your breasts down. Elbow, Chest, heels. That’s it I promise.”

“Be a man and go put on that outfit there, already. Stop being a pansy.” Called out Emmanuel as he put out a cigarette in Lara’s candy dish.

“Fuck all of you.”

Instead of turning on my, um, heels, storming into my bedroom, putting on a pair of pants and blasting out of there, I shuffled over to the rack of clothes and picked up the grey pencil skirt and the deep purple cashmere sweater. When I did, a lacy black bra and panty set fell out from the bundle onto the floor.

“It’s part of the look.” Lara stated with a weak smile.

“FML”

I’d taken quite a few bras off since coming to college but I can honestly say this was the first one I’d ever put on. The design did not lend itself to easy wearing. Lara saw me grappling with the straps and trying to reach around my back and rushed into assist. Apparently I’d been doing it all wrong. I could have just done it in the front and then slipped it around backwards. This is what Lara showed me and then had me repeat until I had the hang of it. Why I would need to know this, I had no idea, since tonight would be Ally’s last performance. Or so I prayed. Lara cupped my “breasts” in her hands and dropped them in the bra. They’d chosen a padded B-cup for me which I couldn’t quite fill out but, to even Lara’s surprise, my outsides were doughy enough to supplement nicely. The panties were more problematic. I protested, of course, but Emmanuel's assistant assured me in her southern drawl that the skirt would look funny if I didn't commit to the look. As for my bits, well, I kind of just promised to wedge them up under me so the camera wouldn't see them. For now, they were just sort of rebelling against the silky material. My bits weren't very big, but they weren't minuscule either. It looked ridiculous.

“Curiouser and curiouser.” Caitlyn said as she poked her head around my bedroom door just in time to see my transformation.

I called Lara back inside and she pulled the skirt up to my waist and fastened it tightly. Something about the way it sat on my hips made this evenings goings on shockingly real. It was like Caitlyn said, this wasn’t just a job. I was stepping into the shoes of a real woman now. Slipping into her skirt and her sweater and her life. This wasn’t just playing dress up, I was becoming her. Then I looked in the mirror and saw my face speckled by five o’clock shadow and instead I saw a circus freak.

I tried to put the circus freak image out of my head while I posed for Emmanuel. I tried to imagine myself looking more like a young brunette Nicole Kidman, on break from her job at an art gallery, enjoying some “me time,” a coffee and a good book at a nearby cafe. I tried but I don’t think it worked. That tranny in the mirror kept creeping back into my mind. Why did I care so much?

I felt bad for spoiling the shoot with my anxieties, but Lara and Emmanuel seemed happy with the results and they never mentioned anything about it. Before long, the shoot was done and I was given the OK to return to my plain old self. I lingered in front of the mirror one last time and then began the process of putting Ally away and putting Alex back in place. I packed Ally’s bra and panty set, along with the other clothes into a bag and put it in the corner.

Lara saw off Emmanuel and met me back on the couch where I was peeling blistered skin from my foot.

“Yikes!” Lara saw the skin piling up. “Gross”

“Heels suck.”

“Welcome to womanhood.” Says the girl who wore flats all night.

“They hurt and they’re cramped, and check out my poor foot! It’s all deformed now.” I pointed to my toes that in heels had looked so pretty but out of them were chewed up, squished together and thoroughly broken.

“Ally seemed to think they were worth the pain.” I ignored that.

“I am never doing this again.” Lara pulled out her checkbook and wrote me a check for $350.00.

“Never say never...” She said with a devillish grin as she sipped at her wine.

I gave her the finger. Alex's finger -chewed short grubby nails, and all. Then I looked down at the still sparkling toes attached to my buttery smooth feet and wondered.

.... to be continued

“What does she mean by ‘we’?” I asked stifling the rage under my surface.

“Don’t play dumb, Alex. She means she and Ally have landed another modeling gig.” Lara smiled through her croutons and it may have been the wickedest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Aren’t you excited?” Caitlyn looked hurt that I didn’t share her enthusiasm.

“No, because I’m not doing it.”

CHAPTER TWO — FACE OFF

“Welcome to Grubs. Home of the COLLOSUS, the world’s most ginormous...est burger. May I take your order?” I spoke into the headset. After three hours of this my own soulless voice was foreign to me.

“It’s just ginormous. Don’t add to it, trainee.” Said the fat man in the skinny tie who now held dominion over my life.

“I’ll take a COLLOSUS meal with extra bacon, extra cheese, blue cheese crumbles, guacamole... um... “

“Extra grease?” My boss, Bob, gave me a disapproving stare.

“What?”

“I said, Anything else?” A cardioradiologist perhaps?

“Oh, everything. Just whatever you can put on it. Just put that and then double it. And then Ginormosize it all. Fries and Drinks included. And I’ll have an apple crisp too.”

You would think that using a computer system that only required the user to find a picture of a hamburger and press it would simplify things, but I could no more decipher the ancient pictographs on the Grubs register than I could read heiroglyphics. Was that extra cheese or some kind of pyramid? Was that an apple crisp or a coffin? Was there a difference, really? Bob was not taking kindly to my confusion. He lived and breathed this stuff. I’m pretty sure his body’s composition was more Grubs than man at this point. Me? I’d rather eat real grubs.

“It’s the one that looks like a burger, Hoth. Jesus even Jimbo there can do this and he’s reta... mentally challenged.” Bob looked around to make sure no one heard his almost slip of the tongue.

I pressed the big button with a picture on it that looked like a pile of horse shit.

“Very good. Now tell the customer how much this will cost.”

“How much it’ll cost him or how much it’ll cost the taxpayer when we foot the bill for his triple bypass?” My joke did not go over well.

“That’s it, Hoth. You’re done. If you can’t check that attitude at the door there’s no place for you at Grubs. Give Jimbo your trainee hat and get out of my store.” Bob, was huffing and puffing, due to being completely out of shape, but little did he know that I had no house to blow down. I was at rock bottom. His blustering was just wind across the dessert at this point.

“Fine. But lemme tell you something, Bobby...” I paused to wrestle with the various insults on the tip of my tongue, “...that tie makes you look fat.” OK... that was lame.

Bob yelled something after me but I barely heard it. Something about my “future” in the service industry. I gave Jimbo the folded paper hat which he seemed really pleased to get back. Perhaps the responsibilities of the fry master made him long for the halcyon days of yore when he too was playing pictionary with the register.

As I walked out I yelled, “The secret ingredient is people!” in a last pathetic act of defiance. If just one person put down the Grubs and ate a salad, these past few days would sort of, kind of, not really but maybe a little bit, be redeemed.

....

Mrs. Clarke was not happy to see my feet on her desk when she came in. With a quick swipe of her beast arms she pushed them off and onto the floor. Waking me from my haze.

“Tell me you got good news.” She pushed some papers aside and created serious eye contact between us.

“Um...”

“Oh lord... “ Her hand went to her forehead.

“This one lasted longer than the last. I’m up to three days.”

“Is this a joke to you? Am I not getting through how serious your situation is?” There goes that eye contact again.

“Maybe I’m just not cut out for this type of work.”

“Then maybe you should focus your energies on finding some work you are cut out for.”

“I don’t know what that is... ”

“You know what I think? I think the problem is you’re lazy. When you came to show me that check the day after we had this conversation I was impressed. I said to myself, ‘that boy is finally getting it.’ But here we are two weeks and two jobs later and you’re back to your old ways. Just coasting by like you got nothing to lose.”

“Hey. That’s not fair. I was trying to help organize the kitchen in the cafeteria. It was an inefficient system of management.”

“You being real, right now? You were hired to wash dishes... and you didn’t wash them.” Mrs. Clarke nearly slapped me upside my head. “You spent all your time chatting with your friends. Don’t you go flapping your gums about inefficient management.”

“I asked three times for them to show me how to run dishes in that screwed up washer! Three times and they just kept blowing me off. Meaning I had to do the entire night by hand. Meanwhile, I’ve got three makeup exams and two finals to study for.”

“Wah Wah. Cry me a river. You had a job to do and you didn’t do it. End of story.”

I was feeling pretty frustrated by this conversation and was about to storm off and say fuck it all, when Mrs. Clarke pulled me back to her.

“What about you do some more modeling work?”

“No. Out of the question.” I had done everything in my power to avoid even talking about it since that day. Going so far to ignore Lara and Caitlyn completely when they even mentioned it.

“You seemed really proud of that check. Why won’t you even consider it? I’m sure it pays more than slinging greasy burgers or washing dishes.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I had a bad experience.”

“Well, you better figure something out. The clock’s ticking.”

....

The clock was indeed ticking. In the three weeks since that night, I had made a real effort to get the money I needed. I took two crap jobs, sold my Xbox, cashed in my savings bonds and I was still coming up short about $25,000. Even my last resort, a panicky call to my parents in New Jersey failed to pan out. They couldn’t spare that kind of money. They had my younger brother to think of. With the economy the way it was, and the losses my Dad had taken, it just wasn’t feasible to bail me out. Sure, they’d bail out the auto manufacturers but not me. I was on my own.

For a day after being fired I moped around the apartment between classes. During this time I only saw Lara once or twice and we had hardly spoke. What little communication did exist between us was mostly perfunctory. When we were out of toothpaste and it was my turn to buy stuff she’d put it in front of me and nod.

In the two weeks since that night my leg hair had grown back coarser and stubbly. I had opened Pandora’s box and the soft curly hair that once lay like fallen wheat on my leg, was now an angry forest of sharp spears. More than once I stood in the spray of the shower contemplating Lara’s razor and imagining how much better I’d feel if I just cut go crazy lumberjack but then I’d always come back to my senses.

As I sat on my bed not playing my Xbox (which was no longer there) and not watching TV (which Lara and I agreed we could do without,) I heard a familiar buzzing coming from my bedside table. I had a new message.

FROM: Caitlyn

sup? Got sumthin awsum 2 talk abt. Let’s do lunch? HH mall foodct 2pm, ok?

HH meant the Hammerhead Mall. Her shorthand annoyed me. All shorthand annoyed me. Especially since she had a keyboard on her phone now. It made sense when we were all using the number pad but this was just ugly. I had never received a txt from Caitlyn before. I don’t even know how she has my number.

I replied.

FROM: ALEXHO

OK. I’ll see you there.

Before I’d even finished pressing send her reply came back.

FROM: Caitlyn

See ya @ 2, ho. LOL.

Oh I see what she did there. Clever.

I went back in the bathroom and surveyed the landscape in the mirror. I could definitely use a shave. I tried to get as close a shave as I could but even with all my effort (and blood spilled,) pre-shave skin prep and post shave skincare, I could still see a faint shadow. It just wasn’t going to go away.

I went to my closet to pick out something to wear. I’d actually sold a lot of my stuff in the great Alex Hoth firesale so there wasn’t much left to choose from. I found a plain black hoodie easily enough, but all my pants were dirty and several failed to pass the smell test. I knew what I was about to do was wrong, but compared to some of the things I wore the night I modeled for Lara, this would be nothing. I crept over to Lara’s room opened her closet and found a pair of dark blue jeans with a low waist and a boot cut. I nabbed ‘em. Lara and I weren’t quite the same size but with a belt, the fit was decent from the front. Without inspecting the tag I seriously doubted you could tell that they were girl’s jeans. I didn’t think Lara’d mind considering we were roommates and all the times I had caught her carrying an article of clothing out of my room without permission. I gave myself a final check in the mirror, taking to my tiptoes briefly to see the fit before I resigned myself to a pair of converse all stars and went out the door.

...

When I got to the mall to meet Caitlyn, I saw her sitting at a table by herself. She had that layered look of a brightly colored camisole under a more neutral colored tank top. Which I would have known nothing about if Lara hadn’t explained it in detail while she was preparing her website for launch. The girl could blab. Caitlyn had paired this with a pair of blue jeans in a shade lighter than the ones I was wearing. As I approached the table, I acknowledged her with a slight wave of my hand and readied a smile. What I saw next froze me in my tracks.

It was Lara and she was carrying a plate of food for the two of them. Holy shit. What am I going to do? I can’t let her see me. I tried to hide behind a couple that were passing by but they noticed me. The guy called me a creep and pushed me away making it obvious to anyone looking that I’d been trying to hide. Lara and Caitlyn did a double take and the moment I’d been dreading dawned on Lara’s face. Her mouth went agape.

Caitlyn summoned me to them with an excited hand. My instincts told me to run. I still had plausible deniability on my side. Instead I went to the table, took a seat across from Caitlyn, and waited for the silence to break. It broke into laughter.

“Alex?” Lara’s tone was rising. “Are those by any chance, my jeans?” She asked mockingly in a voice too loud for my nerves to handle.

“Oh yeah. Those are the ones you bought at Mandees, right?” Caitlyn said examining what she could see of the pants I was so desperately trying to hide under the table.

This was humiliating but what did I expect?

“I didn’t have any clean ones.” That was my case and I was sticking to it.

“Oh I don’t mind. You can borrow them whenever. They look a little silly with all stars though. I’d have paired them with heels. What do you think, Caitlyn?”

“Definitely. And maybe a lacey blouse instead of a hoodie? Aren’t you hot in that?”

“A little, yeah.” It seemed colder when I went out this morning.

...

“So you look surprised to see me?” Lara was frowning like a jilted lover in between bites of her salad.

“We got you one too, Ally.” Caitlyn slid a salad to me. Lucky for me this is basically what I would have ordered anyway although I would have gotten Italian dressing instead of no-fat, zero-flavor, who-knows-what’s-in-it Ranch.

“Don’t call me that. My name is Alex.”

“Jeez. Sensitive much?” Lara poked me with her fork.

I opened my salad and began digging into it. The truth is there probably wasn’t a whole lot of difference in the calories between food court salad and a burger but one made me feel like I swallowed the Titanic and the other just made me feel like I was eating grass on the side of the highway. It was a toss up.

“So, you said in your text that you had something ‘awesum’ to tell me?” I wanted to get right to the point and I wanted to get away from here and out of these pants before these two got any funny ideas.

“You should tell him, Lara.”

“No, Caitlyn, you were so excited to tell him. You should be the one.” This did not bode well. Anything that got Caitlyn excited probably meant bad news for me. Even more frightening, Caitlyn was tensing up her whole body as if the news about to burst from her mouth would shatter the earth.

“We got another job!”

Earth, not shattered.

“What?”

“Isn’t that awesome? Oh my god, I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a little girl.”

“What does she mean by ‘we’?” I asked stifling the rage under my surface.

“Don’t play dumb, Alex. She means she and Ally have landed another modeling gig.” Lara smiled through her croutons and it may have been the wickedest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Aren’t you excited?” Caitlyn looked hurt that I didn’t share her enthusiasm.

“No, because I’m not doing it.” Caitlyn’s eyes went wide and the blueish grey hue became an almost cobalt. If they were laser beams I would be fried.

“What do you mean you’re not doing it? You haven’t heard who the client is yet?”

“I’m not doing it because,” I whispered the next part, “I don’t want to wear any more women’s clothes ever again.” I softly rapped the table on the word again to make my point.

“Women’s clothes, like the item you’re wearing right now?” Lara glanced down at the pants I was wearing.

“Not the same.” I crossed my arms.

“How is that not the same. Are you or are you not wearing jeans that were made for and sold to women?”

“I am but.. “ Lara leaned forward like she was in debate class.

“And did the world suddenly end when you put them on despite the fact that you’re not a woman?”

“No... but that’s not the...”

“It’s entirely the point. Who cares? So you wear women’s clothes sometimes? So what? You’re still a guy underneath.”

“In Renaissance times men were the ones who wore high heels.” Caitlyn added as if this fun fact had been written on the back of her placemat.

“What is a skirt but shorts sewn together? What are high heels but men’s dress shoes with a taller heel and a few pieces cut out? What is a dress but a really long T-shirt?”

I began a slow sarcastic clap. The show was over. This silliness had to stop.

“I’m still not doing it.”

“Argh!” I’d never seen Caitlyn get mad before. She was usually kind of a ditzy happy-go-lucky girl. Her face was getting flush. “How can you sit there and say no without even knowing what a big deal this is? This is for UndeR 21, hello? Their catalog is seen by every mallrat in the country.”

“So? All the more reason not to do it.”

“You are impossible!”

“What does it matter what I do? Do it yourself! Don’t let me stop you.”

Caitlyn threw her tray on the floor and stormed away. I think she was crying. Lara was now giving me the evil eye like I’d done her some great wrong.

“Why is it so fucking important to her that I do this? I don’t see why she can’t just do it on her own?”

And then Lara looked at me like I was the stupidest person on the planet.

“Emmanuel doesn’t want her. He wants you.” And then my heart sank.

“Oh god...”

“I made him promise to use her if we got him you.”

“That is seriously fucked up.”

“Imagine you’re her. A world famous fashion photographer sees more potential in a guy in a dress who’s never modeled a day in his life than you, who have been taking lessons since you were old enough to walk.”

“I didn’t know.”

“If you feel bad then make it right.”

“No. It’s wrong. Guys shouldn’t wear women’s clothing. It’s screwing with my head.”

Lara gave a slight pause to the last thing I said,

“Look at her,” Lara pointed to the line to the ladies room where Caitlyn was sobbing. How insulting that she couldn’t even get in to splash water on her face and fix her makeup. “This could be her big break.”

I weighed my options here. On the one hand, crushing this girl’s dream of being a supermodel might be a mercy kill. It was a tough industry from what I understood and she was probably delusional. On the other hand, if she can work with top talent maybe it’ll rub off on her and she’ll blossom. I didn’t really watch her work that night but maybe she’s diamond in the rough. How can I deny this girl a chance at finding out if she’s got what it takes just because I don’t want to wear some silly clothes?

“...How much does it pay?”

Lara smiled victoriously. “Fifteen hundred for the job but I get fifteen percent of that.”

“Fifteen percent!? For what?”

“My fee, of course. I’m going to be your manager.” Lara put it out there like it was a challenge. I didn’t take the bait. “Now, do you want to tell Caitlyn the good news or shall I?”

...

You know you’ve been hugging someone too long when the hug grows cold. Caitlyn hugged me until ice was forming on us. Soon we’d be little more than a frozen sculpture. Even the thrill of holding a woman in my arms, especially one with as nice a rack as Caitlyn’s, had long ago subsided.

“For the thirty-millionth time, you’re welcome.” Lara helped peel Caitlyn off of me.

“Now, on to new business.” Lara was leading the charge through the mall. I was still regaining feeling in my arm so I didn’t realize where we were going until it was too late.
“Alex, Celia’s. Celia’s, Alex.”

Directly in front of me was a full service salon. It was chic. It was modern. And as if on cue, the door swung open and filled the mall with gay runway disco music -the soundtrack to TV reality makeovers. In the front window there was a poster of a woman whose shocking purple hair was so straight that it made a 45 degree angle across her face and remained perpetually suspended in animation. There were no posters of men. This was the kind of place that I had done time in as a child waiting for my mother to emerge from the giant hair dryers. The books of hairstyles would have 45 pages of women’s cuts and one page of mens, if that.

“No.”

“You really like that word.” Caitlyn shot out.

“No. No. And once more...” I turned to Lara for the last one, “...no.”

“We have to.” Lara stepped in front of me with her hands on her hips.

“Why? They’re only going to see my legs and feet, maybe an elbow? Right?” Lara said nothing. “Right?”

“Actually, this job is different. These are full body shots. That was the deal.” Lara tried to make it sound as if there was no difference between full body and lower half shots.

“What?” I tried not to raise my voice but it was difficult. “You didn’t say anything about full body shots.”

“You didn’t ask and I’m telling you now. We had a verbal agreement.”

“Is that why you asked me to meet you at the mall? To ambush me?”

“Don’t be a drama queen.” We were both getting heated now.

“I am not going in there.” I would stand my ground. This was my Alamo.

“Alex, why does everything have to be a crisis with you? It’s no biggie. We go in there, we get your hair cleaned up, update your look and then we go home. The world keeps spinning.”

“If I asked you to shave your head and glue on a beard would you? Would that be ‘no biggie?’”

“If I could pull it off, and I was getting paid as much as you I would, yeah.”

“Yeah right? You’re just saying that so I’ll do what you want. Same as ever.”

“Believe it or not, Alex, not everything I do is about me. I care about...”

“Bullshit! You’re just using me to cover your own expenses for your joke of a website!”

Lara lost her words and then she slapped me.

“I...I’m sorry.” Lara looked up with watery eyes.

“Fuck you.” Lara looked up with watery eyes, shoved a bag into my hands, turned quickly and walked away. She blended into the crowds and then she was gone. I wanted to go after her but Caitlyn grabbed my shoulder. Her sharp nails slowly digging in.

“You still owe over twenty five thousand dollars in a little under six months. From what Lara tells me, nobody is standing by you, except us. So maybe you could quit being a little bitch and stop worrying about what a bunch of strangers will think and start doing what’s best for you and the people who care about you before you’re left with no one but your own miserable self.” Coming from Caitlyn, these words were especially disarming. I could almost hear the audience cheering as she gave me the verbal beat down. I was of course the villain of this piece but it didn’t have to be that way.

“I have to stop her...” We always had arguments. I could fix this.

“Take my advice. Give her some space.”

“I didn’t mean to...I’m just so...” Am I crazy? Has the world gone topsy-turvy? Is this not a colossal mess of a situation I’m in? I mean, I’d be committing fraud right? Does no one see this but me?

“What are you going to do?” Caitlyn wasn’t being bubbly anymore. She was being ultimatum-ey. I knew what she meant. The salon was waiting for me; the stylist, my warden, his chair, the tool of my electric execution. Maybe I was being a drama queen. Maybe if I just thought of this as an extended Halloween then it wouldn’t be so strange. Maybe I could even enjoy it a little? Why did I have to shit on Lara’s heart just to figure that out? I hope she doesn’t hate me.

I opened the bag and looked inside. As I thought, it was Ally’s bra and panty set. Lara must have thought I’d feel less awkward about the salon if I was dressed up. She thought wrong.

“I’m going to get my hair and makeup done.” I put the bag back in Caitlyn’s hands. She was stunned.

I could be the hero of this story. Hell, I could be the heroine.

....

Walking into the salon was sensory overload. It didn’t smell like sunshine and candy dreams. It smelled like industry and chemical afterbirth. Where the women were getting their nails done was our neighborhood paint store. It was shop class where women stood in for engine blocks and soapbox racers and always, with the pumping techno soundtrack.

“Can I help you?” The ‘you’ sounded more like joo when the tiny latino man in the Lisa Loeb glasses spoke to me. It was at vthat moment when I realized that I had no idea what to say. Full service please came to mind, but I was afraid what might come of that. I just stood there speechless.

“Do you speak the English?” Normally I would have laughed at that. “Hey everyone, we got a deaf mute cutie here. Someone who speaks deaf mute cutie?”

“My friend here is just shy.” Caitlyn to the rescue. “He’s never been in a salon before.” That was technically not true but I was relieved just to have someone to clear up the whole deaf-mute thing.

“Caitey! Oh look at you! How come you don’t come to see Hector, no more. You naughty thing.” Hector gave Caitlyn a semi-hug.

“You know I live way outside of town now!”

I know. I am only teasing to you. So this is your friend, huh? I see...” the man said with a little too much of a wink, “first time to get hair cut since coming out of the closet?”

“Uh huh.” I said without thinking.

“Gasp. It speaks!”

“What? No! I’m not gay! I’m... ”

Hector waited for my reply with doubting eyes. What am I exactly?

“His name’s Alex. He recently started working as a model.” Caitlyn saves me again.

“Ah... Yes, I can see it.” He didn’t look like he believed me.

“Actually, I... “

“Yes, go ahead. You push out those words like they was you babies.” Hector made like he was giving birth, breathing in and out in lamasz style.

“He’s...” Caitlyn started to answer for me again but I found the courage to stop her.

“I’m modeling as a female.” There, I said it.

Hector tucked his chin in and took a deep breath. He reached up a hand to my hair and pulled it up out of my face. Then he turned my head left and right again and again, staring deeply into me as he did.

“Yes. Yes. Now... I see it. We will make you beautiful.” Was that possible?

“No! I need to still be me. I just want to update my look and clean it up.”

“Yes! Clean it, Update it, Polish it, tie a silk ribbon around it and put it on a wedding cake. We will do all of this for you.” I looked for sympathy from Caitlyn, but all I got was a knowing look in return that seemed to say, “That’s Hector, for you.” The man was a living stereotype but damn if his attitude didn’t push through all the awkwardness and make me laugh at this whole charade. “But seriously, what do you want to do?”

Hector had me sit in a chair while Caitlyn took him aside to consult with him as if I was her daughter and only mother knew what was best for little Ally. Every so often I’d peak over and see a rise in excitement as they discussed some new awful thing they planned to do to me. Meanwhile, my neighbors to the north and south were growing more curious about me. Finally one of them spoke up from underneath a hair wrap. She was an older lady probably just short of her 60s and she had a kind wrinkly face.

“I think it’s very brave what you’re doing. I have a nephew who is transitioning as we speak.” Transitioning? He was riding a train? Fading to black?

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I overheard that you were becoming a woman.”

“Ah.. No, I’m just dressing up for a work thing.”

“Well, we’ll just pretend I didn’t say anything then, hmm?” The woman went back to her magazine but then I caught her looking up at me from time to time and she finally put it back down. “If you don’t mind my asking, what kind of work thing.”

“I, um, I, well how do I put this? I model women’s clothing.” This was the first time I’d told anyone about this like it was a career choice. This was the first time I’d ever discussed anything like it was a career choice.

“Oh.” The woman grew embarrassed by something and then leaned in as close as she could to whisper, “But you still have all your man parts, right?”

I laughed. “Yes Ma’am. Still 100%.”

The lady laughed and coughed up the equivalent of an older lady hairball and then laughed some more.

“So why do you do it?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I only did it once but apparently I was good at it.”

“Well I can see you have the body for it.” That felt vaguely like flirting. Were all older women this prying?

“I’ve never been good at anything before, except math. And the truth is, I’m bored to tears by math.”

“Well, I think when you find out what you were meant to do in this life, it’s a blessing. Even if it is a little weird.”

“Weird is wonderful. Who wants to be ordinary when they can be extraordinary?” Hector sung as he swung my chair around. He had returned from my consultation with notes and what looked like a roadmap drawn on a cocktail napkin.

When my chair stopped swinging I was face to face with a bald tattooed woman. “Hello, Ally. My name is Celia and I am going to cut your hair.”

....

Caitlyn gave me the lowdown on Celia. Celia only cut hair and she was very selective about whose hair she cut. She could demand fees as high as $5,000 for a haircut but if she felt a personal connection to the client she would lower her fee dramatically. My bizarre story had somehow qualified me for this service. Celia used to cut more hair but two years ago she had been diagnosed with breast cancer which had cost her one of her breasts. She beat the cancer just this year but lived in constant fear it would resurface. Her tattoos which ran from her neck onto her bald head were of a dragon and a dove. When I asked about this, Caitlyn simply shrugged. Whatever the meaning behind those symbols Celia kept it private. When Celia returned she dismissed Caitlyn and took me into a private cutting booth behind a black curtain. Here comes that execution.

This extremely confident woman was now pacing in front of me studying the napkin that Hector had given her. I was a little intimidated by her intensity.

“How would you feel about layering the back?” She posed the question to me like it was philosophical.

“Um... OK, I guess.”

“That’s not an answer. That’s a question. I want to know how you would feel if I gave the back of your head layers.”

“I really don’t know. I’d feel layered?” She didn’t react to my humor.

“OK. OK. Let’s say that the wind blows through your hair, would you want it to look windswept? Or... stay flat.”

“Windswept.” I had no idea what she was going on about.

“Good. We’re making progress. So, Bangs... yes or no?” This lady was manic.

“Do you mean do I want bangs?” I imagined coming out like Lara and shuddered at the thought.

“Does that shiver mean no?”

“No. I mean yes, it means no.” Is this candid camera? Has this whole last month been some long con reality show?

“Gravy. Bangs are in though. I got it. I know it’s a little stale but what do you think of a swoop. By which I mean, if the hair in front here swooped over your eye just like so.” She picked up my hair and gave a quick chop of the scissors, which magically appeared in her right hand. The hair fell just across my eye. She used her left hand to bend and curl the hair slightly and I saw what she meant in my reflection. It was pretty. “Yes, that’s what we’ll do.”

Celia kicked back out into the main room and had me taken to the back to have my hair washed. It was an odd sensation having a man run his fingers through my hair and ask me in his deep voice over and over again if it was too hot. I couldn’t find my voice to reply, I just shook my head for no and let him work his magic. When I was washed and toweled off I was brought back to the private room behind the black curtains.

Celia returned with a boombox.

“I hate that techno shit but Hector’s been good to this place in my absence.” Celia hit the play button and out came the first chords of Dirty Deeds by AC/DC. This was a chick after my own heart. She started dancing around as she set up her cutting station. “See, I knew you were a rocker girl. Takes one to know one.”

I didn’t correct her. It was easier if I didn’t. For the next hour Celia clipped and snipped my hair. A slow but steady pile was growing around me. In between the cutting she would sometimes take a clip and clip up a clump and cut around it. I think this is what she meant by layered. I couldn’t see though. Celia had flipped the mirror around so that all I saw was the wooden backside.

“You got any family, kid?”

“My parents and a younger brother, Seth.”

“What do you think they’d think of your recent lifestyle choices?”

“I think they’d disown me. Seth would probably call me a fag and beat the shit out of me. He’s a hockey player.”

“You should give them more credit. People are more understanding than you think.”

I let that comment breathe a bit.

“Are you a lesbian?”

“What, because I listen to AC/DC and have a dragon tattoo suddenly I’m a lesbian? Didn’t they tell you I had cancer?”

“I’m sorry, I , no, I didn’t mean...”

“I’m fucking with you. You are adorable. Yes, I’m a lesbian.”

“Jeez, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Now I get to ask a question?” I steadied myself for this. She was going to ask me what I’d been wondering since that night. Since my head became so confused. “Do you like Coke or Pepsi?”

...

“I like Coke.”

“Me too. Pepsi is for fags.”

....

I didn’t get to see my new haircut. I could feel it, feel the swoop that was not yet swooping as it swished across my eyes but I was not allowed to look. They were building the anticipation. Hector returned and did a terrible job of masking his surprise and joy at seeing my new hair. He put a blindfold on me and then for the next twenty minutes I found myself assaulted by unseen paint brushes which coated my hair in what I could guess was dye. I could have stopped this at any time, but I was committed to my makeover now. I was genuinely curious what I would look like when all was said and done.

Once my hair had been washed for the twentieth time, I was instructed to disrobe and put on a loose gown. From there I was lead by the hand into a room separate from the sounds of the busy salon. I heard a high pitched yelp from nearby and jumped at the sound.

“Calm down sweetness. This isn’t gonna hurt a bit. That woman is just surprised. Now, I’m going to remove your blindfold so don’t go crazy, ok.” The woman’s voice was soothing like honey tea.

As promised she removed my blindfold. The room came into focus and I realized that I was at a waxing station. The Indian woman next to me had a smoking pot of golden death next to her.

“Lay back and relax.” Not easily done but I gave it my best shot. “Please spread your legs like her.” She pointed to the table next to me where a woman was laying with a towel over her face with one leg splayed to the side.

The hot wax was spread on my inner thigh. A soft cloth was pressed onto it and held for a few seconds. Then...

RIP.

Or would that be R.I.P.

I screamed.

“Oh, that is just the surprise of the pain. It will go away soon.”

For what seemed like three lifetimes I writhed in agony as massive sections of hair were cleared from my body. When they finally got to my underarms they had to have another girl come in with clippers to shear the hair down to a manageable size. It hurt. Luckily for me I was devoid of chest hair. After my legs, underarms and extremely sensitive bikini area were cleared, the woman approached my face.

“Hey. Hey what are you doing? I just shaved.”

“Eyebrows.”

“I’m not gonna wax my eyebrows, are you crazy. Get that away from me.”

“Faster than tweezing.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes.”

So I let them wax my eyebrows and try to wax my mustache which really didn’t work out. When the woman was done I had a chance to run my hands over them. I probably should have tweezed. The change wasn’t drastic but it definitely felt like my eyebrows thinned towards the outside. The rest of me was left raw and bleeding, again. The price of beauty was being cut into me on a semi-constant basis today. I was relieved when the woman started rubbing a salve on all my sore parts. After another half hour I emerged from the torture chamber smooth all over. Touchably smooth. Wearing pants on these smooth again legs was such a mindfuck. I could feel a chill between the denim and bare skin. It was like the day after my modeling gig all over again. The denim was rough and I was unprotected. What a strange sensation.

Hector saw me stumbling out and had two of his lackeys re-blindfold me. I was returned to Celia for a final once over. She pulled at my hair and teased it with a brush, sprayed it down here and added wax there. I felt like a work of art being slowly shaped into something worthy. For all I knew at this point though, I was still a badly drawn boy.

“Done.” Celia stopped to admire her work. “Lemme do something extra for you.”

Celia pulled out a tiny makeup case and poked through it, pulling a tube of something or other and a stick of this or that as she deemed fit. She then gripped my face with a steady hand and started mixing a foundation on the back of her hand. I instinctively retreated.

“Don’t be shy, Ally. I’m not gonna go nuts. I just want to bring out the model.”

“I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

“It’s just a little makeup. If you were in a movie, male or female, doesn’t matter you’d be wearing it.”

“Please. I don’t feel comfortable.” The thought of her putting that stuff on me stopped my heart. I didn’t know if it was because I was afraid to look bad or afraid to look good.

“You have to. I just gave you a deeply discounted haircut and I can’t finish this look without seeing your face made up to match. Please?”

This was a pattern with me. I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no. I gave no indication that it was OK but I let it happen anyway. I let Celia cover my face with liquid foundation and then a powder topping. I let her line each of my eyes with a black eyeliner pencil, meanwhile feeling shame with every line she drew. I let her dust the tops of my lids with a purple tint and lengthen each of my lashes with an extending mascara. I didn’t just let her. I closed my eyes when she told me. I pursed my lips when she asked. I watched her sketch an outline in red and then fill my pouty lips in first with a matte red lip color and then a pink faintly glittering gloss. I tasted and smelled it all.

Then when I was sure that things couldn’t get anymore surreal. This lesbian hair warrior kissed me full on the lips and I got a taste of her lipstick which was somehow tangier than mine.

“You’re ready.”

I was lead out into the salon and my blindfold came off.

My eyes locked onto my reflection’s. The face in the mirror was not Alex’s. His face was dull, listless. The face I was looking at now was vibrant, sexy and full of life. Her eyes were wider, her cheeks fuller and her smile full of mystery. Her hair was a rich auburn color, with burnt orange highlights, a contradiction of loose tangles and full, sculpted curtains. The layered look that Celia had referenced was complete rock n’ roll. In the back of my head some parts of the hair hung lower than others and it was overall shorter than it had been but two especially long bits on each side still flirted with my shoulder blades. The swoop she had mentioned was drastic and came from a  ¾ part in my hair. I wanted to kiss this girl’s lips, to stroke her hair, to be seen as her ideal.

I was in love. In love with an illusion.

I was an illusion.

I turned around when I heard the cheering. Caitlyn was whooping and hollering. Hector was clapping.

But Lara was nowhere to be seen. And the moment just didn’t seem important without her.

.... to be continued.

“Lara, I don’t see any shorts?” Lara looked at me like I was stupid.

“That’s be-cause. It’s a dr-esssss.”

I didn’t know a lot about kids but I did know that boys didn’t wear dresses, although I think when I was really small my mother may have had me in them until I got too old.

“I can’t wear a dress!” This seemed like a logical argument to me.

“Sure ya can. You’re wearing one now. Duh?”

CHAPTER THREE — HIS STORY, REPEATING (PART I)

THEN

I was seven when I met her.

Some kids were already picking out their own clothes by the time they were seven. I was still letting my “mommy” dress me. Looking back I really can’t blame her for dressing me like a total dork, what did a 30 year old pothead folk singer know about boys fashion? So there I sat under the oak tree in my yard, wearing a pair of yellow shorts with my checkered shirt neatly tucked in. I was flipping through a coloring book of zoo animals inwardly debating which color to make my zebra (I was leaning towards black with white stripes but white with black stripes held a certain appeal) when a long shadow fell over me blocking my light.

“Excuse me, you’re in my light,” I said politely.

“Why are you reading outside?” Asked the shadow as if the thought of reading anywhere in general was disgusting.

“I like reading here.” I tucked the loose hair behind my ears and squinted.

“But it’s a tree! Trees are for climbing. Don’t you know anything?” As my eyes adjusted I could now see that the shadow was in fact a girl my age. Her hair was in pigtails and she was wearing a heavily grass stained skirt with a flowery T-Shirt.

“I know lots of stuff! Like, I know that the cheetah is the world’s fastest animal.” I had recently read this in a book I got from the library called, Cheetah: The World’s Fastest Animal.

“Is not.”

“Is so.” Exhibit A: Cheetah: The World’s Fastest Animal. It’s right there in the title.

“Is not!” The girl sang back to me.

“Oh yeah? Then what is Miss Smarty Pants?”

“A turtle in a race car, squid for brains.” The girl stuck out her tongue at me and flopped down next to me. I was too annoyed by her irrefutable answer to ask her what a squid was.

“That’s not fair! Animals don’t drive!” My golden retriever of the time could barely even fetch the ball let alone shift gears.

“I saw a cat driving once.”

“Liar.” The girl always looked like her mind was some place else. I remember her eyes would just drift away, as if she could see a few seconds ahead into the future, and therefore was always confident.

“I swear to Cap N’ Crunch.” She did a military salute that would have done my grandfather proud. It was sharp, and properly angled. Practiced.

“What’s that?” Yes, I didn’t know much about breakfast cereals.

“You don’t know Cap N’ Crunch?”

I didn’t respond. I knew by the girl’s tone that this was something every kid was expected to know. I wasn’t every kid. My mom, was a folk singer and she had long ago signed off on all that hippie clean living anti-establishment bullshit. I wasn’t allowed to buy processed anything. Almost everything I ate came from a weird store that smelled like grass. We weren’t one hundred percent vegetarian but tofu and soy products stood in as substitute for most animal meat. I was jealous of children who were allowed to indulge in cheez-whiz and artificially colored drinks in rainbow shades. I didn’t like this girl taunting me with forbidden fruit loops.

“Can you please leave now? I’m busy and this is my yard.” I had a zebra to get back to.

“Umm...” The girl was thinking over my request as if it had been a proposal. “...No. I want to stay.”

“But it’s my yard. I get to decide who stays and who goes!” The strange girl, who grew stranger by the moment, leaned into the tree and nodded like she was listening to it. “What are you doing?” She ignored me.

“Your tree says I can stay. It’s his yard too.”

“Trees can’t talk!”

“Can too. Listen.” She put a finger in front of my lips and cupped her ear to the treetops.

There are moments in your childhood that capture the feelings of what it was like when the world was brand new, moments that over time distill those experiences into a singular sense of joy. Sitting in silence with that bizarre girl waiting to hear my oak tree speak to me and then getting goosebumps when the leaves began to rustle and whisper was one such moment.

“I hear it. What’s it saying?” I marveled.

“It says...” And then the girl smiled a wicked smile that I would grow to both love and hate as the years went on, ”...climb me.” With the quick hands of a magician, the girl snatched the coloring book from my unprepared hands, shoved it in her back pocket and scrambled up the tree to the lowest hanging branch that was almost two feet out of my reach.

“Hey! Give that back!”

“Hahaha. The tree says if you want it, come get it.”

“I’m not supposed to climb trees! It’s dangerous.”

“Says who?”

“Says my mommy!”

“Well, I don’t see her. Is she invisible? Is she a ghost?”

“Don’t be stupid. Please give me my book back.” My eyes were starting to tear up.
My head drooped and down they came like raindrops falling on the dry early summer soil.

The next thing I knew I heard the sound of my coloring book falling gently to the ground and the girl was hanging by the branch, her feet still a foot or two off the ground.

“Um.. A little help?” The girl was swinging from the branch now like they were monkey bars. Her T-shirt nearly yanked up to her underarms, her belly exposed.

“What?” I snapped out of my stupor and after dusting off my book I went to help the girl.

“It’s higher than I thought. I’m scared. Just grab me around the legs and help lower me down.” I looked up at her like she was crazy. “Please!”

It seemed like a good idea but in practice, was not. The best I could manage was to grab the girl around the knees. I tried to slide her down to the ground but we both lost our balance and came crashing down on top of each other. Luckily neither of us were hurt, although I was not used to such physical activity. I lay stunned on my back when the girl offered me a hand. I crossed my arms to send a signal that I wanted nothing to do with her.

“Thanks. I’m sorry I took your book.” She left her hand out there for me to take. “I just wanted you to play with me.” The girl seemed genuine.

“You promise no more tricks?”

“I promise.” Was she crossing her fingers behind her back?

“OK.” I took the girls hand and she pulled me up. We brushed the leaves and grass off each other and for the first time since I’d met her I caught myself having a good time. “I’m sorry I told you to leave.”

“It’s OK.” Then the girl blushed which seemed completely out of character for her. “My name’s Lara. My family just moved here.”

“I’m Alex. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

The girl who I now knew as Lara pretended to hear the tree whispering to her again. “The tree says we should be friends.”

“OK.” I knew the tree didn’t say it, but I liked this girl. I didn’t have any friends unless I included the old ladies who came to see my mom perform.

“See ya around, squid for brains.” The girl skipped off down the street leaving me with a slightly wrinkled coloring book and grass stains all over my shirt. I would later find a book in the library about squids, and feel insulted all over again when I did.

NOW

She wasn’t there. I couldn’t do this without her.

The flash of a camera went off. The euphoric feeling of seeing myself transformed into something so attractive slowly gave way to panic. Although the makeup was doing an admirable job of disguising me in the soft light and perfect angles of the beauty salon mirror, how could I expect to walk around the city in the revealing light of day? I’d be spotted, tagged, and then ostracized from society. What had I done? Why had I let them go so far? My mind was filled with doubt and self loathing. The pleasant smile on my face contorted until it was recognizable to all watching me as horror.

“We have to wash this off of me. I can’t do this.” I looked at Hector, and then to Celia. I could best describe the look they gave back to me as “understanding.”

“I know is a big step for you. Going from a caterpillar to a beautiful butterfly is no easy. What will the other caterpillars say?” Hector said in a consoling ‘been there, done that’ sort of way.

“You d-don’t understand.”

“I understand. She understand.” He nodded to Celia. “We do understand.”

“N-No, you don’t. I can’t. This is too much. Get this stuff off of me.” I couldn’t find my next breath.

“Alex, calm down. You’re seriously gonna hyperventilate.” Caitlyn tried to grab my hand but I yanked it away.

“No. I’m a joke. Worse! I’m a clown.” The room was getting smaller. Everyone was looking at me. I could hear the distant jeering of a gallery of my biggest foes.

I headed for a nearby sink and turned on the water. I began splashing my face and frantically rubbing away at the makeup with both hands. The stains would not so easily be removed.

“Hey kid,” Celia turned off the water. “Stop.” I tried to turn it back on but she stopped me and forcibly put my hands at my sides. “It’s gonna be OK.” Somehow her words were soothing.

“I-I-I” I-I-I was gasping for air now.

“Quickly, get me a paper bag from the back.” Hector darted off to the back and returned moments later with the bag. “Breathe.” She told me.

I did. I breathed in and then out, and slowly the bag did its job. I settled down.

“Thanks.” I looked up into Celia’s concerned face.

“You OK?” She took my hand in hers. My heartbeat slowed into an easy rhythm.

“Yeah.”

“Feel this.” She pushed my hand onto her left breast and I felt a familiar yet slightly different squishiness. I looked at her surprised. “That’s not real. It’s a breast form. I lost ol’ lefty to cancer.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you need to know you’re among friends... and freaks.”

“Beauty is an illusion.” Hector said this with a kind of knowing sadness that gave his cliched sentiment weight. It was as if he had peered behind the curtain and seen the Wizard of Oz so many times that he could no longer believe in the magic.

“Ally, there’s not a man or woman alive who doesn’t cheat somehow. You ever heard of Chris Rock?” I nodded. “He says women are liars. We wear heels, we aren’t that tall. We wear makeup, we ain’t that pretty.”

“I hear that.” Said a short haired woman who was patiently waiting to have her nails finished while the drama unfolded.

“But the truth is that for all the tricks and cheats people use...” Celia gently tilted my face back up to the mirror where I had made a royal mess of my perfectly done up face. Streaks of black and smears of red now marring Celia’s pretty canvas “...you can’t fake true beauty. Not to sound like some loopy self help guru but you can’t fake it because it comes from within.”

“I’m not beautiful. Inside or out.”

“Yes you are. All the hair and makeup does is highlight what’s already there, so it becomes undeniable.” I looked at myself closer. I still couldn’t see it. “I mean, you’ve certainly looked better than you do right now...” I laughed at that. It was a warm laugh that seemed to come from a real place. So often I laughed because others expected me to but suddenly I found myself with nothing to do but laugh. “I mean, it’s not too bad, you kind of have a Phantom of the Opera thing going.”

“Do you have some soap or something? I want to wash the rest of this off.” Celia looked at Hector who seemed reluctant but soon gave in.

“Of course, cutie. This way.” He lead me to the back where there was a full private washing station.

“Do you want anything?” Caitlyn, who must have been feeling guilty about pushing me into this, asked cautiously.

“Maybe a pair of men’s pants?” I know. I’m in too far to back out of this now but somehow the thought of fully dressing up was too much for my poor frayed nerves to handle. I need something familiar right now. I need to know that I can still be myself.

“Sure.” Caitlyn chirped.

I lathered up my hands and scrubbed gently away at the makeup. Even as the makeup rubbed off and sailed gracefully down the drain on a bed of bubbles, the woman I saw in that mirror did not fully disappear. Her wide eyes and soft lips stared back at me stubbornly refusing to wash away. Had Celia meant what she said? Was I... This hadn’t been the first time that someone had said I was beautiful. This was, however, the first time I had wanted to believe it.

If only Lara was here to make sense of it all.

THEN

“Mommy, would it be OK if I went over to play at my friend Lara’s house?”

My mother was perched over her acoustic guitar scribbling notes and lyrics down in a tattered notebook. Her long mildly curled hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She didn’t even look up from her notes to reply to me. “The daughter of those army apes who moved in down the street?” She played a note out of tune. “I think you can do better.” Lara’s dad was ex-military and her mom was a dyed in the wool republican. Things I knew nothing about when I was 7 years old but which I found out later made my mother hate them.

“Pleeaaaase?”

“Really? Begging? I thought I taught you better than that?” She finally looked up just to roll her eyes at me.

“I’ll bring my own food and everything. I promise, no sugar. No TV.” This was my last ditch effort. My mother loved to bargain. Even my father, who was ten years her senior, had to bargain with her when he wanted to buy something. One summer a new lawnmower became a greenhouse and you don’t even want to know what the boat was equivalent to.

“I suppose it would be good for you to integrate socially...Deal. But be home by seven-thirty for supper. We’re having stuffed peppers. I won’t wait for you.” For a touchy feely hippie my mom was not very touchy or feely with her children. She believed physical affection made kids too dependent on their parents. She was full of contradictions. How she thought hugging me would make me less dependent on her than controlling every aspect of my childhood, I still to this day haven’t figured out. Go play by a tree unsupervised, but don’t you dare climb it!

“I will.” I was so excited to be seeing Lara. I’d never been to her house before.

“Love you, baby doll.” Said with as little actual warmth as she could muster.

I made myself a bean sprout sandwich with pickles and soyannaise, which was a mayonnaise substitute that used soy instead of egg, and ran out the door as fast as my feet would carry me. I wanted to show Lara some drawings I did of the duck pond in our neighborhood. I especially wanted to show her that I drew her in the pond like some half squid/half girl creature from the black lagoon.

When I got to her house, which basically looked like mine and every other house in the neighborhood except bluer, her action figure of a father was washing his car out front.
He was really big, really tall, and really strong. I remember thinking he was as tall as the tree in my yard. I stood in front of Lara’s house for several minutes afraid to cross paths with him.

This made him notice me.

He approached and wiped off his big hand on a rag.

“Hello. You must be Alex. I think Lara’s expecting you inside.”

I didn’t move. I was frozen in my tracks. What was it that the books said I should do when confronted by a bear? Play dead? Should I pretend to die?

“You can go on inside now? Go on, scoot.”

I nodded and rushed past him and up the steps to the front door. I knocked gingerly. The sounds of a stampede came closer and closer as Lara sang from the otherside, ‘I got it, I got it.’ The door flung open and Lara, seeing that it was me, threw her arms around me and pulled me into a big loving hug. I honestly didn’t know how to hug back so I patted her weakly on the back until she let me go.

“What took you so long? I’ve been waiting and waiting!” Lara looked like she was on a Saturday morning sugar bender. Her eyes went all frenzied in her head and she danced around like a skeleton on a string. “It doesn’t matter. Come inside. Let’s dance.”

There was no music but that didn’t stop Lara from grabbing me and doing an impromptu boogie, spinning and twirling me around like a top. I slipped on the floor and landed smack on my rear.

“Time out. I’m dizzy.”

“OK. I’m thirsty. Let’s get a drink. Moooom!” There was no response. “Mommmmmy?”
We made our way into the kitchen. “Mooo...”

“OK. OK. Larabelle, I hear you.” Came a voice from upstairs.

“Mooom. We have a guest here. Cut it out with the Larabelle.”

What’s Larabelle?” I asked innocently but secretly knowing that I’d found something to make fun of Lara over.

“Why, that’s Lara’s full name, honey. Lara Belle Bowen. She doesn’t much care for it but I’m her mommy, so I get to call her whatever I please.” Her mother entered the room like there was a spotlight on her. She was wearing a pastel dress, her hair was up in a bun and she was wearing makeup like I’d seen my own mother where on special occasions when she and my father would go out without me.

“Moooom. You’re embarrassing me.” Lara was pulling at her hair and then suddenly she was panting and barking like a dog. She started shaking fleas out of her “fur.”

“Larabelle, sweetie, I think you’re doing a fine job of that all on your own.” The pretty woman with the red lips turned to me and gave me an appraising once over. “Well aren’t you precious?”

“Pardon?”

“And so polite too. You must be Alex. Thank you for putting up with our Larabelle. She’s a bit of a wild one.” Lara’s mom pulled a pitcher of brown liquid from the fridge. Lara seeing this began whining like a hound dog.

“Larabelle, stop it. Try to act like a proper lady.” She looked at me as if I knew what she was talking about. “Or at least like a smarter animal.”

“Like a... monkey?” Lara started an impression of a chimpanzee. It made me laugh.

“Well don’t you encourage her now.” Her mother was scolding her but she was laughing too. Lara ran behind me and started grooming me, pretending to eat grubs from my hair.

“Oh, Larabelle. Gross. That’s enough. Now you stop that or I’ll put this tea right back in the refrigerator and you can have water —which you should be drinking anyway.”

Larabelle transformed before my eyes. Gone was the beast of the forest and in its place was a girl sitting bolt upright with perfect posture, her face almost peaceful and pleasant. She was quite the actress.

“I think you might just be a good influence on her,” said her mom as she poured the sweet smelling liquid into a glass.

“Oh I can’t have anything with sugar...” I said. Lara’s mom did a double take and then looked off and scowled like she was angry at the wallpaper.

“Nonsense. It’s just some good ‘ol South Carolina sweet tea. My granddaddy drank it everyday he was alive and he lived until he was a hundred and four years old.”

“Try some, Alex. It’s so goood.” Her eyes and her voice went crazy again when she got to the word good.

“This isn’t your momma’s house, Alex. It’s my house. Her rules don’t apply here. Just take a little sip.”

I had never thought of it that way. The sudden realization that I could, in fact, disobey my mother without consequences had me giddy with excitement. I liked Lara’s mom and I trusted what she told me. I wanted my eyes to go crazy like Lara’s. I wanted to climb trees and catch frogs.

I looked at the two of them who were eagerly anticipating my turn to the darkside. As my lips touched the glass rim I felt a tremble through my little body. The sweetness hadn’t touched my tongue for more than a couple seconds when a jolt of energy blasted through my veins. I took my first swallow of the cool liquid and it made me shake until I lost my grip on the glass. It dropped into my lap, spilling the sweet sticky tea all over my clothes. If I hadn’t known better I would have sworn that my mom had done this to punish me for going against her will. Regardless, I now knew the evils of sugar.

I felt terrible for making a mess but Lara’s mom assured me everything was just fine. She took me into the bathroom and helped me strip off my shirt. I told her I could take off the rest. She left me in the bathroom, in a pair of organic cotton briefs, holding a pile of my own wet clothing. When she returned Lara came in and gave me a folded up item of clothes in exchange for mine.

I unfolded the item. It was a long green oversized T-shirt but I couldn’t find any pants anywhere. I put the T-shirt on and it rolled down my body until the bottom fell to just above my knees. The fit was loose but a little tight around my body and the sleeves had these awful frilly things like on an apron.

“Lara, I don’t see any shorts?” Lara looked at me like I was stupid.

“That’s be-cause. It’s a dr-esssss.”

I didn’t know a lot about kids but I did know that boys didn’t wear dresses, although I think when I was really small my mother may have had me in them until I got too old.

“I can’t wear a dress!” This seemed like a logical argument to me.

“Sure ya can. You’re wearing one now. Duh?”

“But I shouldn’t! I’m a...” My shouting attracted Lara’s Mom who opened the bathroom door and peaked inside.

“Is something wrong? Does it not fit?” When she saw me, she smiled wider than I’d ever seen anyone smile before. She stepped inside and stepped over to me.

“I knew it. I knew there was a little princess under all those clothes.” She straightened out the dress, pulling and tugging at the corners. When she finished she took out a hair band with a butterfly on it and pushed my hair back with it, giving me bangs in the process. “Look at you, all beautiful.” She declared.

“Ooo.” Lara had an idea. “Let’s play beauty parlor!”

I honestly only knew about the beauty parlor because of my mother’s frequent trips. For an earth loving, no-sugar, vegetarian she sure loved to bathe her hair in toxic chemicals to get what people assumed was her natural curl. Even when I was at the beauty parlor I didn’t want to be there. I most definitely didn't want to pretend to be there.

Lara grabbed me by the arm and together we ran off to her bedroom. I still wasn’t sure about the dress or being called a princess but fun was fun.

Her mother called after us, “Larabelle, don’t even think about using my makeup! It’s very expensive and you’ll be paying it off until you’re an old lady if you do!”

Lara’s bedroom was much different than my bedroom. I had always thought that she slept on a mound of dirt, considering how dirty she always was when I saw her but on the contrary, her room was impeccably clean. She slept in a giant pink canopy bed with lace trimmings and a dozen stuffed bears, rabbits and cats of varying sizes. I came into her room and sat on the bed. I picked up a rabbit.

“That’s Frizz. I call him that cause I can make his hair do this.” She fluffed out the thick hair on his head and made it stand on end. “My dad bought these all for me.”

“I like your bed. It’s so big.”

“Barf. I hate pink. My mom picked out everything in here. If wanted my bed to be a starship cause then I could train at night in my dreams for when I got to Mars.”

“You can’t go to Mars.” I had read about this in the book, Mars: You Can’t Breathe There. Or maybe I’m making that up.

“Yeah I can.”

“No, you can’t. The air is made of poison.”

“I’ll make bubbles of air here on Earth then, enough to breathe forever and I’ll bring them with me.“

“You’re silly.”

“You’re pretty. Do you like my dress?” Lara opened her closet door and showed me my reflection. I’d never much thought about wearing a dress but here was proof that I looked good in one. Could it be that my mother was wrong about this and sugar?

“I do. But my legs are cold.” Lara’s house was like being at the North Pole because of the air conditioner.

“Oh, I have something you can wear.” Lara went into her closet and fetched a pair of long striped socks. I didn’t know what to do. I was cold but this was another thing that girls wore that boys didn’t. When I didn’t stir from my spot on the bed, Lara began taking off my socks and putting the longer ones on me.

“What do you think? I think they’re sooo ka-yoot!” Lara was super happy about playing dress up with me and I was starting to come around to it.

We spent the afternoon playing beauty salon. I put Lara’s hair up in old toilet paper rolls and pinned them there with a hair pin. She pretended to cut my hair and do my makeup, putting only a little lip gloss on me for real. By the end of the day we had our own secret universe that felt like it would collapse upon itself when it came time for me to go home. While we were waiting for our pretend hair to set and nails to dry, we sat and watched TV together. I had never watched much TV but I became a rabid fan of the Disney afternoon and was even convinced to sit and watch Beauty and the Beast with her. I didn’t really understand much, but I knew that the girl in the movie, Belle (like Lara Belle!), was pretty and for some reason she liked this big hairy beast. Lara said it was the story of her mom and dad which made me laugh.

Lara and I went into her backyard to play. She had a jump rope and a hula hoop and we took turns playing with them. She also had toy nerf guns and wanted to play at being spies. She was convinced that the dog next door was actually an alien and together we hunted it down. I wasn’t very good at this game and I really wished I was wearing shorts when we were climbing over rocks.

The sun was setting when Lara’s mother called us both in for dinner. I didn’t tell them I had to go home. They were having chicken wings cooked on an outdoor grill. If I had to I would eat two meals just so I could experience these mouth watering meat things. We were sitting at the table, giggling about the drawing I made of the duck pond (which Lara wasn’t insulted by but praised for its creativity, “I’m rubbing off on ya,” she said,) waiting for her father to come in with the last platter of wings when the doorbell rang.

I heard muffled talking and then a bit of angry shouting and I instantly recognized my mother’s stern tone.

“Alex! Get your stuff we’re going home.” I turned around to look at my mother who was more annoyed than angry. Still staring coldly at Lara’s mom.

“Mrs. Hoth. All due respect but, what’s the harm in letting your daughter stay for a few wings?” Spoke up her father as he came in with the steaming pile of chicken goodness. “She’s been looking forward to these all day.”

The look of outrage on my mother’s face was one I would not soon forget. She looked at me with daggers in her eyes. “My daughter? Alex, what the fuck are you wearing?” I would also not soon forget my mother’s first f-bomb in front of me.

“Mrs. Hoth! I will not have you barging into my house, cussing in front of the children.” Lara’s Mom shouted back.

“Listen you, Reagan-loving, warmongers, I don’t have a daughter, I have a son. His name is Alex and he’s sitting there in your kitchen wearing a dress.”

The room turned on me. Before I was a sweet, wonderful thing worthy of protecting and now I was the grand betrayer.

“But Lara said...”

“What kind of sick fucks are you? Dressing up someone’s son like a girl?”

“It’s not her fault, Mommy.” I found the courage to speak. “I was bad. I ruined my clothes because I was drinking sweet tea.” I was crying.

“Don’t say another word. Stop crying. It’s not going to work. We’re going home.”

Against my protests, my mother dragged me out of Lara’s house still wearing a dress.

NOW

The walk back to my car was a long one. I had said my goodbyes to the people at the salon and told Caitlyn that I didn’t need her to come with me back to my car. I was wearing a pair of greenish brown cargo pants and my black hoodie, no makeup and my hair pulled up under a black baseball cap but for some reason, I felt crossdressed. Maybe it was the smooth touch of the fabric against my hairless legs, or the seductive hair that even now threatened to burst out of my ballcap and swoop across my face with a flourish. I felt like that woman in the mirror could slip out any moment and reveal me.

I drove as fast as I could back to my apartment. I ran a traffic light or two but it was an even tradeoff if I had any hope of catching Lara before she did something...

FOR RENT

...stupid. The sign said it all. Lara was going to move out. I’d fucked up but good this time. I slid my key in the lock, fighting back a crying fit as I did so. I steadied my hand and undid the top lock and then as I reached for the doorknob it swing open.

Lara was standing there, her eyes bloodshot and her nose rubbed raw.

When she saw me she immediately grabbed me round the middle and hugged me with enough force to crack my ribs. She buried her head in my shoulder.

“Caleb’s gone.” She was referring to, Caleb Delorenzo, our mysterious third roommate and fellow childhood friend. The truth was he’d been gone for six months now but since we still received rental checks on time every month we always assumed he’d be back.

“What do you mean? How? We’ve only been gone for a few hours.” Well, I was gone for about five or six.

“He must have known and waited until we both pulled away.” I guess that was plausible if a little mission impossible-ey.

““Well he didn’t have much stuff.” Just a duffle bag and a few small boxes of memories.
But why would he...?“

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s in trouble? Maybe he owes money to the mob? Maybe he was abducted by aliens?”

“He doesn’t owe money to the mob and he wasn’t abducted by aliens. Don’t be ridiculous. Did he leave a note?”

Lara shrugged. She was terrible in crisis situations. Things hadn’t changed since we were kids. I entered the apartment and looked around Caleb’s empty room until I found a note on the windowsill. The envelope was dated today.

I tore it open and read it aloud.

Dear Lara and Alex,

What’s up bitches? I’m sorry to have to tell you this way but I couldn’t face you in person and txt seemed so impersonal. Frowny face. I’ve dropped out of college. Now before you go and crucify me for breaking our promise to each other, please note that I’ve found something even better than Sunday morning breakfast on the quad... I’ve found love.

In an ironic and totally hot twist of fate, the man of my dreams is one of my dad’s investors. Who would have thought that my soul mate was interested in pork product futures, aside from obvious sausage references, ‘natch. Anyhoo, he’s tall and sexy and dreamy in a middle aged Sean Connery kind of way, but most importantly he loves me and wants to marry me.

Well, we can’t do that here, thanks to Governor Homophobe, so we’re going to elope in State X. I know you’re all totes jealous. I wanted you both to be in my wedding and after seeing ‘Ally’ on the website, I was psyched to get you in a bridesmaid dress, ho but alas, there is no time and I have to be on a plane in 24 short hours.

In closing I want to say that you two are and will always be my best friends and I know we’ve been through a lot but I hope one day when you’ve both graduated and you’re off saving the world or curing Aids that you’ll stop by our love chateau and be godparents to our Malawian orphan, Spandex. I’ll write to you soon.

All of my love for you,

Caleb.

Tell Lara you love her already.

I put the note down and was filled with a mix of emotions. Anger that Caleb would even imagine me in a tacky bridesmaid gown, joy at the news of his impending nuptials, hurt that he didn’t trust us to accommodate his tight schedule and confusion that he thought I still loved Lara.

Lara seemed to come through a haze of similar emotions. Thank god the awkward silence ended when I took my hat off to cool off and down came the swoop, cascading with my layered hair into a “windswept” look.

“Did you... get a haircut?” Lara was seldom this dumbfounded.

“No. I got all of them cut.”

“You did that for me?” Lara’s weeping came to a stop. I hope she wasn’t reading too much into Caleb’s words. That was a long time ago.

“I did this for us. So we could make some money. Together. I’m sorry I was such an ass.”

“I’m sorry if I pushed you into this. I thought, somewhere deep down, you wanted it.” Lara gripped me close. Close enough for me to feel her breath on my neck but then pulled away. She looked more closely at my face and studied my hair. “...you look hot.”

“Really...?”

“Damn hot.” I felt a twinge of an old, long buried feeling. “Like, Natalie Portman hot.” Well, here lies what little sexual attraction I still harbored for Lara Belle Bowen, she of the extreme bangs, crooked front teeth and flat chest. Declared dead on this 23rd day of May in the year of our lady Princess Amidala.

I inwardly smiled at the comparison.

“What happened to us?”

THEN

The bell to start recess rang out all across the school. Children everywhere were sprinting toward those great steel double doors and out they came pouring into the playground like water from a busted dam. I lagged behind only because I soon got winded if I ran too fast, although since we had started seventh grade, a constant parade of bullies and jerks had made me a much faster runner than I had ever hoped of being.

I was carrying a composition book with me, filled with plots and notes about the great American novel that Lara and I were going to write. It had upside down train robberies, a horse that could breathe underwater, weaponized fireflies and a man who, with only the left side of his body, was still the fastest swimmer in the world. Every day since we started sixth grade we would dream up new ideas to add to it, and if they didn’t exactly fit, we’d change the whole thing to accommodate them. It was my favorite time of day.

That was all about to change.

I went to our usual spot on the bleachers, out of the site of any of the various playground sports that might make me a target but Lara didn’t show up. It wasn’t like her to be late.
When I saw what time it was I ventured out into the general population. I stuck to the shadows and walked swiftly past large groups while the ball or puck or whatever was in play. I had to dodge a basketball which somehow got hurled at my head. I was good at dodging things except, ironically, dodgeballs.

I saw Lara chatting with a group of girls. I should have known something was up when they all appeared to be wearing the same brightly colored outfit repeated four times for in slightly different shades. Lara's was an obnoxious pink color.

“What does he want?” The brightest of the four asked of me to no one in particular as if I wasn’t worthy of being addressed directly.

“Hi Lara.” I said meekly. They laughed at me.

“What, is he gonna curtsey too?” said the one in red doing a mock curtsey to further belittle me.

“Is it true you want to be a girl? Lara told me that you and she used to play dress up.” Lara just stood there. Not joining in on my dressing down but certainly not defending someone who was supposed to be her friend either.

“No! It was only once.”

“So it is true! Little freak does want to be a girl!”

“It was by accident.” They heard what they wanted to. They grabbed my chest and pulled my shirt out like I had breasts. They called me a fag. They asked me when my period was. They made fun of my long hair. All the while Lara did nothing to stop them.

I ran away crying that day on the playground and made a vow never to let that happen again.

The next day I stole fifteen bucks form my mom’s wallet and went to the barber. I told him to shave it all off. I didn’t cry. I burned. Nothing would make me feel like that ever again.

Lara came to my house two days later carrying a basket of my favorite homemade peanut butter cookies. I opened the door to her only because I wanted to hurt her as badly as she hurt me.

“Alex... did you get a haircut?” Lara couldn’t believe her eyes. In all the time she had known me I had never had short hair. This was a first.

“No. I got all of them cut.” It was a popular joke that now took on a cruel meaning.

“I’m sooo sorry for how I treated you on the playground. I didn’t know what to do. Girls have never been nice to me before. I just..”

“Stabbed me in the back?”

“I wanted them to like me. I wanted to be with other girls my age. I didn’t think it meant I couldn’t hang out with you. I would never give that up for... ”

“Are those for me?” Lara happily handed over the basket feeling like maybe all was forgiven.

“I really felt terrible. And did you see that dress? Pink. Barf.” I took a cookie and bit into it. I ate it cheerfully.

“I have something for you too.” Lara was probably feeling relieved at this point. I wish I had known how sincere her apology was. I wish I hadn’t been a vindictive ass but these wounds weren’t so easily mended.

“Here.” I handed her the torn pages of our novel that I had shredded in a mad fit. “Get out of my yard.” I slammed the door in her face and watched her as she went off crying the paper pages being blown away like flower petals on the wind.

I wouldn't talk to her again until the middle of my freshmen year when a boy named Caleb brought us back together.

...to be continued.

author's note: If you think Alex's mom is a little bit of a walking contradiction well, she is. And her convenient belief systems are based on my friend's mother. I had to break up this chapter because it was running too long but it's all part of one long narrative arc and hopefully when it's done Ally will be ready to play dress up again. =)

“Well, I must say I was expecting a little more love for helping out a damsel in distress...” The bass of the guy’s voice had a way of reverberating under my skin.

I could feel my cheeks burning red again. “I’m not a damsel!” This guy clearly needed glasses. His stupid mop of dirty black hair was probably hiding a lobotomy scar.

“What!? I didn’t mean you!” He looked as outraged as I did. He pointed to Lara as he knelt down to pick up the rest of her books.

CHAPTER 4: HIS STORY, REPEATING PART 2

NOW

“Wasting awa~y again in Margari~taville. Looking for my~ lost shaker of sa~lt. Some people sa~y that there’s a wo~man to bla~me...”

Yes, and her name is Lara Belle Bowen. Hah.

“~but I know, dah dah dah da~h, it’s my o~wn damn fault.”

Oh snap. You burned me, Buffet. You burned me good.

We sang these prophetic words in drunken glee. Dancing stupid together on, Bessie, Lara’s vintage leather couch, so named because of its splotchy black and white pattern that resembled that of a milk cow. I was wearing one of Lara’s oversized sleep shirts, the one with a giant pair of red pop art lips on it, using our Swiffer dust mop as a makeshift microphone. Really, who could I blame for this?

“To Caleb and his big gay Italian wedding!” Lara put her glass in the air, swaying back and forth on her heels. I bent down to retrieve my own, took up my glass and sucked it down like it was an antidote.

“To Caleb... wherever you are.” Our impromptu celebration of Caleb’s big news wasn’t the same without him here to drink us both under the table. I missed the big dork.

Lara, perhaps sensing that the fun had quieted down, jabbed me in the belly, “Why so se~rious!?”

On account of her subtle southern twang, which the years had proven her incapable of losing completely, her Joker became more Brokeback Mountain than The Dark Knight. I nearly did a spit take with my wine but caught it as it dribbled out of my mouth.

“Watch the furniture there, Shamu.” Our couch, like most of her things, was vintage, read: difficult to replace. I can only imagine how she felt when she awoke to find that blonde vomit fountain zonked out on it the morning of the photoshoot.

“I’m just amazed you found time to watch The Dark Knight in between viewings of Pierrot le fou,” I scoffed. Lara would have you believe her tastes ran towards arthouse fare like Goddard but the truth was she loved mainstream cinema like nobody’s business. I clambered down off the couch to get a refill and wipe my chin off. The Merlot gurgled out of the bottle until it gurgled no more. Another bottle bites the dust.

“Of course, dude.” She took another big mouthful. “Heath Ledger. Acting god... Rest in Peace, Sexy.”

Lara bowed her head and we shared a brief moment of silence.

“It’s hard to believe the same girl who’s watched Armageddon a hundred times, on purpose, would watch something classy like Batman.”

“If memory serves, your eyes were just as wet as mine when Bruce Willis died.” Lara started getting choked up even thinking about this historic moment in movie history.

“I was crying at how terrible that movie was.” I put on Lara’s glasses and did an impression of her crying. What really sold it was the way I snorted like my whole face was a snotty dripping mess that I could just suck back in.

“You know what?” Lara marched over to me, got up in my face and in one smooth motion swiped her glasses back. “I think you’re a movie snob.”

“Me?” I chuckled. “Me? Nice try. I’m not the one who told all our friends how much Ingmar Bergman shaped her childhood and then went home to watch Bethoven 2. That was you, bucky.” Afraid I would spill wine on her couch from laughing so hard, I set my glass on the table.

“Making fun of my teeth now? That’s playing dirty.”

“If the Charlie Chans fit... ” We were circling each other like lovers, or vipers do.

“You asked for this.” Lara put her glass down and tackled me into the couch, tickling my ribs and making me sing like they were piano keys.

“Give! I give!” The pleasure was about to explode from my eye sockets. “Think of poor, Bessie!”

“Fuck Bessie! Do you apologize for making fun of my teeth?” Lara had her knees up on my forearms and was pinning me down. From this angle and with the lamp lighting her from behind she was luminescent.

“I do. I do! They’re fine chompers!” The assault continued.

“Do you apologize for making fun of Armageddon?”

“I do! It’s a new classic!” Clearly I had touched on a sore spot. If Michael Bay ever needs a bodyguard, I got a number for him. Lara wasn’t done with me yet. “What do you want? I said yes!”

“Do you admit that the animal cracker scene made you swoon?” Lara was referring to the scene where Ben Affleck uses animal crackers to play with Liv Tyler’s naked flesh on a sun dappled hill to the tune of Aerosmith’s now classic “Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing.” In a movie I mostly found laughable it was a memorable heartfelt scene. Lara let up so I could catch my breath and answer her.

“Swoon?” I wouldn’t say swoon. That suggests that I fainted and had to be resuscitated by a greasy usher.

“Swoon.” Lara was vehement on sticking to this word.

“I plead the fifth.”

“Coward.” Lara pinched my nipple.

“Ow. That was unduly harsh.” I nursed my sore nipple.

Lara was still astride me, the full weight of her body pressed against my upper body. Her face was wiped clean of definable emotions. Her eyes were pools that glittered on their surface, hiding the depths of their secrets below. Somewhere the Titanic theme was playing.

“Alex, when did you know that you loved me?”

THEN

Our high school had three kinds of water fountains, none of which were conducive to actually drinking water and all of which came with their own peculiar hazards. There were the broken ones, which would sporadically pollute the air with ancient spores. There were the high pressure ones which would, on rare occasions, catch unsuspecting students in a localized water spout that normally resulted in their clothes being soaked or, in the case of females, their T-shirts being ...ahem... wet. Then finally, there were the low pressure ones, which would force us to bend in deep for a sip, inviting horny pervs to stake them out and wait for girls in lowcut tops to get a drink. It was this third variety which would set back my goal of not being a complete social failure until college.

Up until that fateful day, the guys had become accepting of me. I was still considered a brain and, on occasion, a nerd or geek, but I wore my hair short (like them!) and I was known to throw around the old pig skin (again, like them!) so my boyish looks and awkwardness were tolerated by those would-be bullies who needed only one reason to turn on me. In the second semester of my freshmen year when my reputation was at its most fragile, Lara delivered unto them this reason.

In the years since I had severed my ties to my former friend, she had blossomed disastrously into womanhood. First came the zits which had made a zodiac of her mother’s lovely pale skin, and then the train track braces, and by high school she had started taking on the trappings of the mall goth; from the raven black hair and smokey eyes to the corsets that were too sexy for her relatively underdeveloped body. I heard from a classmate that Lara had even started calling herself Lara Darkwish.

One day I was leaving my AP physics class, which happened to be near one of the low pressure fountains, when I heard a commotion. A crowd of rowdy boys had gathered around the fountain and were chanting, ‘Flat Bitch,’ over and over again. I could hear my grandmother’s voice in my head thinking back on the days when ‘a boy knew how to insult a lady’s honor properly’. I was finally able to squeeze my way to the front just in time to see Mike-O, as the local newspapers had dubbed him, the six foot two running-back for the Hambletonians, blocking poor five foot five Lara from leaving.

“Show us them mosquito bites, girl. Don’t be shy.” Mike-O looked to his audience for approval. The fuckers gave it to him. “Pretend I’m Dracula. Or Satan.” His comment was met with a round of chuckles. Even some girls had stopped to watch the show.

“How about I pretend you’re not a dickless asshole?” Lara gnashed her teeth at him.

“How about I introduce your mouth to my cock?” Mike-O knocked the books out of her hands with ease. Lara glowered at him.

“What the fuck, dude?”

“Well, aren’t you gonna pick them up?” He was getting his rocks off.

“What, are we third graders?” Lara gave a disapproving look to the crowd. She didn’t see me standing there. She turned her attention back to Mike-O. “Well? I can’t pick them up if you’re standing on them.”

“Beg your pardon, miss.” Mike-O took a half step back and innocently raised his hands in what might be a gesture of peace from anyone else.

It wasn’t. When Lara bent down to gather her things, Mike-O shoved her face into his crotch and pretended to receive oral pleasure from her. She struggled but she was caught, mostly, unaware. I wish she’d bitten his rotten pecker right off. He reached his pretend climax to the adulation of the crowd.

“Get the fuck off me, Magilla!” She pushed him away but she was already on the ground, and the damage was already done.

“What’d you call me?” Lara was a freshman like me. We were expected to put up with a certain amount of abuse. This was beyond the pale, but Mike-O was a god in these halls. A body or two left in his wake was considered collateral damage in sacrifice to the school’s glory on the field.

Lara began to cry. What a tear-soaked history we had together. It was time to do something very very very very very very stupid.

“That’s enough! Show’s over!” It was my voice but I couldn’t remember giving my lungs permission to make air for the sounds that were coming out of my mouth.

“Oh? And who are you supposed to be, girl scout?” The room snickered as they made the connection between my new (unwanted) nickname and the tan trousers and white shirt that inspired it. “I’ll take a box of Junior Mints.”Mike-O’s testosterone had fully awakened. You could almost see it surround him like heat waves that warped the scenery behind him. It was making me queasy.

I planted my feet firmly on the ground and steadied myself.

“Leave her alone.” Three small words, that in the history of man had probably lead to the downfall of many a noble sir. In my head these words sounded steadfast and masculine but in the air of reality, they were instead a tiny, ineffectual chirp. They were the pathetic battle cry of a little tweety bird facing down a goddamn cyborg grizzly bear -with a rocket launcher.

Mike-O put an arm around my trembling shoulder and spoke to me in the low menacing tones of a used car dealer. “Listen, kid. I want you to understand that what’s about to go down is nothing personal. I mean, I hate your faggot face but I would’ve let you go if you hadn’t opened your faggot mouth. You see, I’m on the football team and when I go out there, my teammates need to know that I’m going to break spines to get us to victory. If I let you go, it looks bad for my rep. Do you understand?”

Kablooey! Went the mighty grizzly’s rocket.

Thank god I had just gone to the bathroom before class or I would have pissed myself.

“Say. ‘Yessir, Mr. O’Shaughnessy, I understand’ like a good Freshmeat.” A popular nickname for freshmen.

“Y-Yessir, Mr. O’Sh...” I couldn’t go on. “Y-Yessir, Mr. O’Sh-Mr. O’Shaun.”

Mike shrugged. “Good enough.”

He punched me in the gut just below my ribcage. All the air came whooshing out of my body and I fought to keep what little I had left. I doubled over as Lara watched on in horror. Before I knew it, the ground was parting ways with my feet and I was in the air upside down headed straight into the garbage can. If you’ve never been stuffed into a garbage can upside down and left there with all the blood rushing to your head, Oh, you really must try it. Not only do you get nauseous but you also lose feeling in your legs as they helplessly kick at the air. Speaking of which, there’s precious little of that, air I mean, at that the bottom of a garbage can when you’ve been so successfully wedged in there so you’re also wondering if you might suffocate. Just a pure joy.

From inside the can I heard a confrontation between Mike and someone else. Then the laughter stopped and something grabbed my leg, pulling me out with ease as if I were made of feathers. I was folded over his shoulder like a sack of laundry facing a crowd of cackling hyenas. I turned a deep shade of crimson, blushing like I hadn’t since I was a little boy. I tried to cover my face when I saw a row of cameras snapping my photo. It was far too late.

“Put me down, you asshole!” The tall, olive skinned guy in the leather jacket plopped me down onto my feet next to Lara, who immediately put her arms around me like we’d never fought at all. He put his hands up like he was surrendering.

“Well, I must say I was expecting a little more love for helping out a damsel in distress...” The bass of the guy’s voice had a way of reverberating under my skin.

I could feel my cheeks burning red again. “I’m not a damsel!” This guy clearly needed glasses. His stupid mop of dirty black hair was probably hiding a lobotomy scar.

“What!? I didn’t mean you!” He looked as outraged as I did. He pointed to Lara as he knelt down to pick up the rest of her books.

“What!?” I said as the bell for our next classes rang.

“He means me, squid for brains.” Lara looked up from my shoulder where she left a big puddle of drool and broke away. She dusted herself off, straightening her shirt and patting down her hair. Then she turned to me and fussed over my hair and clothing in much the same way while the guy finished gathering the books into a pile.

“What are you up to? Cut it out.” I swatted at her.

She did an about face toward her savior. “Thanks for helping me.” She rocked back on her heels in a coquettish way.

He offered her the pile of books and made a slight bow. It was uncommon to see anyone show anyone else a sign of respect in this school. Even though I was super mad at him for making me look like a ragdoll to my present and future classmates, this guy had an air of ineffable cool about him. When he smiled he looked like a South Seas Tom Cruise. “I’m Caleb.”

“I know who you are. My friend Jorma is on the track team with you.” Lara punched Caleb in the arm with a giggle unbecoming of a mistress of the night. “I’m Lara.”

“And your friend?” He asked with a nod towards me.

Lara punched me in the arm completing the circle.

“I’m Alex.” I said on cue with disinterest.

“We’re freshmen.” Lara added unnecessarily. I felt nostalgic hearing Lara refer to us as ‘we’ again after all these years.

“And I’m late for class.” Besides, the way the two of them were giving each other the googly eyes, I figured I’d already facilitated Lara and Caleb’s meet-cute. My role in their love story, in fact in this whole ridiculous drama, was done.

Not long after I’d turned the corner to hit up my locker to retrieve my books for the next class the ground began to rumble. Before I even had time to react I was ravaged by a Class 5 Lara’cane. Swept up in a sweatery embrace, that left me quite statically charged.

“Thank you so much, Alex,” she gushed as the tender kiss she planted on my cheek gave me a jolt. “You were amazing.” I felt like a champion...in a lightning storm.

“Any time.” Yeah, any time you need someone to get jammed into a rubbish bin, you know who to call.

“...I missed you, Alex.” Lara hugged me again but something was different this time. Even though they were meager, when her breasts pressed in to me I felt my heart speed up. I gave her a second stronger squeeze to acknowledge this wondering if maybe she felt it too but the moment passed. “Let’s never fight like that again.” And with those words, two years of rocky roads between us were paved over with a fresh layer of sticky, treacherous asphalt.

When we parted ways at my locker, I looked back several times to see if she were watching me go.

She never did look up from her dreaming.

NOW

“Oh, I love this song.” I lied. It was Jason Mraz whose name made me sound like a drowning cat every time I tried to pronounce it.

“Don’t change the subject.” Lara pounded at my chest with both fists.

“Oh I won’t hesi~tate no mo~re, no mo~re. This cannot wa~it. I’m yo~~urs. I’m yours.” I sang weakly losing the rhythm and the words the farther along I got.

“You hate this song.”

“Yeah, I do.” I saw an opening and flipped Lara onto her back. I assumed a position of dominance atop her. I hadn’t realized that my hands were around her wrists and I was holding her down.

Lara didn’t struggle underneath me but her head would turn to avoid my eyes.

“Your turn, Larabelle.”

“Nah. I hate this song too.”

“That’s not what I mean.” I felt her heaving between my legs in slow steady breaths.

“Well what do you mean?” She was upset. Her voice had cracked like she was holding back a flood and only a single thumb in a single hole was keeping the fjords from cracking entirely. “Maybe if you weren’t so obtuse all the time, things wouldn’t always be like this?”

“Fine. Are you now or have you ever been in love with me?” There it was. That which could not be unasked once asked. Ball’s in your court, LB.

...

“Honestly?” Lara’s cavalier tone would have been more appropriate when answering what her favorite ice cream flavor was.

“No, lie to me. Of course, Honestly! What is wrong with you?”

“...I don’t think so?” It was stated as more of a question. If I had asked her ‘do you think this steak is too salty?’ I would have expected such a response.

“You don’t think so? Is that a question? How can you not know that?” I should never have had this conversation when the two of us were so drunk.

“I dunno.” This wasn’t a statement she fretted over. It just fell out of her mouth like a crate of bananas off a banana truck. Reminder: I’m drunk. Come back on Tuesday nights for the chef’s special metaphors —guaranteed to please like a kangaroo at a sock hop... yeah I got nothing.

“Then why did you ask me?” Was it wrong for me to have assumed that maybe, just maybe, she was asking because she was harboring secret unresolved feelings for me?

“Because... “ You love me too. No maybes about it.

“Because why?”

“Because... I ki~ssed a gi~rl and I liked i~t.” Lara joined the song on the radio with her husky off key voice. I collapsed on her in a broken heap.

She continued to sing sweetly into my ear, “the ta~ste of her che~rry chapsti~ck.”

THEN

“Hello, Hoth residence.” Why does the human voice automatically jump an octave when it answers the phone. “No, this is not Mandy. This is Alex. No, I’m... can I help you with something?” I was grateful that my voice had started changing. It couldn’t come fast enough for me. I was tired of being mistaken for my mother’s daughter. Even correcting the wannabe corporate assholes from her local redneck record company had gotten to be too much of a hassle. I’d given up.

One day my mom decided to make me her evening’s entertainment. She came home stoned and sat with me in the living room while I finished my math homework. She had one leg up on the armrest of my dad’s favorite chair and the other tucked under her. She let her hair loose and whipped it into a mad bird’s nest.

“Sometimes it feels good just to let it all go. Just get in touch with that raw feminine divine, you know?”

“That’s nice, mom.” I was a ten year plus veteran of her crazy talk. Nothing she said particularly surprised me.

“I would think my daughter would agree?” She said with an audible wink.

My pen stopped long enough for my mother to relish her discovery.

“So it is true. You’ve been telling people at the Rooster that you’re my daughter.” The Rooster was her record company, Rooster Records. “That’s kind of fucked up, Al”

“It’s just a misunderstanding. People think I’m you. My voice hasn’t changed yet.”

“Maybe it’s not going to?”

“What are you talking about?” The quiver in my voice betrayed my real concern. I’d never thought of this possibility.

“Well your brother’s voice is already deeper than yours and he’s still just a squirt.”

“Fuck off!”

“No. No. No. Listen. Listen. Maybe that gender bending shit you did with your little friend there, Tara,”

“Lara.” I corrected.

“Whatever. Maybe playing dress-up like that convinced your body that you’re really a girl. Have you checked your wiener lately? It might be shrinking.”

“Dad!” I ran out of the room and went to find my father who was locked in his study with an invisible Do Not Disturb sign hung on the outside. I knocked anyway. My bespectacled father answered the door in his slow and easy manner. He was a short man with a glaring bald spot about the size of a silver dollar pancake that his combover proved incapable of hiding.

“Alex, this better be an emergency.” The impatient look on his face told me I was interrupting something important. I knew better.

“Mom said my dick might be shrinking!” Rather than join me in concern, my father became annoyed by my dilemma.

“For godssake you are too old to be listening to the cosmic bullshit that your mother spews.” My father walked past me and turned my little visit into a flimsy excuse to yell at my mother. I went in his study that housed the family computer and closed all his porn sites so I could look up wiener shrinkage. Aside from cold water, there didn’t seem to be any credence to what my mother said. Still the thought of it gnawed at me.

“Way to go, bro. I can barely hear my Xbox now.” Seth, pushed me with strength far beyond his ten years before returning to his sports museum with a bed. My parent’s fighting lasted for another hour or two until the house went quiet. This was the calm before the sex storm. Even when I was Seth’s age and he was just a toddler, I knew what the creaking sounds and the musical moaning meant.

The next morning, my mother was back to her normal judgmental self. She apologized for not making me any breakfast or lunch claimed that she had some woman issues to deal with and then gave me three dollars to get something to eat. It was becoming blatantly apparent that now that I was no longer a child, I was on my own out there. No more carrot snack packs and organic tofu fritters for my lunch sack. My mom, who had been so careful to protect me from a world of processed foods and artificial flavors, was now content to toss me into the belly of the beast. I was forced to eat my way out.

With only three dollars, all I had been able to afford was a cucumber salad and a sad apple. I was seated all by myself at lunch, having recently disavowed all interest in the human race following the school-wide circulation of some embarrassing pictures of me in a trash can and another of me on Caleb’s shoulder blushing. I may have been a social pariah but I was glad for the silence. After two months of weathering the insults; including panties in my locker and I love Caleb graffiti, people had finally done as I asked them and fucked off. Or maybe they just got too busy to give a shit what with end of the year finals upon us.

That’s why I wasn’t happy when Mr. Heroman himself came over and sat across from me. He was wearing thick cologne that smelled like elk or cigar boxes. It was classic like something my grandfather might wear.

“What are you doing here? Get out of here before people see you!” I whisper shouted as I pushed his tray away nonchalantly trying not to acknowledge him.

“So what if they do?” Caleb bit into an apple like it was the tastiest thing he’d ever put his lips to. It was nice to know that I wasn’t the only kid at school who had any interest in keeping the doctor away.

“Easy for you to say, I just got them to shut up about that little scene outside the lab.” I was trying to shoo him like he was a pigeon in the park.

“What’s that got to do with us here now?” I gave him a Lara look. I wanted him to know he was the stupidest man on the planet right now.

“Why are you here anyway? Don’t you have some popular kids to hang out with?”

“Sure, and if I wanted to talk about track, that’s where I’d be.” Caleb took a gulp from his milk and set it down. What kind of teenager drinks milk like that, shy of a Got Milk? Commercial.

“Um... you got a little something...” I tried to point it out his milk mustache to him but it was quicker just to wipe it myself. I returned my handkerchief to my pocket.

“Thanks.” Caleb looked embarrassed by my actions. Good. Now he knows how it feels to be treated like a baby.

I ate my cucumber salad silently while Caleb finished his All American Lunch special that also included a charred discus of a hamburger and greasy crinkle cut fries.

“So you don’t want to talk about track. What do you want to talk about?”

“How about you? Are you from around here?” I was tired of questioning why this guy wanted to be my friend. If this was some kind of setup to make me look stupid, I invited the relief. For now I was just going to play along.

“All my life.” I almost wanted to sigh. This was not the kind of town that deserved to be lived in for all of a person’s life. We didn’t even have a Walmart of our own. We had to share one with three other towns.

“What do your parents do?” He asked all too earnestly.

“My mother is a folk singer and my father is a daytrader. That means he plays the stock market professionally. Usually with other people’s money.”

“I know what a daytrader is.” Caleb seemed slightly insulted that I would assume he didn’t know what a Daytrader was. Most kids here probably thought it was a book from the Chronicles of Narnia. No, I’m giving them too much credit. They probably thought it was a Sylvester Stallone movie about subterranean mole people.

“What about you? What do your parents do?”

“My stepdad’s an investment banker and my real dad works for the prosecutor’s office. That’s how I got Mike to leave you guys alone. Threatened him with sexual harassment law, told him I could bring the hammer of justice down on his balls.”

“I just figured you pounded him into goo.” I pointed to the goo on Caleb’s plate which I think was a gob of “secret sauce”.

“Goo would only have been an improvement. That dude needs some facial reconstruction via someone’s fists but I’m cool with using my brain. That’s what it’s there for.” Caleb flashed his pearly whites and within a five foot radius of him the room seemed to light up.

“And your mom... or moms?” Getting us back on track with a joke.

“Just the one. She’s a mom. I have three siblings, so she’s got her hands full.”

“Wow. That’s a lot. I just have the one little brother and he’s more than I can handle. How do you deal?”

“Haha. My family are all very close to one another.” Caleb made his hands into a house of fingers and then brought them closer together to illustrate that it was shrinking, “emotionally but physically as well because our house is like a cottage for dwarves.” I cracked up.

“I can’t even imagine.”

“No? You’re not close to your family?” Who was this social worker in the guise of a kid?

“Not really. My mom is always stoned. My dad’s either working or pretending to work, and my brother is everything I am not.”

“You must be very lonely.” This was the first time anyone had ever suggested that.

“To be honest, sometimes I wish I was more lonely. My parents are just too fake.” I said with an uncomfortable chuckle.

“Maybe you should bring me over for dinner? So I can teach them how a family is supposed to act.”

“You want to come eat my mom’s veggie cuisine? That’s a first.”

“Well, life is about trying new things.”

The bell rang. When I stood up, Caleb fetched my bag for me before I had the chance to. He seemed to come from a different culture where people were decent to each other. Frankly, it was weird. All of it.

“So, were you serious about coming over to our house?” Things like this had been said by others in the past and then yanked away just when they seemed like they might be kindnesses.

“Of course. Let’s meet up at the front gate after classes...” Caleb seeing my disapproving look, “I mean, around the corner... on Dove St.... away from the prying eyes of all these lookie-loos.”

I smiled and I was excited like I hadn’t been since that day Lara had invited me over. Hopefully this would go smoother than that had. I would have to call my mother to tell her that I was bringing a friend home for dinner. Would she even believe me?

I was combing over the fine details when I was shaken from my stupor by a loud metallic clang. Lara had slammed a locker near my head for effect.

“Are you... and Caleb...” A terrifying notion spawned. “Are you flirting with him?” Lara’s eyes were dinner plates upon which she was serving heaping mounds of jealousy.

In the intervening months since the incident at the water fountain, Lara and I had only met a couple of times but every time we did. She would not shut up about Caleb. Did I think he was cute? Did I see the way he touched her hand when he handed over her books? Do you think he likes me? Do you think he has a girlfriend? It was endless and punishing. Somehow having Lara back in my life had gone from a happy celebration to a religious mass during which our lord Caleb must always be praised.

So in love was Lara that she ditched the Darkwish personality and the attendant friends that came with it and was slowly working her way back toward normalcy. Well, as normal as she got anyway. I would have been upset with her for changing to suit a guy, but the truth is, Lara was about as goth as the Queen of England. As soon as she heard Caleb make a disparaging offhand remark about the “club kids,” Lara had scaled back her look from Vampire Princess to Avril Lavigne faster than you can say ‘He was Sk8r Boi. She said See ya later boy.’

“Lower your voice. Jesus, someone might hear that crazy talk and think you’re serious.”
I pulled Lara aside into an empty classroom.

“I am serious. It sounded like, he was...” she took a deep breath. “...asking you out, like, on a date.”

I remember all my internal organs dropping down to my socks when she suggested this. “No, he’s just coming over for dinner,” on her worried look I added, “as a friend.”

“You don’t think he’s... like that, do you?” Gasp.

“How should I know?” I threw my hands in the air.

She bit her lower lip and gave a frustrated sigh. “You’re not... like that, are you?”

“Lara, how can you even ask me that? Should we be having this conversation? We just mended a two year gap in our friendship.”

“I know. I know. I just really like this guy and... “

“Chill, Lara. He’s just coming over for dinner cause he wants to observe first hand what a real live dysfunctional suburban family looks like.” Lara still seemed worried so I foolishly kept talking, “You can come too if you like?”

“Really? You’re serious? Dinner with Caleb?” Lara let her arms drop to her side as she shuffled back and forth circling a desk like a vulture.

“Well, I’ll be there too.” It being, you know, my house and family.

“Oh of course you will.” Lara slid her hand down my cheek. “I didn’t mean to suggest that... wow, this will be my first time over at your house.”

The deeper meaning of that fact sunk in.

After that night way back when we were kids, Lara’s dad had forbidden her from coming over and I had only been allowed to visit Lara when her mother was around. The first day I went over to Lara’s house to play following the dress-up incident, Lara’s mother took me aside privately to make things “clear.” She said that she didn’t blame me, which was nice, but she also said that what I had done went against nature (she meant God) and therefore couldn’t be abided. She told me that if I ever had any “urge” to “play princess” again then I would not be welcome in their house. I promised I wouldn’t and despite Lara’s attempts, I never even touched her clothes, her jewelry or her makeup again.

My mother was not ecstatic about having one guest over let alone two but she was in a good mood, thanks to booking a local radio show with her band, and she incredibly agreed to my terms. I should have known something was fishy when she said ‘why don’t I just invite the whole neighborhood over, it’ll be a regular block party’.

Though she didn’t invite the whole neighborhood over, when Caleb, Lara and I turned up my street I saw two unfamiliar cars parked in front of our house. Caleb, whose coolness factor increased more when I saw that he drove a Volkswagon van, pulled up behind them.

“Looks like we’re not the only dinner guests.” Lara gripped my hand tightly. We were late thanks to her having to go home and change into what she had told me, and me alone, were her ‘Come Git Some’ clothes -which turned out to be a little back dress and skull marked ballet flats. Even her makeup had changed subtly, losing some of the softness of her school look for something a little bolder and more playful.

I got caught staring at her wet lips and had to look away.

NOW

There was an unspoken intensity like a magnetic force building between us. Before I knew it, my lips were drawn to hers and, as if by instinct, our tongue were seeking each other out. Two serpents locked in battle.

“Mffm Fmmeh Mfff.” My tongue was in her mouth but Lara was speaking to me as if unaware of that fact.

“Something wrong?”

“Yes.” Lara softly pushed me off of her and together we both sat up, leaning against the couch. “This. This is wrong.”

“I don’t know it feels pretty alright.”

“I want more than pretty alright.” Lara stuck out her hand and twirled it like she was trying to conjure something from thin air.

“Well, if you gave it a chance maybe you’d be surprised.”

“OK. Fine. I’ll give you a chance. Wow me.” Lara puckered her lips ready to be kissed. It was like Tetris when the missing piece is clearly a squiggly S. All that remains is fitting the piece in.

“Woah. No pressure or anything.” I came within millimeters of laying my lips upon hers again, but pulled away at the last second. I regrouped and then I kissed her again. She was receptive but, I might say, unenthused.

“It’s just not doing it.” I felt like this was a challenge to my manhood so I tried again but Lara broke off the kiss mid-face sucking. “I have an idea.”

Lara stood up and walked over to her purse. She rifled through it dropping various crushed bits of paper and dust onto the floor as she did. When she at last found what she was looking for, she returned to me and knelt up next to me. Her fingers slipped around my jaw and she angled me toward the light.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re going to try something, because I have a hunch, and as my disastrous love life has proven time and time again, my hunches are seldom wrong.” She removed the cap from something and gave it a twist. These movements could only mean one thing.

“Is that lipstick?”

“Yep.” It was in a wine colored red which nearly leapt from the smooth tip of the tube to my chapped lips.

“And you want to put that on me?” I squirmed away from her to the far corner of the couch.

“I do.” Lara sidled closer to me and pressed the tube closer to my lips. They subconsciously parted ready to receive.

“May I ask why?” I managed to ask before first contact was made.

“Because Alex is a terrible kisser.” The lipstick spread, filling in all the secret nooks that still housed the last color these lips had worn. This painted desert, with its myriad layers, was developing a deep and mysterious history all its own.

THEN

“I’m home... and I’m not alone.” I turned back to Caleb and Lara to make a face like the kid in the movie, the one that resembled Edvard Munch’s classic painting, Scream. Caleb nodded approval but Lara was too busy being a girl of rapt attention to her beloved to notice. My best shit is wasted on her.

“We’re in the kitchen.” Sang my mother in a voice eerily similar to Maria from Sesame Street.

We passed through the narrow hall and into the kitchen where seated around our dining room table were two young men who I recognized from my mother’s benefit concert as well as my brother Seth and my father. Seth was flipping through a magazine on dirt bike racing and my father was “reading” the latest issue of TIME.

“Al, get in here, I don’t think you’ve ever been formally introduced.” She pointed a wooden spoon at the two guys at our table. About the man on the right who was wearing a fedora and was sporting a well cared for soulpatch she said, “This is Jacob, he’s the genius who just booked me on Up All Night.” The man tipped his hat like a goon. About the man on the left she said, “And his partner Fred, who he married just last, what was it June?”

“July.” Proudly said the younger man with the short blonde hair.

“Of course. Just after the Fourth parade. Silly me.” My mom whacked the spoon across her temple. “I should know, I was the guest of honor. At the parade not the wedding.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Al...” Jacob was waiting for the rest of my name to be filled in.

“...exa?” My mother finished. “Is that what you’ve been calling yourself on the phone when you pretend to be my daughter?” I turned from pink to red to purple like a mood ring.

“As his mother, I would think you would know it’s just Alex.” Caleb spoke up with a confidence few people could muster when faced down by mother.

“And you must be Caleb.” My mother extended her flour covered hand to the tall boy, but when he went to shake it she pulled him into a big hug. “I suppose I should thank you
for coming to Al’s rescue. Pulling my baby doll out of the trash can like that. You’re like his own personal Superman.”

My father and brother dove deeper into their reading material. Lest they become targets of mother’s game. I think Seth may have even had his iPod on.

“And what a surprise this is? Little Lara Bowen. I haven’t seen you since... well since you were dressing my son up like a flower girl at a hillbilly wedding...”

“How’s her new record selling?” Caleb asked Jacob out of the blue.
“Pardon?” Jacob nearly spat out his celery creamcheese hors d'oeuvre.

“You know. Mandy Maitlin, heaven forbid she use her married name, right? How’re the sales of her latest CD?” I dropped my bag to the floor with a crash but it didn’t distract any one from the spectacle in center ring.

Was it Christmas?

My mother’s look of utter speechless shock was a gift that I, Seth, and my father would receive every day for the next 5 years whenever any of us got angry at her. Somehow Caleb had cut right through her lackadaisical bullshit and struck a killing blow at the core.

“I can’t discuss...that’s confidential.” Jacob mumbled.

“Is it possible to love that boy more?” Lara whispered to me in amazement. I don’t know how I felt about him before, but Caleb had just earned a hundred years of my love.

“Dinner will be in 5 minutes, why doesn’t everyone take a seat now. Before a circus sideshow decides to join us as well.” It was already here, mother. My mother flung mashed potatoes to the floor, unaware that she was still stirring them when she gestured.

The first five minutes of dinner was dead silent. How do you follow up a performance like that? That was Frank Sinatra at the Copa. My mother was the first to break the silence.

“How’re your mother and father, Lara?” My mother didn’t care. She just wanted control back.

“Still republican. They say hello.” Lara’s parents most definitely did not say ‘hello’.

“So you guys are married? What’s that like?” Caleb wouldn’t let go of power so easily. He looked like he was having fun. Was this what he meant by teaching my family ‘how a family is supposed to operate?’ Would my brother and father be next on the chopping block.

“Oh. It’s fantastic. You wake up everyday with your best friend and know that no matter what happens you’ll still have each other come tomorrow.” Beamed Fred.

My father chortled.

“Something humorous, Richard? Do share with the class.” My mother wasn’t amused.

“No Amanda, just these conservative idiots.” He pointed at his copy of TIME. She eyed him suspiciously.

“It’s not all roses. There’s tough times too but you make compromises and you work through them.”

“I think it’s beautiful.” Caleb said.

“Oh, me too. Even the homosexy stuff.” Lara was quick to add and quicker to regret.

“You’re married too, Mr. & Mrs. Hoth. Feel free to add your perspective to the discussion.” Caleb took a smug bite of my mother’s veggie casserole. He had them right where he wanted them.

“Well...” began my father who looked like he had a whopper of a tale to tell.

“Marriage is lovely, Caleb. Maybe someday when you make an honest woman of my Alex, you’ll know that.”

“Mom! What the fuck?” I stood suddenly shaking the table and spilling fruit juice everywhere.

“Oh stop playing pretend and wipe that surprised look off your face Lara. Time to stop living in a Disney movie. I can smell the gay on this one and Alex is just a pretty dress away from having a vagina. Richard, back me up here!” My mother was calmly destroying my imprinted love for her with each word that came out of her mouth.

“Alex is just a late bloomer like his old man.” My father finally put down his magazine and gave me a look of pity that I could wipe my ass with.

“Oh, you’re useless.” She gave him a dismissive pass of the hand.

“Mandy, is this why you invited us here?” Jacob was as offended as the rest of the table and was wiping his mouth as if he were ready to gather his loverboy and abandon ship as well.

“I invited you here to celebrate our success. I didn’t expect to find my future son-in-law sitting across from me. There’s no such thing as coincidence.”

Jacob put his napkin down and reached for more wine. We could all have used more wine.

“Is it true?” Lara who had been sitting quietly this whole time finally spoke with the timid, trembling voice of a rabbit.

“No!” I yelled before realizing that it wasn’t me being addressed.

“Yes. I’m gay.” I could tell by the way Caleb said this that he was already out of the closet with someone —probably that family who loved him so much. The words were not difficult for him and there was no sense that after he’d said it, he was suddenly soaring the pink triangle skies on Pegasus wings. This was just a fact about him that he wasn’t always forthcoming with, like secret Christians ashamed of the boneheads in their faith.

“Excuse me... I have to...” Lara let her chair fall back to the floor with a clatter, and ran out the door. I went to catch her and when I did, I was so distracted by her humiliated rage that I didn't see her left hook coming. POW. Her fist connected with my jaw. "Skank!" She ran down the street without looking back.

Caleb joined me outside and upon seeing me nursing my jaw, he tried to help me up. I shooed him away. I could stand on my own.

“I’m sorry if I wasn’t upfront with you.” So much for someone just liking me as a friend with no strings attached. “I thought maybe, deep down, you kind of knew.”

“Well, I didn’t and that was a really shitty way to find out.” I suppose it was better than suddenly being kissed at a party in front of the whole school?

“Is she going to be OK?”

“She might have a set of sore knuckles but, yeah, I think she'll be fine.”

“Don’t hate me, OK?” Caleb had never seemed this unsure of himself. The vulnerability would have been intoxicating if I were a girl.

“I don’t hate you, Caleb.”

“Well, that’s a start anyway.”

He gave me a condescending pat on the shoulder, which would normally infuriate me, but instead of getting mad I spun the boy around and kissed him... full on the lips... just to try it. It was a manly sort of kiss. I was grabbing the collar of his leather jacket in both fists even if I was kissing from below him with my head tilted back like a girl. I pushed him away after I did and he stood there, under the streetlights, as I walked back into the house without another word.

It was a nice kiss. My first real one.

Didn’t I deserve love? In whatever form it might arrive in?

NOW

Lara and I met in the middle. Our lips wet with delight, slipping over and under each other in equal parts. Our lipstick made a brief seal that when pulled apart left traces of my color all over her and hers all over me.

This time Lara was slow to separate and had run out of breath entirely.

“It’s not that I’m into chicks, you know.” Lara said as she wiggled her finger like a worm on a hook to lure my mouth closer to her. “Ally’s just more fun.” She kissed me slowly and deeply again. She still tasted like bad coffee.

“There is no Ally. Just me.”

“I know, dude. But maybe you need to explore this a little? Clearly something’s different when you’re... pretty like.”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt?”

“You’re, like, halfway there. Let’s see where this twisty path goes. You know, together. Like we used to.”

“Do you love me? I mean, do you love me like this?”

“Like a sister. Always like a sister since that day under the tree.”

“I don’t understand. If you didn’t love me... then why did you kiss me at the winter formal?”

“I wanted to make Caleb jealous. I still thought I could change him.”

“You couldn’t.”

“Yeah, just my luck. Remember when you told me you kissed him?”

“I’m still nursing the bruised ribs from that encounter. Remind why we're friends again?”

“You deserved what you got. You knew how I felt about him.”

“That was my first and last kiss with a dude. I prefer the ladies.”

“Famous last words.”

“You think he ran out on us because of me?”

“Probably. Who knows? He still loves you.”

“I’m sleepy.”

“Me too.” Lara yawned. You could have driven cattle into her gaping maw. “Maybe we should catch some shuteye. This weekend is your last one as a free man.”

“What do you mean?” I said echoing her yawn.

“We have a little under a month to get you ready. Don’t think I’m gonna take it easy on you. Remember? You agreed to this, now. We’re in this together.”

I had no more strength to argue and most of my energy, sexual and otherwise, had been tapped. Lara was first to lights out, but I followed soon after. There we lay two lifelong friends dozing off in each other’s arms. I felt closer to Lara then, than I had my own brother. If I gave just a little bit of myself over to this experience, maybe we could be like the real sisters we had been for one magical day back in the summer of our childhood.

...

Then through the murky night air I heard my answering machine pickup.

“Al, it’s Seth. Heads up. I’m out. I can’t put up with her crap anymore. So, uh, I’m staying with a friend in Slatesville till tomorrow. Be gnarly if you could come pick me up, lemme crash at your place. Beep.”

“Whozat?” Lara said with a sexy sleepy slur.

“Trouble.”

author's note: Obviously there's a lot more to the high school drama between these three but the history repeating thread is done. The alternate title of this chapter was "Bullies" for obvious reasons. I didn't set out to make his mother such a villain but, as they say, if the shoe fits... It was probably a surprise that she ambushed Alex at dinner with two homosexual men from her "redneck" record company but remember, that was just Alex's view of things. His mother has never earned his respect for her art. Don't worry, the wicked witch isn't done yet.

I'm eager to write the next part because I'll finally get to have Alex interact with the guys. Or will it be Ally they meet? (mean feline smile)

If The Shoe Fits...
Chapter 5. ALEJANDRO

“Why did you all ignore me before when I was asking for help? I thought it was because you didn’t speak any English but clearly that’s not the case.”

“Oh don’t act so innocent. You come into the barrio, a man dressing like a girl, and expect people to talk to you. Jose thought you were like a crazy serial killer from Silence of the Lambs.”

“I’m not ‘dressing like a girl,’ I’m wearing pants and a hoodie!”

“You dress like my little sister and act like a puta.” I shot him a scornful look. “See?”

“Could we just focus on the task at hand please.”

.
.
.

I crumpled the note into a ball and took Lara’s car keys from the table. Aside from a cold spot of drool and a headache the size of California, it was all she’d left me with before she’d run off to class. On my way out I grabbed a pair of big dark shades off the counter and put them on to shield me from the intense light of the waking world, afraid that any contact between the light and my eyes would shatter me.

Lara’s Prius lurched out of the parking lot, starting and stopping at the corner of Welsh and Union Ave. as if reflecting my own reluctance to leave for Slatesville. Or maybe the hybrid car was having a bout of hiccups after a night of heavy electric drinking? The view through the back window was cluttered by a frontline of stuffed critters, tattered and faded by the sun, that had been transplanted from her old VW bug and, no doubt, longed for death’s sweet release. I was tempted. I looked at Lara’s car as I do the unfortunate canine victims of a pet obsessed owner who insists on taking a creature as noble and perfect as a dog and making them into a foofy joke. I hope no one I know sees me driving this.

It took an hour and half but I finally saw the signs for the Slatesville exit which had been playfully spray-painted to read Slutsville. Hey, at least it was truth in advertising. Lord knows, the slate quarries, factories or whatever they were, had all been shut long ago when they switched from trains to trucks for shipping. About all that remained in the gutted modern day Slatesville was a busted VFW Hall and several exotic dance clubs. The only other time I had ever been to Slatesville was when my school bus had passed it on a field trip to the Kendall Museum when I was ten. Imagine our wide eyes glittering innocently as we stared out that dirty window onto a world we had, until then, been mostly sheltered from.

As I drove through what used to be a bustling city center I tried in vain to imagine the crumbling buildings and broken sidewalks as they once were. My mind dressed the wandering crack hos in the precious period attire of a beggar and the townspeople as lords and ladies. That’s when my GPS delivered me some bad news: “Signal Lost,” it said with snarky British flair. Seth was somewhere within a 6 block radius of me but without my satellite tracking I was completely lost. Doomed to roam this wasteland with only an inch of glass between me and the desperation. I took several deep breaths and pulled into a gas station, foolishly assuming that “professionals” were more likely to help me out in this situation. I spotted the least tattooed and youngest of the six guys standing around the station in various poses of unwork and approached him cautiously.

“Excuse me?”

I was ignored.

“I’m sorry to bother you but...”

I was doubly ignored.

“OK. Thanks for the help.” I pointed toward the Jesus statuette with my delicate manicured finger which stood in strong contrast to the gruff workman like hands of the attendants, “I wonder what Jesus would do? He’d probably just ignore a person who needs help. That’s what he was all about right?”

As I began walking away I heard someone cough behind me.

When I turned back towards the group the oldest, largest and most heavily tattooed of them spoke to me, “Wait. What do you want?” Not only did he look like Danny Trejo’s twin brother, he sounded like him too.

I turned on the buttery gratitude and played up my lost puppy looks. “I am trying to get to 44 Oswald St...”

The old latino man smiled to himself his wrinkles folding up like sandpaper origami. “Take a right on to this street in front here and turn left at the first light.”

“But won’t that put me back on the highway?”

“Exactly.” He laughed. “Oswald St is no place for you. Better you go home.”

“Please. My little brother is there staying with some friends.”

“Hah! No one is friends out there, muchacha.” I noticed that he called me muchacha but there was no possibility that I was passing for a girl without makeup and with morning stubble. Clearly, he was making fun of me but since he was the kindest person I’d encountered so far in Slatesville, I decided to let him call me whatever he preferred.

“I have to get him out of there.” I reached into my pocket and feigned pulling out my wallet. He put his hand gently over mine and shook his head.

“It’s very dangerous for someone like you.” Like me? A white person?

“Why is it so dangerous?”

“Stop asking questions. You really want to go there. You listen well. Get your brother and go. Don’t look around. Go to the grey house with the green welcome mat. Don’t go near any other house and stop looking so lost. Rodrigo will go with you.” The old man called over the most muscular of the men who looked none to pleased to hear the name of the destination, but seemed to stubbornly agree to follow the older man’s orders. I wasn’t exactly down for riding with Muscles by myself.

“Muchas gracias! Thank you so much. You don’t know how much this means to me.” I am going to kill Seth when I get my hands on him and then I’m going to ship him back to Mom and Dad in little tiny pieces. What exactly was my little brother mixed up in?

The old man turned off his kindness and waved my gratitude off. He was probably hedging his bets that I would come out of this in one piece. No sense wasting emotional currency on a 20 to 1 chance.

I followed the big guy back to my car but just as I was about to open the driver’s side door, he pushed me aside. For the briefest of moments I thought I was about to be carjacked in the middle of a gas station parking lot by the people working at the gas station themselves. It made no sense but fear is seldom logical. Muscles instead opened the door for me. I thanked him and slid into the car. He joined me and then we drove down a series of identical streets some of which ended abruptly others which seemed to stretch on forever. This whole time he sat silently staring forward giving me one word directions seconds before I was required to turn. We missed a turn up Jefferson St.

“I said turn left.” He was angry.

“You know? This would work a lot better if you told me to turn, like, before the turn instead of after. Just some constructive criticism.”

“If you like, I can get out now and you can find your own way there.” He reached for the door but his intended drama fell flat when he found the doors locked. “Why did you lock the door?”

“Why did you all ignore me before when I was asking for help? I thought it was because you didn’t speak any English but clearly that’s not the case.”

“Oh don’t act so innocent. You come into the barrio, a man dressing like a girl, and expect people to talk to you. Jose thought you were like a crazy serial killer from Silence of the Lambs.”

“I’m not ‘dressing like a girl,’ I’m wearing pants and a hoodie!”

“You dress like my little sister and act like a puta.” I shot him a scornful look. “See?”

“Could we just focus on the task at hand please.”

Silence prevailed as we floated past row after row of shuttered windows and boarded up doors.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Is it about what street to turn down next, ‘cause that’s all I want to hear.”

“Doesn’t it bother you that you will not get into heaven?”

...

“OK recommence the ignoring please. I’ve had enough of this shit.”

“The Mexican cardinal once said...” I swung the wheel wildly to the side and bumped up against the curb. Muscles was caught unaware. His shaved head’s momentum was stopped by the car’s roof.

“I don’t care what the stupid fucking Mexican cardinal said. Even suggesting that someone might not achieve spiritual reward because of who they choose to love or how they choose to dress is goddamn shitty. He’s a shitty fucking person.” I tried the auto unlock for the passenger-side door but nothing happened, so I reached across the meathead in my passenger seat and awkwardly unlocked the door myself. “Get out of my car.” In my rage I had somehow taken ownership of this horrible tacky vehicle.

“Maybe you should calm down.”

“I said get out!”

The big lug folded his arms and settled into his seat with a smile. I reached across to open his door but as I did so, Rodrigo grabbed me around the waist, pulled me over his knee and gave me two quick smacks on my ass. You could have lit a romantic dinner for two with my crimson embarrassment.

“The fuck?” I pushed off of him, flailing like one of those inflatable air dancing tubemen with the dancing limbs.

“For your blasphemy.” I sat there at a complete loss. It wasn’t really a time to cry, but I couldn’t laugh either. Rodrigo laughed heartily like I imagine Chef Boyardee must laugh. Things were getting strange. “Go up this street two blocks and make a left down that alley. We’re almost there.”

“Are you fucking with me?”

Rodrigo gave me one of those playboy millionaire smiles, as if fucking with me was just a part of his to do list on his way to earning another cool million. It faded as he said, “I have business there.”

I smacked him with the palm of my hand. If I was gonna be a bitch, I might as well take advantage of the school yard rules which made hitting me unbecoming of a gentlemen. Not to mention it was a very un-Christian thing to do.

Miraculously, we were laughing about earlier when we pulled into the dark alley behind the Joy Palace (actually Chinese Take-Out) and the Happy Chicken (actually a porn store). All of a sudden the volume knob was turned down -only the skittering of some scavenging creature of the dark made sound.

I looked to my physically imposing bodyguard who had apparently agreed to come with me to get a nice good laugh out of the experience. I was not instilled with confidence that I’d come out the other side with my face in one piece. I heard the thumping of a massive bass. It was every hiphop song ever made, shaking the foundations of the deteriorating concrete buildings on either side of us. As we came out of the skinny alley we arrived at a block of houses that looked like they could have been on the cover of Better Homes and Garden. Sun-dappled suburban homes with perfectly manicured lawns invited us into their brightly painted front doors.

Rodrigo looked at me expectantly. “This is the part in my fantasy where you look up all innocent like and say ‘Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

“...No. And you ain’t no Toto.”

The source of the bumping music presented itself almost immediately. It was a tricked out van, with giant subwoofers in the back and probably a bed. A tall skinny white guy in a wife beater with what looked like a, tasteful, diamond encrusted Yoshi (from Super Mario Bros.) around his neck on a thick gold chain, walked over to our car window. He knocked politely with three firm raps.

The windows on Lara’s Prius rolled down slowly, elegantly and ever so ladylike. I felt the muscles on my face peel back in response to the thundering bass that now assaulted me. The guy reached into his pocket and used a remote to turn down the music. A remote?!

“Hi, I’m... “ Avon calling. Need any beard remover?

“You gotta turn around, miss...,” Dim Shady, took a look in the car to check me out, “...Uh, sir. Only deliveries through the back way.” The polite way he spoke was more hotel concierge than back alley thug.

“I’m just here to pick up my little bro...”

“I said, turn this tree-hugging piece of shit around or I’ll walk back over to my car and find some motivation in a caliber you won’t like.” Now he was a mean butler.

Muscles leaned across me and covered my mouth with his sweaty palm.

“Paulie, is that any way to talk to a lady?”

“What lady there ain’t no fucking... “ Dim Shady did a double take and spun around to look for the hidden camera, illusions of politeness were gone. “Hot Rod? No fucking way! Did I just get punk’d. It’s been forever, homes.” The two exchanged some complicated wrist elbow handshake fist bump which I could have described better if it hadn’t nudged me in the face several times. I haven’t seen you since...”

“Juvie,” said ‘Hot Rod’ like a man with deep regrets... probably about being sent to juvenile detention.

“Juvie. Yeah. Shit man.”

“Shit man. I heard you got picked up for trafficking?” Things were, as the kids say, getting real.

“I got off. Evidence up and vanished.” Paulie did a creepy puff of smoke gesture with his hands, like an urban magician.

“Tony?”

“He’s a goddamn miracle worker and it doesn’t hurt none that he was fucking the arresting officer’s niece at the time.” I tried and failed to join the manly laughter that followed that sweet bon mot. I bit into ‘Hot Rod’s hand hoping to get out of this den of criminals with my brother before they decided he was the perfect patsy to take the fall for their next heist. In my mind they were all jewel thieves. It was better not to think about the drugs at all.

“Listen, man we gotta catch up, bro, but I’m taking Dorothy here to find her little brother.”

“Oh, Alright...” Paulie seemed hurt that his trip down criminal memory lane was stopped short.

“He’s at ...um, 44 Oswald.”

“For real? That’s where you’re going?” Paulie shook his head.

“Yup.”

“She know you’re coming?”

“Nope.”

“Well, good luck with that, bro.”

I rolled up the window and we drove away leaving Paulie to his alley guarding.

“What’s going on? Who’s she?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

I took a look back in the rearview to make sure Paulie was out of earshot before I said, “Guess, he had to get back to the Mushroom Kingdom.” Rodrigo shrugged. “You know ‘cause he, like, had the Yoshi necklace. What? You didn’t play Mario?”

“I played Mario.” This guy annoyed me.

“Good. I’m glad we could have this chat.”

...

When we got out of the car I didn’t know how to act. Was I supposed to be afraid of Wisteria Lane or the threat of guns which I have yet to see? I decided to keep my head down like a nun and follow as closely behind Rodrigo as I could, maybe hide in his shadow. He came to a sudden stop causing me to bump into him. My heart leapt.

He turned his head slightly and spoke to me cartoonishly through the side of his mouth, “Maybe you could, you know, act normally for five minutes.”

“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “I can do that.” I had this feeling that we were being watched but not in a man-peering-through-binoculars way, like in a we-stepped-onto-the-set-of-a-sitcom-and-something-ridiculous-is-about-to-happen kind of way. We continued, at our best approximation of normalcy, up the stone walkway toward the grey house with the green welcome mat. I could see beads of sweat starting to form on the Rodrigo’s forehead.

We stood there on that front porch in front of the red door that had looked so much like candy from far away but now looked rusty and blood like up close, and then we stood there some more.

I didn’t know what to do. Rodrigo wasn’t making any moves. As best as I could figure this some part of the ritual but then the big lug turned around patted me on the shoulder and started walking away.

“Hey! Where are you going?” I gave chase.

“I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean you can’t do this,” all of a sudden I had an idea, “does this have something to do with that she Paulie mentioned?”

“No,” said a sing-songey voice dripping with attitude from directly behind me, “it has to do with me.”

All 200 muscular pounds of Rodrigo shrank away like a scolded bulldog in the face of this tiny olive skinned girl in Juicy pajama pants and flip flops standing on the steps to the house.

“Maria.” He said it like a man who has just seen the face of his killer and is staring down the barrel of a gun. Maria had no gun, she was eating a yogurt.

“Oh, that’s so sweet. You remembered my name.”

“Maria,” Rodrigo tried again.

“And look, cariá±o, you brought your new toy to show off.” She flung her yogurt at me, splashing some on my shoes.

“Maria, I meant to call.”

“Oh yeah. You meant to call? You meant to but on the way to the phone you picked up some stuck up white bitch... ” Maria stopped eating her yogurt and took a closer look at me. The illusion was broken, yet again. “What the fuck is this?”

“I can explain.” Could I? “This is all just a misunderstand... ”

“I am not talking to you.” Her hand thrust in my face stopped my words from forming. This was turning into a goddamn telenovela. Of all the gas stations in Slatesville... “Rodrigo? Are you gay now?” That impassioned heartbroken inquiry delivered with just the right amount of daytime TV panache seemed to slap Rodrigo back to his normal manly self.

“What!? You think me and this...? Are you fucking crazy, woman?” There was a rapid exchange in Spanish that my limited vocab couldn’t follow and then the two of them were laughing. Hey, give this thirty minutes in a professional beauty salon and I’ll give shortstuff here a run for her money.

“So why did you come here?”

“I’m just a good Samaritan. I’m taking him to pickup his brother,” Rodrigo turned to me, “What’s your brother’s name, amigo?”

“Seth.”

“Seth,” Rodrigo confirmed.

“Seth,” Maria contemplated. Let’s all say it together now. Seth. “That must be Alejandro’s friend. Come inside. I’ll get him and then we're going to talk.”

The front parlor of the house was immaculately clean with a splashy mural of farmland and latino day laborers decorating the right side wall. The foyer opened up into a large living room which was markedly less immaculate and was decorated only by a chaos ring of bodies that littered the couches like the aftermath of a bomb. Most of them looked around Seth’s age though some of the girls were wearing such dramatic makeup that they appeared older than I was. Maria yelled something at the mass of bodies in a variation of Spanish and whacked a boy in a bright purple pimp shirt with the remote control to the TV before departing up the stairs.

“That’s Maria’s youngest brother, Eduardo,” Rodrigo informed me. Eduardo was licking whipped cream off some poor unconscious girl’s exposed chest as her friend playfully chastised him.

“And how old is he?” Twelve going on fifty?

“He’s thirteen.”

“Huh. He seems like a fine, and upstanding...”

“He’s a cocky little shit.”

“Yes.”

"They all think they are gangsters here."

Starting to feel a sense of comraderie with Rodrigo, I tried to make small talk, “So I take it Maria’s your ex?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Fair enough.” There was a lot of that going around. Lara had left me a note this morning that I refused to think about.

“You got a, uh, special friend?”

“Girlfriend," I specified, "And no. Not really. Maybe. I dunno. It’s complicated.” I wish it wasn’t. The words, ‘Not going to work out’ scrolled past on the news ticker in my mind.

“Fair enough.”

“What happened between you and Maria... and where the hell are we? I was expecting some abandoned meth lab or something.” I really was more interested in the latter question and was hoping the relationship talk would make a natural segue into the other more important stuff.

“It’s hard to explain. We call this neighborhood ‘The Untouchables’ because it is home to the families of the Saldana Cartel. Maria is Luis Saldana’s daughter,” Did I really want to know more? “and the mother of my child.”

“Your child?” It was difficult to imagine him as a father though his communication skills, or lack there of, reminded me of mine.

“Yes, my three year old son.” He wrung his hands in an angry manner when talking about his son. It was not the mannerisms I associated with a man discussing his offspring.

“Well, where is he and why did Maria act like she hasn’t seen you in...”

“Because the world is not Barbie’s playset, OK? When she was pregnant with our child, I was at the Berk Correctional Home for Boys because if I didn’t tell the police that those drugs were mine, her older brother was going to go to jail. I was in love. When I got out, her father wanted me to join the family and when I refused Luis beat the shit out of me and told me never to come back again.” Rodrigo pounded at the door jamb with a balled up fist.

“But... you’re here now.”

“I am.”

“Isn’t that kind of a, I dunno, bad idea?” I was the only sane person in the world.

“God sent me a sign. Dressed like my little sister.” He grinned warmly at me in that annoying way that people do when they acknowledge the mysterious ways of God or when they think they have a winning lottery ticket. “I want to see my son.”
I had to admit. The idea of me as an agent of heaven was just stupid enough to make me forget about the fact that I was in the home of a notorious drug kingpin but not stupid enough to make me forget that I was here with a man who was even less welcome than I.

Maria re-emerged from the top of the stairs with a slightly crumpled, definitely stoned, possibly still drunk, soulpatch sporting version of my little brother. He was wearing a backpack with his arms through both shoulder straps like a boy scout.

Some part of me wanted to yell out his name and fly up the stairs two at a time so I could hug him sooner but there was another more insistent part of me that wanted to disembowel him. I settled for a scowl.

“Is this yours?” Maria asked flatly.

“Maybe? The soulpatch is throwing me.” I could smell the alcohol and pot on the kid from five feet away. Where were my mom and dad in any of this? It seemed odd that they had yet to even call me to ask about Seth. “Why does he smell like he bathed in puke?”

“He probably did.” Maria had pinched Seth by the shirt and was leading him around like she was carrying a dirty rag, looking for somewhere to dispose of it. She passed him to me instead.

“Christ.” I surveyed the damage to my little bro. This was the clear signs of a bender. He made my hangover look like a sneeze at Sunday mass. “Is this all your stuff?”

Seth looked up at me through bleary eyes and deadpanned, “Who the fuck are you?”
I took off my sunglasses and glowered at him.

“Your brother, dumbass.” I turned to Maria for sympathy. "Is this all his stuff?"

"I don't know."

“My brother’s not a girl.” There was an unvocalized, ‘show’s how much you know’ at the end of his statement. He looked around like he was calling for help, “My brother’s not a girl!” There was a comical panic in his trembling voice. I don’t know what he was on, but he was trippin’ big.

A barechested boy emerged from the living room drinking milk straight from the carton. His pants were hanging around his ass and his boxers were peeking up through. The kid couldn’t have been much older than Seth but he was ripped —six pack and all. “No, he’s just a homo.”

“Don’t call my brother a homo, Alejandro!” It was sweet that the kid stuck up for me. Sweet and very stupid.

“What are you gonna do about it, you fucking junkie?” Alejandro puffed up his chest and made his pecs do a back and forth dance that was gayer looking than anything I’d done in the last month. He gave Seth a shove which knocked him into a coat rack that brought the whole thing crashing down on him. “Yo, you just reminded me why I hang out with you. You’re like my own personal clown.” The girls in the room who no doubt wanted to take a ride on Alejandro’s disco stick, offered him laughter to feed his ego. Seth started up but I grabbed him before he could do something really stupid.

"Alejandro... hey, we have the same name," Now, I don’t know why I did what I did. Why I always do what I do. Maybe I have a pathological need to stick my face in front of people who have no qualms about punching it? I guess sweet and stupid runs in the family. I knocked the milk out of the kid’s hands and it spilled all down his front. He looked like he wet himself. “Don’t drink from the carton. It’s a filthy habit.” Ironic because I did that only last week.

The room went silent just long enough for us to hear the muffled thump of Paulie’s bass from outside.

I turned to make sure Rodrigo had my back on this, but he was nowhere to be found. Oh right. That whole, "let me see my son" business. Probably should have thought of that before pissing on the hornet's nest.