.

Rejection is never an easy thing:

"I'm sorry, but we have no use for a male singer with your voice range."

"You're just not what we're looking for at this time. If you would like, we could keep your band in mind to play for another singer."

"You sound too much like a girl for you to be popular as a male performer."

Those aren't the only ones, but let's just say they're the highlights. It's times like these that I curse my genetics. Sure, when I was thirteen, it was cool to be able to sing soprano in church. I got to stand there with my mom, and I just belted it out there. I even got a couple of solos.

At sixteen, though, it's just not cool to be a countertenor, which is just a fancy way to say that I still sing soprano. Yep, that's me: Keith, the boy with the girl's voice.

When things get rough, I walk in the desert. This time, my friends decided to join me. The sun had just gone down and it was starting to cool off, but I didn't mind.

"That one guy seemed to think we could run instrumentals for other groups, Keith."

"You really want to do that, Bobby? I doubt they would let you use the Behemoth."

"It would be an in, Keith. I could sacrifice the Behemoth for that."

"Bobby's right, Keith. We would be in the industry."

"Jake, we'd be playing other people's songs for the rest of our career. Up in Flames would be up in smoke."

"Be reasonable, Keith."

"Guys! Can't we just walk in silence for a bit?"

The stars were already coming out when we got back to Jake's garage. Jack turned on the TV and flipped over to the Tween Awards. It had already started and they were giving out the awards.

"Why are we watching this crap?" I asked. I didn't want to know the answer, but I felt compelled to take that step too far.

"We need to keep abreast of our competition. Eventually you might be up for the Best Male Artist."

"Whatever Jake, you're such a girl sometimes."

Bobby and I laughed at this. Jake got a thoughtful expression on his face. We all went back to watching the show. Bobby and I joked about the acceptance speeches, mocking them. Of course, I got to mimic the girls. After a couple of minutes, we noticed that Jake hadn't said anything for a while.

"Jake, what's up?" Bobby asked.

Jake turned to me. "What if you were?"

"What if I was what?"

"Sorry, what if you were a girl?"

"But I'm not."

"But what if you were. . .now hear me out. The main reason we are getting blown off is that they expect a female face to match your female voice."

I glared at him.

"You remember how Spotlight reacted when they called us in to record a demo. They couldn't get us out of there fast enough when they found out the singer was male."

That episode had been a particularly ugly one. They'd thought that Bobby was the singer's name just with a masculine spelling. When they'd discovered their mistake, they'd asked us to leave. We refused and they had security escort us out.

I turned away from the other two and stared at the TV. As I was watching, stewing about the limited options before me, Josh Holliday was announced as the winner of Best Male Artist. The stunning blonde next to him gave him a kiss before he went up to accept his award. Right there everything struck me. I wanted to be there in that moment so badly. I wanted everyone to know my name, and to see me for who I was.

How would that be possible if I performed as a female.

"Come on, Keith, you know that 'My Life with You is Hell' is a girl's song."

I'd written the song about my next-door neighbor Gretchen's life.

"Look, can you give me some time to think about this?"

We watched the rest of the show, but I wasn't paying attention anymore. I needed to talk to someone who, I hoped, would understand. The two friends I was sitting with were more interested in the opportunity this choice presented. They would do anything to get into the business, but would I?

***

I slept in on Sunday. I'd tried to get in touch with Gretchen, but she had gone camping with her dad for the weekend.

I stewed during church about it. I waffled from being all for it to worried about how something like that could actually work. I mean, I was male, right? People wouldn't take me for a girl.

I went out into the desert again after church, not even taking the time to change. God didn't answer me even though I poured my heart out to Him.

I wondered why He had given me a gift that society would not understand.

That night I had a very strange dream. We had been preparing backstage for our first concert and the stadium was sold out. There was a storm going on outside and I could hear the thunder through the walls. Half the time the impatient roar of the crowd drowned out the noise of the storm. I walked out on stage and yelled into my microphone, "are you all ready to ROCK!?"

There was a laugh from the audience and I realized I wasn't wearing any clothing. When I went to cover myself with my hands it wasn't my body, but a woman' s body. "Look at the girl!" came shouts from the crowd. I turned to run off the stage.

I woke up with a scream in my throat. I looked at the clock. It said 3:00am. I turned over to go back to sleep, but the dream stuck with me the rest of the night. By the time I got up the next morning, I had decided that I wouldn't go through with it.

I got up and threw together an outfit for the day. I gathered my books and got outside just in time to hop into Gretchen's car. I was glad that it was the end of the school year. During any of the sports seasons there was about a one in four chance that she would be wearing her cheerleading outfit. It was really distracting watching her drive in that short skirt.

Today I could have done with the distraction.

"I got the message on my phone when my dad and I got back, Keith. What did you want to talk about?"

"Well, I was trying to make a decision about something, and I thought you could help. I ended up coming to a decision on my own."

"What was the problem?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, Keith. You and I have known each other for years. I know when you're avoiding something."

"No, it's really nothing. The band can do without me. . .never mind."

"Keith?"

I sighed. "Fine. If you promise not to laugh?"

"Ok, now you have to tell me." I love it when she gets that grin on her face. Ok, so I love everything about her.

"TheguysthinkIshoulddresslikeagirl" I said it as fast as I could, hoping she would not understand, but accept it.

"Wait, what?"

Ok, it was worth a shot. "Jake suggested I dress like a girl for the band."

"So, you decided to do it then?"

"What?"

"I think it's a great idea. You know it is too. You almost signed with Spotlight Studios when they thought you were a girl."

"But, I'm not a girl. No one would actually think I was. I'm too tall."

"5'9" isn't all that tall for a girl" She had a point. I knew a couple of girls in the jazz band that were taller than me.

"I'm as flat as a boy, literally."

"So are some girls in our school."

"Yeah, they're all younger than me."

"Not Heather McIntyre."

She had a point there. Heather was eighteen and looked like a boy, except for the long hair and makeup.

"But. . ."

"Keith, do you remember the first thing you said to me when we moved in three years ago?"

I blushed. I did remember. I'd thought she was beautiful, and wanted to impress her.

"Well?"

"I'm Keith Robison and I'm going to be famous."

"Exactly. So, you're going to tell me that you can't pull off a Ziggy Stardust?"

I looked at her blankly for a moment before I clued in to what she was saying.

"Bowie wasn't pretending to be a girl."

"It was still an act. You won't be Desdemona, she will be you."

"Desdemona?"

"Yeah, I thought it would fit with most of the songs you have played for me. Especially the one you wrote about me."

"The one. . .about that. . ." I panicked a bit. I didn't tell her before I played it, and never remember telling her about it at all.

"It's fine, Keith. I'm flattered actually. And besides. It's my life. You didn't think I would recognize it? Am I a blonde bimbo in your mind?"

"What, no, I don't think you're stupid."

"Then give me some credit," she said with a half smile.

"So, why Desdemona?"

"It was my Goth name."

I couldn't decide which was a bigger shock: the all-American girl, head cheerleader, was a Goth; or that she had gone by the name Desdemona.

We were stopped at a light, so she pulled out her digital frame from her purse. It contained the most important images from her life. I'm not sure if any of her 'friends' from school had ever seen it. She flipped through a few images until she came the one she wanted.

The girl in the image was wearing a corset in black and a dark red. Her makeup was alternating shapes of black and red as well. She was wearing a gauzy knee length skirt in black, and had leggings in the red color. The only parts of the outfit that weren't black or red were the combat boots and her hair. Both of those were pink.

"That's Desdemona."

I was starting to see how this would work, but that hair. . .

"I can't cut and die my hair like that, Etch."

"It's a wig, silly." She was grinning at me now. She knew she'd won. "We'll talk more after school."

I looked up. We'd arrived at the school while I was mesmerized by Desdemona. I couldn't tell who it was in the makeup, and it looked nothing like Gretchen now. I walked into the school building in a daze, and that's about how the rest of the day went.

I finished my math homework long before the teacher finished explaining the subject to my slower classmates, and I spent a lot of time wondering what exactly I was getting myself into.

I looked at my right hand. It was already a little feminine. I chuckled at the thought.

I played the 12 string guitar. Anyone who has seen one will know what I'm talking about, but there are a lot of people who haven't. A 12 string guitar has 12 strings in the same space that a 6 string guitar does. They are arranged into six pairs of strings, and depending on personal preference are either tuned in synch (meaning both strings of the pair are tuned to the same note) or in octaves (meaning the strings are tuned an octave apart from each other) or, more commonly, a mixture of the two.

I run a full set of octaves.

I know you don't need to know any of this.

What's important is that each pair is close together, making most finger plucking techniques about impossible.

Enter my right hand. I had lacquered the nails on that hand. Top and bottom. I shaped them carefully. They weren't all that long, but they came to a rounded point, just like a guitar pick. I had five guitar picks permanently attached to my right hand, made out of human nail. Call me Edward-Pick-hands.

And they were the color of lapis lazuli.

I know, I'm weird. Band geeks are allowed to be weird.

See, that's the reason that Gretchen had said we would talk after school. Each of us had our world at school. Hers was the popular populars. You know the types. Football players and Cheerleaders.

Mine was outcasts. You could sort of say I was king of the outcasts. I ruled in benevolence, though.

Well, not that it would matter soon. School was out in three weeks. We would be done in two, normally, but there had been a few too many snow days this year and they just added the difference to the end of the year. I loved snow days, but really hated more days of school.

I always found it amusing that I had no classes with any of the people I usually hung out with. I played with the jazz band, Jake did orchestra (bass fiddle if you can believe it), and Bobby felt that the organization imposed upon him by the musical effete crushed his free musical spirit. This means that Mr. Fergusen wouldn't allow him to assemble the Behemoth in the school and use it as the entire percussion section.

The rest of my classes were bottom of the heap, not because I was stupid, just because I didn't care. The reason I could do my math homework while waiting for the teacher to explain it to the others? It was the second time I'd taken the course. I was so bored, I decided it was time to get on to the next one.

Bobby was taking AP classes, as a Sophomore. And Jake was basically normal.

I know, I ramble a bit, but I am making a point.

Or I will.

The Behemoth is what Bobby calls the instrument that he spent the last 3 years constructing. He has used just about anything that he could find that will hold a beat, and provide a unique sound. It has pipes: galvanized, copper, and pvc. It has barrels and trashcans. It has lids and pots. It even has a couple of mufflers. It basically looks like a set from Stomp out Loud.

That is nothing to the way it sounds.

He took the time to "tune" the thing so that he could play music with it. The sounds might not be standard, but they harmonize with our other instruments.

We did a three man arrangement of Four Seasons: Winter using it. And that only used 'standard' notes. The Behemoth can play just about anything Bobby takes it into his mind to try, including thunderstorms and bird song.

Assembly is the problem. Right now put up and take down takes about three hours. He's trying to figure out how to make it more portable.

Back to school. I played a 6-string electric in band. We had a mini concert at lunch and so I got to show off a bit. Mr. Fergusen likes to "drum up business" before concerts and we would have the last concert of the year on Friday.

I made it through the rest of the day as a complete non-entity. I met Gretchen outside at her car and we drove home. Sometimes I really wish Gretchen weren't two years older than me. I might have a chance then.

"How was your Monday, Etch?"

"I think you're trying to avoid something, Keith."

"Ok, yes, I'll do Desdemona onstage."

She squealed at this. "Ok, you have to come over to my house and try on the clothing so we can see what needs to be replaced."

At least someone was happy about all of this. I tried to smile and get into it the way that Gretchen was, but it just wasn't in me. She was talking about her clothing, and the different options we had, and all of the color choices.

Don't get me wrong. I am a bit Goth. I didn't usually go in for the makeup (cake is a pain to clean off every night) but I wore shades of black for all my clothing, and my hair was currently dyed black.

Yes, there are different shades of black.

I swear everyone in the audience would be happier if I were discussing pink or purple.

See, I like your classic easy basic Goth.

Desdemona was a Glam Goth.

Color is allowable for a Glam Goth. Weird hair colors. Strange makeup. Rainbow attire. Glam Goth is more about attitude that conforming to a specific style.

It really clashed with the persona that Gretchen currently pulled off. The follow the crowd, subjugate yourself mentality. Course, that is where the emotion for 'My Life with You is Hell' came from.

We pulled into our driveway, and I was about to try to make a retreat over to my house, but Gretchen gave me the look and I couldn't resist.

You know the one. All big eyes and pouty lips.

I really love this girl.

I sighed and she beamed a smile at me.

We went up to her room.

"Ok, strip down for me so we can get started."

"Um."

"Don't be like that. I've seen you naked before."

"Yeah, once, in your pool, in the dark."

"Fine, I'll turn around long enough for you to put these on."

She handed me the leggings from the picture, and turned around. I quickly stripped to my underwear, and pulled up the leggings. She turned around and looked at them.

"Not gonna work, Keith."

"What?"

"You're either going to have to go without your underwear, or wear a pair of my panties."

"What!?!"

"You can see the seams. Look in the mirror."

I looked, and sure enough I could see the seams from my underwear. The leggings were really tight. That's not all I could see. "Um, this isn't going to work. Anyone can see I'm a boy in these."

"Well, you could always tuck yourself up between your legs."

"What?"

She explained what she meant while she looked through her drawer for a pair of panties. I pulled everything off and pulled up her panties, black of course. I situated myself and looked up. . .to meet Gretchen's eyes in the mirror.

"Gretchen!"

"It's not ladylike to whine." She gave me a little smile.

"You said you wouldn't look."

"I said I'd turn around."

She had me there, again. I don't really understand it. I do great in school, but this one woman had me twisted around her little finger.

I pulled up the leggings again, and looked at myself in the mirror. I didn't look much like a boy down there anymore. The combination of the tight panties and the tight leggings had smoothed everything out.

"Is that how you. . .?"

"Yes." She blushed crimson.

I smiled at this, "Really. . .Well, I have to say I never noticed anything and your skirt will occasionally ride up when you are shifting gears."

"Don't go getting any ideas, Keith. You're still too young for me."

I smiled some more, but said nothing. She punched me lightly in the arm.

"What's next?"

Next was the corset. I put it on and did up the eyelets on the front. She tightened it up for me. I had a bit of a waist when she was done. It had also given me a touch of cleavage. Sure, not a lot, but I didn't quite look like a boy any more. Sure, I wasn't exactly a girl, but it was something.

"What size shoe do you wear?"

I blushed. I had small feet and it bothered me. "I wear a size 7."

"That's men's, right?"

"Yeah."

She got the pink boots out of the closet. "They are a 9 women's. They were a little bit big for me, but should be exactly right for you."

She was right. They fit perfectly. She sat me in the chair in front of her makeup table and turned me away from the mirror. She put the wig on, and pinned it down. Then she started to work on my face. She was quick and efficient and before I knew it, she was done. I'd never had much facial hair to speak of, and only had to shave once a week. It was all basically peach fuzz. I'd shaved that morning. The cake makeup covered anything that my razor missed. There was a girl in stylized half and half harlequin makeup and pink hair looking back at me.

"Wow. . ."

I stood up and looked at myself in the full length mirror.

"Almost forgot, Keith."

She handed me the gauzy skirt and a pair of fingerless lace gloves. I slipped them on, and pulled up the skirt. I twirled a bit holding out my arms. Gretchen snickered.

"What?"

"You're going to have to shave your under arms." I blushed, but the makeup made it invisible.

"You can use my razor."

I went into the bathroom and shaved in the sink. I only nicked myself once. I went back out to Gretchen.

"Much better," she said.

On impulse I kissed her on the lips, "Thank you,"

She was a little stunned, and had a little smile. She shook herself after a moment or two and looked at me, "You're welcome, but you shouldn't have kissed me." She was trying to look cross. I grinned at her.

"You mean like this?" I lunged for her with my lips puckered. I didn't expect for her to let me catch her.

"Um, Etch?" I was holding her after our second kiss, which had been more than the peck I'd given her the first time. She was a little shorter than I was, but that was probably all the boots.

"Hmm?" She was a little dazed, and then she looked at me and pulled away. She blushed red hot.

"Let's call the boys from your band over."

"They'd have no reason to come to your house. Let's go over to mine and call them there."

"Ok, and we can show your Mom at the same time."

I felt the blood drain from my face. "Crap. Mom."

"What's wrong, Keith."

"I have no idea how she'll take this."

"Well, no other way to find out, but to try."

We went over to our house and went in. "Mom?"

"In the kitchen, Keith."

Gretchen grabbed my hand for support and we went into the kitchen. "Hello Gretchen, are you over for dinner? Who's your friend?"

"Hi Mom."

"Keith? What in the world are you wearing?"

"Um."

"Mrs. Robison, We thought that if Keith looked like a girl on stage that the labels would be more likely to accept his voice."

Mom looked really upset. "I can't deal with this now, Keith. I know you really want to perform, but is it worth it? What will the neighbors think?"

"I will only be doing it on stage, Mom. No one will worry about it. Desdemona will be the weird Goth rocker chick and no one will associate her with me."

"Desdemona? What would your father think?"

"Dad left us Mom. I don't really care what he thinks."

"I'm not having this argument with you right now, Keith. I want you clean faced and in boy clothes when I get back."

"Where are you going?"

"I have choir practice tonight. I would invite you again to come with me, but if you went into the church looking like that I'm sure it would fall around your ears."

"Mom. . ."

"Mrs. Robison. . ."

We spoke at the same time, but Mom cut us both off. "No arguments, and Gretchen, I expected better from you. How could you have let Keith do this."

Neither of us wanted to tell her it had been Gretchen's idea. She stormed out of the house and I heard her car drive away. I felt like crying.

"Well, there went a perfectly wonderful plan." I was ready to go change now, and forget the whole idea.

"No, it will still work. We just don't tell her."

"She'll find out eventually."

"And by then we will have evidence that her fears are groundless."

"Fine. Let's get the band together."

I tried calling Bobby first, but his mom said he was at Jake's house. It's a pain tracking down people who refuse to carry cell phones because they are a symbol of the dominance of corporate American mentality on the impressionable minds of the youth. . .

Yeah, Jake is a bit of an activist sometimes. He got Bobby to go along with him somehow.

"Hey, Jake, could you and Bobby come over to my house. I wanted to discuss your idea."

"Yeah, Bobby and I have been talking as well. We need to discuss things."

"See you soon."

We went and sat in the living room. Gretchen hadn't let go of my hand since we'd entered the kitchen. I picked it up and looked at it, "Gretchen. . ."

She looked at her hand and made to pull it away, but I held on. "We need to talk about this."

She jerked her hand out of my grasp. "No, we don't."

"Etch, I know how you feel about me, which is to say you don't." She opened her mouth to speak, and I put a finger on her lips. "I know we are friends, but that is all we've been. Yet you held my hand tonight, and you let me kiss you."

"You kissed me when I wasn't paying attention."

"Sure, the first time, but the second?"

I had seen her heartbroken and happy. I had seen her in pain and sick as a dog. I had seen her enjoyment of life and her fear of tomorrow. I had never seen her like this before. She seemed to want to say something, and yet at the same time was afraid to say anything.

"I can't right now, Keith. Maybe some other time. I just can't."

She began to cry, so I just held her. She stopped just as the doorbell rang. "I'm sure I look a mess." She ran upstairs into the bathroom.

I went to answer the door.

"Is Keith here?" Jake and Bobby were here finally.

"Come in, guys."

"Keith?!" They both said at the same time.

I grabbed them each by the shirt and pulled them in. I closed the door behind them. We went to the living room, and I waited for them to figure out what they wanted to say.

"You guys had something you wanted to discuss?"

"Well, you kinda blew us out of the water."

"You said it, Bobby. We were going to give you an ultimatum, but like usual, you one-upped us."

"Remember that time that we were having a water balloon fight, so I filled a cheap beach ball with water. I didn't know that Keith had the water key for the sprinkler system."

"Your mom gave it to me, Jake."

The three of them laughed at this. Having touched up her makeup, Gretchen came back down and sat next to me. I put my arm around her and just held her. She leaned into me.

"Wait, you guys aren't. . ." began Jake, why Bobby did a fish impression.

"No. . ." I began, but Gretchen had different ideas. She kissed me. On the Cheek, but it was a kiss, and I grinned.

"Keith has been helping me through some difficult stuff that not even he knows all about."

"Guys, she's my best friend."

"I thought we were your best friends."

"You guys are my friends, and the most talented people I know period. Gretchen is just special."

"Yeah, we don't look as good as either of you two do in a skirt."

Cake makeup has it's uses. Hiding a blush is one of them. . .at least until it rises to the tips of your ears.

"I think we embarrassed him, Jake. His ears went the same shade as the left side of his face."

"Seriously, though, Keith. When we came to the door, my first thought was 'Who's the Goth babe'."

"No joke."

"He does look good in a skirt, doesn't he?" added Gretchen. I pinched her side and she jumped. She elbowed me back.

"Guys, I need to get changed. My Mom threw a complete fit when she saw me like this. I'll do it for the our band, but I have to get changed somewhere other than home to do it."

"You could always keep changing at my house." Gretchen blushed and looked at the floor while she said this.

"Etch, I would love to keep doing that, but my Mom would find out sooner than later. I think changing at the venue is going to be the best bet."

Jake looked at Bobby, who shrugged, and then they both looked back at me. "That's not going to work, Keith old bean," Bobby began in his bad snooty English accent.

"I say, why not, Bobby, my good man?" Jake continued in the same bad accent.

"Because you are both going to be dead, and there won't be a band to play anymore?"

They both snorted at this, and Bobby continued, "because, Keith, the place we're going, one week from Friday, has no dressing rooms, and two, very dirty, public restrooms."

"Oh, no. We're not playing that. No way are you going to get me up there dressed like this."

"What are you talking about?" Gretchen asked me. I think my scared expression worried her.

"Well, um, you see. . ." Jake started.

"Yeah, we kinda. . ." Bobby continued.

"Spit it out," I barked.

"We entered 'Up in Flames' as a band for Gothplosion."

"Gothplosion is a sham, guys. It is the corporate tools trying to show how 'hip' they are by 'signing' the pseudo Goth band that they signed already and are just using the contest as free publicity with the local Goth crowd." Jake rubs off on me sometimes. Or I might have just been quoting an earlier rant he made about the same subject.

"Of course we won't win!" they both said together.

"Ok, so now I'm confused. Why are we entering a contest we can't win?"

"For the free publicity. MTV is covering Gothplosion this year."

Ok, that's new.

"What?!"

I'm not sure if Gretchen or I was more shocked by this.

I recovered faster, "how much did the label have to pay them?"

"No one knows for sure, but I checked the press releases on the MTV website, and it's there." Bobby was like a kid in a candy store over this. He was literally bouncing.

Jake wasn't much better, "if we prove ourselves in this thing, it will not only show the sham this contest is, but we might even get some MTV airtime. How's that for a band with no agent and no label."

"I think you guys need an agent before you do this contest. I know someone who might be willing to help."

That was the first time that Gretchen had mentioned that she knew anyone in 'The Biz'.

"Think you could call him tonight, Etch?"

She was a little worried when she first looked at me, but then she grabbed my hand and squeezed it, "I'll call him, Keith. Go get changed."

I went up to my makeup table and started cleaning my face. From long experience, baby wipes are a great way to get the first few layers off. I used to use alcohol wipes, but they dried my face out. Soap and water are the best for cake, but you tend to get your clothing drenched when you are in a hurry.

There was a little makeup left in the creases, and in my eyebrows of course, but my face was now mostly presentable. I changed out of Desdemona's clothing, folded it, and put it into a plastic bag to give to Jake or Bobby.

I decided to go with my halfway dressy Goth look. I put on a button shirt and a pair of ripped faded black denim jeans. Better than my school clothes, and as masculine as I could really go with my wardrobe. I considered wearing my boots, but mom always hated them. I went barefoot.

Gretchen was just getting off the phone when I got downstairs. "He said he could meet with you guys tomorrow. Are you up for that?"

I looked at the smiles on their faces, and I spoke for all of us, "we're up for it."

I gave the bag full of Desdemona to Bobby. "Keep her safe until the concert, Bobby."

"Yes, my Liege, our Queen will be safe."

We all laughed at this, and Bobby and Jake left to go home.

I sat there in the front room with Gretchen, she simply leaned against me, and I held her in my arms. Neither of us wanted to move, and both gained support from the other.

I don't know how long we sat there before I felt her breathing change. It felt good to know that she trusted me enough to fall asleep in my arms, but I knew that she didn't love me.

I wasn't sure of what I felt for her either, of course. Most of the time. There were moments when she stopped my heart. In those moments I would do anything in this world or the next for her.

I've had a crush on her since the moment that we met three years ago when her family moved in next door. She was fifteen at the time, and I was a scrawny thirteen year old. It wasn't that she was beautiful, and she was even then. There was just something there that screamed at me. That she needed my help and mine alone.

Ok, so that sounds a little stalkerish, but that's the closest I can get to expressing what I felt in that moment. I'm the best friend.

I have been there for a nasty breakup, and two not so nasty ones. I was there for a broken leg, and studying for exams.

I've been there as Sherpa and Mule for shopping expeditions to the mall. I was there when she almost died from pneumonia.

I began to rub her back a bit, and she snuggled into me. I wanted this moment to last forever, but like all such it never lasted long enough.

I heard the garage door open and close and the sound of keys hitting the counter. "Are you here, Keith?"

"In here, Mom." I said this as quietly as I could, but I felt Gretchen stir. She looked into my eyes, a lazy smile playing at her lips. She put her arms around me and fell asleep again. I guess I have been demoted from friend to teddy-bear. Oh well, at least I get to sleep with her.

My Mom came in the room. "Keith Michael Robison what do you have to say for yourself?"

"I have to say, first, that Gretchen has had a rough day, so could you keep it down a bit? Second, I have nothing to say about how I was dressed. It was a costume. I've worn them before."

"Yes, when you were in plays. And never girl's clothing."

"Performing in a band is a lot like a play, Mom. And so what if it was girl's clothing?"

"The bible says that you shouldn't wear girls clothing."

"Mom, seriously? It also suggests that people caught in adultery should be stoned, an eye for an eye, that people should sleep with their brothers wives after their brothers die, that you shouldn't travel on the Sabbath, and a lot of other things."

"Well, I don't agree with those things. . ."

"It's all or nothing, Mom. God either knows what he is talking about, or he doesn't. Besides, Christ said he fulfilled the law of Moses and gave us a higher law: Love one another."

"Isn't that a simplification, Keith?"

"Look, Mom. Everyone has a line they will not cross, morally speaking. I know where your line is, and I love you for it. Mine is somewhere else. This is not an issue of faith for me. I will not do this in your presence, or expect you to accept my doing it. However, we're going to pretend."

"I don't think. . ."

I have to admit I got a little angry. I also had a hard time lying to my mom. The rest sort of slipped out, "hear me out for a moment, Mom. You will pretend that I am not doing this. I will pretend I'm not doing this. While I'm at home, I will be your dutiful and loving son. I will keep helping out here and doing my chores and going with you to church on Sunday. I won't tell you about my concerts, and you won't ask."

"What about honor thy Father and thy Mother?"

"That only applies when they ask you to do things in righteousness, Mom."

"What I am asking is right!"

"Shh." I felt Gretchen stir, and hoped she would go back to sleep.

"I love you Mom. I will Honor your wishes in all things but this. If this lessens me in your eyes, I will live with it. The same way I lived with it when I quit the choir."

I felt a wetness on my chest, and realized that Gretchen was silently crying. I put my hand on her back and rubbed it a little.

My mother looked at her with contempt in her eyes, "this is all his fault isn't it? I knew he might be trouble one day. Filthy. . ."

"Get out." I was quiet, but my fury burned in my eyes. "Get out of this room until you calm down. I am tired of being the adult in this relationship, Mother. So Dad left you, great, that doesn't mean that all relationships are doomed to failure."

"Your father left me for a MAN, KEITH!!!"

I felt Gretchen jerk in my arms. She got up and ran from the room. She was trying to open the front door, but her tear filled eyes and wracking sobs blinded her to this simple task. I grabbed her from behind and just held her. She turned around and cried into my shoulder. "I'm sorry for this, Keith. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Etch. Don't ever let my Mom make you feel that way." I kissed her on the forehead, and then opened the door to walk her home. "I'm walking Gretchen home, Mother."

I walked into her house with her sobbing and holding onto me for support. Her dad ran into the room. "What happened, Keith?"

"My mother happened. I'm sorry for this. I really am."

"Stay with me Keith. Don't leave me tonight."

I looked at her dad. He had a grim look on his face, but he nodded his assent. "No funny business you two."

I took her up to her room, and we flopped down on her bed. I propped myself against the wall so she could lean against me. We were both asleep within minutes.

***

Have you ever fallen asleep wedged against a wall underneath a beautiful woman? Good idea when you fall asleep. Bad idea when you wake up.

I extracted myself from the bad positioning and went downstairs to find Gretchen's dad already up and about.

"I trust that you two just went to sleep?"

"Nothing happened. I respect your daughter too much for that."

"I know that, Keith. I was mostly teasing you."

"Yeah, well she doesn't think of me in that way."

I felt some arms come around me from behind, and a kiss on the cheek. "Give me some time. I might be persuaded to come around."

I had a smile that just wouldn't go away, until I went outside to head back over to my own house. There was glass and clothing and furniture all over my lawn. I don't know how she'd done it, but my makeup table was among the debris. All of my possessions in this world were on that lawn. And here I was barefoot and unable to even get to any of my boots or shoes. The curtains from my room blew in the slight breeze like a jolly roger. It was strange the emotions that this sight gave me. It was hopeful at the same time that it tore out my heart.

I needed a pen and paper. Now. I turned and almost ran into Gretchen. "I need a song. I mean I need to write a song down."

The words were flowing through my mind. Someone handed me a blank piece of paper and a pen and I went to town. I had the words and music written within thirty minutes and I could finally consider what I was going to do about my stuff all over my front yard. I went outside to see Mr. Anderson cleaning up the last of the glass and wood.

"You didn't have to do that. . ." I began, but he interrupted me.

"You are welcome to stay with us until your Mom cools off, Keith. In the spare room, of course."

"Sir, I. . ."

He interrupted me and intentionally misunderstood what I was going to say. "Gretchen, make sure to lock your door tonight. I'm not altogether sure we can trust his beady eyes."

We needed this release of tension as we all laughed and went inside.

About half my clothing was ruined. The rest of my clothing was torn to one degree or another. Not all of it was caused by the glass. Ok, so I had a specific style I was going for.

I didn't find any of my makeup in the pile of clothing so I went back outside. Apparently the sprinklers had been set to go off last night. That explained my clothing being soaked. My makeup had run into the green grass in an abstract painting of red and white and black. I felt the urge again to poetry, and I had to get it out of me before I needed to write it down.

"Light and darkness mix with the blood of ages past, while life marches on." Sometimes speaking the shorter ones got rid of them before the compulsion really set in. You see, I write poetry compulsively. I know. It's weird. It's a lot worse when I'm emotional. And even the smallest things can set me off into a world of emotive words and imagery.

I took a final look at my house. Everything of mine had been thrown out that window. My room had been my only sanctuary. The rest of the house was devoted to my mother's twin gods: Vanity and Envy.

I went back in to figure out what I was going to wear today. That was quickly remedied as I was wearing the only clothing I now owned that was dry. I looked through my footwear, but came to the same conclusion. I only had one pair boots that weren't soaking wet. They were my favorite pair of boots, but I hadn't worn them to school. Ever. They were knee high boots and they had buckles instead of laces. Black of course. Real Italian leather. They were the last present my dad had given me. I should have known he was going to run at that point.

I needed to do something to augment this outfit. I couldn't just go like I was. I sorted through my clothing, putting what was still salvageable in the washer, and the rest in the trash. I found most of my jewelry, which I never wore to school either. and decided to just go for broke today. I had a silver cross on a heavy chain for my left wrist. I wore a small dragon holding a crystal on my left middle finger. I had 4 silver rings for my right hand, one for each finger. I always thought it went well with the blue of my fingers. My makeup was all over the lawn, so I snuck into Gretchen's room while she was out taking a shower.

I checked my face, and cleaned up the remaining traces I had missed from last night. I should have taken care of that before, but a guy forgets sometimes. I looked at my face for traces of hair, glad of my genetic heritage for once. I was one quarter Cherokee or Sioux or something. I never knew my grandfather for a couple of reasons. The first being that he died before I was born. The other was that my Dad had run away from home when he was sixteen. He hadn't even gone home for the funeral. That was about the only thing that Dad had ever been good at: Leaving and never looking back.

I'm not bitter or anything.

Seeing that I didn't need to shave, I considered the makeup again. I put a light covering of white cake mixed with just a titch of Gretchen's base, just enough to lighten the tone of my skin from its normal olive. What to do with my eyes? I noticed a small bag that had Kohl written on it. I opened it, and sure enough it was a loose black powder. I wetted a sponge and dipped a bit of the powder out of the bag. I carefully painted an Eye of Horus around my left eye, and then used a brush to paint a single red drop at the corner of my right. I used a deep ruby red lipstick and pronounced myself done.

"I like the way you look in makeup." Gretchen had slipped up behind me while I was busy, and put her arms around my neck when I finished with my lipstick. She leaned over my shoulder to look at me in the mirror so I turned quickly and gave her a peck on the lips.

"Keith!"

"It's not ladylike to whine."

She giggled and pushed me out of the chair so she could do her own makeup. I had finally gotten back my own in an exchange with her. Maybe the makeup made all the difference. . .Nah. I was the same person inside. It's just that the events of the past twenty-four hours seemed to have broken down a wall between Gretchen and I allowing me to really relax around her for the first time in three years. She was my friend, and always would be, regardless of what happened between us.

She used slightly different tones than usual, and topped it off with the same ruby lipstick I had used.

"Now, our lipstick won't clash when we kiss." She planted a firework inducing kiss on me without warning. I was stunned to say the least. Ok, she wins. Damn you kisses!

I was going to go in for another of my own, but my brain kicked in at the last moment. Damn you brain!

"Etch, I think we're moving a little fast here."

"We've known each other for three years, Keith!"

"And you've always told me that you were too old for me."

"I was FLIRTING with you!"

Ok, I had no response to that.

"I've wanted you to make a move for over a year now. Ever since you wrote that song. I knew then that you really understood the me that I had to hide from all of my school friends. I always have to hold something back from them. I wouldn't fit into their ultra-conservative world view. But you know me."

"Etch. . ."

"Let me finish. Do you think I would go skinny dipping with anyone else? Do you? You saw me, all of me, and you never turned away."

"This is about your surgery isn't it?" She had surgery scheduled for the Monday after school got out.

"What if you don't love me after? What if you turn away from me then? I couldn't stand it if that happened."

She hugged her arms to her stomach and turned away from me, sobbing.

I walked up behind her and wrapped her in my arms. She grabbed onto my arms and held them tightly to herself. "I can't lose you now that I've finally found you."

"You can't lose me that easily, Etch. I survived two years of you actively pushing me away."

"But, I will be changing. You might not love me anymore if I'm different."

"I saw you as you are at the pool, in my dreams you are what you will be. Have you told your counselor about me, and your fears?"

She squeezed my arms. "Of course my psychiatrist knows about you, but I'm afraid if I told him about my fears that he would stop the surgery. I can't live without that either."

She peeled herself out of my arms and went back over to her makeup table. "I'm a complete mess."

While she fixed her makeup, I slipped down to her father's office to talk to him for a moment.

"I think that Gretchen should talk to Dr. Allen today, Sir"

"I allowed the 'Mr. Andersen's and Sirs when you lived somewhere else. While you are under my roof I insist you either call me Dad or Tom."

"I will consider calling you Dad after Gretchen and I get married, but til then I think I could live with Tom."

"Does she know this?"

I blushed and he chuckled at me. How come guys chuckle and girls giggle. Just a thought.

I continued, "I think that's part of the reason she needs to talk to Dr. Allen. She's afraid that people won't love her anymore after she gets her surgery."

"People meaning you? Any truth to this?"

"I love your daughter no matter what. . .I mean. . ."

"I know what you mean. I've seen how you treat her, and have to say that I wouldn't have been that patient were I in your shoes. I just wanted to hear it in your own words. You'll be driving?"

"Yes, I just hope she doesn't kill me for touching her baby. She isn't really in good shape to be driving herself right now."

He tossed me his keys, "just don't scratch the paint."

In that moment I could have called him Dad without any qualms. It's not every day that someone tosses you the keys to a classic Aston, in suburbia no less. "Thank you, Sir," which I amended to, "Thank you, Tom," when he glared at me.

"What are you two conspiring about?"

I turned to look at Gretchen. She had wiped off her previous makeup and gone for her more regular shades. Guess we were done kissing for the moment.

Tom got on the phone, to the psychiatrist it seemed, so I was left to explain, "your Dad and I agree that you need an emergency session with Dr. Allen today."

"You're going to jeopardize everything!"

"Etch, hear me out. We have three weeks to sort it out. If we'd waited, sure, you might have a problem. You still want this, right?" She nodded so I continued, "then you have nothing to worry about. Besides, your Dad gave me the keys to the Aston."

"Oh no, save me from your driving." She put her hands up in a high drama pose. She couldn't keep it up and started giggling.

I was sorely tempted to tickle her for some reason.

I hugged her instead.

Tom turned to us after getting off the phone. "He can see you at ten, and he wants to speak to Keith for a bit before talking to Gretchen."

"I can't afford. . ."

"Keith, he wants to see you about Gretchen, but he also wants to talk to your about your poetry."

"I still can't. . ."

"Let me worry about that. You two just go out for a couple of hours before Gretchen's appointment. You should go on a first date after all."

"Dad!"

"Tom!" We said this almost simultaneously.

"It is not ladylike to whine!"

Both of us groaned. It seems this line has been used way too much recently.

"Heard that one, huh? How 'bout, Would you like a little cheese to go with that?"

Tom gave me a couple of hundred dollars and we went out to the garage. It was silver. It was the most beautiful car in the world.

We went out to eat, which was uneventful. When we came out there were paparazzi all over the place. . .just kidding. People around here knew that Mr. Anderson drove an Aston, and there would be no other reason for someone to be following us around.

That and the fact that we lived in a sleepy little town in southern Utah. Two hours from Salt Lake, and four from Las Vegas. I don't think there were any paparazzi out this way.

I only mention them because of the conversation we had on our way out of the restaurant. "You know, Keith, we're going to have to come up with something for Desdemona off stage."

"I thought that I was only supposed to dress that way for concerts?"

"You're going to have to make some personal appearances elsewhere, or you are going to be followed around everywhere, just so people can get a picture. The more mysterious you are, the more that people want to find out who you are."

"Crap."

She was about to speak, so I put my finger to her lips. I had an idea that I was trying to formulate into words. She kissed my finger, and instead of flustering me, like it would have yesterday, it clarified everything.

"Desdemona's signature is the pink hair and shoes. Sure, she doesn't need the combat boots with every outfit, but she will usually use them. Her makeup will be two colors at a time, even if those colors may change."

"She always seemed flamboyant subdued to me." Gretchen spoke around my finger. It was a little more distracting than her kiss.

"Then that will be her clothing. And her jewelry. She will have flashes of color, mixed with black. Burgundy, green, dark blue, anything that works with pink. She is more formal on top with jackets and corsets and such, with flamboyant bottoms like the leggings and skirt."

"You know, we could do this better with a consultant."

"Where are we going to get the money for that, and before you say your Dad, remember that we don't even know if we can be successful at this."

"You're good, Keith. Really good. Everyone can see it."

"Fine, but nothing really expensive until we get some sort of a contract."

She threw me into a hug, and I returned it without any difficulty. I loved this girl.

We drove the twenty minutes to the clinic where Dr. Allen worked. There wasn't anyone else in the waiting room, but the receptionist told us that he was in with another client, so we sat down to wait on the couch. Gretchen folded herself around my arm and leaned against me. I just lived in that moment for as long as I could.

"Keith?"

"Yes," I said as I stood.

He looked at me a little quizzically, so I hammed it up a bit. I flipped my hair with my right hand, you know the fingernails, and said, "you like?" With a wink of my left eye. I had a dot for the iris of the Eye of Horus on my eyelid.

He looked at me strangely until Gretchen started to giggle. He smiled and motioned me back.

I'm not going to go into details about what we talked about. It was an hour. At an average of probably 100 words per minute, that figures out to about six thousand words. That's a lot to type, believe me.

Here are the highlights. I am mildly OCD. He mentioned my nails and general grooming, as well as my poetry. He didn't think it was a problem, since my coping techniques seemed adequate. My words not his.

We spent most of the time analyzing my feelings about Gretchen. He wanted to truly understand where I stood. I think one small exchange will make my feelings understood. I think you can guess at his suggestion from my response.

"Listen you sick son of a bitch, I'm not gay. Gretchen is now, and will always be, a woman in my mind."

Ok, so I overreacted. Trust me, I have no problems with another person's sexual orientation. I guess, however, some of my mother's attitudes have sort of rubbed off on me.

"Relax, Keith, I didn't mean anything by it. That was because of your Dad, wasn't it?"

Yeah, he's observant, and we did spend some time talking about my Dad.

We finished up, and I went out to the waiting room to fulfill the purpose of its creation while Gretchen went in to talk to Dr. Strangelove.

It was almost two hours before the door opened again. "Keith, could you join us please?"

I shudder to think what this was costing.

I walked in and at Gretchen's look I joined her on the couch. She had been crying and ruined her makeup again. She leaned against me.

"First of, I'd like to apologize, Keith, for my behavior earlier. It was a bit out of line, but I needed to get to the root of who you were, in relation to Gretchen. It's a little unorthodox, I know, but it can get results.

"Gretchen, you are suffering a bit from depression right now. Like I tell some of my other patients, you shouldn't make any major life decisions while under any mind altering condition. I am not going to postpone your surgery, yet, but I want to know before you go through with it that this isn't something that you are doing to try to feel better.

"Keith, I want you here because I know that you've been important to Gretchen for a while now, and that you are more important to her than anyone but her father. I have to say, though, I have some questions about what you are looking for in a relationship."

When did he talk to me about what I want in a relationship. . ?

"It wasn't what you said, but the way you said it. Ok, look, I'm not saying anything you two don't already know. You're both young. However, I know you've both spent a lot of time supporting one another emotionally. I also know that there are things that Gretchen hasn't told you, Keith.

"You two need to talk about some things. Think about this as a couples counseling session."

He chuckled at this thought. "If more of the married couples who I see had done this before getting married, I probably wouldn't ever have to see any of them now."

"What, they wouldn't have gotten married in the first place?" Gretchen snickered when I said this.

"That's probably true of some of them, but I think most would have the tools to work through their issues without outside help."

"Gretchen?" He looked at her, and she held onto me tighter, but she began to speak in a quiet voice.

I'm not going to tell you what we spoke about. It is her place to tell it, and she is a really private person. She cried a lot, and I really felt like it on a couple of occasions, but didn't. I ended up holding her while she cried.

We talked about coping techniques, and about how I should listen. Apparently girls don't need to be taught how to listen.

It wasn't until we were outside and buckled into the car when something struck me. "You think of us as a couple?"

I looked at Gretchen waiting for an answer and she nodded.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Why didn't you ever ask me out?"

"Because I thought you were still going out with Steve 'I'm a footballer' Hansen."

"You know we broke up in August."

Ok, she had a point. She'd invited me over for the breakup party. Yeah, she'd been the one who dumped him. That should have been my first clue, since she had never broken up with any of her other boyfriends. They'd always broken up with her.

Keith, meet cluebat. Thwack!

"You know, Keith, you're cute when you're flustered."

I put the car in gear. I wasn't even going to respond to that one, except to grin at the road. I decided that we needed to get something a little more fancy for lunch. I decided to drive us for sushi in Provo. You'd be surprised at how many halfway decent sushi places there are in Provo. There's even a place that offers handmade all you can eat.

If her dad was paying, we could afford the twenty dollars each.

Godzilla Roll for the win.

I realized as we were pulling into the parking lot, that this wasn't really the first date that Gretchen and I had been on. Sure, it might be the first official one, but I had taken her to this restaurant on more than one occasion. Just the two of us.

If I thought about it that way, we had been dating off and on for the past two years.

I mentioned as much to Gretchen.

"Don't over analyze it, Keith," may have been what she said, but the smile on her face looked more like, "Finally, he gets it."

Yep, meet Keith, the slowest human mind on the planet. Watch him take two years to realize one and one is two. The kiss she gave me as we walked into the building more than made up for the time it had taken us to get here.

"Welcome back, Keith," said the Asian gentleman at the cashier counter.

Did I mention that I come here a lot. It is the main reason I sell my soul at Hot Topic over the summer. Sure, it's nothing but Goth wannabes, but I get to wear my own clothing, and not some nasty uniform.

Sitting there actually reminded me of someone I'd met while working last summer. I got out my cell phone and dialed her up. I know, way to bail on my indie solidarity.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Keith."

"Finally decided on some body piercings? Let me guess; your girlfriend wants me to pin a medal on your soldier for you."

"No, a more normal piercing, but unique hardware."

"You mean the 'Skull and Crossbones'?"

"Of course I mean the 'Skull and Crossbones'."

"How do you know I didn't sell them already?"

"Did you sell them already?"

"Of course not. I told you before that I made those on a lark and no one would be crazy enough to actually wear them."

"Same price as last time?"

"Actually, I was considering giving you a 50% discount just to see you wear them out the door."

"What if I told you I would be on MTV wearing them?"

"I'd pay to see you wearing them on MTV"

"Just giving me the earrings would be enough for me."

"You're serious?"

"The guys signed 'Up in Flames' up for Gothplosion, and MTV is covering it this year."

"Ok, fine. You pay me 20 bucks to do the piercing, since there is no way they'll fit in a gun, and you've got yourself a deal."

That was good, since the $5400 price tag would have cleaned me out. Each of the studs had two real rubies and four diamonds. Sure, none of them were that big, but on top of the vanadium steel setting, it kind of added up. I wouldn't tell Gretchen what I had almost paid for these. She'd decide that this was my idea of 'not expensive' and we'd be in to see an image consultant before I could say jump.

We stopped by Madam Zeela's Boutique, and got my ears pierced. All I have to say is manual piercing, ouch. I was really thankful for the fly nut to secure them on the back. That was a lot of money per ear.

We went over to the Towne Center (a fancy name for a mall) to see a movie. We were 40 minutes early, so we decided to walk around the stores. They were putting a poster up in the window of one of the music stores. It was the blonde who had been kissing Josh.

I dragged Gretchen into the store to talk to the employee putting up the poster. "Hey, who is that?"

"Sarah Carerra. She's supposed to be a new up and coming star. Haven't you heard her song, 'Intuition'. They're just about playing it nonstop."

I just looked at him, I would have thought it was obvious, but he colored after a moment. "I guess not."

"Honey, just think, a year from now, you could be up for the Best Female Artist against her at the Tween Awards."

I gave a mock shudder and laughing we walked out to see the rest of the mall.

Ok, so apparently, the earrings were kind of obvious. And apparently I looked a little androgynous in my clothing.

"Ask her where she got her earrings."

"No, you ask her."

I turned at this point and gave each of them Zeela's card. "She does custom jewelry."

They giggled but took the cards. "She is so cool looking. Maybe we should try the Goth look."

I gave out another fifteen cards before we got back to the movie. She'd given them to me with the stipulation that I give a card to anyone who asked about the earrings. Well, there was a lot more footwork for me to do before I paid off these babies.

I'm just glad that Zeela thought of me as a friend.

I did buy a lot of jewelry from her over the past year.

The bracelet cross, her design.

Um, now that I think about it, I have purchased a new piece of jewelry from Zeela every time I come with Gretchen to Provo. Maybe I should ask her about paying Gretchen a commission. . .

We watched the movie, which let out a little after seven and drove home, a little fast, to meet the agent that both of us had completely forgotten about.

He was in Gretchen's living room, along with Bobby and Jake, when we arrived.

He took one look at me and blinked. "Where in the world did you get those earrings?"

"Madam Zeela's Boutique. She is an old friend and she gave them to me in exchange for some free publicity for her shop."

"Um...She gave those to you? This is a costume mock-up, right? If this is the same Zeela I'm thinking about. . .wow. She gave them to you. . .you didn't sleep with her or anything?"

"She's about twice my age!"

"But $5000 earrings."

"What!?" That was all three of my friends.

"How did you know that?"

"I read the trade publications. Those were made originally for Angelina, but when she saw them she turned them down. She wanted her money back and Zeela gave it to her."

"Well, Desdemona will make them famous."

"Desdemona?"

"Stage name."

"About that. I was telling your friends here that I don't buy anything sight unseen. So, I need to hear you play."

We climbed into vehicles and went over to Jake's house. I am thankful that I keep my Baby there. Mom would have destroyed it throwing it out the window.

"So, Mr. Fields, what do you want to hear first?"

"Call me Richard. Play anything you think will wow me."

I looked at the other two. We could play Vivaldi, but that was only cool. They didn't know Black Flag yet, since I had only written it this morning.

"My Life with You is Hell." Gretchen's was the deciding vote. We had gotten the most practice on that one anyway.

We played Gretchen's life in song.

"Ok, Keith, Up in Flames has a manager." We discussed fees, and felt that they were reasonable. He said that he would get us studio time somewhere after Gothplosion, and told us to 'lay low' until then. I still didn't think that we would be getting anywhere, but you know how it is. I tend to be a little pessimistic where the band is concerned. I would like nothing more than for us to succeed, I just didn't think we would.

Jake and Bobby's parents signed their management contracts for them. We had two weeks to figure out how to get me signed without my mom. Gretchen also kept looking at the earrings as if she had something to say, but was quiet the entire ride to her house.

I was really not looking forward to any of this.
Edited by Dean Vandusen and the ever patient Julia Phillips.

In which serenity is gained in the desert, Keith drives Gretchen's car without her permission, and videos are posted on YouTube.

So, I'd met Desdemona, or become her temporarily. And I was helping to create her mythos by purchasing $5400 earrings that Angelina said were too gaudy. We had met Richard Fields, who signed the band, well all except me. My Mom threw me out, so the chances of her actually signing the papers were negligible. Gretchen and I had gone on an epic all day date for our first official one, and I think we were about to get into our first fight.

We arrived home and Gretchen had still not said a word to me. I handed the keys back to her dad, and as soon as we were out of sight of him, she pulled me upstairs. "Five thousand dollars?"

"Um, well, they're actually fifty-four hundred." She gave me a 'not helping' look. "Etch, I have the money to cover it, and I wanted something for Desdemona that people would remember."

"Oh, they'll remember those alright. Have you considered that you can't take those out for a few weeks?"

"Oh shit."

"Yeah, exactly. You have to go to school the next three weeks with those earrings."

"I can't do this. People will connect me with Desdemona, and then all of this is pointless."

"No, it just becomes a little bit more difficult." She got a little smile on her face.

"Ok, you're creeping me out, Etch."

"How about we start rumors about Desdemona."

"Huh?"

"You and I were gone yesterday, right? Well, you say you went to a concert in. . .Denver? for a new singer called Desdemona. Say she's the one who inspired your. . .hand gear, and you decided to get some knockoffs of her earrings. Let people know she's going to be performing at Gothplosion."

"How is that going to work? I never went to Denver yesterday."

"Look, if you don't think it would be a good idea, then talk to Richard about it."

I did. He thought about it a moment, and then thought a moment longer. I almost thought we had been disconnected when he spoke again. "Ok, Keith, I agree with the plan overall, but we need to tweak it a bit. And, I need to look into merchandising now, since apparently she has knockoff earrings available when she does a show. Hmm, you have the original jewelers number?"

I gave it to him.

"Ok, then lastly, you met Desdemona after the show. She was losing her band, and needed a short term replacement so you offered that your friends play for her at Gothplosion. I assume no one there knows you are in a band? Good, keep it that way. From now on, Desdemona is the lead singer for Up in Flames, and always has been."

Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. Sir Walter Scott sure knew what he was talking about. I'm going to need to start writing this all down so that I can remember what 'truths' belong to Desdemona.

"Oh, one last thing, Keith. I have a friend at a club in Denver. He owes me a big favor. As far as anyone will know, Desdemona played there. The name of the place is 'Hole in the Wall' and they have been known to let indie bands play there. For reasons I will not discuss, I have a hand stamp for the place. I will be by in twenty, since we have to make it real."

This guy was good.

"Um, Gretchen, how did you meet this guy?"

"He's my uncle."

"Your mother's brother? And he still talks to you?"

"He's the only one. Most of the family blame me for my Mom's mental breakdown."

I shouldn't have brought it up. Gretchen is afraid enough as it is. Schizophrenia is a genetic disorder after all, and she is so afraid of developing it herself. Yeah, I know. Talk about the poster children for the improbable made flesh.

We went downstairs. Such a simple phrase, and a simple act. Ok, I really am rambling now.

"Daddy, Keith can't sign with Uncle Rich because his Mom threw him out."

Thanks, Gretchen, for summing my crappy life up in a single sentence.

"Well, Keith, we have grounds to fast track an order of emancipation because of abandonment."

"Wait, what?"

"You knew I was a lawyer, Keith. Even if I'm not currently practicing."

"Well, I knew that, but you were a defense attorney."

"Just because I practiced a different sort of law, doesn't mean I don't have a good general understanding of it. I won't be representing you, however. I will get one of my old contacts in family law. You can meet Jordan tomorrow after school. The sooner we get this filed, the more likely we can get it in front of a judge."

Ok, so I had no hopes that this would work. When my father was being taken to court by the ORS for back child support, it had been months before we saw the judge the first time. I couldn't see how this would be any different.

"Aren't there other things we could do? Adoption or Fostering or something here?"

"Those would take a lot longer. We have a time limit. This is the best option. My friend will explain everything we need to get this put through."

Things just got better and better.

Richard stopped by and stamped my hand. I went up to my room and went to sleep. It was going to be another busy day tomorrow. I had just fallen asleep when someone jumped on my bed, and by someone I mean a bouncy Gretchen.

"Etch!"

"Do I need to call the Waambulance?"

I groaned. It was too late in the evening for bad jokes.

"I'm not done talking about those earrings, Mister."

"I'm trying to sleep, Etch."

"Don't think your conversation with Zeela went over my head, Keith. You were fully prepared to pay fifty-four hundred dollars for those."

"I needed. . ."

"Don't give me that. She knew you wanted them. You were looking for an excuse. Can you even afford them?"

"Yeah...barely."

"You need to be smarter about your money, Keith."

"You're not my Mom, Etch."

"I'm your girlfriend, which is more important in some ways, Keith."

Ok, she has a point. I mean, Moms have to live with your decisions. They might disapprove of your life choices, but ultimately you are a separate individual and not beholden to their choices for you. Girlfriends on the other hand need to be appeased, or you never see them again. Well, I suppose a parent can disown you, but that's more a case of self mutilation than anything else.

"Look, Etch, you know that my Mom had all of my dad's child support direct deposit to my account. That and my wages tend to keep me flush. I really want Desdemona to work out."

"We would have spent less on an image consultant."

"Ok, you're right. I'm sorry." Feeling a little impish, I flopped out of bed into a full prostration. "Can you ever forgive me, my Liege?"

She put her foot on my head. "I kind of like this look on you."

"Hey!" I twisted and pulled her down on top of me where we ended up in a tangle of limbs.

"Keep it down up there."

"Sorry, Daddy."

I disentangled myself before things got any more out of hand. "We really need some sleep, Etch, and you should probably go to your own bed."

She pouted a bit, but she got up and went back to her room. I remembered to lock the door this time. Not that I wouldn't have loved to spend some more quality time with her, it's just that with us getting closer and closer like this, I was afraid of something happening. I really didn't want to disappoint Tom. That and while I did love Gretchen, thinking about her dangly bits kinda turned me off.

Ok, so I'm a bad person, but at least I try to be honest with myself.

I slept fitfully that night, plagued by dreams of black curtains and shards of glass. I wonder why that was.

School was fun. I talked about Desdemona a lot. Told everyone she was my inspiration in a couple of things, including my nails. I'd never played the 12-string at school, so I didn't need to explain that. People asked me about the club stamp, and I told them about the concert. Their eyes started glazing over when I described hand positioning and such.

I had a wonderful day.

It was even better for me when I heard a couple of girls talking as I passed:

"Did you hear that Desdemona's playing at Gothplosion this year?"

"Isn't that a Goth thing?"

"Yeah, and MTV's showing it this year."

"I'm so gonna watch then."

"She also bought Angelina's earrings. You know, the ones she was going to wear for that movie?"

"She bought THOSE? I thought Angelina said no one would ever wear them?"

"Well, Keith is wearing a pair of knockoffs."

"That's so cool."

There were a couple of other overheard conversations, but that was probably the best. Two people talking about someone as if they were in the know. I smiled, realizing that the rumor mill was working for me.

I wondered where the rumor about the earrings had started, before I heard Jake talking to a couple of his friends. Ok, before you go off the deep end, I called Bobby and Jake before school to tell them the deal.

Apparently there were four of us fueling the Desdemona frenzy.

Yeah, I heard someone using Gretchen as a source.

The pinnacle of my day was when someone I'd never spoken to before in my life stopped me in the hall.

"I hear you went to the Up in Flames concert and spoke with Desdemona last night."

"Yep."

"Kewl. What's she like in person?"

I extracted myself as quickly as I could after passing some generic phrases his way. I didn't know how I felt about some guy having a crush on me. It was something I was going to have to get used to. I shuddered.

Ok, so that wasn't the highlight of my day. That came shortly after. "You ready to go?" Gretchen had glomped onto my arm as I was walking down the hall. Last period had just ended and I was on my way to my locker.

"Hey, Etch. Aren't you worried about what your friends will think?"

"Nah, you're the man of the hour. You actually met Desdemona."

"This is so insane."

"No, what's insane is that Desdemona already has a website."

"What?!"

"Yeah, someone told me at lunch. They knew that you and I talked, and they wanted to know if you had any pictures for it. I gave them some, telling them that they were before she got the 'Angelina Earrings'"

This was insane. Desdemona was the most popular girl in school. What in the world had I done to get myself into this?

After stopping by my locker, and dropping off the book I wouldn't need to finish my already completed homework, we headed out to Gretchen's car.

Tom's associate worked in Salt Lake, so we had a nice long drive ahead of us. We held hands while Gretchen drove. Well, when she didn't need to shift gears. No we didn't do the 'cute' little passenger shifting gears thing.

We found a parking garage a couple of blocks away from his office and got out to walk. Sure, Salt Lake has wide streets, but there is almost nowhere to park. Especially since they brought the tram system in.

Well, walking is good for you.

I had assumed that his associate was male. Look at the budding misogynist. Jordan Cox was anything but male. If I hadn't had Gretchen there on my arm, I probably would have made a fool of myself, and I wasn't that articulate as it was.

"I got the particulars from Tom, I just need to know some specific details."

We went over my bank accounts, and how much was in them. We covered my job and other plans. She said I would have to be evaluated by a psychiatrist regarding my understanding of the situation. I would be able to use Gretchen and Tom as witnesses to my Mom's behavior. I paid a retainer, and we were off to the races, so to speak.

"Before you leave, Keith, I would like to try and call your mother to see if she will voluntarily allow emancipation. If that is the case, we could be done very quickly."

I gave her my mother's work phone, and she called her up, "Dr. Loftgren's office, Tracy Robison speaking."

"Hello, Tracy, I'm Jordan Cox. I've been hired by your son to initiate a temporary order of emancipation so he can take care of legal issues of consent while he is not residing with you. We would be revisiting this in six months time, so it would just be for the next half a year."

"That ungrateful little punk really thinks he can live on his own? Fine. Where do I sign?"

Ok, so that's not the response that I expected. We made an appointment to meet to sign the papers on Friday.

We scheduled an appointment with the child psychologist for tomorrow. That was Thursday. Two days to take care of the paperwork so I could sign with my manager.

We went home, enjoying each other's company as she drove. The truck came out of nowhere. It was one of those oversize loads carrying those huge sections of pipe. It broke free, tumbling onto the road. I saw it rolling toward us as Gretchen tried futilely to stop. I heard the sound of tortured metal before I jerked awake with a start. Apparently I'd fallen asleep.

We'd just gotten home, and the car stopping had influenced my dream.

"You're cute when you sleep."

What guy wants to be called cute? Ok, I admit, I kind of liked it coming from her.

We lay down on my bed and just talked. You know, the natural easy conversation of friends. It was like a million other conversations going on in that moment, and completely unique to itself. As it continued, her responses got further and further apart. Eventually she just stopped responding. I turned over to see what was going on, and realized that she was asleep.

I lay there and simply watched her sleeping. I was still amazed that she'd let me catch her. At some point I must have nodded off myself, since the next thing I knew I was looking into her eyes and the morning sun was streaming in through my window.

"Mornin' Handsome."

"Mornin' Beautiful."

"But my hair's a mess, and. . ."

"You're always beautiful to me."

That earned me a quick kiss before Gretchen got up to get ready for the day.

School was school, and Desdemona Fever was rampant. It was suddenly as if Desdemona had always existed. I overheard someone telling their friend that they'd purchased tickets for the Up in Flames concert last summer, but hadn't been able to go.

What in the hell?!

I couldn't have been this popular on my own if I had tried. I mean, who did Desdemona think she was, mooching in on my audience? This was supposed to be my moment. What right did she have? She'd brought the entire school behind her, not just the half that I could relate to.

I was in a horrible mood by the end of the school day, which was only somewhat improved by Gretchen. Ok, so it was a lot improved by Gretchen. I think it's physically impossible for me to be upset in her presence.

We drove over to my appointment with the psychologist. We had a decent conversation about a number of things. I think she was trying to get my general understanding of how the world worked. I talked with my lawyer later that evening, and she told me that we had everything I needed for tomorrow.

"Jordan, I have another question. I need to establish a legal alias."

"That shouldn't be too difficult."

"My alias needs to be female."

"Why?"

"Ok, so I am going to be signing a contract with a talent manager. I will be singing as a girl."

"There aren't many guys I know of who could pull that off."

"Toss me on speaker phone, I know the quality will suck, but you'll get the idea."

"Ok, ready."

I sang the chorus to 'Black Flag'. It is a sort of show case of my range. It starts at an A above middle C and goes up from there.

"Ok, if that wasn't a recording, then I'm convinced. Legally, however, you're male. You don't have plans otherwise, do you?"

"Oh, no. I'm perfectly happy with who I am."

"Ok, let me look into it. I'm not sure what we're going to be able to do in that regard, and probably we are just going to have to create it as a stage persona."

"Ok, well, thanks for the effort."

"Not so fast. Hmmmm. Ok, I'll get back in touch with you. I'm not sure how it would stand up in a court of law, but I have a way we could potentially take care of it. You leave it to me. I should be able to get this done before Monday."

My lawyer talking about skirting the law for me was a little much, and I was glad, for once, that I actually had homework to do. Like I said: I finish it in class usually.

I finished my homework and Gretchen and I went swimming. No skinny dipping this time. We started getting a little too into it, so I decided a cold shower was in order. For me at least. She laughed at me when I got out.

"I guess you really do like me."

"Oh, shut up."

I lay on top of my covers, thinking about the past week. Tomorrow was Friday. Jazz concert in the evening, after signing papers at two places. Yes, I'd called Richard and told him that I should be emancipated tomorrow afternoon. We had a grand total of fifteen songs that we'd practiced off and on during the past five years we'd been playing at being a band. Of those, only 'My Life with You is Hell' really struck me as something worthy of an album. 'Black Flag' would probably work as well. We'd need more songs. I toyed for a moment with the idea of doing covers of songs for other artists. When I thought about singing 'U + Ur Hand' by Pink, I really lost it. I laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"Me singing 'U + Ur Hand.'"

She giggled at that. "How 'bout, 'Just a Girl?'" I only hope No Doubt won't kill me for that one.

Well, we had two more songs for the album, since I think the irony of both of those songs would be delicious. That left me to write, or steal, another eight to twelve more songs. For an album that would probably never happen.

We kissed goodnight.

With no new information, or concrete evidence, Desdemona Fever was cooling a bit, and Sarah Carerra was starting to be a new topic of conversation, at least with the sophomore and junior girls. The freshman class went to the junior high school in our district so I'm not sure who they were talking about. Sure, Sarah Carerra was cute, and she had a great voice, but she was a little too much teen pop for my tastes. To each his, or her, own. Yes, I'd finally heard 'Intuition.' Some girls were playing it in the quad today.

Classes over for the day, and another week done, we drove up to Salt Lake to sign the first of the documents. My mother glared at me the entire time. She signed first, and then I signed. The notary dated and stamped it.

And just like that, I was an adult for the next six months.

It was really anticlimactic.

We called Richard and made a stop by his office. I showed him my copy of the paperwork, and signed my name on the line. That was a lot more important to me than a piece of paper telling me what I'd known for the past couple of years: I was raising myself.

The contract with Richard was a part of my future. Provided anything went right, I would soon be a living breathing rock star. Just a female one. Every time I thought about that, it creeped me out. I was male. I knew I was male. No, I'm not just trying to convince myself.

I mean, come on. Who wouldn't wonder with a friend like Gretchen? That's one of the things that we talked about. A lot. It was so interesting to me, the path her life had taken her on. I just knew that it wasn't my path. I could wear Desdemona's clothes, but she was me, not I her. Ok, that was about the most grammatically convoluted sentence that I have ever written. At dawn, the author will be drug out into the street and shot. No last minute commutation of sentence allowed.

We drove home, and I changed into the clothing for the concert. Tom had purchased a new shirt and pants for me today, since my old ones were now torn. I should have done it for myself, but with all the trips hither, thither, and yon I hadn't had the time I needed. Ok, that's an excuse. I just didn't do it. I need to take better care of myself.

Jazz is fun. I had a couple of solos in the concert. The first one, since it was in the right key, I did as variations on the chorus from 'My Life with You is Hell.' The second I weaved back and forth between 'Black Flag' and the verse from 'My Life with You is Hell.' Standing O, thank you very much. It was only after the concert that I worried that I might be giving too much of Desdemona away.

Saturday we practiced. I gave them what I had figured out for 'Black Flag,' and they gave me a bass and percussion line. When we were done, we had two songs in our repertoire. I mentioned that we might want to do some covers of other bands music, and Bobby was the first to mention 'Just a Girl,' and Jake wholeheartedly agreed. I'd already printed off the tabs for myself and Jake. Bobby thought that was the most hilarious thing he had ever seen, and it took us half an hour to get him calmed down enough to come up with a percussion line. We had 'Just a Girl' ready in another thirty minutes.

I hammed it up a bit, and Jake and Bobby said that if we ever do a show, and play that song, that I need to bring those moves into it. I said I'd think about it.

I didn't need to think about it. There was no way in heck I was going to act that girly on stage. I'm embarrassed I acted that girly in Jake's garage.

Sunday, I went to church with Gretchen. She and her father were members of a different faith than my mother and I, but I just couldn't bring myself to go alone to my previous place of worship. Talk about a culture shock. It was almost as if we didn't believe in the same God. Did I even want to believe in a God that didn't accept Gretchen for who she was?

I thought about that for the rest of the service. I tried to put on a happy face for Gretchen, but I knew she wasn't buying it. I decided it was high time for a hike. Nature calms me. I get out into the scrub, beyond sight of the town, and just feel the vastness of all creation. It's the first place where I truly knew that a God existed. I know that it doesn't work that way for everyone, and maybe I just have an impressionable nature, but I see God in the world around me, and the desert is my place of communion. Unfortunately, I wasn't in the mood to be calmed today.

I have to say that I yelled at Him. I told him off for creating issues like what Gretchen lives through. I berated him for allowing bigotry and hatred. I questioned how a loving father could ever truly allow mankind to exist. In that moment I almost felt that another flood would serve us right. I hated myself as much as I hated God. I won't relate even the tenth of what I said to God. I will relate what I felt afterward.

I felt peace. I don't know why, but I did. I think that God wants us to choose our path in this life, and loves us no matter what choices we make. If only we could learn a bit from Him.

Sure, he has the choices that he would prefer that we make, but it is up to each of us to come to terms with him about it.

I walked out of the desert changed. Not in any overt way, but in minor ways. I was ready, I hoped, for anything that this world had to throw at me in the next few weeks. I'm sure that I would need it.

Gretchen was already in the pool when I got back, and so I jumped in, with all my clothing still on.

"Keith!"

"What?"

"You got me wet!"

"You were in the pool." Big cake-eating smile.

"But I didn't want to get my hair wet. Now I have to wash it."

I'd love to help. No, I didn't say that aloud, afraid I wouldn't be able to resist if she invited me along. Afraid that she would invite me to help. I really need to control my fantasies. I think my eyes glazed over a bit thinking about it.

She splashed me in the face.

We splashed back and forth a bit, and then I picked her up and dunked her. She came up, having held her breath, and kissed me.

She won. She usually does. Girls have unfair advantages.

I let her have the shower first, and I changed rather than drip onto their carpeting. I'd gotten my good clothes wet, but after wearing them for the concert, and to church, and out in the desert, I figured they needed a good washing. Not wanting the chlorine to eat at them any more than it already had, I rinsed them out in the sink in the laundry room before tossing them, along with the rest of a load, into the washing machine.

I'm not a total slob, after all.

Have you ever actually looked at a ceiling before? We tend to ignore them, assuming that there just there. I was staring at the ceiling, thinking strange thoughts when a human missile attacked me. I must have closed my eyes because I hadn't even noticed Gretchen stalking me, like some blonde jungle cat looking for dinner. It wasn't until I grabbed her to try and save myself that I realized she was naked. Well, almost naked. She was wearing her underwear.

"Um, Etch? This probably isn't a good idea."

"I locked your door."

"Babe, you know I love you, right?"

"Well, part of you loves me," she said with a knowing smirk.

"Hon, I know you think you want this. Heck, I think I want this. This just isn't the right time."

"I knew you were lying to me."

"Gretchen, stop."

She'd gotten up and moved over to the door. I jumped from the bed, and hugged her from behind as she tried to open the lock.

"Etch, stop for a moment."

"Let me go." She was getting louder, and I'm sure her dad heard us. I unlocked the door for her. She ran for her room and slammed the door.

I went and sat down next to it and tried to talk to her through the door. "Your father took me in, Etch. He allowed me to stay here with his beautiful daughter in the next room. I couldn't betray that trust. I won't betray that trust.

"Etch, I love you. I love you more than breath, or music, or anything. I would give up almost anything to be with you forever. Just not this. Don't ask this of me, please? I just about wasn't strong enough to refuse you."

"If you loved me, you would have accepted me." Gretchen had thrown on some clothing and was rushing for the door.

I tried to make a grab for her, but she avoided me. I shouted for her Dad, "Tom! Help me!"

I ran outside and stood behind her car. She revved her engine and yelled out the window at me, "If you don't get out of my way, I'll drive over you."

This was insane. What had caused this. "Gretchen? Keith? What's going on?"

I hated having this discussion in the road, but I couldn't move for fear that Gretchen would leave. In her current state I had no idea what would happen. "Gretchen threw herself at me, literally, and when I said no, she flew off the handle."

"You're only pretending to love me. Neither of you really want me around. I can do better on my own." She began to move the car, and I braced for the impact, but it never came. I opened my eyes and saw Tom standing between me and the car.

"Gretchen, honey, turn off the car please."

She broke down and cried. I walked to the car door, opened it up, and took her into my arms. "It's ok, Etch. Everything's going to be ok."

"I'm ugly, and bloated, and no one really loves me as I am. How is that ok?"

I kissed her. I just kissed her until she relaxed, and then I kissed her some more. Ok, so maybe girls don't have all of the advantages.

When I finally stopped using my cruel and unusual punishment, she had a goofy grin on her face and threw her arms around my neck. I think she even squealed, but I'm not sure because of the pounding in my ears.

"Gretchen, you may want to let your boyfriend go before you kill him."

We walked back inside, and into the front room. Gretchen cuddled next to me on the couch. "I don't know why I did that. I've been feeling weird all week."

"Your doctor told us that there might be some side effects from stopping the hormone treatments."

I looked quizzically at Gretchen.

"I had to for my surgery." She looked embarrassed to be admitting this.

"Not going to get any worse, is it?"

"Oh god, I hope not."

Gretchen didn't want me to leave her, again, so we ended up lying on her bed. We fell asleep together again. Waking up beside her was something I could get used to. She was so beautiful lying there. I woke up first this time, and got to see her open her eyes and realize I was still there.

It was a beautiful moment.

"Good morning, Beautiful."

"Morning, Handsome."

She kissed me and then made a face, "Blech, morning breath."

I smiled at her, "You were the one who kissed me, remember?"

"And I want to do it again, so go brush your teeth."

I got up and performed my morning rites. Gretchen was in the bathroom in a flash after I shut off the water. We kissed and she seemed a lot more satisfied with the results this time. "Now, get out so I can shower and change."

"Right away, Miss Bossy Pants."

She hit me playfully on the arm as I left the room.

The day passed quickly, and the number one topic of conversation? Of course, Sarah Carerra and her #8 single. I still heard things here and there about Desdemona, but it seemed that without anything to feed it, Desdemona Fever was going the way of the dinosaur. For a moment I felt panicked, and needed to do something about it. But did I really? The only reason we'd started the rumor mill was to explain away the earrings if anyone connected them to me through the contest on Friday.

I wonder what 'Bodies' would sound like sung by Desdemona. I wonder what sort of arrangement I would need to make with Drowning Pool to actually get it. It sort of really fit my mood, if not her style, in that moment. What am I talking about? We were the final arbiters on what was, and was not, our style. Sure, we were a Goth band, but we were also Metal, and Experimental.

In between classes, I called Richard. "Does fair use cover producing a video of us singing 'Bodies' and putting it on YouTube?"

"Where did this come from, Keith?"

"Well, I don't know, I guess it's just that Desdemona seems to be losing ground to this Sarah Carerra person at my school. I know, the rumors were only for the concert for pre-damage control, but I kind of liked the second hand popularity, well a bit at least."

"Isn't the lead singer of Drowning Pool male?"

"Well, yeah. . .wait you know 'Bodies?'"

"No, but Google is a wonderful thing."

I chuckled a bit at this.

"Let me get back to you on this one, Keith. We may have some out of pocket for this one, but let me get the information before we make any decisions."

I finished the rest of the day, and was driving home with Gretchen, when the phone rang. "How soon can you be up here, Keith?"

"Hello, Jordan. What's the big rush?"

"We found a, barely, legal way for you to get an ID with your alias as female. Don't ask me to go into particulars, and chances are if we are taken to court it won't hold up, but let's just say that until something is specifically proscribed, in this case it's legal. Since it isn't a separate identity, and is legally still you, nothing says that your alternate identity can't present as female."

"Um...are you sure?"

"As sure as I can be. Trust me on this one, kid. Oh, and can you come up here as Desdemona? I have a friend at the DMV who will get us in and get you a license."

Well, at least she knew a good criminal defense attorney if this all blew up in our faces.

"Etch, change of plans. Desdemona needs to go to Salt Lake."

She giggled and squealed. I wasn't even sure that was possible with the human larynx. We got to Gretchen's house, and she pulled me upstairs. She spend a couple of minutes searching through her drawers and then pulled out a couple of. . .breasts?

"What are. . .?"

"Breast forms, silly. They will give you a bit of padding up front."

I suddenly realized what she wanted to do.

"Um, can we talk about this?"

"Desdemona needs to be female, Keith. That means sometimes, she needs to have breasts. We can explain it away with costumes like the corset, but other times, it will just be too weird."

"This whole thing is too weird."

"Do it for me?" Game, set, match, puppy dog eyes and pouty lips.

Within minutes, Gretchen was putting the final touches on the girliest makeup I've ever worn. Ok, I had to admit it didn't look half bad on me.

She wanted to pluck my eyebrows a bit, but I drew the line there. Desdemona was supposed to be a little androgynous after all and my eyebrows had never been all that thick.

A pair of jeans, and a black tee-shirt. The pink boots and hair. And the bra and panties. I wondered if I'd ever get used to them. Part of me hoped I wouldn't.

I looked in the mirror, and had to admit I didn't look that bad.

"Let's get this over with."

She kissed me for luck, and we were out the door and on our way to Salt Lake. We met Jordan outside the DMV, and she handed me some papers to sign.

"What are these?"

"It is a legal establishment of alternate identity."

"Ok, I trust you Jordan."

I signed the papers, after reading through them quickly. We went inside through the employee entrance. He wasn't what I expected. He was a bit like Santa Claus is supposed to be: Fat, jolly, and white bearded.

"So, you actually want a license with the single name Desdemona on it, huh? Trying to be a bit like Madonna are we? Well, not to worry. We'll have you all fixed up in no time."

I filled out the paper work, and then came to the signature line. I thought for a moment, and then scrawled something that looked vaguely like Desdemona. It would look good on a poster anyway. The big D was recognizable, and the word became more indistinct as it went on.

We took the picture, me smiling like a maniac. "Um, could you take the earrings out?" I looked at the picture and saw what he meant. They caused a bit of a flash and washed the sides of the photo out.

"I just got my ears pierced, and need to keep them in."

"Pretty girl like you? I'd think you would have gotten them pierced long ago. Oh well. We work with what we've got."

He took a couple of more shots, adjusting my head minutely each time. We ended up with an almost professional looking glamour shot. For my ID. Well, it would definitely be interesting to flash that, to say the least.

"So, what do you think?" I asked, showing Gretchen my new ID. Apparently it paid to come to where they were made to get your work done.

"I only wish that my ID looked that good."

My phone rang. "Desdemona, speaking."

"Keith?"

"Sorry, Richard. Having a bit of fun. Jordan got the alias thing taken care of and we just got my new ID."

"That was fast. I have some information for you. According to their agent, we can pay a onetime fee for the song, since we are an indie band, and we can use it how we see fit, as long as all recordings we use are 100% our own, nothing of theirs."

"Ok, so how much."

"There's the problem. He said it would be a thousand."

"I have the money for it, Richard, but there's someone I want to discuss it with first. Can I call you back?"

"Sure thing, Desi."

"Desi?"

"There's no way you're going to get me to keep referring to your character by the full name. It's a mouthful."

I laughed and ended the call. Did I really want to do this? Should I even do this? It wasn't my music, but it really touched me on a certain level right now. And we would have permanent use rights to it.

"You still with us, Desdemona?"

"Desi," I answered automatically, not really paying attention to what was going on around me.

"What?"

"Oh, sorry, Jordan. Richard, my agent, suggested that as a short form. You know, for informal situations. What were you saying?"

"I was asking you if there was anything else you needed?"

"What is all of this costing?" I'd suddenly realized I might not have as much money as I'd thought.

"Tom covered it. Just let him know that he owes me that date he's been promising for the past ten years."

I was a bit shocked, but Gretchen giggled, "I'll let him know. Thanks Jordan."

"Take care of yourself, Gretchen." They hugged and Jordan turned to me, "If I ever convince that man to marry me, I'm going to be Gretchen's step-mom. So, you better take good care of her for me until I do."

Ok. Now I have reached confusion level five. It must have showed on my face.

"Jordan's had a crush on my Dad since law school. She knows he's married, but she never gives up."

"Divorce isn't a four letter word, you know, Gretchen."

"No, it's a seven letter one." Gretchen stuck her tongue out as she was saying this.

"Take care you two."

I was about to broach the subject of purchasing the use rights when Gretchen picked up her phone. "Hello? Oh, Hi Daddy." After this she listened for a moment, and then the blood drained out of her face. I saw her swaying a bit, and rushed over to catch her. I lowered her carefully to the ground and picked up her phone.

"Hello? Hello?! Gretchen!?"

"Tom, It's me. She fainted."

I heard the pain in his voice as he spoke, "Her mother is dead. Suicide. Apparently the medication they had her on wasn't dosed right and she suffered a depressive episode."

"I'll get her home, Sir." I hung up the phone, and searched her purse for keys. I got them and then got Gretchen into the passenger seat. I helped her into her seat and got her belted in, then got myself into the driver's seat. As usual, I only had to make minor adjustments.

We were off and flying. Apparently it was a bit too fast. I was not really paying attention to anything but getting Gretchen home when I saw flashing lights in my rear view mirror. I looked at the speedometer, and had one of those moments. I was doing a hundred miles an hour.

I pulled over quickly and put the car in park.

"What's going on? Keith?"

"It's Desi right now, remember?"

"What's wrong, Desi? Why are we pulled over."

"I was kinda not paying attention, and was speeding."

Gretchen reached into her glove box and pulled out her insurance information and her registration.

I heard a knock on the window. I looked up. And up. And up. I rolled down my window. The giant of an officer spoke to us in a rolling baritone. "Evening, ladies. Do you know how fast you were going?"

"Not until I saw your flashing lights. It was about a hundred at that point, but I might have pulled my foot off the accelerator when they startled me."

"That's pretty close to what I clocked you at. What was the big rush?"

"Gretchen's Mom just died. I was trying to get her home to her father."

"Could I get your license and registration please?"

I handed my new license over with Gretchen's paper work.

"Wait, are you that Desdemona that my son's been raving about for the past week? If so, I have to say you look a lot different without your stage makeup. Same pink hair."

"Wanna see my combat boots?" I lifted my foot a bit so that he could see the pink thing.

"Ok, I believe you. Tell you what. You give me an autograph for my son, and I'll let you off with a warning."

He handed me a blank sheet of paper. "What's your son's name?"

"William. He usually goes by Buddy though."

I wrote out on the paper. 'To Buddy, for a great first impression,' and then the sprawling signature I'd devised.

"Will that work?"

"Yes, that'll be fine. Just make sure you slow down, Ok ladies?"

"Yes, Officer," Gretchen and I chimed together.

After I'd put up the window and begun to drive again, Gretchen spoke, "You are a natural. You're really getting into this character, aren't you?"

"It's still just a role, Gretchen. I have to constantly think about what I'm going to do, or what I'm going to say. Acting. I've done a lot of it over the years."

"It didn't look like acting to me."

"Well, when you do it right, it's not supposed to."

Ok, this could be a problem It's not like I was trying to alienate my girlfriend, and I didn't even know why this was so important to her. I'd always known I was a boy.

Well, that's not quite true. Before I'd turned seven or eight, I just didn't realize there was a difference. There were people who were adults and people who were kids and that was the only distinction I made. I accidentally saw my Mom in the shower at that time, and realized that she wasn't the same as me under her clothing.

Yeah, I was a bit oblivious as a kid. I was lost in thought, when Gretchen tried to get my attention again. "You haven't been giving me a problem, at all, with dressing in girl's clothing."

"Etch. . ."

"How do you feel in that clothing?"

"Normal. It's clothing."

"But, you have long nails. . ."

"On one hand to make playing my guitar easier."

"But. . ."

"You know how bad I am with kids."

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything. . ."

"Etch. . ."

"No, Desi. You are dismissing this out of hand. I love you no matter what, you know that?"

I'd started the car and we were moving forward already, at a much slower pace than before. Was she right? Had I just not given it any thought? Clothing felt like clothing to me. Even when we'd done Hamlet in Reverse and I'd gotten the role of Ophelia and worn the flowing skirts envisioned my (by) the director. Men in Scotland wore skirts, and called them kilts. It didn't really make a difference to me either way. Could that be because I was secretly a girl?

"I don't think of myself as a girl, Etch, but I don't think of myself as a guy either. I don't really think about my gender much. I am."

"Desi. . ."

"Etch, really. I don't think that way. I love you, and respect your chosen path. I know, I know. You feel like it is necessary for you."

"Desi, but, you seem to shine as Desdemona. You are so. . .behind the scenes as Keith."

"I am King of the Geeks as Keith, Etch. Haven't you ever noticed that there are two societies at our school? One in which you run, and the other where I am? I was as popular in my crowd, as you were in yours. I have lots of friends at school, but they are school friends. We don't hang outside of school, just like you hang with me and not your school friends."

Her expression fell a bit. It was as if she was realizing something about herself that she wasn't ready to admit.

"You really like the way I look in girl's clothing, don't you?"

She nodded silently. She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again. I gave her a moment to collect her thoughts, comfortable in the silence between us.

"I liked you a lot before you first dressed as Desdemona. You were always there for me, and I wanted you to get over yourself and just ask me out or something. When you first dressed as Desdemona, something clicked inside me. It was as if I was seeing you for the first time, and I needed you to. . .be with me."

"I saw that in your eyes. That's why I kissed you."

"But you were so much more alive in that moment."

"I was myself. I'd been wanting to kiss you since the moment I first saw you, but I always felt that I would lose your friendship if I did. When I saw your need, I figured it was now or never."

"So, you didn't feel a sort of release dressing up?"

"No," I chuckled at the thought. "Look, Etch, you still see me as a boy, even in these clothes, right?"

"I see you as Keith, yes."

"Ok, I still feel like Keith in these clothes, even with these breasts you gave me. No, don't think I'm starting any hormones to get my own. I know these breasts are part of my clothing. I can take them off. But, if you would like me to dress this way at home, I am happy to do so. I won't do it all the time, but it's not something I am opposed to."

"What does this mean?"

"It means that I am still Keith, but Desdemona can come out to play occasionally."

The squeal of delight from Gretchen told me that I'd said something right. She kissed me on the cheek. "Careful, Etch. I'm driving here."

"You didn't even take your eyes of the road."

We made it home without any further incidents. Gretchen and I talked about inconsequential things. I pulled into her driveway and turned off the car. "Thank you, Keith."

"For what?"

"For taking my mind off my Mom."

She kissed me on the cheek and walked inside. I could really get used to this.

There was a lot of crying, and some reminiscing of better times. I only realized when I lay in bed with a sleeping Gretchen in my arms, that I hadn't gotten the chance to tell her about the song.

Because of the problem on Sunday, Tom had already scheduled Gretchen for an appointment with her counselor, so she dropped me off at school the next day, and went off to her appointment. She'd be arriving later in the day. Since we were preparing for finals she couldn't miss any more days.

"Hey, Bobby, guess what?"

"Um, you're going full time as Desdemona?"

"No. I have something of hers, though." I showed him the ID.

"Wow, man, you're smokin' in this picture."

"Thanks I think."

"What's going on?" Jake asked as he came up.

"Desdemona's hot."

"Sure, but what made you think of that?"

Bobby snatched the ID from my hand and showed it to Jake. "Damn, Keith, if I didn't know better, there's no way I'd think this was you in drag. Wait, when did you get the wig back?"

"Gretchen had three pairs of the boots and two wigs. I wore the second one yesterday when I got this taken. Oh, before I forget, there's a possibility of us getting a use license for 'Bodies.'"

Jake just gaped at me. Bobby found his voice first, "You're shittin' me. As in Drowning Pool."

"Yep."

Jake looked at me strangely, "Is being Desdemona changing you? First Pink and No Doubt, now you're willing to shill for Drowning Pool. You used to say that we'd only ever do our own songs.."

That stopped me. Was I changing? Sure, the two 'girl' songs I was only doing because of Desdemona. . .ok so 'Bodies' was a cry against Desdemona as well, but it was Keith fighting back. When did I get to be so complicated?

"Ok, so maybe I want to do 'Bodies' because it's what I feel, and I don't have to write my own song when it expresses it so perfectly."

"Chill a bit, Keith. Jake didn't mean anything by it, right Jake?"

"Yeah, man, I was just making a comment."

"Sorry, guys, girl drama, and by that I mean Gretchen."

"What, she doesn't like you as Desdemona? I mean if it's a choice between Gretchen and the band, you choose the band right?"

"If it was a choice, Gretchen wins and you know it. No, she likes me a little too much as Desdemona. . ."

"Oh. . ." Bobby responded, but I think the image of Gretchen and I going at it, both of us looking like girls, broke Jake's mind.

"Snap out of it, bro."

Jake shook himself, and wiped his chin, to make sure there wasn't any drool there.

"Ok, that was an image that I wouldn't mind seeing again. . ."

"Jake. . ." I said with a warning tone in my voice.

"What image?" sometimes innuendo went right over Bobby's head. For a smart guy, he was kinda dense sometimes.

"Desdemona and Gretchen."

Ok, this time Bobby glazed over. "I'm standing right here, guys."

"Have you seen that picture? I mean seriously Keith. Don't think of it as yourself. Just look at it."

I looked at my ID again. Ok, it was really for the first time. One thing you don't want to get in tight jeans is aroused.

"Crap, I see your point." I tried to adjust myself inconspicuously while Bobby and Jake snickered at me. Apparently I was showing pretty clearly because one of the girls passing by in the hall went beet red after looking at me. She looked like she wanted to die after I noticed her looking.

I turned back to my two friends, and they were smirking at me.

"There's a reason that the fanboys are still hot on her tail."

"So, the license for 'Bodies' would be a thousand."

Jake and Bobby looked a bit stunned. "Well, there goes that idea. I know that I've only got about a hundred to my name," Bobby said when he regained his voice.

"Yeah, I've got about thirty cents."

"Guys, money's not the issue. I can afford to pay the fee."

Both of them looked at me strangely. "Keith, how much money do you have?"

"Enough. I don't really want to go into it."

"Spill. You know our finances."

I quietly said, "Six thousand in checking."

"Um, do you have a savings account?"

"Yeah, don't you guys?"

They looked at each other, then back at me, "You are the most adult teenager we know. We don't have savings accounts."

"Yeah, man, we have nothing."

"Um." I blushed and couldn't think what to say. "Well. . .I have almost a hundred thousand in savings. It is supposed to be my college fund. My parents and I have been putting into it since I was born, and it is a long term, high yield, account."

"Dude, you're rich. Why don't you hire a lawyer to resolve the issue with your Mom so you can sign?" Bobby just nodded his assent.

"Oh, yeah, about that. I'm emancipated for the next six months and I already signed."

"You are an adult." We all laughed at that.

"Let's do it. Let's film us doing 'Bodies' and post it to YouTube. You know my Dad has a professional digital video camera." Bobby's Dad was a wedding photographer, who did both stills and video.

We still had some time left on lunch, so I called up Richard. "Hello? Keith?"

"Yeah, the band wants to pick up 'Bodies,' if it's still on offer."

"It should be. So, you can cover the fee?"

"Yes. Can you take it from a credit card, or what?"

"Yeah, give me your card number."

I trusted him only because he was family, well Gretchen's family. Crap.

"I'm sorry to make you work today. I completely spaced what happened."

"I like working through things like this, Keith. Don't worry about it. I'd long ago resigned myself to the fact that she was dead to us. This just made it real. Thanks for your concern."

I hung up with and at my friends questioning looks, I said, "Gretchen's Mom died last night. Richard is Gretchen's uncle."

"Oh, is Gretchen ok?"

"Her Mom's been away for a long time. It's more a case of her never coming back, than losing her in the first place."

"Someone talking about me?" I was glomped again. It was the second time this had happened at school, and I knew that this time It wasn't because of Desdemona, well not directly.

"Hey, Gretchen," Jake said in welcome, and Bobby gave her a small wave.

"Hey, Etch, how'd it go?"

She looked really happy, "Apparently I am adjusting well, and he puts my worries last week, and Sunday, to a hormone imbalance."

I wondered if she should be saying stuff about it right now, since Jake and Bobby didn't know everything about her. I wasn't even sure if they knew about her surgery, which was planned for after school let out this year.

Gretchen answered that question next, "I'm still scheduled for my surgery to resolve the problem the Monday after school gets out."

"Great," I said and kissed her. I'd planned it as a little peck, but she didn't let me go, and it got a little heavy. "Mr. Robison, Ms. Anderson. This is a school, not a bordello."

"Yes, Mrs. Leary," Gretchen and I chimed together. She glared at us, but we couldn't hold it and giggled. Crap, I giggled. What was up with that?

"Just see you remember it." Mrs. Leary was the principal, and was a bit of a stickler where public displays were concerned.

The bell rang and we headed off to class. The rest of the day went fairly quickly and I was once again in Gretchen's car on the way to her house.

"How you doing, Etch."

"It's a bit surreal. I know Mom's not coming back, but I think I already mourned her. I haven't seen her in over two years."

"I remember that trip."

"So, what are you going to wear for the video?"

"Um, the same thing as for the concert?"

"I don't think so, Keith. Desdemona is a girl. Girls like different clothing. She's going to wear something else for this video."

I thought of arguing a bit more over this, but the look in her eye changed my mind, "Yes, dear." She giggled, so I must have scored some points.

Jake and Bobby came over to our place, since they needed costumes for this video as well.

"Keith, I want you to shave your legs."

"Um. . ." I'd succeeded in getting this far without shaving my legs, why did that have to change now?

"Because I want you to wear a skirt."

"Um. . .I wore leggings with the last skirt."

"This one will look better with bare legs."

It wasn't worth the argument. I wore pants to school anyway.

While the guys worked with Gretchen on their costumes, I shaved my legs. Really new experience. I don't think I spent this much effort shaving my face in a given month.

Ok, I'll admit. Shaved legs are sexy, even if they're yours. I might just continue shaving them for the feel. I came back in the room, and Gretchen kicked the other two out. From somewhere Gretchen pulled a pair of pink stiletto boots. Of course they fit. It was a little disturbing to me that I wore the same clothing size as my girlfriend.

She pulled out the skirt she wanted me to wear. I'm not sure what the style is actually called, but it was interesting looking. There was an over skirt, with a point in front and back. The under skirt had a point on each side. It kind of looked like an upside down tulip. The underskirt was purple and the over skirt was a deep, almost navy, blue.

I had never felt so exposed, and at the same time covered as I did in that skirt. The way that Gretchen was appreciating the way it draped against my bare legs did it for me as well. Ok, I liked the skirt, a lot.

She arranged the false breasts in a bandeau, hiding them, and making some of my skin push out of the top. It was a fairly tight bandeau. She gave me a sort of poncho thing for the top, which covered me until I moved. We mixed up some white cake with a touch of blue and just a hint of red and went to town. When we finished, I was covered from my head to my waist in cake. We left my legs alone. We put a coat of purple on my nails, both hands. Some eye shadow, and a touch of black on my cheeks and lips and I was ready to go. After putting on the wig we let the boys back in, and they just stood there.

"Wow. Dude. You've got breasts."

"They're rubber."

"Still, you've got cleavage as well."

"Will you two just finish getting into costume so we can do this?"

I decided to practice in the stiletto heels while Gretchen worked on the makeovers for the other two. It was a lot easier to get the hang of than I thought it'd be. Not easy by any stretch, but not impossible. I was actually able to make some decent headway when Jake and Bobby came out. I'd never realized how ripped Bobby had gotten moving his Behemoth around. Without a shirt, and makeup designed to highlight it, he looked like a Greek god. He almost looked metallic. I don't know where Gretchen got the kilt from, but Jake was wearing one. He had a black tee-shirt on top. "We ready to do this, guys?"

Three hours from the moment we arrived until we had a complete music video. Repeating portions of the song, different camera positions, and a couple of complete run- throughs. I was dead tired after we were done, and happy to take a break. I'd never realized what a wizard Bobby's Dad was with editing software before. He took the raw footage, laid down the better of the complete run audio tracks, and then pieced together the video footage that fit each portion the best, added in a couple of post processing effects, and then it was done. Thirty minutes after he'd selected all of the shots he wanted he declared it done. Three hours of work for a three minute video.

He uploaded it under our new account name: DesdemonaUpInFlames. We logged into the chat room. I created a new account there, with the same name we'd used on YouTube.

SkepticInDenver: i cant find ne1 here who went to the show. fliers @ Hole in the Wall though
FirstFan: I know someone who drove all night to be there.
SkepticInDenver: its a hoax, d00d
I<3Desdemona: I have her autograph.
FirstFan: We KNOW!!!
SkepticInDenver: ur dad got you it.
DesdemonaUpInFlames: You boys love to bicker, huh?
SkepticInDenver: FrEsH mEaT!
FirstFan: Heya, welcome to the insanity.
I<3Desdemona whispers: want to private?
DesdemonaUpInFlames: Thought you'd want to know this.
DesdemonaUpInFlames: cu all in Las Vegas ;)

The link lead to the video. There were 43 people in the chat room before I posted the link. One remained after about thirty seconds. I logged out before any of them could log back in.

Tomorrow was Wednesday, so only two more days 'til the concert. Gretchen has another visit with her shrink on Thursday, and I just home that the rumor mill was enough to make a distance between myself and Desdemona, because ready or not, here I am.

Edited by the ever patient Julia Phillips.

A new character comes out of left field, or is that the football field, a birthday is celebrated poorly, and concerts are sung.

My life so far: My Mom threw me out of the house for dressing like Desdemona. I signed my papers of Emancipation making me a legal adult at 16, for the next six months at least. I have ID showing me as Desdemona. Gretchen and I are dating, but that's no surprise to the people who know us. Richard Fields is the manager for Up in Flames, and he got us fair use rights to 'Bodies' by Drowning Pool. We made a video, and I flirted with my fans online.

The bodies of students lay everywhere in the quad. Here and there smoke curled from gaping holes torn in the masonry. The banners for the opposing armies lay strewn around. Some bore the flame emblem of Desdemona. Some bore the stylized script of Sarah Carerra.

Here and there a crippled student was helped from the field of battle by a compatriot. Cries for sports drinks or bottled water could be heard amidst the cries for mother or the wordless keening of lost souls.

I stood there alone, unharmed, in the midst of it all. There was a quiet beeping sound that drew my attention downward. I looked at the bomb at my feet, and knew it would be over soon. 5. . .4. . .3. . .2. . .beep, beep, beep.

So it was all a dream, but it felt real. I dreaded going to school today, hoping that nothing untoward happened. I just had a feeling that I wouldn't get out of this thing intact. I carefully chose my most masculine looking clothing, making sure I had jeans without holes or tears. I still had shaved legs after all. My jeans felt weird on my hairless legs. Neither good, nor bad, just different. Ok, I admit, they actually felt kinda good.

Hey, I know what you're thinking, but you'd be wrong. Guys shave their legs. You know, like Olympic swimmers and cyclists and things. Reduces drag or some such.

So, I'd be the first drag increasing leg shaver in this example, but still, there are guys who don't want to be girls who. . .oh shut up.

From now on I will only try to explain myself once every thousand or so words. Maybe.

Whatever, so I was going to school, to see the fallout from last night's video.

Well, it wasn't my dream, but it was. . .I'll just describe it, shall I?

The quad is a large open indoor space at the north end of the school The southwest corner of the quad connects to the north and east halls of the two storey "old wing" of the school. The west side goes past the office out the west door. North west of the quad is the auditorium and the fine arts section of the school, you know, my domain. North is the outside quad area. South is a single classroom accessible from the quad, and through the wall is the library, which is accessible from the east hallway next to the old wing.

East off the quad is the cafeteria. Northeast is the old gym, and further east is the new gym.

These are just the connected parts of the school. There's the whole new wing, the garage, the football field, the baseball field the tennis courts. . .the place could double as a community college.

Oh, you didn't want me to describe my school? Well, I thought it was funny.

Back to the quad. Bootleg copies of Intuition were playing from speakers connected to MP3 players. Laptops were playing 'Bodies'. Each group vying for as much of the airspace as possible. Everyone trying to stay there as long as possible before rushing to class, and then coming out and doing it again in the next five minute break between classes.

I felt myself torn. Sure, I loved that Desdemona was popular again, but hated, again that it wasn't me, and kicked myself for my ambivalence. Also, how could I inspire this warfare when Sarah Carerra was the real artist.

At lunch, people had branched out into Miley Cyrus, Pink, Blink 182, Train, Cake, Five for Fighting, Katy Perry, Evanescence and many more groups than I have the time, or ability, to name. I think I even heard Ozzy somewhere.

On my way to pick up my food, I even heard a couple of people who had synched 'Bodies' by myself and Drowning Pool so they were running in a duet. Since I had kept about the same timing as the original, and since I had done a straight octave transposition, it didn't sound half bad. The Behemoth and my 12 string certainly added something to the song that had been missing before.

The video caused me another problem

"Hey Keith, how's it feel to impersonate a girl!"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me! You're wearing a girls earrings. That and your pretty princess nails, maybe you should start wearing a dress to school."

Ok, so Lionel "Brock" Hansen wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, and could even be considered slightly less intelligent than warm Jell-O. I'd never considered that he might be, to quote Quigley, half a bubble off plumb.

It was Susanne Hansen that stood up for me, well, stood up to Brock. "Would he be able to borrow one from you, Brock? You seem to be his size."

Susanne hadn't ever struck me as the type to stand up to anyone. She was one of the Tech Crew, and tended to stay out of the spotlight as much as possible. Occupational hazard.

She was exaggerating when saying that we could wear the same dress size. First off, I think I was half as big around the torso as he was. His shoulders were quite a bit broader. And he probably weighed about fifty to a hundred pounds more than I did.

I expected him to pound her or something, anything, other than what he did. He blushed. "Maybe you could lend him your plum colored strapless gown."

Ok, what the hell. . .

Everyone was looking at Brock. Big football player Brock. . .As he began to cry and ran from the quad.

Susanne had a bit of an ohshit look on her face. I'm not sure if Gretchen, Susanne, or I were the first to react and follow him. . .into the girls bathroom?

What was going on? I gave Gretchen a look, but she just shrugged at me. I know that gender issues are supposed to be rare, but this was a little strange to say the least.

"Look, I know I wasn't supposed to say anything, Buffy, I'm sorry. It just slipped out. You of all people shouldn't have been getting into that though."

I heard crying coming from one of the stalls, "but it's not fair, Suzi. Desdemona is so good looking, and people are saying she could be related to Keith, and when Steve said she looked a bit like Keith, it made me so mad. I have to try so hard to even halfway pass and here Keith looks feminine without doing anything"

"Buffy?"

"What are you doing here, Gretchen? I can't face anyone right now."

"Hey, look there's now something we have in common."

The latch opened and Brock peered out of the stall, his eyes wide. "You? But, you're beautiful." Gretchen smiled and blushed.

"You too, Keith?"

"Oh, no. Not me. I love being a guy."

"Oh." He seemed a bit disappointed.

"Look, Gretchen and I are dating."

"You're gay?"

Susanne slapped him across the face. "Brock, do you really want to go there? Really?" He blushed and she turned to us. "I'm sorry about this, guys, he's kinda new to all of this."

"Sorry, Brock, but I'm a bit confused. You're kind of a big guy, and I know that up until last year you lifted a lot of weights. . ."

"I thought this is what my Dad wanted for me. The football career and everything. I even took steroids to speed my growth, since I wasn't developing fast enough."

I looked at Gretchen and we shared a glance. I figured that this was probably a girl talk, and made to leave. "Wait, Keith. I'm sorry for my comment. I'm still confused about who I am, or even what I am. I didn't mean to insult you."

"Look, Brock, or Buffy, I don't know you as well as Gretchen or Susanne. Frankly, I'm not into this whole girl-talk thing. . ."

Brock interrupted me, "Keith I have to tell someone else. I need to. The other girls are fine, but I want to tell a guy. I need to know. . ."

"How I react?"

"Well, yeah." He looked at his feet and blushed bright red.

"Dude, I'm flattered. . ."

"No, a sort of dry run. Not you."

"I'd have had to kill you." Gretchen was smiling as she said this, so I knew she was kidding. . .wasn't she.

"Look, you three might be comfortable in here, but. . ."

Brock looked around him for the first time since we'd come in. "Oh, crap."

We all skipped our afternoon classes. Personally I knew that I could pass the tests for those in my sleep, and Gretchen would be doing all night cram sessions. She always did. She's a bit of an over achiever and has a 4.0 GPA

We convoyed over to the Hansen's house, and Gretchen and I sat in his front room while he and Susanne went to change. Apparently Susanne was his sister. I should have twigged to their last names being the same, but Hansen isn't that rare a last name, and they were definitely in different social circles at school.

Gretchen and I simply relaxed in each other's company, waiting for the other two to get done. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that. Buffy had opted for jeans and a tank top. It was obvious that she had breasts. They were real as far as I could tell. Her makeup was impeccable. I'd never exactly call her pretty, but she looked at least somewhat female.

I'd seen genetic females who looked more masculine.

Her mannerisms were believable at least.

"Spill, Buffy. What's up?"

"I used to have tea parties with Suzi. When we were both really young. It wasn't about male or female. We were just sisters and so we dressed up, and played with her dolls. I always wondered why Suzi got the pretty dolls and dresses, and I got stuck with the trucks and stuff. My Dad thought I was a collector, because they all sat on my shelf, perfectly arranged, so he started getting me the rare expensive ones. They sat on the shelf as well.

"Sometimes I would imagine Suzi's dolls in the cars, but they were too small, the cars I mean. One day, my Dad caught us playing dress up. He took us both aside and explained that girls wore dresses and boys didn't. I was confused by this, since I didn't think about myself as a boy. Sure, we looked a bit different, but Suzi and I were sisters. We both knew it.

"About a week later, Dad caught us again. He took me aside and yelled at me. 'Didn't you understand before that boys don't wear dresses?' I was upset and confused. I didn't know why my Daddy was so angry at me. I said the only thing I could think of, 'Do you want me to be a boy Daddy?'

"I simply didn't understand at the time. I was five years old. My Dad spent a long time explaining things to me, and finally I realized that I was supposed to be a boy." Buffy stopped, as if unable to continue.

Suzi held her hand and started speaking, "She was in tears when she told me that we couldn't play together anymore. I still remember what she said that day, 'Daddy thinks I'm a boy, so we can't play dress up or tea party anymore.' I cried too. I was losing my best friend."

"I tried living up to Daddy's expectations after that. But I was small, and never big enough for most sports that Daddy thought I should play. I started taking Steroids when I was twelve. It was off and on. I started to develop breasts when I was fourteen. I hid them, but it was one of the happiest moments of my life. I bound my chest, and I would explain it away as bruised ribs."

Ok, a guy with breasts? Suzi saw my confusion and spoke up again, "It's a condition called gynecomastia. It's a common side effect of the steroids that he was taking."

"I kept taking them for another year, but it was getting to be too much for me. The more I became the boy that my Dad wanted, the less I wanted to live. I took forty-three sleeping pills to try to end it all."

"I found him in time, but the doctors found out about his. . .peculiarities. So did Mom and Dad. They made him go see Dr. Allen."

Gretchen and I shared a knowing look. Buffy continued, "I'd damaged my gonads through my continued steroid use. They wanted to put me on testosterone shots, but I refused. I'd already done enough damage to myself. After talking to Dr. Allen, I was prescribed estrogen instead."

"I was losing muscle mass, and was dropped from first string, but I had never been happier. Daddy still doesn't know what to make of it all, but he realizes now why I was so confused as a child with his 'man talks' as he calls them."

"Don't be modest, Buffy. You already have Dad wrapped around your little finger. He offered to get you plastic surgery this summer after all."

"I never said I was going to take it."

"Um, you know that it's not a good idea for a teen to. . ."

"Yes, I know that. Dad wanted to get it for me so I would have an easier time passing next year at school."

Ok, that explained quite a bit. So, Buffy would be coming to school next year. Gretchen leaned forward, as I leaned back into the couch. "So. . .who was it that you had a crush on."

Buffy blushed, and Suzi began to fidget. She spoke in a really quiet voice while looking at a spot on the carpet, "Robert Lewis."

I couldn't help it. I laughed. "You've. . .got a crush. . .on Bobby!"

"Be nice, Keith." Seeing Buffy's discomfort I laughed harder. I was getting a bit hysterical. I just couldn't stop. This had to be another dream. Like the quad battlefield or me naked on stage as a girl. I couldn't stop laughing.

"DESI!!!"

That did it. I looked at Gretchen shocked. Suzi and Buffy looked at me questioningly. I could think of nothing to say. She reached into my pocket and showed them my ID. My other ID.

"Keith plays Desdemona on stage."

"Then. . ."

"Yeah, Bobby is one of my best friends."

"Buffy, why don't you come with us to Jake's house. Keith and the band need to practice a bit, I'm sure, and you could meet them all out of costume, so to speak."

"Ok, just let me go get changed."

"No." I'm not sure which of the three of us said it first, but it was pretty much synchronized at the end.

"This is who you are, honey. You're going to be doing this next year anyway, so you might as well let the important people know now."

We got up to leave, and Buffy grabbed my arm. "Um, Keith, do you know if Rob. . .Bobby is dating anyone right now?"

"Bobby spends too much time on homework and his baby to date."

"His baby?"

"You'll see."

I called Jake and told him we were on our way over. Sure enough, he and Bobby had just arrived and were practicing their parts for Black Flag. We'd switch to My life with you is Hell as soon as I got there.

When we arrived, I went in first, and the girls came in a mass behind me. "You guys mind if we have a couple of groupies this time?"

Jake's eyes were sort of glued to Buffy's chest and he didn't even notice who she was. He nodded. Bobby on the other hand was staring at her face. He could almost place her, but not quite.

"I have a class with you at school, don't I?"

She blushed and nodded. He still couldn't place her. It was eating at him. I opened my mouth to speak, but Gretchen shushed me.

"Look, I know it's a little weird, but this is the real me."

Jake's and Bobby's eyes widened in surprise. "Brock?"

"It's Buffy, but yeah."

"Wow. I mean, wow." Jake's powers of conversation never cease to amaze.

"Those aren't fake, are they." Bobby said to her while looking at me.

"No, they're all me. You can touch them if you want."

"Buffy!?" Suzi said with a shocked tone in her voice.

"I'll take your word for that, at least for now," Was that a grin on his face?

"Look, I know it's sudden, and that you probably don't think of me as anything but Brock, but I. . .this really is me. I haven't been able to tell you in person, but. . ."

"You left those notes?"

She nodded. Wait, notes? What...? What's going on here?

"When they stopped I thought someone was playing a prank on me."

"I stopped because I needed to tell you the truth, but I couldn't"

"Look, Buffy? There's no way the person who wrote those to me was a guy. Period. If that was you, then I think I can accept at least dating you."

"Dude, Bobby, you had a secret admirer and didn't tell us?" Jake beat me to the punch.

"I thought you two put some girl up to playing a trick on me. There was no way I was giving you the satisfaction."

He walked over to her and kissed her on the lips. And it wasn't just a peck either. "Nope, you don't kiss like a guy either."

We stared at him while he turned and went over to the Behemoth. "So, we practicing or what?"

We played through 'My life with you is Hell' a couple of times, and then worked on trouble spots for about an hour. We played through again, and figured that it was as good as it was going to get at this point. Gretchen and I were just pulling up at her place when my phone rang.

"Keith?"

"Yes, Mom?" Great, what did she want now?

"You remember that your cousin's birthday is tomorrow?"

"No, you never told me."

"I'm sure I told you on Monday."

"Mom, last time we spoke was Friday, remember? Look, Mom, I assume it's at their house in Bountiful, right?"

"Yes, just make sure you don't bring that freak with you."

I hung up before I could respond in a way that I would regret. Before last week, Mom had treated Gretchen well. There were no issues between them, and I even assumed that she accepted her. Then, last week, she had completely blown a gasket.

"Hey, Etch? Wanna go to my cousin's birthday party? It's sort of a command performance, and I need a ride."

"Nathan?"

"Yep."

"Ok, should be fun."
***
Bountiful is about a half hour north of Salt Lake. After school we headed out. School was more of the same from yesterday at lunch, just more subdued than it had been. It seems it only took a week for the new girls on the block to be relegated to the same status as everyone else.

"Hey, guys. You remember Gretchen, right?"

"Yep. Welcome Gretchen." My cousin Nathan look a little quizzically at us.

"I needed a ride to get here, and Gretchen offered."

"Still don't have your own wheels?"

"Nah, I still spend too much on clothing and jewelry."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think. . ."

"Probably not a good idea to go there right now."

"Huh?"

"Drama you don't want to be a part of if possible."

"Okay."

My cousin and his wife had no children of their own, and he was a bit older than me. My Mom was the youngest of eight children, and Nathan was the oldest son of her oldest sibling. He was actually older than my Mom by a couple of years. Welcome to Utah, everyone.

Have you ever heard the joke that goes: You're probably in Utah if it's the mother of the bride who's pregnant?

Yep, that's my Mom's family.

"Need help setting up?"

"Sure, Send Gretchen into the kitchen with Stacey, and you and I can set up tables."

Eight kids, remember? Add spouses for most of them and the average of 4 kids, and you get a lot of people to be in one spot. Most of them were still in Utah. When we got together for something like this it took up the entire block, at least it seemed. It's been more than twenty years since the whole clan could fit inside a house. Sometimes I wonder if we shouldn't just hire a convention center when we want to get together.

We finished putting up all of the tables as the rest of my family started to arrive. I won't give you thirty plus names that you're going to forget the moment you read them.

"So, Keith, you and Gretchen?"

"There's a possibility there. We'll see."

"What's with the hardware?" Said another cousin pointing at the earrings.

"Long story. Short answer is I need it for stage."

"Still acting are you?" One of my uncles.

"In a manner of speaking. This has more to do with my band." You've got to realize, that I'm not the center of attention here. There are a lot of conversations going on at once. I'm just relating the ones that are about me.

"You still playing around with that? What are you up to now, fifty some odd rejections?" Thank you Grandpa Keith. They named me after him.

"No, only forty-seven." I say this with a smile, to let him know I don't take offense. I like my Grandpa.

I looked across the gathering and saw Gretchen the center of a group of my younger female cousins. By younger, I mean our age.

She fit in well with my family. I was having a happy moment, so of course that's when I saw my Mom arguing with a couple of my uncles and Nathan. Ok, so that's not the best thing that I could see. I rushed over to try and do damage control, only to hear the end of the conversation.

"If you can't be civil to a guest of my house, then I have to ask you to leave."

"I'm family Nathan. You can't kick me out."

"Tracy, you need to calm down. You're upsetting people."

"It's not people. It's an abomination before God."

"Get out."

I think the anger in my cousin's eyes finally got through to her. My Mom threw a look in my direction that suggested this was far from over, and then left.

"What's this all about?" I asked as casually as I could, knowing that I probably already knew the answer.

"Your Mom is spreading some story that you're gay and living in sin with Gretchen, who was born a boy."

Wow, this was going to be a fun one to disarm. Where are the real bomb techs when you need them?

"Ok, um. Part of what she's saying is true."

"You're gay?"

Why does everyone accuse me of that?

"No, Nathan. I'm not now, nor have I ever been."

"Look, I understand if you've had thoughts in that direction. Heck, we always liked your dad better than your mom."

"Nathan!" This was my Grandpa having come over to see what the commotion was.

"It's true, Grandpa."

"Yes, but it's not nice to say." There was a twinkle in his clear blue eyes.

"Ok, let's start with the short version, and go for clarification from there. Gretchen was born male, but always felt she was female, and she is going in for surgery to correct that after school gets out. I am a legally emancipated minor because Mom threw me out last week over Gretchen. Gretchen and I are not in any sort of a physical relationship, and since she will be female in the eyes of the law before we start anything, IF we start anything, I will still consider myself heterosexual. If there's a problem with either of us being here, then we can leave. And while yes, I am currently staying at her house, I have my own bedroom, with a lock on the door, and her Dad would kill me if I did anything like my Mom is suggesting."

One of my female cousins piped up at this point, "That's the short version?"

"Yeah, the long version is about fifty pages, where that was a paragraph."

I got chuckles over that.

One of my more conservative aunts came up to me, and I figured that I was about to get it now.

"Everyone is entitled to make their own choices, and their own mistakes, young man. Without evidence I won't believe, personally, that Gretchen ever was more or less than the female she seems to be. Heck, she's prettier than I am." This got general chuckles.

"You're mother is in need of serious help, I mean throwing a helpless sixteen year old into the arms of the very person she claims to be trying to save him from? Disgraceful." She had a twinkle in her eye like Grandpa's. "No, how are you set for money, Keith, since you're an adult now?"

I smiled at her. This is definitely not the response I expected. I expected something a little closer to my Mom's response actually.

"I'm good as far as money goes. I have right around five thousand in my checking account."

"Keith!" Oh crap. I never told Gretchen about how much the use rights for the song cost.

"Gretchen, I was going to tell you that the use rights for 'Bodies' cost one thousand, and discuss it with you before purchasing it, but with everything happening and so little time before the contest. . ."

"You're in for it now, Keith."

"Yeah, never make your woman mad, Man."

"Looks like you two were trying to keep your very real relationship low key, huh?" This last was my Grandpa. "Tell you what, Etch, isn't that what I hear him call you? We'll hold him for you so he can't run, and you can get it out with him. . .or beat some sense into him, whichever you prefer. I mean, a thousand dollars for a song?"

"The band bought the rights to the song. As long as we don't make any professional recordings of it, you know in a studio with someone else footing the bill, we can make, and distribute, recordings of the song as we see fit."

"Keith, we had a deal. And that was your money, not the bands."

"Etch, that's why I wanted to discuss this with you. It's an unlimited license."

"But, you lost money on it."

A light bulb went off in my head. Why didn't I think about this before? "Hold that thought, please? I need to call your uncle."

I had a thought. A really good thought.

Everyone was staring at me now. Ok, so now I AM the center of attention. Better get used to it, Keith ol' bean.

"Hey, Richard? Yeah, Keith. What limitations on distribution do we have for that license? So, we could say, I don't know, offer up the high quality version of the video on iTunes? That and provide an mp3? Do we take care of that, or do you? You're the best, thanks."

I turned back to Gretchen and she was trying not to smile. "Babe, ok, so I was hasty, and I should have discussed it with you. I should have made arrangements before hand for getting the video distributed. I didn't think and you were right. Will you forgive me?"

"Kiss him!" One of my cousins yelled, and Gretchen blushed. Yeah, we're a boisterous bunch.

"I need you to promise that you won't spend any more money on your band without discussing it with me and the band first, ok?"

"Yes, Etch. I promise."

She kissed me. There was general cheering. I had to explain the band, and why Mom threw me out over it. I think I managed to convince them that Desdemona was only a stage persona, like Ziggy Stardust. I'm not sure they bought it before Grandpa made a declaration.

"Family, for Keith to succeed in his career, people need to think he's a woman. You all know what a sweet, high, voice he has. He tells us all it's an act, and until he changes his mind we believe him. I want you all to get into family groups, and discuss this. I want a promise from every head of household that you will keep Keith's secret, and we won't discuss this with anyone, even ourselves. Desdemona is a distant relation. We don't know her if we should ever meet her. We don't do this to snub Keith, but to protect him. What say you all?"

Some of the discussions of families got heated. None came to blows. In the end every family disavowed all knowledge of Desdemona until formally introduced. In return I promised never to bring up my band at family gatherings until Desdemona had been introduced to them all, and then only while in my Desdemona persona.

Long way of saying that they would keep my secret for me. I'd seen enough of my family in action to know that I could trust all of them. Some of them would probably, secretly, buy up copies of 'Bodies' to help me out on occasion.

I made a quick call to Bobby's house.

"Lewis household, Robert Lewis speaking."

Since his dad used the phone for business, they had to be a bit formal when answering.

"Hey, Bobby. Is your Dad home? We're trying to get the video uploaded to iTunes so we can make some money."

"Yeah, Richard already called. It's taken care of, and we have the mp3 and video already up there."

And that's why agents made the big bucks. . .at a small percent of each transaction. Hopefully Desdemona started getting some hits.

"Oh, and we added a link from the info on YouTube to the files on iTunes."

Yep, I love my agent.

"Ok, well thanks."

In the half an hour, or there about, it took the family to have a council and come to an agreement, Richard had already brokered a deal with iTunes and gotten our music in uploaded. He must have had some contacts already in place.

Twenty four more hours more hours to the concert. So short a time. Gretchen and I drove home. We talked about many things and fell asleep lying next to each other.
***
School was hell. Or was it just the waiting and wanting the final bell to ring.

I was surprised to see Buffy there.

"Buffy? I thought you'd decided to wait til next year to come out, so to speak."

She blushed, but looked at Bobby who stood protectively next to her. Sure, Buffy was a big girl, but at 6'6" they don't get much bigger than Bobby. Sometimes I wonder if he didn't make his Behemoth so that he had a Bobby sized instrument for once. She was wearing heals and she was still shorter than him. Not by much, though.

"Bobby's acceptance of me made my decision easy."

"Watch where you're going, fa..oof."

Someone had walked up behind Buffy and was preparing to push her, when Bobby pushed first. Ok, so what he did couldn't be considered a push. More like a gut punch. He whispered something in the guys ear, and we watched as the blood drained from his face. Bobby kept speaking. The guy started trembling. When Bobby let him up, the guy turned to Buffy.

"I'm sorry for my mistake, Mistress Buffy. I will do my best to fix it by being your personal protector whenever Bobby can't."

"Thank you, Sir, but I think that I can do without your services. You are free to leave."

"But. . ." He looked really scared now.

"The lady asked you to leave." There was a menace in Bobby's voice that I'd never heard before. I never wanted to make him angry at me, that's for sure.

After the guy left, a sheepish Buffy turned to look my direction. "I never properly thanked you for yesterday, Keith. I'd also like to apologize. I shouldn't have acted that way. I should have been more grateful for what I did have. I almost lost any possibility at meeting Bobby properly because of my behavior."

Bobby was a bit confused and looked between us. "What happened yesterday? I know you disappeared from school. . ."

Suzi spoke up from behind Bobby, where apparently she'd been standing invisibly. "Brock made a last ditch effort to screw things up for Buffy, so Keith flushed him down the girls toilet."

Gretchen, Suzi, Buffy, and I laughed, and Bobby looked confused. "Don't worry about it, bro. It's all in the past."

I received a text message on my phone: Urgent. Call me. Richard.

Isn't auto-complete a wonderful tool. I called Richard. He told me the news. I dropped the phone. I distantly heard the bell ring to go to class, but I didn't recognize it for what it was. I kept having the same thing run through my head. One hundred thousand.

I couldn't even really understand it. How popular WAS Desdemona. How did so many people know who she was. Sure, that was just downloads, but my word. One hundred thousand people had downloaded her song alone. The video was a little more expensive, so I'm sure that it wasn't downloaded as much. Someone kissed me. One hun. . .Oh, Gretchen.

"Keith, are you alright?" Gretchen was talking to me. They were all looking at me a bit weird. I picked my phone off the ground. It still worked, luckily, and was still connected to Richard.

"How many sales of the video was that?"

A slight chuckle from Richard, "Only about fifty thousand of the video, but we make almost a buck and a half on that one. Total, before my cut, Up in Flames has made just over two hundred thousand dollars in less than twenty four hours."

"Thanks, Richard. Gotta get to class."

I hung up the phone, still a bit shocked. They all looked at me a bit expectantly. Realizing that Jake wasn't with us, I decided to keep them in the dark a bit longer. "Get Jake and find me at lunch. You're going to need time to process."

Gretchen looked at me, as if she was planning a course of attack to get it out of me, but I rushed off in the direction of my last class of the morning. "Meet me at lunch!"

I was such a stinker.

The class, Algebra, seemed to take almost no time at all to complete. Next thing I knew, we were south of the cafeteria at the top of a set of stairs. They lead to the upper bleachers on the west side of the old gym. No one came up here usually, and it was one of the places I would go to think. I'd gotten the latest numbers from Richard before coming to meet with everyone.

"So, Keith, Spill. What's wrong? What's happened?" Gretchen would kill me when she found out. . .probably.

"Well, we sold a couple of songs and some videos on iTunes last night and this morning."

"Oh, is that all." Jake said nonchalantly.

"Yeah, there was an initial rush, but it seems to have petered off a bit."

"So," Bobby said, "How many we sell? A hundred?"

I smiled.

"A thousand?"

"Five thousand?" This one was from Buffy. I smiled even bigger.

"You can't tell me we sold more than five thousand in a single day, did we?" Jake added his two cents.
"What if I told you guys that flying first class wasn't outside our price range?"

They all looked at me, the surprise evident on their faces.

"After the fees for the publishing agency and iTunes, after Richard's fee, Up in Flames has already made about two hundred fifty thousand dollars."

Jake fainted dead away. We took a couple of minutes to revive him. "Guys, I had the weirdest dream. I dreamt that we had a video on iTunes and we sold enough copies to make over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"That's no dream, Jake. That was reality."

"Up in Flames now has two hundred fifty thousand dollars?"

"A little over that, yeah."

"It's not supposed to happen this way. It's supposed to be harder than that."

"Look, it might be a fluke. People might have downloaded by mistake, thinking they were getting something else. Who knows? For right now, let's just enjoy the moment. . .and not spend any of our money until we're sure."

"Way to kill the party, Keith. But hey, it's a cool thought for a moment or two. We might, possibly, almost, be rich."

"Guys, unless we spend frugally, all it means is we don't need summer jobs. We are middle class, for about three years, if we manage our money well."

Everyone laughed at this. "What?"

"You really are an adult, aren't you, Keith." This was from Gretchen of all places. We laughed at that, and headed down to the quad to participate in the general craziness that is high school.
***
We drove Jake's van across the desert to the oasis that is Las Vegas. Four hours in any vehicle is a bit boring. While there are a few twisting canyon portions of the trip, most of the trip from home to lost wages is monotonous. Scrub and mountains. Scrub and valleys. Scrub and flat as far as the eye can see. Mainly, it is a lot of scrub brush.

We arrived at the venue shortly after six thirty.

"Name?"

"Up in Flames." We were in costume already, since there really was nowhere to change here. I'd shaved before putting on the leggings, the second time, since they were really uncomfortable with the stubble that had grown back since I'd shaved them on Tuesday.

"So, you're Desdemona, huh? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were the one being promoted here tonight. I'd say good luck, but we both know it's fixed."

Wait, he already knew who I was. . .at least by reputation? We entered the place, and I got my first clue as to why he knew who I was. We had a swag table. There was a cute blond in an Up in Flames fitted tee sitting behind the table. Her eyes got big as I approached. "It's an honor to finally meet you, Desi. My Dad's told me sooo much about you. I bought your song on iTunes, and am soo looking forward to hearing some of your own music. This is like so cool."

Ah, Gretchen's cousin.

I fingered the knockoff earrings. We had them in two sizes. Small and Life-size. "How much are these?"

"The small ones are twenty, and the big ones are a hundred."

"Is your Dad around?"

"Last I saw him, he was schmoozing with MTV."

"Thanks."

We walked around the place. We had about an hour before the doors opened at eight. I saw a lot of hopefuls, as well as the 'Belle of the Ball' otherwise known as Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools. Their real name isn't important to anyone but themselves and their agent.

Finally, we found Richard as he was giving a business card to a guy in a collared shirt. "Make sure you get some good footage of my girl, ok?"

"If she looks anything like this chick, I'll be glad to."

Richard turned around, and somehow, on the spur of the moment, we air kissed. "Hi, Richard. Spreading my fame abroad, I see?"

"Desi, this is Noah Brandt, executive producer. Noah, Desdemona of Up in Flames."

I took his hand with just the gingers of mine. "Pleased to meet you, Noah." I said with a big smile.

"You wouldn't happen to want to get a drink before the show, would you?"

"I am way too young for you and drinking, Mr. Brandt, as I'm only sixteen. And I think my girlfriend would have a problem with it as well."

Yep, I broke his brain. I could see how playing a girl could be fun. Course, that's all I wanted it to be. Playing. I wanted to be able to take off the girl and still be myself when I was done.

Noah shook himself, and smiled at me. "Well, you're right about the too young thing. There are going to be a lot of upset fanboys when they find out. If you were twenty-one, which is my lower limit by the way, I'd take you for that drink, girlfriend be damned."

"I'll have to tell her you said that. She'll enjoy it." Would she ever. I had a chuckle at myself as I walked away.

Bobby and Jake carried our instruments for us. Too many horror stories of lost, stolen, and ruined instruments at events like this for any of us to relax. At quarter to eight, they ushered us into the small greenroom, made smaller by the number of people in there.

"Ok, ladies and gentlemen. The order is going to be. . ." ten faceless, possibly talentless, hopeful groups followed by, "Up in Flames, and finally Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools." See, everyone is getting into the spirit of things. Or that's just the power of the narrator to edit anything as they see fit.

We waited through the horrendous wailing, badly tuned instruments, and occasional brilliance of the other ten bands to play. The tenth got done, and there was some applause, possibly because they finally stopped playing.

I'd gotten my 12 String out of the case while they were 'playing' and made sure my tuning was correct. Then we made sure that the Base and 12 String were in tune with each other. We were the only ones other than Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools, who were left in the green room, since apparently they had us go elsewhere after we performed. Didn't matter to me.

We went out to the stage, and Jake and I plugged in. There was a slight double pop from the speakers when we did it. Almost in synch. Bobby sat down at his drum. I walked to the front of the stage and waited.

The lights went out in the bar, leaving a single white spotlight on my face. I looked down at the mic, not in fear of the audience, but preparing myself for the emotion of the song. I dropped my right hand to my side, holding first one finger up, then two and finally three.

I brought my hand quickly to the strings and started the screaming fall from near the bottom of the neck all the way till I was running an open E double. Jake and I wove the bass line back and forth for a moment or two, as if fighting for the spotlight. I screamed my guitar, and he snarled his bass, but then he took up the incessant bass line. It was a low rumble like a thunderstorm over the horizon.

I started in on the mid range melody, and began to sing, my voice forming a sort of descant above the pounding surf of the music:

Outside of my mind lives the darkness
it takes me from myself and consumes me completely
Inside of my mind all reside in loneliness
and I live within myself pushing, running, turning you away

I ran a short bridge and a key change into a more Major key from the Minor key harmonies of the main verse and launched into the chorus with a screaming tenor line almost drowning out the bass and drums. I lived the words for the moment, giving my soul into them:

I feel all that you cut me
and I know that you don't own me
but you will not live without me
and it isn't that you want me
but I sing this all about the hell that is my life with you.

I dropped back down a bit to the original melody as I sang the second verse:

I don't know if what I feel is what you want
and I know that you're here to make all of it stop
I lose myself within the voice, of your sick taunt
And I sit and say that all I want is for you to go away.

I ran a second key change, this time dropping into a different minor key, plucking out the sepulchral tones that the chorus could produce. We slowed from the pounding rhythm we had used from the start, and I sang each word as if it gave me physical pain to let it go into the world.:

I feel all that you cut me
and I know that you don't own me
but you will not live without me
and it isn't that you want me
but I sing this all about the hell that is my life with you.

Almost before I finish the end of the chorus, the drums start beating a steady rhythm. A heartbeat. Filling the words I have to sing next with life. The original melody picks up again in its original key The music ran the same length, but each line stopped early, letting the music run alone:

You killed me went I went away
My feeling for you flew away
My life with you is gone away

The last line of this verse was spoken instead of sung. I started quietly and low, slowly speeding up and getting louder The music ended before I did, so my band went silent leaving me to finish alone:

I damn you to the hell you live and know that all my life I live and you will not rule my love of life so get yourself away!

Everything fell silent for a breathless moment, even the audience seemed to wait in anticipation. We dragged the silence on for a couple more seconds, then Bobby struck the rim of his tom three times to give us the tempo, and then we picked up on the third strike with the words and music for the first chorus:

I feel all that you cut me
and I know that you don't own me
but you will not live without me
and it isn't that you want me
but I sing this all about the hell that is my life with you.

The other two dropped off leaving me for a solo on my 12 string. I played as if the rest of the song had just been a setup for this one moment. I varied all of the versions of the melody and chorus, playing my soul into the music. I shifted into the second to last line of the chorus to single bringing my solo to a close and at the right moment, the other two came in for the final line of our song:

I sing and play the hell of you away!

It no longer mattered to me if we won this contest. We had played better than we ever had in the past, and winning now almost felt like it would be anti-climax to emotion we had brought to the song. The crowd erupted into noise, but it was so loud I couldn't tell if it was positive or negative. We left the stage as we had entered it: silently with our heads held high.

There was no one to direct us as we left the stage, so we went back into the green room as Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools, left. I don't get tired of saying that.

Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools.

They weren't a bad band, and if we hadn't been there, there's no doubt that they'd have won a fair contest.

But, it wasn't a fair contest, and we were there.

There were boos when they were awarded the first prize.

I heard something from the crowd that slowly got louder. Chants of Up in Flames interspersed with Desdemona. They got together finally and it became a crashing call for us. We walked back out on stage and plugged in.

"Everyone having a good time?"

I saw cameras being hurriedly turned back on, and Richard stopping one of the suits from getting back on the stage.

"YEAH!" was the general consensus, with a smattering of "Hell(s) Yeah) and a late "I love you Desdemona! Have my babies"

There was some laughter at that.

"Silently, we released a song this week. We recorded it. We uploaded it. A lot of you downloaded it. This is a thank you for that."

I turned to Jake and Bobby and quietly spoke. "'Bodies'. Follow my lead."

Let the bodies hit the floor
Let the bodies hit the floor
Let the bodies hit the floor
Let the bodies hit the flooooooooooooor!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
***
If anything they were louder this time. They even sang along, but that's what happens when you sing something a lot of people know. Maybe they will get that way with 'My life with you is Hell', and 'Black Flag' eventually.

"Good night, Las Vegas. You'll be with me in my dreams tonight."

We got home about five am.
***
The phone ringing woke me up at a little after nine o'clock

"Hello?"

"Keith? Richard. We have a problem, but I've taken care of it. Apparently when our production company uploaded your song, they listed it as Drowning Pool and not Up in Flames. Since the folks at Apple don't know which of the people wanted to buy the song, and which were simply trying to download the other, they've refunded everyone who downloaded your song. Good news is they caught it, and corrected the artist, before the contest last night. The worse news is they've assessed us a penalty because it happened."

Oh crap, "How much?"

"Ten cents per download. So it's only thirty thousand dollars."

"We don't have thirty thousand dollars."

"It was only the song that was screwed up. The video is up to seventy five thousand downloads. That means we have seventy eight thousand after paying off all of the fines."

"Thanks Richard."

I'd only gotten about four hours sleep at this point, but figured I might as well stay up now. I'd have a hell of a time getting back to sleep.

I went downstairs. Gretchen was already up, and reading the entertainment section of an online newspaper. She tried to browse away, but I stopped her. It was a critique of the contest last night.

"Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools, proved what it means to be a Goth band in today's world of pop princesses and teen idols. They provide a main stream sound, while at the same time giving the crowd what they're looking for. The five piece ensemble includes two Base guitars, the drummer, a backup singer on six string guitar, and the lead singer.

"They did a cover of Evanescence's 'Bring me to Life' giving it a new twist with a male lead singer.

"Their costumes were more of the same, with cubic yards of white cake on their faces, and enough black cloth to make a tents for an entire boy scout troop, should they opt for that color instead of their more normal olive green.

"On the other hand, 'Up in Flames' should have stuck with what was probably their first band name 'Down in Flames' and then never humiliated themselves here in the first place. From the strange harmonies of a 12-string guitar as lead, to the whiny sound of lead singer Desdemona's voice, this band could only be worse if stories about the drummers Leviathan instrument are true, and he chose to bring it.

"The words to the song were derivative and trite, and brought nothing new to the Goth genre.

"The only thing about this band that is truly memorable were the costumes that they wore, and I'm sure that many in the audience, like myself, wanted Desdemona's phone number. She makes a truly striking figure in her black corset to with burgundy flashes, black toule skirt, burgundy leggings and white and burgundy harlequin makeup. She could have worn something in a stiletto heel to complete the ensemble, but the pink combat boot, matching her pink hair, completed it well enough."

Of course he would try to destroy us in print. Only natural when we really won the contest, right?
***
Sometimes I really question Jake's sexuality. He watched the Tween awards. He had tickets to the Josh Holliday concert. I mean seriously. He had four tickets to the concert. Of course they were for Jake, Bobby, Gretchen, and Myself, right? Nope. Jake decided to give his ticket to Buffy. I figured that I needed to take some of the attention from Buffy, so I went in my 'Bodies' costume, minus the body covering white cake. It had taken me about two hours to clean it off Tuesday night.

I was glad for the warmer summer weather when we got out there. I heard a few mentions of my name, but this wasn't really my audience.

I didn't even know who my target audience was. Who was I really? We got out in the grass where our tickets put us, and Bobby lay down the blanket we would be sitting on. We waited as the crowd filled in, and finally the band came on stage. Then, before I knew it, there she was.

I tried to think of her as competition, but the moment she started to sing the opening bars of 'Rock Star' I knew I was outclassed. I was glad that I was in a completely different market, whatever it was, than she was.

"Good evening, Salt Lake City!"

From 'Rock Star' to 'Pop princess'. A burning rendition of 'Open your Eyes'.

I was lost. I had barely performed two songs last night. I thought I'd killed it. I was a hack. My one moment of fame, and here I was being shown up by this. . .

. . .perfect talent.

Gretchen and Buffy got up to dance for 'I Just Wanna Have Fun'. Luckily I could smile a bit at them and play the Goth princess, aloof and cold, on the blanket. I needed to think.

There had to be something I could do, right? Someway to compete? Did I need to compete at all?

Did I just find my niche and stay there? Her style was all over the place. Almost as hard to pin down as my own. Did I want to try to compete with her? Change my look?

Did I need to?

What I did was unique. I played to my strengths without giving an inch to other peoples preconceived notions of what I should be. Being Desdemona on stage was a part of that.

The song drew to a close, and like the other times, Sarah came to the microphone to speak.

"This next song is very special to me," she paused for a moment after saying this. "I wrote this song with my best friend. I've known her since I was two years old, and we've done everything together."

Her eyes glistened a bit with unshed tears

"This is the first concert I've ever performed. I wish with all of my heart that she could have been here tonight. But even if she isn't here in body, I know she's here in spirit. I'd like to dedicate this next song to her. 'Ever After', Chloe. Always."

Songwriter? Songwriter! That was supposed to be MY thing. The place I could shine on my own.

She began to sing, and I knew I had lost before I began. Where my work always felt derivative and trite to me, hers was simply perfect. I looked at Bobby and Gretchen and Buffy all enjoying themselves, and I simply couldn't stand another minute of it. How could they do this to me?

Then I sat back and enjoyed it. It really was a good song. There was just something so powerful about the emotion of it.

She of course finished the concert with 'Intuition'. It sounded better than the recording did. It was then I realized she actually sounded better live than on CD. Well, all I could hope was I sounded the same since I didn't use Perfect Pitch or any of the other similar software titles out there.
***
The rest of the concert wasn't bad. I knew what to expect from Josh Holliday. I got some cuddle time with Gretchen, and Bobby and Buffy got some of the same.

We walked back to the car, still experiencing the glow from the concert. My phone rang.

"Hey, Keith, can you guys come on over to my place after the concert?" It was Jake.

"Sure man, but you missed a once in a lifetime opportunity, man."

"It was just a Josh Holliday concert."

"Sarah Carerra opened for him."

"You're kidding."

"Nope, you missed a first."

"Crap. . .well, I didn't miss the other first."

"And what was that?"

"The first national broadcast of Up in Flames. Don't worry, I recorded it."

"Ok, see you in about three hours. Traffic looks like it's going to be bad."

"Ok, see you."

Gretchen obviously wanted to know what was up. "MTV has already played the contest. Jake recorded it."

We climbed into Gretchen's baby and drove home. I tried my best to ignore the two people in the back seat. "Can you keep the petting to a minimum please?"

"We were," said an indignant Bobby, while a very embarrassed Buffy adjusted her blouse. They toned it down after that. Shortly afterward Bobby leaned against the side and fell asleep. Buffy cuddled up against the snoring giant.

We got to Jakes, and he queued up our coming on stage the first time.

"Do we really come off as that aloof?"

"Wait a minute."

And then we began to play. It was transcendent. It was amazing.

"Wow, Keith, you're good," Buffy said looking at the screen in awe, "and this is a recording."

"I've seen you before, but never like this, Keith. You might even be better than Sarah Carerra."

"No way, guys. This is a fluke."

"Keith, have you actually taken a look at our video?"

I looked at Jake. "Yeah, I've seen it."

"No, I mean looked at it. When you put your heart into the music, it changes. It becomes yours for a moment, no matter who wrote it."

"What are you talking about?"

"Just watch." He'd paused it while we were talking, and started it again. I watched as the person on stage felt every word of the song. There's no way it was me, and yet I remembered every moment of that experience.

I remembered the heat of the spot, and the feel of the strings and frets.

I remembered the hush of the crowd before we began to play, its expectant weight.

I just didn't remember it like this. She was bare on that stage, and no amount of clothing would cover her up. She made love to every member of that audience, and with us as well as we watched again.

I remembered my dream. I'd been naked on stage. This was the same as the dream, only this time no one laughed. I bared the entirety of my soul, and people loved me for it.

My phone rang.

"We have the receipts from the contest, Keith."

"Richard?"

"Who else? Anyway, we sold out completely. After costs, that nets us another thirty-three hundred dollars. "

Well, something had to go right eventually.

"Thanks Richard."

His call reminded me of what the earlier call had been about.

I told the guys. They were understandably disappointed, but the news about selling about ten thousand dollars in swag at a small contest was nothing to sneeze at, and the profits were more than ten times our entrance fee.
***
I sulked on Sunday. I did go to church with Gretchen again. We went swimming afterwards without the drama of last week

Monday and Tuesday we had finals. We turned in books at the beginning of each class, probably since the teachers wanted to be done as quickly as we did. That meant that we had Yearbooks on Wednesday. Thursday was officially our first day of summer.

But, we're still on the horror that met me when I got to school on Monday.

Someone had printed out a poster of a screen shot of Desdemona from the contest. It was done on individual sheets of paper, and then pieced together on the wall like a giant jigsaw puzzle.

It had then been laminated, somehow. The end result was a plastic covered poster of me ten feet tall and thirteen feet wide.

People were worshiping at the feet of it, or more specifically looking at it a bit in awe.

"What's up?" I asked one of the kids I knew from Jazz band.

"Didn't you hear? Desdemona entered a contest, and then when it was stolen from her, she gave an impromptu concert. The video has received over seven hundred thousand hits."

"What video?"

"The one on YouTube. Actually it's videos, not just video. There are a bunch. The raw footage MTV shot is the best quality though."

"Take this down this instant."

It was Mr. Forrest. The poster was blocking the door to his classroom.

The ups and downs of the music industry have already struck us hard. We were flush for a moment, and then lost most of it. Where would tomorrow take us. I aced my tests of course, so that's not interesting, but there is still a wild summer ahead of me and the rest of the crew. My circle of friends is sure growing. Gretchen and I grow closer. Of course, Gretchen has her surgery to look forward to. And we will be putting out feelers to studios to try to "break in" to the biz.

Sarah Carerra and images from her concert are  © Megan Campbell. All rights reserved.

Scenes from the past and present with impact on the future, a wedding dress is worn, and Keith get's his old job back, in a manner of speaking.

My Mom threw me out for being Desdemona, a Goth rocker. I am a legally emancipated 16 year old, and living at my girlfriends house. The rest of my Mom's family supports me. We uploaded a song and video to iTunes, but due to a mix-up we ended owing more money than we made. Luckily a video uploaded to the same place saved us from having to pay over thirty thousand dollars out of pocket.

Summer time! Ok, so in my rush to finish last time, I neglected to mention that my nemesis now has a #1 hit single. Ok, so she's not really my nemesis, especially since she has no idea that I exist, but I always wondered what it would be like to have one. A nemesis that is.

I finished up with school and figured that it would be a great time to get back to my job at the Hot Topic. They'd said that i always had a job there when I wanted it, so I'd planned to head up on Thursday morning to make sure that the offer still held. When you're a rock star, plans change.

My phone rang just as I was about to head out the door.

"Desi? How soon can you meet me in Salt Lake?"

"Um, a couple of hours, why?"

"Well, specifically I need you to meet me at the airport."

Ok, what's going on?

"We need Jake and Bobby as well?"

"Not necessary, but definitely useful. A label contacted me this morning about you."

"Um."

"Ok, it was about the band, but you specifically. They want to see you yesterday, but will settle for this afternoon."

"And we're meeting at the airport, because. . .?"

"Their office is in Nashville."

"They realize I'm not even a little bit country?"

A chuckle over the phone and then Richard continued, "Yes, they know that. They want to see you."

"Ok, well, since I need to get ready I don't have enough time, so could you give the boys a call? Thanks."

Crap, a long plane flight, humid environment, looks like I get to take a purse with me. Oh goody. . .but how else do I take all my makeup with me without looking out of place. I was definitely going to need a touchup or two before this was over.

Gretchen was at her therapists again, so I raided her makeup table and then closet. Have I mentioned before that being the same size as my girlfriend creeps me out a bit? After picking an outfit, it was back to the bathroom to shave again, face for once, and other places. I got dressed in a simple black dress, took a moment to adjust the false breasts, touched up my makeup and ran out the door. And then ran back in, as I was missing two items: The pink wig and the boots.

Then I thought to go into Tom's study.

"Tom, I have a flight to Nashville I have to be on. Do you still want me to just drive your car, or could I get a ride to the airport?"

"I'll drive you. I take it you're ready to go now?"

"Yep."

We went out and got into his Aston, this time I had the passenger seat.

"This brings back memories. Last time I saw that wig it was on my daughter. Of course then I simply thought it was a phase."

"Well, I'm not like your daughter, you know that, right?"

"I know. It's just a little nostalgia on my part. You don't act the way that Gretchen did, even back then. I'm not saying you're a Neanderthal, or a burly football player or something. You're just masculine. I don't know how to describe it better than that."

"I know a big burly Football player, and she's a lot less masculine than I am."

"She? How did that happen?"

"Apparently she's had problems since she was a little girl, only her father saw her as she physically was, a boy. He pushed her into sports and such."

"How did you meet her?"

"One of those random series of events that seem to plague my life right now."

Tom chuckled a bit at that. "Why are you off to Nashville?"

"Apparently a label out there wants to do a demo tape with Up in Flames."

"I hope that works out for you, Keith. I want you to be able to support my little girl when you guys get married."

Ok, so I deserved that. I'd been the first one to suggest it to him after all.

"Yeah, I care enough for your daughter to wear a dress."

We both laughed at this. I really liked Tom. I think he would have fit well into my family. Family, oh crap.

"Hey Tom? I made a promise before we found out your wife died, and I just haven't thought about it until now."

My nervousness got his attention, "don't worry about it, Keith. It's not like you killed her or anything."

"Jordan wants you to take her on a date, and wanted me to pass on the information. It was more of a joke and such before, since you weren't divorced or anything. . ."

"Actually, Keith, I'll let you in on a little secret. My divorce was finalized about two years ago. Jordan and I have been dating pretty much steadily since then."

Ok, sometimes learning that the entire world doesn't revolve around you is a bit of a shock. I mean, people having entire lives outside of your sight or understanding? Crazy talk.

"Is it serious?"

"Yes, it is. A lot of the joking she was doing was for Gretchen's benefit to sound her out. I've asked her to marry me, and I just don't know how to bring it up to Gretchen. She didn't even know her Mom and I got divorced."

"If it's not too personal, could you tell me why?"

"Her Mom wanted to prevent Gretchen from becoming the woman she's always been. When I got a court order preventing her from doing anything about it she stopped taking her medication and had a psychotic break."

"When was she diagnosed?"

"With Schizophrenia? She started having hallucinations when she was pregnant with Gretchen. She was convinced that a parasite was inside her and she even tried to cut her out. I called an ambulance and they were rushed to the hospital. They had to deliver her immediately, since the cut had entered the uterus and pierced the amniotic sac. Gretchen was just barely able to breathe on her own. Her mom was hospitalized for two years that time."

He was a little choked up thinking about the past. He looked intently at me. "Did I ever tell you how grateful I was that you befriended Gretchen so quickly after we moved here?"

"Why would you be grateful?"

"Did Gretchen ever tell you why we moved here?"

"She mentioned something about making a fresh start, and I always assumed, when she told me, that it had to do with her condition."

"That's only partially true. I know she always meant to tell you the whole truth, but I think she was always a bit embarrassed about her past."

"But why?"

"Because she wasn't always the person you know now."

"I can handle the fact that people thought she was a boy."

"No, that's not what I meant. I'll just tell you about it."
***
Thane looked into his closet. He had a division in it. On the left were the few male clothes that he had to hang up: a couple of button shirts for church, a couple of pants for the same. On the right were his dresses and skirts and button blouses. He would have loved to go shopping with his mom, since that's what mothers and daughters were supposed to do.

Thane didn't think of himself as male. When he thought about it at all, he saw himself as female. He hadn't told anyone but his Daddy about it, and he wasn't sure his Daddy really understood. He had some makeup that he'd spent a long time gathering. Not the over-the-top Goth makeup he had all over the place on his makeup table. These were more muted colors, fit to his coloration. The Goth thing had let him hide in a crowd, yet be himself. He was finally ready to show his family who he really was.

They'd sent him upstairs to get changed so that the three of them could go out to dinner and a movie. They'd been planning this for months for his birthday. He was turning fifteen today.

He decided that fifteen was enough years for his boy self to have lived. He'd been planning this almost as long as the three of them planned the party. His parents had asked him a number of times if he wouldn't prefer to have some of his friends join him for the festivities.

The Goth crowd weren't really his friends. They were all alone in a group of people. His only real friends were his cousins. The four of them went to the same school. He wasn't ready to show his cousins who he felt he was yet. They still thought that the Goth thing was a bit weird.

"Thane, you coming down?"

"I'll be there in a minute, Dad." He only called his dad 'Daddy' in the safety of his own thoughts. He grabbed a white blouse and a blue skirt. He'd shaved his legs earlier in the day in preparation, and made sure to wear pants, even thought the summer was warm for LA.

He put on a pair of blue flats he'd gotten to match the skirt and sat down at the makeup table. He'd been letting his hair grow out, and it barely fit into the high pony tail. He didn't dare do anything with his eyebrows in the limited time that he had, so he put on his makeup with a practiced hand, slapped on some lip gloss, and went downstairs.

"Mom, Dad?"

"So, is Desdemona coming with us tonight," her dad asked with a little smile.

"No, this is just me. This is the real me. Oh, I don't know how to say it. I don't feel like a boy."

"Thane Ethan Anderson, you march back upstairs this minute and put on some real clothing. I did not raise my boy to be a cross-dressing faggot."

"Amy, language!"

"Well, it's true, isn't it, Tom? Our boy isn't going to go around kissing other boys dressed like a trollop."

"First off, I think what she said is she thinks she's our daughter. Second, she looks very presentable, and could go to church dressed like that."

When her Daddy said this last part, she got a big smile on her face. The thought of showing the world who she really was made her heart flutter. She needed to do this.

"Church? What would our friends say?"

"That we have a beautiful daughter."

"They know we have a son."

"Well, they'll get used to it. So, my dear," Tom said turning to her, "did you know that we planned on calling you Gretchen Marie if you'd been born looking like a girl? Think you could live with that name?"

Gretchen made a bit of a face at the name, but Tom only laughed. "What, you thought you'd get to pick your own name? That's a parents prerogative. So, girls, are we ready to go out?"

"I refuse to be seen in public with my son in a dress."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Amy. Guess it's just you and me tonight, Gretchen. Our first father/daughter date."

Tom looked sadly at the retreating back of his wife for a moment, but then turned a beaming smile to his new daughter.
***
"You certainly seemed very understanding of Gretchen."

"It's the storyteller's prerogative to make themselves seem better than they actually are."

"You are certainly using that word a lot today."

He looked at me strangely for a moment, and then continued, "I didn't even know what it meant to be transgendered at that point. I still mostly thought this was a sort of phase. I wanted to be supportive, though, so I was willing to let it slide.

"Gretchen had a fairly normal summer, except she was dressed as a girl for all of it. We had her talk to a number of psychologists before we found one who even understood what was going on. When we finally figured it out, Gretchen's mom flipped. She started legal proceedings to prevent me from having any choice in our daughter's life.

Nothing had been resolved before she went back to school. I'd already informed the school of her decision to go back as a girl, and the principal had agreed to allow it. Of course, he had no real choice."
***
She took a couple of deep breaths to steady her nerves. The butterflies in her stomach seemed to be multiplying at an alarming rate. She'd worn a pair of hip hugger jeans and a tee-shirt in a feminine color and style. She wanted to fit in and disappear more than stand out. She'd been very careful with her makeup and hair this morning. Everything was as perfect as she could make it.

"Here, let me get that for you. New girl?"

She looked at the boy who'd stepped around her to open the door and nearly died right there. It was Larry Garcia. She'd had a crush on him for about a year.

"Not exactly new. Not exactly old."

"Ah, cryptic are we. Let's see. . .hm. Old person with a new look?"

She mutely nodded.

"Ah, so someone who blossomed over the summer. You didn't have pimples and greasy hair last year did you?"

She shook her head.

"Braces? Glasses? New hair color?"

Three successive shakes.

"This is a hard one. I really can't place you."

"We had lots of classes together. English, Geometry, History, and Gy. . ."

She shut up, but he puzzled what she'd been about to say through.

"We were in Gym together? But that would mean you were a boy, and there's no way you would look this good. . .wait, Thane!?"

She was on the verge of tears. She'd been found out before she even entered the school. How was she going to last the day.

"Wow. You look good. Wait, don't cry." He put his arm around her shoulders. "Look, I'm sure you didn't know this, but I'm the head of the LGTB club on campus. I only say that because you never came to any of our meetings."

"There's an LGTB club?"

Larry laughed. "Yeah. There were only four students in it, and I think the only reason that Sarah and Julie came was to make out in a safe environment."

"Sarah Genaro, the head cheerleader?"

"Yep, her and Julie Harkham. So, I assume that you are transgendered?"

"Yeah." She said in a quiet voice.

"Well, what's your new name, since I can't keep calling you Thane."

"Gretchen."

"So, if you don't want to answer, that's fine, but are you a lesbian or are you straight. Look, never mind. None of my business. I should be more tolerant of others."

She boggled at him a moment, but then blushed and looked at the ground when it dawned on her what he was asking.

"I'm straight."

"That's excellent! Would you mind going on a date with me on Friday?"

She looked at him in surprise. "But. . ."

"Oh, no, I started the club to show solidarity with my Dads. I still have trouble understanding it all, but I'm trying and that's what counts."

He reached out his hand toward her, "Shall we?"

She grabbed his hand and they entered the school.
***
She was sitting in her afternoon English class when she felt someone touching her hair. She spun around, but the person behind her was trying to look innocent. She turned back forward and he yanked on her hair.

"Ow!"

"Well, at least that's real."

There was general laughter from the class. She slapped him. "How dare you!."

"That's enough from you, Mr. Anderson."

"But, he. . ."

"I don't care. I consider your dress and appearance enough cause for anyone."

She got up and ran from the classroom in tears.
***
"How could a teacher even consider doing something like that?"

"He didn't for long. I made a call that afternoon to the school board, informing them that this behavior was unacceptable. They saw my side of things and they moved the teacher to a menial job in the district office."

"Why didn't they just fire him?"

"You can't fire a teacher with tenure, well, without a criminal act."
***
She was walking down the hall when she was pushed violently from behind. She picked herself up off the ground, straightened her skirt and tried to brush herself off. She heard the sound of fist on flesh and turned around. Larry had decked one of the football players.

"Hey, jerk, you don't hit girls."

"That's no girl."

Larry punched him in the gut. "Don't insult the lady."

"Screw you, fag!"

Larry laughed at him, "See, you can actually attack someone of your gender."

The football player threw a punch at him, but Larry sidestepped and tripped him. One of the other football players decided to step in, and was going to punch Larry from behind.

"Behind you!"

Larry stepped to the side and kicked out to the side. He caught the second guy in the gut as well. The coach walked up. "Break this up, Boys!"

"Larry started it."

"That's not true, Coach Nelson. Joe pushed Gretchen, and so Larry decked Joe. Then Mike attacked Larry from behind."

The coach looked at the other student, and then all the people involved.

"Joe, Mike, Larry. You get to go with me to the principal's office. You know there's no fighting in school, even if it is after school hours. Joe, by the way. You're off the football and wrestling teams, and I expect a transfer form in my office tomorrow morning because you're no longer welcome in weightlifting. You don't attack girls, period."

The coach looked at Gretchen with a slight smile on his face, "Don't you have a club to get to?"
***
"Wait, didn't she wear pants that first day?"

"Yes, but this event didn't even happen that same month. I'm giving you an overview."

"Ok, a little warning would have been good."

"Sorry. I expected you to ask me about the coach."

"Why would I have done that. It didn't seem noteworthy."

"Well, I guess it just did to me. I'd cleared his brother's name of a murder rap, and so when he found out about Gretchen he told me he'd keep an eye out."

Keith looked out the window for a bit, watching the buildings on the side of the road go by.

"She had it hard?"

"It was a mix. Her Mom stopped talking to her after the first month or so."

"What happened after the court told her that she couldn't stop Gretchen?"
***
All of the lights in the house were off, and the blinds were drawn.

"Thane, is that you, Baby?"

Gretchen moved quietly into their living room. Her mother was at the front blinds looking through a crack.

"They want to take you away from me, Thane, but I won't let them. They want to turn you into a girl, isn't that funny? Like you could ever be the changeling. I cut the germ out before you were born. I saved you, Thane."

Amy walked over to her and pulled her to the ground next to the wall. "I couldn't find all the cameras, so I turned off the power to the house. They might have some night vision cameras on battery. Didn't think of that. What do I do about night vision cameras, Thane? You'll help your Mommy, right, Baby? You'll tell me where they put the cameras?"

"There aren't any cameras."

"No, no no no no! That's what they want you to tell me. Tell me the truth, sweetheart. Mommy won't be mad."

Her mother was still holding onto her wrist, and gripping it tighter and tighter.

"You're hurting me, Mommy."

"There there, sweetie, don't worry. Mommy's going to make it all better as soon as you tell me where the cameras are."

Gretchen tried to get free and struggled a bit. Amy stopped. "What's that smell. Is that perfume? Have you been with a girl, my little man? Are you growing up already? Do you have a hickey? Let's get a look at you."

Amy pulled apart the curtains a bit and a beam of light fell on Gretchen. "Wait, you're not my Thane. You lied to me. The changeling tricked me all those years ago. You let me think you were dead, and you killed my son. You've taken my son away from me. Well, I know how to kill a changeling."

When Amy took the knife in both hands to strike, Gretchen pulled away, tripping, and got to the door. She ran into the arms of her Daddy, who'd just come through the door.

"Hey, baby. Is there something wrong with the power?"

"Mom's trying to kill me."

"You foul creature. Get away from my husband. You can't have him, Harlot. He's mine."

She lunged at them, but Tom reacted fast enough to get them out into the garage. He got her into the passenger seat, and then got behind the wheel. Amy finally managed to open the door and rushed into the garage before he could get it in gear. She used the knife to break the window and grabbed onto Gretchen's shirt. The force of the car taking off tore it from her grasp. "Call the police, Gretchen." He tossed her his phone.
***
"That's why you moved here?"

"Almost. One more part to tell."
***
The graffiti on her locker was even worse today. Most of it was unintelligible, but fag and queer were there amongst the others. Her cousins were behind the resurgence in hate.

"So, now you have Daddy all to yourself like you wanted. Has he made you a woman yet?"

"You know it isn't a real woman, Carly. It has to take it up the ass."

"Maybe if we cut its balls off it would feel better about itself, Lisa"
***
"Wait, those are Gretchen's cousins."

Tom just nodded sadly and continued with his story.
***
"Carly, Lisa, need some help here?" Joe had conveniently walked up at that moment.

"This thing wants to be a woman, can you help it?"

Gretchen was in shock and could only stare at her cousins like this had to be a dream. She didn't know what to do, and couldn't act at all.

"I have just the tool here." Joe pulled out a four inch knife with a hooked tip. "It's used for gutting fish, but I think we could use it here. Should be about the same thing."

Time seemed to slow down as he walked toward her. Larry came out of nowhere. Big, strong Larry. She smiled before she realized he was charging at Joe. Joe put up his hand to block Larry. They tumbled to the ground and struggled for a moment before Larry went still. Joe pushed him off and then realized he was covered in blood. "Larry? This isn't funny, dude. Get up man."

Gretchen began to scream. She couldn't stop. She collapsed to the ground and screamed and cried until she had no voice left to scream and no tears left to cry. She wouldn't allow anyone to touch her until her father came to get her. He carried her out to the car and took her home. He removed her from school the next day.

They moved the next week. There was a month left of school.
***
"What happened to Joe?"

"Because of his taunting and being suspended for fighting with Larry in the past, Joe was tried as an adult for murder in the second degree. His father actually thought he could pay me enough money to represent his son. He ended up getting a part time ambulance chaser, since none of my colleagues would take the case either. He doesn't get up for parole the first time for another year. Gretchen and I plan on being there to put a face on the victim."

"I'm sorry."

"You've done nothing wrong, Keith. Or should I call you Desi when you look like this?"

I looked at him a bit surprised.

"Yeah, Rick let me know the nickname he gave you."

We were just pulling into the airport at this point. "So, let me know if, and when, you need a ride home."

"Thanks for the ride, Tom. Just for the record? I think you should marry Jordan, and the sooner the better. Two years is long enough."

Tom chuckled as he drove off. I walked into the airport, and realized I only had a general idea of where to go from here. "Desi, over here!"

Jake and Bobby stood with Richard.

"Glad to see you could make it." Richard looked pleased.

"Yeah, finally. Took you long enough, Desi"

"I had to break my third date with Buffy, so I hope this is worth it."

We made our way up the escalator and through security. We were at the end of the concourse, so we hurried to do our final check in. And then we waited.

We were flying business class, so it seemed like everyone else got to load before us. Finally we were on the plane and on our way. Have I mentioned that I've never flown before?

Well, that was my first time. It was cool. I loved every minute of it. . .right up till we went above the cloud cover and hit our cruising altitude. Nothing to see, and a steady cabin make for a boring flight. Especially when the movie is "Hot Tub Time Machine". I listened to the Jazz station and tried to go to sleep.

I was half asleep as I passed through the airport. The label had hired a car service for us, and we got our first limo ride out of it.

"Hey, a mini bar!" Jake said.

"Leave it alone, Jake."

"Come on, Desi. We're rock stars. We need to live a little."

"No, Jake. Desi is right. I need all three of you clear headed for this, and besides, I'd be criminally culpable if any of you got drunk in my presence." He said this with a smile, but I didn't think that this was the main reason he didn't want Jake to drink. I'm thinking it was because he was one of his niece's friends.

The rest of the drive was uneventful.
***
We got out of the limo in front of a nondescript building on the waterfront. We walked inside. There was a receptionist behind the desk who was kind of pretty in a vague sort of way.

"May I help you?"

"Up in Flames," Richard said, "Where here to meet with a Mr. Kondie?"

"Let me check." While that's what she said, mostly she seemed to be chewing her gum like a cow in the field. Eventually she looked back in our direction.

"Yep, I have you here. If you'll just take a seat someone will be down to collect you."

We waited for about half an hour. It was really starting to feel like someone was trying to impress upon us his own self importance. Spotlight Studios had taken us right in, and we hadn't even released a song at that point. I started to get lost in thought, a thought specifically. Paper. I needed paper. "I need paper now."

I could feel the words coming to me. I had to get them down before it drove me insane. I felt a piece of paper thrust into my hands. I wrote myself our before they came down to get us. I had no title for it yet, because it felt incomplete, as if there was more of this story to come.

We were escorted up to the studio. "Hello, people. Nice to meet you." Every word he said rang false to me. "I'm Greg Kondie, and I'm the owner of Riverside Records. So, let's get down to business. Got something new for me? I've heard your cover of 'Bodies' and that song you did for Gothplosion, what was it?"

"'My life with you is Hell'?"

Mr. Kondie choked on that, "Is that the name? Quite a mouthful. Anyway, I've heard that one already, why don't you treat me to something new."

We moved into the sound booth, and I realized they didn't have a 12 string. I walked over to the microphone. "Mr. Kondie? I'm going to need a 12 string to play this song."

"Can you do without it? We have a tight schedule to keep."

Ok, he pissed me off. I picked up the six, since I'd learned the tabs for that before converting it to a 12 string arrangement. You don't piss on me. I turned to Bobby and Jake. "U + UR hand."

I knew that they'd expected to do Black Flag, but their smirks told me that they'd had enough of this prick as well.

The bounce of the beat took me over and I was dancing all over that room. It was really fun taunting the fat man on the other side of the glass. He was getting a bit hot under the collar, and so I milked it for all it was worth. There was no way that I would sign a contract with this guy, but I'd definitely get a demo out of this. I saw the recording light on the wall.

When it was done, I asked, "Could I get a playback of that?" This pissed the suit off, but the sound tech played it back for us. Mr. Kondie walked out of the room shortly after the playback started. It was as perfect as I could have hoped. We'd practiced it enough that we got it in one. It was a little raw, but I think it was good enough for what I wanted,

"Could we get a copy of that, please?"

The tech looked around the booth. Seeing that his boss wasn't in the room, he popped the maser out and walked it in to us.

"Look, for what it's worth, I think what my boss did was pretty rotten. He gets you all to fly out here under false pretenses, and then pulls this stunt."

"Wait what?"

"Crap, I shouldn't have said anything. Just watch yourself."

We all went into the control booth with the tech. I handed the master to Richard just as Mr. Kondie came back in.

"Desdemona, could I have a word with you for a moment?"

He walked ahead of me into the sound booth, and I pointed at the board in front of the tech. He shook his head and I looked at Richard. He gave me a slight nod as I quickly followed Mr. Kondie.

He'd dropped the blinds over the window to the control booth, and when I entered the room he closed and locked the door.

"That wasn't a very nice trick you pulled, Desdemona." He loosened his tie.

"What's going on here, Mr. Kondie?" I had a feeling that I knew exactly what was going on.

"Oh, I think you know. Sexy girl like you."

"I'm only sixteen."

"Even better. You see, this country is looking for people your age right now. I can make you a star, Desdemona. Your talent is obvious."

"Really?" Thank you acting lessons.

"Yes, really." He chuckled at me. It was a really throaty chuckle, and it made me uncomfortable.

"How much do you want this, Desdemona?"

"I want to be a star more than anything, Mr. Kondie."

"That can be arranged then. I just need to see. . .how sexy you can be. Can you show that to me?"

"But I'm only sixteen, Mr. Kondie."

"Girls mature faster than boys, did you know that Desdemona? It's a silly law that treats them both the same. Only a mature woman is ready to be a star. Can you show me you're a woman?"

"I really don't understand what you want, My. Kondie?'

He walked up to me and kissed me. Ok, that was about the sickest thing that ever happened to me. "I want to have sex with you, Desdemona. We can work out your career afterward."

Ok, I was wrong. THAT was the sickest thing that ever happened to me. "You guys have that," I asked, talking into the mic.

Richard came over the studio speakers, "We got that. Ryan has a key to the studio and is unlocking. . .now."

The door clicked and the tech opened the door. As I stepped out, he locked the door again and half turned the key. "Unless you can remove the key, you can't unlock the door from the inside. Mr. Kondie told me about it a couple of months ago. I really didn't know you were underage. All of his other clients have been older. I'm so sorry about that."

"Are you sure they were older?" I asked him. He'd been nice about the master tape, but he did work for that walking pile of puss.

"Oh crap. What am I going to do? I really didn't know. I can't go to jail. I didn't know." I hate to see a grown man cry.

"The police are on their way."

We waited for them to arrive. "He's in here, officers." Ryan unlocked the door. One of the cops stepped closer to Ryan, "We could bring you in for wrongful imprisonment you know?"

"Oh crap. I didn't mean it."

"Officers, give the kid a break. He just found out that he's working for a pedophile."

"Wait, what?"

Richard played back the tape for them. I made it to the point where I heard myself being kissed and dry heaved.

"This is the young lady on the tape then?"

"Ryan warned me that something might be fishy about Mr. Kondie, so I suggested that they record the conversation when he walked voluntarily into the studio."

"I don't know how admissible that tape is, since he had some reasonable expectation of privacy. . ."

"Are you a moron? This is his recording studio!"

The cop glared at me. "Missy, one more outburst like that, and we're going to throw you in jail. We're sorry about the inconvenience, Mr. Kondie."

"Hold it right there, you two. I think that you might want to talk to the person on this phone."

The cop looked at him quizzically, and then barked into the phone, "I don't know who you think you are, but you're inter. . ." His posture changed suddenly, "no, Sir. . .no, Sir. . .no, I mean yes, Sir. . .just a minute, Sir. You're now on speakerphone."

"Since knucklehead A didn't tell knucklehead B who he was talking to, This is Chief Terrell. You two screw ups have the misfortune to have tried to screw with the clients of one of my old college buddies. I owe this man my life, and if he tells me that something happened, you better damn well believe that we're going to investigate, DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR!!!!! Oh, and Richard, next time you're in town, bring Daisy by and we can catch up."

One of the officers took the second master, the one with Mr. Kondie on it, while the other handcuffed him. Before leaving the bigger one said, "Since the Chief of Police says you're alright, and has your agents number, you can go."

We headed downstairs. The receptionist was missing. There was no limo waiting for us this time, so we called a cab. More money down the tubes. This would probably be the most expensive demo ever. "Richard, see if we can get some sort of use rights for that song."

Apparently Pink, AKA Alecia Beth Moore, isn't as easy to get in touch with as Drowning Pool was. Sitting in the back of the cab, watching the miles go by, I felt the need to write again. I felt more words of the song coming at me, this time with a bit darker feel to them. One last verse, and an alteration of the chorus and I am done. I put a title on the song: My Own Person (You're Not For Me). Richard was still getting the run around. I called Tom and told him when we would be home.

He said he'd be there to pick me up.

Ok, this has to be a record for poor taste. Same movie on the way back. More Jazz to listen to. When I got out to the loading zone, Gretchen was there to meet me.

I was so happy to see her after my ordeal. It felt like I hadn't seen her in a week. I took her into a hug and kissed her. She blushed at looked around, "Desi!"

Oh, yeah, Utah and I look like a female. I blushed as well. We got in her car and started driving home.

"So, before you tell me about your trip, I have some good news. I got the final green light for Monday. I'm going to have my surgery."

"I'm so happy for you, Etch."

"Is that all you have to say about it?"

"Yes. I'm not old enough to marry you yet."

"Keith!"

"What? You know I want to make you my wife."

"You never even asked me."

"Gretchen, when the time is right, I will definitely ask you."

She blushed at that and I took her hand in mine. Well, at least I didn't scare her off with that.

"Etch, talking of weddings. . ."

"What about them?"

"Um, well, I wanted to talk to you about Jordan and your Dad."

"You mean how they think they are so secretive, but have been dating for a couple of years now?"

"That and. . ."

"How my dad asked her to marry him about four months ago, but they're both too scared to talk to me about it, and I'm letting them both stew?"

"You're cruel, Etch."

"Yes, I am. Very cruel."

"So, can I tell them you're fine with it, and want them both happiness together?"

"Of course you can. Since they are trying to use an intermediary. . ."

"What are you thinking?"

"Tell them I will only agree on the condition that both you and I get to be bride's maids."

"Oh no. No way am I doing that."

"It'll be fun, Desi. Besides, you'll get to see me change. The new me. . ."

Damn, she broke my mind with that one. I kept picturing the Gretchen from my dreams getting slowly undressed. . .

I'd break out of the loop only to see the Gretchen from my dreams getting slowly undressed. . .

"ETCH!!!"

She giggled at me. "Agree to it, or I won't let you tell them."

"You just want to see me in a bride's maid dress, don't you?"

"Of course I do. You wouldn't believe how sexy you look in drag. Especially that outfit. Keith is something wrong?"

I told her about my trip, and what had happened. I included which song I'd performed. She chuckled at that. She was horrified with what came after.

"I'm so sorry about that. If I'd known what had happened I wouldn't have joked with you like that. I never meant to make you relive that, even a little bit. I withdraw my request about being a bride's maid."

"No, Etch. I'm ok. It might be fun to have Desdemona part of a more private event like this."

"Private? My dad has over a thousand family and friends who will likely come, and Jordan has at least that many."

"Um. . ."

"Don't chicken out now, lover boy."

"Fine." I dialed a number on my phone.

"Who are you calling?"

I just looked at her and waited for the person to pick up.

"Hi, this is Keith. So, I talked to Tom. Yes he told me. Yes, he told me that too. So yeah, Gretchen would like to say something to you."

I handed the phone to Gretchen. She pulled over to the side of the road. "Hello?"

"This is Jordan. What's up?"

"Um, when you and my father get married, can Desi and I be bride's maids?"

"Of course you can, but Desi. . ."

"I kinda roped Keith into it. He agreed. I think he is starting to like dressing up."

"Don't believe a word she says, Jordan." I yelled from the other seat.

She laughed at that, and quickly finished talking to Jordan.

She pulled back out into traffic, and I held her hand again. "Did you really mean what you said before, Keith? About marrying me?"

"Of course I did, Etch."

She kissed my hand and said, "Thanks"

"What for?"

"For loving me in spite of my flaws."

"You're practically perfect."

We both laughed a bit at that. We rode the rest of the way to her house in silence. I simply projected my love for her, and soaked in her love for me.
***
Ok, first day of summer, take two. This time I was half tempted to just get into my Desdemona clothes preemptively. I got showered and shaved. Yes, I mean my body hair. I know I'd shaved yesterday, but I wanted to be perfectly smooth just in case. Tom had already given me the keys to his Aston, and this time Gretchen would be coming with me.

And again, just as I was walking out the door, Richard phoned me. Talk about bad timing.

"Hey, Keith. I was finally able to get in touch with Alecia. She's seen the contest footage, and the video, and says that at the present time she doesn't intend to allow us any use. Something about not having the proper image she is looking for."

"Can't we just do a standard royalties thing through ASCAP?"

"That only works for playing a recording of their music. Any time we want to re-record it, we need permission from the owner of the music. That reminds me of something. . ."

"What?"

"We have been fined by ASCAP for our playing Bodies at the venue, as has the owner of the establishment. Jordan is working with them to get it sorted out, since we signed a use contract with the publisher. It might mean we get some money out of the whole thing. I signed you up as a writer on ASCAP, and registered the band as a Performer. We need a copy of 'My life with you is Hell" to submit to them."

Why can't this all be easier? I'm sure that music labels do most of this work for you. I sighed. "Anything else I need to do?"

"No, that's about it. In the future, we need to make sure that all of our use contracts are filed with the proper agencies, but that was a failure on my part. You're the first independent band I've ever managed."

"Wouldn't you normally have someone else manage us? I mean, you seem to be, I don't know, well known. . ."

"I have a lot of talent in my stable, and normally I do have someone else do management. However, there's no way I'd let someone else handle my future niece-in-law."

I groaned at both the phrase, and him casting me as a girl. Gretchen got a call on her phone and answered while I continued bantering with her uncle.

"Is that even a real term? Niece-in-law?"

"It is now, because I said it, and I'm never wrong."

"Um. . ."

"Truthfully, Keith, have you ever known me to be wrong?"

"Well, you forgot to submit our license to the proper people."

"That was forgot, not mistaken. If I'd submitted it to an incorrect agency. . ." We both laughed.

Gretchen was trying to get my attention. She had a huge smile on her face. I suddenly felt like I had a ball of ice in my stomach. What now?

"Hey, Richard? I've got to go. Gretchen has something for me, and I'm sure you've got other things to worry about."

"Later, Keith."

"Bye"

Gretchen was just hanging up as well, "Ok, Jordan, I will."

"Ok, so what am I about to regret?"

"Well, since I am going to be recovering for about eight weeks after my surgery, at least if we want to be safe, and since they really want to get married soon, they chose August 9^th for their wedding." Gretchen was literally bouncing.

"Ok, so what does that have to do with us today?"

"Well, we have to get fitted for our dresses today, since I would miss out on your fitting later, and I have to do it today or tomorrow."

"Ok, I guess I should go get changed."

I tried to sound put upon, but I was kind of excited. It would be interesting to see what this experience was like. I'd never looked for it, but I might as well embrace it now that it was here. You only ruin things for yourself and others when you don't enjoy the things you have to do.

I dressed myself as Desdemona again. Gretchen gave me a strapless bra that covered my breast forms. A bit of them poked out no matter what we did, so we mixed up some concealer, and adjusted the shade a bit. I'd need to get some of this in my skin tone. Heck, I'd probably need to get some breast forms in my skin tone as well. That was a worry for another day.

I'd shaved already, lucky me, so I tossed on an airy dress, in purple and blue, tossed on my wig and began to look at footwear.

"Etch. . .We need more Desdemona shoes."

She squealed and then giggled and threw me into a hug, "My little girl is growing up so fast."

"No, it's just that all I have is a choice of knee high stiletto boots or combat boots. Flats would look better with this dress."

She looked at me a little shocked. "Since when are you into fashion?"

"You're basically wearing the same style as I am, yet you have flats. I like the way they look better than either of my choices."

She blushed and looked down, "Oh, sorry."

"Look, I don't mind wearing clothing that is similar to yours. I think it's kind of cute like Desdemona is your sister or something." Gretchen brightened at this. "I just want some more comfortable shoes for when I am out as Desdemona."

"Ok, then, we are going shopping today."

Oh crap. What did I just get myself into?
***
We went to the University Mall, since neither of us thought that we could find what we were looking for at the Towne Center.

A word about the Provo/Orem area. The two towns are smashed up against each other. Provo is mainly in the river bottom area around the Provo river. Up the hill on the north side of the river is Orem.

Now, for some reason, they decided that each city needed its own mall. So, the teen crowd tends to go to the Towne Center, and the Tween crowd tends to go to the University Mall. This is more anecdotal than anything, but the stores seem to support this idea.

Strangely enough, there's a Hot Topic in each one. Course I worked at the University Mall location the last couple of years.

That wasn't our destination. Gretchen took me shopping. I mean really shopping. After I got over the whole, "Oh crap, I'm a guy in a dress," thing, I actually kind of enjoyed it. I got to see how a number of different styles looked on me, and started to branch out my wardrobe a bit. I was probably going to spend a lot of time playing Desdemona, so I might as well be comfortable doing it.

I was surprised at how many pairs of shoes I was able to find in varying shades of hot pink. It seemed that in every store I went to, all I had to do was ask if they had anything in hot pink, and then next thing I knew I was buried in dusty boxes. I think I'm starting to develop a shoe fetish. The feel of a new shoe sliding on is a wonder in itself.

It's a good thing that this is, mainly, for the band, since I spent more than a thousand dollars on shoes. I tried on a lot of outfits, but I bought only a few of them that I really had to have. I found a perfect pair of bright pink ballet flats that I wore out of the store. They even fit the shades of blue and purple in my dress.

Did I mention it was strapless?

I got a lot of looks wandering around the mall in my bright pink hair and my pink flats.

I thought it was just my outfit for a while until. . .

"Desdemona!!!!"

Ok, guys apparently occasionally squeal.

"Hi."

"Can I have your autograph?"

"I don't. . ." I began to tell him I didn't have a pen. Gretchen tapped me on the shoulder with a nice fat tip black marker.

"What would you like me to sign?" No promotional shots, no posters.

"Could you sign my shirt?" It had a logo on the back, but the front was basically bare and white.

Why not. . ."What's your name?"

"Francis."

"I take it you usually go by Frank?" He nodded.

I put a small #2 on his pec and started into the shirt. For Frank, Because you asked so nicely, Desdemona. Then, on impulse, I put my hand underneath the shirt just below my signature and left a kiss on his shirt.

When I looked up, Frank was beet red. I finished him off with a kiss on the cheek. "Be good now."

Gretchen and I cackled as we left him still standing there. No, it's not the same thing as giggling. A guy can cackle. . .I think.

We ended up at Allyse's Bridal and Formal, after a couple more autographs. I numbered each one. I hope I can keep track of which number I'm on. The last one I did was #5.

"So, how can I help you ladies?"

"We're here to be fitted for the Anderson/Cox wedding."

"Let's see, that would make you Desdemona and Gretchen Anderson then?"

"Yep, this is Desdemona, I'm Gretchen."

"If you ladies will follow me?"

We'd carefully tucked and taped me at home, using medical tape of course, so hopefully I could pass. My career for the moment depended on it.

"Ok, Hannah will be fitting you, Gretchen, and I'll handle you myself, Desdemona." She lead us into a back area which was completely screened from any of the entrances. The inside of the shop seemed bigger than it could possibly be. When I looked out the other side I realized that it was a big L and connected two shop fronts.

"Ok, ladies, if you'd please strip so we can get accurate measurements?"

We both got down to our underwear. Gretchen was bouncy.

"Ms. Anderson, I need to you stand still please." It sounded like Hannah was getting a little frustrated.

"Etch, honey, you need to calm down."

Looking at me being measured for a bride's maid dress stopped Gretchen in her tracks. She just smiled at me. I just shook my head and snorted.

"I take it you're not as exited for this as your friend?"

"She kinda roped me into it."

"I like your hair. Did you have to dye the shoes yourself?"

"If you can believe it, they were on back stock and clearance."

"Are all of your shoes pink?"

"Most of them, yeah. It's a sort of image thing."

"You're THAT Desdemona?" Hannah was staring at me.

"It's what my license says, yep."

"How did you think of the words for that song you did on MTV. It sort of talked to me."

I looked at Gretchen, asking permission with my eyes. She nodded almost imperceptibly.

"You mean, 'My life with you is Hell'? I wrote it about the life of one of my closest girl friends. She was going through some difficult times in school, and we spent a lot of time talking. I wrote out her feelings to get a better handle on them so I could help her."

"It's about you, isn't it," Hannah said turning to Gretchen

Well, there go my good intentions out the window.

"Yes, It's a bit of my life."

"It actually gave me the courage to ask my boyfriend to marry me. We're getting married on August 9^th."

Gretchen and I laughed at this. "My dad is marrying his girlfriend on the 9^th as well."

"Would you mind signing my wedding dress for me, Desdemona?"

"Friends get to call me Desi. Won't that kind of ruin the dress?"

"Not the outside. The inside."

I laughed at this. Of course. "Sure."

"Ok, let me go get it."

While she was gone, Linda, the one measuring me, finished up. "Let me go get the dress closest to your size and we'll pin it for adjustments. Do you know if you're wearing heels or flats?"

We'd gotten a beautiful pair of four inch heels which Gretchen pulled out of her bag of a purse. "Those actually."

"You weren't kidding about the pink."

"Well, like I said: It's a bit of a signature."

She chuckled as she moved out of the room. Hannah came back in a white confection of a dress, and sat down in front of me. "You're fiancé is lucky."

"If he only knew. I was planning on leaving him before we watched that concert together."

I flipped back the top layer of the dress, and signed the first petticoat. ^#6 For courage in the rest of your life, Desdemona (Desi).

I let it dry a moment, and then dropped the sheath back in place. She hugged us just as Linda came back.

The dress was a beautiful deep burgundy color. I actually fell in love with it before I ever put it on. It felt even better than it looked. I think I might have teared up a bit, because the next thing I knew, Gretchen was dabbing my eyes with a handkerchief. I took it from her, "Thanks, Etch."

"No worries, Desi."

"Lift your leg please," Linda said touching my right leg briefly. I complied with the request, and she slipped my flat off and the heel on.

"Other leg." That was done and there I was in four inch pink shoes in a burgundy off the shoulder dress. Somehow, it was as if that dress was made for me. It fit almost perfectly without being taken in at all. The style gave the impression of hips, and made me simply gorgeous. I was completely shocked, looking at my reflection.

"That's me?"

"That dress would make just about anyone look good. On you. . .well, I just hope the bride is a goddess, because otherwise no one will be looking at her."

I suddenly realized the import of her words, and looked frantically at Gretchen, "Etch. . ."

"Don't worry about it, Desi. She will look better, I'm sure." Gretchen pulled her digital frame out of her purse and paged through the images until she got to one of Jordan. "This is the Bride."

"Ok, I stand corrected. Even with the hair, I doubt anyone will give you a second look, Desi. Heck, I'm a bit in lust, and she's wearing a business suit. . .that and I am completely into guys." Linda was a bit flushed looking. I think she might have been a little in denial about her sexual preferences. Course, everyone says I'm a bit in denial about my gender, so I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"Ok, let's see where we are." She tugged a bit here, and pulled a bit there. In the end, she only marked a single adjustment, and that was to the bust. Apparently I didn't have enough up there to fill it properly. Then she marked the hem, which was still dragging on the ground a bit with my four inch heels, and we stripped it off. I was sad to see it go. "So, how are you going to pay for the dress?"

At that moment, I realized something. . .my personal card was in my name. Keith. Only my band account had a card with Desdemona on it.

"I've got this one, Desi. Seeing the look on your face, and seeing you in that dress, was worth the cost to me."

"Thank you, Etch." We kissed, a little more than a chaste kiss. It made Hannah a bit uncomfortable, but Linda looked a bit dazed.

"Sorry about that."

Linda shook herself, "Don't worry about it, Ladies. We're not ones to judge here. We even had a drag queen buy a dress here last month. Big football player looking girl if there ever was one."

Gretchen and I looked at each other and laughed. "Her name didn't happen to be Buffy, did it?"

"Yes, actually," Linda said looking a bit amazed.

"She goes to our school."

Hannah had finished measuring Gretchen at this point, and went to get her a dress. It looked good on Gretchen, and the two of us would look stunning next to anyone but Jordan. I still think I looked better in the dress.

They needed to make more adjustments to Gretchen's dress than to mine. "Ok, ladies. We will need you in here for the final fitting on the 2nd of august. That will give us barely enough time to make any adjustments that might be necessary. See you then."

We got dressed back in our street clothes, and I put the flats back on. Since we were done, I decided to stop into the Hot Topic. It was only after we entered that I remembered how I was dressed.

"Omigawd. It's Desdemona."

"Hey, Stacy, is Yancey in the back?" Stacey numbly nodded at me. I'm sure that she was wondering how Desdemona knew her.

I walked into the back of the store, and into the office. "So, Yance, you still willing to offer me the job I had last year?"

She looked at me a moment, "Who. . .Keith?! You're Desdemona?"

"Yeah, we decided if we couldn't beat them, we might as well join them."

"I will give you a job on one condition. . ."

Oh crap she's going to want me to. . . "I want you to dress as Desdemona. It'll be great for business."

I rolled my eyes at her, "Well, Etch and I just bought way too many pink shoes, so I might as well have some place to wear them. If I'm here working as Desdemona, I want my checked to say it."

"Well, that might be a difficulty with taxes. . ."

I produced my ID, "Legal alias."

"Well, in that case, Welcome to the Hot Topic family, Desdemona."

"Call me Desi."

Apparently, I had been employed all winter here, without any scheduled time. Yancey changed the names on the forms, and I was employed as Desdemona.

It was probably time for me to get a beater of a car to get myself to work. I'd used my Mom's car last year, since she usually walked to work during the summer.

"Hey, Etch, let's catch a movie while were here." I said as we walked back to the front of the store.

"Desdemona, will you sign my shirt?"

"Isn't that your uniform, Stacey?"

"Yes. . ."

"Go ahead, Desi, I don't mind," Yancey grinned while she said this.

I signed the shirt, ^#7 For someone who doesn't know she knows me, Desdemona (K)

I left her to puzzle on that one.

"What do you want to see?"

"No idea. I'm flying by the seat of my pant's here."

We walked out past the food court and into the east parking lot. A short hike past the bus depot and we were at the theater.

"So, we have A-Team and Karate Kid out this weekend."

"I am so not in the mood for a mindless action flick."

"But the A-Team is a classic. They are bringing an old TV show to life for a new audience."

"Karate Kid has Jackie Chan, and it was a cool classic movie as well. I want to see it. It looks heartwarming."

In the end, I lost out to Gretchen on that one. We'd have to come back later for the A-Team.

I sat there thinking about Gretchen's life for most of the movie, and missed a lot of the action. She seemed so well adjusted most of the time, but there were dark shadows lurking in her soul waiting to consume her. I wondered if we'd be able to make it through the long haul. I knew I loved her, and had loved her for three years. I had stuck by her through everything. To some extent, however, I'd never really known her. She'd kept this dark portion back, trying to let me only see the light.

It worried me about our future. Would she keep things like this from me then as well? What if she started having symptoms of schizophrenia? Would she hide that away? I didn't know, and my lack of knowledge scared me.

I held her hand through the movie, and looked at her rapt face. She seemed so innocent sitting there, and I wondered how much of that was real, and how much a front to hide herself away.

After Monday, Gretchen would be a captive audience for at least four weeks, and more likely eight. I hoped that I could spend some quality time with her, and we could get to know each other without all of the masks and acting.

A thought popped into my head: How was I going to convince Pink to allow me to distribute the recording of U + UR Hand we'd already made?

We got out of the movie and I turned my phone back on. There was a message from Richard to call him.

"Desi, I've got some great news."

"Great news?"

"Who is it," asked Gretchen. I mouthed Richard at her.

"Apparently, the information got out that iTunes was penalizing you for the name of your song being wrong. We've already had a hundred thousand downloads of your song, and the iTunes download server crashed for a moment. They are getting it back up, and more people are downloading."

"Wait. . .what?"

"It seems that your fans took offense at iTunes' policy and they are buying multiple copies of your song."

I stood there open mouthed. Gretchen took the phone out of my hand. "Hi, Uncle Rich. Yeah, she's in shock. Oh, really? That's great news. Love you, bye."

Gretchen kissed me full on the lips and I broke out of my catatonic stupor. "Well, looks like things are looking up for you again."

So, the song is selling on iTunes again. I have a job at Hot Topic again, just in time to be told I don't need my job. Well, it was fun working there last year, but we'll have to see what the future holds. Getting Gretchen through her surgery safe and sound is my next goal, and I need to find out what Jake and Bobby are up to, since I've heard nary a word from them in over twenty-four hours.

Buffy's life is turned upside down, Bobby is arrested, and Keith lives.

Everything in my life led up to a single moment. A chain of events dragged me into the depths from which I thought there was no return. I was kicked out, so I moved in with Gretchen. I was kicked out because of my band. My band became successful because I chose not to bow to my mother's wishes. Buffy became known to me because of my band becoming successful. Bobby discovered Buffy through me.

Bobby is an asshole.

Everything was going perfectly. I thought that finally things were starting to look up. Up in Flames had a loyal fan following. We were making money on our one single, and we were getting ready to record "My life with you is Hell."

It was peaches and roses. I never knew the corruption that lay underneath.

Ok, now I'm really starting to sound Gothic.

No one deserved this.

I was lying in bed and thinking happily about my life when Suzi called.

"Keith, have you seen Buffy?"

"No, Sooz, I haven't."

"Sooz?"

"I'm in a really strange mood right now, sorry."

"No worries. It's just that Bobby said she might have left for your house a bit upset."

"Why would she be upset?"

"It seems they had a fight of some sort. They went out for her seventeenth birthday, and things got a little ugly at his house afterwards."

"Want me to come help you look for her?"

"Sure. You know the area out there better than I do. Pick you up in about ten minutes?"

"Sure."

I hung up and looked out the window. It was a nice night out, so I didn't need to dress warmly. I went downstairs. Gretchen and Tom were laughing and talking in the kitchen.

"Buffy's missing."

"When, what happened?"

"She had a fight with Bobby apparently. She went off mad, and according to Bobby, she was heading of toward my house."

My eyes kept turning to the desert. I don't know why. Something out there drew me.

"What is it?" Gretchen was looking at me with concern.

"Something feels off. I don't know how to explain it. Suzi is on her way over to look for her. I was figuring that we could. . ."

"Keith?"

"I don't know. Something just isn't right. Buffy has a cell phone. Why wouldn't she keep it with her?"

"What are you thinking," Tom asked.

"It's probably nothing. I should just go looking. . .she's in the desert."

"Huh?"

"Look, it's just a hunch, ok? If I were pissed out here, it would be easy to try to take a short cut between my house and Bobby's and end up out of sight in a ditch or behind a hill. At night, with no moon, it would be easy to get turned around. Something really feels off about all of this.

I was still looking out the window when Suzi arrived. "Etch, you go with Suzi to look at all of the places around her that she might be. I'm going to go out into the desert. It's probably nothing, but I don't trust this whole situation. Something just seems off."

Without another word I walked out of the back door and through the gate in the fence. I walked across the access road that ran behind Gretchen's house and then it was nothing but scrub around me. I wandered. I had no clear direction in mind.

Do you even have a moment in your life where everything just works out? Have you ever just known that something was the right choice, only to find out later why?

That happens to me all the time. I'm not saying that I'm psychic. I'm not sure I even believe in psychic phenomena. Our brains take in more information than we can process. Every once in a while, all that random data will line up into a cohesive whole, and we get a glimpse into the infinite. Some people call this epiphany, and some call it inspiration.

It has occasionally been called luck, or even intuition.

Whatever it is, I let it guide me tonight.

I walked under the stars, wondering about the course of events that led to this moment. Why would Buffy have run off? I called Bobby to try and get his side of things while I walked.

"Hey, Bobby, what happened between you and Buffy?"

"Turns out she wasn't as into a relationship as I thought."

"What do you mean?"

"He was fine with dating, you know, but kind of frigid where any affection was concerned."

"I don't know. She seemed to be into you all the times I saw you two together."

"Yeah, but hand holding was about as far as he seemed to want to go. A bit of cuddling. That's it. I tried to kiss him at the restaurant and he slapped me."

Something occurred to me. Bobby was referring to Buffy as he. Something was off.

"What happened at your place?"

"Well, my parents were out, and I thought. . .look i have to clean up. Could you call me back later?"

"Sure, Bobby. . ."

I walked a bit more, and things still wouldn't lay right in my mind. There were too many jagged edges. Too many missing pieces. Why would Bobby need to clean up after only he and Buffy had a fight.

I called Gretchen, "I have a really bad feeling about this, Etch. Look, whatever you do, don't go to Bobby's house right now."

"Do you think we should call the police?"

"Yeah, let me do it."

I dialed 911 and waited for the operator.

"Hello, My name is Keith Robison. A couple of my friends had a fight, and one of them is missing."

"What type of fight?"

"I'm not sure, but my other friends parents aren't home, and he won't let anyone in. We haven't been able to contact the other friend on her cell phone for a couple of hours."

"This is all pretty vague, Mr. Robison."

"Buffy Hansen is missing. She was last seen at Robert Lewis' house. His address is 211 north Alpine Way."

"You said you haven't been able to contact your friend for a couple of hours, and she was last seen with Mr. Lewis?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I would ask that you stay away from Mr. Lewis' house for the time being. We are sending officers over to investiga. . ."

"Hello?"

I looked at my phone. I was out of signal range. That was so odd. I'd never lost signal in the desert before. The moon had just come over the horizon and a flat bowl of land was revealed to me. There were some tire tracks from ATV's here and there, but not much else. it was even almost devoid of life.

I saw a small dark mound a little way off. It moved and I saw a glint of metal.

I rushed over to it, and realized it was a person. An earring had glinted in the light of the moon when it moved. The face was a complete mess, and some of the bones seemed crushed. There was blood all over the dress, so I assumed it must be female.

"Keith?"

Oh my god. "Buffy?"

"Help me." She passed out. I looked at my phone again. No service.

I ran back the way I'd come and dialed 911 for the second time tonight. I got the same operator. "I found Buffy, she's in the desert with me. She's beat up pretty badly, and I don't think it's possible she got her on her own."

"Where are you, My. Robison?"

"I have no idea. Can't you track my phone?"

"Your signal is bouncing a little bit."

I took a couple of stepps back from the depression. "Is that any better?"

"What are you doing?"

"Moving away from a dead zone. Tell me when my signal stabilizes."

"I have you localized. Wait there for police please."

"Hurry, she's covered in blood."

"Can you describe her injuries to me?"

"No, because there's almost no light, and I had to walk about half a mile to even get a signal."

"Fleeing the scene of an accident. . ."

"Are you a complete MORON!!!! I couldn't call from where she was!"

"There's no need to yell, Sir."

"There's no need to be incompetent, Ma'am. Use that boil on your shoulders for something other than keeping your hair in place. I couldn't make a phone call, to you, without moving from the scene. It was necessary. If you would like, I'll leave my phone here so you can get the rescue personnel roughly to my location, and I'll go back to the victim."

"There's no need to be rude, Sir."

"See my previous statement. You really need to learn to think. My friend is probably dying here, and you are telling me that I'm to blame for calling you."

"Hello, this is Carl, I'm Belinda's manager. I hear you are being belligerent?"

"Carl was it? Well, Carl, My friend is bleeding profusely. She is in a depression in the earth that for some reason get's no cell coverage. I am between three and five miles into the desert, and there was no one but me to call. To do so I had to leave her side, and Belinda told me I was breaking the law in doing the only available course of action. I informed her that she was incompetent and an idiot, which is why she transferred me to you. Now, do you think I'm being belligerent?"

"I remind you, Sir, that we do have a recording of this call."

"Carl? Why don't you give me to an actual manager. You know, someone responsible for your and Belinda's jobs. I'm tired of speaking to people incapable of thinking for themselves."

The venom in Carl's voice transferred through the phone, "Sir, I will have you know I am a college graduate, and am the only supervisor you are going to speak to."

I'd had enough of stupidity. "You said that this call is recorded, Carl?"

"Yes, Sir," he spat out.

"Then my lawyer will be in touch. When are the rescue personnel arriving? Hello?"

I checked my phone, and the call had been disconnected. I ran back to Buffy. I was in enough trouble already without having her blood all over me when police or others arrived, but I couldn't stand around and do nothing. I turned on my flashlight app and turned the face of the phone to face Buffy. I could see her chest rise and fall, so at least she was breathing for the moment. "Hold on, Buffy, help should be on the way."

I began to hear a sort of rhythmic thumping sound, and a helicopter came over the rise. I turned my phone toward them and waved it, leaving my flashlight app running. They landed about fifty feet away and an EMT got out and ran over to us.

"I found her out here, she's a friend from school."

"How did you find her?"

"I often walk out here, even after dark. I stumbled upon her." How could I say that I felt guided here? I tried my best. "Look, if you'll feel more comfortable having me go with you to the hospital, I'll stick with you. Otherwise I'm going home."

"That would be a good idea. The police will likely want to question you."

I sighed. The pilot got out, and they put Buffy on a back board, and hooked her up to an IV. They got her to the helicopter and turned on the lights inside so that the EMT could get to work. He cut her dress, and I saw the mess for the first time. She'd been wearing no underwear. She was so cut up that it was difficult to tell her gender, even though I knew what I should be seeing. I thought I'd help out the EMT.

"She's transgendered, but hasn't had surgery."

"That may be moot at this point. She doesn't have much left of her genitals. I need you to sit back, Sir."

I was shocked that anyone, especially Bobby could have done this to another individual intentionally. I tried to find a rational explanation for it, but my mind failed completely.

She'd lost a lot of blood, but thankfully no arteries had been nicked. I heard the pilot talking to someone, and heard his confirmation that we'd be flying in to Utah Valley Regional Medical Center. I caught bits and pieces of the conversation between the EMT and the pilot. I didn't understand most of it, but what I did hear didn't sound good. Severe lacerations. Smashed bones in the face and jaw. Reconstructive surgery.

I watched the lights of the cities pass by underneath. They were connected by the ribbon of highway, the car lights red on one side and white on the other. Only my worry for the health of my friend kept me out of the poetic state that wanted to form. I held her hand. Halfway through the flight she regained consciousness for a moment and squeezed my hand back. I looked into her pain filled eyes, and thought I saw a thanks in there.

She passed out a few moment later, and I noticed the Y out the window on the side of the mountain. It was lit up for some reason tonight. It meant we were almost at our destination.

We landed, and almost immediately some surgeons wheeled a gurney up to the side of the helicopter, ducking under the blades as they came. Information was passed on and they wheeled her downstairs. While they left, I called Tom. "You can practice law in Utah, right?"

"Yep, I took the exam in California, Utah, Nevada, and Colorado."

"Can you come up to the UVRMC? I think they may think I did something to Buffy, and I want you here just in case."

"You found her?!"

"Oh, yeah, I found her, argued with the 911 dispatcher, and got a free helicopter ride."

"Ok, wait til I get there before making any statements. Just in case."

"Can you call Gretchen and Suzi? I think I am about to be taken into custody."

A couple of police officers came up to the side of the helicopter.

"Keith Robison?"

"Yes."

"Could you come with us please, Sir?"

I got out of the helicopter and followed the officers inside. The led me into a nondescript room and I sat on the chair there.

"Quite a night you had out there, Huh?"

I said nothing. I just waited. The other officer spoke up, "Tough guy, eh?"

"On advice of counsel, I regret that I will not be making a statement at this time."

The two officers looked at each other and then the first spoke, "If that's the way you want to play this, son, we can, but it just makes you look guilty."

I chose not to rise to his bait, and waited the forty minutes while Tom arrived. I didn't expect Gretchen to come with him. "Are you ok, Keith?"

"No cuts or scrapes." I smiled at her, then my smile faded, "Nothing like Buffy."

"When you told us not to go to Bobby's house, we tried to stay away, but eventually the pull became too great, that and we'd already looked pretty much everywhere else. There were cops all over the place. I think the entire city police force showed up for this one."

"All four of them?"

Gretchen lightly punched me in the arm.

"Are you talking Robert Lewis? How did you know to keep your friend away from there?"

"I called the police on him."

"And you found the victim in the desert, coincidentally?"

"See, Tom, this is why I need you here."

"I can see that. Gentlemen, unless you are about to charge my client with something, then we are leaving."

"We can hold him on suspicion."

"Of what? Being a good Samaritan?"

"He was belligerent with the 911 operators."

Tom looked at me. "They accused me of leaving the scene of an accident. I told them that I had to leave to make the cell phone call, since there was no coverage where Buffy was. They got rude from there. I called them incompetent and told them my lawyer would be getting the recording of the call from them."

"You hadn't asked me at that point."

"I was more thinking civil action through Jordan. You know, get them fired or something for failure to think critically in a time of crisis."

Tom and the cops snorted at that one. "The operator really told you that you could face criminal charges for moving to a place where you could get cell coverage?"

"Yep, so I called her on it."

"Was it Belinda?"

"How did you know?"

The two cops exchanged glances, "We've had to deal with her before. She probably got Carl to pretend to be a supervisor as well, didn't she?"

"Yep, who is he anyway."

"Her fiancé who also works there. They've been written up for this crap in the past. I hope you do pursue this."

I looked at the cop in surprise.

"She sent us to arrest a former boyfriend because he wouldn't give her back the engagement ring she threw in his face when she stomped out."

"She was fined and written up for that one."

"Wow. So, am I free to go?"

"As long as you don't leave the state, yes. We will want to get a statement from the victim when she regains consciousness."

We went to the waiting room. Suzi and her parents were there already. We hugged.

"You found our son?" Buffy's father asked, before correcting himself, "I mean our daughter? It will take me some time to get used to this, but I'm trying. Thank you for that. Apparently she wouldn't have lasted much longer out there.

"The doctors have told us what was done to her. I am bringing in a plastic surgeon friend. He has a practice in Salt Lake. They need to rebuild the bones in her face. We've decided not to try to rebuild other. . .things."

Apparently he had a little difficulty referring to the male anatomy of his daughter. I probably would also.

We sat in the room and waited. It was after two am when a doctor came in to us. "She's out of surgery and has been moved to recovery. We'll keep her there until she regains consciousness and then move her into a private room. When she's in her room you will be able to visit her."

We sat down to wait some more, but it wasn't much longer before a nurse came to get us and showed us to her room.

I could see her eyes light up at the sight of us, and a slight moan escape her lips, but I assumed her jaw was wired shut.

Her face was covered in bandages. I was glad that I didn't have to look into that ruin again. I'm sure that the plastic surgeon was good, but there's only so much he would be able to do with the surface for now. She would have a lot of recovery after this.

It felt weird talking to her, when she couldn't talk back to us.

"Well, I guess you made it to your destination before I made it to mine," said Gretchen, "were you always an over achiever?"

We were able to understand her soft chuckle.

It was almost three in the morning at this point, so Gretchen and I went out to her car and drove home. Tom had left when we went to the waiting room. We drove home and I went to my room. As I was getting ready for bed, Gretchen rushed behind me and slipped between the covers. I hadn't seen her at this point and thought nothing of it really.

I put on a pair of sweat pants, my usual attire and slipped myself under the covers as well. I turned toward her, thinking she wanted to talk, and she kissed me. I was tired, and not thinking clearly. I pulled her toward me, and felt her responding to my touch. She pressed herself against me, and I realized she was naked under the covers.

I fought with myself for a moment before pushing away. I moved myself to the outside of the covers, trapping her in my bed.

"Etch, we can't do this. I won't do this to you."

"I need you right now, Keith. I just got to think about what might have happened, and before anything does, I want you to have loved me."

"Nothing is going to happen, Etch."

"You don't know that. No one can know that."

"I believe it. That's enough for me. I won't ruin our first moment together because of fear, Etch. I want every moment we share to be special. You and me, no regrets, no fear, no reservations. Can you truly tell me that is what you'd give me tonight?"

"But. . ."

I put a finger to her lips. "You know how I feel about you. You know how I react to you. This is the hardest thing I've ever asked of you. We need this to be right."

"But I love you, Keith. Isn't that enough?"

Every inch of me strained to take her in my arms. I wanted her more than I wanted breath, more than blood, more than food. In that moment I realized that there would never be another woman for me on this entire planet. Without her, nothing was worth living.

"Etch, You are the only woman I can ever love. I wake each morning and smile because you are alive. I go to sleep each night and dream of our times together. You give me hope, and help me to seek after my dreams.

"It's because of that, of all of it, that I won't do this tonight. It's because I love you, and know you love me."

She began to cry softly, and I kissed away her tears. "I love you." I said each time I broke our kisses. She began to laugh at me after the fifth repetition. "You are such a dork sometimes, Keith."

"Yeah, but you love me anyway."

"I know. I don't always know why I love you, but I do."

"You love me for my manly singing voice."

She giggled at me. I lay down and we both fell asleep quickly. Just as I was drifting off, I realized my door was unlocked and Gretchen was naked in my bed.
***
I felt a touch on my shoulder, and looked up to see Tom standing over me.

"Oh crap."

"Morning, Keith, You want to let my daughter up so that she can go get some clothes on?"

I jumped off the bed, and Gretchen wrapped the blanked around her. "Nothing happened, Sir."

"I know that, Keith, otherwise I would have come in here with a shotgun."

I looked worriedly at him, but he chuckled. "I don't have a shotgun, Keith. I'm joking." Gretchen was giggling at me.

"I heard you two last night, and listened at the door for a while. I'd like to talk to my daughter for a bit if you don't mind, Keith."

I grabbed a T-Shirt and went downstairs. I was finishing a bowl of cereal when the doorbell rang.

It was Mr. and Mrs. Lewis.

"How could you do that to our son? How could you let the police drag him off. He spent the night in jail, Keith. How could you!"

"Mrs. Lewis?"

"You told the police that he beat up that filthy faggot he's been hanging around with. How could they do this to our son."

"Your son almost beat a girl to death."

"She's no girl," Mr. Lewis replied, "We know all about Lawrence Hansen."

"She may not have physically been a girl before, but that's not the case anymore thanks to your darling son."

"Our son didn't. . ." began Mrs. Lewis only to be interrupted by her husband.

"What are you talking about, Keith?"

"Your darling son smashed all of the bones in her face. She has her jaw wired shut, and I'm sure pins and wires in place to keep the rest of it from falling apart. Her groin and legs were mutilated. There wasn't enough left to rebuild what she had, so they went the other way."

The both looked sick at this, imagining what had happened. "You talked to your son last night. Did he tell you what he was doing when I called him?" They shook their heads. "Cleaning up. He did this at your house, likely with your camera running, Mr. Lewis."

Mrs. Lewis vomited. Mr. Lewis looked pale.

"And for your information, Buffy was one of my friends. I don't take kindly to my friends being maligned by short sighted bigots who don't get their facts straight before accusing people falsely."

I slammed the door in their faces, and collided with Tom and Gretchen who were standing behind me.

"That could have been handled better, Keith, but I'm not sure I would have shown your self-control."

"And I might have let slip my own secret."

They hugged me. I made a phone call when we finished. "Um, Richard. We've got a problem."

"What's up, Keith."

"Bobby's been arrested."

"Wouldn't Tom be a better person to talk to about this?"

"I called the cops on him. He almost beat a girl to death. I want a new drummer. Figured, since you were the one who dealt with talent. . ."

"Well, we won't be able to find anyone else who can play the Behemoth."

"The Behemoth was a gimmick, and not a very practical one. I just need someone who can play percussion."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, Richard, I am."

A call beeped through on my call waiting. "Keith, Bobby's been arrested for attempted murder. We need to get Tom to help him. This has to be a false arrest," Jake said breathlessly.

"Jake, actually, he tried to kill Buffy."

"Oh. . .ok. . .what are we going to do about a drummer."

"I called Richard to find out."

"Ok, thanks. Um, keep me in the loop when you find anything out." Something sounded broken in his voice.

The three of us had always been friends, but Jake and Bobby had been a little closer to each other than either of them had been to Keith.

I went back to Richard. "You still there?"

"Yeah, I have a couple of possibles in Utah, and one in Seattle of all places. We can set up a session with the guys in Utah first, and if they don't work out, we can use some of the band's funds to fly the guy from Seattle out."

"Ok, set them up for today. I think I need to keep busy or I'm going to go insane. I'll call Jake."

I tried to reach Jake a couple of times, but the phone just rang. "Gretchen, could you drive me over to Jake's house?"

We drove the short distance, and I was shocked to see my 12-string and amp outside the garage.

There was a note on my guitar: Keith, I need to think some things thought. I've taken ten thousand from the band account, and I'll be taking a little trip. Stay out of trouble, ha ha. You'll probably want to find a Bassist as well, since I'm not sure when I'll be back.

He had written if, but then crossed it out.

"Richard," I said after calling him back, "we need a new bassist as well."
***
I set up the amp in Gretchen's garage, and I began to play. I started with "My life with you is Hell", and then went into "Black Flag". I continued with "My Own Person" and a little "U + UR Hand". I began to play a soft melody, that I'd never heard before. It came out of the pain of the past twenty-four hours. It reminded me a little of the Five for Fighting song "100 Years" but with a sorrow to it that tore at me. I played it over and over until it was engraved on my soul.

I only looked up when I heard the pop of another amp being plugged in, and a bass line began to weave into the melody I was picking out.

We played through the song without words a couple of times in its entirety. The first time he was a bit heavy handed, but he softened it for the second time through. He played so lightly that you could barely tell there was any bass there. But the hint of it filled out the song. We came to the end. I was about to walk over and talk to him, when he whipped out some sheet music and jotted down everything we had done. He copied both of our music within the space of five minutes with no errors.

I gaped at him.

"Sorry, I hate to lose perfection. I try to write all of my best jam sessions down before I forget them."

"I wish I could write sheet music like that."

"Perfect pitch. It helps a bit. Hi, I'm Guthrie Kyle."

"Kyle Guthrie?"

"Nope, my last name is Kyle. My first is Guthrie. And before you say it, yes, my parents were huge fans, and had to name me after him. They wanted it to be obvious."

"The song writer, or the baseball player?"

"Song writer."

"Wouldn't Woody Guthrie Kyle have been better?"

"You'd think"

We both laughed about this a bit, and then a black full sized van drove up. One of the smallest people I've ever seen got out of the driver's seat. Ok, jumped would have been the best term for it. He'd had the side door specially modified so he could open it from the ground. He started pulling out drums and carting them to the garage.

"You want some help?"

"You think just because I'm short I need help?!"

"Dude, we just wanted to know if you wanted it. I always feel big and useless watching anyone do work while I'm on my fat butt." I managed to say this entire statement with a straight face.

He looked at me, and looked at me some more, as if he couldn't figure out what to make of me. Then he started laughing. "Ok, kid, you're alright. Sure, help me unload so we can get this audition going."

"Aren't we auditioning with Desdemona?"

"Look, guys, I can go get my costume on, and pretend for you, but this is the real me, and if we're going to work together, we need to come at it without preconceptions."

They both gaped at me, so I proved it by singing the first verse of "My life with you is Hell" acapella.

"And I thought I was weird. At least when people see me in the midst of my drums, they get the sounds they expect."

We set up the drum set, but Guthrie kept looking at me funny. Eventually I turned to him and asked him, "What?"

"You're really Desdemona on stage?"

I pulled out both of my IDs and gave them to him.

He looked upset. "Well, I guess I won't be able to ask you out then. . ."

The drummer began to laugh again. "You thought you'd be able to get a date with Desdemona just for trying out for her band? Everyone knows she's a lesbian. . .I mean, that he's straight. Ok, I'm confusing myself. I'm sure you've seen the photos on her fan site from yesterday."

"I thought she might just be European, you know, the hand holding and stuff."

"That kiss wasn't a friends thing."

I blushed.

"Yeah, but most people think it was doctored. No one could find her on an first class manifests for Thursday coming in to Salt Lake international."

"That's cause we flew business class. We were still having a dispute with iTunes."

They looked at me and then both of them burst out laughing. "I<3Desdemona was actually right. You were under the name Desi Arnez in business class from Nashville," said the drummer.

"Yep, that was us...but apparently I didn't even know what name my Agent had gotten me in under."

"Wow, loverboy, not only is Desdemona not a girl, but she isn't into guys. You are completely out of the running."

"Shut up."

We finished setting up the drums. I knew I could work with the bassist, but could I work with the drummer. He'd been really argumentative at first, but who knows whether the jolly version was more real.

He sat down. He pounded out a bit of a beat to check distances, then called out, "Ready for 'My life with you is Hell" on the count of five."

We barely had our instruments ready when he hit the trap the fifth time.

He put us through the song at a blistering pace. About twice as fast as I was used to, and when I turned to talk to him, he simply looked at both of us in awe.

"Can you guys do it any faster? I know when we perform it needs to be at the proper speed, but you two are amazing. The last pair of guys I tried that on lost me about halfway through, and that was a technically easier song than this one."

I looked at Guthrie and smiled. I screamed into the opening riff as fast as I could move my fingers. We were going at about five times the normal tempo, and I could feel the burn of the strings even through the calluses of my left hand. The opening was the toughest part, and we were off to eight times the normal speed when I hit the chorus. The drummer was lost for a moment, and then found his place and joined us. We finished up a bit slower, but still fast and breathing hard.

"Ok, I can die happy. I've finally found someone who can keep up with me."

Guthrie and I laughed. "So, what's your name?" I said looking at the drummer.

"Since I just came here for the hell of it, not sure it matters, but I'm Davey Dolenz"

I blinked at him for a moment, but let it go.

"Well, if you're here for the heck of it, then might as well try one last thing with us."

I began to play the unnamed song and Guthrie joined in. It had started simple like "100 Years", but the additional instruments added complexity. Somehow, even though it seemed complete with two of us, Davey was able to find a place for himself in the song. It was beautiful.

It gave the song more of a blues or jazz feel than it had otherwise had, but that seemed to fit as well.

Words came to me in that moment, and I just sang to the song:

Don't blame the girl,
It's not her fault,
This is her life, and it is hard
You hate your life, so I can see
Just don't take this out on her, or me!
We live your rules,
Not by our own,
Don't blame the girls
It's not our fault.

The two of them stopped playing and just stared at me. "Um, guys?"

"Yeah, you're Desdemona alright," said Davey.

"And I never knew she had this much versatility," said Guthrie with stars in his eyes.

"Wait, what?"

"You just wrote that, off the top of your head."

"Sometimes poetry just hits me, and I have to get it out. Saying it is often enough. . .but. . .um, could I borrow your paper and pen?"

I wrote down the Chorus, which came first this time, and then the first verse. I tossed in another chorus at the end. I knew this wasn't the end of the song, but I had some of it. "Mind if we try out the verse next?"

"You're the boss-lady."

"I'm a guy, Davey."

"When we're hangin and watchin the tube, you're a guy, but when we're working, you're Desdemona. That means you're a girl, boss-lady."

"I go by Desi with my friends."

"See, you even have a nickname for her," Guthrie said with a smile.

"Ok, let's try this."

We played the verse which had come to me:

When she was, just seventeen
She turned you down, where you were seen
You made her pay,
Hope killed through pain.

While the music played on, I spoke the last line of the verse, "She asked you more than once to simply turn away."

We played through the chorus again, but the emotion was too strong for me and I couldn't sing.

"That really seems to affect you,"

"One of my friends was attacked last night by her boyfriend, my former drummer, and almost killed. She's in the hospital with her jaw wired shut and covered in bandages."

"And you're playing music with us?"

"It helps me to relax. Helps me think. That and I'm afraid that my girlfriends dad wants to kill me a little because he found his daughter naked in my bed this morning."

They looked at me with grins on their faces. "Nothing happened beyond some kissing, I promise."

"Sure it didn't."

I punched Guthrie in the arm for that one.

"You really are a boy."

All three of us laughed. "Guys, would you mind heading inside while I made a quick phone call?"

I called up Richard. "So, about ready for the next pair?"

"Why would I want anyone else?"

"Well, those are my two most difficult clients. Guthrie is a bit of a prima-donna, and Davey won't play with anyone who can't keep up. Says it's not worth his time to be playing with mediocre talent."

"Guthrie is a good guy with an amazing talent for sheet music and bass, and Davey just needed to find someone who could show him up."

"Wait, you mean to tell me you actually like these guys?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Well, um, I sort of only sent them over because I wanted to look like I was trying to find both of them a paying gig. No one else will take them."

"Well, don't you think that it makes us fit for each other?"

"Yeah, and if only the Misfits wasn't taken as a band name it would really fit you three."

"Nah, I like Up in Flames."

"Won't Bobby and Jake disagree with you keeping it?"

"I doubt it, since Bobby wanted to be N^th Degree, and Jake wanted Meaningless Death Imagery."

"Isn't that the name of that band. . ."

I was confused for a moment, and then it dawned on me, "No, he really wanted to call us Meaningless Death Imagery. That's part of the reason I changed the name of Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools. It was such a cool name for a band that I had to use it somewhere.

"Ok, so, since I'm going to be paying them, what is the going rate for a drummer and a bassist?"

"A piece of the pie, just like I get."

"Only on stuff they record with me, I take it?"

"Yep."

"Then book us some studio time mid next week. I feel like getting 'My life with you is Hell' and 'Black Flag' up on iTunes."

"Life around you in never dull, Keith."

"Just the way I likes it."

Keith ended the call and went inside.'

"Well, guys. Welcome to Up in Flames."

Davey was the first to get his voice, "You're shittin me."

"Nope, provided you don't mind wearing Goth on stage."

"Can you believe this joker, Guthrie? He tells us that he wants us to join Desdemona's band as long as we don't mind wearing Goth on stage."

"Yeah. . .um, what is your name?"

"You looked at my ID and didn't read it?"

He pulled the IDs out of his back pocket and handed them back to me, after a quick glance.

"Keith, I for one would be fine with wearing a bright pink tutu, and having neon lights sprouting out of my hair, just as long as I get to be on stage. Compared to that, Goth is tame."

I looked at him funny, but he simply said, "don't ask unless you really want to know."

"Don't tell him. You shouldn't've told me, but you did, and now I'm telling you, you don't wanna know!"

We both looked at Davey, and he looked back at us with an innocent expression. "What? Don't tell me you never watched that movie."

I looked at Guthrie, and he shrugged at me. Some things were probably better left unsaid.

We watched a little TV. We were watching some music show on Vh1. "So, did either of you guys watch Sarah Carerra last night on the Tonight Show?"

Davey and I shared a look. "Um, do you have a crush on every female singer?"

"Just the apparently unattached ones."

"Hate to break it to you, Guthrie, but she's dating Josh Holliday."

"What's Josh got that I don't?"

"Talent," I said at the same time that Davey said, "good looks," and Gretchen said, "money," from the doorway.

"I know when I'm beat."

"So, who's this?" Davey asked looking at Gretchen.

She plopped onto my lap, "I'm Gretchen."

"You ever get tired of the big cross-dressing lug, I can always climb into your lap."

"The cross-dressing is a bonus."

"Ok, I didn't need to know that."

Everyone chuckled at this.

"Etch, These are Davey and Guthrie. Drums and Bass."

"Etch?" Said Davey looking at me."

"Yeah, my nickname for her."

"Mind if I use it, Fair Lady?"

"My, you are a flirt." Gretchen giggled a bit.

"At least you didn't call me a little one."

He finally cracked a grin and we laughed. "Geeze, you guys need to lighten up."

We hung out for a little while, and then I noticed that we would just have time to get up to the hospital for visiting hours.

"Hey, guys, I definitely want you two to play with me. Richard has your contact info?" I got two nods and continued, "ok, then as soon as we get studio time scheduled, I'll call you."

"Thanks for this opportunity, Keith."

"Yeah, man, thanks."

Guthrie and Davey let themselves out. We hopped in Gretchen's car and made the trip up to Provo. We parked and made our way into the warren of passageways that is the UVRMC. The difficulty comes from each portion of the hospital being built at separate times. At one point, each of the buildings had different floor numberings, and the floor would change from one end of a hall to the next.

We got to Buffy's room without much difficulty. She had a keyboard on her lap, connected to a small screen in front of her, and a bigger one connected to the wall behind her head. Apparently her dad wanted her to be able to communicate as easily as possible.

She smiled with her eyes when she saw me. I watched as the words slowly appeared on the screen: I hear I have you to thank for my life.

"I did what anyone would have done."

:Everyone else was looking in the wrong place.

"I just love walking in the desert."

:Just accept my thanks, damnit. You deserve it.

"Ok, you're welcome."

:Hi, Gretchen.:

"Hi Hon. How you feeling?"

:sore. My face hurts, and my legs hurt. My dad tells me I'll be beautiful after this. I keep telling him I was always beautiful inside.:

"I know, hon. You'll come out of this just fine."

:And thinner. I'm not able to eat anything right now. Liquid diet FTW.

We laughed a bit at this. We hung out for about an hour in her room, just trying to cheer her up. I think she did us more good than we did her.

Before we left, I had to ask her something that had been bothering me the entire time, "You seem really upbeat for someone in your position."

:This gave me something I have been dreaming of for years. I am suffering a little pain now, and I have nightmares of the attack, but my outside matches my inside.:

Gretchen squeezed her hand. It was amazing to me that most of her was wound free. "I hope they've had a counselor in to talk to you."

:They have. We talked a lot this morning. She thinks it will be a long road to recovery, and not just my physical injuries. I don't agree with her right now, but she's the expert, right?:

"Buffy, only you can decide whether or not you are recovering. Make sure you tell your counselor the truth, though, so she can help you the best she can."

After these platitudes, Gretchen and I drove home.
***
We went to church on Sunday. The rest of the day we relaxed and Gretchen prepared for surgery the next day. She gave me her keys for the first time voluntarily. She'd be in the hospital overnight and I would pick her up on Tuesday morning.

We checked her in and I drove off. Nothing there for me to do. I was just getting to the car when Richard gave me a call. "So, can you meet me in Provo in the next couple of hours?"

"Sure, what's up."

"We have a studio booked with AM Records to get "Black Flag" and "My life with you is Hell" ready to be uploaded to iTunes."

"Ok, I'll need to drive home and get changed, and then drive back up to Provo."

"Where are you now?"

"I just dropped off Gretchen at the hospital for her surgery."

"Ok, that should be fine. Get here when you can."

I made my way out of Salt Lake and drove home as quickly as I could, avoiding speeding of course. I grabbed a pair of flats. After looking through my closet for something comfortable, I grabbed a girls tee and a pair of pants from my drawer. Yes, they were girls jeans. I had to look the role. I put on my makeup and my hair, and picked out a pair of day glow pink tennis shoes.

I grabbed my 12 string and drove up to Provo and found the address that Richard had given me. I saw Davey's black van in the parking lot. I still had no idea what car Guthrie drove.

I went inside, and it was completely different from Riverfront Records.

There was a man sitting at the front desk. “You must be Desdemona.”

“Yep, who are you?”

“I’m Ammon, and this is my studio. Welcome.”

I was impressed. It seemed a smaller company than Riverfront, but there was a definite professional quality about the place that had been lacking in Nashville.

“If you’ll follow me?”

Davey and Guthrie were already set up, and waiting on me.

"Sorry, boys, I had to stop by my house for my guitar, and I was in Salt Lake when Richard called me."

"No worries, Desi.”

“Yeah, your beauty makes the darkness of my day bloom into light.”

I looked at Guthrie, and he broke out laughing. “I’m joking, Desi.”

I laughed with him.

Ammon came over the speaker, “ready to begin whenever you are.”

“I need a couple of run throughs with the guys on ‘Black Flag’ before we record it, is that alright?”

“It’s your time.”

I played through “Black Flag” singing the words quietly. Halfway through, both Guthrie and Davey slipped in. It ended up being somewhere between “Bring Me to Life” and “My Heart will Go On.” I know. It is hard to imagine, but there it is. Think a sweeping voice melody with some pounding accomniment.

We practiced it again, and then it was time to record it. “Ammon, whenever you’re ready.”

I began to play the introduction, which had me playing the top 6 strings alone. I went once through the melody, and then I was hit by the surf of the drums and the call of the bass. We merged and receded from each other like the surf, like the tides. As they kept playing this portion, I moved into a sort of moon rising over the ocean progression. I have no idea how to really describe it beyond that. The high strings of the guitar became the singing of the wind through the lines. I envisioned a merchantman on the high seas.

I began to sing slowly:
On the seas of life I sail, between the ports of youth and age
I have gi'en you but little of my thought.
I was young and was naive, and you, the fool, were thought a sage
In my heart is the battle that we fought.

I had given you my love, and found in you good truth and learning
you offered up my love for less than naught
When I came to you in pain, and thought to gain a balm of healing
Yet in vain would I search for what I sought

The bass line took on the creaking of the rigging, and I took on the pounding of the feet running to stations. The drums were the cannon as the pirate ship came into range and began its attack on the helpless merchantman:
It flaps in the wind from the highest mast, striking fear in the hearts of man.
And it looks on the world, seeking souls to steal, but mine not one of them.
I have braved your foul oath,
my sword has run you through,
I am ready here for you. . .with knee unbent
For this time when we shall meet,
'neath the glare of that pale moon,
it is your cloak and not mine. . .shall be rent
For your love I sought in ages past, but love gi'en not in return
And the end of our journey will be resolved upon that night,
Only one of us can live while darkness flies.

The bass and drums backed off, and we were back to the original melody. The merchantman slipped into the fog for a reprieve:
In the mirror are you seen, to be my own true other half
My dreams of you are lost to distant past
You sit and say, while those plans you made, a word on my behalf
Those plans to fly my bones upon your mast.

But I shall not falter, nor shall I fall, as my own true path I tread
And the laugh you hear in your dead ear, my last
For the quick shall flee before my wrath, and all behind be dead
As we look upon all that we have surpassed

We ramped back into the chorus. The pirates opened fire as soon as the sails were seen, but it was a warship, and the pirates were outgunned:
It flaps in the wind from the highest mast, striking fear in the hearts of man.
And it looks on the world, seeking souls to steal, but mine not one of them.
I have braved your foul oath,
my sword has run you through,
I am ready here for you. . .with knee unbent
For this time when we shall meet,
'neath the glare of that pale moon,
it is your cloak and not mine. . .shall be rent
For your love I sought in ages past, but love gi'en not in return
And the end of our journey will be resolved upon that night,
Only one of us can live while darkness flies.

I envisioned the pirates slowly sinking as we finished up the final chords, and the merchantman being escorted back to port by the warship.

We finished and I talked to the control room. "Can we get a playback of that?"

We listened to the sound and it seemed good, but since this was his studio, "What do you think, Ammon?"

"It seems good. There are a couple of rough spots in the transition between the verse and chorus. Want to try it again?"

We ran through it two more times before all of us agreed that it was good.

We'd all practiced our parts of "My life with you is Hell" enough that it only took us two times before we had it where we wanted it.

"You guys know 'Bodies'?"

They nodded at me. "Ammon, we're going to do one more track, if that's ok?"

"Your time, your money," he said with a smile.

It took us another half an hour to get "Bodies" where I wanted it. Finally, we had three tracks.

"Richard Fields said that you needed these in MP3 format. I can hold onto your masters for you as well."

"That sounds good to me. Just send them off to him when they're ready."

I turned to my two compatriots. "Well, hopefully people want us still." I said it with a smile, but there was a bit of worry in my heart.

"Look, You are one of the best singers I've ever met," Guthrie said. We all laughed at this. "I know, limited experience, but I have had a lot of tryouts. You bring out the best in the people you work with, or you just know how to pick the right people. Either way, you can't help but be successful."

"Yeah, boss-lady, you're an amazing talent."

I looked at the time, "I gotta run, guys. Visiting hours."

"Later, Desi."

"Bye, Desi."

I went to the UVRMC and up to Buffy's room.

:Where's Gretchen?:

"Up in Salt Lake for her surgery."

:Oh, yeah!:

"So, how are you feeling?"

:A little better. I'm still sore, and will be for a while.:

"Ok, well, glad to hear you're hanging in there."

:Thanks for coming here. I appreciate the visit.:

We visited a bit and I left her a bit happier than I found her, I hope.
***
I drove back up to the University of Utah hospital to pick up Gretchen. We filled out her paperwork and she was wheeled out to the curb. I ran to get her car and helped her into the passenger seat.

"So. . ."

"Yes?" Gretchen had a grin on her face.

"You know. . ."

"Sorry, yes, I know. Yes, it's swollen, and there is bruising, but I am all girl now." Her smile was radiant.

We talked about inconsequential items as I drove. She was beaming. She'd wince in pain a bit when I went over a bump, but it was overshadowed by her happiness.

I contrasted the two people I knew in this situation. Buffy had almost died. Gretchen went through it as a matter of course. Both of them got the same result.

When we got home, Tom was watching the news. I caught something that surprised me.

"Still no news about Sarah Carerra. As you know, she collapsed during the Wake Up program, and was rushed to the hospital. There has been no press release as of yet, but some information says that she has not regained consciousness yet."

I helped Gretchen to her room, and then tried to find more information about Sarah, but there wasn't anything new.

I kept track of both Gretchen and Sarah during the rest of the week. On Thursday, Sarah woke up. She'd be giving a press conference on Saturday, so I went and visited Buffy for the first time in days.

She seemed happy to see me. She'd downloaded the new tracks from iTunes and was listening to "Black Flag" when I walked in.

:I love this new song.:

"Glad to hear it. We recorded it on Monday with my new band members."

:Good. I'm glad that Bobby wasn't able to destroy you or me. We are better than him.:

I was a little worried about her words, but decided to leave it to her counselor. As I was leaving the hospital, I got a call from Yancey.

"Originally, I'd only scheduled you to start next week, I know, but could you come in tomorrow? One of my other employees had something come up, and won't be able to make it."

"Sure. I can do that."

"Will you do me a huge favor?"

"What. . .?"

"Come dressed like you did for Gothplosion?"

I laughed, "Sure, I can do that."

"See you tomorrow, Yancey."

"See ya, 'Desi'."

I drove home. "Hey, Etch, Yancey wants me to dress full blown stage Desdemona tomorrow."

She giggled at me. "Make sure you take my camera. I want photos."

"Fine, I'll get photos." I tried to sound put out, but I smiled at her.

I made sure she was comfortable, and waited on her hand and foot. It was getting late when I got a call from Richard.

"More bad news with iTunes?"

"Nope, good news this time. Your songs are selling well. You've been downloaded almost three hundred thousand times as of this point. I made sure the naming and organization was proper this time, and so did my publisher. We're golden this time. That's just over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars gross."

"Wow."

"That's only the songs we uploaded this week. 'Bodies' is still being downloaded. I split off a share for Bobby and Jake from those. I made sure that your purchases came from your share, and theirs came for their respective shares. That's why I hire accountants. After we take out shares for Guthrie and Davey and myself, including the sales of the video and 'Bodies', You have just over a hundred thousand dollars."

I was shocked. It had taken my mother, father, and I all saving what we could afford sixteen years to gather the money in my college fund.

I'd earned more than that signing in less than a month.

"Um, Richard, do you do accounting work for me, or am I going to have to hire a money manager or something?"

"Well, since you're almost family, I can help you out. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking of tossing half of it into my college fund, putting ten thousand in my checking account, and then investing the rest somewhere, but I'm not sure where yet."

"Ok, I'll contact some brokers and see what I can find out regarding good investments for you."

"I don't want anything too risky. Just something that will give me a good return."

"Yeah, after your behavior and choices, I don't think it's going to be too difficult to get your emancipation extended."

"Hush. I still have to finish high school."

"You better put some effort into it, according to Gretchen."

"Yeah, I know. It just seems like there are better uses for my time."

"Can I give you some advice, Keith?"

"Shoot."

"Decide why you're doing it. Figure out where you want to go to college. You have enough money in there to pay for most four year institutions in the nation. Figure out where you belong, and get yourself there."

"Yeah, maybe I should apply to Juilliard."

"Why not?"

"I'd never get it."

"With how good you are on the guitar? I happen to know you could do classical guitar, Jazz studies, composition, voice. . ."

"Wow. . .that would be cool. Me, at Juilliard. In three years, Desdemona might be an ancient memory, so that might be a great place for me to be."

"Keep it in mind. Figure out what you need to get there, and do it."

"Ok, thanks."

I hung up and looked at Gretchen. "So, how would you like to live in New York for a few years?"

"Maybe I'm going to college somewhere else?"

"Like where?'

"BYU?"

"You can go to BYU?"

"Sure, as long as my pastor gives me an endorsement."

I chuckled at this. Well, that would be cool. "Well, time to go to sleep, Etch. See ya tomorrow."

I went to bed and actually dreamed of Juilliard. It would be something to try out, definitely. Juilliard would prepare me for a real career in music, after my band went the way of most bands: fade into obscurity.
***
I caused a sensation. I made sure to bring my marker with me, and I signed a lot of shirts, one or two chests, and even a breast. I did my best to touch as little as possible, but no contact is impossible.

^#32 It may be transitory, but it's memorable, Desdemona.

I took a picture after I was done. I wanted to remember that one. The girl, a pretty blonde, asked for a copy and gave me her email address. She winked when she gave it, and the reason she asked me to sign that part became clear.

I'd have to get a Desdemona email address. Preferably one with industrial strength spam filters.

Toward six o'clock, as the crowds were thinning, I felt a tug on my skirt.

I looked down and saw a cute little girl standing there. I crouched down to her eye level. She couldn't have been more than six or seven years old.

"Hi, Honey, how can I help you?"

"Nice miss clown lady? Can I come to the circus with you?"

"I'm not from the circus, Honey."

"Oh." Her face fell, and she looked like she was going to cry, "Daddy always told me if I was bad he would sell me to the circus. I think going to the circus is better than being good."

"Don't you want to go back to live with your Daddy?"

"Please, miss clown lady, don't make me go home with Daddy."

"You can call me Desi."

"Ok, Dizzy."

I smiled, but didn't correct her. I looked up and saw Yancey standing over us.

"Hey, Yance, I think we have a lost girl."

She completely broke down, "I thought you'd protect me!" She wailed, and a man materialized out of the crowd gathering at the front of the store.

"There you are, Celia. It's time to go home."

The second he touched her, she screamed.

"Yance, call the police. I think we need someone better suited than us to sort this out."

What in the world did I get myself into this time. I just went to work to earn some money. Sure, at this point I don't really need it, but I like the store. Now, I've got a little girl turning to me for help, and acting like her father is hurting her.

AM Records is trademark Ammon Monroe and both are used with his permission

A damsel is rescued, Desdemona gets a new nickname, and Keith gets naked for his art.

Sometimes, life gives you a little bit of a curveball. I went to work as Desdemona, and now I'm in the middle of something, but I'm not sure what.

"I called the police, Desi. They should be here within a couple of minutes."

"Look, this has been a bit of a misunderstanding. I'll just take my daughter. . ."

"NO!!!" Save me Dizzy!" She clung to me frantically. I had no idea what to do, but I wouldn't let her get hurt.

"Sir, I understand what you're saying, but I need you to step outside of the store. You're upsetting her, and we can get this sorted as soon as the cops arrive."

In the course of a week, I'd gone from being questioned by the police, to needing them desperately.

"Give me my daughter, Bitch."

"Sir, that's no way to treat a lady!"

He turned around and then looked down. Davey was standing next to him. "This mook giving you trouble, Boss-lady?"

"Yes, Davey, but we've already called the police."

The guy had tried to sneak around me while I'd been talking to Davey, but the girl was too smart for him. She kept me between the two of them.

Yancey walked up to him, "Sir, I suggest you leave the store if you know what's good for you."

"Clear a space, People!"

They turned around and the police walked in. It was the same two from the hospital. Oh crap. . .but wait, they only knew me as Keith.

"Sir, could you step outside with me, please?"

"I don't want to leave my daughter alone."

"Your daughter appears to be afraid of you. I would like you to step outside please."

"I forbid you from questioning her without me present. It's against the law!"

"Sir, I don't have to have you present to question her as a witness. Unless you're saying she has done a criminal act. I mean, she's only six or seven."

Reluctantly, the man followed the taller of the two out of the shop.

"Hi there. I'm Harold Timmons. What's your name?"

"Are you really a police man?"

"Yep, here's my badge, but you're too young to look at my gun."

"I'm Celia."

"That's a pretty name. So, Celia, I hear you don't want to go home with your Dad. Could you tell me about it?"

"He has lots of rules for me to follow. Like when I can eat and sleep. What I can wear at home."

"So, when can you eat?"

"Breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"Do you get enough to eat then? Three meals can be a lot."

"I'm hungry a lot though."

"We can have a doctor check you out."

She went white and tried to hide under my skirt. It took a moment or two to coax her out. "Doctors help you."

"That's what Daddy said, but the doctor he brought hurt me."

"Where did he hurt you."

"Down here," she pointed to her belly and legs, "he had a big silver thing that he used. He said all big girls need checkups."

I was about to say something, but the Harold looked at me. He was angry, and doing his best to keep a happy face on for Celia. It looks like I might have misjudged him.

"Dispatch" he said into the radio on his shoulder.

"Go ahead."

"I need to get a child to a hospital for a full physical including x-rays. Possible abuse."

"I'll send out a bus to pick her up. unless you want to take her in your car."

"Celia, would you like to ride in a police car, or an ambulance?"

"Ambulances are for sick people."

"Right you are, Celia. Dispatch, I'm taking her in my car. Do you want me to go to UVRMC or Timpanogos."

"I'll let UVRMC know you're coming."

"So, you ready to go?"

"Only if Dizzy can come with me."

Harold looked at me, "Dizzy?"I

"It's Desdemona, actually, but my friends call me Desi."

"Got it. So, mind coming to the hospital with us?"

I looked at Yancey, "Oh, go on. You were about done with your shift anyway."

"Thanks, Yance."

Celia latched onto my hand and wouldn't let go. We went out the back way, to avoid her father.

Celia and I got in the back of the squad car, and were driven to the hospital. We followed Harold in, and at reception he was directed to take her to radiology. We went there and a nice lab tech took her x-rays. They did all the major bones, and the skull. They probably had no idea what they were looking for.

"Ok, they want her in room 305. Do you need directions?"

"I know where it is. Thanks." Harold said. He lead us to the room. When we entered, Harold said, "I'll go ahead and wait outside."

"This is different from the last time. Daddy had the doctor come to his house."

"Isn't it your house too?"

"I live with Mommy, but I had to stay with Daddy today. Mommy and Daddy don't live together anymore."

The door opened, and a doctor walked in. "Hello, ladies."

Celia began to scream. The doctor turned to run out of the room as Harold was trying to come in. He held onto the doctor while I tried to calm her.

"What's wrong, Celia?"

"You lied to me, you told me this doctor would be different. It's the same man."

"I really didn't know, sweetie. It's Ok. We didn't know who your doctor was. Officer Harold will take him out. It's ok sweetie."

She clung to me and cried. I had no idea what to do with kids. I tried to comfort her, but she just cried harder. She climbed into my lap and put her arms around me. I put my hand on her back and did my best to make her feel safe.

A female doctor came in a few minutes later.

"Hello, Celia, My name is Patricia. Want to turn so I can see your pretty face?"

Celia peeked around at the woman. "There it his. Well, Celia, I need to check you out, and I'm sorry, but I have to look at your private bits. Is it ok with you if I do that?"

Celia made a slight nod. "Are you her mother?"

"No, just a stranger, actually. I'm Desdemona." I held out my hand limply to shake.

"I heard that you lived in Colorado."

I blushed, "no, I live in Utah."

"Prove it. You may look like her, but just about anyone could be under that makeup."

I showed her my ID.

"Here I expected you to sing. You're name is legally Desdemona?"

"Legal alias."

"Well, I would have preferred you to sing."

"Autograph instead?"

"I have nothing for you to sign."

"How about the inside of your lab coat."

"Why not," she said with a bemused grin.

"Celia, could you sit on the table for a moment for me? Here, hold my purse and the cap of the pen for me, ok?"

She smiled at the responsibility, and sat there perfectly straight. Patricia handed me her lab coat. ^#40Because you wanted me to sing, Desdemona.

"Ok, so I really believe you now. That is definitely a Desdemona autograph."

I chuckled at this.

"Sorry for the distraction, Celia."

"Is Dizzy a famous clown?"

"Well, she's a famous singer who wears clown makeup sometimes."

I retrieved my stuff from Celia while they talked.

"Now, I'm going to have to ask Dizzy," Patricia smiled as she said this, "To leave for a bit, is that ok?"

"Yeah, you're nice. You won't hurt me, will you?"

"I'll try my best not to. I'll tell you if it might hurt a little, ok?"

Celia nodded, but with a worried look on her face. "I'll be right outside, ok?"

She smiled at me, and I left.

The officer was no longer outside, and I wondered if he'd taken the doctor into custody. Some things I didn't need to know. I looked at the door to the exam room. Some things I didn't want to know.

After ten or so minutes the door opened behind me, and a Celia missile shot out and clamped onto my leg. The doctor came out behind her, "do you know where the officer went?"

"I don't. No one was out here when I got out."

"Ok, go ahead and wait in the room while I find out what we need to do with Celia."

"The nice doctor lady said you sing."

"Yep."

"Do you know muffin man?"

I sang that for her, and a couple of other songs. She liked my farmer in the dell, especially when I put an elephant on the farm.

"Elephants belong in circuses, not on farms."

"Why not? Maybe the farmer always wanted an elephant."

"Silly, Dizzy."

We laughed a bit, and Doctor Patricia came back. "A woman from DCFS is stopping by. We're going to be taking Celia to her Mom's house for the time being. Her father is apparently being booked as we speak, as is Doctor Platt."

I didn't want to know. I didn't ask.

A severe looking woman in a gray business suit entered the room. "Let's get you home, Celia."

No introduction. Oh, well.

"Can Dizzy come with us? I want to show her my house."

"Sure, as long as it's alright with Dizzy."

"It's Desdemona." I said extending a hand.

"Hope." She said extending hers.

I bit my tongue to prevent saying something about the irony of such a dried up old prune being called "Hope". You always envisioned someone in blond pigtails and the blush of youth.

I guess even hope grows old eventually.

We drove into Orem and up to a fair sized house on a hill overlooking the scenic Movies 8 cinema. Celia practically dragged me to the house.

A pretty woman in her early twenties opened the door after what seemed like forever. She was wearing a pair of cutoff sweats as shorts and a damp tee shirt. "Celia! What are you doing home."

Hope spoke, "Your ex-husband has been arrested, so we're bringing her home. We suggest you don't allow him to be alone with Celia for the time being."

"Arrested?"

"Daddy hurt me, Mommy, and Dizzy saved me."

"Dizzy?"

"Desdemona," I said, "I go by Desi with my friends, and so she thought it was Dizzy. I'm fine with it."

"A little early for Halloween, isn't it?" The woman scowled at me when she said this.

"Ms. Desdemona is a minor celebrity of some sort. A rock star I believe."

Her attitude changed completely at Hope's dry words. She looked like she wanted to protect her daughter from me now. I just shook my head. "Nice meeting you, Ma'am. Sorry it was under these circumstances."

She looked mollified a bit, and opened her mouth to speak a couple of times before saying, "Look, I'm sorry. Ever since he left me for a younger woman, I've been worried about the female role models my ex has been introducing to my daughter. You seemed to be the worst of my nightmares come true."

"Look, ma'am. I didn't ask for this. Your daughter picked me to help her. I did what I could. We both know that this world can be a scary place. I'm just glad she was able to reach out to anyone."

"What's your name again?"

"Desdemona."

"Desdemona, look, I'm sorry. I should have been more grateful to have my daughter safe, it's just that I wasn't expecting anyone and well, um. I'm still trying to adjust to what's going on. . ."

She blushed bright red.

"Celia, you want to sing the farmer and the dell some more while Mommy cleans up a bit?"

"Mommy looks clean, she even has bubbles behind her ear."

She blushed even redder at this and brushed her hand through her hair. She missed the bubbles.

"She needs to clean up the house a bit, Doll."

"I can help."

"Celia, not this time, but I think we might convince Hope to sing with us, and after the house is clean, she needs to leave."

"Can you really sing?"

She sat down on the porch with us while Celia's Mom went in to "Clean up"

If anything she was a better singer than I was, and I was supposed to be able to sing for my supper.

She added in bunnies. She made a sound like a dog, which got Celia giggling.

"Bunnies don't bark."

"How about meow. They can meow, right?"

"NooOoo! They don't meow." Celia giggled at her.

"Well, smarty pants, what sound does a bunny make." I asked.

She twitched her nose.

"That's not a sound."

"Just cause you aren't listening right, doesn't mean it's not a sound."

Out done by a six year old. Girls must cheat.

We were all giggling like school girls when her Mom came back. "Mommy!!"

Her mother had tears in her eyes when she hugged her. Well, better late than never.

"Mrs. Connors, I'll be stopping by on Monday to check that everything's alright, is that ok?"

"I went back to my maiden name of Wells. Yes, stop by anytime."

"See you Monday, Ms. Wells."

After the door closed, I turned to Hope. "Think I could get a ride to the Mall. My girlfriend's car is there and I need it to drive home."

"Girlfriend?"

"Yep." I thought for a moment of what I could have said instead:

"Hi, my name is really Keith. I dress like this because I sing soprano."

"I never would have guessed. You look so natural."

"I've had some good teachers. Two of my friends are transgendered." and so on.

"Yep, I can drop you off there." She was oblivious to my internal byplay, thankfully.

We arrived at the mall. "Look, I know this is a weird request, but I like to have autographs of all the famous people that I meet during the course of my work. Would you mind?"

She pulled out an oversized autograph album. Some of the pages had phone numbers on them, and I figured I might as well. ^#41I hope my music can be as helpful as you are, Desdemona 435-555-1267

As I sat down in Gretchen's car, I grabbed a pad of paper I stashed under the passenger seat. I jotted down the words that ran through my head. I had another verse for "Don't Blame the Girls." I felt there was still a piece missing.

I drove home, thinking about everything that had happened today.

When I got home Gretchen yelled for my attention, "Keith, is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Come here quick."

I went up to her room, where she was relaxing in bed with her laptop on a cooling pad. "Apparently there's a betting pool about what the text for your 42nd autograph is going to be."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"So, what have they got?"

"Thanks for life the universe and everything. . .It's just another number. . .Doctor Who did it better. . .Here's for you, Mr. Robinson. . .and a lot of stupid ones."

"Jeeze, people, life is not a Douglas Adams novel."

"You should do that one."

"What, really?"

"Yes, that and I put up a hundred dollars on it half an hour ago. I never thought it would win, but I wanted that up there."

I chuckled at that. "I'm going to sign my guitar with that. Be right back."

I started with the Marker. ^#42Life is not a Douglas Adams novel, Desdemona. I considered prettying it up a bit, but that wasn't the way my signatures went. I put a lacquer over the top to keep it in place and went inside to let it dry.

I talked with Gretchen a bit, and then went downstairs to take pictures to upload to the site. I used the DesdemonaUpInFlames login.

I logged into the forums, and posted the pic in the #42 thread: Hey guys. Heard about this contest, so thought I'd put in my two cents worth.

I posted a picture of my guitar and logged off.

I lay in bed next to Gretchen and we talked until we fell asleep.
***
We were watching a broadcast of the tape of the Sarah Carerra press conference. I was getting more and more angry, the longer that it went on. How could anyone have done that to a sweet young girl like that. I was well and truly steamed by the end.

I'd caught his name as Brady, but didn't hear anyone mention his last name. I went online and did a search for Brady and Sarah Carerra and found a news article titled, "Brady Townsend fired for Sarah Carerra harassment."

Well, I now had a name. I grabbed a sheet of paper, and finished the song. I had all of it now. I had "Don't Blame the Girls." and now I just needed to get it online.

I didn't need any money for this one. It would make me feel like an accomplice to all of the hate.

I called up Richard, "I need a video camera and Guthrie and Davey. We have a response to the Sarah Carerra press conference to get online."

"Ok, Meet at Gretchen's?"

"Yes."

I spent the time waiting running through the music. Each of us had our part, and we would do this in a single take. No special editing, or anything else to detract from the message. I realized I was still in Keith mode, so I ran upstairs. "I need something for this song, Etch" I handed her the page with the lyrics on it.

"Third from the right should be a perfect dress."

The dress had a square neck line and was perfectly white. I was knee length on me. I wore my ballet flats, and my hair of course. I wore muted makeup.

Gretchen carefully came over and sat on the stool next to mine. "We should probably thin your eyebrows for this one."

I had a moment of panic. This would not be something I could hide easily.

"Without the normal makeup to minimize them they stand out a bit. It will help feminize your face a bit."

I took a deep breath and sighed. "Go ahead."

She carefully plucked my eyebrows and I was left with a very feminine visage looking out of the mirror. I just hoped they grew back or it would be fun going back to school.

She finished and I was heading downstairs when the doorbell rang. It was Guthrie. "Keith?! Wow, you look so different."

"I know. We need a more innocent look for this one. It is a different song than we usually use."

"Well, the guys are in the garage, setting up."

I went out. Richard had hired a full camera team. They had lights and a boom mic, and a full studio camera. Well, as long as we could afford it, I was fine."

"You ready for this, guys?"

Davey answered for all of us, "Yep. You lead."

"We have a slight addition to the song. I added a vocal bridge of sorts." I played through it a couple of times, and Davey and Guthrie figured out their parts. We practiced the song a dozen times, and then it was show time.

The red light came on the camera, and I began speaking: "There are people in this country who feel that just because we are in the public eye, that our entire lives are fair game. We are treated with derision and scorn because of our chosen careers.

"We are also looked down upon because we are women. I've got news for you: about fifty percent of the world is women. We nurture and raise. Many of us live the lives of second class citizens. We persevere.

"Over the past week, I was introduced to three women whose lives have been made harder by the choices of others. You all know one of them, as she was hounded this morning by people who should have known better. Two others have suffered worse fates.

"Sometimes, emotion speaks loudly to me, as it did in this case. I wrote a song, to let out that emotion so that it didn't choke me. It is what I really have to say on the subject."

The song began, and it, as always, reminded me of "100 years" with a blues bass and percussion.

Don't blame the girl,
It's not her fault,
This is her life, and it is hard
You hate your life, so I can see
Just don't take this out on her, or me!
We live your rules,
Not by our own,
Don't blame the girls
It's not our fault.

When she was just seventeen
She turned you down, where you were seen
You made her pay,
Hope killed through pain.
Spoken: She asked you more than once to simply turn away

Don't blame the girl,
It's not her fault,
This is her life, and it is hard
You hate your life, so I can see
Just don't take this out on her, or me!
We live your rules,
Not by our own,
Don't blame the girls
It's not our fault.

Another girl, was in the mess
Her life in public's view was lived to entertain us
You tore her wounds
You showed the world
Spoken: How dare you do this to an innocent like her!

There was more power to this new section, for a moment, I left "100 years" behind, and it was all rock ballad.
We live in pain, to bring new life
We are your daughter, your mother, your wife!
You put us down, you cause us strife
It is your fault, not ours, you see
how can you blame us for your bigotry

Don't blame the girl,
It's not her fault,
This is her life, and it is hard
You hate your life, so I can see
Just don't take this out on her, or me!
We live your rules,
Not by our own,
Don't blame the girls
It's not our fault.

One other girl, she was so young
She wasn't old enough to know why you had come
Innocence you kill
For your short thrill
Spoken: How could the one who made her feel safe do this to her.

Don't blame the girl,
It's not her fault,
This is her life, and it is hard
You hate your life, so I can see
Just don't take your hatred out on her or me!
We live your rules,
Not by our own,
Don't blame the girls
It's not our fault.

Spoken: Don't you dare to blame the girls for what is truly only your own fault.

"Thank you."

The camera crew was a bit choked up, and I think I might have been crying at the end. I know my voice cracked and there were tears on my face, but I have no idea where they came from. For a moment, I wasn't myself. I was just those three hurt girls.

One of the guys ran over to the big van that the camera cables ran into. A couple of minutes later he emerged with a CD.

"We were told you wanted to upload this to YouTube?"

"Yes."

"Ok, there are two files on here. One is a high quality original, and the other is for YouTube. Richard said he might want to do something with the high quality version."

Ok, I wanted no profit from this. I called up Richard. "I thought we agreed no profit. I do not want to make money on suffering."

"I know, that's why we are donating all of our proceeds from the sale of the video to Safe Passage Home."

"Is it a good charity?"

"Yes, and it helps battered women, so it fits with the message of your song. I figured that this would be the best way to make sure everyone knew you were serious. The text actually says that $0.57 of every sale goes to the charity."

"That's all our profit, so I guess that works for me."

"I knew you'd see it my way."

We uploaded the song, and I went and talked with Gretchen. We sat there on her bed and talked about the wedding, and other things. We laughed and enjoyed each other's company. "I love you, Etch."

"I love you too, Keith. Why don't we make it a double wedding?"

"Wait, what?"

"I'm not sure that Jordan would mind. And you are legally an adult. . ."

"I don't think that means I can get married without my Mom's consent before I'm 18."

"But. . ."

"I love you, you know that, right?"

"Well, yeah."

"I mean I really love you. You and no one else. There is no one in this world I would rather spend my entire life with."

"I know."

"Then have patience. I'm still in high school. You're not even legally female yet."

"Yes I am. Dad and I got the court order signed before my surgery, so all it needed was the surgery attested to by a surgeon. I got my new birth certificate today."

I smiled at her and kissed her, "That's wonderful!"

"So, will you marry me."

I hugged her to me, and held her. "Etch, I can't. Not yet. We're not ready yet."

"But, I need you. I know you want to wait, and figured. . ."

I chuckled a bit, still holding her. "Honey, if it means this much to you, and you can convince your father not to kill me, we can consider other options. I will not, however, marry you till I'm 18 at least, and I would prefer to wait until then. Call it my upbringing peeking through."

"You're being so girly about this. Isn't it the guy who's supposed to wheedle, and the girl who's supposed to resist?"

"Call it old fashioned sensibilities. I want to do things in the proper order."

"Fine, fine. I'll wait. I'll try. You just get your behind in gear and turn 18, ok?"

"Well, it's not like it's two years away."

"What do you mean? You're still only 16."

"My birthday is in two weeks. That means it is only twelve and a half months 'til I'm 18."

My phone rang. I'd changed the ringer to a polyphonic of "My life with you is Hell" when a call for Desdemona came through. Yeah, they already had them and I was getting no money for them. I thought again I would need to ask Richard about it, and promptly forgot when I heard who was on the other end of the line.

"This is Desdemona."

"Is that legally your name? This is Alecia Moore."

"Yes, it's legally my name. Um, what can I do for you?" I think my awe shone through in my voice.

"Lady, you're famous, just like the rest of us, especially after that YouTube stunt you pulled earlier today."

"It doesn't mean that I can't get a little heroworshipy when someone like you calls me."

"There's the spirit. So, I caught your video, and I have to say that I misjudged you a bit. I heard from your agent that you wanted to play 'You an Your Hand'. I'll let you on one condition."

"Anything."

"I like your spirit, girl. Here it is, as long as you release a recording of 'Stupid Girl' at the same time, you can do 'You an Your Hand'."

"Um, ok. Sure."

"And I have to say, you cost me some money with your #42 stunt. I thought you'd go with Here's for you Mr. Robinson."

We laughed and said good-bye.

Again I had days that were ups and downs, even ins and outs. Why does life have to be like this? Why must it give only to take away. I knew that little Celia would bring with her those things that were done for the rest of her life. It half made me wish I'd told her I was really a boy. Something that could remind her later that not all men would be like her father.

I sat down on the bed next to Gretchen and told her that we could sing the Pink song I wanted, and now had an additional song. So, I had a total of seven songs now for a future album.

"So, what's the big plan next, Keith? Where do you take the band from here?"

"I don't know. I spent so much time trying to get to this point, that I have no idea where I want to go. Maybe I should contact Spotlight Studios again, and see if they are still looking for someone with my talent."

"You've done ok with yourself so far."

"I'm only just beginning to realize everything that a big label does for you. They would have handled the problem with iTunes, and I would never have lost money over it. I would never have had to deal with the guy back east, since I would have already been signed."

"They wouldn't have protected you from your band breaking up."

"True, some things you still have to deal with yourself."

"What's wrong with contacting Spotlight? They wanted you before."

"Maybe I should."

She grabbed my phone from my hand, "Hey."

I didn't want to hurt her, so she easily kept the phone away from me as she dialed.

"Uncle Richard? Can you set up a meeting with Spotlight Studios and Up in Flames? Yeah, Keith was dithering about it."

"I don't dither."

"Yep, that's what he said. Ok, I will. Love ya."

"He said he'd contact them on Monday."

I snorted. Well, life with Gretchen was never dull. "What was that for? You know you needed to do it," she said reacting to my snort.

"I know. It's just that I was never sure if I could face them. They were the ones who put the idea for this in my head. It sort of feels like signing with them would be a big 'I told you so.'"

"So, what of it. Keith, you are a special person. It's really time to get out there and show the world."

"Fine," I said grimly.

"That's not what I like to hear. You need enthusiasm."

I put on a big cheesy grin, "That would be super swell, Gretchen." I might have even swung my arm around.

"That's the spirit." We laughed about this, well, she giggled more than laughed.
***
Church on Sunday, and the next thing I knew, it was Monday, and I was off to work again. I won't bore you with the details. I'm sure some of you have had experiences in the retail industry. The rest aren't missing anything.

I wore the tulip skirt again, this time with a pair of wedge sandals. I wore a black turtleneck on top, though, since I think the poncho thing would be way too revealing for work. I was walking out the door when I realized it had been more than four weeks since I got my ears pierced. The earrings seemed a part of me, and I almost felt bad about it. I changed them for a pair of Gretchen's studs. I could still wear the others on more "Formal" occasions.

My ear's felt light without the earrings, but I would not miss getting pink hair stuck in them for the time being. I wondered if I shouldn't get a longer haired look. Unfortunately, how do you go from having an A-line cut to long hair overnight without people knowing it's a wig.

More signatures today. People have heard that I work here, so I am being inundated by requests. Apparently Yancey is happy with it, especially since we started carrying the knockoff Desdemona earrings. Apparently sales are up almost 20% over this time last year. Not sure it that's god or not. Like I said, she's happy.

So, I'm signing #67, trying to decide how to avoid #69 when I get a call from Richard.

"Spotlight wants to meet with you and the band. They really want to meet with you and the band."

"Ok, well, I get off here at 6:30. . ."

"No, you don't understand Desi. They have rescheduled other clients, and have an opening for you in about forty minutes."

That was barely enough time to get there from here. Barely.

"Yance, I gotta run. Apparently I have a meeting with Spotlight Studios."

"Go, then. Go. This is more important that my store."

I gaped at her.

"You may have noticed that I actually only have you in here for publicity. You are extra to what we need."

I had wondered why there seemed to be an extra person in the store.

"I love ya, Desi, but this is your time. Go, before I fire you," she said with a wink.

I went out the back and hopped in Gretchen's car. I drove up to the building where Spotlight was located in Salt Lake. Luckily, there was a parking garage around the corner. I took of my wedges and ran barefoot with them in my hand. No nylons or tights today.

I entered the front door, and for the second time in my life, the larger than life Spotlight logo was in front of me. It reminded me a bit of the 20^th Century Fox movie logo, but it was just against a cloudy sky. That and there was only one of the spotlights, not two.

Richard, Guthrie and Davey were waiting for me in the lobby. A man I had never met before was there as well.

"Desdemona, meet Lance Praetor."

"Nice of you to make it, Desdemona."

I glanced at my watch and noticed that I was about ten minutes late.

"Traffic was backed up a bit, and I was in Provo when I got the call."

"Excuses have no place in this business."

"Look, Mr. Praetor, I appreciate that you took the time to meet with me this afternoon, I really do, but I have a life which precluded me from sitting around on my butt all day waiting for you to call me."

"You said she had spunk, Richard. I see you were right. If you'll all follow me?"

I blinked a couple of times and then followed the guys back into the inner sanctum of Spotlight.

In contrast with the other studios I'd visited recently, this was a multi-storey affair, with offices on the ground floor and the recording studios above. He led us into a conference room. He shut the door behind us.

"Desdemona, I'm about to tell you something that I didn't tell Richard on the phone. We know that you're Keith Robison."

"Mr. Praetor, let me. . ."

"Wait a moment, Keith, I'm the one needing to explain. We kept a recording of your demo tape. I had the voice print analyzed against your new songs. I thought that your situation was poorly handled in the past, since I am sure we could have, I mean I am sure we can market you as a soprano male singer. Sure, it's different, it's weird, but so are you. In a good way."

I was completely stunned into silence by this. Was all of this I had gone through pointless? Who was he to the company?

"I'm sorry, Mr. Praetor, but do you have that much pull?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, let me properly introduce myself. Hi, I'm Lance Praetor, CEO of Spotlight Productions."

I sat down, hard. I think Davey fainted. I couldn't see him from where I was sitting, but I heard a quiet thump. "What are you saying, Mr. Praetor," asked Guthrie, who was the first one to find his voice.

"What I'm saying is this: We say that Desdemona was a Ziggy Stardust persona of Keith Robison. He used it to introduce people not only to his singing, but his acting talent. Spotlight also has a movie production company called Spotlight Films.

"You would be the star of the hour, Keith. You have passed as female in the midst of other people, not only that, you passed as a specific female. I also know that you've done it before on stage, and that you generally get leading roles when you try out."

"Have you been stalking me?"

"In the industry it's called scouting."

I had no idea what to say. I really didn't.

I put my head in my hands, and my elbows on the table.

"And that's how I knew you were acting. You let the persona drop, and we get Keith in a dress. No self respecting girl would sit like that."

I sat up straighter immediately, and put my knees together.

"And just like that back in character. You're the closest to a natural born actor I have ever met."

I had felt so much pressure to conform, was that all this was. My friends wanted to succeed, but one had abandoned me, and the other was in jail. Should I give this up? Should I just go back to being Keith?

"Keith, before you tell me anything, let me make one thing absolutely clear. We want you no matter the terms. If that means we only get Desdemona the singer, then ok. If we get Desdemona as a singer and an actress, that's fine too.

"Personally, I hope we get Keith, since there is so much more possibility there."

"How much time do I have to decide?"

I could tell he was a bit shocked. I guess for most guys it would have been an easy decision. Most guys would never have had to make it in the first place. Well, it was becoming obvious that I wasn't most guys. I still thought of myself as male however, and wondered at my reticence.

"Mr. Praetor, I have my girlfriend to consider. She was the one who suggested this, and partially I keep dressing this way for her. I don't personally know how I feel about it, but I want to talk to her before I come to any decisions regarding my future. I need to know I'm making the right choice."

"You seem very adult for a sixteen year old, Keith."

"Well, Lance, he is emancipated."

"Ok, now I have to have you even more. Really. I hate dealing with children, mostly because of their parents. You tell a parent their child is a star, and most of them think they've won the lottery, and start placing undue stress on their kids. Then they get burnt-out, and they usually never transition into an adult star.

"Ok, sorry, babbling. Let me leave you here for a bit. I have some other things I can take care of. I'll be back in thirty minutes to an hour. Will that be enough time?"

"If it's not, then the answer will be a no, but I think I will be able to figure something out. I owe these guys."

He walked out and I called Gretchen.

"Etch, I have some weird news."

"Did you sign with Spotlight, Desi?"

"That's the weird news, they want to sign Keith." It sounded like the line went dead. "Etch?"

"I'm still here. Just waiting for the punch line."

"No, it's true. They want to sign me as a singer, and want to also employ me as an actor."

"Just Keith?"

"Or Desdemona, or both. They want me to make a decision."

"Do you get to be an Actress if you're Desdemona?"

"Yep."

"Wow, I don't know what to say."

I could hear the disappointment in her voice. I had to ask it, "Etch, do you like me better as Desdemona?"

"Keith! How can you ask that?"

"Etch, I love you no matter what. I need to know, though. Do you like me better as Desdemona?"

"Well, it's not that simple. I mean. . ."

"Etch, just yes or no please."

"I can't. . ."

"Etch, yes or no!"

"Yes, damn it. I like you as Keith, but I love you as Desdemona. I love the thought of taking off your clothing and finding a boy underneath. I like the way you look in makeup, and the way you make me feel when you look at me in those clothes. Keith would never have kissed me, because he was too scared."

"I'm the same person, Etch."

"No, you're not. Not to me."

"Etch, stop and listen to me a moment." I could hear her sobbing into the phone. This hurt me. What could I tell her. How did I tell her that. . .but that's not true is it. I really didn't mind wearing this clothing, or this hair. It'd always loved wearing makeup. I loved putting on new roles with a few swishes of a brush.

I loved being anyone but me.

"I love you. I don't know how healthy it is, but I'll be Desdemona for you always. She is simply girl me, though, and always has been. I have no change in personality. I would have kissed you as Keith, it just would have taken me longer."

"I'm sorry I said that, Keith. You pushed it out of me. I love Keith too. I really want you to take me right now. I like kissing Desdemona, but when you are with me, physically, I want it to be Keith, always. If that means you need to sign the contract as Keith, do that for both our sakes."

"Thanks, Etch. That helps clarify things for me."

I was crying a bit when I hung up, but I was not sad. I knew what I needed in my life.

I'd told a slight lie to Gretchen. I knew I probably never would have kissed her without Desdemona. It was the look of hunger in her eyes that pushed me over the edge, and Keith never got that.

I had told her the truth though, when I said Desdemona was me. It wasn't like any other role I'd ever played. I didn't need to remember lines. I just spoke as myself, just a little more feminine.

The last thing I needed to consider however, was more serious. Would Keith disappear if I kept presenting to people as Desdemona? I know that I never worried about Desdemona disappearing. She was always there for me to put on. Would Keith become the same, only in reverse? Would Desdemona become the default, with Keith a role I played occasionally?

Was a role more than the clothing that you wore, or the gender that you presented?

Sitting demurely, I turned to the other three in the room, "What do you guys think?"

"Frankly, Scarlett, I don't give a damn."

We laughed for a moment at Davey's quote, and I had to put in my two cents, "The line is 'my dear,' not 'Scarlett.'"

"Never watched that one. I prefer how Tim Curry said the line to Clark Gable anyway, so I quoted the movie I saw."

"What?"

"Clue."

I still didn't have one but let it drop.

"All kidding aside, I don't care. You're talented, and I will play drums for you as long as you let me."

"I agree with Davey."

"It's really your decision, but as your agent, I have to say it would be easier for you to sign as Keith. Less stress."

But it was fun too. I loved playing with male fantasies. It was empowering in a way. I knew I was a boy, and they didn't. Did that make me a tease? Did I really care?

I loved the way that Jake's eyes would glaze over at the thought of Desdemona and Gretchen making out. It made me feel sexy and wanted, and that made me want Gretchen, strangely enough.

I had made it this far without a major crisis of faith, but would it continue?

"I need a paper and pen, now."

It took me thirty minutes to write.

I looked over the lines of my new song, and realized that I was not writing songs for a boy to sing. I was writing songs for Desdemona to sing.

Mr. Praetor walked in at that moment.

"So, have you made a decision?"

"We can reserve bringing Keith out into the world for when people discover my secret. It will happen eventually. Until then, I want to perform as Desdemona alone."

"And Acting?"

"No one ever said that Desdemona couldn't act." I tossed on a southern belle accent for the fun of it, "Why, Mr. Praetor, I do believe that we have some business to conclude."

"I thought you'd say that, and I brought two contracts for you. The first says we are signing Desdemona as a singer and occasional actress. The second states that Desdemona is an Alias of one Keith Robison and that Spotlight signed him to play the role of Desdemona on stage."

"You sneaky bastard. You knew I would decide this way all along."

"Nope. I have a third contract in here for just Keith alone. I covered my bases."

We all laughed at this. Then the three of us signed contracts with Spotlight Productions. Just like that, Up In Flames was represented.

"So, what's first? A local concert?"

"Actually, we have you booked for Saturday Night Live on, you guessed it, Saturday."

"No way!"

"Dude. . ."

"What!?"

Guthrie, Davey, and I all answered simultaneously. I was the incredulous one. It was Davey's dude of course.

"How did you know we would call you?"

"Actually, I called Richard on Saturday telling him that we were interested in signing Up In Flames and had already booked you for SNL. If you'd watched you would have seen yourselves announced as the band."

I looked at Gretchen's uncle and wanted to strangle him.

"I thought you'd enjoy the surprise."

"Ok, I enjoy the surprise. Tell me about it beforehand next time."

We all laughed at the irony of that statement.

"Richard faxed me the terms of your use contracts for 'Bodies,' 'Just a Girl,' 'You an Your Hand,' and 'Stupid Girl.' We'll renegotiate for 'Bodies,' but the rest will let you record with us. So, with those four, and the four songs Keith wrote. . ."

"Um, well, it is four, but were not including 'Don't Blame the Girls.'"

"What?"

"I wrote another song while waiting for you to get down here."

"Ok. We can release a light first album with that, unless you can get another few songs written and recorded in the next week. We want to be able to get the CDs into production as soon as possible, so we want to get all eight songs recorded before Thursday."

"Why Thursday?"

"You fly out Thursday morning for New York. So we have til Wednesday night."

"Yes, but why Thursday?"

"You have a sound check on Friday morning, so we wanted you to get there on Thursday, and the best fare is if you leave Thursday morning."

Three days to get eight songs perfect for an album. I suddenly felt under the gun. It was Monday already. Our other recordings were a bit amateur. These would need to be as good as we could make them, and we needed to learn 'Stupid Girl,' 'What You See (Is What You Get)' and 'I'm My Own,' and they needed to learn 'Just a Girl,' and 'Bodies.'

"You have a studio for us already?"

"Yep, and a producer and sound tech."

"Let's get to it then. . .oh crap, my 12 string."

"We have one for you here. It is in the studio already, and tuned to your preference."

Any minute now I was going to wake up and this would be a dream. Any moment. Sure, long dream sequence for me, but it had to be a dream, right? Nothing like this ever happens to me.

We went up into the studio. The sound tech came in and adjusted our microphones and positioned my stool. We each put on a pair of headphones, which he would use to communicate with us. The producer took the microphone in the control booth and addressed us. "My name's Brad. We have a ton to do and no time to do it in. I've heard good things about you three, so let's see if it plays out. Any preference on what we hit first?"

"Well, they need to learn a couple of songs still."

"Well, hopefully this doesn't turn into a shambles then. Well, get to it. Learn your little songs while losing the company money."

Ok, that was a relief. This would likely be real then, since this guy was turning into a real pain in my. . .

"Ok, let's go through the new one, 'What You See.'"

It was almost pop, but with a darker undertone. The first half of the verse was Major key, and then the second repeated in a Minor key tossing a surreal bent to the lyrics and sound. Then there was a sort of reboot into the chorus, and a repeat for the second verse. Then we go into the chorus a second time, and finally, end with the first part of the first verse repeated into obscurity.

It was like nothing I remember hearing, and sort of sounded like a calliope in need of a backup generator. The first part runs smooth, and then the batteries run down a little as it becomes too much to bear to show this happy persona to the world, even while saying that there is nothing underneath.

We practiced it for over two hours, and something just didn't feel right about it. Something was off.

"Guys, this isn't working for me. I like the lyrics, the tune is just too weird."

"Wait, one more go, I have an idea."

I described it to the sound tech, and the producer said we could give it a go. We ran through it. This time, the sound tech started with generic vinyl sounds. The hiss and pop of the needle. The played the song slower and then faster in time with the hiss, as it went up and down a bit as if the record could not keep speed. We played normal through the first half of the first verse, and then slowed down with the minor key change.

We adjusted the overall tune to more of a Jazz or Big bands flavor, with an adjustment to the speed.

We played it back, and I got chills. I seemed a ghost of myself, singing from before I was born. It was the weirdest sounding song I had ever heard, I. . .

"Ok, I've changed my mind. You are good. That has to be one of the best ghost stories I have ever heard, and the words aren't even that scary. That song might just give me nightmares."

I realized that was the case. The song was a bit of pop fluff about dancing and wearing hot club clothes. A DJ mix with it would make it perfect. . .but it wasn't played with a dance beat.

The anachronism made it stick to your mind like peanut butter, and you worried it until it broke free, taking a chunk of your sanity with it. It was going to be one of those songs that people either loved or hated. You would not be able to find a middle ground. It was also us in a nutshell.

We went through it three more times, but the first time was the best. I had a feeling it is a song we'd never be able to do justice to live. . .unless. . .I could see the stage setting for it. But that would wait for another day.

"Ok, we spent a lot of time on that. Let's go with 'Stupid Girl' next. I have sheet music for you on the stand. Let's run through it a couple of times. Desi, you'll have to figure an extension on the 6 string part for that one."

This one took a lot less time. We had the beginnings of it in half an hour, and then over the next hour we worked out the kinks.

"Desi, a little less base at that part. Davey, you were a bit behind at the second chorus. Guthrie, come on, get it together. You should be able to at least sight read your music."

"I thought he did pretty well."

"I happen to know he has perfect pitch, so pretty well for the rest of us is not even trying for him."

We did it again. And again. And Again.

"People, you did better an hour ago. What's wrong with you."

"We need a break."

"You can rest when you're dead. And I see three breathers in there, so you're not dead yet."

All three of us busted up laughing at his unintentional almost quote.

That broke the tension, and we got it in another two runs.

"Ok, now that ones in the can, let's do Me an my big mouth."

I think he'd latched onto something. Get us enjoying ourselves, and we would get this done faster.

I considered, briefly, writing some off the cuff lyrics for Me an My Big Mouth. We sang "You an Your Hand" instead.

It seemed that the other two picked things up faster when I already knew my part. My voice cracked in the midst of one of our run throughs.

"Wait a moment, Desi. We've been doing this for about five hours straight. I'll have a gopher get you some water. Any preference?"

"Cold."

"That I can do. Take five."

The three of us collapsed on the couch on one side of the room. I felt a cold plastic bottle shoved into my hand, and looked up to see a pretty brunette walking out the door. I slowly drank the water, and felt a little better, and more ready to go on.

I think I was glistening, since I was in girl mode, but the other two were drenched in sweat. I noticed they both had water as well. We finished them off, and I felt a little better.

We finished it within another half an hour to the producers satisfaction.

"Ok, I'd like to get one more done tonight, then we can go for four tomorrow, and that leaves us Wednesday for touchups and going back over the songs. Since we seem to be on a theme right now, let's hit 'Just a Girl.'"

I had fun with it. It was either that or cry. The song was a romp. Really. It was fun to play and fun to sing. Doing both together was nice.

We worked our way through playing and then I added in the lyrics. We made it through and got done in a very short period of time. I think he was surprised.

"Hey, now if only we could do all the other songs this quickly."

"The other songs we've spent more time practicing. Especially 'My life with you is Hell,' and 'Black Flag.'"

"Maybe. . ."

Three "no"s met his suggestion. "Brad, we're tired, I'm sung out, and we have two days to finish in. If tomorrows a short day, all the better for the three of us. We have a concert to give on Saturday, or the next best thing."

"Ok, get some rest. Please be here at eight." We would have to be back at the studio in just over nine hours. I decided to stay the night in a motel in Salt Lake. The guys lived here.

We got out and something occurred to me. I called Yancey. "So, they signed us, and I have to spend the rest of the week recording an album, and then flying to New York."

"What's in New York?"

"SNL"

"Snails Not Liver? So Not Leaving? Some Norwegian Logger?"

"Saturday Night Live." I sniggered at her.

"Going to a show?"

"Going to be the show."

"You're book for SNL?"

"That's what I said."

"Congratulations. Well, it was fun while it lasted. If the music ever falls through, look me up again."

"Wait. . ."

"You are in the big leagues, or will be soon. And the way you manage your money? I doubt you will want for anything even if you should lose the career."

"Yance."

"Don't Yance me. You're still a great guy. Make sure to invite me to the wedding."

"You know, when you and Gretchen get married. I expect it to be sooner than later."

"I'm only sixteen."

"Could have foooooled me."

"John Barrowman you ain't"

"Still, I expect the announcement sometime in the next year."

"Announcement maybe. I don't plan to get married before I'm 18."

"It's only, what, two weeks before your birthday?"

"Yeah."

"And you'll be sending out invitations one and a half to two months before you get married?"

"Um. . ."

"So, that means you will send out invitations in less than a year if you get married on your birthday."

Crap, now she's put the idea in my head. How do I get it out.

"Talk at you later, Yance."

I called Gretchen next. "I have to be in Salt Lake at eight tomorrow morning, so I'm planning on staying up here, if that's alright."

"You didn't wreck my baby and are just using this as an excuse are you?"

"Nope, we're recording an album."

"That's great!"

"I think so. Anyway. I'll be staying at the best western up here. I will call you when I get to my room."

I drove the three blocks to the motel, and checked myself in. It was not bad for being a chain establishment. It seemed clean at least. I stripped, and cleaned my clothes as best as I could in the shower and sink. I used up most of the shampoo and soap doing that, but at least my clothing would be almost clean. I hung it up to dry and called Gretchen with the motel phone.

"So, guess what?"

"What?"

"All my clothing is drip drying in the bathroom."

"You tease. You'd never be naked in a motel room."

I considered taking a picture of myself, but thought better of it. I was underage, and she was not. It would be considered child porn. Stupid laws.

"I would send you proof, but I don't think you could handle it."

She giggled at that.

We talked until she fell asleep. I hung up and did the same.

Tomorrow, we still had to complete recording on four songs, and I only hope we could finish before something bad happened. We had gotten this far without any serious mishaps, but we would have to wait to see what tomorrow brought. And I was naked, sleeping in a motel room. I only hope that there wasn't a fire or other emergency during the night.

Every breath you take, Desdemona flies better than first class, and I'll be watching you.

I've signed a contract with Spotlight Studios and now I'm in the midst of recording a CD. I have to finish it in two days since I have to be in New York for a performance on Saturday. I've quit my old job, and left Gretchen at home. What new does this day have in store for me?

At 3 am I was awakened by my phone playing "My life with you is Hell." It incorporated itself into my dreams, and I only woke up as it stopped ringing. I looked at my phone to see who'd called me. The number was blocked. I figured it must have been a telemarketer or something, so I want back to sleep.

It rang again at 4 am. I woke up faster this time and answered.

"Hello?" I said drowsily. I wasn't fully awake, but I hadn't gotten fully to sleep either. I was sort of in a half state. No one responded. I looked at the phone and it said it was till connected. "Look, if anyone's there, you'll have to try back later. I can't hear you."

I lay back down, and slowly drifted off again.

It rang again at 5am. I was getting a little irritated now. "Who is this?"

"Hi Desdemona. I called back like you asked." Something in the voice creeped me out a bit. I hung up.

I was fully awake now, so I checked my clothing and it was almost dry. I put it on damp. I checked my face in the mirror, thanking my ancestry for the fact I didn't need to shave today. With my plucked eyebrows, I could at least pass without makeup. I adjusted my wig, pinning it in place again, and was walking out to watch some TV when I heard a knock at the front door.

I looked out through the spy hole, but didn't see anyone. I opened the door and there was a bouquet of black roses. Attached to one of those ubiquitous plastic stand thingies there was a black card with gold writing on it. I picked up the card and opened it: I know your secret, Desdemona. Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. They wouldn't understand. I just wanted to let you know that I know, and understand. Your secret is something we share.

Ok, this was getting a little weird. I dumped the flowers in the trash and followed by the note, which I tore up. I didn't know what to make of it, but it made me fell a little uncomfortable.

My phone rang at 6 am. The number was blocked again. I picked up, but didn't say anything.

"That's good, Desdemona, you never know who could be calling you. I see you got my gift. I hope you like it. Good luck at the studio today."

He hung up. No one but the band knew my schedule today, so it must be a prank. Should I talk to them about it? Or should I just ignore it and figure if they got no reaction they'd stop without me saying anything?

I sat back on the bed to watch some TV. At 7, I got another call. This one to Keith from Gretchen. "Hey babe."

"Hey, Keith. Whatcha doin?"

"Watching TV."

"What are you doing up already? I was planning on giving you a wake-up call."

"I couldn't sleep." I briefly considered telling her about the calls, but she might be in on it. Nope, no satisfaction on this one. I'd just have to plan my revenge and let it sit until I figured out who'd come up with this idea.

"Poor baby. Miss me in your bed?"

"Definitely."

I looked at the time. Well, I needed to get going. Sure, it was close, but I didn't want to be late like yesterday.

When I walked into the building, the guard behind the desk said, "Ms. Desdemona?"

"Yes."

"Brad said to tell you that you're in the same room as yesterday. You can go on up."

I walked up the stairs this morning, since I needed all the exercise I could get. I was the first one there, except for the sound tech. I waved to him and went into the Studio. I started warming up, both on my instrument and my voice. I wanted to be loose today. The sound tech's voice came over the studio speakers. "Can I get you anything, Desdemona?"

"Some water for later would be nice."

"Ok, I'll get them to send a case up."

"Thank you. I really appreciate that."

I smiled and he went back to whatever he was doing on the board. "Where would you like it, Ma'am?"

The brunette from yesterday was there with the case. She didn't seem to be straining under it, but I got up anyway. "I can take that the rest of the way."

"It's my job. So where?"

"Next to the couch is fine. Thanks."

"No problem."

I gave her a smile and she walked out in a swish of layered ankle length skirts. I'm not sure I was man enough to wear something like that. They seemed a bit heavy, and I wondered why she wore them to work.

The guys came in at almost the same time as Brad. They were a couple of minutes before 8 am. "Glad that at least one of us could get here with time to get ready. Let's get started as soon as you're all ready."

Guthrie and Davey got ready, and I ran through a couple more vocal exercises before stopping for a drink. My throat was starting to feel a bit sore. I figured it was just dry. I drank more water than I planned initially. We had a case after all.

"Ok, since you have had it the longest, and since the guys already know it, let's start out with 'My life with you is Hell.'"

I shrugged and we started into the opening riff. The bass duel ended up with a more mellow tone when I played it across from Guthrie. It was almost as if we were dancing more than fighting, and the challenge at the end ended up being more a bow between partners. The feel of the song had subtly changed with the new players.

I sang through the song, putting myself into it. We played the key changes and everything seemed to come together, but when we played it back, it sounded a bit flat. Not out of tune, just. . .lifeless.

"You guys need to step it up a bit. Get some feeling into it. Do it like you mean it."

We played through it again, and again, it was lifeless. "Damnit, guys. What the hell is wrong with you this morning? This is an easy song, and you two are screwing it up."

"You're the one sounding like a limp rag."

I had no idea how you 'sounded' like a limp rag, and I just started laughing. Eventually Guthrie and Davey joined in.

This time we had it. We got the interplay right at the beginning, and everything flowed from there. I hadn't realized how much the beginning pumped us up for the rest of the song, but I could see it now. This would be a challenging song live, with one chance to get it right. Definitely not something we wanted to come at cold, even if I'd done it cold in Vegas.

Well, not cold exactly. We'd had the other acts to get us ready for it.

"Finally. Let's get 'Black Flag' while we're on a roll."

We lit through "Blag flag" and it only took us two passes before we were through.

"Bodies" was a real romp. It was a pointless song when you got right down to it, and it took itself way too seriously. It took us longer than "Black Flag" to get down, but we eventually got it.

At this point, my throat was really starting to bother me. I coughed a couple of times, then drank some more water, but it didn't seem to help. We had one more song, though, and I just wanted to get it done.

We muddled through "My Own Person" a couple of times. I wasn't feeling it, and neither was the band. I took a deep breath, and started speaking to them.

"Look, guys, I know this is a bit out there compared to the last three songs we did, but this song is a lot like 'Just a Girl.' It is pushing against expectations. To really get the feel of it, we need to ignore who we are for the moment. We need to look into ourselves and find the independent individual that wants to break free of all of our limitations. It should be a bit ragged. The instruments fighting a bit for supremacy. But it should be a unified raggedness. Know what I mean?"

"Why don't we try this, Desi: Guthrie, you start playing something, same key, but not the song. Preferably something that you wrote yourself. You've got something right?"

"Yeah, Davey."

"I'm going to play a bit of 'Distracting Trash.' at varying tempos. After we have been going for about thirty seconds, use the song to gather us back in, Desi."

It was a bit strange, but I figured it was worth a try. They began, and it was cacophony. The percussion interrupting the bass line. The notes moving from base to treble and back. I felt my moment and joined in. First, I wrestled with the bass, fighting to get it into position, finally, Guthrie started playing a sullen version of the bass line. Next, I had a shooting war with the percussion. In the middle Guthrie tried to escape, but I reigned him in, and pointed him at the percussion. With two against one, we quickly subjugated Guthrie. Then, I shifted into the verse and we were off.

I sang with feeling, every once in a while snarling as I had to reign in either the percussion or the bass. Finally, we got to the end and we all broke apart in shattered sound.

"Ok, well, that's a wrap."

"Can we get a playback?"

"Sure, but we're not doing it again. Don't know if we can beat this one. I want it to be the first song on the album."

It was played back, and I sat there in rapt attention. It was, to say a word, perfect. It was exactly who I saw us to be, and from the looks on their faces, I could tell that the other two felt the same way. This was an opener. It gave us time to work out kinks, and have a bit of Jazz style fun. There was improvisation everywhere in it, and it would never play the same way twice, but that was fine by me. This song was. . .perfect.

"Thanks, Brad." I said, but he didn't respond other than to motion at me to come into the control room, as he was on the phone. I walked into the control room just as he was finishing up.

“Ok, I’ll let her know.” He closed his phone and looked up at me. “Ok, Desi, we need you in LA for a screen test.”

“Um. . .”

“I know that your manager would normally be booking things like this for you, but at Spotlight we’re trying to get back to the good ole days of having a stable of stars. We will try internally for parts, first, and then farm out. On the flip side, we promise to offer you parts first, but will not prevent you from going elsewhere.”

“Ok, kind of a best of both worlds, huh?”

“Yep, something like that.”

“Ok, will you guys be flying me, or should I get there myself?”

“We have a private jet. It is leaving in thirty minutes from the airport. Can you be there?”

I was so going to need to shop for clothing in LA, once I had a moment. I nodded.

“Ok, they can’t hold the plane for you, since the flight plan is already filed. You’ll simply be hitching a ride with some of the studio execs.”

“Alright.” I ran out to my car, and drove it out to the airport. I had ten minutes to spare when I got there and out to the private field.

“No luggage I see, Ms. Desdemona,” said Mr. Praetor as I climbed aboard.

“No time to get any. I stayed up here in Salt Lake last night, and had to hand wash my clothing in the motel.”

“Well, how frugal of you.” It could have been an insult, but his smile took any possible bite out of the remark.

“One does what one must.” I said, putting the back of my hand to my forehead. He broke out in laughter.

“Well, you won’t be doing anything quite that melodramatic, but I would like you to read for the part of the female lead for a new movie we’re producing.”

“Am I going to have time for this? Where is it filming?”

“Utah, actually. It’s a bit of a sci-fi piece, and they need a barren alien wasteland. Like usual, we are using Goblin Valley.”

I shook my head and chuckled. “Don’t people get bored of alien wastelands that all look like they have red rocks and mounds?”

“We’re using a new technique that will automatically change the color of the rocks. We’ll be able to shift it to anything we want. We’re going with a sort of purple hue for most of it, with some blues and greens interspersed.”

“I guess I’ll have to see it. Do I get to read the screen play before I audition?”

“Nope, we want everyone coming to this cold. The screenwriter tells me we have several directions that we can take the female role, and he wants to see what interpretations people bring to the lines.”

“Fine, I’m going to get some more sleep then.”

I went over to a couch against the side of the plane and lay down. I fell asleep quickly. Some one was shaking my shoulder. “Desi, it’s time to land. Return to your seat please.”

It was the flight attendant, male strangely enough. I returned to my seat and buckled myself in. We landed, and I was about to head to the terminal to rent a car when I heard Mr. Praetor clear his throat, “Desi, you can ride with me to the studio. I wouldn’t normally offer, but we gave you no advance warning on this one.”

I shrugged and we walked to the gate where a limo was awaiting him. It may have been my heightened sense of paranoia, but this seemed a bit off.

“Mr. Praetor, you sure it’s alright?”

“I understand your concern, Desi, and trust me, I don’t normally offer this sort of thing. It just happens that the two of us are heading in the same direction. The director thinks he’s found the next Brad Pitt, and I want to see what he’s gushing about. That means I had to use my jet to get out here today, and since I wanted you to read anyway, it worked out perfectly.”

“Ok. . .”

“Look, I know you have a girlfriend, and trust me when I say I’m happily married. Beyond that, I’ve always preferred more mature women. My wife is ten years older than I am.”

I still didn’t know if I believed him, but any time he made the moves on me, it would be obvious he’d been lying. Wait, what am I saying. He knows I’m a boy, and told me that he prefers. . .ok, this whole line of thought it totally convoluted. Somewhere in there it’s obvious to me that he only see’s me as a girl, no matter what he “knows”. I’m subtly disturbed by all of this.

We arrive at the studio, and he helps me to my feet. I walk about five feet apart from him so the paparazzi, real this time, don’t get the wrong impression. I’m definitely looking a little rumpled next to the big shot CEO in his silk suit.

We get inside, and there are a few girls sitting around with sheaves of paper. “You here to read for Liza?” said a woman with a nasal twang and a headset.

“Yes, she is.”

“Oh, Mr. Praetor, I didn’t see you there. Take these. You’re number eighteen.”

I looked at the papers and cringed. Who writes this crap.

Luke: Liza, we need to find some shelter before nightfall
Liza: But where can we find it on this desolate moon.
Luke: I won’t let anything happen to you, Liza.
Liza: I feel so safe with you. Do you think we’ll ever get rescued?
Luke: I don’t know, babe, but even if we don’t we still have each other.
Liza: What’s that?
(Luke and Liza look camera left. Monster will be generated post production)
Liza: Eeek. Save me.
(Luke reaches for his hip. gun missing)
Luke: I must have lost my laser blaster while we were climbing the cliff. Run Liza!
(Liza begins to run, but collapses on her bad ankle)
Liza: Oh! Luke, save yourself.
Luke: I’m not going anywhere without you.
. . .
And on and on. After the first page I wanted to strangle Liza myself. I noticed a clip board and a pencil.

Well, if this was the script, then I didn’t want the part, but maybe I could improve it a bit. Luke’s lines would have to remain the same, but what could I do to Liza. . .

"Number four?"

Ok, so this was going to take a while. A raven haired beauty got up in front of the camera and ran through her lines. She tried to do it serious, and she got a few chuckles out of the people running the equipment. This script was that bad.

"Number five?" No one got up, so after a moment, the nasal voice called out, "Number six?"

This was a bottle blond, who proceeded to toss a valley girl accent into the whole thing. Ditz, like, totally.

The lines seemed written for her, and I knew there was no way I would watch this movie if she was in it.

"Number seven? Number eight? Number nine?"

Nine was another ditz, but a brunette trying to pull it off.

"Number ten?"

Two in a row, I might actually faint from surprise. She tried to pull lovesick teen out of it, and almost got it to work. It was funny watching her hang onto the guy they had playing Luke.

"Number eleven? Num. . ."

"Wait, I'm here. Number eleven."

"Miss, you need to be here and ready when we call your name. Behavior like that is unacceptable."

"Sorry."

She walked up and sat down. She stuttered her lines. If she was acting, it was a good job, and one of the better ways that they could have been played as written. It made her seem shy and naive.

"Number twelve?"

Ok, what in the heck. This girl made Buffy seem petite. She made the guy seem petite. The chair creaked when she sat down. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing every time she opened her mouth. Her voice was this squeaky little Betty Boop thing, and coming out of that body. . .well, you get the picture. I know it wasn't kind, but it was what it was.

I could see her on the big screen in some space opera outfit, and it would almost make the movie Cult Worthy.

"Number thirteen?"

She tripped over the camera cable. "Sorry." The light went off. A couple of techs looked at the camera while she sat there, beet red, trying to hide in her chair while the guy tried to chat her up.

When she finally got the opportunity to say her lines, she mumbled and then ran out halfway through in tears. I felt sorry for her.

"Number fourteen? Number fifteen? Number sixteen? Number seventeen?"

I guess no one wanted to read for this mess.

Another blond, this one just hammed it up. Melodrama to the hilt and beyond. It was almost entertaining.

“Number eighteen?”

I walked up to the chair in front of the camera. A nice looking guy was sitting there. Look, just because I love women doesn’t mean I can’t tell which guys look good.

“Hi, I’m Jeff.”

“Desdemona”

“Like the rocker?”

“Yes, like the rocker.”

I’d begun to feel a little bad for what I was about to do to this guy. . .until he opened his mouth.

“Liza, we need to find some shelter before nightfall.”

“Luke, I realize your need to overcompensate for your lacking manhood, but if you hadn’t dropped me, I wouldn’t have a hurt ankle.”

There were some chuckles from the tech crew. Jeff blushed, paused a moment, and then glanced at the director and then his sheet.

“Jeff, keep going!”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Liza.”

“I don’t trust your ability to lead us out of a paper bag, Luke. I mean, do you really think we'll find any shelter around here?”

“I don’t know, babe, but even if we don’t we still have each other.”

One of the techs laughed for a moment before he stifled it.

“Luke, I’m sorry, but I don’t feel that way about you,” a couple of the techs, and the camera man, laughed at this, “What in the heck?!” I pointed off camera right. I looked intense and, while Jeff was looking a bit surprised.

“Luke, your gun. Hurry!”

“I must have lost my laser blaster while we were climbing the cliff. Run Liza!”

“Damn you, Luke, I can’t run. My ankle, remember? Maybe you should feed yourself to that thing to give me a head start?”

The laughter of everyone in the studio almost drowned out Jeff’s next line.

“I'm not going anywhere without you.”

“Cut!! What was that? Who told you that you could rewrite my script?”

A short guy with glasses stormed past the director and walked over to me.

“Look, your writing sucked. It was over the top, and straight out of the 50’s. It was derivative and trite and pointless. If it’s going to be like it was, I don’t even want the part. So, since I need to be here contractually, I figured I’d at least improve it a bit.”

He opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out. He looked like a huge fish out of water.

“Stop teasing the poor man, Desi. Just because he couldn't write a screenplay to save his life is no reason to torment him."

Mr. Praetor had walked up.

"Mr. Praetor, you don't understand. . ."

"Your vision? This is supposed to be a space opera, not some grand sweeping artistic vision. The concept you pitched me was very good. Then I get this drivel. The fact that a sixteen year old came in and jotted down some lines that run circles around yours only makes it worse."

"Mr. Praetor, you can't expect. . ."

"You to do your job? Apparently not. You're fired William. Escort him off the premises please."

Mr. Praetor walked over to the director. "Oscar, I'm sorry, but I'm less impressed with Jeff than I thought I'd be. He can't ad lib to save his life. He was given a prime opportunity with Desdemona's new lines, but she ran him into the punch line and he never saw it coming."

"Mr. Praetor. . ."

"Why do people keep invoking my name like some sort of supplication to the gods? Look, Oscar, the guy looks good on film, sure, but he can't act. I need a male lead who can act, or anything I put Desdemona into will just make everyone else look bad. You saw her up there, with her own lines, and no direction."

Oscar simply nodded.

"Think how she could be with a decent writer, and your direction."

Oscar was looking into the distance, and then a smile appeared on his face. "Mind if I make you the bad guy?"

"Not at all, Oscar, that's part of my job."

"Jeff?"

The guy looked up from his flirting with thirteen.

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Praetor says no. Thanks for your time."

Jeff shrugged and went back to flirting. Well, I guess you could tell what his priorities were.

Mr. Praetor turned to me. "Thanks for the help, Desi, you were more helpful than even I imagined. I do have a screen test I want you to sit for, but it won't be til tomorrow. I've got to head back. Will you be good out here until tomorrow?"

"Why did you do this, Mr. Praetor? I feel a bit used."

"Well, I knew that you wouldn't stand for this drivel, so yes, I did use you. Look, I'm not here to make friends. I was hired by the board to clear out the deadwood. It's what I do. I come into a company, make it profitable, and move on. The longest I've been in any company so far is about six months. It has made me a very rich man, though. That was my personal Jet we took to get here. Look, can we talk somewhere more private?"

I shrugged, and we went into one of the back rooms. I wondered where this was going.

"Look, Desi, I understand that what I do can be distasteful to some people. It is a job, and I'm good at it. I use people in the role they are best suited for. with your help, as Keith, not as Desdemona, we could make this studio into a niche one. We could cover the topics, in a tasteful light, that plague this society right now. Strangely, your being turned down by the last CEO prompted the board to hire me, and told me that my job was to make the company more conscious of societal pressures. You could be our poster girl/boy."

"I just want to have a music career, Mr. Praetor."

"I appreciate that. You could have so much more. You could support the cause for so many young people."

"Look, I don't think you even believe what you're saying, Mr. Praetor."

"Truthfully? No, but it's what the board wants, and that's what I do believe in. They want this company to go in a specific direction. I see you as someone who could help that, but only if you want to. I will not force you into that direction. I figure that, eventually, when it comes out that you were Keith all along, you'll be in that role for the company anyway."

"But. . ."

He smiled at me, a kindly fatherly smile. "I know that you think this is something that will never happen, but you've told too many people already. The time that a secret stays kept is inversely proportional to the square of the number of people who know it. Sooner or later, your secret will get out. It's going to happen. If you were simply a girl playing a part onstage, it would blow over in no time. This is going to be bigger, however. It's not simply going to go away."

"Mr. Praetor. this isn't what I signed up for. I can't be anyone's example."

"You may not have any choice in the matter."

"Sir. . ."

"No, Desi. You need to get to the point where you're ok with this. I may not be with the company at that point, but realize this: You are going to be used as an example, good or bad, by a lot of people. You will be hounded by religious groups who think you're evil. You will be supported by fringe groups who will see you as a shining example. You're music will be lauded and vilified. You will be famous and infamous at the same time."

"You can't know that, Mr. Praetor. No one can know that."

"Think about some of the more outrageous musicians. Take Prince for example. He changed his name to a symbol because he broke contract and the studio owned his name. The move, without all the facts, was considered to be huge, and a solidarity with issues of slavery and choice. When he got his name back, he faded into the woodwork. Sure, people still listen to his music, but he lost some of his fame.

"While his name was a symbol, he became the punch line to jokes everywhere from sitcoms, to animated cartoons. I even read an online comic that used this as the basis for a story line. You weren't allowed to play Chess in public because it was obscene. A bard, whose name was a symbol 'to represent the loss of freedom in society' sang a song called, 'Let's talk about Chess.'"

I looked at him blankly for a moment, and then a light dawned, "but that isn't even a Prince song."

"And that's not the point. They included two controversial items to show the absurdity of the controversy. It's called satire.

"You are going to find yourself in the same position. You will be a joke told everywhere. Now, like Prince, you can ride that train for a little while, until the reality hits people and you fade away, or you can use it to the advantage of people in similar situations."

I was about to spout off something, but I stopped to think. There were people in my life who were living with what I only dabbled. They had lives that were difficult because of the perceptions of society. They were already jokes in a lot of popular culture. I'd caught some episodes of a sitcom on reruns a couple of years ago. The title character's brother was obviously a man in a dress. He didn't pass, and wasn't supposed to. I don't know if he was supposed to be transgendered or a transvestite or what, but he was supposed to be laughed at.

I couldn't be said to be a boy in a dress. I'd passed in public so far. Public? I'd just passed in a closed environment where people were looking at every move I made.

I made a decision right there. I would push Desdemona as far as she could go. When I was revealed, I would keep pushing for acceptance as Desdemona. I think that was the moment where I realized that I would be living as a transvestite for a long time. Could I really live with that? I thought so at the time, and even now I'm pretty sure of it. Who are we really? Are we the person that the world sees, or are we the person that he hide inside ourselves. We all have secrets that we never share.

"Yes, Sir, in answer to your earlier question, I'll be fine. Back in here tomorrow then?"

"Yes."

I left the studio, making sure I knew which building it was, and went out to the gate.

I walked out to the guard shack. "So, if I leave, will you let me back in tomorrow?"

"Of course, Miss. I'll let you back in. Your name?"

"Desdemona."

"No, I meant your real name, not who you're pretending to be for some movie. Although, come to think of it, isn't she a little too new to already have a story about her life made?"

"Um, actually, I'm that Desdemona." I showed my ID to him.

"So sorry, Ms. Desdemona. I just thought. . .well I already told you what I thought."

"Look, it's fine. I don't think anyone should bow to me or anything. I'm just a g. . .irl like anyone else."

"Well, my son doesn't think so."

"What's with guys in uniform and their sons who listen to my music?"

"Well, according to him, you're hot. A little young for my tastes though."

I blushed. That reminded me that I needed some makeup and. . .I needed to go shopping. By myself. As Desdemona. . .in LA. This would be fun.

"Anything the matter, Desdemona?"

"Friends can call me Desi, or pretty much anyone who doesn't like to use that mouthful I guess."

"You went pale for a moment, Desi. Something wrong?"

I looked at the plump guard for a moment, and then thought 'what the hell.'

"I didn't have time to pack a bag before I got whisked into the whirlwind I'm currently in. I need to buy some essentials, like a change of clothes and makeup and. . .well you don't care about that. I just have no idea where to go out here."

"Well, although a date with you would make his day, I'm not going to thrust my son on you. I will, however, offer the services of my daughter, if she is up for it. She'll probably be delighted to spend someone else's money while shopping, so I can pretty much guarantee she'd be up for it."

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a bother."

"You're a nice kid, Desi, and I wouldn't want my own sixteen year old daughter unaccompanied out here. Where are your parents by the way?"

I chuckled a bit at that. . .and turned it into a giggle about halfway though. I needed to work on that. "My Mom disowned me just before I started my music career and I haven't seen my Dad in a few years. Last I heard he was in Seattle. I am emancipated, so I can legally look after myself." I said this last with a sour smile. Just because I could, didn't mean I wouldn't have loved to have one of my parents, or even Gretchen, or anyone else with me right now.

"Ok, well, emancipated or not, I'd love for you to stay with me and my family while you're in LA."

"But, I couldn't impose. I mean, you don't know me, and I don't know you."

"I've listened to your songs, Desi. I do that for all music I allow into my home. I want to know what my kids are actually listening to. Now, all this black and sadness you're into isn't for me, but I don't get the sense that you'd be a bad influence on my family. Do you disagree with me? Would you be a bad influence?"

Could I pass in a family situation? Did I want to? If I told another person about my secret, it would get out faster. It was also possible that telling him would get him to remove the invitation. I stood there for a moment and thought while he looked at me. In the end I realized that lying to him by not telling him would be worse on me if my secret came out later. The only choice I had was to turn down his offer, or tell him the truth.

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable, we could always discuss it after you’ve spent some time with my girl.”

“That’s not it. I’m considering the ramifications. You see, I have a secret. If I stay with your family, I’d need to tell you, since I really couldn’t consider myself a proper guest by keeping it from you. If I do tell you, and it gets out, it could hurt me. It will get out eventually, probably, but I’m not ready for it yet.”

He looked at me, considering for a moment. “Will this secret hurt my family, whether or not you tell me?”

“I’m not a murderer or anything like that. It’s just. . .”

“Is there something about this that would be impossible to keep if you stayed with us?”

“Yes.”

“And you’d be willing to tell me instead of simply staying in a motel and muddling on through?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re not a boy or something are you.” I looked at him with shock, “wait, you’re a boy? Crap. I meant that as a joke. Look, sorry I brought it up.”

“I understand, sir, if. . .”

“Now, hold on a minute here, Desi, I never said anything about retracting the offer. You’re not going to be a danger to my daughter are you. . .I mean you like girls?”

“I have a girlfriend, if that’s what you’re asking. Her father trusts me to do nothing, and I live under their roof. Actually, here.”

I dialed Tom up. “Tom? Yes, could you talk to someone for me? He has some questions about me. Yes, he knows.”

I handed my phone to the guard, who I realized I had never asked the name of, and they talked for a couple of minutes. I looked around at the road, wondering if I’d done the right thing. Sure, I hadn’t specifically told him my secret, but I’d told him I had a secret, and he accidentally worked it out. I needed to work on my poker face. In the future I would assume no one knew, and treat comments like that one just made like a joke. I would have just given my secret away to anyone in a situation like this, and it could have been a bigger audience that I gave it away to.

He handed my phone back to me.

“Well, Tom certainly gives you high praise, and I can tell that he trusts you with his daughter, whom you love, so I think I can trust you with my daughter whom you don’t even know.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“No sirs with me, Desi. Call me Urban.”

I blinked at him, “Urban?”

“Yep, I’m Urban Planning. My parents had a bit of a sense of humor. I passed it on to my first born. His name is Public.”

I laughed. “Really?”

“Yep, well, his middle name. We considered having his first name Department, but were kind and called him Joe.”

Wait, so he’s Joe Public, or Public Planning?” I died laughing. Urban joined in.

A thought occurred to me, "Why are you so ready to accept my secret, sir? I meant, Urban?"

"Well, Desi, you seem like a pleasant enough young lady. You have good manners and a good sense of humor. Whatever the truth may be, you are a good person in my book."

"But you don't know Tom either."

"If you had the forethought to prepare a character witness for someone you didn't plan to meet, for a situation that shouldn't have come up, then you are more organized than most adults, let alone a sixteen year old. You could have kept your secret from me. I can't see someone as beautiful as you seem to be lying about that, and if you told the truth about that, the reason for lying about a character witness just becomes mind bogglingly complicated."

I giggled a bit at this.

"Let me call my daughter." He picked up the phone and called someone, "Malenka? Yes, it's your Dad. I met someone who needs to go shopping, and I thought you could show her the local scene. Yes, she has money. Yes, she's at least a little famous. No, but your brother will be jealous. Ok. Love you."

"Malenka is a strange name."

"Well, it fits the rest of my family."

I looked at him blankly.

"It's from a Russian word: malyenkii. It means small or little."

I groaned.

"Just cause I said I followed my parent's version for my first born, doesn't mean I didn't change it for the rest of my family."

"True. Does your daughter know where her name comes from?"

"Yep," he said with an evil grin.

We talked a bit more while we waited for his daughter. I thought of something right before she arrived.

"So, are you planning on telling your family about me?"

"Nah, I'll just put you in the guest room. That should be enough."

His daughter arrived in a beetle. No, not the new flashy ones, the original ones. It was a hard top, of course. The base was white, and the top was black. It was shiny though, so I thought it was cool.

She hopped out and ran to her Dad, and then stopped, looked at me, and her mouth dropped open.

"Desdemona?"

"Hi." I gave her a finger wave.

"This is a put on, isn't it."

"Nope, hon, it's not. This is the real Desdemona. She has ID to prove it."

"Joe's so gonna freak"

"She needs to go shopping."

"Let me do this, Urban. Malenka, wanna go shopping?" I had a grin on my face.

She squealed. I joined in. It was kind of fun actually.

"Desi's staying with us tonight, Malenka, so bring her to our house when you're done."

"You mean if we're done, don't you?" I had no idea where that came from. I said it, but I still was a little shocked by it.

This set off giggles, and Urban just rolled his eyes.

"Have fun you two."

We got in her car, and she turned to me with her hand out, "My friends call me Molly."

"Desi."

"So, I take it this is your first time to LA?"

"Yep, mostly gone back east when I've traveled." Listen to me act the sophisticate. I'd only ever been to one place.

Well, that and Las Vegas, but everyone's been to Las Vegas.

I had no reference to tell where we were exactly, so I can't even say which mall type edifice we ended up with.

"Let's go shopping!"

"You are way too chipper, Molly."

"And you are way too Goth. Lighten up."

I snorted at this. "Ok, yay, let's go shopping," I said without any enthusiasm, playing Goth to the hilt. She giggled at this and I couldn't resist joining in

I'm glad that I pin the wig in place, or I would have lost it after the first time that she pulled my hair away from my ears to try different earrings against my face. She was a very touchy person, and I just went with it. We looked at jewelry first, and I have to say that I really had no clue what I was doing here. I had my Bleach bracelet on and a pair of stud earrings. We tried tons of things.

"I love the way these silver and blue dangles look with your pink hair."

"Aren't these bracelets sooo cute."

"Look at this necklace." Here's something I never expected to find at a department store jewelry counter. It was a little dusty, like it had been sitting there for a long time, undisturbed, and I almost felt like an archaeologist, especially with what it was. It was an ankh in platinum and gold. The boundary between the platinum and the gold was sinuous. It wasn't a big one either. It seemed to scream feminine, while at the same time it was individual. You know, it was like a girls fashion cross for Goth's. It was only the second piece of jewelry that had screamed "Desdemona" at me. The first were the earrings of course. It was on a fine chain of alternating platinum and gold links.

"Where's a saleswoman when you need one."

"I was mostly kidding, Desi. Look at the price. You can't seriously be considering buying it."

"Well, first I want to see how it looks on me." I said with a big evil smile.

Molly just looked at me. "What?" I said.

"It's so expensive. I usually only get to look at stuff here."

I realized something in that moment. My bracelet had cost twice as much as the necklace, and the necklace was one of the more expensive pieces here. This was bargain jewelry, and Molly wasn't able to purchase it.

What did I do? I needed to buy stuff, and realized that my tastes, which I thought conservative, were kind of expensive. Something dawned on me.

"You really like those earrings, don't you?"

She blushed but nodded. "Wait here a moment."

I wandered around the store until I found an employee. He stared at my legs. Better than my fake boobs I guess. "I need some assistance at the jewelry counter, so unless you want to help me, could you get someone who should be there?"

"They're having a meeting of some sort." He sneered at me. I blinked at him.

"Excuse me?"

"You can do your window shopping later. I need to watch the entire store and can't go back there."

He'd glanced at the employees only entrance while he said this. "Thanks for pointing the way."

"Wait, you can't go back there."

"Stop me."

I walked into the back and followed the sound of voices. Apparently they were talking about improving their customer service skills. I almost laughed out loud at this, but kept myself in check until I got to the room.

"So, anyone have any suggestions what we can do to improve are relationship with customers?"

"First off, you can hold these meetings at times when the store's not busy. There are about fifty people out there, and all of your real sales staff are back here."

"Who are you? What are you doing back here?"

"Well, the only person you apparently left out there decided that I was here to window shop. I don't know, must have been the pink hair or shoes. I know you don't sell pink shoes, but I do buy jewelry whenever I find something I like."

"You have no business. . ."

"Shut up, Carl. I thought this meeting was a waste of time anyway. Desdemona, if you'll wait outside, I'll join you in a minute."

I didn't know what was going on here, but some voices became raised, and a couple of cell phones were brought out. I walked out to the jewelry counter and waited with molly while we looked at some things. I was a bit surprised that some of the items were left out when everyone was in the back.

I could tell what Molly was looking at, and I had a plan. The woman finally came out about five or ten minutes later. "Thanks for waiting. Hello, Molly, seems you found a new friend to shop with."

"Hey, Stacy. It's a favor for my Dad. Desi is in town for the day and needed some essential shopping."

"Desi?"

"Anyone who knows me calls me Desi." I smiled at her and she smiled back. I liked this woman. She had a real strength of character.

"And you brought her here," she asked, turning back to Molly.

"Well, I always stop here when I'm at the mall."

"Ok, first, I'd like to take a look at the ankh."

She seemed a bit surprised by my request, "But no one. . .never mind."

"Look, Stacy? Yes, well look, Stacy, I have a tendency of taking things that 'no one would buy/wear' and making them popular. Me, I just wear what I like. I've never seen anything like it."

"Well, it's not one of a kind, like your famous skull earrings, but we haven't sold a single one of these. Apparently the owner's daughter wanted one, but then decided against it when it got here. Here it's sat since then."

She'd gotten it out while she talked, and brushed the dust off with a cloth. The cuts in the metal made it glitter like diamonds. I put it on and looked at myself in the mirror there. "Wow, it's so you."

"Can I wear it out of the store when I buy it?"

Molly looked at me. I pulled out my Desdemona card and handed it to her. Somewhere in here I forgot to mention I added Desdemona as another person on my account. I did it the week after school got out.

"Of course you can."

"Well, I have some other purchases to make. You hold on to that, and we'll walk around the store a bit while we find out if there's anything else we would like. Oh, and Molly wants those earrings."

"I couldn't"

"Molly, they're a gift from me. Please take them?"

It didn't take long for her to give in. I helped her to put them in, and she smiled. A really big smile. "You're scaring me, Molly."

"Thank you sooo much, Desi. You're my new best friend." We giggled, and I said, "I certainly hope not."

"I'm kidding of course. Can't buy my love." She was looking in the mirror while she said this.

"I need a bit of everything while I'm here. Especially lingerie."

Molly and I walked over to clothing. "Here," she said, thrusting some bras at me. "I know my size, Molly."

"It's obvious that someone else has gone shopping for you, then. A girl needs to try on a bra to figure out if it has just the right fit. The right fit is heaven. The wrong fit and you'll be adjusting your top all the time, like I've seen you do, trying to get it to fit right."

How did I tell her I kept adjusting when I thought no one was looking because my false breasts were moving all over the place. There had to be a better way to keep them in place. Hmm. maybe we'd have to stop by a costume supply store and get some liquid latex. This was LA after all. Hollywood was a hop, skip, and a jump from here.

I think so anyway.

I tried on the bras. . .and then suddenly I knew what she was talking about. The third bra just fit. Sure, I couldn't feel it around the fake things, but I could tell that everything was securely in place. Maybe no glue would be necessary. I twisted and moved a bit, and nothing shifted. Well, much. When I went back to my normal standing position, it settled back into place.

It was pink with a bit of black lace over the front of the cup, and I thought it looked perfectly me. I mean Desdemona. You know what I mean.

I took off the tag and put my turtleneck back on. When I got out of the changing room, Stacy was standing there. I handed her the tag.

"I never knew how good a properly fitting bra could feel," I said with a little grin.

Stacy looked at me.

"I usually just grabbed something and used it. I was more worried about the overwear than the underwear."

Molly and I giggled about this.

The wig was getting a little hot, and it had been hard to get my turtleneck on and off. I had a weird notion. A really weird notion. I sat down, hard. My hair in front was chin length, just like my Desdemona wig. It had always been a matter of taking off the wig, and I was back to being Keith. Could I give that up? Should I?

Who was I? Did hair change who I was?

Over the past few days, I'd spent a lot more time as Desdemona than I'd spent as Keith. I knew who I was inside, and I saw that me as male. Would I be changing my hair for convenience, or would I be letting Desdemona take control? Was Desdemona someone other than me?

"Desi, are you Ok?"

"Sorry, I have a lot on my mind. That and I haven't eaten since a little continental breakfast this morning in Salt Lake." I noticed that my throat was a bit scratchy again, but I put it out of my mind.

We grabbed some more bras and some panties. I kept them as dark as I could, but Molly grabbed some pastels as well. I laughed at this, but didn't make her put them back. I was wearing the necklace on top of the turtleneck when I left the store, and the gold and silver popped on the black background.

We walked around the mall. Ok, we shopped around the mall. Sometimes we bought. Usually we just tried stuff on. I did buy a huge black purse the size of a minivan that doubled as a tent and a life raft.

Ok, it wasn't that big. It was, however, big enough to act as an overnight bag, and would fit a couple of changes of clothes, my makeup, some underwear, and all of the other essentials a girl needed. I was black with pink piping and a pink logo.

Black and pink must be popular in LA.

While Molly was trying on clothing at one store, I called Gretchen.

"Hey, hon."

"Where are you?"

"LA. I got roped into a couple of screen tests. They need me here until tomorrow."

"Ok, but you don't have any clothing."

"That's why I'm shopping.."

"Without me?"

"I know. It's not the same. I've even been trying on bras. You'd love the one I'm wearing." I described it to her.

"I'd love to take it off you, you mean."

"That too, but not this week."

"You're a spoil sport."

"I know."

"So, the reason I called. . .Um, well, do you thing I should get my hair styled like the wig? Pink and all?"

"I don't know, Keith. It would mean a big change in your life."

"Etch, Desdemona is already a big change. I play this role most of the time. I only figure it would be easier if I really had the hair, and it wasn't a wig."

"I remember when you first talked about this. You wouldn't cut or dye your hair like Desdemona's."

"Right now, I'm Desdemona more than not. When I go back to school, I can shave most of it and make it black again. Until then. . ."

"I can see your point. I did tell you I loved that wig, right? I always thought it was a really sexy hairstyle, which is why I got the wig."

"Who are you talking to?" Molly had just come back

"My girlfriend."

"Who was that, Keith?"

"Molly. We're out shopping together. I met her father after the screen test, and he offered her to help me out."

"Ok, just so long as you don't go getting any ideas."

"You know I only have eyes for you, Etch."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

Molly was looking at me a little strangely. "That's too bad about you having a girlfriend. My bro's going to be crushed. So, what was that all about?"

"I was asking my girlfriend if it was ok if I came home with pink hair."

Molly began laughing before she realized it wasn't a joke. "Um. . .don't you already have pink hair?"

"Wig."

"Ah. . .so, hmmm. I don't know where you can get a dye job like that."

I looked down, disappointed that I couldn't get this taken care of. Wait, disappointed? Did I want it this much?

"Wait, I know who can tell us." Molly pulled out her phone, and dialed a number. "Heather? Hey, it's Molly. Where did your sister get her hair done? Yeah, when she got it dyed blue. . .really? I thought. . .oh, that make sense. Bye."

She hung up her phone and looked at me. "Apparently, the salon here in the mall does weird hair colors as well. . .not to say that pink is. . ."

"Don't worry about it, Molly, pink is a weird hair color."

We giggled and went off down the mall. I'd pick up some toiletries on the way over to Molly's house. We'd pretty much exhausted all of the shops here for what we needed, wanted, or plain had to have. I'd even picked up a couple of new things for Molly.

We walked into the hair salon.

"There's currently a ten minute wait, how can I help you ladies."

"I need a trim and a dye please."

She looked up and down and said, "Trying to look like that Desdemona chick, I see."

Molly started to say something, but I gave her a look. "Don't you think I can pull it off?"

"Well, your hair and shoes are right, but I think she has a little more body."

"Well, I thought of that, but then, don't the cameras tend to put on fifteen pounds?"

"I'd say it was more like thirty in her case, and I'm not sure going behind the camera takes it off, but ya know."

I pulled out my credit card and put in on her podium. "So, do I pay in advance?"

"Not at all Miss. . .um" She'd looked at my card to see the name so she could use it. Common retail trick. Too bad for her it said Desdemona on the card.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know. . ."

"Your store is very lucky today. I need my hair done, and I don't know of anywhere else to get it done in LA at the moment. In the future, though, I'd suggest you treat my fans like you now want to treat me."

"Yes, ma'am."

"There are no ma'ams with me. It's either Desdemona, or Desi if you like, okay" I beamed a smile at her. She mutely nodded.

"Thanks."

Molly and I sat down to read the magazines. I grabbed the closest beauty one, since I had to act the part. I was surprised to find that there were actually some good articles in it. Before I knew it I heard someone call out, "Desi?"

I stood up and followed the woman into the back room. Apparently, this was a private salon. Each of the stations was separated from the others. I couldn't imagine why they would do that.

"What can we do for you today, Miss?"

"I do prefer Ms, actually, and I am tired of my wig." I smiled as I said this and unpinned it at the same time.

I revealed my matted hair. I ran my fingers through it a bit to loosen it up.

"you have nice hair, why did you hide it under this wig?"

"Long story. Short answer is that sometimes I needed to shift from me to Desdemona quickly, and the wig seemed the way to go. As I'm going to be Desdemona more than myself for a few months, I figure I need the actual styling."

"Ok, but so you know, this won't be an easy dye job. We need to strip the black a bit, and then go pink. We could be looking at four or five dyes to get it to the right color.

"Ok, I have the funds for it."

"Let's get to it then."

She washed my hair first. There is something soothing about having someone wash your hair. I'd suggest even the men in the audience try it sometime. "Now, you want your hair cut in the same style?"

"Yes please."

"Ok, let's get it cut, and then we'll start with the dye."

I relaxed and let her cut my hair. She talked to me about numerous things and I responded where I felt comfortable. We finished with the cutting, and my head felt so different. I was used to keeping my hair a bit longer, but it was short in back, letting air cool my neck, where the front still framed my face. Using the wig as a guide, she mixed some batches of hair color. First, she ran a blond to bleach out some of the black. Then she started working on the pink. It was a heavy dye, but even so it required a number of applications before it got to the cotton candy I was used to.

When she was done, and I was looking in the mirror, there was a subtle difference to my hair. It was more me, even though the style was the same, and the color was close. I ran my fingers through my hair, and felt it along my scalp. I felt the bottom drop out of my stomach, and for a moment I thought I'd done something wrong.

"Something the matter, Desi? We need to change anything?"

That question was enough for me to get past myself. I smiled a huge and bright smile. "It's perfect. Just jitters is all."

"If you're sure?"

I kept my marker on me always. I'd been signing things yesterday I figured now was a good time to do another. ^#68Thanks for the hair, Desdemona.

I left a lipstick kiss with this one as well.

I put it as high as I could reach on the mirror, and put the kiss with me on tip toes. The stylist was smiling when I finished. "That's so cool. No one's ever signed my mirror before."

"Well, hope it brings you luck."

I went out and paid, and left a good tip. These ladies deserved it.

Molly put down her magazine and we went out to her car. We stopped by a grocery store on the way to her house, and I got the essentials: razors, shampoo, deodorant. I made sure they were all girl brands. On a whim I picked up a box of tampons. I checked the sizes and picked regular.

I paid for my purchases and we finished our drive to her house.

We pulled into the driveway and went inside.

"Hey Molly, Mom says you went to help out a. . .um. . ."

"You must be, Joe." I said putting out my hand.

He swallowed and nodded.

"I'm staying at your house today."

He smiled at me, and I knew this was going to be a fun night, for all definitions of the word.

So, I'm staying at the house of Urban Planning, a guard at the studio where I'm doing a screen test tomorrow. He knows my secret, but none of the rest of the family does. Tonight and tomorrow will be a real test of my acting skills as I try to pass myself in a family setting. . .Wait, what's that. The story's over for this week.

My phone begins to ring, and it's playing "My life with you is Hell."

Bruno the Bandit is copyright Ian McDonald. It is mentioned obliquely. The link to the specific story mentioned is http://www.brunothebandit.com/d/19990719.html. The idea of a CEO reading a web comic is not impossible, since I know a lot of people who read Bruno, some of them with multiple doctorate degrees. And User Friendly is read by thousands of IT professionals.

In which Gretchen's disappearance becomes known to Keith, he acts out, and a heartfelt conversation is had.

I looked at the caller ID on my phone. It said Out of Area. I thought about it a moment, and then answered the phone.

"Desi, where are you?"

"Richard?"

"Who else?"

"I'm in LA. Mr. Praetor booked me for a screen test here tomorrow, and I came out today to help him sack a screenwriter"

"Ok, well, I wanted to know where you were, as he told me about the screen test tomorrow, and I was beginning to get a bit panicked since your phone has been unreachable all day long."

"Oh."

"Don't worry about it, Desi. Just let me know next time something like this happens."

"Ok, Richard. I'll do my best. Wait, why didn't you call Gretchen and ask her about this."

"I assumed that she was with you, wherever she was. Tom hasn't seen her today. He's worried that she's gone out so soon after her surgery."

I was beginning to get a bit worried myself. "Isn't she answering her phone? I talked to her no more than an hour ago."

"You called her?"

"Yes."

"We've all tried calling her, and you're the only one who's reached her so far."

"Give me a moment and I'll try to call her again."

I ended the call and dialed Gretchen's number. It went to her voicemail, but not to her voice.

"I assume that by now you've discovered my little secret. I have your Treasure, and she's quite the lovely one, isn't she. I can see what you see in her. She's my Treasure for now. When she's gone you and I can be together like we were meant to be."

It beeped and waited for my message.

"Don't you dare hurt her. I don't care where you are, or who you are, but if you hurt her, then nothing will save you from me."

I was angry and scared and a thousand other emotions all at once. I needed to be doing something, but I was in LA and they were back in Utah. What in the world was I going to be able to do from here to resolve this issue.

Molly put her hand on my shoulder, "Desi, are you alright?"

"My girlfriend's been kidnapped by a stalker. I don't know. . .what am I going to do?"

Joe walked over to us, "Is there anything I can do for you?" He looked so sincere and all I could do was laugh. Then it became hysterical and I couldn't stop. I just laughed until I couldn't breathe, and then started up again. Fear gripped me, and I just couldn't stop laughing. I laughed because at that moment I couldn't cry. I held myself and laughed.

"Shh, it's alright, Desi, relax. There are people out there to help. You're not alone. You need to calm yourself."

I finally calmed down enough that I could cry and the floodgates opened. "But it's all my fault, Molly. I didn't tell anyone that I had a stalker, and now Gretchen has been kidnapped. I assumed that someone was playing a joke. I didn't take it seriously, because who else could have known my schedule but my friends?"

I just sobbed there on the sidewalk in front of their door until Mrs. Planning came out to see what the commotion was about. "Come inside you three, and let's get Desdemona all cleaned up."

"People she knows call her Desi, Mom," Molly said.

I gave her a weak smile, but didn't say anything in reply.

"Ok, Desi, dear. Why don't you come up to the bathroom with me and we'll get you freshened up."

I went up to the master bathroom with Mrs. Planning. It was huge. There was a jetted tub big enough for two people in the corner, and a lot of floor space around it.

"Take off your shirt, dear, it got a little dirty from the sidewalk."

I blushed, but didn't make a move.

"Urban called me before you got here, dear. I know everything so you don't have to worry."

I removed my necklace and then the turtleneck. I almost forgot I'd been wearing the bra. The pink peaking through the black lace was very pretty. The slight shifting when I moved was the only tactile reminder that I was wearing breast forms at all. For a moment I wondered what it would be like to have real breasts, but then pushed that thought aside. I could go that route, like Gretchen did, but I didn't really feel like it was the right one for me. I still didn't know what life would have in store for me, but I knew it wouldn't be that.

Mrs. Planning came back in and handed me one of the shirts that I'd bought today. It was black and had pink sequined hearts on it. Like I said, LA seemed to have a thing with black and pink right now. Or maybe it was just the stores I went to.
I put it on, and only then realized how deep the neck line was. Some of my bra peaked out, let alone my fake breasts.

"No, that won't do. Here, Let me help you a bit. Take off the shirt and your bra."

I did so, and took the breast forms off with it.

"Well, looks like we get to start from the basics. Lucky for you I had a mastectomy."

I looked at her chest, and couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. She had. . .I blushed, realizing what I'd been doing, and looked away.

"It was the left one, and I attach the breast form because it gives me a much more natural feel. Now, these aren't exactly your skin tone, so we're going to have to do a little blending afterward, but it should be okay. They're close enough. Well, let's get the girls attached, shall we?"

"How permanent is this?"

"Not at all. You can peel them off, and it isn't strong enough to let you go braless, but they will move like they're a part of you, and we can use a bit of concealer to blend them into your skin tone."

She glued them in place. "Now, they will stay there, just not if you get too active."

I put on my bra and then she went to work with the concealer. I watched what she did in the mirror. In a couple of seconds, the line between my skin and the forms faded. It still wasn't perfect, but that would have to wait for new breast forms that were made for me. I put the shirt back on, and I was amazed. I actually had breasts. It was the weirdest thing I'd ever seen, and made me uncomfortable.

I took a deep breath, and decided to go with it. I fixed my makeup and hair. My hair. It was so weird having the pink be me, but at least I'd gotten rid of the wig temporarily. Ok, a little more than temporarily.

It suddenly occurred to me that I was feeling better and Gretchen was still missing. I'd completely forgotten about her for a few minutes. "I'm a horrible person."

"What's that, Dear?"

"I'm terrible. Here I was worrying about my appearance when Gretchen has been kidnapped." I started to collapse in on myself, and Mrs. Planning put her hand on my back.

"Desi, there is nothing that you can do for her right now. I'm sure the police are doing everything that they can. . ."

"Wait, there is something that I can do." I pulled out my phone and called Richard. "Richard, I have a stalker, and she, or he, took Gretchen. They delivered some flowers to my room in Salt Lake. I'm sure the room has been cleaned out, but maybe the police can find something there."

I gave him the motel and the room number.

"Thanks, Desi. We'll get that to the police."

"One more thing, Richard, the person who was stalking me knew my schedule yesterday. That means that they probably work for Spotlight."

"Ok, I'll pass that on. Are you coming back?"

"I want to, Richard, but a smart woman out here pointed out to me that there's nothing there I could do. I could be out there pacing and worrying, or I could occupy my time with work. I'm figuring that I need this right now to keep from completely falling apart."

"Ok, Desi. Good luck tomorrow."

"Find her for me, Richard. I can't live without her."

"We'll do what we can. Night, Keith."

We hung up and I wiped away a tear from my eye. Looking in the mirror made me feel better for some reason. "But this isn't me. . ."

"For now, it is, Desi. I know that you're an actress, I mean actor, right?"

"In addition to everything else, yeah."

"You put on the role of Desdemona. She is person that is growing the more that you play the role. Personally, I worry for you, Desi. The longer you stay in role, the more that is going to bleed into your normal life. With something this consuming, you need to decide what parts of the character are your real life, and which parts are only Desdemona."

"My real name is Keith."

"And I'm Candi."

"Candi Planning? Doesn't seem to have the feel of the rest of the group."

"My maiden name is Stripe."

"Is everyone out here insane?"

"There are lots of parents out there with sick senses of humor. I even know a Door and Ding Bell."

I groaned.

"Keith, you're a singer I assume?"

I chuckled at this, "Yes, and my normal range caused the problems I am having."

I gave her a short sample of my range. I had sung since this morning at the studio, but I'd started to miss it all the same. Singing made me feel so alive.

"That's amazingly high for a man. How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"You seemed older to me."

"Yeah, a lot of my friends would agree with you. I'm legally emancipated."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, I know what a strength family can be to people. I'm sorry that you're on your own."

"I'm not alone. I have Gretchen and her family. I also have my own extended family, who are kind of pissed at my mom right now."

"What about your dad?"

"I have no idea. He ran away with his boyfriend years ago and I haven't heard anything from him recently."

She smiled kindly at me before continuing, "As I was saying, Keith, decide which parts of you are Desdemona. She has your voice, and your body. What parts of her character are you?"

"Her sense of humor is all me. I loved the irony of being Keith, pretending to be Desdemona, singing 'Just a Girl' and 'You an Your Hand.'"

Candi chuckled at this and shook her head. "Ok, what else?"

"I love jewelry. I always have. Usually I get more masculine styles, but some of it worked with either me or Desi."

"That necklace is definitely not masculine."

"No, but it is like some jewelry that I've seen in the past. I really liked it, but I'd never be able to wear it. A lot of it I bought for Gretchen, so at least I got to wear it second hand, but this time I thought 'why not.'"

I picked up the necklace and looked at it for a moment or two before putting it back on. It slipped between my breasts snd lay there against my skin. I gave a little smile at the image.

"What else is you?"

I looked at Candi's image in the mirror. "The stage makeup, but not the everyday makeup. The clothing is definitely her."

"I assume the hair is her as well?"

"Yes." I was a little worried about the hair. Apparently it had been the stalker, and not Gretchen who'd thought it was a good idea.

"You can always change it later, Keith. Ok, now, let's make you presentable and go downstairs to dinner."

I touched up my makeup and hair. I could do this. Desdemona was an act that I could put on, or take off. It was time to get my own breast forms, though. I needed something that matched my skin tone a little better.

We went downstairs, where Urban, Joe, and Molly had already set the table. It was a different environment than I'd experienced before. There was a sort of friendly competition going on in their words and actions. Nothing unkind, but they all seemed to be trying to get the last word in. . .no that's not exactly it. It was a wordplay. Each person added to it in their own way. There was a lot of laughter and more smiles than I was used to.

I pitched in where I could, but I was way out of my league.

After dinner, I helped Candi in the kitchen. We cleaned and put away the dishes, and before I knew it, I was on my way up to the guest room and to bed.

This definitely wasn't the house that I expected a security guard to live in, but I was too embarrassed to ask. I locked the door and carefully peeled off the 'girls' as Candi had called them. There was still some of the adhesive on my chest, but it rubbed off easily enough. I'd cleaned off my makeup in the bathroom.

I dreamt that night of some faceless shadow chasing me. It was always right behind me. No matter where I went, it would be right there. Eventually I went to the airport and flew away. The shadow told me as it was going out of sight, "I can always find a new playmate if you won't play with me."

I woke up in a cold sweat. Looking at my cell I noticed that it was a couple of minutes after 3 am. My phone was silent. Yesterday the calls had started at three. I tried to go back to sleep, but I just couldn't. I felt words rattling about in my head, and I was about to go out into the house when I realized I was naked from the waist up. I put on one of my new bras and put in the girls, then found a tee shirt that would cover them up. I went in search of a paper and pencil, as the words began to swirl around me. I lost track of time as I wrote down the words that came to me, and it wasn't until Candi came into the dining room at six that I was really aware of my surroundings. It wasn't like my normal compositions. this one wasn't so much a song, as a primal scream. It had no coherent thought to it, which is probably why I hadn't ever finished. The words weren't following me around anymore either.

I went upstairs and put it into my bag, and packed up my clothing and such. I found a bottle of the adhesive in my bag, as well as the concealer that Candi had used last night. I decided that it might be fun to show off a little today at the studio, so I attached my breast forms and then put on a clean bra. I carefully applied the concealer like Candi had the night before. I picked a top that wasn't quite as revealing as the one last night, but you could still see a bit of my cleavage.

I put on my necklace, and called Richard.

"Any news?"

"They've focused on an employee that walked out yesterday. Her address was fake. She was using a stolen identity, so they're only a little closer to figuring out who she really was. Apparently she put surveillance equipment in your room at the motel. They're tracking the purchase of that down as well."

"Thanks, Richard. Call me if anything comes up?"

"Will do, and Keith? Be careful. Whoever this is broke into your motel room, likely while you were there."

"I will, thanks." The thought of this person being so close to me without my even being aware of it sent chills down my back. I decided that it was probably time to get going so I went downstairs.

Urban and Candi were the only ones up. We ate a quick breakfast and Urban drove me to the studio. I left the bag with my clothing in it at his guard post and walked to the building we'd been in yesterday.

Everything inside looked much like it had yesterday, except for the people waiting read. There were a lot of masculine looking women, as well as some young men who I was sure were in drag. What in the world had I gotten myself into this time.

The same woman from yesterday walked up to me. "Desdemona, so nice to see you again. So, Mr. Praetor roped you into this as well?"

"Yes, but this one is supposed to be more of a straight forward reading. No getting anyone fired that I know of. What's your name? If it was mentioned yesterday, I was a bit too distracted to remember, I'm sorry."

"That's perfectly fine, and I'm Wendy. Ok, take these. Unless they are really switching things around on us, you'll be reading the part of Cory."

I looked at her a bit blankly, and something seemed to click in her head. "You have no idea what you're reading for, do you?"

"Is it bad?"

"Depends on your definition of bad. Think of it as a sort of teenage 'Crying Game'."

I had no idea what she was talking about. My continued blank look must have made that clear. She took a deep breath and tried again.

"Ok, so maybe that is a bit dated. Cory is a guy who has been dressing as a girl and going to high school. He's fallen in love with of the guys that he. . ."

"Stop just a minute. Is Cory transgendered or a transvestite."

"Does it make a difference?"

"Of course it makes a difference. A transvestite is a boy in drag. If it's the other, then Cory is a girl trapped in a boy's body."

The woman blinked at me a couple times and then smiled. "I can see why Mr. Praetor picked you. You understand the issues more than most of these girls. Let me go ask the writer and see if he can give me any more information."

I stood there and looked over the lines. At least they seemed a little better than yesterday's. I would be playing the scene where Cory revealed him/her self to the male lead, Mike. Knowing the motivations of the character were even more important than I thought.

A twenty-something man walked over to me with Wendy in tow. He reached his hand out toward me as he approached.

"Alan Braithwate. Even if you weren't famous, I'd like to come over and meet you. You are the first person who actually thought to ask that question. I can tell that really well with all of the transvestites we have to read the role. Cory is transgendered."

"Is she a lesbian, or straight?"

"You really do understand the situation, don't you?"

"Let's just say that I have some friends in the community."

"Who'd have thought? Cory is straight, and really likes this guy. What worries her is that she's found out, in a previous scene, that Mike is a bit of a homophobe."

"Is Cory taking hormones?"

"That's actually a good question, one that I don't have the answer to. I guess she could be getting them illegally."

"Or even legally. Given the right psychologist."

"That's something I didn't even consider. I think you can tell that I don't really have a good grasp of the situation. I'm trying to tell a specific story, but there are parts I simply don't understand. I hope you can at least consult if you don't get the role."

"There are people much more qualified. . ."

"But without the insight into it that you might have. Is it you or someone you know."

Wendi looked completely shocked, and I blushed bright red.

"Female to male then?"

I felt my confidence returning. He hadn't really suspected anything. "No, not me. It's someone else's story to tell, which is why I blushed."

He looked at me quizzically, but let it drop. "This is going to be a long day, and we may need you to read a couple of times. We are trying to cast both roles today, or in the next couple of days at least."

I really hoped it wouldn't take a couple of days for the police to find Etch, but I would be busy if it did. I said a little prayer there, in the middle of the studio, asking that she be returned to me safe and sound.

I was still pleading with my maker when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Wendy standing there.

"Alan wants you to read first. He'd like for someone to set the tone he is looking for."

"Okay. Do I have to sit down for this?"

"Not if you don't want to. They usually like to have people who are reading for a role sit in camera, though. You know, zoomed headshots and all."

"Okay."

I walked over to the chairs in front of the camera and sat down in one of them. I glanced over the paper and prepared myself as best I could.

One of the guys came and sat down next to me, and the way he was looking at me really made me uncomfortable. He'd be making eye contact if my eyes were on my chest. Then something dawned on me and I smirked. He was staring at fake breasts. And he didn't even know it.

"Hi, I'm Desdemona."

"Paul." He said absently. This had to stop. "Look, Paul, I know that you'd like a pair of your very own, but it's embarrassing the way you are staring at them."

He blushed bright crimson and quickly looked up into my face and then away. He took a few calming breaths and then looked back at me.

"Start whenever you're ready."

Paul took a deep breath and then started reading. "Cory, I think. . .I mean I know. . .This is not coming out right."

"Take your time, Mike." I smiled a comforting smile. I could see this situation playing itself out. I'd been on the other end of a not dissimilar situation. I remembered when Etch had told me.

"Cory, we've been dating. . .okay. Look. I love you Cory Matthews."

The smile went away. Sure it was in my role, but his words also pulled me from my reverie of times past. And Cory did like Mike, but was unsure of where this was supposed to be going.

"Mike. . ."

"No, hear me out. You are a special person to me. You've always been special to me. I knew I wanted to be with you from the moment that you first walked into that classroom."

"Mike, I can't. . ."

"I know your parents don't like me, but that can change. I'm willing to help them like me. They don't really know me."

How would I put the next line? It needed some sort of feeling. And confusion was working for me.

"Mike, I really like you. I do. It's just that I'm not ready for this."

"Ready for what? It's not like I'm asking you to have sex with me."

I let my jaw drop a bit, and then closed it with a snap. "That's just it, Mike. There are things you don't know about me. Things you should before anything else happens."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Billy, Mike."

"What does that faggot have to do with us?"

"Everything!"

"You don't like him, do you? He's not even into girls!"

"I'm not a girl!"

Mike stopped in confusion, opened his mouth to speak, stopped again. "Wait, what?"

I turned away from him and tilted my head down. If I still had my longer hair I could have hit my face in it. As it was, all I got was a little half veil. A pink half veil.

"Cory, what are you saying?"

"I'm not real. I thought I could do this, be this, for myself, but I'm not real. I want to be, but I'm faking it in front of everyone. I was born a boy, Mike."

"What the hell is this? You think this is some kind of joke? Do you!?"

I began to cry. It was all acting, but my emotions were really high with all that had happened to me in the last couple of months, and I channeled those feelings into it. Friends in the hospital. Gretchen missing. What was I going to do about that?

"I tried to tell you so many times. I really like you Mike. I do."

I turned toward the actor next to me and reached out my hand. "Don't touch me you faggot. You're a queer just like Billy."

"Mike, please. I'm nothing like him. I've felt like a girl my entire life."

"You're just a pansy then. Get out."

"But Mike, I love you."

"Get the hell out of my house!"

I took a deep breath to cleanse all of that emotion I had been channeling. This was going to be a very long day.

One of the people behind the camera said thanks to us, and I got up and went to the bathroom. I really hoped that Paul got the role, because he'd be fun to work with. Sure he had a tendency to stare at my chest, but when we started reading lines he focused on my face. I had my hand on the door when I paused to think about the thought I'd just had and snorted. They hadn't even offered me the job yet.

I entered the women's bathroom and went to the mirror. I checked the blending on my breasts first, and then spent time touching up my makeup. It had run a little from my tears, but not bad. I was just turning to leave when one of the prettier girls who had been waiting to read came in.

"Are you Okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I've been in too many situations like this recently and it just got to me a little."

"I know auditions can be tough, but you just have to move through it."

"Not that. I have a number of friends in the transgender community."

She blinked at me a couple of times. "Oh. . .So you meant telling your boyfriend that you're not really a girl. . ."

"No, that was my girlfriend telling me she was born a boy. Another friend I know got beat up by her boyfriend when she wanted him to wait until after her surgery before they did anything."

Her mouth dropped open on the first part, and then snapped shut for the second. "I was going to say that I didn't really believe that anyone as pretty as you could have ever been a boy."

I smiled at this. I'd never carried a wallet, and so my information was loose in the purse I had almost forgotten I was carrying. I had to look around a bit before I found a photo of Gretchen.

"This is my girlfriend."

"Wow. . .she's even prettier than you are. And she used to be. . ."

"Yes. I'd appreciate it if you could keep this to yourself. I probably shouldn't have even told you. . ."

"Don't worry about it. Call me Gem. What's your name?"

I shook my head a little bit and then laughed. Apparently there were still people out there who hadn't heard of me. It was a little refreshing actually.

"I'm Desdemona."

"Your name is even weirder than mine. That's so cool."

We hugged. "You don't think it's weird hugging a. . .someone who is dating a girl?"

"I hug guys all the time. It's more fun hugging you, but you're taken." I did a double take and she continued, "Yes, I'm a lesbian." We both smiled at this.

I giggled and we left the bathroom to go wait our turns. About half of the guys in drag had apparently walked out, and some of the more butch women had as well.

The girl who was auditioning was trying to sound more manly. I couldn't believe it. This wasn't farce. This guy didn't know that his girlfriend was anything other than the girl she appeared to be. And yet someone was trying to turn it into something ridiculous.

The rest of the day progressed with more of the same. I would spend hours watching people read in front of the camera, and then be called back to read with a couple of people, and then spend more time waiting again. I spent some time talking to Gem, and really hoped that she got the role. She was celled back about twice as often as I was.

I cried when I felt like it. I allowed the other person to influence how I read my lines. It was some of the most fun that I had ever had. It was only when my phone rang that evening that I even remembered what had happened.

"Desi, they found her. Gretchen is safe."

I was glad that I was sitting down, because I'm not sure that I would have been able to stand.

"Desi, are you still there?"

"I'm here, Richard. She's okay?"

"Well. . ."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"Some of her sutures tore, and she lost a bit of blood."

Someone in the room called out "Desdemona?"

"They're calling my name, Richard. I've got to go."

I had no idea how I was going to be able to focus. How had I focused at all the rest of the day? Where had the day gone even? I looked at my phone and saw that it was already six o'clock pacific time.

They called my name again.

"Here," I replied.

"Could we get you to read once more for us?"

I turned to walk back up to the front of the room and promptly tripped over my feet.

There's a game that my friends and I occasionally play. You talk about which celebrities you would go gay for. You know, if they asked you and so on. Ok, so it's kind of a silly game.

It was more a case of an 'if I have to pick' sort of thing for me, since I really couldn't see myself with any guy. Gretchen was the only person I had ever looked at with anything resembling desire.

Until I saw him.

He was the most beautiful man I had simply ever seen. I began to get a little uncomfortable down below as things began to pull, so I began to think about the problems that I'd put Gretchen through the past day or so, and didn't dare look at those lips, or. . .

I blushed a bit and then went and sat down next to him. I had repeated the reading often enough that I didn't need to read from the page any more. The next few moments went by in a dream. I'm not sure what exactly I did, but even after those few lines I felt drained completely, and spontaneous applause erupted from the crew. I looked around surprised at that, since my surroundings had melted away, and it was only in that moment that I realized where I was again.

A lot of the girls and boys who were also reading for the parts clapped as well. Gem was beaming a smile at me. I looked at the boy next to me, and he looked at me with wide eyes. "That was the best acting I've ever seen."

I whispered back to him, "I have no idea what I just did."

"Well, I sure hope you can remember, because they're probably going to give you the role."

I groaned at that, but then the guy chuckled. "Hey, it's not all bad. You'll get to work with me. They told me I got the part about an hour ago. I'm Owen, by the way."

"Desdemona."

"I know. I saw you in Vegas a few weeks ago."

"A lot of people saw the MTV broadcast, but it's good to hear anyway."

"Nah, I saw you perform live. I'm the lead singer of Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools."

Ok, What?! My mind automatically exchanged 'The Bloody Pips,' for my version of their band name 'Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools.' I gave my head a little shake. Who cared what the real name of his band was called. It was not like I was trying to date him or anything.

"So, you're the competition, then, huh?"

"Compared to you, I'm just a poseur. You're the one with talent."

I don't know why this made me blush. I really had to get away from this place, and this person. I needed perspective and some time with Gretchen.

"If I could have everyone's attention please," said the person I assumed was the director, "We're done here for the day, and will be having callbacks next week."

Finally. Now I could, I hoped, get back to Utah and my girlfriend. "Desdemona, could I speak to you for a moment?"

I went over to the director and watched everyone leave for a moment or two while he collected his notes. "To be honest, you're not what we were looking for when we started this process. You seemed a little cold to most of the guys that you were reading with. Sure, there was passion in your voice, but it just didn't read well on the camera.

"With Owen, however, that seemed to change for the better. If you'd like, we want to offer you the role of the leading lady. You don't have to tell us right now, but we need an answer before Sunday evening."

What in the world was I going to do? I didn't want to be an actor.

Or did I? I really didn't know right now.

"Talk it over with your family. Get back to us. I can be reached at the number on the card," and so saying he handed me his business card.

"I understand your hesitation, as this role could cause some serious problems for a beautiful girl like you. . ."

I started to laugh at his assumption. "I'm sorry. I have no problems with the role. I just don't know if I want to be an actress. My contract obligates me to be here."

"Oh, I see. . .well, you're really good at it. Acting I mean."

"Are you sure? That last reading, I wasn't even in the same zipcode. Completely on auto-pilot."

"Then maybe that's all you need, to stop worrying about the role and just do it."

"Thanks for the advice, sir."

"You're welcome, Desdemona."

I went out to the security shack to say good bye to Urban. There was a limo waiting there. When I approached, the back door opened and I saw Mr. Praetor inside. "It seems I can give you a ride to the airport, again, Desdemona."

"Just let me pick up my stuff."

I walked over to the guard shack. "Thank you for everything, Urban."

He handed the bag containing my clothing to me, "I hope they find your girlfriend soon, Desi."

"They found her already. She's okay, so make sure to let Candi know."

"I will."

"Oh, Urban, before I go, can I get your phone number? I really do appreciate what you all did for me, and would love to visit you again the next time I'm in LA."

"Sure, but it may be a while before you get out this way again."

"They offered me the part."

"They did? That's great. Well until next time then. Take care of yourself, Desi."

"You too, Urban."

I waved good bye and climbed into the limo. "Mr. Praetor, a girl could get the wrong impression, the way you keep driving me to the airport."

He smiled, but didn't say anything until the door was closed. "I wanted to make sure that you didn't hold Spotlight responsible for the stalking."

"Why would I. . .what aren't you telling me?"

"The police believe that we were negligent in not reporting another stalking of one of our other clients."

"But why. . .they think it was the same person. They think that I was stalked by the same person that stalked your other client." My mind was reeling. Could they have been responsible for Gretchen getting hurt? "Are you responsible? Do you think it was your fault?"

"That's not what I was asking."

"Yes, but it's what's important."

"No, I don't. We told our other client that she should report this to the police. We thought it was her responsibility, but she's a shy girl, who hasn't been able to actually get on stage and play a venue. She was barely able to record. Beautiful voice, though, so we keep trying with her. A friend of hers sent in her original tape. The stalking really didn't help her confidence."

"Mr. Praetor, you could be telling me anything to get me to believe you. I don't really care either way, though. You didn't stalk me."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Mr. Praetor said with a smirk. "I hear congratulations are in order."

I had a sudden thought, "Did you have something to do with this? If so, I don't need your pity."

"I had nothing to do with it, Keith. Nothing at all. I was actually a bit surprised that you got offered the role."

"I'm that bad an actor?" I asked with some indignation.

"Not at all. I just really didn't think you had it in you to make love to someone on screen."

"But we didn't. . ."

"Sorry, poor choice of words. What I meant was the meaning of the phrase in a simpler age. The ability to make the audience believe that you are really in love with the person opposite you in a scene. To draw them into the moment and not let them go until the final closing of the credits. I knew you would be good, I just never thought you could be great."

Even though he had both complimented me and insulted me in the same breath, I couldn't help but be flattered. I'd never before thought about being an actor, and especially not an actress, but in this moment it was something that seemed to be pulling me.

Music was my life until that moment in time. Sure, I was a good singer. Better than that? Who was I to say. I was just a sixteen year old. I knew what I liked, and I could be mistaken about my own talent.

But this. . .someone was actually saying that I was better than good at something. "Mr. Praetor, do you think that I sing well? Or should I focus. . ."

"Keith, you're sixteen. You have your entire life to decide what you really want to do. For now, do what you want. If the music works, great. If acting works, great. We're here to help you succeed."

"It sounds like you are my manager or something."

"Look, Keith. Let me explain something to you. As far as we're concerned, your manager is only there to get you the best contract with us that he can. After that, it's our responsibility to make you successful. We need to make back whatever signing money that we gave you."

"Signing money. . ."

"Talk to your manager," he replied with a smirk.

I dialed up Richard. "How is Gretchen doing." No preamble, the first words that came out of my mouth. I needed her to be ok.

"She is better than they thought at first. She had almost asphyxiated in the room, and she tore the sutures a little bit, like I said before. I apparently looked worse than it actually was. In fact, she will still be able to go with you to New York, as long as she takes it easy."

"That's great news. Is she there? Can I speak with her?"

"She's still sleeping. They expect her to be up and alert within the next couple of hours."

"Good. So, Mr. Praetor says that there was some sort of a signing bonus. . .?"

Richard laughed. "The man is a shark. Yes, there was a ten thousand dollar bonus that I took my cut out of and put the rest into your band's account."

Compared to what we'd made already, ten thousand seemed like a pittance. I laughed aloud. "That made my day, Richard, thanks. We're on the way to the airport right now. I'll see you in a couple of hours."

"You made me think that you'd actually given us a real sum of money."

"It was ten thousand dollars."

"Sir, I'd almost saved up ten thousand dollars before I sold my first song, Mr. Praetor. While we may not have millions, my band was doing well before we signed with you. We wanted an album, so we signed. That was the extent of the interest on our part."

"You are a lot more mature than I gave you credit for, aren't you. Most kids I know would never have been able to save up one thousand dollars, let alone ten."

"Well, you know how it is. Some things make you take on more responsibility than you would normally."

We arrived at the airport, and for the second time this week I boarded the corporate jet. I'd flown commercial before, and I have to say that the one thing I might be willing to waste more money than it was probably worth on would be a private jet. I relaxed into the leather seats in an environment even more luxurious than I imagined first class to be, and fell asleep.

I woke up when the wheels touched down in Salt Lake.

Richard was there to meet me at the airport and drove me back to the Spotlight Entertainment building so I could pick up Gretchen's car. I drove over to the hospital, and got directions to her room.

"What did you do to your hair?"

"Etch, I missed you so much."

She giggled a bit, and then asked her question again, "What did you do to your hair?"

"Well, I called you to ask you about it. It was noisy where I called you from. I got her, and I could barely hear, but I thought she was you. . .I'm so sorry I didn't notice something was off sooner. I'm so sorry. This happened to you because of me." I began to cry a bit.

Gretchen held her arms out to me and we both sat there and cried. "It's not your fault, Keith. It's nobody's but that psycho's fault."

"Can you never leave my side again? Can we stay together forever?"

"Forever's a long time."

"Are you having second thoughts about me?"

"No, but I worry about my mother, and think that someday you might have second thoughts about me."

"Never babe. I'll never have second thoughts about you."

"I like your breasts by the way." She said, pointedly looking down my shirt. I glanced down myself and realized for the first time that leaning the way I was, my shirt displayed me all the way to my navel.

My hand shot to the neckline of my shirt and I held it to my chest. "How do you girls stand it?"

"Stand what?"

"Revealing yourselves like that? Even though it was just you, I feel so embarrassed."

"You learn not to reveal yourself." She said with a smile. "May I?" She reached her hand toward the neckline of my shirt.

I nodded numbly. Even though it wasn't me that she was reaching for, I felt myself reacting to the idea of her touch. I felt as her fingers played from one side of the line and then the absence of touch, but the feeling of pressure as she ran her fingers over the breast form. My breathing began to speed up a bit, and she took her hand away. "Sorry, I didn't mean to tease you like that. You did a real good job with that concealer."

"Someone in LA showed me how to do it."

"Should I be jealous?"

"No, she's old enough to be my mother." Thinking about age, something else struck me. "Do you regret being with me? I'm so much younger than you are."

"Two years isn't all that much."

"It is right now. Sure when we're both graduated from college, but you're going to college, and I'm about to become a junior in high school. What will your friends think?"

"I'm leaving my friends behind, well except for you. Besides, I'll just tell them that you're a famous rock star."

"And when they meet me? Or will they be meeting Desdemona instead."

"Is there a problem with that?"

"Are you with me because I'm Keith, or because I'm Desdemona."

"Where is this coming from, Keith? You know I love you."

"Gretchen, you wouldn't be caught dead in the halls with me before I became Desdemona. You were the one complaining about my age. Now. . ."

"Are you this insecure, Keith? I have always liked you."

"Really? Because up until a few months ago you really had a weird way of showing it. I was cool enough to hang around with at your house or mine, but never where anyone could see us."

"Please, Keith, stop it."

"Etch, I'm just afraid that I'm not good enough. Someone's going to find out I'm a fraud. Someone's going to really listen to my music, or see me on the big screen, and that's going to be it. A flash in the pan. That's All I'm ever going to be. In five years I'll be a has been before I ever was."

"Keith. . ."

"I couldn't tell that it wasn't you. I have spent the last three years trying to be a part of your life and I couldn't even tell that it wasn't you. I know the sound of your voice, and I hear it in my head. It helps me to write my music. And I couldn't even tell it wasn't you.

"I'm a fraud, Etch. All this build up, and what is it worth? A lot of nothing. I'm going to be nothing more than a joke, and a pathetic one at that."

"Come on, you're not. . ."

"I am not. My mom was right about me all along." I got up to leave. "I'm sorry that I got you hurt."

"Stop, Keith. Wait!" She reached her hand for me and I snapped a little.

"Don't touch me. You're working with her, aren't you. This was a set up. You set me up." The room began to spin a little bit, and then it began to get really, really hot. If only I could get out of this clothing I'd feel a lot better. I began to lift up my shirt.

"Desi, what are you doing."

"Need to be cool. Mhmm. Need. . .air." It was all so clear. I just needed to. . .to. I needed something. Too hot to think. "Why is it so hot in here?"

A nurse rushed into the room, "What's wrong, Miss?"

"I think my friend's been drugged."

"Not drugs. Never take drugs."

Have you ever been truly delirious? I mean to the point that waking and sleeping are exactly the same. I remember once having a dream that we were being attacked by criminals in wrinkled clothing. I bolted from my bed and ran upstairs to secure the locks. My mom startled me in her bathrobe, wondering why I was making all of the noise. Her robe was wrinkled and I really freaked out then.

Ok, so it wasn't a perfect example, but it meant something to me. Your brain controls perception and perception leads thought. Thought leads to action. Nothing I'd said was something I hadn't thought. Usually, however, I was able to keep control over my reactions. I control everything I do. I have to. So much I need to present to the world every minute of every day. When I'm Keith or when I'm Desdemona or any time in between, I control how I am perceived.

Something broke in me. In that moment I had to let everyone know how I felt. It was more a matter of revealing all of my insecurities than hiding them. I just couldn't stop.

"Desdemona, you need to calm down."

"Not Desdemona. You're Desdemona."

"Desi. . ."

"My name is not DESDEMONA!!!!!"

"Ma'am. I'm going to have to ask you to calm down." The nurse was making calming motions in my direction, but I was having none of it.

"Desi. . ."

"Stop calling me that."

"Fine, what should I call you then."

I'm not sure we'll ever know what I was about to say, because I collapsed to the ground. I didn't pass out, not yet, but I'd lost all control over my body. I couldn't speak, or move. I just lay there listening.

I couldn't understand what was being said. It seemed so distant. Richard came in halfway through it. They just let me lie there on the floor. Why didn't they notice there was something wrong? They were stepping over me and moving around me, but no one was looking at me.

I began to hear a mechanical whine that seemed to be coming from Richard's mouth and I realized at that moment that I was dreaming. The jet had just taken off and what I was hearing was the retracting of the landing gear. I sat up and looked around me. It was a little cool in the cabin, so I wrapped my arms around my chest. . .and realized I was only in my bra.

I let out a little shriek of surprise.

"Your shirt is on the floor next to you. I've never known someone to get undressed while asleep before."

I turned toward Mr. Praetor with a biting retort that died before it crossed my lips. He was sitting with his back to me, and doing his best not to look in my direction. It was possible that he was even more embarrassed than I was. I retrieved my shirt and quickly put it on.

"I'm so sorry about that, Sir."

"Don't worry about it. While I may think of you a bit like the daughter I never had, disrobing in front of me still gets and unwanted reaction on my part."

"But, I'm not a girl."

"Desi, it doesn't matter what you are or aren't. You look like a very beautiful young woman right now. Completely like one. I would appreciate some restraint on your part in the future. . .?"

Again an angry reply died before it could emerge. He had a half smile on his face that sort of said, 'I don't mean half of what I'm saying right now.'

"I think I'm partially to blame anyway. I had the flight attendant put a blanket on you when I noticed you were asleep. It was only after that when you started taking off your shirt. I have to ask, though, are they real?"

"No," I said with a smirk, "They're not real. They're silicone that has been glued to my chest and blended using concealer."

"Glued?!"

I chuckled at his tone, "It is a light adhesive that peels off. It's just there to keep them from moving. If I took off my bra, they'd likely fall off on their own."

He laughed at this. "You are full of surprises, Keith. You really are. One moment, I have trouble seeing you as anything but a beautiful girl. The next I can see that the girl is just an elaborate disguise. Can I be honest for a moment?"

I was a little worried at his tone, and let my nervousness show in my tone when I said, "Okay. . .?"

"You aren't the best singer I have ever heard. You have a tendency to go a bit sharp at the end of your phrases, and you occasionally get a little nasal," He put a hand up to stop a response on my part, "I'm not saying you're bad. You're better than most pop starts by far. You could do with some real voice training, though, before you could be considered really great at it.

"Where you shine, however, is your presence. It is this act you put on when you begin to sing. This feeling in someone watching you that this is your whole world. You transform your mistakes into character. They enhance the message you are trying to get across. You are an actor. That is what you really, and truly, are. It's only when you take a step back and start describing the pieces of your character that I even see the lines between Keith and Desdemona.

"I have to say truthfully, though, that this worries me a little. You are in real danger of losing yourself to Desdemona, especially going almost twenty-four seven like you have been."

"I thought you liked the concept."

"Having you be Desi on stage, and Keith everywhere else is fine with me. In fact, I really think that it might enhance your reputation as an actor."

"But I want to be a singer, primarily."

"I know. Really I do. Just keep an open mind, and realize that life doesn't always give us what we want."

LA to salt lake isn't a long flight, and I spent the rest of it looking out the window and thinking about what he'd said. Life had changed for me in a very short period of time. I'd originally done all of this for Jake and Bobby. Now, Bobby was in jail, and Jake had abandoned me. Why had I continued with the farce after that?

Did I enjoy being Desdemona that much?

It was a pain, sometimes literally, dressing like a girl all the time. But I really liked the attention that Desdemona got. I LOVED signing autographs. Seeing the look on people's faces when they saw the little personal touches that I'd given them. Could I really be that comfortable doing the same thing as Keith?"

I looked at the long nails on my right hand. There were a couple of chips in the polish, and I needed to fill in the back a bit. Would I have to cut the nails to be in the movie? What would I do to go perform if I did cut my nails. I could always go back to finger picks, but that would destroy part of the image that people had of Desdemona.

Was fame more important to me than my own sanity?

I was still deep in thought when the plane landed. "Can I give you a ride to the hospital, Keith?"

"I need to pick up my car. . ."

"Your manager already took care of that. We agreed that you'd probably be dying to see your girlfriend was alright as soon as you landed."

"Mr. Praetor, I know that you don't do this for your other clients, so why are you doing it for me?"

He said nothing, so I figured I might as well disembark and head to the waiting limo. When we were settled and moving, he began to speak.

"How old do you think I am?"

"Are you about the reveal that you're a five hundred year old vampire whose only been looking for love your entire life?"

He chuckled at this and shook his head, "No, nothing so silly as that. I'm fifty three years old."

I blinked. "Wait, what?" He didn't look much older than my mother or Tom. I'd thought he was middle to late thirties, maybe early forties at the latest.

"The grey hair would give it away, but I color it. It pays for people to underestimate you in this business. Thinking you are too young for your position works in your favor most of the time.

"Thirty-five years ago, my wife and I had a son. There were complications with the birth, and my wife couldn't have any more children. We loved our son and tried to give him everything he could want or need."

"You're not going to tell me that he was transgendered or anything. . ."

Mr. Praetor laughed. "No, he was a heterosexual man. Just a regular guy, except when he got on stage. Then he was transformed. He could have been great."

"What happened?"

"Leukemia. He died when he was sixteen. I know that my memories of him might be tainted by the filter of memory, but he's the reason that I want to support people who have real talent. You remind me of him. Not in your personality or how you look or anything like that. In your drive and the way you transform whenever you get up on stage."

"Look, Mr. Praetor. I can't replace your son. I can't act as a surrogate for you."

"I don't want a replacement son. I want you to be you. The best you."

"I'll try."

"That's all I ask."

We got to the hospital without any more deep discussion, and went up to Gretchen's room. She was sleeping when we arrived so I sat down in a chair next to her bed and held her hand. I know I could never live without this woman, and wondered at the dream that I'd had on the plane.

"I love you so much, Etch."

Would it be such a bad thing to spend the last two years of high school married to her? Could I really handle it?

Before she'd suggested the idea, I never would have considered it, but now. . .

"Please wake up, beautiful. I need you in my life."

Her eyes fluttered and opened. "Keith!"

"Hello. How are you?"

"I've been better. It looks like I'm going to have a longer recuperation that we figured."

"It's okay, babe."

"But, I want to be a perfect girl for you."

"You already are. You have always been perfect to me."

She blushed crimson and smiled a shy little smile. "You always know how to cheer me up, Keith."

"I know that it's probably not the time, but I had a weird dream and it brought a question to my mind."

"Okay. . ." There was a confused look on her face.

"Why did you wait so long to date me?"

She laughed a short laugh and smiled, "That's what you're so worried about? Keith, I've always liked you as a friend"

"Yeah, but. . ."

"It was partially Desdemona that made me look at you as something other than the thirteen year old with a crush."

"You still thought of me as thirteen?"

"You were really cute at thirteen."

I smiled at her grin.

"The problem was you were always there. You supported me in anything that I wanted to do, and helped pick up the pieces when I failed. I never realized it, but you gave me the strength to be myself, even when that meant that I spent most of my time with other people. When I saw you dressed as Desdemona for the first time, something I'd done myself in the past, I knew everything you'd done. I knew that without you, my life would be hollow."

"Wow, I never knew you felt that way," I said. There were some tears in my eyes, and I just smiled at her.

"I know. I tried to let you know how I felt thought other means, and sometimes it got a little out of hand."

"Yes, but it left me worried that you only loved me as Desdemona."

"You know I'm not into girls, Keith. Sure, I love a guy in drag, but I think it's more the knowledge of the deception that gets me going more than the image of a woman."

"Babe. . ."

"Just kiss me."

So I did. It was a gentle kiss, without any need for anything more. Just the kiss. We hugged for a bit after then, and I got up to go. "So, you going to be able to come to New York with me?"

"The doctors say I can get out of here tomorrow morning. I may not be able to meet you until Thursday night or Friday morning though, and I know you need to be there Thursday morning. . ."

"It will work out. I need to get some sleep before tomorrow, babe." We kissed our goodbyes and I went out to get her car. It was a short drive home and I went to my room and went to sleep.

New York, New York, It's a wonderful town; Keith goes to Juilliard; and Keith's Dad?!?

Life comes at you fast and hard sometimes. In the past week I've signed a contract with Spotlight Productions, recorded an entire album, gotten a stalker who kidnapped Gretchen, tried out for, and got, a part in a movie, visited LA, come home. Gretchen was rescued by the police.

All in all a very busy week, and it was about to continue with more of the same.

I got up at three to get ready. I was tired of the skirt I had been wearing a lot this week. I wanted to feel a little more like Keith than Desdemona. That gave me an idea. I grabbed one of my nicer button shirts and my boy jeans. I glued the girls in place and grabbed one of my plainer bras. Since the jeans and shirt were both black, I went with red polish on my nails. I went with some, mostly regular, makeup. I had to shave this morning. I threw it all together with the pink combat boots. Without the need to put on the wig, I was all ready to go. This time I was taking two suitcases with me. If I had to dress like a girl most of the time, I might as well have some options.

I stopped by the Hansen household on my way out of town. I hadn't seen Buffy in a little while, and I felt the loss in my life.

"Keith?" Suzy was half asleep when she answered the door. It was barely six in the morning after all.

"Sorry for stopping by so early, Sooz. I've been on the run all week and wanted to see you and Buffy before I headed out of town again."

"Buffy and I were just getting up anyway. She hasn't slept too well the past couple of days, so we've been trying to keep each other company, and keep her mind off the past."

"I can leave if you like. . ."

"No, I'm sure she'd love to see you."

The healing of the human body is amazing all things considered. There were still some scabs on her face but fewer than I'd thought there would be when I found her in the desert. She wasn't the same girl that I'd known. Sure, without the makeup she's always looked a bit like her male self, but she'd had a practiced hand, and knew all the tricks. None of that was necessary any more.

Her breasts were the same C cup that they'd been before, so her body hadn't changed, but the face now matched the body. She was beautiful. Her father's money had paid for the best, it seems.

Her jaw was still wired shut, so she still had the keyboard to speak with.

:Keith:

"Hey, Buffy. I wanted to check in on you before heading out to New York."

:New York?:

"No one told you? Up in Flames are appearing on the Saturday Night Live show this weekend."

:Really? I'm so happy for you! When do you leave?:

"Right now, actually. Hence the reason that I am here so early in the morning. Sorry for waking you up."

"Like I told you earlier, we were both up, Keith. I'm glad you stopped by."

:So am I.:

The smile on their faces would have told me, if her words hadn't.

"Gretchen sends her love. We'll try to stop by after we get back."

:Gretchen gets to go with you? I'm so envious.:

The look on my face must have let more than I'd intended slip, since both of them looked suddenly worried.

"What's wrong, Keith?"

"Gretchen was kidnapped by a psycho, and we kinda want to stay close to each other for the next couple of days."

"You can't just leave it like that. . ."

:yeah:

"Sorry, guys, I want to tell you all the details, but I have a flight to catch in three hours."

"Sorry, You're right. We can get all the details from Gretchen before she heads out to meet you. I assume she's leaving on a later flight?"

"Yep. She is. I love you guys."

:Love you too:

There were hugs all around and I was out the door. I got to the airport with time to spare. I checked my bags and went to the terminal to wait for my flight. Guthrie and Davey were already waiting for me.

"You guys just love getting here before me, don't you?"

"Of course, Boss-lady. We love to prepare the way for you amidst the screaming masses."

"What he said."

"No quote for us today?"

"You. . .should. . .have. . .bought. . .a. . .squirrel?"

Davey started laughing, but I just gave both of them a blank stare.

"She really is young, isn't she?"

"Hey, at least I wasn't quoting 'It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World.'"

"Thank goodness for small favors."

"What are you guys talking about?"

"Rat Race. It was inspired by the other one, although it isn't a direct remake of it."

"Oookay."

"Don't worry about it." Guthrie said dismissively.

We joked and played for the next hour in the first class lounge before they started boarding First Class passengers. Richard had gotten us First Class tickets this time, and I wasn't complaining.

The seats in First Class were worth the price difference alone, in my opinion. I melted into the seat and just relaxed as the other passengers filed past into the back of the plane. I signed some autographs, something I hadn't done in a couple of days, and was glad for the marker in my purse. By the time I was done I'd given out signature #75, and it was only then that I realized I hadn't even noticed when I'd written signature #69. All that worry for nothing.

Apparently both Davey and Guthrie were over 21, since as soon as we were in the air they ordered alcohol. I didn't even want to try. I needed all of my faculties with me all of the time. Keeping myself straight was a full time occupation.

I had my own personal screen and was able to pick my own movie out of five offered. I finally saw A-Team like I'd wanted weeks ago with Gretchen, and it was worth the wait. I'd only seen one or two episodes of the original as re-runs, but I really liked the movie. After the movie, I became aware of a slight argument going on in the galley behind me.

"You ask her."

"You're the one with the question, you ask her. You saw her giving out autographs."

I turned around and looked at the young flight attendants who were obviously, I thought, talking about me. They saw me turn around and one of them cringed.

The other stood up a little taller. "Excuse me, but you're Desdemona, right?"

I smiled and answered, "Yes."

"You have a girlfriend right? I mean you're into girls?"

"Yes," I said with a little less confidence.

"Well, Katie has never been with a girl, and wanted to know if you'd sign her. . ."

"Julie!"

I went bright red. The reaction Katie had given suggested that they were looking for something a little more intimate than signing a breast.

"You know I'm only sixteen, right? Even if I wasn't in a committed relationship."

"You're. . .sixteen?"

I smiled sweetly at her. "Yep. Well, to be truthful, my birthday is on the first of July, and I'll be seventeen."

"Oh, god." Katie looked mortified.

Even Julie had lost some of the humor in her tone. "I'm so sorry. I should never have suggested. . ."

"Trust me, I've heard worse this month."

"Still, we shouldn't have propositioned you like that. It's just that Katie really likes you."

"I'm flattered, and Katie, you're really pretty. I'm mostly just spoken for right now. I could sign something else for you. . ."

She didn't look at me as she handed her purse to me. It was a light blue cloth bag, mostly. I signed it. ^#76Because there's someone out there for everyone, just not always the one we think at first. Desdemona.

"We're so sorry about this." Julie looked abashed at her actions, and Katie looked very embarrassed.

"Look, Ladies, don't worry about it. I understand why you did it, at least I think I do, and you don't have to be embarrassed."

"But I should have known. . ." Katie began before I stopped her.

"Do I look like I'm sixteen? Do I sound sixteen?"

"Well, no. That's the reason that. . ."

"Right. As long as you recognize that a sixteen year old isn't what you're looking for."

They both giggled at this.

"So, why not the two of you? Why don't you two date?"

They looked at each other, as if for the first time, and both of them blushed. "Julie isn't interested. . ."

"Katie, I think you'd be surprised. They way that she looked when she made the suggestion of where I should sign you suggests to me that she might not have been entirely truthful to you in the past."

"Wait, what?"

Julie blushed profusely, and then turned away. Katie looked at her in shock for a moment and then exclaimed, "You little minx."

"I think the two of you have something to talk about it seems."

I turned around with a smile on my face. I always like getting people together, especially when they were obviously interested in each other the way that those two were.

I relaxed for the rest of the trip, just mentally preparing myself for anything that could happen once we arrived in New York. We landed before I'd even really begun.

There was a limo at the airport to take us to the studio. Since we weren't performing, Guthrie and Davey imbibed some more, but I have no idea what it was.

"Should you guys really be drinking?"

"It's all fine, Desi. Don't worry about us. They mostly need to get your vocals all toned in. We're just there to look good."

"I thought it was my job to look good." I said with a little smirk.

They both laughed at this, but both of them stopped drinking shortly afterward. Look, I'm not a prude or a teetotaler or anything. I just feel that there are some things that are just not done. Working drunk is one of those.

I felt that I'd have to explain myself.

"Look, I understand you guys are adults. Choosing your beverages is something that you should be able to do. I get it. Just remember that we're getting paid for this." I smiled at the two of them.

Davey looked a bit abashed and Guthrie just looked uncomfortable at the scrutiny.

"It's really easy to forget that you're still a kid, Boss-lady."

"Yeah. I'm sorry that we've been drinking in front of you."

"Guys, don't worry about it. Like I said, I don't begrudge you your choices."

"See, that's what makes us feel guilty about drinking in front of you, Boss-lady. The fact that you would do nothing to us if we did."

I looked confused at them for a moment.

"We shouldn't be drinking in front of you. You're a minor, after all, and you're right, we are working. I don't know how to explain it better. . .Davey? A little help?"

"Guthrie and I have talked a lot since we met at your place, Boss-lady. You might even say we've kind of become friends. Both of us figure that you're our only chance at making it anywhere in this industry, since you're the only one willing to work with us."

"Guys. . ." I was getting a little choked up over this. These were two of the sweetest guys I'd ever dealt with, and apparently I was the only one who got that.

"Really, Desi. We mean it. We're not always going to see eye to eye with each other, or with you, but as long as you'll have us, we'll do what it takes not to piss you off."

"What bean-pole over here means, Boss-lady, is that we've got your back. If you really feel we shouldn't drink on the job, we respect you enough not to drink."

"What he said."

I was crying happy tears at this. "Thanks guys."

"You sure you're not really a girl?"

"Oh hush."

Guys and girls are really under a different set of pressures in our society. A guy crying in happiness is seen, by many, as weakness, and the rest just figure it shouldn't happen. It's fine if a woman does it however.

Here I was crying, 'like a girl,' and for once happy about it. While playing Desdemona I was more able to let my emotions out. They really were my emotions, but I was less inclined to hide them away from the world.

My reverie was interrupted by the limo coming to a complete stop. The door was opened and we got out in front of 30 Rockefeller Plaza. It didn't seem like a studio to me. It seemed more like an office building than anything else. After crossing the lobby we waited for the elevator and all of us piled inside. We got off on the 8th floor and were escorted to the studio.

We were ushered to a middle aged man with long black hair wearing a headset and holding a clip board. His back was to us when as we approached, and our guide had to tap him on the shoulder.

"Just a minute, Jimmy," He said to our guide and then continued to what I had to assume was someone else with a headset as well. "Up in Flames is going to be here any minute for their sound check, Brian, and we will need to have their instruments in place before that happens. . .I don't care, find them. . .Yes, I know that the guitar is actually signed. . .Yes, and who signed it. . .just get it on the stage three hours ago, Brian."

Jimmy tapped him on the shoulder again.

"What is it, Jimmy, can't you see I'm in the middle of a crisis?"

"It just got worse, Frankie. Up in Flames is here."

The man whispered something under his breath that sounded like excrement, and then began to turn around, "Hi, my name is Frank Robison, welcome. . ."

"DAD!?"

"I assure you, Miss, that my only child is a seventeen year old boy, which you're obviously not. Besides, I'm sure that I'd remember having a child as beautiful as you."

I was pissed. Really pissed. I was livid. I was molten lava waiting for an escape. I wanted to knock him on his ass and scream at him until I lost my voice. I wanted to know why.

I think Davey caught part of this, and opened his mouth to say something. I caught his eye and shook my head before he could say more than, "Mr. Robison. . ."

"I'm sorry, Sir, but I must have mistaken you for someone I once thought I knew. You see, my Dad ran out on my mom and me years ago. I've often wondered what I'd say to him if I ever saw him again. I guess this helped me to mistake you for him. Look, I'm sure you're good at your job, Sir, but I'm not sure if I can handle working with you. Like I said, it's not you. Jimmy, and my band mates can attest to that."

It took everything I had in me to keep calm and say this as simply as I did. Who did this man think he was to so casually drop out of my life. I wanted to deck him, or claw his eyes out, or something. Anything other than putting a pleasant smile on my face and talking to him like he was just anyone else in the world.

That's why they call it acting, folks.

He looked taken aback for a moment, and then something sort of dawned on him. He opened his mouth to speak, shut it, and then opened it again. A glow seemed to have lit up his face.

"Jimmy, could you clear the greenroom, please?"

"Frankie?"

"I need a moment with the band alone, please. I need to explain how things work here. If they still want me to get them someone else to work with them afterwards, then I'm fine with that."

I looked curiously at Davey and Guthrie as we followed after my father. At this point all I wanted was to have nothing further to do with him.

We entered the greenroom and Frankie shut the door behind us. The sounds of the studio shut off and we were there alone.

"Let me get a look at you. . .now aren't you the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life. Keith, you are the best looking drag queen I have ever seen, and believe me, I've seen a lot of them."

"Wha. .?" What was happening here? I couldn't get my mind to engage.

"I didn't recognize you until you started talking, but to tell you the truth, your mom hasn't sent me any recent photos. I hope you don't mind that I jumped the gun about your seventeenth birthday, but I knew it was almost here."

"How?" Who was this man, and what had he done with the uncaring father that I was sure that I had?

"I celebrate your birthday every year, silly. Didn't you read any of my letters? At all?"

"Letters? I thought you were in Seattle." Sure he was sending me letters. Him and every other father who wanted to get back together with his estranged child. It seemed so. . .fake.

"Why would I go some stuffy old place like that?"

"Mom said. . ."

"She told you I was in Seattle?"

"Yeah." It really sounded lame when he put it that way.

"But the letters would have all been post marked New York."

"There weren't any letters." And Mom has been working afternoons for the past three years. I've gotten all the mail in that period, and there wasn't a single letter in that entire time.

"Your mom gave me your email address three years ago. . .she never actually gave me your address did she?"

Damn you wannabe super Dad and your skill at logic.

"Why. . .?"

"Probably to keep you from turning out just like me, but it seems we showed her, huh?"

"Dad, I'm not like you, I'm not. . ."

"Gay?"

"My girlfriend would definitely have a problem with it if I were." I felt myself relaxing as the conversation went on. He seemed like a normal sort of a guy.

"Oh, but I thought. . ."

"Have you ever heard Desdemona sing?"

"Well, no. . ."

I began to sing My Own Person and my Dad's eyes got big. "You sound so. . ."

"Girly?"

"Well, not exactly what I was thinking, but yeah. You didn't. . ." He looked toward my crotch. Yeah, there's that awkwardness again.

"No, I'm intact down there." If you've never had your gay absentee father looking at your crotch, then let me tell you it's an experience worth missing.

He raised an eyebrow at me. They were tight jeans and I was tucked away.

"Dad, I have to look the part, don't I?"

"Doesn't that get. . .uncomfortable?"

"If you do it wrong. . .or become aroused, then yeah, it can get uncomfortable."

The other three guys in the room shifted a bit uncomfortably. See, I still think of myself as male. Score one for the home team.

"To change the subject," Dad said to general chuckles, "I'm sure that Orion would love to see you while you're in the City. As long, that is, as you can get away from your mom long enough?"

"I'm emancipated, Dad. I'm in charge of who I see or where."

"That's a story I have to hear. But later. So, after sound check, could you stop by my place with me? Orion should be getting home about that time, and I've told him so much about you. . .well, as much as I knew," he finished, eyeing me up and down once more.

"You pull off this butch chic look very well."

"Yeah, well, I wanted to be a bit more Keith today, so I'm wearing my regular clothes with some Desdemona flourishes."

"Like I said: it looks good on you."

"Thanks, Dad." I blushed a little.

"So, do you mind it when people call you beautiful?"

"Not as long as I'm being Desdemona, no." The question he wasn't asking, but the one I was asking myself, was whether I minded when he did it. Unfortunately, that wasn't a question I was prepared to answer yet.

"Then you're beautiful, Desdemona."

"She prefers Desi, Frankie"

"I stand corrected, Davey. Like I was saying: Tonight, you, me, Orion, my place?"

"Sorry, Dad, but I'd prefer not. I mean, Gretchen would never forgive me if I went to your place without her, and since she plans to be here tonight or tomorrow. . ."

My Dad's expression fell when he heard what I'd started saying, but by the time I finished he was beaming a smile at me.

"Gretchen is your girl, I assume?"

"Yep."

"Then, by all means. Bring her. We'll meet tomorrow evening then. Let me give you my address."

I wrote it in my phone, and then the four of us headed out to the stage. I would have to talk this over with Gretchen. Hopefully I could find some way to gracefully back out of this. I didn't trust the guy, and knew that Etch would likely be tired after her flight.

Dad began talking into his headset as he lead us onward, "Brian, their instruments better be there by the time we arrive."

We turned a corner and saw Brian respond.

"Just finishing up now, Frankie."

"Good man. I found out today that Desdemona is a niece I never knew I had. So we better treat her extra special, got it?"

"Sure think, Frankie. You're the boss."

"No, I am, but I let Frankie run things for me in the pits. Glad you could join us, Desdemona. My name is Rhoda Coolidge."

After I got over my initial moment of shock, I smiled at him and took his hand. "Hi, Mr. Coolidge, thanks for having us. It's such an honor to appear before your audience." It was as if he'd materialized out of thin air. I could see why he was the boss.

"Most people call me Rhodie because of how I got my start in this business. It's me who should be grateful that you agreed to be on my show. You are infamous right now. You ruined what should have been a slam dunk for Bloody Pips, called out the entire shock media crowd, and are just plain beautiful to boot."

That was the second time in as many days that my internal monologue had not edited out the name of Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools.

"She's also only sixteen, Rhodie."

His eyes got wide, and his mouth dropped open. Then a smile spread across his face. "Frankie. . ."

"Oh no, Rhodie. Not again."

"Come on, it would be perfect. We can even change our TV spots. It will bring in numbers like we haven't seen in years."

"No way. . ."

"What are you guys talking about?"

"Well, I was thinking. . ."

Dad cut him off. "Mr. Coolidge wants to start billing you as 'Teen Sensation Desdemona'."

"But the band is called Up in Flames."

"Then 'Teen Sensation Desdemona of Up in Flames'."

"Why does he have that glint in his eye?"

"Because everyone will want to know: A why we changed our spot, B if it's true, and C how we knew and no one else thought to even ask."

"Don't forget that an entertainment program is about to scoop every media outlet in the country."

"It's perfect."

"Except for one thing. She's a singer, not an actress, and she's not the special guest. The last time we did this type of thing was with the guest star."

"I'm sure that the guest star won't mind, since he is in the same industry after all. We could build up the rivalry."

Something started to dawn on me. I figured I knew the answer, but I had to ask anyway, "Who's the guest star?"

"Owen Emerson, Lead singer of Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools."

The universe hates me. It really does.

I groaned, "Why couldn't it have been anyone but him?"

"Wait, you know Owen?"

"I met him at a screen test for a movie yesterday."

Ok, there must be something really wrong with me. Here I was telling everyone that I'd only just met Owen, when in actuality I'd only just noticed him.

To tell the truth, I actually met him in Las Vegas. We were both in the same greenroom for most of the show, but I'd spent the evening ripping on the other bands there, and generally having a good time with my friends. Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools had been more subdued, even though they'd had twice as many people as we did.

I think that even then they knew that the three of us outclassed them.

It's a weird feeling. . .

"Hey, Desi. Long time no see."

Wait, what was I thinking?

"Not into boys, huh," Frank's comment jump-started my brain and I just got mad. I let it show this time.

"Look, Frank, we don't have the sort of relationship where you get to tease me about things that are really none of your business. Sure, Owen is about the prettiest boy I've ever seen, no offense Owen."

He had a really weird smile on his face, but his reply was simply, "None taken."

I continued, "but that doesn't mean I want to have his babies or anything of the like."

"Look, I'm sorry, Desi, I didn't mean anything by it. Really."

"Look, can I discuss this wild idea that you're all getting into with Owen for a moment? Alone?"

I walked into the greenroom and Owen followed me. How to explain. . .

Owen wrapped his arms around me and went in for a kiss. I shoved him away.

"Dude, really, I'm not into you."

"But, I thought. . ."

"I know what you thought, but I needed a moment alone so I could explain something to you that most people don't know about me. This is especially important if the two of us are going to be working together in close proximity since I can tell you're attracted to me."

"You said. . ."

"Ok, let's start this over. Owen, you know how I said yesterday that I didn't even remember what I'd done in my reading with you?"

"Yeah. . ."

"Part of that is because the only part of my performance that was acting was being in love with you."

"Ok. That makes. . .wait, what?!"

"Yeah, exactly."

I think I broke his brain. His head cocked to the side and he gave a little shudder. "Dude, thanks for preventing me from kissing you."

I laughed. "Now, I have to hope that you won't use what you know against me."

"I'm just glad you told me so that I don't make a fool of myself."

I felt much easier in his presence. Something began to dawn on me. I liked to be desired, and Owen had really. . .desired me. More than that, I needed to be desired. I had been drawn to the way he was looking at me more than I was drawn to him.

It was the reason I'd kissed Gretchen. I'd loved her before that moment, but I was always too scared to kiss her. Her desire for me in that moment had broken through.

"Thanks, Owen."

"For what?"

"For helping me to realize something about myself in a situation where I wasn't going to get myself into any really deep trouble."

"You're welcome. . .I think."

"Don't worry about it." I gave him a quick hug.

"You don't feel like a guy."

"Padding."

"Why do you do this?"

"You've heard me sing. You tell me."

"Ok, you've got a point there. So, what's your real name?"

"Owen, without my name, anything you tell the press is an unsubstantiated rumor. Sure, it makes life a bit more difficult for me for a while, but it could blow over. With my name, it gets blown wide open as soon as anyone starts digging."

"Got it. Trust me, but only so far." Owen laughed at me, and had a huge smile plastered across his face.

"You are such a dork."

"Look, Desi, someday I hope that you'll trust me enough to show me who you really are. Until then, we can at least work together, right?"

"So, how in the heck did you get the guest star spot on SNL this early into your career?"

"My manager knows a guy who knows a guy. You know how it is, I'm sure."

"Sometimes I wish I didn't. Want to fuel some spurious rumors?" I had an evil grin on my face.

"Um. . .not really."

"Ok." I laughed as I left the room.

There were some knowing smiles as I left the room. I was about to say something when Owen spoke up.

"Guys, nothing happened. Desdemona let me know she was a little attracted to me, but didn't want it to affect our work. I told her that she's really not my type."

"Apparently a woman with brains is too much for him."

"Watch it, Desi. I happen to think that it takes brains to chew gum at the same time as doing your nails."

Everyone laughed at this.

"No offense?" There was very little of the earlier fire in his eyes, but this moth no longer felt compelled to leap into his arms.

"None taken. What's the plan here?"

"We'll have to change some of the sketches, or write new ones, to include both Owen and Desi."

"Won't this be lessening Owen's impact on the show?"

"Look, Desi, I don't mind sharing the limelight with you. I liked acting opposite you yesterday."

"Wait, if you were preparing to be on SNL on Saturday, why were you in LA yesterday?"

"We'd already practiced all of the sketches that they had prepared for me, so I flew out for my screen test, and flew back here last night."

That was way too plausible for me.

"Why don't we have both bands perform on the same stage?" Rhodie was quick to jump into the first moment of silence he could find.

"You want Up in Flames and Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools to perform on the same stage?"

Everyone was staring at me when I finished. It suddenly occurred to me what I'd just said. "Um. . ."

"Meaningless Death Imagery? That is the coolest Goth band name I've ever heard." Owen was smiling broadly as he said this, and Davey and Guthrie were laughing.

I'm not sure how it happened, but an entire sketch got centered around my statement. Rhodie went off to talk to the writing team, and Up in Flames finally took the stage for our sound check.

We performed 'My Own Person' and 'What You See'. After a couple of adjustments they asked us to do 'What You See' a second time. They seemed happy with our sound, so I sought out my Dad to find out what their plan was for us.

"Desi, they want you back here tomorrow morning at seven to run through lines and practice a couple of sketches. We won't need any of you guys for the rest of the day. Make sure that Guthrie and Davey know we will need them after noon tomorrow."

"Ok, I'll head out then."

I passed on the information to Davey and Guthrie and then gave Gretchen a call.

"Hello, Beautiful Lady."

"Hello yourself, Etch." I said with a smile. "So, when do you get to come out here?"

"The doctor wants to keep me for observation one more night, but he thinks I should be able to fly out tomorrow morning sometime."

"Already have your ticket, I hope?"

"Yep, Richard picked one up using the band account. Figured it would fit into general band expenses."

"I can agree to that. So, you alright then? Healing up nicely?"

"Yes, and I can probably show you when I get there."

"Gretchen!"

"It's not like I'd let it get any further than looking right now. My doctor told me that I'd want to wait at least another two months at this point to prevent anything down there from tearing."

"Still. Aren't you afraid of tempting fate?"

"Not with you. I ever tell you how much I appreciate your strength?"

"Not that I recall."

"Well, I do. I appreciate your ability to tell me no under the most trying of circumstances."

"Thanks, I think"

We both laughed at this.

"What time's your flight tomorrow?"

"I arrive in New Your about 4 your time."

"Well, there goes one excuse."

"Excuse? For what?"

"My Dad works for NBC apparently."

"Okay. . ."

"He asked me over to dinner, and in trying to put it off, I suggested that I would prefer to have you there with me. You'll be getting in at about the time he wanted all of us to get together tomorrow."

"That sounds great!"

"You're not really helping me much, Etch."

"Keith, get over it. I'd give anything to spend some more time with my Mom. Well, almost anything, since there was always one thing I could have done. My Mom wouldn't accept me for who I am, and that hurts. Your Dad wants to see you, however you present yourself. How can you say no to that?"

"But he left me, Etch."

"Everyone makes mistakes, Keith. Everyone. So, accept his apology, and take me out to meet him tomorrow."

"Yes, Boss-lady." I said this in a fair approximation of Davey's ever ebullient tone.

"You better believe it."

"I love you, Etch."

"I love you too."

I started wandering though the city, vaguely aware that New York wasn't anywhere near as safe a place as Provo, and just looking at the world around me. I was stopped to give my autograph a couple of times, but nowhere near as many as in Utah. Desdemona fever hasn't really spread out this far I guess.

When I hit Central Park, I decided to make a left. Sure, I was wandering around New York alone, but I wasn't sure that I was ready to 'brave' Central Park yet.

I got to the corner of the park, and I saw something I'd wondered about, but never really cared to look up. About a block away I saw a street sign that said 'Broadway.'

With a smile on my face I headed in that direction, and then set my feet on Broadway.

Yes, it was a little cheesy.

I walked down Broadway, looking at the buildings and people. It seems there were more people here just doing the same, because I signed a lot of autographs. I looked down a crossroad and saw a sign. I hadn't been looking for it, but there it was: Juilliard.

I had nothing else to do, so I went down the block and walked in.

For the most prestigious music school in the country, it seemed more like an office building to me. I wandered around for a bit, just getting the feel of the place.

"We don't serve your kind here."

There was a clean cut young couple walking in my direction.

"I was just looking around."

"Don't mind Blake. He thinks being here entitles him to a certain level of snobbery. I'm Hannah. You looking for anything in particular?"

"Not really. I was in the area, and thought I'd take a look. I have some people telling me I should try out here."

"Who? Your Aunt Nana?"

His continued attitude really grated on me. I had to do something to shut him up. "No, my manager."

"Don't you mean pimp?"

His comment was so ridiculous that I did the only thing I could; I laughed.

"You have no idea at all who I am, do you?"

The blank looks on their faces was enough to set me off again. "I'm Desdemona. And some people think I'm a bit of a rock star. Me, I think I just love music."

"Yeah, well, rock isn't really something we do here."

"Blake!"

"It isn't."

"I prefer playing jazz." I said to head the two of them off, "but I've been known to play some classical, including an arrangement for 12-string, Bass, and Percussion of Vivaldi."

"Prove it."

"Huh?"

"Forgive my companion, Desdemona. He has about a thousand dollars riding on the fact that the Four Seasons for 12-string, Bass, and Behemoth is all done in post production."

"Um, but I only do the 12-string. Wait, how have you heard about that at all?"

Hannah smiled at my confusion, "Apparently Bobby wanted a showcase of his new instrument, so he posted it to youTube with a link to a website where he describes construction of his Behemoth. Most people here think he is a bit insane, but the three of these guys wanted to try it out, and who was I to complain. I transcribed music as well as I could off the broadcast, but we ran into a snag with the 12-string. Blake doesn't think a 12-string can be played like that."

"Well, lead me to a 12-string and we'll go from there."

They lead me to a studio where a reasonable approximation of the Behemoth had been put together. More specifically, it looked as if it was reconstructed by someone with too much time on their hands and a very good understanding of percussive sounds. In some regards it put Bobby's version to shame.

There were two boys already in the room chatting, they looked up when we entered. Both of them were blond with similar features and I figured they were probably related. The taller one spoke first,
"thought we were taking a break from this, Blake?"

"Desdemona here thinks she can play better than I can."

"Well, I'm game to let anyone that. . .flamboyant. . .put her money where her mouth is."

I walked over to the guitar and tested each string. "Well, here's your first problem, guys. I play with two sets of octaves."

I re-tuned the guitar, and then ran a couple of arpeggios. After a calming breath I launched into Vivaldi.

It was only a couple of seconds later that the other two joined in. We played through Fall, and were just entering Winter, when Blake stormed out of the theater.

The percussionist walked over to me offering his hand, "Never thought I'd see someone show Blake up on his own instrument. I'm Mark, by the way."

I reached out to shake his hand, and he lifted it to get a better look at my nails.

"I guess these are your secret weapon, huh?"

"Yep, they are."

"So, you just here to show up Blake, or you here for another reason?"

"No real reason, actually. Although, my manager wants me to audition for the pre-college course here."

The wheels started turning in his head, and he looked at my hair and boots. Something seemed to click behind his eyes and he was really looking at me for the first time.

"If you really are who I think you are, play Don't Blame the Girls."

The smile left my face. "I am not some windup toy for your entertainment. That song has a special meaning for me that will not be. . ."

"Woah, calm down. Yep. You're who I thought you were. My girlfriend bought six copies of the song when she found out that money was being donated to her charity."

A small smile came back to my face, "That's actually all the money the band makes on that video."

"Band?" Hannah rejoined the conversation.

"You are looking at the one and only Desdemona. Singer for Up in Flames. Overnight sensation. Guest musical act for Saturday Night Live this week, and apparently classical music enthusiast."

"I prefer Jazz. Bobby wanted to do Vivaldi as sort of a proof of concept for his Behemoth."

A moment later Blake stormed back into the room. "The bet's not over. I bet that if I couldn't do it, it wasn't possible. It wasn't whether or not someone else could do it."

"You lost man."

"No he hasn't. He just had his instrument tuned wrong." I smiled as I handed his guitar off to him.

Blake mouthed a "Thank you" at me and took his guitar.

It wasn't perfect, and there were definitely some spots he needed some pointers on, but he played Spring. Hannah and I clapped for him when he was done. There was a look of triumph in his eye.

"Um, Mark, I think we just lost the bet," the other blond piped in for the first time.

"I think you're right, Sam."

There was general laughter. "So, Desdemona, you want to join us for dinner?" Mark was looking at me in an appraising manner.

"I'm only sixteen, Mark." I'd said that phrase a lot today. Mark looked a little downcast.

"Then you're perfect for me, Baby. I just turned seventeen," Sam said with an exaggerated leer.

Everyone laughed at this.

"You can take that up with my girlfriend," I replied.

"You're out of your league, Sam. Collect your brother and all five of us can head over to the cafeteria." Hannah held out her hand to me, and I figured I might as well take it.

"Hannah?"

"Oh hush, Blake. You know I love you. I'm just keeping Desdemona safe from male depredations right now."

There was some more general laughter at this.

"You know, guys, calling me by my full name all night is going to get tedious. My friends call me Desi."

"I think we can swing that."

After getting through the shell of aloofness that Blake had constructed, I found him to be a really neat guy. We talked about the guitar for about three hours before the other three decided it was time for a change of topic.

"So, Desi, have you given any serious thought about coming here?"

"It would mean that I would have to move out here, and I'm not sure if I like the idea."

"Your parents wouldn't go for it?"

"I'm a legally emancipated minor, so that wouldn't be a problem. No, my girlfriend will be going to college in Utah and I don't think I want to live that far away from her."

"You keep mentioning this mythical girlfriend."

"Yep, Gretchen." I pulled out my phone and showed them the pictures of Gretchen that I had saved in there.

"She's very pretty," Hannah said.

"She's special to me. It's not about the way she looks, but more the way she looks at me. I love her compassion for others and her drive to succeed."

"Maybe we'll have to meet her after you get accepted."

It was a nice thought, but I realized that I had been acting like Keith, but looking like Desdemona. If I were accepted here, I wanted to be accepted as Keith.

"Desi, is there something wrong?"

I gave a slight smile and shook my head. "Nothing really. The job is just getting to me. Even when you're as relatively unknown as I am, it can all get to you."

"Then quit," Blake replied.

I gave a little laugh at this, "Currently the benefits outweigh the costs. If that ever begins to change, then I'll drop it in a second."

"I think we girls need to freshen up a bit." It was only in that moment that I realized I was crying.

Hannah dragged me into the girls bathroom, which I only momentarily hesitated to enter. "You know, it's only going to be a couple of days at most before the others clue in to who you really are, Keith."

"Wait, how do you know my name?"

"The recording we saw online listed your names. Since you played the 12-string, that meant you had to be Keith. If you were trying to hide, you shouldn't have played Vivaldi."

"Oh crap."

"You don't much look like a Keith to me, by the way."

Everything was unravelling. I was nowhere near as careful as I thought I was. I wondered for a moment how superheroes did it. I tried to force a smile, but I just didn't have the heart for it right now.

"So, why the getup?"

"It's hard to be a rock star as a countertenor, so I put on the 'getup' to be a soprano."

"You're a real male soprano?"

I smiled and sang. Nothing with words, just a heartfelt note. The highest that I could hit. Her eyes widened a bit.

"You weren't kidding."

"Usually not, no."

"Well, I think the two of us have been here long enough. Let's get your makeup fixed and rejoin the boys."

I began to worry immediately. Too many people knew my secret already. Many of them weren't people who I could trust to keep it forever.

I took a deep breath, held it, and then slowly let it out.

The smile I showed was genuine as we rejoined the boys at the table.

I mean the other boys. Crap. Who am I anymore?

"Guys, Desdemona won't be able to join us here."

"At least not for a couple more years."

"That's not what she meant. Desdemona is only an act I play on stage. I would be coming here as myself."

"That's fine with us, Desi. My brother just got accepted to the Pre-college program, so at least you'll have a familiar face if you come." Mark looked sincere, and I figured that he was still holding out some hope that in a year or two I might come to his side of the tracks.

"Look, I've already told too many people this weekend, but this is me. I'm still in costume because I had no real time after my sound check to go get changed at the hotel before I started walking around the city."

I handed them my driver's license. No, not the Desdemona one, my real one.

It felt as if I was finally admitting something when I did it. I was admitting something. Desdemona wasn't really me. I'd spent the past couple of months trying to convince myself that I could do this, could be Desdemona, but I couldn't.

It had been fun while it lasted. . .

"This is so AWESOME!!!!" Sam was practically crowing. "Let me guess, countertenor?"

"Well, yeah."

"Man, you look good in that getup. Wig?"

"Used to be. I was spending so much time 'in costume' this week that I figured it would be easier to just get my hair styled this way."

"You have bigger balls than I do, my man."

I looked at Blake a little strangely at his comment.

"I'd never be caught dead with a haircut like that, and that dress in the 'Bodies' video? Yeouch."

Hannah punched him in the arm, "You knew who he was all along?"

"I knew that he was Desdemona, yes, but I was so pissed that I couldn't get that piece of music right. Sorry about my behavior earlier. Friends?"

I was completely taken aback. What was with people?

I must have nodded yes, because they continued their excited talking, but I wasn't really following it anymore. Here, I'd figured that I was going to be outed before the whole country even before I released my CD, and they just thought it was a cool bit of trivia.

"Desi?"

How in the world did I fall in with the people who seemed to want to make it all work out for the better. I'd read a couple of years ago about the concept of Karma. Could it actually be that there was a cosmic balance to all things? All of the years I'd spent trying to be the best person I could be finally paying off?

"Desi?"

Something had allowed me to get with Gretchen, but was it just her finally giving in, or was there a deeper. . .

"Keith!"

"Wait, what?"

"You were zoning out there," Hannah said with an apologetic smile. "The guys think that they have the perfect idea."

"Well, it's more Sam's idea than anything. We set up a Keith Robison fan site, and we include your Vivaldi, and anything else specifically Keith we can find."

"There are some images on the schools website from when I played Ophelia."

They looked at me strangely.

"The drama teacher came up with this idea to do Hamlet in reverse. Start at the end, and go till you get to the beginning. She didn't end there. She had all of the boys play girl roles, and all the girls play boy roles. It was really weird, but I had a lot of fun."

"Desdemona is a regular renaissance woman."

"Acting. . .I need to call my agent about something."

I called Richard while everyone watched me. I squirmed a bit as the phone rang. "Richard?"

"Keith, so nice of you to call. I have some questions I need to ask you."

"Ok, great. First, if they still want me to do the role, could you tell whomever needs to know that I want to play Cory in 'When you love somebody'?"

"Okay. . .are you sure?"

"Acting is about what I do everyday anyway."

"Great. I got a strange call from Juilliard today."

I looked over at the people sitting around the table. "What did you do?" I said in a stage whisper. They were all suddenly looking in any direction but at me.

"I am sitting in the cafeteria attached to the dorms at Juilliard."

"Okay, well that explains half of it. Did you play. . ."

"Vivaldi? Yes. The first three movements of the Four Seasons."

"On guitar?"

"Yes, I was proving to someone here that it was possible."

"Well, apparently they were recording at the time because it was a class project. They have you on video tuning, and playing, the twelve string. They'd like a more formal audition, but said that your performance was enough that they are willing to waive the normal deadlines for this fall for their Pre-college course."

"But, my hair, my clothing, What am I going to do? I would want to go as Keith, not Desdemona."

Hannah was smirking in my direction. "Stop whining, it's not ladylike."

I glared at her. "You knew about this?"

"We figured out who you were the second you started playing. Blake left after we had enough to call our instructor to look at the tape."

"Keith!" I heard Richard calling from my phone.

"Yes?"

"The school knows that Desdemona is your persona on stage, and wants you to decide who you will be attending as. It will have to be one or the other, so as not to disrupt the other students."

"Wait a minute. How did they know to call you?"

"Keith, I've been your agent for two months, at least give me some credit. I've registered contact information with all of the necessary agencies. Signed you up for the necessary organizations. I do my job well, so you only have to worry about getting on stage and performing your heart out."

I gave a little giggle, and then looked around the table at the people who'd set me up, in a manner of speaking. "One last thing, Richard, do you set up my audition time with Juilliard, or do I?"

They gave a small cheer, and I shook my head.

"I can do that for you, since I've already had contact with them. I'm really glad you decided to at least try this. I'll get back to you with the information."

"Since I'm scheduled to fly out Monday evening, see if it's possible to get it done before then. Later, future-uncle-in-law."

He chuckled and replied, "bye, future-niece-in-law," before hanging up.

"Why did you all go to the trouble? How did you even get anyone to seriously consider it? This is all so overwhelming."

There were general chuckles as Hannah replied for all of them, "We have some excellent teachers here. They truly want talented people to reach their potential whenever possible. Well, that and the enrollment for the Pre-college program is a bit down this year. Apparently they've had fewer qualified people apply than spots available for new students."

"Well, that explains it."

"You're also really good. You've obviously spent a lot of time playing the guitar." Sam was still looking a bit star struck, and I now recognized it for what it was. There wasn't any of the need that I saw in Gretchen, or Owen before I'd told him the truth.

"Thanks for a wonderful day, guys, but I have to get up early. They want me back in the studio early tomorrow."

We exchanged contact information and I went out to catch a cab. I'd called just before I left the group, and Sam escorted me out of the building.

"I was mostly kidding earlier, but if you'd like to. . ." He blushed bright red, "Look, I know it's only skin deep, but you're a beautiful woman. It sort of messes with my head. If you're ever interested. . .date or something" He sort of trailed off.

"That's probably the best offer I've ever received, to tell the truth, from anyone, male or female. Thing is, Sam, there is only one person that I've ever truly loved. I'm sorry."

He brightened at my words. "I had to try, but to tell the truth I dreaded a yes almost as much as a no."

We both laughed at this, and on a strange impulse I kissed him on the cheek. "You're really sweet, Sam. There's a girl out there for you. One who will love you for the person you are."

"You're sweet." He smiled at me.

My cab arrived and took me to the hotel. As soon as I stepped foot into the lobby, a man walked up to me. "Ms. Desdemona?"

"Yes?"

"Your bags have already been taken up to your room, and we have a key for you at the front desk. My name is Ran, and if you need anything at all, I'm at your service."

"Ran is a strange name."

"It's the only shortening of Randal that I like." He said with a bit of a strained smile.

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean anything by it." I think my look of horror mollified him a bit.

"I'm sorry, it's my fault. I get a lot of people through here every day who seem to think that they own me. The pitfall of working in a hotel I guess. Your statement struck a raw nerve, as one of those type of regulars is currently staying in the hotel."

"I'm so sorry for you. Well, rest assured that I hope to never be 'one of those' myself. If I ever start moving in that direction, PLEASE call me on it."

"Yes, Ms. Desdemona," he replied in mock severity. He gave a slight bow with a flourish.

"My friends get to call me Desi."

The smile on his face told me I'd scored some points, for which I was glad. Truth be told I never did want to be one of those celebrities that everyone hated in real life.

I was escorted to the front desk where I had my credit card swiped and was given my key, which was another card. Richard had told me earlier that he preferred to have his talent use their own credit cards at hotels and then reimburse them for the cost of the suite from their expense account. It tended to prevent the type of activity that made the tabloids if they knew that everything except for the room would be coming out of their own pockets.

We rode up to the twentieth floor, and I was led to my room. If I hadn't known that I was only about halfway up this hotel, I'd have sworn that they were showing me into one of their best rooms in the hotel. It was a suite overlooking Central Park. I wondered for a moment what this was costing me.

"Thanks Ran. I'm sorry I don't carry cash on me. Is it possible to just bill a fifty dollar tip to my room?"

"Not unheard of, certainly. Have a good night, Desi."

I found a change of clothing already put away in the drawers, and went in to take a long, hot, shower. I had my head in the shower, and so missed the first couple of calls, but then it dawned on me that my phone was ringing.

I got out and answered. It was my Keith ring tone.

"Keith here."

A female voice answered me. "And here I thought you'd learned to simply listen when I called. For shame. How did you enjoy your time away from me? The authorities simply don't understand the bond that we have so I had to play a little trick on them. I know what you see in your little toy now, so I've decided to give her back to you. No plaything could ever come between us. Desdemona, so I decided to be the bigger person in this relationship."

The shock was almost more than I could bear. I sank into the chair next to the table where I'd left my phone. My arm went slack, but it felt as if my phone was welded in place.

"Are you there, Desdemona?"

"I'm here you sick twisted freak."

"I am twisted, but I'm truly in the best of health. I'm tying up a few loose ends here, cutting away some dead weight as it were, and then I'll be free to join you in New York."

"Bye." I hung up with no further reply. I called Gretchen. Sure the person had said that he or she wouldn't attack Gretchen any more, but could I really trust him or her?

"Hello?"

"Thank god you're safe. The person who kidnapped you isn't in police custody."

"What?!" I heard the phone clatter to the ground. "Etch!"

"I'm here. I was just startled. What should I do?"

"Where are you?"

"Still at the hospital."

"Stay there and call your Dad. I'll let Richard know, and hopefully one of us can get in touch with the police. Why won't this freak leave me alone?"

I heard her sobbing on the other end of the phone. "Etch, I'm sorry, it's my fault this happened to us. If I'd never become Desdemona. . ."

"You stop right there Keith Robison. Desdemona is the best thing that ever happened to you."

"No, Gretchen, you are. Look. I know what I said about waiting to get married. In a normal world we could just wait the year until I was eighteen, and live happily ever after. This world, for us, is far from normal. I don't know what the next year, or two, or even five will bring, but I know that I want you in it. Even if we are apart, I want to know you are connected to me, and me to you."

"Keith. . ."

"This is not how I wanted to ask you. This is not the emotion I wanted to be present. I've realized over the past week that without you I'm nothing. You're the reason I get on stage, and the reason I get up in the morning. You're the last thing I think about at night, and the first in the mornings."

"Keith." I could hear the smile in her voice, even if I could tell she was still crying.

"If you were a goddess I would be your prime acolyte, and spread the glory of you to the entire world."

I heard her laugh on the other end of the phone.

"Marry me, Gretchen. Let's give your parents their day, and we'll get married in September, but marry me and make me the happiest person in the entire world."

I heard her intake of breath. Sure, it was obvious where I'd been going but it still seemed the shock of me saying the words was enough to take her breath away.

"I told you that you'd know when I asked you to marry me."

She giggled, "wow, Keith. I don't know what to say."

I was getting a little worried, but did my best not to let it show in my words, "Yes is the normally expected response."

"Of course, Yes, you goof. No, I mean that your words took my breath away. That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me, if not in the most romantic manner."

"Sorry about that."

"Don't be. Never be sorry that you asked me to marry you."

"Never, beautiful."

"I'll call my Dad and let him know you finally formally asked me to marry you, and then get his butt out here to protect me while you can't."

"I love you, Etch. Always."

"I love you, Keith. Forever."

I hung up the phone.

There was a lot to do in the next twenty-four hours, not the least of which was to let the police know that they had the wrong person. Suddenly getting into Juilliard and appearing on SNL seemed small potatoes, as I would be marrying Gretchen within the next few months. So little time to get everything sorted. So much time before I would be joined to her forever.

Edited by the ever patient Julia Phillips. Thank you for all of your help with this episode.

Keith makes plans in vain, every smile you fake, and Gretchen finally convinces Keith

Once again I allow myself to become complacent then the world throws me another curve. The stalker I had believed to be in police custody is not. I am again away from Gretchen when she could be in danger, and. . .oh crap.

Somewhere in my phone I had entered Mr. Praetor's phone number. It took me less than thirty seconds to find it. I dialed the number before I even looked at the time. The bedside clock said that it was shortly before midnight my time, so I was calling at ten Utah time. I hoped that he was either there, or further west.

It went to voice mail.

I dialed Richard. He picked up on the third ring. "It's a little late to be calling, Keith."

"Shut up and listen for a moment. Mr. Praetor mentioned that there was another client of Spotlight that had been stalked by the same person who stalked me."

"But that person is in jail so. . ."

"She's not in jail. She was never caught. She called me tonight saying that she is finishing up with her previous business and then coming out here to New York. The other girl is in trouble right now!"

"Oh crap."

"I figure you know who was in charge of the investigation, so you give them a call. I'll try Mr. Praetor again, unless you know someone better at Spotlight to call. . ."

"His personal assistant, Ashley, would be the best one to call."

He gave me the number and I called. A man's voice answered the phone. "This is Ashley."

"This is Desdemona. The person who was stalking me apparently eluded police custody and just told me that she was going to 'take care of' the person she was stalking before."

"If this is some kind of joke. . ."

"Mr. Praetor told me that someone else there was being stalked. Talk to him. He can call me for details. Just hurry. We've already called the police, but we just want to make sure that all bases are covered."

"I'll give him a call. He has your number?"

"You have no idea who I am, do you?"

"Should I?"

"Depends on how seriously you take your job."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Nope." I hung up.

I couldn't understand people asking me stupid questions over the phone. Didn't they understand that time was of the essence? It was as if they were falling into the trap of continuing a conversation long after it has served all usefulness.

Irony noted. Ok, just let me have my moment and we'll move on.

I was bouncing off the walls, trying to figure out exactly what I should be doing when the phone rang.

I answered but said nothing.

"Keith?"

"Gretchen. Are you safe?"

"My dad is on the way. Did you really mean what you said?"

I couldn't help smiling. In the midst of this crisis, we had found our own sanctuary. With her beside me, I would be able to face anything.

"Of course I did. I want to marry you, Gretchen. I want you to be my wife, and I will be your husband."

She squealed. "I love you Keith. I really do."

"I know. I love you too. I hope you don't expect me to wear a wedding dress on my wedding day though."

There was no sound on the other end of the phone.

"Etch?"

Still no sound. I was beginning to be a bit worried.

"Etch!?"

"Sorry, the idea of the two of us in white dresses just sort of got to me for a moment."

"Like I said. No."

"Awww. But it would be so cute."

"Then we can do it for a music video, probably for 'My Own Person' if nothing else."

"I don't think I've heard that one."

"Well, it talks about the difficulty of being yourself in the midst of people. It also speaks about how being a part of something doesn't mean that you lose your identity. I figure that marriage applies in that regard, and thought it might be a striking image."

"I can see that."

"I'll just sing it for you."

I sang it over the phone. It wasn't high quality, and I felt a little self conscious, but I got through it.

"I love it. and I can see where the wedding dresses fit in. It would be awesome getting married in the music video. Two brides would really counterpoint the tone."

"I thought so too."

"You know what they say about great minds."

"Yep. I do. Love you, Etch, but I should go. Someone is trying to reach me. Someone less important than you, of course."

"Of course. See you tomorrow, Keith. Night."

I picked up the other line. "Keith, it's Mr. Praetor."

"Apparently Ashley has no idea who I am. Besides that, the stalker was not stopped. She called me earlier and said she was cutting off dead weight and tying up loose ends. I might have overreacted thinking she was talking about her previous victim. . ."

"And then again, you might not. I'll let the police know."

"Richard should already have done that, Sir. I wanted to let you know what was up so you could try to let your other client know that he or she is in danger."

"Thank you, Keith. I'll pass that along."

"Good night, Sir."

"Night Keith."

For the first time tonight, someone hung up on me. I lay down on the bed and was almost instantly asleep. Next thing I knew, the phone on the bedside was ringing.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, Ma'am. This is the wake-up call that you requested for this morning. Your car will be around to pick you up in thirty minutes."

"Thanks."

I hung up and hopped through the shower again. It had been so long since I'd had short hair that I forgot what a convenience that it could be. I didn't even mind the girly haircut this morning since I had so much to do to get ready, and only half an hour to do it. I was clothed, had the girls in place, and was out the door with only seconds to spare.

I was back at Rockefeller center only a few minutes later than they wanted me.

"Desi, if you can't be here on time. . ."

"Give her a break, Rhodie. We're not even ready for her yet."

"How you doin, Pumpkin?"

"Not bad, Uncle Frankie, and Pumpkin?"

"Always wanted to call someone that, and now I have you."

I shook my head ruefully at him.

My phone rang, and for once in the past couple of days I saw a phone number on the display. "Richard. What's up?"

"Just wanted to let you know that your phone is now being monitored by the police, Desdemona. Both numbers."

"Is that why my caller ID is now working outside of Utah?"

"Probably. Just wanted to let you know. Apparently they were already looking for the individual before you called me. Holly Volynczek has been abducted."

"Who is. . ."

"She's the one that this stalker previously stalked. I've told the police the threat that the stalker made on Ms. Volynczek's life."

"I feel like all of this is my fault."

"Don't. They've brought the FBI into this. Apparently this person has been doing this for the past five years or so."

"That's horrible"

"Yes, it is, but there's nothing we can do about it."

"But. . ."

"No buts. You can either live your life in fear of what might happen, or you can live your life. You've always struck me as the sort of person who lived, Desi."

I gave a weak smile that I knew he couldn't see, and then answered, "I choose to live. So, what did you call about besides the authorities monitoring my phone calls?"

"I contacted Juilliard this morning and they have an opening for a guitar audition today, but I'm not sure whether or not you are ready for it. It would be classical guitar."

"What pieces are allowable?"

"The Juilliard website has the information. You would only have about three hours to prepare."

"Not much time. I've got to go."

"Before you go, there is a composition audition available on Monday. You'd have to have some compositions either computer generated or hand written with you when you went, so I'm not sure how plausible that is."

"Thanks, Richard. Later." I hung up.

Frankie had wandered off while I'd been talking to Richard, so I went in search of him. When I found him he was talking to what I assumed were members of the crew, so I looked up the information for my audition.

Most of the options I had pieces for, but I'd never personally heard of Villa-Lobos, so I was at a loss there. I'd need a quick practice of my other audition pieces, and then I'd have likely an hour to an hour and a half to learn a new piece of music.

Suddenly writing two compositions before Monday seemed a lot more likely. Well, nothing ventured nothing gained.

Frankie finished with the crew member and turned toward me.

"What's up, Pumpkin?"

"I need a six-string acoustic and a quiet room."

"Ok, but they might need you at any moment."

"That's fine. Apparently I have an audition at Juilliard in three hours if I can get ready."

"Really?"

"Yes, but the longer we talk, the less time I have to prepare."

"Right away, Pumpkin."

The word Pumpkin was really starting to get on my nerves.

About ten minutes later I was locked in the greenroom, working out the fingerings for one of the Villa-Lobos studies. I was surprised. In the past couple of years, my finger work had become a lot more precise.

I only mention it because I'd originally gone into Jazz guitar because of the difficulty I'd had with the classical fingerings. I'd grown some, and I'd of course been practicing doing complex fingering on the 12-string.

Attempting something that was less complex on a six-string suddenly left me feeling giddy. I was better than I'd thought. A lot better. It took me an hour, but I had the study down and was moving on to a run through on the other pieces. I was a little rusty on them, since it had been a couple of years since I'd practiced any of them, but I got everything up to a level with which I was comfortable.

I was frankly amazed. I never thought that I was this good. All of my energy had gone into making my music career work. First trying to get it off the ground, and then trying to keep it going. It was only just beginning to dawn on me how good I was on the guitar.

Of course, the fact that Juilliard was bending the rules for me should have been my first clue.

There was a knock on the door.

I opened it to find Owen there.

"Heya, Desi. They're looking for you on set. They decided to have you in a single sketch with me, and they want to run over it now."

I looked at my phone and got the time. I still have a little over an hour before I needed to be there for the audition, so I figured that we could probably squeeze this in.

"Ok, but I need to speak to Mister Coolidge first."

"He's on the set, so let's get over there."

We got there and Rhodie was pacing.

"Finally we can begin."

"Look, Mr. Coolidge. I never signed up for this little stunt of yours. So, you need to relax a bit. I'll work with you on it, but there are things in my life that come first. I have an audition for admittance to Juilliard in a little over an hour. We have until I need to leave to get this, and then I can come back after and we can practice some more. If that's not good enough, then you can drop the bit."

"We can always just get Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools to play."

"Yes you can, and if that's what you want to do. . ." I turned to leave. I didn't need his approbation right now, and I wasn't going to blow a real chance at my future for a single night of acclaim.

"Look, Desdemona, we're under the gun here. We need this ready by the end of the day today. We do dress tomorrow morning and then our live show tomorrow night."

"I understand this, Mr. Coolidge, but there are things that are more important to me. Can we stop wasting time and get started? We have five minutes less than when I got here."

He walked off the set and we got started.

It involved Davey, Guthrie and I playing, as if it had just been one of the musical numbers scheduled for the night. Owen would come out with members of the SNL cast acting as his band and try to get us off stage. We ended up with a re-match between Owen and myself, first on guitars, and then moving through chess and a couple of other things.

Every time he came up with a new contest, I beat him. In the end, he challenged me to marry him. I end with the words, "that's one contest I'm going to let you win," and walk off the stage.

It had its moments, but like many of the SNL sketches I'd seen over the years it seemed forced overall. That or I wasn't part of the target audience. That's always a possibility.

It only took forty-five minutes before everyone was satisfied and I was out the door and being driven the two miles to Juilliard. I verified the location where the audition would be and called Hannah.

"Hannah? This is Desdemona. I have an audition in a little over ten minutes for guitar for the pre-college course. Could you guide me to the right room. . .that is if you're not busy?"

"I am in the middle of something, but I can have Sam meet you out front. He knows the right way to go, since he's in the classical guitar program himself."

"Thanks, Hannah. You're wonderful."

"No problem, Desi. Knock 'em dead."

I had only a moment to wonder how Gretchen was doing, and whether Ms. Volynczek was safe before the limo came to a halt and I was out and running with the borrowed six-string in my hand. Sam grabbed my hand as I got to him and we were racing down the halls inside the building.

Needless to say I was a bit out of breath when we got to the room, and I had about a minute and a half before I needed to be in there. I checked my makeup quickly using a compact mirror, pronounced myself good enough, and went in.

"Cutting it a bit close weren't you, Ms. Desdemona. Or should I call you Keith?"

"When I look like this, Desdemona is fine."

"Well, young lady, you can begin when you like. Any order is fine just announce the pieces before you begin."

"Thank you."

I played my soul into the guitar and felt it reverberate across the room. It wouldn't be my last chance to get into this program, but it was suddenly the only thing, besides Gretchen, that I wanted in the world. I could do this.

I did it.

The silence in the room worried me, but I'd given it all I had on every one of those pieces.

"We were under the impression that you might not be ready for this audition."

"I apologize for the roughness of the study. I only learned it this morning."

The three people sitting behind the table judging me were almost impassive, but there was a slight feeling of shock emanating from them.

"If you could play that piece again please?"

I did so, trying to recapture the feeling I'd had earlier. Taking a deep breath after a couple of missed fingerings and then just played.

Again there was silence from the three other people in the room.

"We'll be in touch, Ms. Desdemona."

"Thank you for this opportunity."

I gave a slight bow, packed the guitar back into its battered case, and left.

"So, how did it go?"

"Silence, mostly."

"You did that badly?"

"I have no idea. I played my best, but they barely said a word to me. They did ask me to play the Villa-Lobos study again when they found out I'd only learned it this morning."

"Play it for me."

He led me to a practice room, and I got out the guitar again. I played the study for him. I was becoming much more familiar with it the more I played it.

"I hope you told them that you were kidding."

"What do you mean?"

"There's no way you just learned that this morning."

"Thank you so much for calling me a liar."

"You're serious?"

"Completely."

"I'm impressed then. Very impressed. Heck, I'm intimidated. Sure, it was flawed in a couple of places, but I think that I would have done worse with months to practice it."

"Well, I'm sure that I'll be able to get in next year, then."

"If your other pieces were as good as that one, then I still think you might get in this year."

"That's sweet of you to say, Sam, but I'm engaged."

"But, you're too young to get married."

I laughed. "My life is complicated. Really complicated. I decided that life is too short to live by others expectations. I've known Gretchen for three years. Three years in which we learned who we were as people both with each other and without. Do I think marriage will be easy? Of course not, but I'm willing to give it a try."

"You are a braver man than I am, in more ways than one." He was looking at my skirt, when I got a really strange idea.

"Nah, you just haven't been given the proper motivation, Sam. You doing anything right now?"

"Nope, what did you have in mind?"

"Giving you the proper motivation."

At his look, I giggled.

"Look, Sam, I just want to give you the opportunity to know what I go through right now for my music. Why I feel so passionate about my life. I understand that it seems a little weird, but you might learn something."

"I just realized that I have something to do. . ."

"What are you afraid of? You don't have anything to lose here."

"Except my manhood."

"Don't be such a baby. Besides, my hotel room has a magnificent view."

"Fine, but I'm only going up for the view."

I wondered what I was doing, and why. There was no reason for me to be dressing Sam up in women's clothing, or so I thought. Then I began to study his motions. Could he. . .

That would be WAY too coincidental. There's no way that I just happened upon someone. . .

But I watched the way he walked. There was a natural sway to his hips, and he was a little shorter than I was. Could he. . .

I was borrowing trouble. I'd just go ahead with my plan, we'd have a little dress up, and that would be the end of it.

We entered my hotel room, and the first thing that Sam did was go to the open wall that comprised my view of the city. I was a little nervous about it, with someone else in the room with me, because I felt for the first time that the entire city was watching me.

"Well, let's get you into some girl's clothing. Strip."

"I don't think this is such a good idea, Desi."

"Come on, Sam. It's not like you have anything that I haven't seen before."

He blushed and undressed. I was shocked at what I saw. Sam had a pair of breasts. They were small and under developed, to be sure, but they were breasts all the same.

"What?" I was shocked. He didn't seem to notice my question.

He turned slightly away from me and undid his belt. Then he was naked before me, and I kissed him.

I couldn't help myself. I felt him taking off my clothing and didn't want him to stop. He put his arms around me for a moment, and I felt the strength of him. I didn't want him to let me go. He released me for a moment and slid his hand up under my bra and began playing with my breasts. I could feel him caress the nipples, and I moaned softly. He guided me to the bed and gently lowered me onto it. I felt his hand sliding up my leg. . .

. . .and my alarm went off on my phone.

What was going on with me? I still felt aroused thinking about the dream. It both sickened me and excited me at the same time.

"What you need right now, Keith, is to keep yourself busy."

I went into the bathroom and got myself ready for the day. I'd taken a shower the night before, so I just needed to attach the breast forms and get my makeup in place before running downstairs.

The limo was waiting for me when I arrived, and I got to the studio with time to spare.

At least this would be better than the dream had been.

We started when I arrived. They have four sketches that would include me, one of which was the news. I would be giving a mock interview with the mock news anchor. They gave me humorous answers that all had a kernel of truth. I vetoed the one that suggested that I was really a man in disguise.

"But it will be great considering some of the rumors about Lady Gaga in years past, and you're a lot more feminine than she is."

"She wasn't going to be playing a cross-dressing transgendered teen on the big screen."

"Good point."

We went over each sketch until everyone was comfortable with it. We'd run through each of them again tomorrow, but they were done with me for the rest of the day, at least what was left of it.

I looked at my phone to get the time. Two o'clock. The dream crept back into my subconscious. I called Tom.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Dad."

"What's wrong, Keith?" I winced, but realized that with what I planned next, the police would be getting an earful. . .no, that was the dream. I needed this more than I thought.

"I was wondering if you could set up some time between Dr. Allen and myself. I know he isn't really my doctor, but he knows most of my situation, and I just need to speak to him. I can afford to pay for the session. . ."

"What happened?"

"I feel like I'm falling apart. Nothing seems to fit anymore."

"I'll give him a call, Keith."

"Thanks, Dad."

I paced back and forth for about ten minutes, and then my phone rang.

"Hello, Keith, I heard you wanted to speak to me."

"Dr. Allen. Thank goodness. I'm going crazy."

"Well, let me be the judge of that. Tell me what's on your mind."

"I had a really weird dream last night. . ."

I related the dream to him in as much detail as I could, clarifying when he asked me to. It took longer than I'd expected to get all the way to the end.

"It felt so real, doctor."

"Just call me Allen."

"I thought Allen was your last name."

"Nope," he said with a chuckle. "Dreams seem real to us because out subconscious mind is ignoring all of the holes. The gaps in the reality. We assume that something is there, so we ignore it."

"Does this mean I want to have sex with Sam?"

"No more than it means that Sam has breasts. People in dreams, even you yourself, are simply representative of something that our mind is working through. From what Gretchen has told me in the past few weeks, I assume that you have been taking a very strong line where sex is concerned?"

"Yes."

"Contrary to popular psychological myth, dreams do not have only one meaning. They are unique to the individual dreaming them. Now, given the fact that you and I are both from Utah, there are certain things that our dreams will have in common, because of a commonality of environment and social mores."

"Ok. I think I understand."

"In this case, I think that Sam actually represents you. The male you that you feel is being subsumed by the needs of the female you."

"You think I was going to dress myself. . ." I paused for a moment, thinking about the choices I was making in my life.

"You do that every day, Keith."

"Point taken."

"Also, Sam represents your desire to be swept away romantically. You've built this wall between yourself and Gretchen. You don't let her cross it, which is frustrating you both. Your Sam figure, on the other hand, was able to move you into a submissive position so that you could accept sexual advances."

He paused for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts, and then continued.

"Most of that dream was probably wish fulfillment mixed with worry about the unknown. You need to remember something, Keith. It is what our waking mind does with the imagery of our dreams that we need to worry about. The dreams themselves are generally out of our control. Let them happen, and then let them go. You are working through a lot right now."

Strangely, I actually felt better. "So, is this what you do with all of your patients, Allen?"

"Nope. I deal with people on a case by case basis. Every person is different. They each need a different level of input from me to get to where they need to be. Some of my patients just need someone to listen to them as they work out all of their own problems. Of course, those are the ones I feel most guilty about billing."

We both chuckled at this.

"Keith, if it's ok with you, I'd like to see you on a regular basis over the next couple of months. Some of what you were saying regarding the dream seems to stem from misunderstanding your own gender role right now."

"I'm a man, Allen."

"Who is presenting as a woman. That is confusing in the least stressful times, and with what is going on in your life right now. . .You don't have to. I just feel that it might help to clarify things for you, even if all I do is listen."

"I'll think about it, Allen."

"That's all I ask."

I hung up with him, and looked at the time again. It was already 3:45, so I caught a cab to the airport. I didn't have the flight number, but there were only so many flights that would be coming in from Utah at approximately the right time. I was already at the baggage claim with Gretchen glomped me from behind.

"Guess who?"

"I don't know, but let me tell you, Miss, that I'm waiting for my fiancéee and I don't think she'd approve of you hanging all over me."

She gave a little squeal and continued, "I don't think she'd mind this once."

I turned in her arms and we kissed. She had a really sweet smile on her face when we pulled apart.

"Hey beautiful. Being engaged seems to agree with you."

She sat back down in the wheel chair she'd been riding in.

"Yes, it does." She turned to the porter behind her, "My girlfriend will handle it from here."

"Okay, Ms. Anderson. Just have her leave the chair at the security office before you leave."

"Ok."

"So, how was your flight?"

"Cramped. If I didn't get to see you now, I'd say it wasn't entirely worth it."

"You're not in pain, are you?"

"Not really. Just a little sore."

"I'm glad you're okay."

"So, to the hotel first, or to your Dad's?"

I made a face at the suggestion.

"Come on, Desi, you need to talk to your Dad, even if it's just to tell him you don't want anything to do with him."

"Fine. I'll give him a call."

The bags began to fill the carousel just as Frankie picked up, so I moved forward as I spoke to him. Juggling a phone and a wheelchair is no fun, but I didn't want to let Gretchen out of my sight.

"Hey, Frankie? I'm picking Gretchen up from the airport right now. We still good for tonight?"

"I'd almost thought you had forgotten. Yes, please. Get here when you can. Orion is running a little late today, so everything's good."

"See you when we get there, Frankie."

"See you soon."

It was only a couple more minutes before Gretchen's bags decided to make an appearance and we were out the door hailing a cab.

I had to leave her in the cab while I ran the chair to the security office, and I was worried the entire time I was gone that the cab would drive off without me.

She was still there waiting for me when I got back.

"We need to drop the bags off at my hotel, and then we need to head over to," I gave him the address of Frankie's apartment. "Can you wait for us while we get the bags settled?"

"The meter will keep running, you know?"

"Fine, but it beats trying to get another cab at this time."

"Your money, lady."

We got to the hotel, and again I left Gretchen with the cab. I flagged Ran down as soon as I entered the hotel.

"Desi, how can I help you?"

"I need my girlfriend's bags taken up to my room. I believe that I am currently paying for two people in that room, if not, could you get it changed?"

"Certainly."

"Thank you so much. And add another tip of the previous amount to my bill."

"Of course, Miss." Ran gave me a beaming smile. I returned a slightly less incandescent one to him and rushed back out to the waiting cab.

Gretchen and I cuddled in the back seat, talking about the normal small items that occupy the time of lovers everywhere. Well, they were the normal things for us.

I loved having her next to me, and the feel of her in my arms was bliss.

We arrived at Frankie's building and I paid the fare. We called his apartment and he buzzed us through the outer door. Just as we got on the elevator, a man in a business suit rushed into the lobby.

"Hold the door!"

"Thank you so much. New in the building?"

"No, just visiting someone," Gretchen said.

"Good to know. Well, here's my stop."

"Ours too, actually," I replied

"Then after you, Ladies."

"Thank you kindly, My Good Sir." I hammed it up a bit, but, as I said, I like acting.

I got a little worried when he turned and followed us down the hall. When we got to the door to Frankie's apartment, and he stopped with us, I got even more worried.

It all came clear to me when he stepped past us and unlocked the door with his key.

"Look who I found in the hallway."

"Keith? And this must be your girlfriend. . ."

"I'm his fiancée Gretchen."

"Fiancée?" The other man, who I assumed must be Orion, asked the question.

"I proposed last night. It's been that sort of a week."

"I can imagine."

I chuckled. "Probably not, I have a weird life."

"Try me," Orion said with a grin.

"First, I think we need to sit down."

"Orion, where are our manners. Yes, please. I have dinner in the oven. Come to the kitchen and you can tell me all about it while I finish up the veggies."

We all sat down around the table in their kitchen and I recounted the happenings of the past week, with input from Gretchen for the parts that I didn't know. We got up to last night where I proposed to Gretchen, and she just started smiling at me.

"I had to say yes to him. What other man would wear a dress for me?"

I giggled at this, and there were general chuckles from Frankie and Orion.

"I have to admit, that you guys are not what I expected."

"Expected us to simper around the place?" There was a glower on Orion's as he said this.

"No offense meant, Orion, but I've only had dealings with the T portion of LGTB."

"So you're saying that you're a little prejudiced where the other portions of that are concerned."

"What I'm saying is I just don't know you. Look, let's start over." I looked over to Gretchen and she nodded at me.

"I was born Ethan Anderson. I am physically and mentally female. Now."

"Congratulations, dear. Unfortunately medical science isn't enough to give me the same gift. I was born Julia Masterson."

I couldn't help myself. I blinked.

"Then. . ."

"No, I'm still gay, Keith. It's just that Orion doesn't. . ."

"I think he gets it, Honey."

"Okay. You handle this, Dearest."

"I waited until after I married your father to get myself declared male. The act of changing your gender doesn't change contract law. Loopholes are great sometimes."

"And he would know. He's a lawyer."

"Not another one. You'd think the entire nation was peopled with lawyers."

Orion chucked at this.

"I never would have guessed if you didn't tell me."

"That's part of the point. I am male."

Gretchen asked the question that I'd been wanting to ask since yesterday, "Why Orion."

"Because he was a great hunter. When I was little, my Dad took me out hunting because he never had any sons, well biological ones anyway. I got to fill that role, and it was perfectly fine with me. I played sports and generally made a tomboy of myself. I loved that time with my Dad. . ." the smile left his face as he was talking, and there seemed to be a deep sadness there.

"Dad disowned me when I started living as a man."

"I'm so sorry to hear that."

Frankie walked over behind Orion and just put his arms around the bigger man.

I held Gretchen's hand under the table. It was starting to look like I'd gotten the wrong impression about what happened from Mom, but I needed to hear it for myself.

"What happened, Dad? Why did you leave us?"

"It's not his fault, if that's what you mean. Your Mom was always prone to see things in the worst possible light.

"When you turned five, I began to realize that. . .no that's not right. I had known for years that there was something off in how I saw the world. Maybe not off, but just different."

"I prefer different, Frankie," Orion said with a kind smile.

"Fine, different. You knew I was raised on the reservation, right?"

"Yeah, and you left when you were sixteen."

"I was dared to kiss one of my friends during one of those silly games that young people play. I'd kissed girls before, but that was the first time I'd ever kissed a boy. It was like nothing I'd ever experienced before. I liked it, and I didn't understand it. My father was a very strict man who had a narrow view of how the world worked.

"My friend and I agreed to meet later and see if this was just a fluke. We were caught by my father who near beat me to death. I left his house than night and never looked back. My friend said what we'd done was a mistake and refused to come with me.

"It was hard for me, a sixteen year old with no education, to get by, but somehow I did. I earned my GED and was taking night classes trying to get my associates degree when I met your mother. She was the only woman who ever made me question what I thought I knew about myself. I thought that if I could change this one thing about myself, that maybe I could get my father to accept me.

"We were married and latter that year she became pregnant. It was the happiest time of my life for a couple of months.

"Your grandfather died in an accident about a month before you were born. My entire world collapsed on me. I didn't know what I would do. I began seeing a therapist to try to work through my feelings about what had happened."

"That's when he met me. He had the appointment after mine, so for a few weeks, I would be coming out, as he went in."

"There was nothing between us during that time. In fact, until after the divorce was finalized, I never even knew his name."

"And he didn't pick me up in the doctor office."

"So, how did that work out?"

"Week after week, and month after month, I watched as a change slowly came over Orion. He started out as a somewhat masculine woman, but definitely a woman. First, his mannerisms changed, and then there were slight changes to his appearance. I began to relish seeing what would happen next, but never really thought about him except while waiting for my appointment.

"Something began to bother me more and more about the situation, and it hit me like a ton of bricks the day after your fifth birthday."

"You mean I did." Orion smiled at Frankie, who smiled back for a moment before continuing.

"I was waiting for the mystery lady to come out when the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen exited. I think my jaw dropped."

"Yes. It made me really self conscious. That was my first day presenting as a man."

"When he blushed and turned away, I realized my mistake. And then something hit me, the aforementioned something. While he'd looked like a woman, I'd felt nothing except for idle curiosity. The same person looked like a man, and I wanted to follow him to the ends of the earth.

"That was the first day I talked with my therapist about why I'd run away from home.

"Your Mom knew something was up, but I couldn't talk to her about it. Sex, which had been a bit of a chore before, became impossible for me."

"Dad!!"

"Sorry, couldn't help it. Your mom thought I was cheating on her, which was why I couldn't perform. I couldn't explain to her that I just wasn't attracted to her. She kicked me out of the house and asked for a divorce.

"I gave it to her."

"Why does Mom think you left her for a man?"

"Well, that's because I ran into Orion at the courthouse when the judge finalized our divorce."

"By ran into, he means he planted the most passionate kiss I've ever received on me in the corridor outside the courtroom. I was shocked to say the least."

Both of them smiled at the remembered incident.

"We started dating at that point, and the rest was history."

"Ok, now what really happened?" Gretchen was looking at the two of them. Actually, it would be more accurate to say she was glaring at them.

They looked a bit sheepish, and then Orion started speaking. "Most of the story was true, but we started dating after the second or third time your parents came to the court-house. We went out for drinks a couple of times, and then dinner. I was really attracted to your father, but he was acting as straight as an arrow."

"I was afraid that he would push me away, since it wasn't normal to be gay."

"One night when he was dropping me off at home, about a week before your parent's divorce was finalized, I'd gotten tired of the looks of longing he was shooting my way, and so I practically yelled at him to kiss me and get it over with."

"So you kissed him then, Dad?" I was a bit disgusted that my father would have lied about a detail like that.

"Nope, he ran for the car like the hounds of hell were after him and I didn't hear another thing from him until the day in court when the divorce was finalized. I was waiting in the court-room for a case to come before a judge, and heard that he was a single man again. I checked with the court reporter, who told me it would be another thirty or so minutes before my case was called."

"I was talking to your mother, apologizing that I couldn't be what she wanted, when Orion comes over, spins me around, and gives me the best kiss of my life."

"Yeah, I'd decided that I could be the dominant one in a relationship, I was a man after all."

"And you've been my man ever since." They both smiled at each other as they held hands.

"I believe that story more. I mean come on, it's obvious who the dominant one in this relationship is."

We all laughed at this, and made small talk after that until dinner was ready. He'd made a roast for us, with all the trimmings, and I had my first home cooked meal with my father. There was laugher and reminiscing on their part as Gretchen and I just soaked in the joy of two people who had been in love for the past twelve years.

Gretchen nudged me, and I looked at her with a question in my eye.

She gestured to her ring finger on her left hand, and then looked at my Dad. It took me a couple of repeats of the gesture to get her meaning. It did remind me of something, though. That was for later.

"Dad?"

"Yes, hon?"

"I've asked Gretchen to marry me, and she said yes."

"I figured with the talk of her being your fiancée."

"There's a complication with that."

"Oh?"

"I need a parent's permission to get married at my age."

"Aren't you emancipated?"

"That just means that for most situations, I am my own guardian. However, I still can't drink alcohol, vote, have sex, or get married."

"I'd like to see them stop you from having sex if you want to."

"Dad!"

"Sorry, Keith. Won't your Mom have to sign off on anything like this?"

"I have a lawyer for things like that. I'd prefer not to have to wait a year to get married, and I doubt that Mom will consent. So, if my lawyer says you can consent for me. . ."

"Of course he will, baby. All your Dad has wanted was to be a part of your life."

"I will on one condition."

"What is it?" I felt the room begin to spin. It was as if I knew what he was going to say, but I was praying that he didn't.

"I always wished that I'd had a daughter. I wanted to do all of the father/daughter things like take you on your first date, wait up for you after prom, and walk you down the aisle."

"I'm your son, though."

"I know that. Which means I get a beautiful daughter-in-law. Hear me out, though. My condition is not that you let me walk you down the aisle. It is that you will at least think about letting me do so."

"Wait. . .what?"

"You make a beautiful woman, Keith. You would make a beautiful bride. I can tell by the gleam in Gretchen's eye that she's already suggested it." Orion was talking to me, but looking at Gretchen when he said this last part.

"I have," she said with a grin.

Dad continued, "Gretchen, this needs to be Keith's choice. I don't want anyone making up his mind for him. So, will you think about it, Keith?"

I nodded, Gretchen squealed, and Dad and Orion smiled at me.

"That's all we ask."

Since that was over, I excused myself and went to the bathroom. Not that I needed to use the facilities, but I needed some privacy for the next call I was going to make.

"Madame Zeela's"

The number was right, but I didn't recognize the voice.

"Could I speak to Zeela please?"

"She's busy, can I help you?"

"Tell her Desdemona is calling."

"Yeah, right. As if Desdemona would be calling in person, and not having one of her people call Madame Zeela on her private line."

"I am such an idiot. Thanks for reminding me she had a private line."

I hung up and called Zeela's OTHER number.

"Hello?"

"Hello. You still have Gretchen's ring size, right?"

"Keith? So nice to hear from you. I was beginning to think I had lost my best customer with Desdemona on the scene."

"Well, business seems to have picked up. You never had a shop girl before."

"Never had enough business to need one. Which finger you need a ring for?"

"Left hand ring finger."

"You didn't!"

"I did." There was a huge smile on my face.

"Congratulations. She said yes, I assume?"

"Yep, but I am going to make a more formal proposal when I get the ring. Do it however you want, but realize I want to repay you for the earrings."

There was an intake of breath on the other end of the phone. "You want a $5500 ring for Gretchen?"

"$5400, but yes."

"When you finally realize something, you don't mess around."

"How soon can I get something like that from you?"

"For you, I'll work all weekend if I have to. I'll have to size stones, hmm, something special. Not a diamond, too normal, something. . .oh my word, I just got the perfect stone. I was afraid I would have to cut it because it is just too big for anything else. This will be a masterpiece, no...I have a much better idea than that." She cackled in glee. "This is too perfect. They will be beautiful."

"They?"

"No time, have to get to work. Ciao, Bella."

"Zeela!" But she was already gone. I'd only seen her get like this once before, when she'd talked about making the skull earrings, before Angelina had decided they were too gaudy.

I took a few calming breaths and went out to join Gretchen and my Dads

"Thank goodness you're back."

Gretchen rushed off to the bathroom and I made a call to Jordan. A slightly out of breath Tom answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Ewe. I wanted to speak to Jordan."

"Crap, wrong. . ." and then Jordan was on the line, equally as breathless.

"Hello, Keith."

"Hiya, Jordan. If I were to want to get married in Utah, I still need parental consent even if I'm emancipated, right?"

"Yes."

"Does it have to be the custodial parent, or could my Dad grant consent?"

"Your Dad could, but he'd have to actually present written consent in person to the county clerk. That would require you finding him, of course."

"That shouldn't be too hard, as he's sitting across the table from me. He is a stage manager for SNL."

"Well, that settles that. . ." She let out a soft moan.

"Yes, good night, Jordan, and give my best to Tom." I hung up before she could respond. I didn't think I needed that response. The only way that could have been worse was if either had been my actual parent.

I giggled as I set aside the phone.

"What's up?"

"You can consent for me, and Jordan and Tom were in the middle of interpersonal relations."

"That's so nasty!" Gretchen had just come back in and looked a bit shocked.

"You never think it's nasty when you try to get me to do it with you."

"That's completely different."

"Yeah, in what way?"

"In this way Keith." Orion said and laid a full open-mouthed, tongue-involved kiss on my Dad.

My stomach lurched, "Ok, point taken." They didn't stop.

"Etch, I think it's time we left. Night guys."

They pulled apart. "Sorry about that, I got a little carried away."

"No, it's fine. Gretchen is still recovering from surgery,"

"Ok, I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, Keith. It was a pleasure to meet you, Gretchen."

"You too, Dads," Gretchen directed it to both of them, and got a smile for her troubles. We hugged at the door, and Gretchen and I went down to catch our cab.

We had to wait a couple of minutes at the curb for our cab to arrive, but then it was a quick trip to the hotel.

"Evening, Ran."

"Evening, Ladies. Turning in for the night?"

"Yes, we are."

"Remember, if I can get you anything, feel free to ask."

I giggled and Gretchen responded. "Id love some whipped cream and edible panties."

"Gretchen!" I said in a shocked tone. "Ignore her. She isn't up for more than sleep right now."

"Well, I'll definitely sleep with you. . ."

"Yeah, sleep is about all you'll get."

We both held each other and giggled.

"So, is that a yes or no on the items?"

"Whipped cream, yes, but strawberries for the second part."

"Oh yes, strawberries."

"Much more tasteful. Goodnight, Ladies, and I'll have your snack sent up to you."

"Goodnight, Ran." Gretchen sang out as the elevator doors closed.

"You are so naughty."

"Are you going to spank me?"

"Don't tempt me."

"Ok, since I've never been into spankings as foreplay."

"Good to know."

We got up to the room without any further complications, and Gretchen lay on the bed and stripped to her bra. "Keith, I'm having a little trouble checking my sutures, could you do it for me please?"

"You have a cut on your leg!?"

"Oh, yeah. Apparently after they got me all cleaned up, they found that the blood wasn't from torn sutures, but a shallow cut. It was designed to make sure that the police hurried in to get me."

As I checked that everything was healing, and re-bandaged her cuts, I thought about the behavior of my supposed stalker. He, or she, was acting more like this was some elaborate game. He'd won the first few rounds, and had given me a consolation prize in the form of Gretchen's safety.

"Keith? You're turning me on just staring at me like that."

"What? Oh sorry." I turned around, blushing profusely. "I was lost in thought and wasn't really staring."

"I'm hurt. . ."

"Don't be. I love the way your body looks, I just have a lot on my mind regarding that cut on your leg."

"Oh." She pulled on a pair of lacy panties, and sat with her back to me.

"Etch. . ."

"Keith, I'm sorry that I disgust you so much that a stalker is more interesting than looking at my naked body."

"I worry about you, Etch."

"Then be with me."

I kissed her, and she kissed me back.

There are some moments in our lives that we wish we could take back. They bother us and cause embarrassment for the rest of our lives.

They are our greatest regrets and can steal the joy out of future moments with a poor thought at the wrong time.

This was not anything like those moments.

It was a sublime moment that made all of the regrets worth the pain, if only because they led you to that place and moment in time.

There was passion in our kisses, but not enough to steal from us the knowledge that we were together. It was soft, and sweet, and powerful and gentle all at the same time. We lay there, kissing and talking and kissing and holding. I can't remember a specific thing that I did or said.

I can't forget the feel of her against me, or the smell of her.

We did not have sex. No intercourse. Nothing like that.

We made love in its most pure form.

I didn't even need to remove a single article of clothing.

"Thank you."

"For what?" I was lying there basking in the moment, and speech almost seemed to be superfluous

"Not having sex with me."

She made to say more, but there was a knock on the door.

We both giggled and I went to answer the door.

"Yes?"

"I have your strawberries, Ma'am."

I opened the door and let the waiter, busboy, whatever into the front room. He uncovered the strawberries and whipped cream and then seemed to be waiting for something.

"I have no cash, but if you would like, you can charge a twenty dollar tip to me room. . .?"

"I don't know. . ."

"Wait here for a moment. . .William."

I called the front desk. "Exeter House."

"Could you charge twenty dollars to my room so that William can get a tip for delivering my food?"

"Of course, Ms. Desdemona."

"And take ten dollars for yourself."

"Right away, Miss." There seemed to be a smile radiating from the phone when I disconnected.

"William, I had the front desk charge twenty to my room. If you have any problems, either talk to myself or Ran and I'm sure we can get it sorted."

"Of course, Ma'am."

I shut the door behind him and Gretchen came out of the room where she'd been hiding. We spent the rest of the evening eating strawberries and watching sappy movies.

Well, Gretchen ate strawberries. I just held her and watched movies.

We crawled into bed after the strawberries and our saccharine tolerance were exhausted. I held her and we went to sleep.

It had been a long day, and tomorrow would be longer. I'd survived my first week under contract with Spotlight Productions, and spent the most beautiful evening with the woman I love. All in all I felt that everything in the world was going perfectly, and simply prayed that it would last.

Unfortunately, nothing ever lasts.

Edited by the ever patient Julia Phillips. Thank you for all of your help with this episode.

Live from New York, It's Saturday Night; a stalker gets her just deserts; and an ending is brought out from the beginning.

I woke up with her in my arms. A smile spread over my face as I thought about the events of last night. I wouldn't even allow the foreboding I felt to ruin my mood.

I watched the sun slowly rise over Central Park. It was a perfect moment that I knew couldn't last.

My phone rang, and Gretchen stirred in her sleep. She opened her eyes and looked up at me. In a sleepy voice she said, "you going to get that?"

I laughed and reached across her to get my phone. It was the Desdemona ring tone. I lay half on top of her as I answered the phone, and she put her arms around me.

"This is Desdemona."

"Desi, glad I caught you before you left for the studio."

"What can I do for you, Richard?"

"Nothing, at least not right now. Just wanted to check in with you."

"So, were you able to get in touch with anyone?"

"About?"

"You know what it's about. Why are you playing these games?"

"I'm not playing any games, Desi."

"Ok, it's good to hear from you, Richard."

I hung up the phone and started dialing Richard's number.

"What's going on, Keith?"

I held my finger up, as if asking for a moment, and listened to the phone ring. It went to voicemail so I called again.

Richard picked up after the third ring this time. "Hello?" a woman's voice answered the phone.

"Could I speak to Richard please?"

There was a noisy yawn on the other end of the phone. "Hello?"

"Richard, I take it you didn't just call me."

"No, I didn't. What's going on?"

"Crap. That explains why I couldn't recognize it wasn't Gretchen before. Richard, I think the stalker just called my phone trying to determine where I was."

"Why would she do that unless. . .Stay where you are, Keith. I'm going to hire a bodyguard and send him over to your hotel."

"How will I know he's from you? We don't know what this psycho looks like, after all."

"Good point. Ok, do you remember the name of Gretchen's first teddy bear?"

As far as I knew, Gretchen had never owned a teddy bear. What was he. . .and then it dawned on me.

"Yes, I remember."

"You're sure? Really sure?"

"This would be the one that saved her life by taking a knife to the stuffing?"

"Graphic way of saying it, but yes. That teddy bear."

"Ok."

"The guard will say that he was sent by the bear."

"Got it." I thought for a couple of moments before I continued. "Richard. It wasn't me you were talking with unless I end a phone conversation with the word Kisses. If I ever end with Hugs, then know I'm in real trouble."

"Got it, but why the. . .girly. . .closings?"

"Cause no one would suspect that as a safe word."

"Good thought. Oh, before I let you go, I contacted Juilliard yesterday. You will need to fly back in two weeks for an audition. They have to set some stuff up first, and they want you to be fully prepared. They'd like you to bring some compositions as well, since they'd like to see what you can do there."

"Thanks for that, Richard. Kisses."

"Bye."

I hung up the phone.

"Keith?"

"Yes, Etch?'

"My one true love."

"Yes, dearest?"

"No, that's my safe word. I will use it at the beginning."

I smiled at her. "I can get used to that, I think."

She wrapped her arms around me, and lay her head on my chest. I called my Dad.

"Frankie's phone."

"Dad, It's Keith. I'm going to be a bit late coming in today. Something came up, and I just need a little time."

"Rhodie isn't going to appreciate it."

"He'll live. I'll tell you all about it when I arrive."

After hanging up this time, Gretchen looked at me with a gleam in her eye. "So, what are we going to do now?"

"No idea. . ."

She kissed me full on the lips. I felt her reaching for my waist and pushed her up. "Wait, honey.. Not this way."

"But last night you made me feel so loved, that I needed. . ."

"You don't need to do this, Etch. I know you love me."

"I need to show you. I need to. If I can't show you then you'll never know how much that I love you. I know you'll like it. I've never gotten a complaint before. . ."

I just held her to me and didn't say a word. It was probably the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. She cried into my shoulder, and I held her.

"Am I that repulsive to you?"

"Never."

"Then why won't you let me do this? If we both want it, what's the harm? I can't lose you. Not now. Not after last night. I need to show you how much I appreciate you."

"You already do, Gretchen."

"But I was a bitch to you for so many years."

"You were never a bitch to me, Etch. Never. You may have ignored me while we were at school, but that was about the worst of it. You never pushed me away after school."

"But. . ."

"No buts, Etch." I began to kiss her deeply, to show how I felt about her, when there was a knock on the door.

I went to answer it. "Hello?"

"Larry sent me up here." A feminine voice answered me, but the name was right so I figured it must be the bodyguard.

I opened the door and in breezed a very pretty woman. I quickly shut the door behind her. When she caught sight of me she stopped and turned to leave. "I don't do harem attendant. Sorry for the mix-up."

"Wait, what?"

"I was told I would be the bodyguard for a female rock star. If you're the boyfriend, then I won't be taking this job."

"Wait, hold a minute. I'm the female rock star."

She looked at me with a little smile. "Sorry, but even with the hair there's no way anyone would be fooled by that body."

"Gretchen, could you explain to this person what's going on while I get ready to go?"

I had never had anyone push my buttons the way this chick just had. Who did she think she was? She was hired to protect me, and all I wanted to do was kill her.

I knew that the SNL crew would be doing my makeup between each of the sketches, so I felt that it would be a good opportunity to go all out right now. I attached the girls, put on my favorite black lace with pink satin bra, and went to town.

She wanted a rock star did she? I'd damn well give her one.

Stage makeup is a wonderful thing. But it over emphasizes in order to be seen without magnification. What I did could have been seen from space.

It wasn't the depth, it was the size: First, a white powdery looking base, than I put a circle on my face that crossed my eyes, at the top, and my lips, at the bottom. Down across my chin I put a vertical line that continued to my collar bone. Then, in the center of my neck I put the cross bar. I would have applied it all the way to the back of my neck, but my artistic skills aren't all that great when I can't see what I am doing.

I blended in the girls to my chest, and went out to the main room. I had no idea what I was going to wear with this, but it made me feel better.

"That's one of the more ridiculous things I think I've ever seen." Bodyguard chick was still trying to get on my nerves. "What happened to the guy who was going to get ready? He didn't get a quickie in there while we were waiting did he?"

"Are you blind or stupid?" I couldn't take this anymore, "There is a very real threat against me right now, and so my manager thought to hire you. Before you got here, I thought it was a good idea. Now, I can see that I was mistaken. We'll just have to do without today, and I hope nothing bad happens.."

"Oh my. . .Desdemona is a guy?" The woman just started laughing.

"What?"

"Keith, look how you're standing?" Gretchen was smiling at me.

I was standing with one hip thrust out a bit, and my hand resting on it. It was something I'd never do as Keith, but it felt right to me as Desdemona.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. Let's start over. I'm Rachel and I've been assigned to be your Friend-i-guard."

"What in the heck is a Friend-i-guard?"

"It's a simple idea, really. We add a 'one more' to your group. Just one more girl, or just one more guy. We're trained, however, to protect you. Don't expect me to wear anything like that, though. And the makeup. . ."

"All I've done is my makeup. I was heading to get my clothing when you stopped me." I stuck out my tongue and headed into the bedroom. I shut the door while I tucked everything well away, and then grabbed a short sheath dress from Gretchen's side of the closet. I had to remove my bra, since it was strapless, but the dress itself seemed to hold me in place well enough. I went with a pair of stiletto heels, pink of course, and called myself ready.

"Well, you'll definitely stand out in that."

Instead of speaking, Gretchen just came over and gave me a hug. I gave her a quick kiss and let her finish getting ready. The three of us headed out the door after that and headed down to the limo waiting for us by the curb.

I had barely gotten settled into the seat when we were stopping and all three of us were getting out. The roar of the crowd was immense. There wasn't enough room for more than a couple of hundred people, but in the confined space in front of Rockefeller Plaza, they felt like they were more. I signed arms and legs, a breast or two, and a pink pump. I wondered how many people would start wearing pink shoes because of me. #82 was the shoe, and I got all the way to #86 before I was done.

I felt a bit like a princess.

"Etch, I need a piece of paper, now."

The words were pouring into my head, and I simply lost track of what else I was doing. Gretchen guided me into the elevator and then to a quiet room while I continued to write. As I wrote, the bits became pieces, which became phrases and stanzas. I had a new song. I began to write the accompaniment. I hadn't tried to write every piece before, but figured that this time would be different. Usually, I figured that a piece of music was more organic. It was jazz no matter what form it took. I had some idea of how the song would go, but I let the other two musicians find their own place in the song.

This song was different. I knew exactly how the song needed to sound, so I wrote the bass line, and the percussion, to fit that sound. I could hear the entire piece in my mind and it flowed out onto the page.

I read through it when I finished, and almost crumpled the whole mess into a ball before Davey saved it.

"What's this?"

"Nothing. Give that here."

"Love the makeup, Boss-lady."

"Yeah, seconded. Oh, is that a new song?"

I began to blush. "Give that here, Davey."

"Not until we give it one try on stage."

I hung my head and said, "Ok, let's get this over with."

We went up on stage and grabbed our instruments. I let Davey and Guthrie work through what I'd written a couple of times, and my embarrassment left me. I played my part with them, at the speed Davey set for us on his drums. We played through the song a couple of times, and then we began again.

I sang the words, and suddenly we had people converging from every corner of the studio. I let myself get into it and started to smile. I threw intentionally exaggerated dance moves, hamming it up and underscoring the satire tone of the piece. Sure, it was a pop beat, and mostly pop words, but it was still Desdemona.

With the last repeat of "Daddy's Little Princess" we drew the song to a close and I bowed to the audience to cheers and whistles.

Mr. Coolidge rushed up to me a bit frantic. "That song isn't on the approved list that was sent over to us by your manager."

"That's 'cause I just wrote it."

He goggled at me. "You just wrote that? And practiced it for the first time just now?"

"Yep," I said with a smile.

A light went on behind his eyes. "Well, get your manager to register that song so you can play it on the show."

"Wait, I didn't. . ." but it was too late for me to do anything. Rhodie had already run off to wherever he hid while the rest of his crew was doing the real work.

I gave Richard a call. He answered right away this time.

"Hey, Desi. So, how did the bodyguard work out?"

"She was not what I expected."

"She'll be able to protect you, don't worry about that. She's a qualified instructor in unarmed combat for the police academy in New York, as well as proficient in over forty small arms."

"Good to know, but that's not why I called. I have a new song, and Rhodie Coolidge wants me to have it registered with ASCAP before we perform it tonight."

"Usually it takes time. . ."

"Look, then you call him and tell him no. He wouldn't accept that as an answer from me."

"Desi, I know Rhodie personally. Another frat buddy. If he says he wants you to perform something, it is because he likes it. Him liking it means something, as he is a bit of a music snob."

"Okay. . ."

"Fax me the music, and I'll do what I can. Tell him you'll do it last, which will give me about fourteen hours to get it registered."

"Okay, Richard. I hope you know what you're doing. Kisses."

I went off in search of Rhodie, and found him in, of all places, his office.

"Mr. Coolidge?"'

"Yes, Desdemona?"

"Richard says that he wants until the last musical number of the night to make sure he has enough time to get it registered."

"You got it. Now, you're needed in wardrobe so that they can get you ready for the show."

Have you ever spent so much time worrying about something, and planning for something, and working toward something, that when that something finally arrives, it is sort of anti-climactic?

It felt as though I had been building up to this one moment on SNL for months, and yet, when I got there, everything just happened.

The dress went over without a hitch, and contrary to superstition, so did the show. They had me up there a number of times, with most of the sketches built around the punch-line "But I'm only sixteen."

I could tell that the audience was getting a little tired of it, so for my last appearance, a night-club-gig gag, I changed it up on the actor opposite me.

"Shouldn't be a problem to let you in, I just need to see your ID."

And of course, the sketch was supposed to just end there with the punch-line, you get the idea.

"Well, can't you just let me in? I'm playing with the band."

The actor glared at me, but the audience perked up. I think they noticed something was off.

"It's not like you're sixteen or something." The actor really tried, bless his heart, but I wasn't stopping.

"Well, my birthday is next week, so technically. . ."

"Your twenty-first birthday?" Finally, he got it.

"That would be next week. . .and another four years."

"Wait so, in four years and a week you'll be twenty-one?"

"Exactly, so can I get in the club?"

"Just as soon as I see your ID."

"Great!" I gave him my ID and walked past while he was looking at it.

Then, he looked at the camera and deadpanned, "Who knew? She's only sixteen."

The audience started laughing for the first time in about half an hour. See, that's the thing about humor. Even when you're expecting something, the delivery is everything.

I mean, every once in a while a chicken crossing the road actually is funny.

The rest of the show was fine, I got to play "Black Flag" and "My Life With You is Hell". Swearing on national television is a big rush, but I'm sure they bleeped me out.

Then we were down to the last song of the evening.

Owen got back up on the stage after his final sketch. "Here, one last time, with a song written this morning and performed here for the first time anywhere. . .I give you Desdemona singing 'Daddy's Little Princess'."

The opening chords were all pop. Heavy on the 12-String melody, with some bass guitar and percussion to fill in the holes.

It also had a pop sort of tempo to it. I could imagine Miley Cyrus or Taylor Swift happy with a song like that.

Then, for a moment, we paused. I smiled and used the first words of the song. They were sung without any accompaniment at all. Just me to a silent hall.

I'm Daddy's Little Princess, acting up the part,
I've got him round my finger, I'm the center of his heart.
Daddy loves his baby, wants to keep me from all harm!

I paused for a moment, and then smirked at the audience.

What Daddy don't know. . . I said.

Then we cranked up the speed, and let loose our metal souls. You could still hear the Pop theme running through it. The hard rock beat seemed to give it. . .soul.

I sang about sneaking out to dances, and spending time with boys. I sang about going to parties and staying out late at night.

Then, as all frenetic lifestyles do, that portion of the song came to an abrupt halt with a primal scream from me and the lights shutting off.

A single spot shone on me, and I started with only a soft beat from the bass drum. I sang about heart break, and loss of innocence. The bass guitar joined in and I sang about a hope that I could go back and regain what I thought I'd lost: The love of my Daddy.

I put my hands to the strings as if to add the lead guitar to the song. I looked directly into the spot and the music stopped again.

I love you Daddy.

We started back in, and ran a slower, and sadder version from the very first. It was pop, but it was a ballad.

I sang about redemption and forgiveness. I sang about going home again.

I sang about knowing that someday I would make my Daddy happy with my decisions.

Then, we brought the stage lights up, and we added some speed and strength to it.

I sang about finding the one, and true love. I sang about getting married to a wonderful man.

At the very end I sang about standing with my own Daddy, as I watched my husband holding our daughter, knowing she would be Daddy's Little Princess.

It was another song written for Gretchen, and like "My Life With You is Hell", I felt that it was one of my best works.

The audience loved it. "Thank you, New York. You're great!"

There were some chuckles at this and a call or two of, "Desdemona, I love you!" and we walked off the stage.

Then I got together with Rachel and Gretchen and we headed downstairs to brave the crowd.

After a few more autographs, I was able to get into the limo, and the other two quickly joined me.

We got out at the hotel, and there were even more people here. We slipped in past the throng and got into the elevator without any further delays.

"What is going on? I've never had this big a crowd following me."

"Looks like fame has finally caught up with you." Rachel was smiling at me, but I saw a hint of worry in her eyes. I figured it was just professional paranoia and thought nothing more of it for the moment.

The elevator door opened onto a deserted hallway and we went to our room. There was someone sitting in the main room when we got there.

"Finally. I was beginning to think that you weren't going to come." The girl sitting on the couch smiled at us and crossed her legs.

"Who are you?" Rachel asked her.

"Why, the agency sent me. They thought that one just wasn't enough for Desdemona."

"Which agency was that?" Rachel asked.

"Why are you asking me? You know which agency."

"I want to make sure, since they told me that I'd get these two solo." She gave a pout and put her hand on my arm, "and it's been so long since I got two all to myself."

"The escort agency thought that you needed some backup for your first threesome in so long."

Ok, and things were going so well too.

It was then that I noticed that Gretchen was paralyzed in fear. I walked over to her, turning my back to the person on the couch for a moment. Gretchen was staring wide eyed at the girl.

"Etch?"

"It's him. It's the stalker."

I heard a quiet pop and Rachel collapsed to the ground.

Spinning around I looked toward the stalker who was pointing a gun in my direction.

"It's always such a waste putting a bullet in a hooker, but I can't have her sullying your reputation, Desdemona."

I looked over at Rachel. She was curled around her middle with her back toward the couch. I expected to see more blood from a gunshot wound. Why wasn't there any blood?

"So, I can't very well keep calling you Stalker, so what do you want to be called?"

"So calm and collected, Desdemona. You're everything I could have ever dreamed for in a soul mate. It's so sad that our relationship will be so short lived."

"Why is that?"

"Well, because you will not be able to live through it. No one ever has. . ."

My phone began to ring. I answered it before the freak could say anything about it.

"Desi, my phone has been ringing off the hook since the end of SNL. Everyone wants a copy of that new song of yours. Something in it seems to have sparked recognition in a lot of people."

The stalker motioned at me to get off the phone.

"That's great, Mr. Fields. It's a little late here, though."

"I know what you mean, Desdemona. We'll talk later. Hugs?"

"Hugs." And I hung up the phone.

I knew he'd picked up on the situation, and now I just had to keep us alive and in this room until the authorities could come to the rescue.

"That was perfect acting, Desdemona. Just perfect." The stalker beamed a smile at me. "You can call me Lady Anne." Lady Anne stood up and pointed the gun in our direction. "I suggest that we move this to the bedroom. It's a more conducive atmosphere to what I have in mind."

I took Gretchen in my arms, and the two of us walked toward the bedroom.

"Hey, Lady."

We turned in enough time to see Rachel disarming Lady Anne and taking her to the ground.

"Call the police."

"They should already be on the way." I replied to Rachel's request. "Duress words are a great thing."

"So much more than a pretty face, aren't you, Desdemona."

Gretchen walked over to the person on the ground and spit in her face. "Desdemona is mine. She always has been. Keith is mine because he gave himself to me, and I am his. There is no you between us."

Lady Anne smirked up at Gretchen. "There will be, little girl. I will be there forever more, now. When you are lying in your bed with her. When she holds you in her arms. You'll be able to hear my voice, and feel my eyes watching you."

"Bitch, you're not going to be looking at anything except for concrete walls." Rachel pushed her back to the ground while I guided Gretchen over to the couch.

I sat in the spot where she had been sitting, and held Gretchen next to me.

"The more you follow me, Miss Anne, the more of you I own. I am the one who is filling your thoughts and forcing your actions. You are a puppet to your own obsession, and I hold all the strings. You hoped to cut them here tonight, but only got wound up in them more tightly."

I got up so that I knew she saw me when I said the next statement. "I OWN YOU, and from this moment on, you know it."

I felt Gretchen sit up next to me, and looked at her. She had a determined look on her face.

"Miss Anne, you are no longer the owner of your destiny. You called yourself a Lady, and hoped to rule over us. You have been brought low, and made our servant. Go from us now and never let us catch sight of you again." Etch had supported me with her own version of my words. They were her words as well, though.

I could see the anger kindle in Anne's eyes.

"Does the slave have something she wishes to say?"

Rachel looked at me, as if to suggest that I'd gone too far, so I directed my next statement to her. "This thing has killed at least one person that I know of. She was planning on killing Gretchen and me today. Pissing her off is not going to change that, nor will it make the situation worse."

I turned back to Anne. "It will, however, let it know that we will not tolerate it's presence. It will respect our wishes and realize that the simple pleasures of hunting us have come to an end. It may think it will get free and follow us for the rest of its life, but it would be wrong in that assumption."

For a moment, I felt myself being pushed in a direction I would not go, and the moment passed. Gretchen, Rachel, and I sat and watched Anne for the next five minutes until the police arrived.

They took our statements, retrieved the gun and took Rachel's bullet proof vest. They also took Anne away in handcuffs, planning on charging her with at least attempted murder and unlawful detainment.

Rachel made no move to leave with them.

"Isn't your job done?"

"Not hardly. Just because I saved you from one threat, doesn't mean that all threats are gone."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean. . ."

"Look, Keith, let me explain something. Yes, I am a hard ass. I do things to keep my principal safe. Sometimes that requires I not be friendly with said person.

"That said, I like you. You've got backbone, and you are hella talented. I'd like to stick with this assignment, if you don't mind. It could be fun."

"But won't people know. . ."

"If by people you mean the bad guys, and by bad guys you mean Anne, yes, Anne now knows that I am your bodyguard, so she is less likely to shoot me in the chest next time. That being said, if Anne ever gets out of police custody then I'm making sure you have a full presidential detail next time. If I'd known. . ."

"If we'd known, I'm sure that we'd have had one this time."

"Point taken. Sorry. Let me run your security, Keith. Let me pretend to be your friend for the cameras."

"Sorry, can't do it, Rachel."

"Oh, ok. Well I'll have someone else. . ."

"No, you misunderstand. I don't have pretend friends. If you're going to be my friend, then be my friend. None of this just for the cameras."

"If I'm your friend, then you won't listen to me when it's important."

"Rachel, yes I will. Look, I take my safety, and Gretchen's, very seriously. I know nothing about keeping my life secure. You know everything. If you were to start telling me how to write an Emmy winning song, I'd ignore you, as would be right. If I started telling you how best to keep me safe, then you'd ignore me, as would also be right."

"Are you sure?"

"One of my best friends is my boss at a Hot Topic store. She's wrote me up once for yelling at a customer. I never yelled at a customer after that."

Rachel blinked at me.

"Are you perfect, or just pretending to be?"

I blushed and tried to defend my ineptitude, but Gretchen beat me to the punch.

"He's pretty close to it, but would never let anyone else know it if he could help it. He keeps track of all of his failures so that he can prove his own imperfection."

"Doesn't that get annoying?"

"Nah, it's one of his more endearing features, because he actually believes he's imperfect."

"Guys, I'm right here."

"We know." Gretchen said, and ended my protest with a kiss.

"Guys, I know he's a guy, but it really makes me uncomfortable watching what looks like two girls making out."

"Ok, I'll go get changed. I've had enough Desdemona for the day anyway."

I left the two of them talking and went to get cleaned up. I peeled and scrubbed and primped and rubbed.

When I got done I was a bit raw, and happy to be so. I still had a very feminine looking face with my plucked eyebrows and a-line haircut, but it was me looking back from the mirror.

When I got out of the bathroom Gretchen handed me the phone.

"Uncle Richard wants to make sure that you're safe."

"Hey, Richard."

"Hey, Keith. So, I heard that they caught the guy."

"Girl."

"No, he's male. He let them know before processing."

"They get him to tell them his real name?"

"Not yet, and I think they'll likely have to drag it out of him."

"Well, that's fun. I told you I wanted to be in the movie, right?"

"Yes, you did. I've been meaning to talk to you about something, though. You're probably not going to be going back to school this fall."

"I can't just drop out!"

"I'm not asking you to. I think it would be a good idea if we hired private tutors to cover at least the next year."

"What about Juilliard?"

"Might have to give that up."

"Look, Richard. I understand the concern, but we need to be realistic here. I'm still a minor, and I need to finish my schooling. I need to go to college, since there's no guarantee that my life will continue in this direction, or for how long it will even work out."

"Keith, the way you spend money, you're currently set for life. And we're still selling videos and albums on iTunes."

"I want a normal life, Richard."

"You're life has never been normal. And if you really wanted a normal life, why did you propose to Gretchen. . .I mean propose so early to Gretchen. Damn it, you know what I mean."

"Yes, I know what you mean, Richard. I do. See it from my perspective, though, for a moment. If I can't make time for High School, how am I going to make time for college in two years."

"But we will be on the road so often, and then there's the movie to consider, and a possible tour this fall. . ."

"I'm going on tour?"

"I said possible."

"Well, better than not possible. Ok, if it's in the planning stages, then let's plan for the concerts to be on Fridays or Saturdays."

"Not always possible for all venues."

"When it's not possible, I'll have to fly out before the concert and back after. I will have the most normal life I can."

"And when you are out for a couple of months for the movie?"

"Fine. How about I take this fall from tutors, and we plan on me being in school next spring."

"I know how you feel about this, Keith, and for what it's worth I'm sorry."

"Me too. Kisses."

"Later, Keith."

The three of us talked for an hour or so to wind down from the show and the other event, and then Gretchen and I went to bed.

"You're sure it's ok?"

"Like I said. You're a friend. Take the other room."

"You two keep it down, then. I'm a light sleeper."

Gretchen and I chuckled at this.

"We will," I said.

Both of us were asleep shortly after lying down.

***
I awoke with a start, the darkness surrounding the two of us, Gretchen and I, and I lay there listening to her breathe. So much had happened to me in such a short period.

One month.

Had it really only been one month since I started pretending to be Desdemona? Well, since I started being Desdemona at any rate.

Somehow, my life in the past two months, while seeming to revolve around Desdemona, was really more about me than it ever had been in the past. I was singing my music. Gretchen and I were together as I'd always wanted us to be. I'd met people that I was sure that I would have as friends for the rest of my life, or at least I hoped that they would be.

I was, for the moment, content. I had a woman in my arms whom I loved more than breath. There would be problems in the future, of course, but in this individual moment in time there were no problems.

It was a perfect moment in time, and I simply wanted for it to last forever.

Like all such moments, it ended sooner than it should have, but it gave me strength for everything that came after.

Edited by the ever patient Julia Phillips.

In which an author disappoints fans by posting that which is, at the same time, new and old.

I entered the slightly messy room, not sure how I'd gotten there, and the person sitting at the computer typing away had no idea either.

Let me try this again: I entered the slightly messy room. Or was it that I appeared there? The person sitting at the computer was just as shocked. . .

"You shouldn't be here."

"What?"

"Keith, you shouldn't be here."

"Isn't this just another dream?"

"Not in the sense that you think it is. You're in danger of completely breaking the fourth wall here."

"Um, okay. . ."

"Did you notice how much harder than normal your little internal monologue was?"

"Well, it didn't seem to flow the way they normally do."

"That's because you're in now, now."

"Huh?"

"You are actually in the moment. I don't have the luxury of editing your comments to make them flow. To make you sound more intelligent that you would. . .well, you get the picture."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm the author you dope."

"You mean you write my story?"

"Yes, we could say that I am sitting in front of my computer, typing out a conversation I am having with you in my head."

"Wouldn't that make you insane?"

"A little, but it is a good insanity, it's the reason you exist after all."

"Before you go around congratulating yourself for that, I have a little something to say to you regarding the past incident with the stalker."

"I know you do, which is the reason you're here."

"Huh?"

"Repetitive use of monosyllables is beneath you, Keith."

"Ok, at the beginning didn't you insinuate that you had no idea how I got here?"

"Of course, but then again, I would be a little less of a deific being if I wasn't at least a little omniscient."

"I saw you hesitating. How can an omniscient being actually be omniscient if you have trouble spelling omniscient."

"Now you're just being cruel."

I smirked at this, but I had something serious to say to this individual.

"Why have you done this to me? Why did you throw the stalker at me, and have Bobby attack Buffy. Why do you inflict these evils upon your characters?"

"Would it make you happy if I told you that I did it because I could?"

"No."

"Of course not. But that is what you expect me to say isn't it. You think me capricious and mean spirited and a bully, even without any evidence to support it."

"Ok, so you're asking for the benefit of the doubt are you? Why should I give it to you?"

"Because of Gretchen."

"What does she have to do with this?"

"So, you're willing to lay the evil at my feet, but unwilling to give me credit for the good?"

I was a bit abashed at this. How could I forget that my life had some major blessings in it. But. . .

"They don't make up for the evil that you inflict on me."

"Keith, I take no pleasure in your sorrow. I have given you outlets for that sorrow. I give you people in your life that can support you through the tough times, and will love you in spite of yourself, and because of who you are."

"What about my mother? Huh? Why did you give me a mother like that?"

"She chose her own path, as all my creations do. I try to give them life and let them follow their own course. She isn't completely without redemption you know?"

"Oh really? Then why hasn't she called me? Why hasn't she apologized to me for her actions?"

"Why haven't you called her? Why haven't you apologized for your actions?"

I was pained by his words, but they really brought home a portion of my actions that I hadn't thought about before. Was there something in my treatment of my mother that was wrong? Did she really deserve to lose her son over something as insignificant as this?

Having talked to my Dad I had a better understanding of what had happened when they got divorced. I knew that he wasn't entirely to blame, but she wasn't entirely blameless either.

"I see you have realized one of the great truths, Keith. Every argument has two sides."

"Don't DO that!"

"I write your words. I can't very well stop reading them unless I stop writing them."

I stopped to consider that for a moment before my thoughts were interrupted.
"All that will do is prevent all of my loyal fans from reading your stories, and I think they would lynch me if I did that."

I chuckled at this.

Something about the person I had been talking to bothered me from the moment I entered the room, and now I realized what it was. His, or was it her, features kept shifting.

"What are you?"

"Good question. Half the time I don't know."

It didn't really answer my question.

"But it will have to do. The time I've allotted for this dream sequence is almost up."

"Last night, while we had the stalker on the floor, I felt like you were trying to orchestrate it so that we let her, him, whatever escape."

"Yes, and your point is?"

"Why?"

"I hate it when things in my stories come too easily for the protagonist."

"Why?"

"Because in my experience life rarely works that way. Coincidence is not as common as people seem to believe, but usually results for a myriad of unknown incidents that result in a seeming happenstance.

"When I write coincidence into a story, I like to know the events that lead up to a given moment in time. I like to know WHY something worked out. Having you just capture this person, and them going to jail seems to defeat the whole purpose of all of that."

"Them not escaping wasn't coincidence."

"Having a bodyguard wearing Kevlar body armor who happened to convince the stalker to shoot her in the chest wasn't coincidence?"

"Ok, I'll grant you that. So, why not go back and change it?"

"Because most inexperienced shooters go for center of mass. You don't know how hard it is to go for a head shot at anything greater than point blank until you actually try it."

"You don't mean. . ."

"No, I shoot rifles mostly. I don't like the balance of pistols. They are really hard to aim as well, and their accuracy is shit at anything greater than about ten feet. Ok, I'm exaggerating. They are good for about twenty yards, but as far as gun ranges are concerned, that's all point blank."

"Ok, more than I wanted to know."

"Don't get me started on shooting weapons out of people's hands. . ."

"I won't. So. Coincidence."

"Just go back to your story, Keith."

And now, I address everyone reading this through my own words. The above 'dream' sequence was originally a free writing that I did to try and shamelessly pad a story that I had come to the end of, and I simply didn't care to recognize it at the time.

My first antagonist had been defeated, the heroes were taking a moment to relax before the next was introduced and I was trying to gather my thoughts as to where the next story would be heading.

The problem was that when I finished this little interchange, one very like others that I have had with my characters in the past, I simply did not want to delete it. I wanted you, my readers, to see a little into the chaos that I call writing.

No, I don't think of myself as god.

I do, however, think of god as an author.

It is not that he puts words into our mouths, but more that he created a scenario that he puts us into the live out.

There is a lot of me in Keith, and so the above is also a sort of conversation that I could have with my own god.

How's that for a convoluted take on something that should be so simple.

I started this story because of a dream I had about the characters. It wasn't the same story I ended up writing, as often has when I begin to organize the disjointed mess that most of my dreams are, but it is true to the core of it. The earrings, for example.

In the dream, they were what actually clued people in to who the Keith/Desdemona character was. I liked the image of those skull earrings, but I didn't want it to be such an issued of outing my character before he was ready.

I don't know that he is ready now, but he at least thinks he is. We will see. That, of course, is for the second story.

For now, this story is complete. I will eventually be returning to Keith, Gretchen, and all of their friends, but for now, at least, the story is at an end.

I hope that everyone enjoyed my story as much as I did in writing it. I may add to this note later, but for now, there is simply no more to say.

Time is spent on the road; Keith dodges a bullet, twice; finally arrives home; and makes it, alive, to his seventeenth birthday.

Sunlight played on the trees in central park outside my window and I could hear Gretchen's soft breathing next to me.

I sat there in bed just looking at this beautiful woman lying next to me. I loved this woman, and truly wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.

As I lay there watching her the recent past washed over me. In the past month, I'd begun performing as a woman in an independent Goth rock band named Up in Flames. I'd visited Juilliard, and planned to audition there. I had tried out for a movie, and been offered a role, again as a woman, and even performed on Saturday Night Live as the music act.

And I didn't even mind, much, that the world didn't know that I was really a guy.

Gretchen didn't get up until almost noon, at which point Rachel and I were more than ready to get going. Well, more me than Rachel, since she had lived here for a few years already.

She had at least gotten a replacement for the slim-line Kevlar she'd been wearing the night before. It wouldn't stop most heavy caliber bullets apparently, but it would blunt most pistol fire without any problems.

Thinking about it gave me a thought. Gretchen was getting ready, so I figured that now was as good a time as any. "Rachel. . .how difficult would it be to get a corset made out of that stuff."

"What stuff?"

"The light weight Kevlar you're wearing?"

"They can make it to almost any specifications, the only real issue is the cost. Most people wouldn't be willing to shell out the cost of a new car for a little bit of protection."

"If it's that expensive, how can your company afford to keep you in it?"

"The ones they provide for me only cost a few thousand each because they can be mass produced. That and the fact that I don't get shot every day make it affordable."

"Well, according to my agent, the other is affordable to me as well, and I figure that having something on me, and Gretchen, will make your job a little easier."

"But would you really want to wear a corset under everything?"

"Girl, didn't you know? Corsets go with everything." Gretchen's joke set us laughing.

Arm in arm the three of us went out to take the town by storm. We slipped out the back, hoping to avoid the greater throng, but we were still hit by paparazzi.

"Desdemona, over here!"

I'm not sure if they were trying to call people over, or get my attention, but I figured it was part of the price of fame, so I walked over to them. I felt Rachel tense at my side, but tried to ignore it.

"Hello, guys. Looks like you caught me."

There were general chuckles at this.

I pulled out my secret weapon as I got closer to them. I hadn't yet gotten a chance to use it. It had been sitting in my purse since LA, well, not that long really.

I figured, at some point while wandering the mall with Molly that I needed a pink marker just in case someone asked me to sign something black, or at least too dark to see a black marker on. I smiled like a shark at the paparazzi. I would leave my mark here today.

"Anyone who wants to take my picture has to let me sign their camera."

That got their attention. I signed fifteen cameras. The other photographers thought it wasn't worth it. I even gave one of the nicer guys a kiss. . .on the camera.

"Ok, be nice you guys. Remember this is my first time."

There was some more laughter at that, but they kept their distance. Apparently they'd gotten all of the close shots they needed while I was signing cameras.

It probably wouldn't last, but at least for the moment the paparazzi were a little less of a pain than popular media would have you believe.

We saw most of what we wanted to see, and I even convinced a couple of the camera guys to take normal touristy pictures of us at a number of places. They promised to send me copies, and we agreed the best place to send them was the studio.

I got a couple of business cards and requests that if I ever wanted to get into modeling I'd give them a call.

Like that was going to ever happen.

We ate dinner in the suite and went to bed assuming that the most difficult thing tomorrow would be getting our few possessions packed so we could get to the airport by one pm.

We were just heading out the door when my phone rang.

"Desi speaking."

"Glad I caught you. We have a problem."

"What is it, Richard?"

"Do you remember Greg Kondie?"

"Um, wait, wasn't he the guy at Riverside Records who wanted. . ."

"That's the one. Apparently they are trying to get the case thrown out of court and get me charged with interfering in a criminal investigation."'

"Um, but didn't you interfere in a criminal investigation? You called the chief of police to get those police called off us."

"What I did was ask the chief, a friend, to get them to do their jobs. You may notice I'm not calling him to get the charges dropped."

"If it helps you sleep at night."

"Desi, are you going to hear what's going on, or what?"

"Yes, Richard, go on."

"They even tried to cut Chief Terrell out of the loop, so he almost didn't hear about this. They're holding a hearing tomorrow morning at eight. They've gotten Ryan, the sound tech, to recant his statement. He's being charged with unlawful detainment again."

"Then how did they convince him to change. . ."

"With an agreement to reduce sentence. I'm flying out from here this evening. You can either drive down, which will get you there in twelve to fourteen hours, or you can fly."

I turned to my fellow passengers and put the question to them. "We're apparently going to Nashville. Do we fly or drive down there?"

"I'm fine with driving. How 'bout you, Rachel?"

"Sounds good to me."

I went back to Richard on the phone. "We're driving. We'll rent a car and be on our way within the hour."

"Sounds good. Anything else you need?"

"Nope. Nothing for now. Kisses."

"I'll see you there. I'll give you a call when I get our rooms booked so you know where to stop."

"Great, and make sure you bring a new change of clothing for me and Gretchen. You need something to wear to court Rachel?"

"Sure, can we stop by my apartment on our way out of town?"

"Definitely."

"Bye, Richard."

"Bye, Desi, and be safe."

"We will."

We rented the car, stopped at Rachel's apartment, and were out of the city by 1:30.

We switched drivers every couple of hours, talking about a lot of different things. It was a perfect time for us to get to know Rachel and for her to get comfortable with us.

Isn't that the way road trips work? They either bring you together or tear you apart. They don't let you really stay neutral with one another.

It was nine o'clock before I realized that there was something I needed to do today.

I picked up my phone and dialed the number from memory, hoping that she would be there to answer.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

"Keith?"

"Yes, Mom. It's me. I realized this weekend that I never gave you a fair chance through all of this, and I'm sorry."

"So you're giving up this cross-dressing nonsense?"

I took a deep breath. I would be the adult in this relationship.

"Mom, I love you. I wanted to let you know. I'm getting married in a couple of months and I want you there."

"They don't allow homosexual marriages in Utah, so are you flying me wherever you're 'tying the knot'? Wait, never mind. I won't be there."

"Mom, we're getting married in Utah."

"What? How? It's just a fake ceremony, right?"

"She is legally female, Mom. She's PHYSICALLY female."

"That doesn't change. . ."

"I'm not Dad, Mom."

"Don't you dare. . ."

"Just stop it, Mom. I spoke to him this weekend. He works on Saturday Night Live."

"He's not an actor."

"No, he's with the crew. That's not the point, Mom. I talked to him about what happened."

"He blamed me, I'm sure, for chasing him into the arms of that man."

"No, he didn't. He blamed himself and was sorry for ever hurting you."

"Look, Keith. I don't have time for this. Can we talk later?"

"You don't have time for your own son?"

"I literally don't have time for this, but I could have been a little more. . .motherly about it."

I wracked my mind for a moment, but I came up blank. "Um, what do you have tonight. I know it's not a Church function and. . .are you preparing for another concert with the choir? Thursday is their normal night and I thought that the fifth of July was your next concert. . ."

"Will you be quiet for a moment, Keith."

There was a tone in her voice I'd never heard before. I shut up and listened.

"You were gone from the house and I realized for the first time that I was about to be all alone, Keith. Completely alone for the first time in my life. You knew I married young, right?"

"Yes, you were just eighteen."

"I went from my parent's home to my home with your father, Keith. When he left me, it hurt. I'm sorry I took it out on you. I really am."

"What does this have to do with you being alone?"

"I met someone recently, Keith. I'm going on a date tonight."

Gretchen looked at me in alarm. We were both sitting in the back seat while Rachel drove us for the moment. "Keith, What's wrong?"

"My Mom's going on a date." I couldn't help it. I smiled. I glowed.

"Go for it, Mrs. Robison!"

My Mom giggled at Gretchen's statement. "You take care of my son, Gretchen."

"Mom? I'm giving Gretchen the phone. You two can talk for a moment."

Gretchen shook her head at me, but I just dropped the phone in her hands and turned to Rachel.

"So, is it about my turn to drive?"

"Yep, anytime you're ready."

We pulled over to the side of the road and did the Chinese fire drill thing. I got us back on the road, and periodically glanced at Gretchen in the rear view mirror. She was smiling and laughing so I figured that it must be going well. They were talking about what she should wear on her date, a second from what I could tell from the conversation.

I turned my attention to the road and making sure that I was following the directions from the GPS properly. Not that it was that hard to follow a GPS' directions.

I sighed and drove. It was another half an hour before Gretchen put the phone on speaker.

"Keith, I just wanted to let you know I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the way I thought about you, and your choices. Gretchen is a wonderful girl, and I want you to hold onto her, no matter what anyone else says."

"Yes, ma'am. I will."

"Good boy. Now I need to finish getting ready."

"Ok, mom. You'll have to give us a call and let us know how it went."

She hung up and I just smiled. Why did I let it go as long as I did before giving her a call.

My mom and I had been close for a very long time. She was one of my best friends, which was why her betrayal had hurt me so much when she kicked me out.

I know, it's not cool for a boy to have his mom as one of his friends, but she was. She was the one who drove me to little league and Junior Jazz basketball. She'd been there for heartIbreak and triumph.

She was my Mom.

***
I hate night driving. To tell you the truth, part of the reason that I'd taken over from Rachel was that I knew my ability to keep us on the road would degrade the later in the evening that it got.

By eleven, when we switched again, I was almost dead to the world. Gretchen took over from me and I lay down in the back while Rachel took shotgun.

The GPS said what we were another three hours out from our destination. Richard had the rooms ready for us, and we just had to drive up, and get the key from the front desk.

The car stopping woke me up. I was disoriented for a moment, and realized I was the only one in the car.

I was getting ready to get out, when Rachel and Gretchen got back in. "We've got the keys, Keith, and we just need to head back to our rooms and get some sleep."

We parked the car and went up to our rooms. I collapsed on the bed in my clothing and only vaguely noticed Gretchen climbing into bed next to me.

I'd barely closed my eyes when I heard someone pounding on the door.

I stumbled over to it and opened the door a crack.

"Oh good, you're awake." Richard pushed his way in with a couple of garment bags in tow.

I heard Gretchen shriek and saw a naked streak flash into the bathroom.

"If you weren't fully clothed. . ."

"I promise I have not had sex with Gretchen, Richard."

"Good. Let's keep it that way. . .for another couple of weeks at least."

I snorted at this, and closed the door behind him.

"So, I've got a couple of outfits for you and Gretchen so that we can be presentable in court today. I want you to look your absolute best, okay?"

"I will."

"I want it to be obvious to every man in that courtroom exactly what Greg Kondie was thinking when he had you flown out here from Utah."

"He paid for our tickets?"

"Yes, he did."

"Ok, good to know."

Gretchen called from the bathroom. "Hey, Keith. . .um. . .all my clothing is out there."

"I've got this one, Keith." Richard grabbed her bag and handed both the garment bag, and her clothes bag, to her around the door.

"Thanks."

Richard and I talked for a moment while Gretchen got ready, and then I took my turn in the bathroom.

I went to town on my makeup. Not to say that I put it on thick. No. That would have been out of place. I applied it with my two months practice and years of training. I enhanced and emphasized. I matched colors. I made myself perfect.

"Are you sure you're only sixteen?" Richard asked as I left the bathroom.

"Of course I am," I said with a smile.

"I'm jealous." Rachel was sitting in the room with them when I came out. Frankly, I'd never have pegged her as a bodyguard. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she was a supermodel. And she said she was jealous of me.

I did the only thing I could. I blushed.

"So, Ladies, shall we?"

I glared at Richard, but answered, "Yes, we shall."

I guess in a way I deserved it. There's no way I looked like a guy in this getup.

We headed out to the cars and were met by Richard's wife.

"Aunt Daisy!"

"Niece Gretchen!"

They laughed at this. Daisy Mae Fields always thought that 'Aunt' made her sound too old, so she wanted Gretchen, and her other nieces and nephews to just call her Daisy.

"What are you doing out here, Daisy?" I asked.

"Well, I was tired of having Richard gone all the time, so, since we just shipped our youngest off to college I'm going to be travelling with my husband from now on."

Gretchen cheered at this, and I smiled.

"So, who is THIS young lady?"

"Daisy, meet Rachel, my bodyguard. Rachel, this is Daisy. . ."

"Gretchen's aunt. I got it."

I know, I'm silly with formal introductions occasionally. Sue me.

We climbed into the cars, leaving Richard and Daisy in theirs and the rest of us in ours. We followed Richard over to the courthouse, and were in our seats thirty minutes before the eight am deadline.

Mr. Kondie was joking with his lawyer until he spotted me. At first, he didn't realize who I was, and he simply leered. Then he caught sight of Richard and all of the color drained from his face. He looked back at me, and then started whispering frantically to his lawyer.

"All please rise."

The judge walked in, and Mr. Kondie continued to whisper.

"All of you may be seated, except for the corpulent fellow at the defendant's table."

Mr. Kondie snapped his mouth shut and turned to face the judge.

"Your honor," began his lawyer.

"Mr. Prince, I'll remind you that you spent the money to earn your law degree for a reason, and to keep outbursts to a minimum. I'm talking to your client for a moment."

The judge turned his attention to Mr. Kondie. "What's your name?"

"Greg Kondie, your honor."

"Now, Mr. Kondie, did you hear the bailiff announce my arrival?"

"Yes, your honor."

"So, you didn't just stand up to continue talking to your lawyer?"

"No, your honor, I mean yes I did, but. . ."

"Well, which is it, Mr. Kondie."

"I heard you being announced, but I just became aware of something pertinent to my case and I needed. . ."

"Mr. Kondie, let me remind you that the charges against you are serious. Be that as it may, contempt of court is equally serious. I'm of half a mind to let you sit in jail a couple of days while you think about your actions."

"Your honor, if I may?" Richard stood up in the back of the small room.

"You are?"

"Richard Fields, your honor."

"Ah, Mr. Fields. Mr. Prince here told the court that you were unavailable for questioning, and should have charges brought against both you and Ms. Desdemona."

"I was never informed that my presence was required, your honor, and have no desire to avoid my duties here in court."

"As I can see. And why did you interject?"

"I am here from Utah at my own expense, as is Desdemona. We found out that this hearing would be held to throw out the case today, and flew out yesterday in order to be here."

"Your point?"

"If you hold him in contempt of court before these proceedings, then we will be required to stay over until this hearing can be held again. As always it is your choice how to run your courtroom."

"It is, but I recognize your concern. Let me take a moment to consider the facts as I have them and I'll make my decision."

We sat there in that Nashville courtroom wondering what the judge would decide. What would the decision be, and could I live with it when it came down?

The judge took a moment or two to deliberate and then turned his attention back on us. "Mr. Kondie, I actually find the actions of yourself and your lawyer constitutes contempt. I recognize however that the other individuals involved in the case can't be expected to fly out here repeatedly at the whims of yourself and your legal team."

"I am going to put you both in jail for the next seven days so that you can think about your behavior in this courtroom. I am rescheduling this hearing for. . ."

He turned to his clerk who looked at the calendar on her computer screen and told him, "the fifteenth of August is your next available date."

"The fifteenth of August. Due to the way in which you tried to twist the legal system to your own end, I am also assessing a penalty equaling the amount of all reasonable travel expenses to and from this courtroom for the duration of your trial."

"Your honor, if I may have a moment?"

"Go ahead, Mr. Prince."

"The charges against Mr. Fields and Miss Desdemona are severe, to say the least, and since they are the only witnesses to this crime, I feel that the validity of their testimony is questionable to say the least."

"Mr. Prince, that is truly none of your concern. While they may be charged for their actions in relation to the crime at hand, this does little more than point to the mistakes on both sides of this interaction. It doesn't in any way excuse your behavior."

"But your honor. . ."

"Bailiff, please escort these individuals to jail."

I'd finally realized what was bothering me with this whole proceeding so I spoke up, "Your honor? What happened to the recording of the conversation between Mr. Kondie and myself?"

"What recording?"

"We were in a studio at the time, and the sound tech recorded the conversation. The officers who came threatened us with legal action, saying nothing about Mr. Kondie's actions. They took the tape with them when they left."

"This is the first that I've heard about a recording."

"Your honor. . .I think that might be my fault. It's actually in the mail to the DA currently." Richard was blushing profusely.

"Mr. Fields?"

"We had recorded a song before the events that are mentioned. The tape was still in when Mr. Kondie went into the studio with Desdemona. When I took the tape, I was unaware of this, and it wasn't until we were transcribing the master that we found out our mistake. The police were given a blank tape. I sent the tape by certified mail when I discovered my mistake."

"Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Fields. There is still the matter of the charges against yourself and Ms. Desdemona. Unfortunately, or fortunately in your case, no charges have been formally filed. That bothers me to say the least. If you will all sit tight, I'd like to bring the DA in on this discussion."

We sat around the courtroom, talking amongst ourselves. The judge left after a minute or two, and we were left to our own devices. The feelings I was getting in that moment started to formulate themselves into words, and I got a piece of paper from Richard and began to write them down.

They said something to me as I wrote, but I wasn't really paying attention to them at that moment. The words encompassed me. I felt good when I finished, but I really wanted to get the music down as well. I jotted out cheat notes to myself, and occasional tablature, and in general wrote down the impression of the song I would have to more formally record later.

"Done."

"So, what's this one called?" Richard asked me.

I turned to look in his direction, and it was only at this moment that I realized that Gretchen was leaning on my shoulder. I started a bit and then we laughed and kissed.

"I'm calling this one 'Blind Justice.'"

"Fair enough, I guess."

I proceeded to explain the song to them as we waited for the Judge to return. One of the most striking women I'd ever seen walked into the courtroom. The click of her heels on the hardwood floor pounded out a staccato beat as she walked over to us.

"Andy Simms." She said as she arrived and thrust out a hand in our direction. Richard took it first, introducing us.

"So, you are more than just a legend, Desdemona. I had a bet going with the rest of the office that you were a publicity stunt of some sort. You rarely hear of one pop star coming from nowhere and to have two at almost the same time. . ."

"I'm not a pop star."

"Could have fooled me with 'Daddy's Little Princess' on Saturday Night Live. . ."

"You saw that?" I did what any red blooded American would at being caught in my misstatement. I blushed.

"You're cute, you know that? Sometimes it's really easy to see that you're 'only sixteen.'"

Everyone else had a laugh at my expense while I blushed more furiously.

"Regardless, these are some serious charges against you two."

"Why isn't the sound tech being included in the charges? He's the one who locked Mr. Kondie in. Apparently if you turn the key in the lock halfway, it prevents the person on the inside from undoing the dead bolt."

"Oh, that's very interesting. I've never heard of a lock that worked that way, personally."

"Neither had I until we locked Mr. Kondie in," I replied with sincerity.

"Well, I've run into them before."

All of us turned to look at Richard.

"Honey, now isn't the time to be bringing that up," Daisy said. She looked genuinely scared.

"Daisy, honey. It's okay. I'm sure that none of these people are in league with. . ."

"Don't say his name. Every time you say his name he appears like a bad spirit or something."

"The kids are all moved away, honey. We're going to be alright. It's been almost fifteen years."

"What are you talking about, Mr. Fields?"

"Call me Richard, please."

"Sorry, I like to keep my professional dealings professional."

"Ok, then, Ms. Simms."

"I prefer Mrs." There was something to her smile, some sort of sweet wistfulness. It was as if being married was more important to her than anything else in the world.

Something dawned on me in that moment, and I opened my mouth to speak, but Richard continued, interrupting me.

"I wasn't always an agent, or I should say, I wasn't always a talent agent.

"I graduated college with a degree in criminology. I was bright and wanted to right the wrongs of this world. Like many idealistic youngsters, I thought I could make a difference so I joined the FBI."

"What?" Richard had been in the FBI? From the look on her face, this was news to Gretchen as well.

"I actually worked in the cyber-crimes division. We spend our days tracking down ones and zeroes that led to some pretty bad people. Some of the things I've seen still give me nightmares."

Daisy took his hand and held onto it.

"That's actually where I got a lot of my contacts that allowed me to become the agent you know today."

"In more ways than one," Daisy said softly.

"While working on a case involving bootleg DVDs of movies that weren't even released to theaters we found a warehouse filled with something else entirely: people.

"They'd altered the locks so that they didn't need to worry about their product getting a key somehow and escaping. When I saw the lock on that studio, I knew things were about to get ugly."

"What do you know about this? You need to tell me Mr. Fields."

"My advice to you, Mrs. Simms, is that you just go after Mr. Kondie. Pretend that he's the only catch in this pond. You don't have the equipment you need to go after a shark."

"I can handle myself, Mr. Fields."

"You can't handle this, Andy." Daisy spoke up. There was a strange light in her eyes. "He'll start calling your husband while you're at work, and ask him if he knows where you are. There will be strange men who stop by your house at all hours and just walk in. They'll be gone before the police get there, and when you install cameras, they start wearing masks. That's when they start breaking things.

"The police will tell you there's nothing they can do, and your FBI buddies will tell you that it can't be bad enough to warrant a real investigation. Then, one day, they'll pick up your oldest from school and give him a ride around the city. Just a ride. . ."

There were tears in her eyes when she turned to look at Mrs. Simms again. "You are not ready to take on this monster. No-one is ready to take on this monster. Accept your victory and move on, Andy. And pray that you're not on his radar yet."

"What is he? Russian mafia or something? Yakuza?"

Richard looked at Mrs. Simms sadly. "Mrs. Simms, the person behind all of this lives in the shadows cast by the media with names like Yakuza and Mafia. He is a man of business, and he is involved in anything that will gain him a profit."

"Why not give him a name?"

"Because I never found out his name. The Russians who ran the warehouse called him Apparatchik, so that's what we called him."

"So you have a name. . ."

"No, we just have a title. It's sort of a derogatory title for a boss, with references back to the communist party. It would be like one of us calling him The Senator or The Politician."

"You don't mean. . ."

"No, I don't, and if you're smart, you won't either."

Mrs. Simms gave a little shudder. "It's too beautiful a morning for ghost stories. And I think I'll take you up on that suggestion. I'll let the FBI play with Apparatchik. That's more their jurisdiction anyway. So, what am I to do with the two of you?"

"Let us go for a song?"

Mrs. Simms laughed outright at that one. "Oh, I like you, Desdemona. You've got a fire to you. With Richard's prior knowledge, I could easily bring charges against you two, except the likelihood that his specific lock would have the same modification as those he saw fifteen years ago. . .I came in this room all fired up to make an example of you two.

"If either of you had tried in any way to get out of this by trying to influence me with money or favors, I would have brought you up on charges and included graft to them. However, I hate people who lie to my face even more than I hate people who bend the law to their will."

"That sound tech told me that it was Mr. Fields who locked Mr. Kondie into the room, and never mentioned anything about the key needing a half turn to do it. . .

"Look, you two, I still reserve the right to bring you up on charges for this at a later date, but for right now, you're free to go."

"Thank you so much, Andy." I said and went to hug her.

"We're not friends, Desdemona."

I stopped, stunned.

She smirked and then gave me a real smile, "but maybe after all of this is over we might become friends."

She gave me a quick hug and then walked out, the sound of her heels retreating into the distance in the courthouse.

Everyone else was smiling, but I could see the worry on Richard's face. He hadn't hired Rachel because of Lady Anne. He'd hired her because he thought I'd come onto Apparatchik's radar.

For the first time since early Sunday morning, I was worried. As soon as we left the courthouse, I called out, "Richard, why not have Daisy ride with the girls. I want to talk to you for a moment."

After getting a good look at my face, he spoke to Daisy, "It's probably a good idea, honey. Desdemona probably wants to talk a bit of business with me. We'll meet up back at the motel."

As soon as we got into the car, Richard spoke, "before you get indignant, let me explain something. I didn't know that this was related to Apparatchik, but I had a good idea it might be. Hopefully, we can keep this low key enough that he won't try anything, but I hired Rachel just in case something happens."

"Aren't you worried about your kids?"

"Of course I'm worried, but I've spent the last fifteen years worried. Mostly that he'd find out that the agency was a front."

"Wait. . .what?"

Richard laughed at my reaction. "I'm holding on to your secret, so I'll let you hold onto mine for a while. About fifteen years ago, my entire life turned into an undercover operation. We had information that Apparatchik wanted to get into the music industry at that time, and so I became a talent agent. Because he already knew who I was, and knew I didn't know him, we thought the risk was worth it."

"He could have been playing you all this time. He might realize that you know that he knows who you are."

"We don't think that this is a problem. I'm not really the main arm of the investigation. I'm the bait. There are certain things we know about him. The first is that he loves irony. He is also a 'long view' kind of guy. We ran into one plan that he made thirty years ago, that only came to fruition at the time that we were investigating him."

"But, that would make him an old man."

"We figure him to be in his mid to late 50's at this point."

"Like I said, old."

We both got a good laugh out of this, but I sobered up quickly.

"Does Daisy know?"

"Of course she knows. There isn't anything that I won't tell her."

I sat in silence for the rest of the trip, contemplating what I was going to do. In that moment, I decided that I wouldn't let this affect me. Maybe I was finally letting the brashness of youth affect me, but I felt untouchable. I wasn't some unknown FBI agent whom the Apparatchik could disappear. I was a famous pop star.

I began to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"I just called myself a 'pop star' in my head."

Richard chuckled at this. "Speaking of which, you have studio time booked for Wednesday to get 'Daddy's Little Princess' recorded."

"Tomorrow or in a week?"

"Tomorrow of course. Mr. Praetor wants to get your song on the radio as quickly as possible. Apparently he believes that we might just have a #1 single on our hands."

I smiled at this. During our conversation we'd arrived at the motel, and I got out as soon as the car came to a stop. I went up to my room, gave Gretchen a quick kiss, and then packed up my belongings.

Just before we all left for the airport, I pulled Richard aside one last time. "So, does this mean you're really my agent?"

"Yes, it does. In fact, the only thing that keeps this investigation going is the fact that I'm not currently being paid by the FBI."

I shook my head at this and walked out to the car where Rachel and Gretchen were already waiting for me.

We got to the airport about two hours early and decided to get ourselves through security and wait in the lounge.

Everyone was through except for me. I took off my boots and put all of my jewelry into the container and walked through the metal detector. It went off.

"Miss? If you could step over here please?"

Confused and a bit alarmed, I stepped over to the side. They ran the wand over me, but it didn't beep at any point. I was really starting to get worried now. What had they detected. I put my had to my ears to make sure that I'd out my earrings into the tray. I had. I didn't have any underwire bras, so I felt safe there.

"We're going to have to ask you to step this way please," said a strict looking female security officer.

"I'd like for my bodyguard to accompany us, if that's alright?"

She looked a little upset at the suggestion, but nodded. Rachel walked over to me and we followed the security personnel into a back room. The two of them walked in first and shut the door behind us as we entered.

"I'm going to have to touch you, miss. I'm looking for any weapons and so I will be giving you a pat-down."

Oh, shit. Could I pass. . .did I want to even attempt to pass as a female during a pat-down? Sure I was securely tucked, but. . .

"Where exactly do you plan on touching me?"

It was her turn to blush, "I need to check everywhere, miss, so pretty much. . .everywhere." There was something off about her smile.

This could be a real problem for my secret, so I took a deep breath, and imagined that I was in the same room as Lady Anne. I figured that would be enough to keep any. . .involuntary. . .reaction of this to a minimum.

I shuddered when she began, and soon enough she had touched everything from my shoulders to my waist. She caressed my behind a bit longer than I really felt comfortable with, and I pulled away.

"What's the idea, here?" I was beginning to get angry. "There's nothing in my ass that would set that detector off."

"Maybe we need to do a strip search," the other woman suggested

"Excuse me?" I walked over to the door and walked out as Rachel opened it for me. She prevented the two women from grabbing me, and we walked back out to where everyone else was waiting.

"Richard, could you get Jordan on the line. . .or Tom. . .this womanbegan to caress my butt while patting me down for weapons, and then suggested they were going to strip search me."

"What, is he your servant?"

I turned and glared at the security agent who'd just arrived next to us. "No, he's my agent, and he's currently calling my lawyers. Considering that you just did that to a minor, without any consideration of legal status, I figure that there's going to be some sort of. . ."

"Wait, did you say you're a minor?" Her face went as white as a sheet. I showed my driver's license to her.

She rushed over to a garbage can and proceeded to vomit. The other guard just kept mumbling to herself. Another security guard, a man this time, came over to us.

"What seems to be the problem here?"

Before anyone else could answer, Richard hung up the phone and turned to the new arrival, "your employees just violated my client and her rights. She's a minor, and they performed a 'pet'-down on her, which apparently isn't something that the FAA regulations allow."

"Children can be put through pat-downs."

"A modified one, yes. Apparently this individual caressed her behind."

"None of my. . ."

"I witnessed this act."

"Are you one of her girl friends?"

"No, I'm her bodyguard. Sir, why don't you make it easier on yourself; discipline your employees and let us get about our business?"

Seeing all of us standing there, me still blushing fire-engine red, he decided to go for the better part of valor.

"I'll take care of this. Thank you for bringing it to my attention."

We gathered our things and got our shoes back on. As soon as we were ready we continued to the lounge where we would be waiting for our airplane. Gretchen held me while I tried to relax and put this event behind me. Nothing had happened, but I'd felt so dirty in that moment and I'd just wanted to lash out or run or something.

I shuddered and burrowed deeper into Gretchen's arms.

She rubbed my back and I simply relaxed into her. I really loved this girl.

Flight 1993 to Salt Lake City will be boarding shortly at gate A.

The sound of the PA startled me and we got up to get onto the plane.

I smiled at the flight attendants, and we made our way into business class. It was a fairly uneventful flight back to Utah. I was finally home, with no plans to go anywhere else for a while. Tom and Jordan met us at the airport and Gretchen and I piled into the back seat of the car.

"So, I hear you proposed to my daughter without talking to me first."

"Actually, Sir, I made my intentions to marry your daughter clear shortly after I came to live with you."

"You mentioned it to me, Daddy, so he does have a point."

"Tom, I think you lost this one."

"Hush, Jordan, I'm trying to give him a hard time."

Gretchen and I chuckled in the back seat.

All four of us talked and laughed for a while in the car, as we travelled toward home. My phone rang, interrupting us.

"Keith here."

"Hey, baby. I was wondering if you'd mind coming over. I'd like to talk to you in person for a little while."

"Is something wrong, Mom?"

"No, nothing is wrong, per se. I just wanted. . .damn it Keith, why is it so hard to talk to you? I just wanted to spend some time with you."

"Mom, I'm not sure that it would be a good idea to see you right now. I really look like a girl."

I waited for her response for a moment or two, "Mom, are you there?"

"Yes, Keith. Trying not to say something I'll regret."

"I was flying back and forth across the country this week, hardly spending any time at home, so I decided to get my hair cut and styled. I'm not becoming a woman, Mom, but I needed to make something in my life a little easier and that was it."

"You don't have breasts do you?"

"No mom. I don't have actual breasts. I'm using padding on stage."

"Oh. . .I'm sorry, Keith, this is just so strange for me. I'm finding it hard to accept."

"I will be your son for my wedding, Mom. That, at least, you can remember."

"But with pink hair?"

"I'll either shave it all off, or wear a wig."

"Um. . ."

"I'll give it time to grow back, mom. You don't have to worry."

Something occurred to me, and I needed to give Richard a call.

"Mom, I'll talk to you when I get home. We're on the road from the airport."

"Airport?"

"Like I said, I've been flying around, literally."

"Where are you coming from?"

"New York by way of Nashville."

"New York?"

"I told you this. I was on Saturday Night Live."

"I just have so much trouble grasping that. My son. . .a famous female pop star." She laughed a bit at that. Maybe there was some hope for her after all. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, Keith."

I hung up and dialed Richard.

"Desi, what's up?"

"What sort of endorsement deal could we get for wigs should we let my fans know it wasn't my real hair. . .and offer wigs for sale as part of my swag."

I could almost hear the gears turning on the other end of the phone.

"I have to admit, that's something I never considered. It would also resolve one of the major issues with your image we've been running into. We keep the color, but you can have costume changes during the concert to change styles."

"Issues with my image?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you. Mr. Praetor wants you to get an image consultant, so I have been talking to a couple of them."

"Richard, you need to remember to run things like this by me. I want to know I can get along with anyone I'm going to have to be spending that much time with."

"I didn't think of it that way. You're right. This is a bit new to me as well. I've had some good talent in my stable before, but you are the biggest thing that's ever happened to me. Ok, we'll devote some time on Thursday to meeting with the consultants."

"Thursday is my birthday, Richard. I'd prefer not to. . ."

"Adults are called upon to work through birthdays and the like. I know, it's not something you thought about in the past, but there it is. . .look, we'll compromise on this one. We'll work with image consultants 'til noon, and then the rest of the day is yours. Does that work?"

"Yes, Richard, that works. Kisses."

I sat and thought for a moment, considering the direction that my life was heading in. I smiled and joined back into the conversation. It didn't take us too much longer before we were home.

It felt good to actually be done for a little while. Sure, I'd stopped here on Wednesday night of last week, but there wasn't this feeling of being home then. Finally, for at least a little while, I was home.

I looked next door to my Mom's house, and that feeling went away for a moment. Well, no time like the present, but first. . .

I went up to my room and changed out of Desdemona and back into Keith, or as much of Keith as I could right now. I switched my diamond studs for something a little less girly. Ok, so it was a small pair of skulls in silver, but they were skulls.

There was nothing I could do about the eyebrows or hair, but I at least looked mostly like myself right now.

For the first time in days I left the house in shoes that weren't pink, and I actually felt naked. I was used to the pink shoes, and sort of missed them there on my feet.

Black shoes just didn't do it for me anymore. I'd have to think of something that fit Keith, but wasn't black.

I felt weird doing it, but I knocked on the door instead of just walking in. I was now a guest in my mother's house.

She answered the door, and she smiled at me, "Keith! Come in."

I followed her into the house. Immediately I felt as if this was a bad idea. I was uncomfortable in this house.

"Mom, I know I said I'd come over and talk, but I'm not sure if this is a good idea."

"Nonsense, Keith. I'm sorry for the trouble I've put you through. I want to change. I really do. None of my family will talk to me right now."

"Mom, is this about me telling the family to talk to you so you feel better, or about the two of us getting along?"

She looked embarrassed for a moment, and before she could answer I spoke again, "Yeah, Mom, I'm not here to fix your relationship with your family. I can tell why you want to do this. You need to talk to someone about this. A professional."

"I'm not crazy, Keith. These behaviors and relationships aren't natural."

"I never said you were crazy, Mom. Look, let me be the first to agree with you, at least in part. For you and I, these types of relationships aren't in the cards. We aren't wired that way. However, you have to admit that we're here to make our own decisions, right?"

"Well. . ."

"Mom, how can you believe we have the right to choose, and not afford that right to everyone else."

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, as if trying to find the right words to say, and finally gave up. She sighed and closed her mouth. She took a deep breath and tried again, "Just because we have the right to choose. . ."

"Unless we have the right to fail, success means nothing. Just because your personal morality does not allow for you to have a sexual relationship with a woman, does not mean that someone else's morality is wrong for allowing it."

"But God has said it is a sin."

"Are you God, Mom?"

"No, but. . ."

"There are no buts, Mom. Either you are the arbiter of morality for the entire world, or you aren't. If you aren't then you have to allow them to choose their own path. No matter what you feel is correct, other people have to be allowed to set what is correct for themselves."

"Why don't we just go and murder people then, Keith. If you can't set morality for another person. . ."

"There is a difference between a behavior that affects only yourself, like drug use or sexual orientation, and murder. Freedom only exists in our personal living space. As soon as we begin to impinge upon the rights of others we lose our right to act."

"What about freedom of speech? That automatically impinges upon the rights of others."

"We have the right to express, but not the right to be heard. We can't force anyone to listen to our opinions."

I shook my head. "Look, Mom, I love you, I do, but I'm not here to argue with you."

"Keith, I need my son in my life."

"Then stop pushing me away, and accept me for who I am. I don't drink. I don't do drugs. I don't even engage in sexual activity. Can't you allow me to express myself in other ways? I am good, Mom. I'm really good. I might even be getting in to Juilliard this fall for their pre-college program."

"What? Juilliard? That's amazing, Keith."

I smiled at her. Someone chose that moment to ring the doorbell. Mom went down the short hallway and let someone in. I heard them talking in the entryway as they walked toward the living room where I was still standing.

A handsome middle-aged man walked in with my mother.

"Keith, this is Lyle Jensen. We've dated a couple of times, and I wanted him to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you, Keith." His voice said it, but there was a look of distaste in his eyes as he looked at my hair.

"Sorry about the hair, Mr. Jensen. Occupational hazard, I guess."

"Occupational hazard?" He looked a bit confused.

"I'm a pop rock star."

"Oh." He didn't look any less confused.

I figured that now was as good a time as any to beat a hasty retreat, "Mom, call me with the details for your concert on Monday. Mr. Jensen, nice to meet you. Love ya, Mom."

I left them there and went back home. I went up to my room and relaxed on the bed. I stared up at the white ceiling, just breathing in the aromas of the house. I must have dozed off, as the next thing I knew, Gretchen was gently shaking me awake.

I pretended not to react. I think she knew I was faking it.

"Oh whatever shall I do," she said in a fake southern accent. "My man is here and dead to the world. Maybe a kiss will wake him up?"

I puckered a bit, and the next thing I knew I had a face full of breast.

I pushed away and opened my eyes, "Gretchen!?"

A moment later, I closed my eyes again. "Honey, would you please put some clothing on? We can do all of this that you want to after we get married. For right now. . ."

"Keith, I want you now."

"That's all well and good, but aren't we supposed to wait at least eight weeks from your surgery before we. . ."

"Um, well." I felt my bed moving and opened my eyes to see what was happened. Gretchen was just slipping under my covers.

"You know, it gets harder to resist you every time you throw yourself at me."

"Then stop resisting."

"Roll over, dearest."

She looked a bit confused, but did as I requested. I pulled down the blanket and sheets and began rubbing her back. She purred a bit and stretched, luxuriating in the feel of my touch. I just continued to rub her back until she began to snore softly.

Chuckling, I covered her up again and left her there in my bed. I set the door so that it would lock when I pulled it shut behind me, and left the room.

I went out to the garage and practiced my 12-String. It had been so long since I'd actually just played. I closed my eyes and let the music flow over me. Pure jazz.

I heard a bass join me, and I just continued to play. Our songs interwove and teased around each other. and then the percussion joined in. I looked at the other two members of my band. They were smiling and laughing occasionally as we accomplished a particularly complex passage.

I began the opening chords for 'Daddy's Little Princess' and their attitudes changed. They didn't stopped smiling, but their posture straightened up, and they got a little more exact in their playing.

I sang the words, just feeling them, and practicing at the same time, and we went all the way through without a break. I didn't stop playing at the end, and morphed into the opening of 'My Life with You is Hell.'

We played through that, and I morphed it into 'U + Ur Hand,' and then 'Just a Girl,' 'Stupid Girl'. . .yeah, we went through our entire repertoire in one set.

My fingers were cramping, and I was sweating a little by the time we were done. Davey was drenched in sweat. Guthrie on the other hand didn't act like he was put out at all.

"Hey, we can keep going," he said.

Davey threw a drumstick at him.

I just laughed. "So, what did the two of you show up for?"

"Impromptu jazz session which turned into practice."

"I have no idea how to interact with you guys. I'm still a kid for all intents and purposes."

"Treat us like your friends," replied Guthrie.

"But we have nothing in common. . ."

"Boss-lady, we have the music in common."

"You guys don't have a problem with pop?"

"I love to play, and as long as we have a good bass line, I'm glad."

"I feel the same, but only with a good percussion line."

These guys were so different from the two friends that I'd started this with. I was so different from how I'd been when I started this. I'd thought it was about making a statement when I started, but I finished my statement with Gothplosion.

I'd proven that an indie band, writing their own songs, could beat corporate music.

I realized that after that moment, I was playing for myself and myself alone. 'Don't Blame the Girls,' was only the first of my songs that was more pop than anything else.

Was I really a pop princess at heart? I shuddered at the thought.

"You cold, boss-lady?"

"No, just the image of me as a pop princess."

The other two shuddered as well, although Guthrie got a goofy grin on his face.

"Guthrie!?"

"Sorry, Keith. Just the idea of you and Miley or Sarah up on the same stage doing a duet or something."

I snorted at this. "I don't think that's ever going to happen. We just don't appeal. . ."

"To the same audience? I think you'll be surprised. Sure, you're a little heavier than Sarah Carerra, but you're still pretty pop. You write many more songs like 'Daddy's Pop Princess', and you are going to be competing directly with her."

We spent the rest of the evening just hanging out in the front room and watching TV. Tom and Jordan came home around nine, and went directly up to Tom's room. Guthrie and Davey took that as their cue to leave. I waited until eleven before I went to my room, which happened to be next door.

* * *
I was sitting in an uncomfortable stadium chair, that the upholstery just barely seemed to cover. I was in a stunning white, black, and pink floor-length dress holding Gretchen's hand. I couldn't believe that I was here. When I'd heard about my nomination, I was at first stunned, but that had quickly given way to feelings of pride and anticipation. Best Female Artist of the year. Sure, I had to go against Sarah Carerra, but it was worth it.

I'd seen Sarah walking up the red carpet when I got out of the limo. I almost rushed over to greet her, but since I hadn't seen her since our very public falling out, I just didn't know what to say. I tried calling her a couple of times, but I'd never completed dialing.

She was such a sweet girl. Not one of my smarter moves. Gretchen brought me back to myself and we walked up the carpet. Our infinity engagement rings glinted on our fingers. We always wore the matching engagement rings when I was out with her as Desdemona. Zeela had really known what she was doing when she chose emeralds for the main stone.

I signed autographs, and was surprised for a moment when I signed #300. I kept track, but sometimes it felt like I'd signed so many more. I answered the normal raft of questions from the talking heads from numerous networks and channels.

"We heard rumors that you and Gretchen were married. Is there any truth to this?" Like all the variations on this, I answered it the same way.

"Desdemona is not now, nor has she ever been married. You know that these rumors all started with the music video for 'My Own Person'. There was no real minister on site at the video."

"But what about the rings?"

Gretchen picked this one up for us, "Zeela made me this ring at the request of my husband. He is a bit reclusive, so likes me to go out with Desdemona." She gave a blinding smile at this.

I continue, "I liked the ring so much, that I asked Madam Zeela to make one for me. She wouldn't do it without the permission of Gretchen's spouse, but eventually he allowed me to get one made. We've been friends for a long time."

We answered this a number of different ways, and eventually made our way to the doors to the theater where they were holding the Tween Music Awards this year.

It seems the organizers had heard about the problems that I'd been having with Sarah, because they seated us on opposite sides of the room.

I had to smile at this.

I sat through the awards program, unable to mock them like I had just a year ago with my friends.

So much had changed between the three of us in that year. So much had happened to me in that year. A few tears fell at the memories I'd made, the plans broken, and the hearts torn in two.

It hadn't all been bad, however. Most of it had been wonderful. I smiled at my wife sitting next to me and squeezed her hand.

I just zoned out thinking about the past year when something caught my attention.

"For Best Female Artist for the year of two thousand eleven," the girl announcing fumbled with the envelope for a moment or two and read the name. She smiled and took a deep breath to speak. . .

. . .and Gretchen pushed me off the bed onto the floor.

"Gretchen!?"

"You were crushing me, Keith." She sat up, forgetting for a moment that she was naked. She gave a little eep and covered herself with her hands. She rushed out of my room heading toward hers.

What was I going to do with that girl beyond marrying her?

I heard the water start in the shower and I started looking for what I was going to wear out on the town today. It was probably time that I started looking into some other hair styles for Desdemona, as well as getting a wig for times when my real hair was pink and I wanted to be Keith.

I collected my clothing and went in to get my own shower for the day.

I went with the leggings and tulle skirt that I wore the first time I went out as Desdemona. On the top I wore the corset and a maroon half jacket. I put in the skulls and crossbones. Their weight was a lot for me after wearing studs almost exclusively for a week.

I put on my necklace and a couple of bracelets.

As had become more normal for me, I went with light makeup, and not all of it in traditional Goth colors. I used a light pink lip balm.

I would forgo the breast forms today.

"Ready to go?" I said walking into Gretchen's room.

She leaped up and gave me a kiss. "Yep."

We hopped in her car, me for once in a long time a passenger instead of a driver in this car. We talked about nothing much as we drove to Madam Zeela's shop in Orem.

We walked in hand-in-hand. The girl was pretty in a faded sort of way. She definitely needed to work a bit on her style.

"Welcome to Madam Zeela's. Can I help you?"

I recognized the voice from the phone on Friday. "Yes, please get Zeela for us."

"She is busy finishing up some jewelry for a client. How can I help you?"

I couldn't help it, I laughed. "Look, while I realize that you might not have recognized me over the phone, surely you recognize me in person?"

"I'm sure that you think you're important but. . ."

I sang the opening bars of 'Daddy's Little Princess,' and her eyes grew wide. At that moment Zeela came out of the back room. She'd pushed the door open with her back, so she didn't notice us yet.

"Tonya, could you give Desdemona a call. . . perfect timing. I've finished them."

"Desi, what's this?" Gretchen asked me.

There were two wooden boxes on a tray. They were hinged in the middle and octagonal when looking down at them from the top.

"Two?"

"Yes, this is the one for you, and the other is hers."

At that moment I realized that I wanted to do this a little more special, but I'd forgotten and brought Gretchen in with me. I picked up the box that Zeela had indicated would be Gretchen's and turned toward her. I dropped to one knee and opened the box for her.

"Will you marry me, Gretchen?"

"Of course. I already said yes," she said with a giggle. I stood up and looked at the ring for the first time. Looking down at the emerald stone from the top, the ring formed a perfect figure eight. The top and bottom loops would go below the finger, making the symbol invisible most of the time. It was encrusted with diamonds. The emerald in the middle, one band passing over, and the other passing under, was the size of the tip of my thumb.

I slipped the ring onto Gretchen's finger, and it fit perfectly. It was gorgeous on her hand.

She grabbed the other box, dropped to one knee, and opened the box for me. "Desdemona, will you marry me?"

"Always and forever."

She slipped the ring, a twin to her own, onto my finger.

It fit perfectly as well.

It was only after I felt it on my finger that I realized it was the same one as from my dream. Everything blurred around me for a moment, and I got dizzy.

"Desi, are you ok?"

"Yes, Etch. I'm fine. Just a really bad case of deja vu."

I turned to Zeela. "You haven't ever made a ring like this for someone else, have you? Inspired by another ring? Called me when I was half asleep and described it to me?"

Zeela looked a bit puzzled but said, "no."

"I dreamed last night about this ring."

Zeela chuckled. "That might just be your mind filling in details. . ."

"It wasn't the look of the ring I remembered from my dream, it was the feel of it on my finger."

"Weird."

"I'll say." We talked price, and I paid, and then we headed out toward Salt Lake. It was a little weird having the ring be the same one from my dream, but I figured that the rest of my dream would eventually prove false. There just wasn't any way that I could see Sarah Carerra and I running into each other.

The things that the subconscious will do to you with a little outside guidance.

We arrived at the Spotlight office a little after ten, and I headed up to the studio.

We laid down the track for my first single in just under four hours. It's not that we had any trouble with the song, but that they wanted us to play with the styles of the three segments a bit.

By the time that we were done we had a definite bouncy pop tune for the first part of it. We shifted into a melodic rock middle section, and then closed up with a slower version of the original pop opener. It still had a beat and just made you want to dance, but it was more of a hold your partner close dance style, than the frenetic bounce around the room that the first part was.

All in all I was really happy with it by the time we got done.

We stopped in at the South Towne mall on our way home to get some more wigs. We ended up with an androgynous wig that framed my face, and was in a color somewhere close to my natural one.

"That makes you look really cute," Gretchen said with a smile.

"Boy cute, or girl cute?"

"Does it really matter?"

"No, I guess not," I said with a chuckle.

We drove home and got some swimming in. The summer seemed to be getting over so quickly, even thought it was barely July. It seemed half the time that I simply never had any time left to be me.

After taking a shower and changing into some of my more masculine clothing I decided to try the new wig on and see how I looked in full blown "Keith" mode.

I pinned it in place and went into the bathroom to take a look in the mirror.

I looked into the mirror and immediately turned to look behind me. There wasn't anyone there. I was thinking at the time that I could have sworn that I saw. . .a girl.

I quickly turned back around and looked into the mirror. I was wearing no makeup. I'd taken out my earrings. My clothing was very masculine.

And yet I saw a girl looking back at me. For the first time I realized that there was a name for the haircut that the wig was styled after: Pixie.

I laughed until I cried, and just sat there on the floor of the bathroom. What was I doing? Who was I really?

Was I the role or was I. . .something else?

Gretchen found me on the bathroom floor and just wrapped me in her arms as I continued to alternate between laughing and sobbing. I knew I was completely out of control, but I couldn't help it. She just held me and rubbed my back and eventually the hysteria left me and I just cried. It cleansed the emotion from me and left me feeling drained.

She guided me to the bed and I lay there as she continued to rub my back.

The crying had stopped by that point and I just relaxed into the feeling of being close to the woman I loved.

"Am I a man or a woman, Etch? Who am I?"

I heard her breath catch, but she didn't answer immediately. She waited for a moment, and I almost turned over to look at her to see if she was alright.

"Keith, you are a good person. That is what you've always been. Playing a role this long would make anyone worry about losing themselves."

"That's not the answer I expected to hear from you, Etch."

"That's because it's not the answer I thought I would give."

"Huh?"

"You say that a lot recently."

I blushed at the unintended slight and waited for her to continue.

"Keith, I loved becoming a woman. It occupied my entire life and for a while it was my life. The act of becoming a woman. Recently, though, I've come to the realization that while I am a woman, it's not what my life revolves around. I am a fiancée. I am a student. I am a rock music enthusiast. I am a driver. None of that requires me to be a woman. It just makes all of it more enjoyable to me. You helped me realize this."

I smiled into the bed, keeping my blushing face from view, mostly anyway.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"You didn't embarrass me, Etch."

"Then why are you blushing?"

"Because I'm pleased."

"Keith, you really don't act like a woman. Sure, you're sweet and caring, but those are not things that women have a monopoly on. You go after things aggressively."

"You mean I'm driven?"

"Yes, but not just that. You really. . .tear into your work. You get this single minded purpose that takes you to the completion of a task. You tune everything out around you. There is only yourself and your goal."

"I never meant. . ."

"I know. You don't mean to shut me out. You do, though. It's like there are two of you. There's the you that recognizes that there are people around you. Then there's the solitary Keith. You won't take no for an answer, and you don't take prisoners."

"There are women who exhibit those traits. . ."

"Yes, but they are more masculine traits. I heard a statistic once about the prevalence of females who felt out of the right body to males feeling out of the right body, well at least gender wise."

"And?"

"I forget the exact number, but genetic males who felt they were women were much more prevalent than genetic females who thought they were men."

"What does this have to do with. . ?"

"I'm getting to that. Our society is much more forgiving of a masculine woman than an effeminate man. I should say feminine man, but I used the other to prove my point. While the words we have for masculinity can be used derogatorily, they can also be used to compliment.

"If I call a woman butch, it depends on the context as to whether I am insulting or not. I call a guy effeminate and it is a cut.

"Tomboys are allowed in all walks of life. Ball-busters are looked up to, even as they are feared. What do we call men in the same positions? Sissy? Pansy? It is as if our society only allows crossing of the gender barrier one way."

"Gretchen, how can you say that. I mean look at you. You're perfect."

"And how hard was it for me to be accepted? I had to go through surgery, and keep my genetic identity to myself, or face derision and scorn."

I looked sadly at her as she continued.

"Keith, I am happy presenting who I am to the world. I couldn't stop short of where I went. It doesn't change the fact that I chose the hardest of roads.

"A man realizing that he was born with the incorrect gender has many more options available to him. He doesn't have to follow a single path or become outcast by society. He can act masculine even while presenting as female.

"That is the main reason for the discrepancy in genders. It isn't the incidence that is different. It is what society allows."

"Gretchen, even you can't believe that is true. I mean, lesbians face a lot of difficulty."

"We're not talking about sexual orientation, but it does have some bearing. Lesbians are doing the same thing with sexual orientation that other girls simply do by action. They are becoming more masculine in the eyes of society at large.

"There was a paper written about research into human sexuality. They tracked the brainwaves of people looking at erotic imagery. They wanted a true baseline of what people were aroused by. Want to know what they found?"

"Sure. What did they find?"

"They found that most women were aroused by both lesbian and heterosexual images. Whether or not they were aroused by images of gay men seemed to be determined by their sexual orientation, but even then it was a very small percentage.

"Heterosexual men were aroused by images of lesbian women and heterosexual couples. Gay men were aroused by pretty much everything."

"Ok, is there a point to this lecture?"

She blushed prettily, but continued. "Sorry, I've been thinking about your situation a lot, and wanted to get this all off my chest before I lost my nerve."

I rolled over and caressed her breasts. "And such a nice chest it is too."

Her eyes glazed over a bit and then she shook her head and removed my hands. "You always pick the worst times to get physical, Keith."

"No, I pick the times I know you won't reciprocate," I said with a huge grin.

She glowered at me as she continued, "Society accepts women acting like men, but not men acting like women. That is my point."

"So, because I like to have a lot of choices in my wardrobe, I'm breaking social mores?"

"What?"

Oh, shit. Did I say that aloud? Crap, crap, crap, crap. . .

Gretchen grabbed my chin and turned me to face her. The self flagellation would have to wait.

"Keith, what are you trying to tell me?"

"Look, I'm not aroused by clothing in any way. Wearing it just feels like, well clothing."

"I didn't say you were."

"I like having choices. I like pants and shirts. . .and dresses and skirts and blouses and everything. I love wearing different styles of clothing. It has been freeing being Desdemona this past month. I've gotten the opportunity to explore my sense of style. Sure I'm still learning, but I LOVE the clothing."

Gretchen giggled at me. I had to chuckle myself. "It's not that funny, Etch."

"It's hilarious, Keith. You're a cross-dresser."

"Um, but wasn't that obvious?"

"There's obvious, and then there's you. You just realized that a lot of your dressing as Desdemona was all your choice."

"Of course it was."

"I mean, have you noticed you have tried some really girly styles along the way?"

I blushed but nodded.

"It's so wonderful!"

"Why do you say that?"

"Because, you are my girlfriend and my fiancé all wrapped in one. Um, I have a question. . .promise you won't get mad?"

"I make no promises."

"Do you like shopping as much as you seem to?"

"I love shopping. . .with you. I went shopping with Molly in LA, but it just wasn't the same. Sure, I loved getting more clothing, since I needed some, but I missed seeing you while I tried things on. It's just not the same without you."

She smiled at me and I figured I must have said the right thing. For the first time in more than a week, I figured I'd actually won. Guys have to work a lot harder at it that women.

"So. . ." Gretchen got a gleam in her eye, "now that we're done talking. . ." She put a hand to the bottom of her shirt and began lifting it off. I was out of that room like a bullet and I didn't stop 'til I found Tom, Jordanless for once.

"So, whatcha up to?" I asked.

"Did my daughter try to seduce you again?"

I chuckled at him.

"Like the hair. Makes you look like a girl though."

I laughed at that. "I know. Apparently I'm the last one to recognize that I really like dressing like a girl."

He got a concerned look on his face. "Gretchen's not pushing you into. . ."

"Oh, no. Nothing like that. I just like the ability to pick from both sides of the wardrobe, so to speak."

He chuckled at my turn of phrase.

"Well, as long as you're sure."

We called it an early night, since I would be getting up at six to start talking to image consultants.

Six came much too early.

I got up, bleary eyed, put my wig back on, and pinned it in place. I picked a very subdued selection of clothing. No breast forms. Light makeup. A pair of dangly garnet earrings I'd stolen from Gretchen the night before. No pink whatsoever.

All in all, I don't think I looked like anything other than a teenager, probably a female because of the hair and makeup.

I was ignored by consultant after consultant. It was a very inauspicious beginning for many of them. They talked to Richard about color schemes and cloth types. I would interject a question like:

"How well would something like that breathe?"

or

"What would that look like on stage?"

or

"Wouldn't something like that get really hot under the spots?"

or

"How well will that go with pink?"

The answer to this one is notable: "Pink is a nice gimmick to get into the game, but we need to tone that back a bit as we move forward." The answer was spoken to Richard, even though I'd ask the question.

I ended all of the interviews the same way: "Thank you for your time, but I think that we're looking for a different vision for me."

I loved their reactions when it dawned upon them who I was. Shock, dismay, and a light of fear in their eyes. Then the bargaining began, which would end with one simple statement from me. The words changed, but the concept was the same.

"You ignored me until you found out I was famous."

I was getting tired and cranky and I just wanted to go spend some time with Gretchen. I wanted to see my Mom. I wanted someone to remind me it was a good thing I was now seventeen.

"Sweetie, can I do something for you before we get started?"

"Huh?"

"You look tired and a bit down. I know this is Richard's office, but can I get something for you?"

I smiled a weak smile and shook my head. "Sorry, it's been a long morning for me."

"Are you Richard's daughter?"

Richard was sitting up in his chair watching the interaction. I think he was hopeful about this one.

I shook my head, "No. I'm a friend of the family, you might say."

"If you're not his daughter. . .then. . .it's a pleasure to meet you Desdemona."

Shock was the only emotion I felt. Not a single person this morning had acknowledged me, let alone guessed who I was.

"I'm sorry, am I wrong? I didn't mean to offend you."

I pulled out the bobby pins holding the wig to my head and pulled it off.

"Does this answer your question?"

"I was sure that the hair was a wig. . .I mean the pink hair."

"I only got my hair styled this way last week. I can tell you why after you sign an NDA that Richard said my lawyer prepared."

"I can hold onto my curiosity. Let's decide if we fit each other first."

"I like this one, Richard."

"Finally."

"You don't want to hear my ideas first?"

"Of course we do. I'm just saying I like your personality, which is a point in your favor."

"Ok, well, let's hit it then. Assuming that the hair was a wig, I thought we might want to try different styles for each song. Each song has a specific emotion to it, and the hair could underscore that emotion. It would be the most flamboyant part of most of your costumes. I prepared a portfolio of style ideas if you'd like to see them. . ."

"I'd love to, as long as you explain it all to me."

"I call the overall concept Goth-next-door. There is a certain innocence to most of your songs. It is as if you are a really wholesome person underneath the persona that you present onstage. So, I took your initial costumes I've seen you in, including the one for 'Don't Blame the Girls,' and worked an overall concept for it. To begin with I have costumes for most of your current songs. Notice the sort of Goth-pirate-wench look that I provided for 'Black Flag.'"

I looked through the sketches. None of it looked off the rack.

"Are you an image consultant or a designer?"

"A bit of both, actually. I couldn't ever break into the world of fashion. My ideas weren't out there enough I guess. I did succeed in telling people what to wear, so here I am. I employ a small shop to provide the one-of-a-kind pieces, but most of this is actually just repurposed clothing from other sources."

"You do realize that during most concerts I may have seconds between songs."

"Which is why I will be modifying the clothing to be changed quickly just off stage. You'll be wearing a leotard underneath it to make it so that even if there is not an 'off-stage' then you can make the changes you need in public."

"Doesn't that end up just being little more than a gimmick?"

She sighed, but gave me a smile. "I figured you'd say that, but I had to try. Most of the rest of the clothing, after the ones titled for the songs, are my more 'normal' ideas for a full concert getup. I'll be making changes as we go along, of course, but those are some of my initial ideas."

I was flipping through and I stopped at an off-the-shoulder gown in white, black, and pink. I stopped and gaped at it.

"Not possible," I muttered to myself.

"What was that?"

"So, is this just a repurposed gown?"

"Nope. I designed that one a couple of days ago. The idea wouldn't leave me alone."

"I looked. . .I mean I would look gorgeous in that gown."

"Well, don't get your hopes up on that one. I figured that if I got the job I'd make it for an awards show. I wanted to get my label out there and see if maybe I could someday get into the industry I love."

"I want to wear this dress to the Tween Music Awards."

"Does that mean. . ."

"Only if you tell me your name."

"Linda Nesmith."

"No wonder you had trouble getting into the fashion world."

We all laughed for a moment at this. "Linda, thanks for being yourself. I have a birthday party to attend."

"Wish them a happy new year."

"You just did." I gave her a huge smile as I left.

Linda was certainly a character.

But what would I do about that dream? Did I even believe the dream? . .There are no such thing as visions or prophetic dreams. No psychic abilities. This is real life. My mind is simply making connections to a dream that had a limit of detail. That's what it is. Nothing more sinister than that.

Edited by the ever patient Julia Phillips.

A song on the radio causes sparks to fly, rude fans cause conflict, and someone knocks on the door of whom we have heard nothing in quite a while.

I'd recently appeared on SNL, and things were beginning to look up. I had recorded my first single, 'Daddy's Little Princess' and I had a new image consultant. I was engaged to Gretchen, had a one-of-a-kind engagement ring made by Madam Zeela, and I was finally seventeen. Life was good.

Richard stopped me as I was about to leave his office building. "Keith, I know we decided we would stop around noon, but I had something I really needed to tell you. I got a call from the America's Freedom Festival committee and they want Up in Flames to play the pre-show at Stadium of Fire this year."

"The Stadium of Fire doesn't have a pre-show."

"That's supposed to be changing this year. They will be opening up the gates at four in the afternoon on Saturday. They'll need you to play for a couple of hours until about six."

"A couple of hours?"

"Yeah, a couple of hours. So, we'll be going over the line up tomorrow."

"Couldn't you have told them no?"

"Sure, but I figured it was a great opportunity."

I sighed. So much for relaxing for a bit.

What am I saying? I'm a ROCK STAR!

And they picked me to perform.

I smiled at this, "Richard, I'd be happy to perform. What do the other guys think?"

"Haven't told them yet, but I'm sure they'll be ecstatic."

"Ok, thanks for the heads up, Richard."

"Happy Birthday, Desi."

"Let Linda know the whole deal, would you, Richard? I want to make sure I never end up on stage in the next best thing to lingerie."

Richard chuckled at me and I drove Gretchen's car home.

I had to park a block away. Alright, it was only a couple of houses down. Extended family, remember? I put the wig back on and walked past the tables that had been set along the road. It was a fairly quiet street, and we left room for cars to get past. I greeted Nathan and my other cousins, I got the normal ribbing for my look, and the girl cousins and my aunts commented at my makeup skills. I smiled and sought out Gretchen. She was showing off her ring. When I got there she handed me mine, and I put it on.

"Keith, that ring is so beautiful. Is it true that you had it custom made? How did you ever get the idea for it?"

"The design was all Zeela's idea. I let her design whatever she wanted. I find that is the best way to get really pretty jewelry from her."

My grandmother looked sad for a moment, and then brightened. "Looks like my grandmother's ring misses another wedding."

"What?"

"Didn't know that you were descended from royalty, did you?"

"Gran?"

She pulled a lacquered box out of her purse and opened it. Inside, sitting on black velvet, was the most pretty ring I'd ever seen. Its center stone was an opal, and it was surrounded by a variety of other stones. I could almost say a rainbow. The metal was primarily gold, but some of the accents were silver.

Several of my aunts and cousins gasped.

"How many of the boys have you offered this to?"

"All of them," she said with a sad smile.

Gretchen put her hand upon my grandmother's arm. "Gran, the ring I'm wearing is more a symbol of my bond than a true engagement ring. It is a ring I can wear at any time. If you wouldn't be opposed to it, I'm sure that Keith would be fine with me wearing this ring."

My grandmother looked at me expectantly, and I smiled.

I gently removed the eternity ring from her finger and laid it upon the velvet in the case. I slipped the antique ring onto her proffered finger. It fit perfectly.

Gran threw her arms around Gretchen in a hug and whispered something in her ear. Gran then kissed her on the cheek a couple of times.

"Keith, I love this girl of yours." There were general noises of assent. I noticed my mom talking with Nathan to one side. I decided to walk over to them.

"I'm so glad you're here, Mom."

I could see a smile in her eyes, and she mouthed a 'thank you' at me.

"I'm sorry I treated you like I did, Tracy. I had to be sure. This is Keith's day after all."

"My day? What are you talking about? My mom deserves all the credit. She's the one who was pregnant and then had to deliver me into this world."

"Keith!?" Mom blushed at the praise I'd given her.

"I hear that!" My grandmother shouted from the other side of the gathering.

There was general chuckling and giggling and we got down to the serious business of partying.

***
Later that evening, I watched as Gretchen looked at her ring for the umpteenth time.

"Are you happy you agreed to wear the ring, Etch?"

"More than happy. They accept me as a woman, Keith. This ring is proof that they accept me."

I just smiled at her self-revelation, and watched as she preened with the ring. I was glad that she was happy. Her happiness completed me for the moment.

I lay down in my bed, and she finally came to join me. We quietly talked about nothing in particular. Talking became soft, but insistent kissing. I felt myself getting into it, and slowly pushed myself away.

"I can't do this to you, Gretchen."

She looked sad, but she nodded assent. "I know. It's just I want so bad to be this for you, Keith. I feel complete. And I want you to share in my completeness."

I put my hand to the side of her face, and she nuzzled into my hand.

"You complete me, Etch. Always and forever. I don't need to penetrate you to prove that. We are one."

She giggled at me for a moment and then threw her arms around me and kissed my chest a couple of times. She talked into my chest, "I love you so much, Keith. I really do."

I just held her. We spent another hour or so talking about inconsequential things, before I began to hear her quietly snoring into my chest.

I smiled into her hair and just held onto her.

I must have fallen asleep shortly after that, because the next thing I remembered was her kissing me awake. I smiled into her kisses. "Good morning, Etch." Well, that's what I said, but it came out more like "Gubmormm,emmf."

Talking through kisses does that.

"Just kiss me for a moment, Keith. That's all I ask."

We did that.

Looking back over everything I've written, I realize for the first time that I've never once mentioned my alarm. I mention it here, because it pertains directly to what I need to relate.

I have a radio alarm. When it clicks on, it starts silent and slowly increases in volume. It allows me to slowly become aware of my surroundings and wake up more normally, even if it is to my alarm.

Well, as Gretchen and I kissed, something on the radio caught my attention.

"Desdemona, folks. You heard me. We have an advance copy of her new single and are proud to be able to play it for you now. You requested it, and here it is, 'Daddy's Little Princess'."

For about two minutes I was in ecstasy. They were playing my song on the local pop station. My song. And then. . .

"What in the world?"

"Keith?"

What was he doing to me? This was my song. Sure it was over seven minutes long, but the whole thing told a specific story. For them to do this. . .this. . .

"It's so short," Gretchen said as soon as the song ended.

"It's too short.

I had not been this angry, well, ever. I was up and pacing the room. I was opening and closing my fists. I wanted to hit something. I wanted to hit someone. I needed. . .release.

"Gah!!!" I screamed into the air, and Gretchen got up and put her arms around me from behind. I struggled with myself not to pull out of her arms.

"Keith, honey, calm down. You can fix this." She was frantic, and I sat down on the bed with her. She was scared for me, and of me a little I think, so I calmed myself. I couldn't do this to her.

My phone began to ring. Desdemona. I answered in my sweetest voice, "you've reached the ninth ring of hell, Demona speaking. How can I rend your soul today?"

"Desi?"

"Oh, Richard, how nice of you to join me in the fiery pit today. Should I be tearing you a new one, or Mr. Praetor."

"Over what?"

"My song. Please tell me it wasn't your idea. Please tell me I don't have to shorten your life. I don't think Etch would ever forgive me."

"What are you talking about, Desdemona?"

"Who was the one who thought it would be a good idea to chop my song in half and play the beginning and the ending without any of the middle?"

"Desi. . ."

"Don't you dare 'Desi' me, Richard. Don't even start. That song is about reality. It is a song of a fall from grace followed by redemption. I introduce the main characters in the first 45 seconds of the song. They kept those intact, thankfully.

"The end of the song, 2:20 in length, is the redemption from the fall. Total between the two is 3:35. That is what I just heard on the radio. They destroyed the meaning, Richard."

"They felt that removing the harder rock portion of the song would help it to appeal to a wider audience."

"I don't want to appeal to a broader audience if the meaning of the song is missing. They want me to write a complete bubble gum song with edgy lyrics, fine, I will do that. They DON'T get the option to screw with this song that way."

"Keith, you have to understand. . ."

"No, Richard, I don't. I have to understand nothing. Before this, people were tuning in because of my music as it was. If they can't handle the songs the way I created them, then we're done. We break ties with Spotlight and we move on."

"Is that wise, Keith. Think before you. . ."

"I am thinking about this, Richard. I really am. I will sing pop songs until I'm blue. I will pander to my audience as far as they want. However, if I write a song, and we record it, it gets played as is, or not at all. That is what my contract said. So, who authorized this butchery?"

"Desi, I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't think. . . "

I took a deep breath, and then another, "I'm sorry, Uncle Richard."

I heard him sigh on the other end of the phone. "Let me give Ashley a call. I'll see if I can fix this."

"Thank you, Uncle Richard."

"Uncle?"

"Well, you did say I was your niece-in-law at one point."

"Not yet you aren't, you little minx." There was a smile in his voice, though, and we parted on better terms.

"Kisses."

"Bye, Desi."

I went out to the garage and phoned the guys. They were already on their way over to Gretchen's house. I warmed up a bit and then went through a couple of arpeggios on my 12-string.

Eventually the guys arrived, and we really began to jam. After about thirty minutes we took a break.

"So, you guys hear what's up tomorrow?"

"Yep, boss-lady. We get to play a two hour concert."

"With only 37 minutes worth of music? How we pulling this one off, Keith?"

"Well, we could easily double the length of 'My Own Person' with more battling at the beginning and general fun."

"That only gets us to 42 minutes."

"We need more songs, boss-lady."

I played idly on my guitar and thought of what we could do. Two hours was a daunting amount of time to take up with the limited music that we had here. Talking between songs would probably add between ten seconds and thirty seconds between each song.

That was between one minute thirty seconds and four minutes. Figure two minutes and that got me to 44 minutes total.

What if. . ?

"Ok, we'll run two sets. The first we start when we get in there. We run through our music in sort of a warm up, playing to what little audience there is. We jam for the next 30 minutes. We then play our second set. That will leave us two minutes for wrap up and getting off the stage."

"Now we just have to decide the order."

"If I may make a suggestion, boss-lady?"

"Go ahead, Davey."

"We make a 'Daddy's Little Princess' sandwich. Start and end with our new single. Speaking of the single, have you heard what they're playing on the. . ."

At my glare the smile left his face and he swallowed.

"I guess you have."

"I'm not pleased, to say the least. I talked to Richard this morning and he's trying to get it resolved."

I paused for a cleansing breath and tried a tentative smile, "We're here to practice guys. This is the fun part of our job. . .well that and performing." My smile became genuine at this point.

"Hell, yeah." Guthrie yelled, and then blushed bright red. "I mean, let's do this?"

Davey and I had a chuckle at his expense and we got down to it. We practiced, and practiced, and practiced. I went through what felt like a gallon of water.

We took a break at 2 pm for some lunch, more water, and a little break from our playing. I got some cuddle time. Then it was back into the fray.

God, I love my job.

We practiced until about six and then decided to call it quits for the day. It was one of the better days that I'd had in about two weeks.

We relaxed and watched some TV, joking around like a group of friends.

"You know, it'd be more fun if you guys had girls of your own. Then the three girlfriends could all hang together and swap stories while the three of you practiced."

Davey blushed, and Guthrie looked away.

"What?"

"Well, I didn't think that my girlfriend was invited."

I looked at Guthrie, and realized I'd made a stupid comment. I didn't know if they had girlfriends or not before I opened my big mouth.

"What about you, Davey?"

"Um. . ." It has his turn to blush. He closed his mouth and refused to open it.

"What? What is it?"

"I'm embarrassed, okay?"

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about. I'm sure that she'll be just as cute. . .I mean," Gretchen blushed at what she was about to say.

"She might be a he, Etch."

"No, I like girls, Gretchen. Women. Tall. . ." Davey's eyes glazed over a bit.

"So you like average sized women. There's nothing wrong with that, Davey."

Davey's blush deepened. "Gloria is 6'5" tall."

"Go, Davey!"

"Yeah, Davey!"

Davey visibly relaxed. "You're not shocked?"

"Davey, I'm engaged to a woman who was born a man, my Dad is married to a man who used to be a woman. I dress as a woman on stage. Where in this do you think there would be a problem with you dating someone almost twice your size?"

"Keith!" Gretchen punched me in the arm.

"I still see you as a woman, Etch."

"You didn't have to be that blunt about it."

"Fine, our next practice session we'll invite our girls. Okay with you Davey."

Davey flushed a bit, but nodded.

"Great, guys!" Gretchen was bouncy for the rest of the evening. I'd always preferred my Gretchens bouncy.

We got a good night's sleep and I was up early to get ready. I was looking through my clothing when there was a ring at the front door. I went down and opened the door. Linda breezed by me.

"Keith, so great to see you. We've got a lot to do, and so much time to do it in."

"Morning, Linda." I chuckled at her. She was so full of energy for seven in the morning.

"Ok, so here is what we're doing today. Today, we introduce Goth-next-door to the public. I'm going with a little bit eighties here, and a little bit nineties. I figure that it will give people the impression we are looking for."

"Eighties?"

"You already went there a bit with the tulle skirt for your first costume. Sure, they still use that a lot in Japan, but they've always been following us in certain aspects of fashion. And then again, we follow them in others. It's sort of a cycle. One country invents something, it gets passed around, changed, and then the originating country picks it up in an altered form.

"Anyway, I figured that we would simplify your wardrobe a bit for today, and possibly add some complexity later on.

"We're going with acid washed black jeans, minor slashing in the front. We'll give you a white peasant top over a black long sleeved shirt with a scooped neckline. Exaggerated eye liner in an 'Egyptian' style. Black blush today, to heighten the contrast with your pale skin. Peach lipstick. . .no, that won't work with the blush. Grey lips I think. Let's keep it a little monotone there. Make sure to wear the skulls today.

"And I think. . .pink ballet flats as your shoes."

She brought the outfit into my room, and left while I changed. I hadn't really gotten that much of an opportunity to wear the ballet flats since I'd purchased them, and they were as comfortable as I'd thought they'd be. They outfit was light, and mostly airy. The jeans were tight, but not overly so. I know I'd never worn anything like them as Keith before. The outfit did say Desdemona, especially with the skull earrings and pink hair.

I tried the makeup as suggested, but it ended up making my face look a little washed out. Not everyone can be perfect I guess. I removed the 'blush' and lipstick and began to play a little with my stage makeup. I mixed a bit of black in with my pink. I had to adjust it a bit a couple of times, but I ended up with a sort of grey with a pink tinge to it. I applied it to my cheeks and lips, but I still wasn't quite satisfied. I added a touch of pink as another layer on my cheeks, fading from the bottom up.

It was perfect. I went out into the hall to show off for Linda, and Gretchen wolf whistled. "While not what I wanted on the cheeks, I think you hit the overall style perfectly."

"The black on the cheeks and grey on the lips made me look washed out."

"I can see that. Sorry, I wasn't used to your complexion yet. You really are pale for a guy." I blushed at this.

"Well, we have a couple of hours, so I thought we'd go through your wardrobe for Desi and see what options you have in there that fit the image."

Linda breezed into my room and began making notes and examining my girl clothes. I think she really liked the black with pink hearts motif that I'd picked up in LA. Her eyes sparkled as she made some notes in her book about it anyway.

We hugged before she left, and the house seemed somehow less without her.

"She is a character," Gretchen said as I closed the door behind the retreating figure of Linda.

I sighed in agreement. One thing was for sure. It would never be dull when Linda was around. Sure, she only talked a little more than the other people I'd tried out for the image consultant spot, but when taken cold you could see that she always ran a mile a minute.

We drove the hour to Provo so that we'd be ready to go when they needed us. As it was we arrived at the LaVell Edward's Stadium shortly after one. I wished that I'd remembered how crazy Provo gets on the fourth of July, because we would have stayed there over night.

Let me explain something about The Freedom Festival for everyone who may not have had the opportunity to participate.

Provo begins celebrating the 4^th about midway through June. There are balloon races and breakfasts and. . .well lots of stuff. I don't know exactly anymore since it has been years since I was into that "kid stuff."

Anyway, this is all just precursor to what they do on the fourth, or in this case third, of July: the Parade.

People will camp out the night before so that they can get a curbside seat, waiting as the sun slowly rises so that they can watch the three to four hour spectacle that begins at about nine am.

For a good period before and after this parade, they shut down a number of major connecting streets. It becomes impossible to get to or from certain parts of Provo while this is going on.

Then, the parade ends and people try to get home. All of them at the same time. Through congested city streets. At the same time, people begin to gather at the stadium for the biggest fireworks show/concert in the valley, if not the state.

As you could probably imagine, it is faster to walk. That's what we began doing at ten. Walking. And people wanted my autograph. And so I signed autographs. And walked. And talked with my fans a little.

They even made some suggestions for some songs I should do covers of.

Some were kind of cool, and some were stupid, but I smiled and nodded all the same.

All in all it was a great opportunity to see what people thought about me.

"So, you going to watch the Stadium of Fire as well?"

A little girl with what once used to be blonde hair asked me. She was definitely a little below my normal demographic, or so I assumed. Ok, so she wasn't really a little girl. She was maybe ten or eleven.

Oh, and her hair? It looked as though she'd tried to color it pink, and her Mom, or someone, had tried to wash it all out.

"Nope, I'm not going to watch the show. I get to play while everyone is getting seated, or at least for the last couple of hours of it."

"Will you play 'Daddy's Little Princess'? It's my favorite song in the world, especially the long version."

I smiled at this. "Of course I will, princess. I love that song too."

"Is it your favorite?"

"Want to know a secret?" I asked her in a conspiratorial whisper.

She nodded her head at me, and her eyes lit up, "All my songs are my favorites."

We giggled a bit at that. She turned to her parents. "Can Desdemona sign my tee shirt?"

"I don't know, sweetie. . ." She looked over at me, obviously embarrassed to ask.

"It's perfectly fine. I'll just sign the back of it, as long as it is really okay with your parents."

"Please?"

"Okay," her mother said with a resigned sigh. The girl hopped up and down a bit. As soon as she calmed down a bit I signed the back of her shirt. ^#92Everyone deserves to be a princess at least some of the time. Princess Desi

"What does it say, Mommy?"

Her mom read it to her, and when I looked up at her she mouthed a thank you at me. I even thought I saw a tear or two in her eyes.

I smiled at her, and we all continued to work our way to the stadium. By the time we got there I was very glad for the simplicity of the costume I was wearing. Sure, I was only a little more Goth than the other people walking in the crowd, but that little bit counted.

Guthrie and Davey were there waiting for me, and they'd brought their girlfriends with them this time.

Gloria was literally 6'5". I expected her to be tall, but I think I thought that he was exaggerating a bit. Nope. She was taller than all of the rest of us, and taller than some of us combined. She was pretty in a blonde Amazon sort of way. She had eyes for Davey alone, though, so I was happy for them.

Guthrie's girl was quiet. I mean really quiet. She almost seemed to be looking for a mouse hole to go hide in. I felt a little sorry for her to be thrust into public like this.

Gretchen noticed her discomfort I think, because she walked over to her and began talking quietly, as Guthrie, Davey and I all started our initial prep for the show.

"Desi, I'm going to take Gloria and Farah and we're going to go find the green room." We kissed and they walked off. I'm pretty sure that Farah's jaw dropped to the floor when I kissed Gretchen because there was an audible snap from that direction which I assume was her closing it.

We still had a couple of hours before the concert started, and we hung around under the south stands of the stadium. I caught some glimpse of Carrie Underwood, who was performing that evening, but Guthrie, Davey, and I pretty much stuck by ourselves.

About twenty minutes before they wanted us to do a sound check, which we did. Some random noise and a couple of notes from me. Yes we goofed off.

We were bored, what can I say. There isn't much you can see from where we were, even though most of it is fairly open. We could see into the practice field where they had the fireworks set up. All in all it was a kind of interesting experience.

Then we were on stage, and everything was suddenly. . .better.

When we started, the seats were only about a quarter full. It really felt like we were playing to an empty amphitheater. Well, that is except for the "cougar thunder" every time we finished a song.

If you've never been to LaVell Edwards stadium, then let me describe it a bit for you. They built the north and south stand out of structural steel, and everything above about halfway on the east and west sides is made out of structural steel as well. There is a historical reason for this, but I never really cared to learn.

The area under the stands acts as a reverberating chamber. You end up with four huge drums, and the mallets are the feet of the fans. Yes, it makes a rumble like thunder and can be heard for miles in every direction.

Now, I'm sure that there are other stadiums that have the same effect, but the sound of that stadium has a special nostalgia for people who grew up in the surrounding area.

To have that noise generated for me and my band?

I almost choked up there on stage.

Needless to say, it took about three times my projected time between songs to get my fans quieted down. Every third song, a yell went up for 'Daddy's Little Princess'.

And so we ended up playing it every third song or so. We played right through the central thirty minutes that I'd figured we would have, and even cut a little into our next set before we finished every song in our repertoire. And still they called out for 'Daddy's Little Princess'.

"Hey, guys," I said looking at my band mates as I spoke into the microphone, "it sounds like they want us to play 'Daddy's Little Princess' again. What say you, Davey?"

He played a riff on his drums, and so I turned to the crowd and said, "Translated that means, 'Sounds like a good idea, boss-lady.' What about you, Guthrie."

Guthrie played a long whine on his bass that could only be translated as, 'Do we hafta?'

"Yes, Guthrie, we have to. Our fans want it."

He played the opening to 'Black Flag'.

"He says he'd prefer to play 'Black Flag'. Can we do that?"

The 'no' from the crowd was resounding.

"You heard them, Guthrie. They don't want 'Black Flag'."

The crowd began to sing the chorus to 'Daddy's Little Princess'. Guthrie played a sour note and then mocked the crowd a bit by playing the song slightly off key.

"Come on, Guthrie. The fans love it. Do it for me?"

I batted my eyes at him.

He made an exaggerated sigh and then began playing along with the crowd. I joined in signing with them till we got done with the chorus, and then went back to the beginning of the song and we played our hearts out for them.

The crowd sang along with me on the chorus, and pockets kept with me through the whole song.

I was about to look to see how much time I had left when someone stepped up next to me on stage.

"Let's hear it for Desdemona and Up in Flames."

The crowd cheered as we left the stage.

I looked at the clock and realized that I'd gone about fifteen minutes over.

"Oh, Shit."

"Don't worry about it. You really played that crowd like they were your 12-String."

Carrie was standing there, ready to go on stage. She had a smile on her face.

"I don't know if I'd go that far," I said, but I was smiling none the less.

"No, you perform well, live. I hadn't had the opportunity to listen to your music before."

"Yeah, we just don't run in the same circles."

They called Carrie out to perform her first set of the night, but when she got on stage, the crowd started calling my name, and they were unable to get them quieted down.

I walked out on stage, and they cheered, but I put a hand up.

"Ms. Underwood, could I borrow your mic please?"

"Certainly," she said. She looked a bit worried at what I was going to say.

"I know you loved me being up on stage, but this is Ms. Underwood's time. I wasn't even scheduled to be here until late this week, and I have to imagine that none of you actually bought tickets expecting to see me, right?"

There was general assent from the crowd, but there was some confusion as well.

"Look, I love that people enjoy my music, but I would feel really betrayed if my fans were to ever be rude to another performer. Think you can all be polite for Ms. Underwood? Please?"

There was cheering from the crowd so loud that it drowned out the sound system. People started chanting Carrie, Carrie, Carrie.

I smiled and handed the mic to Carrie and made to leave the stage. "Sorry about that."

"No worries, Desdemona. It happens occasionally to everyone. I haven't had it happen to me before. . ."

We both had a light giggle at this.

"Desdemona, would you like to perform with me?"

"I don't know any of your songs."

"Well, I know one of yours. 'Daddy's Little Princess'?"

I laughed, but nodded my assent.

"Good evening, Utah. It seems that my first number for the evening will be one that you've heard a lot, and will likely hear quite a bit more in the coming months. Performing her new single with me, I give you Desdemona and 'Daddy's Little Princess'."

It was a slightly new experience hearing the tune with a decided country twang to it, but I adjusted before the first verse, and I sang an impromptu duet with Carrie Underwood.

Not something I ever dreamed about, but I definitely enjoyed it.

I went and found the rest of the band in the green room assigned to us, and as soon as I entered I was accosted by Farah.

"Desi, look, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Some things I've been thinking about you. I knew that Guthrie had a thing for you before he started working with you, and that made me jealous. You are so much more talented than I could ever be, and that's something that I could never share with him.

"On top of that you're gorgeous."

"Listen, Farah, I'm sure that Guthrie thinks you are better looking that I am."

"He probably undresses you with his eyes while he's on stage. I know how he is."

I laughed at this, and Guthrie made gagging noises.

"Farah, you've got the wrong idea about Keith."

I cocked an eyebrow at her, but she just shrugged.

"Don't you mean. . ." it suddenly dawned on her what Gretchen had said.

"You're. . .a. . .BOY?!" She began laughing and just couldn't stop. She was borderline hysterical, but not quite over that edge.

"No WONDER I never got that lesbian vibe from Gretchen or you. Sure you kissed with enough passion, but neither of you act like ANY of my lesbian or gay friends."

She giggled a little bit. "I was sure the two of you were heterosexual all the way. It seems I was right."

We all had a bit of a laugh at this, until Gloria spoke up. "Wait, Desdemona is a guy?" She was speaking with a heavy Swedish accent.

I looked at Davey, and just stared at him for a moment. "Ok, could you get any more stereotypical blonde goddess? Swedish?"

"Desi, I'm kidding." They all began laughing, and eventually I joined in.

We watched the show on the CCTV until it began to get dark, and then went up to an area assigned for us to be able to see the fireworks. All in all it was a pretty spectacular day, and I loved almost every minute of it.

We said goodbye to my band-mates and their mates and made our way to the car. We walked with tons of fans, both of myself and Carrie Underwood.

"Desdemona, wait up a moment."

An older woman touched my arm and I turned to look at her. I smiled because she acted a bit nervous.

"Desdemona. . ."

"Call me Desi, it's easier."

"Desi, um, I'd like to apologize."

"What for?"

"For bad mouthing you to my friends and not allowing my daughters to listen to your music."

"Okay. . ."

"What you did tonight showed class. And you looked very pretty on stage. I wouldn't mind my daughters wearing clothing like you have on. . .as long as they don't go for pink hair."

"That's good. I like being a bit unique."

I giggled at that, and we said our goodbyes. Someone approached me in the dark, and I figured it might be a different fan, but then there Rachel was.

"Probably a good idea to keep moving, Desi."

"Rachel?"

"Yep, that's me. Moving?"

"Where have you been?" It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't seen much of her since I'd come back to Utah. Or was it that I was already ignoring her?

"I've been sticking to the shadows, you might say. Staying just out of sight. It was kind of hard to do with you walking to and from the stadium today, though."

"Where are you sleeping?"

"Tom's house. He has more than one guest bedroom you know."

"This is so weird. Do you have a super power or something?"

She snorted at that as we started moving again, "No, but I have a lot of training in blending in. I wanted to see what sort of threats you face on a daily basis, and I can tell that my work is cut out for me. You are entirely too people friendly. If that woman had meant to do you harm. . ."

"Rachel, if I have to stop interacting with my fans. . ."

"Nothing like that. I will just have to stick with you all the time. Well, from now on. Expect that I am nearby, even when you can't see me. I'll also be setting up a full surveillance team. I think it would work better than using a wall of flesh. People will assume you are unprotected, and so all of their plans will hinge on that."

"You're talking like you expect me to be attacked."

"Desi, that's my job. I plan for you being attacked at any minute of any day, so that you don't have to worry about it."

"Thinking like that would tend to make me paranoid."

"Yeah, that's sort of a hazard of the job. The best of us are one step away from being hospitalized in a mental institution."

We laughed, but I could hear the bitterness in her voice as she said this.

It took us until about three in the morning to get home, and even then the buzz of performing hadn't left me. I talked with Gretchen for about an hour before she decided she was too tired to continue. It was after six when I finally gave up looking at the clock and just stared at the ceiling.

The doorbell ringing woke me up around noon. I'd missed my ride to church, and was thinking of just rolling over and going back to bed. The doorbell rang again.

I stumbled out of bed and made my way downstairs.

"Hi, Keith."

"Jake?" He looked like crap. His beard was scraggly, and he didn't look like he was eating well. Could he really change this much in just three weeks?

"Hey, yeah it's me."

Something in his voice sounded broken. It was as if life no longer held value to him. I did the only thing I could. I invited him in.

"Sorry I bailed on you, man, but I had some thinking I needed to do."

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure your parents were happy to have you back."

"They don't know I'm here. I just wanted to see you once more, to explain, before. . .well, I wanted to see you."

"Jake, look, there's got to be. . ."

"Just let me talk, Keith, okay?"

I nodded mutely at him as he began to speak.

"Bobby raped me the first time when we were in junior high."

My jaw dropped open, I was speechless. I could not force sound past my vocal chords.

"I tried to convince myself that I enjoyed it, that I wanted it. Boys don't get raped. I had to keep hold of that."

He began to cry, and I wanted to comfort him, but guys didn't do that either. . .screw it. I got up and sat next to him in his chair. I put my hand on his back and he leaned into me.

"I thought he loved me Keith. I thought that it would all work out in the end as long as he loved me. I could live with his temper and. . .and. . .everything. I could handle it. It just made us gay, right?"

He tried to pull away a bit, so I let him. I didn't want to cause any more trauma, but I left my hand on his back.

"I thought he'd just found someone new when Brock came around in that getup. I thought it was another one of his games he'd play with me. I thought anything but what was really going on. He'd found a new victim."

Jake put his head in his hands, "It was my fault, Keith. All my fault. If only I'd told someone what was going on, if I'd DONE something. . .Buffy. . .it's all my fault."

He just cried like a baby after that and I put my arms around him. Sometimes boys needed to act more like girls in my opinion. Holding in your emotions, and refusing to comfort someone in pain never served any good I can think of.

"I tried to join up with the gay crowd, to bury my pain in someone else's arms, but it wasn't there. I wasn't attracted to any of them. That's why. . .I've been ruined, Keith. I'm ruined and I just want the pain to stop. I had to say goodbye. . ."

I waited for him to continue for a bit, but he just cried.

"Before you go, don't you think there are other people you need to say goodbye to?"

"Who?'

"Well, Buffy is home from the hospital."

"I couldn't, I just couldn't."

"Come on, if this is the last thing you do, you can do anything, right?"

"I guess."

"Let's take Gretchen's car and drive over there."

"Ok."

Since I didn't see Rachel anywhere, I decided to call out. "Rachel, I'm heading over to Buffy Hansen's house. You want to come with?"

"No, it should be fine."

I guided him to the car, hoping that I was able to think of something in the next few minutes to get him out of this funk. Even if I couldn't there was no way I was letting him out of my sight.

We rang the doorbell, and I heard Suzi's voice over the intercom. "Who is it?"

"Keith and Jake. We thought we'd stop by to see how Buffy is doing."

There was a buzz at the door, and Suzi's voice said, "Come in."

I led Jake to the room where Buffy was recuperating, and she smiled at us when we got there. Most of the bandages had been removed from her face, and I could see that she was a knockout. Seriously. There was still a little discoloration around her eyes, and a yellowed bruise or two on other parts of her face, but there were no traces of Brock left there.

"Looks like you came out of this looking like a model, " I said with a smile. She typed into her keyboard, and I read the response on the screen.

:I got the bandages off just a couple of days ago. I was surprised to say the least.:

"I'll say. You are very pretty, Buffy." Jake said. He was mesmerized. I'm pretty sure that he was expecting to see a scarred and depressed boy lying in this bed.

Buffy blushed. :Thank you, Jake.:

"Buffy, I wanted to apologize."

:What for?:

"I knew what kind of a monster that Bobby was, and I did nothing to protect you."

:How could you know? Nobody could have known that.:

"I knew. He raped me as well. I did nothing about it, and I could have. . .I could have."

Jake was crying and not looking at the screen, so he couldn't see what she was typing.

She began to talk through her wired jaw. I could tell that the effort was a little painful for her, but I could also see that she was finally relieved to say something. Anything. It was a little slurred, but completely understandable.

"Jake, this is not your fault. It never was. You were the victim too."

"I should have said something."

"You just did. Please, Jake. Trust me. We can get through this together, you and I."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I want to be friends."

"I need more friends." There was pain in his voice at this, and sarcasm as well.

"You can always use another friend, Jake."

"I'm damaged, Buffy. I'm soiled. I'm filthy and no girl will ever want anything to do with me."

A 5'3" bundle of fury and energy lit into Jake, pounding him on the arm and trying to get his attention.

"Jake, you self centered, narcissistic, idiot of a boy. You KNOW I've had a crush on you for years."

"Hi, Susanne."

"Hi, Susanne? Hi, Susanne?! You take off for three weeks, tell no one where you are going, not even your parents, and all you can say to me when you get back is 'Hi'? I ought to. . ." She stopped, realizing that he was just pulling further away into his shell, and so she hugged him.

"I ought to let you know that I missed you, and I don't want you to ever leave me again. I know you don't love me, but can you at least be friends with me? I couldn't bear to lose you completely from my life."

"I'm sorry, Susanne. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I've told you a million times, Jake. It's Suzi. I'm too small for a name like Susanne."

"I've always thought that Susanne was too small a name for you. You are one of the most intense people I've ever known."

Suzi blushed a deep crimson and tried to hide her face behind her hair. It doesn't work too well when your hair is only chin length, and you've got bangs at that.

Jake smiled. He actually smiled.

He reached up and brushed a few stray locks out of her face, and then tilted her chin up to look at him. "Susanne, I'm not sure if I'll ever feel worthy of even this, but I'll be your friend until you get sick of me. I'm sorry I left so suddenly."

Suzi threw her arms around his neck and gave him a hug.

"I'll wear you down eventually, you know? I haven't given up on you and me being a couple."

"I know, and I appreciate it. I need to make sure that I'm alright alone before I inflict my problems on anyone else."

I looked at the time on my cell, and realized that Gretchen would be home from church soon. "You ok if I leave you here, Jake? Gretchen will be home soon."

"Go on, Keith. I'll be okay."

"You sure?" I looked him in the eyes, trying to see if he was telling me the truth.

"I'm not saying goodbye for now, Keith. I'll see you later."

"Ok," I said with a smile, and then let myself out of the house.

The rest of the day I spent with Gretchen and her father. Jordan arrived a little after seven, and joined in the family time at that point. Looking at them, I realized that Tom and Jordan really were perfectly matched as few couples are. They complemented each other in all the right places.

Their personalities had large areas of commonality, and equally large differences.

No, I'm not saying that they were perfect, but they were trying, and I guess that's all anyone can ask.

The rest of us just have to work a little harder to get to where they naturally went.

The next day dawned clear, bright, and hot. I had nothing planned for most of the day, so I swam with Gretchen until I hear the doorbell ring. Not wanting to drip on the carpeting I went around the side of the house to see who it was.

Jake, happier than the last time I'd seen him on the porch, and Susanne. He was holding her hand.

I looked at that and raised an eyebrow.

Jake shrugged, "she insisted. It doesn't mean we're a couple, but you know. . .things like this sometimes happen."

"What, you hold your best friend's hand while she beams at the world and looks like the cat that ate the canary?"

"It's not like I kissed her."

"Yet."

"Whatever. Did you two bring swimsuits?"

In answer Susanne shifted her shirt aside to show the strap of her bikini. I let Jake through the gate, but I stopped Susanne to talk to her a moment.

"Sooz, I'm not sure if this is the best thing for him at the moment."

"What are you talking about, Keith?"

"Don't push this. He really needs some help. Look, while he's depressed like this it isn't a good idea for him to make any big life changing decisions. Neither you nor he will like where you end up because of it."

"But I love him, Keith. I really do."

"Then be there for him. Not for you."

"It hurts to see him like this, Keith. I want to fix it all. Make him better."

I brought her into a hug. I was more free with those since I started putting Desdemona on. "I know, Sooz. I know. Look, why don't I see if Dr. Allen has any spots to talk to Jake. If not, I'll get the name of a good therapist for him to talk to."

She nodded silently at me, and then wiped away the few tears she'd shed.

"Let's go swimming, huh?" I said as I started walking toward the back of the house.

"Susanne!"

"Gretchen!"

"Guess what?"

"Um...you're swimming?"

Gretchen, ever the tease, just held her left hand up next to her face and shook her head.

"You're. . ." her eyes grew large and a smile spread across her face when she saw the ring, "ENGAGED!!"

Gretchen nodded and the two of them began engaging in girl talk at the side of the pool.

Jake came over to me, subdued as I was beginning to realize was his new 'neutral'. "You?" he asked, gesturing with his head toward Gretchen.

"Yep."

"Congratulations," he said with a little half smile.

"Thanks," I said with a big one.

"So, the hair?"

"Yeah, pink."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. Like it."

"Um. . .this?"

"Guy time."

"Got it."

So, for those of you who don't speak adolescent male, let me translate:

Jake: So, you finally proposed to Gretchen, huh
Me: Yes. I figured it was the right time, and even if I'm a little young we can work things out.
Jake: Well, Congratulations, Man. You two make a perfect couple.
Me: Thanks. I really appreciate that
Jake: Changing the subject because I'm uncomfortable expressing my feelings, you actually went and altered your hair style?
Me: Yeah, as you noticed, it's pink just like Desdemona's.
Jake: Sorry you're inflicted with such girly hair.
Me: Don't worry about it. I kind of like it and it is so much easier than the wig I had before.
Jake: You don't mind that we're not delving into our emotions and only talking in short monosyllables and grunts?
Me: That's what guy time is for and the reason I will be a guy for many years to come.
Jake: I understand you completely and agree with you there. I love being a guy too.

We spend the rest of the afternoon in or around the pool. About twenty minutes after Jake and Susanne arrived, Rachel appeared out of nowhere, handed me a bottle of SPF 90 sunscreen, and then disappeared again.

I'm beginning to think she's part ninja or something. She is definitely good at her job, I think.

So, warmed and funned out, we got ready to go to my Mom's fourth of July concert on the fifth. Yeah, that's what they were calling it.

It was pretty standard fare as far as music goes. Some Sousa. Okay, a lot of Sousa. You know the ones, as they're always played and sung around the fourth of July.

And then the day was over.

Dr. Allen would be talking to Jake in the morning the next day, and I had no plans whatsoever for the next week. . .

That is until I realized I had a dual audition with Juilliard in one week.

I looked up the requirements for composition, and realized I had my work cut out for me. I had composed for multiple instruments before, but this? This would be really difficult.

Ok, so I started with voice, because if I was going to do it, I wanted to be able to sing it later.

Nothing would come to me. I would have moments when I couldn't get words out of my head, and now I couldn't even put two words together.

After ruining an entire legal pad with doggerel, I got out my sheet music, and began stringing notes together.

I could almost hear the music as I put it to paper. Piano, 12-String, Bass, Percussion. . .I worked my way through a small orchestra. 2 violins and a viola. Oboe. I could hear the sounds I wanted. I knew where they would come in and where they would leave. Alto and Tenor sax. Clarinet. Bamboo flute.

I had so much there, and I needed to hear it, not just imagine it.

I looked at the time and realized my Mom wouldn't be home for another hour or so, so I snuck in to my old house, and snagged one of the favorite computer programs I'd ever found. It was a little program called Noteworthy.

Primarily it is a program for writing, and printing, sheet music. It also included a midi converter, though.

Now, if you've never heard midi music, then you're not missing much. However, it would give me an idea of what it sounded like and I would be able to adjust the notes a lot more easily.

By the time I was done, I had fourteen instruments plus a voice line with no words. Total run time was just under fourteen minutes.

Now, this wasn't a single day's undertaking, let me tell you. I worked from the time I realized I needed to prepare on Tuesday morning, all the way until late Thursday night.

But it was perfect, or as perfect as I could make it.

It wasn't a complete symphony, but at least it was mine, and it was done.

I printed off the tabs for the songs I would need to practice for my guitar audition and went to bed.

I'm pretty sure that Gretchen was feeling neglected, because on Friday morning, when I started practicing, she came out and just hugged me from behind.

"Hey, babe."

"How much longer you going to be?"

"Well, I have my songs to work on for my audition on Tuesday with Juilliard. What did you have in mind?"

"You in mind."

She gently removed my guitar from my hands and placed it on the stand. Then she climbed into my lap. It started oh so slow, and we never removed any of our clothing, but it made her happy. No, there was no petting involved.

She just wanted to know I still considered her the center of my universe. When she was sure of that, she left me to my practicing.

She had a contented smile as she left me to my work. I think she'd noticed the state of my jeans since she had been sitting on them.

I did some breathing exercises and got back to my practicing.

Saturday was more of the same, without the interlude with Gretchen

I never listened to the American Top 40. It wasn't my scene, but that didn't stop me from tuning in this morning. It was the first full week since my single was recorded and distributed, and I wanted to hear how well it did.

I have to admit that I actually liked some of the songs that were there. Not all of them mind you, but enough that it wasn't torture.

I figured that I would be lucky to beat the thirty spot, so when that one came and went. I was seriously thinking about just turning it off at that point.

Stubbornness kept me listening though, and I finally heard my song not much later.

"With her first single, at number twenty-five, I give you Desdemona and 'Daddy's Little Princess'."

It was the full length version of the song, for which I was grateful. After the song finished I turned off the radio.

It had been a long road to this point. There was so much more in store for me, but the difficulties I'd overcome made it all worth it.

Now, if only I could pass one or both of my auditions with Juilliard.

Edited by the ever patient Julia Phillips.

Monday, New York reprise, and a cliff?

After my almost gate rape the last time I went through the airport, I decided that today I wasn't taking any chances. Besides that, I wanted to be Keith. So, I put on my brunette wig, wore my more or less androgynous clothing, and left my purse behind.

That doesn't mean that I didn't keep both IDs in my wallet.

You know, after the weeks I'd been going out exclusively as Desdemona, I felt naked leaving the house without a purse. I really needed to buy myself a car.

Gretchen had allowed me to take her baby to the airport. She didn't want to have to get up at four in the morning to drive me, so she just told me to go ahead and take it. So, in the lessening gloom I drove Rachel and myself to the airport for my flight out to New York.

Even if it had been two weeks since I was there, it really felt like I had just come from there.

For some reason, my thoughts felt so much more shattered than normal. It might have been the fact that I was Keith running around with Rachel, or the fact that I'd been almost running myself ragged the last half of the previous week.

I was so ready to get this over with.

Now that I was on my way to the audition, I finally had a moment to actually think about it, and I wondered if this was something I wanted. Gretchen and I were getting married this fall. She was already accepted at BYU, and I was planning on living in New York. How was that going to work?

I can't believe I never thought about this at the time. What was wrong with me? Well, beyond being a teenager.

I began laughing a bit at that. Rachel looked at me inquiringly, but I just shook my head.

She shrugged her shoulders and went back to what she'd been working on. I think it was a sudoku book.

Driving the roads in Utah is one of the most boring tasks I know of. Long straight highways interspersed with complex interchanges for a little bit of variety. So, it leaves you a lot of time to talk, or think, with nothing to really interrupt.

Or a lot of time to do a lot of nothing.

We got to the airport and got through security without much fuss this time. First class this time, since I'd purchased the tickets, so I got a couple of hours sleep in the lounge while our plane arrived, the passengers disembarked and it was being cleaned.

We got in our seats and I went back to sleep.

I knew it was a dream the entire time, but that almost made it worse.

I was driving home from the airport when I got a call. "Hello, Desdemona. I missed you so much when they took me to jail that I just needed to get out and come to you. How could you not be home when I came here."

"What are you talking about, Gretchen?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot," the voice slowly changed into that of Lady Anne.

"I was talking to Gretchen in her own voice, figuring it would prolong it all a little."

"You'd better not have hurt her, you freak."

"It wasn't painful, for one of us."

I was rushing through the door of our home, and there was blood everywhere. I rushed to our bedroom and I smelled the stench before I saw the broken body. I turned away, not able to look, but so wanting to do nothing but.

"Gretchen!"

I collapsed to my knees on the floor. I was broken. I couldn't do anything. I didn't even resist when Lady Anne pulled me to my feet and dragged me to the bathroom.

"So, Desdemona, where will we start. . . "

The plane accelerating for takeoff woke me from the dream and I let loose a shuddering sob. My face was covered in tears, which I futilely wiped away. They just kept coming.

I'm sure it wasn't part of her job description, but as soon as the fasten seatbelts light was extinguished Rachel was out of her seat and she took me in her arms.

"Shh. It was just a dream, Keith."

"I can't protect her. I'm supposed to be the man in this relationship and I can't protect her."

"Keith, do you want to talk about it?"

Hesitatingly at first, and then with growing confidence I related the short dream to her. As I began retelling it, it seemed so silly, but the fear and anguish of losing Gretchen had felt so real to me, even as I knew somewhere in my mind she was safe.

"You survived something that not many adults are prepared for, Keith. You may be legally emancipated, but you're still a teen emotionally. The advice you gave Jake would be a good thing for you when we get back to Utah, Keith. Talk to Dr. Allen."

"I'm strong enough. . ."

"No, you're not. You've already talked to him once about things, why don't you go back?"

"Because. . .I want to be. . .I need."

I took a deep breath and shared something with this relative stranger that I couldn't share with anyone else in my life.

"I'm losing myself, Rachel. I used to be this self-contained person. I was the one who people went to for solutions. What am I now? Some weak girly boy who has to hide behind a mask in order to be popular?"

"Keith?"

"No, it's about what I feel. I feel like I'm betraying myself when I get on stage, Ok? I want to quit, even though I love my fans. I want to run and hide my face from everyone because I'm too weak to do this.

"Dressing up. . .I enjoy it. That makes me weak too. I try to show everyone how okay I am with it. I want Gretchen to know I'm okay with it. But I'm not okay. I've never been okay. I'm a weak scared little boy who hates himself.

"I don't deserve what I've gotten. No one who is willing to lie as much as I have deserves it. I'm afraid that one morning everyone is going to wake up and all they're going to think is, who was Desdemona anyway, really?

"I can't keep doing this. I don't deserve this. I am filthy and unclean. I'm not fit for society, and society should leave me alone."

I kept rambling like this, but the sobs were more than the words. Rachel just held me as I cried and could not get a hold on myself. When I was cried out, I simply lay there whispering these foul things to myself over and over again.

Finally, Rachel set me down and slapped me.

"What was that for?"

"You've had your moment. Now, stop wallowing. You've got a lot of people rooting for you. I saw your family during your birthday. You have the love of a pretty young woman, and you have a lot of friends that rely upon your strength. Sure, it's tough on you, but guess what? Life is tough. There was a movie that I watched as a kid that had the perfect line for times like this:

"Life IS pain, princess. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

I couldn't help it. I chuckled a bit at this.

"Now, go to the lavatory and clean yourself up a bit."

I washed my face in the lukewarm water and really looked at myself in the mirror. It was till me starting back. No makeup today. Just puffy eyes. I smiled at the mirror and my reflection smiled back at me.

After a couple of minutes I went and sat back down, but it seemed that Rachel wasn't through with me yet.

"Keith, when you get back home, get some help. You are too talented to let something like this destroy you. And if you have to let the world know that you are the one behind the music and mystique that is Desdemona, then do it."

"I'll think about it, Rachel."

I still wasn't ok, but I might be able to get there from where I was.

The rest of the flight, thankfully, was uneventful. We drove from the airport to Juilliard and I went inside to have my fate determined.

In the audition room, there were a couple of what I could only assume were judges, a guitar, acoustic of course, and a stool for me to sit on.

"Keith Robison? You can begin whenever you're ready."

I took a moment to make sure the guitar, a 6-String, was tuned properly, and then I began to play. Flawless, it wasn't. I picked out every moment where I had a hesitation, a missed fret, or a sour note.

Well, that was just the first song. Toward the end of the song I loosened up, and the other pieces I'd prepared went a lot more smoothly. I even started to get into it and add the little flourishes that I enjoyed so much when I was on stage. Nothing out of character for the piece, but I made it mine, as opposed to playing from a script.

One of the two judges was smiling when I finished.

"Thank you, Mr. Robison. We'll be in touch."

"Thank you for this opportunity."

I retrieved my sheet music from the floor where I'd set it down, and the second judge spoke, "Were you reading from that while playing? I noticed you glancing down at it a couple of times. . ."

"Oh, sorry, I know I shouldn't have had it with me, but they want me down the hall next. My manager thought it would be a good idea to keep my options open. Here, take a look, if you'd like."

"Well, it's definitely not the music you were playing. Mind if I walk you to the other room?"

"Not at all."

As we left the room, the second judge was still looking at my sheet music. "So, I take it this is an unpublished piece, and it was composed by you?"

"Yes, I prepared it last week. Quite a bit different from what I usually write."

"How so?"

"Usually I'm writing for four parts, not the twenty-six I have here."

"String quartet?" the judge said with a knowing smirk.

"Rock band actually."

"Oh?" he seemed a little inscrutable at that point, "anything I'd know?"

"'Daddy's Little Princess' is on the radio a lot right now."

"Wait, you wrote that?"

"Yes. I wrote that in a single morning, refined it during recording."

"Ok, so now I'm more than impressed. How long did you spend working on this?"

"Three days, but I don't know if that's impressive or not. The voice line has no words, since I simply couldn't think of any that fit. Am considering replacing it with a flute, but I haven't decided yet."

"You don't feel this is a finished work?"

"No, but I feel it is complete. Everything else is interpretation."

"Why the sudden shift in percussion here?"

"Well, I needed the audience to hear the sudden shift in the wakefulness of the dreamer."

"Dreamer?"

"Oh, crap. One minute. Do you have a pen?"

"Sure."

I took the sheet music and the pen and I quickly scrawled the name of the piece across the top of the first page. "Solitary Dreamer".

"I know, pretentious, but it's what I was thinking about when I wrote this."

We entered the room, and there was only one judge this time. Well so it seemed until the person who'd been walking with me sat in the second seat.

"That was a bit sneaky, wasn't it?"

"Sometimes it is necessary."

"So, you two have a good talk, Dr. Jacobs?"

"Yes, and apparently one of our young hopeful's works is playing on the radio."

"Oh?"

"'Daddy's Little Princess.'"

"Really? Mind if I ask you to sing it, Mr. Orbison? The bass line if you please." The second judge was pretty in a disciplinarian sort of way.

"That could be a bit of a problem, Ma'am."

She smirked a bit at my discomfort.

"Because I am a countertenor, ma'am."

"Really?"

I sang the first section of Daddy's Little Girl.

Dr. Jacobs was a bit shocked, but the woman smiled. "Exactly as I thought. You are the person who sang that on the radio, aren't you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then why come here pretending to be a boy?"

I started laughing. I couldn't help it. As I laughed I tossed my driver's license to her.

"Notice the M and not the F. There is a reason, however, why I take on a female persona on stage. No one would actually believe I was a guy."

Dr. Jacobs shook his head slightly, and then picked up the sheet music to try to dissuade his colleague from further side tracks.

"So, Keith," he emphasized the name, "why don't you sing this passage here for us?"

He gestured to one of the more challenging sections for the oboe. It was toward the end of the piece following a short nightmare segment I'd envisioned in part of it. It was a calming period for most of the instruments, but I still had the oboe racing as well, as a pounding percussion. Heart and mind still coming to grips with the reality that they'd simply been asleep.

I sang the segment clear through to the end, even without looking at the music.

They had me sing a couple of other sections, and then asked me to explain my use of percussion in a couple of sections.

It took almost two hours for me to get through that audition, but I felt a lot better about it, overall, than I did about my guitar audition. It felt technically perfect at least.

"Thank you, Mr. Robison. We'll contact you with our decision."

I smiled, retrieved my ID, and headed out to a waiting Rachel.

"How do you keep fading into the background?"

"Practice. That and the fact that you get so engrossed when talking about music that the entire world around you disappears."

"I'm not that bad, am I?"

"Gretchen and I had some long discussions about it last week."

I snorted at this.

"Keith!"

"Sam?"

"Hey, I heard through the grapevine that you had an audition today."

"Yeah, just got done."

"Weren't going to slip out without saying hello, were you?"

"Well, I do have another six hours until my flight back home."

"Utah, right?"

"Yep."

"Well, come join me for lunch. The others will likely be happy to hear how your audition went."

I looked over at Rachel who nodded.

"I so totally didn't notice you there, and I try not to miss the pretty ones. I'm Sam."

Rachel smiled at him, "I caught that. Rachel. I'm a friend of Keith's."

"You're not his girlfriend, are you?"

"No, his fiancée has me keeping an eye on him."

"Dude, you're engaged? Congratulations! Um, aren't you a bit young?"

"Sure, but isn't that what it means to be a teenager? To be too young for pretty much everything you really want to do?"

Sam laughed at this and we headed off in search of his brother and friends.

We found them in the cafeteria.

"So, you found our wayward disciple, huh, Sam?"

"Last I checked, I wasn't anyone's wayward anything."

"So glad to officially meet you, Keith," Hanna said.

"That goes for me as well," Blake said, "who ran your audition?"

"Only person I am sure of is Dr. Jacobs. In the guitar audition there was a guy in horn rimmed glasses with a bad comb-over, and in my composition audition there was a librarian looking woman with a bun that seemed tight enough to hold her brains in."

"That was Dr. Inez in the guitar audition," said Blake.

"And that might have been Dr. Hunter?" Hannah said looking at Mark.

"Yeah, that sounds like Dr. Hunter to me."

Sam looked over at me after their confirmations, "How do you think it went?"

"Well, I made some technical mistakes on the guitar. I only started practicing on Friday morning."

"Why did you put it off so long?" Blake asked.

"Well, I had my birthday and getting a image consultant, court, practicing for the Stadium of Fire, performing in the Stadium of Fire. . .well that was the week before last. Then last week I composed a song and practiced my music. I finished composing late Thursday so that's why I didn't practice 'til Friday."

"Oh, the trials and tribulations of the rock star, right bro?" Mark said.

"Yeah, I mean it's not like you can fly to New York first class on a moment's notice."

I blushed a deep red.

"Oh my god, you did fly out here first class."

"Wow, how much money do you have?"

"I don't know? I don't use that much of it, and I'm still selling albums on iTunes as well as individual songs. I asked Richard to deal with it."

"Well, why not call him and find out?"

I chuckled at this, and gave Richard a call.

"Hey, Desi, I'm glad that you called. We've been asked to play the Utah State Fair in September, since we're a local band. I'm still working out dates for your tour. iTunes wants to renegotiate our rate with the distribution company. We have a small concert in Denver. Apparently the Hole in the Wall wants us to actually play there so that they earn something out of the use of their stamp. That will be later in the week. Just wanted to give you a heads up."

"Wow, talk about the fire hose. Glad to hear what's going on. So, I wanted to check on how my finances are going."

"Well, I've been keeping a constant $10,000 in your checking account for use with your Desdemona band card. I have an additional $10,000 in your Keith account. I know we didn't discuss that, but I figured you'd appreciate it."

"Yes, I do."

"At your current rate of spending in both accounts, you have enough in your high yield savings to live for about sixty years."

"You dork. I have only spent. . .oh wait. I spent $5400 this month on engagement rings." I blushed at this.

"So, for the two months I have tracking data for, yes, that is about $3400 per month, or. . ."

"Ok, wow. Really? I have that much currently? That means. . .three hundred years of spending not including the rings. . .or. . .how many albums have we sold?"

"On iTunes alone we've sold 478,125."

"Are they paying us on the per song rate?" I asked.

"You mean 57%?"

"Yeah. . ."

"We take a 50% hit in our normal profit for the album, which I was only able to negotiate because we already had a presence on iTunes, or I should say our second iTunes album. $9.99 list price per album.

"We are still selling copies of our original iTunes album, which is listed at $5 even. We get the full 57% for that one. We've sold more copies of that one. We're up to 801,002 copies of that album sold."

The blood drained from my face. I suddenly realized how much money I was making. The large numbers started really making sense, and it scared me witless. Assume 500,000, and for the moment round down to $5 per album in profit.

Simple math. Just from the first album, Up in Flames was grossing $1,250,000. Now, this was by far better than the $0.02 per physical CD that Spotlight produced, and I didn't much care about the numbers of those. Really, it was chump change.

The original album, at an assumed $2 in profit got another $1,600,000 gross for Up in Flames. This didn't include singles sales at $0.57 cents in profit each. This didn't include the video at $2.85 in profit per download.

"Desi, you there?"

"I'm here, Richard. Um, so, I'm really a millionaire after we figure your cut, and the bands cut?"

"Multi, yes. And we haven't received our payment for Stadium of Fire yet. Contractual issues there, but I expect somewhere between fifty and a hundred for that."

"You mean thousand?"

"Of course. And we're finalizing negotiations with MTV for the footage of your impromptu concert of 'Bodies'. Apparently they paid royalties for that to Drowning Pool. Drowning Pool has already paid us the royalties, we're just negotiating for proper credit now."

"Wait, that's so much more than what you were saying about my high yield account."

"Oh, there's about a million in your college fund now. I'm not putting any more in there."

"Kisses, Richard. I'm about to die of shock."

"Later, Desi."

Everyone was looking at me with wide eyes. I tried a weak smile.

"Dude, really?" Sam asked. He was the first to find his voice.

"Yes, really. I'm. . .shocked to say the least. I knew I had $10,000 in Desdemona's account, but I have that in my account as Keith as well. I'm. . ."

"Yeah, you're filthy, stinking. . ." Mark began.

"Loaded." Hannah continued.

"My new best friend," Blake concluded to general laughter.

"More seriously, I'm trying to be a little circumspect with this. I can maintain my current lifestyle for sixty years right now if I neither earn any more money, nor increase spending."

"Well, I doubt either of those will remain the same."

"You'd actually be surprised, Blake. I'm a pretty frugal guy."

"Remember what I said about being my new best friend? I only allow rich people who put out for that role."

We all laughed again.

"So, Keith. Want to go catch a Broadway show at the last minute?"

"As tempting as that sounds, I'd actually be more interested in looking for an apartment I could either buy or rent."

Hannah giggled a bit at this. "Normally I'd tell someone that it would be hard to do in New York proper, but with the amount of leverage you have, and by leverage I mean money, you don't have that problem."

This was truly strange for me. Not that I had so much money, but that I realized that none of the money meant anything to me. After the initial shock, I realized it was all a simple matter of scale. I had more than I needed before I sang for the first time. I had more than I needed.

And this was just, more.

Sure, it was cool having this MUCH more, but it was simply more.

I needed to figure out something worthwhile to do with my money, and that would require some thought. Especially since I was covered until I was 77 right now.

"Earth to Keith."

"Sorry, guys. I got lost in my thoughts."

I had a pleasant afternoon, and Rachel even joined in after a little while. I think she was beginning to get a bit of a crush on Mark, but figured it wasn't my place to interfere.

Course, if the looks he was throwing her way were any indication, then he was more than a little infatuated himself.

Another airport, and another flight in first class.

Before I knew it, I was pulling into the driveway. Everything was perfect for me.

"Keith! I'm so glad you're home. No one can find Jake. No note or anything." Gretchen was in tears and Susanne was right behind her.

"It's all my fault. We were talking about my sister, and I was sitting close to him and he went in for a kiss, and I denied him and he ran out and. . ."

"Sooz, you did the right thing. If you don't think he's ready, or you're not ready, don't allow him to force you into it. Has he been talking to Dr. Allen?"

"He keeps breaking his appointments."

"Oh crap."

I took a couple of deep breaths and simply relaxed. Where could he be? Where would he have gone?

"I assume you've checked his house?"

"He hasn't been home since he was with me."

"Gretchen, would you go wait at his house?" At her nod I turned to Susanne, "let's go look for him."

I began to walk toward the desert behind my house. The sun was already beyond the horizon and it was beginning to get dark. It would be hours yet before it was really completely dark, but the desert is like that. Nothing to obstruct your view of the sky.

We walked in silence for a while before Susanne began to talk.

"Keith, am I doing something wrong with Jake?"

"I see you think you are."

She took a deep breath and nodded, "yes, I think I'm hurting him by staying with him. He's such a special person, and I'm. . ."

"You're special as well. You work tech."

"I'm in the background, Keith. That's where I've always been happy. Out of the spotlight, but with you and Jake, I feel like it keeps finding me."

"And you don't like the attention."

"No, I hate the attention. I hate people seeing me. I worry about it as well."

"Because you're afraid of what they'll see," I stated.

"I'm not a very good person. I'm petty and I'm conniving. I convinced Buffy to come out so that people would focus more on her than on me. So that I would become more invisible. I wanted her so big in the public mind that no one ever thought of me at all."

"Really? You don't love your sister at all?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess I like her more as my sister. I loved to spend time with her when we were kids. She was so alive. I felt more alive with her than I did any time I was alone."

"Don't you want that again?"

"Of course. I want to feel alive, but it is so much more comfortable in the shadows. I like being missed, but having all of my actions seen by everyone. Attributed to other people. I don't know if I can handle this. . .this fame. I don't want fifteen seconds let alone fifteen minutes."

"That's a misunderstanding of the initial quote anyway."

"Huh?"

"Never mind. So, how do you feel with Buffy in pain?"

"Pain? She's happier than she's ever been. Her light fills the room and blinds me."

"Sooz. . ."

"No, it's true. She is a better person than I am. I wanted nothing more than to have Jake be with me, and I ignored everything that could interrupt that. I ignored your warnings. I ignored my own conscience.

"I had sex with him last night, Keith. And today, I went back on my own decision and pushed him away from a kiss. I was gross feeling and sore and I felt so guilty for what I was doing to him. I was telling him that as long as we were behind closed doors, it was fine for us to be together, but in public. . ."

"Suzi. . ."

"I screwed up, Keith. I needed to have him so badly that I ignored everything that everyone else was saying to me. I thought it would make everything better between us, but it only made everything worse."

"Sooz, sex isn't a therapy tool."

"Don't you think I know that. . .now?"

"You should have known it before. All sex does, when used without love or respect or compassion, is make your relationship worse. Both of you know you're using the other person, and feel used in return. Sure, for a one night stand that might work, but with someone you deal with on a regular basis?"

"Sure, leave it for a guy to say something like that. Men have casual sex all the time."

"Technically, I'm a virgin, Susanne."

"But I thought. . .you and Gretchen. . ."

"We've never gone all the way, I guess you could say. No orgasms. No ejaculation or petting or manual manipulation."

"You two have this comfortable vibe about you. It's as if neither of you has any secrets with the other. It's only ever married couples that I see this with, well and the occasional long term couple living together. I thought it was holding nothing back, including your body, from the other person that brought that closeness."

"That sort of my point. This sort of relationship takes work, and a willingness to be hurt to achieve. It takes being absolutely vulnerable. Making love can speed that up, but sex can't."

"I thought sex and making love were the same thing."

"If they are, then how does an actress make love to the camera, or a singer make love with her audience?"

"Figures of speech?"

"It is about opening yourself. Showing the entirety of your person to someone else, and not holding anything back. It is knowing someone else can hurt you more than anyone else in the world, and accepting that. It is the other person knowing that you are open and accepting responsibility for your well being.

"It is communication. It is love at its most raw and refined, its core essence."

Susanne was breathing a little heavily. Apparently I was being a little passionate with my words. "Damn, but you have a way with words. I've never felt this release, even when. . .well Jake knows a lot of how to bring pleasure."

"Most of that is you, Susanne. You were thinking about your real relationship with Jake. I can see the two of you. I know how you both feel. He just needs time. And so do you. You're fifteen, girl. You're too young for all of this."

"I know, it's just. . .I want so much to comfort him."

"Well, like I said. Without a strong relationship, sex becomes nothing more than a physical need you're filling. It will destroy a relationship that is just taking root."

"Have I ruined everything?"

"Well, that's for you and Jake to determine."

"I feel so. . .ashamed."

"That's something for you to do some soul. . .you've got to be kidding me."

I knew the place where we were. It was the same bowl depression, and the same crumpled form in the center. This time, however, it would not be Buffy barely clinging to life.

I rushed over to the still form, and the deja vu intensified. Jake was covered in blood. He'd slashed through one of his wrists, but had been unable to complete the other one. From the way his left hand was flopping, I think he severed the tendon.

"JAKE!?!" Susanne was screaming and crying, "JAKE, speak to me. You've got to be okay. Keith, do something. No, no, no, no. JAKE! Honey. Don't leave me. Don't abandon me here in this place!

"I love you."

Edited by the ever patient Julia Phillips.