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.

Desert rescue; feelings expressed, but not necessarily pleasant ones; bad reception in Denver.

"I love you."

I almost didn't hear the words because they were so quiet, and because I was frantically searching for a pulse.

"Come on, Jake. Don't do this to me, man."

There it was, oh so faint.

"Sooz, I need you to focus. Put your hands here. I need you to apply pressure. I need to make a call to 911. Can you do this for Jake? Sooz?"

She nodded numbly and then put her hands over his wrist. He was so pale. I had to turn off the flashlight app as I ran over the rise to make the call.

Every second that passed seemed to bring Jake closer and closer to death.

"Pick up. Come on. I need an operator, and I understand that they're busy."

"911, what's the nature of your emergency."

"I am in the middle of the desert, my friend tried to commit suicide. Someone is with him, but I can't get close due to a cell dead zone. He has a pulse, and he still seems to be breathing, but he's lost a lot of blood."

"We'll have someone out there as quickly as we can. Would you stay on the line please until help arrives?"

"Yes, but the girl I left with my friend is in a bit of shock. It was her boyfriend we found."

"Is she okay to be alone with him? The helicopter is ten minutes out."

"Crap, this is not good. Look, I need to get back to them, and I will lose you. I don't trust her being there alone for that long."

"I understand sir, but right now I'm worried about you going into shock."

"This isn't my first time at the rodeo, ma'am. Or even second. What can I say to convince you I need to go without being rude."

"If you could leave your phone here, where we can still get a fix on it, it will speed up the process of getting to your friend."

"Ok, got it."

I set my phone down and ran over the rise to where Susanne and Jake were. As I'd feared, Susanne had collapsed next to the still form of Jake. I had barely enough light to see their forms from the moon and stars, but I sorely wished I still had my phone so I could shed some light.

I had nothing to raise her feet or cushion her head. I placed her feet on Jake's leg, and made sure there were no rocks or roots under her head. I checked Jake's pulse and breathing and they were weaker than before.

"Come on, Jake, stay with me. Suzi needs you, man. She's actually in love with you, you idiot. Why'd you have to do something as idiotic as this?"

I just kept chanting over and over to him. I couldn't get the bleeding to stop, so I applied a tourniquet. Better no hand than no Jake. I tightened it until the blood stopped.

And then it was sitting there in the growing darkness with two unconscious friends.

Something occurred to me and I ran back to the phone.

"Hello, you still there?"

"Yes, I am. Welcome back, sir."

"I applied a tourniquet below the elbow on my friend's left arm to stop the bleeding. The hand is flopping around quite a bit and I'm afraid that he might have cut the tendon."

"Was the cut across the wrist or along it?"

"Across."

"Well, thank goodness for small miracles. Hopefully that choice has helped to keep enough blood in his system."

"My other fried has passed out, possibly due to shock. I elevated her feet, but there's not much else I can do."

"Ok, the helicopter is maybe two minutes out. They've got a bit of a higher altitude tailwind so are a bit ahead of schedule."

I knew what she was not saying, however. That meant a headwind trying to get Jake to the hospital.

"Crap."

She didn't need to ask me what I meant.

The long shot was becoming longer still. Why couldn't I have gotten here sooner?

The dispatcher chatted with me, but I was looking for the approaching running lights to signify the rescue team was close. I heard it before I saw it, and that helped me zero in.

"They're here. I need to go where my friends are."

I walked quickly through the blinding sand. The spotlight from the helicopter followed me, and then they landed nearby when I reached the forms of Susanne and Jake.

One of the EMT's rushed over to Jake while the other got my attention and gestured toward Susanne.

"We heard that she might be in shock?"

"This is her boyfriend. He ran off earlier this evening and we were out to look for him. He confessed to me about a week ago he was going to commit suicide. I suggested he talk to someone. I thought he had talked to someone. He had an appointment with a therapist any way."

"I think we've got it, Keith."

It was the same pair who'd come for Buffy. I guess that was to be expected.

"Ok. We need to stop meeting all the way out here."

"That we do. Like the new hairstyle, by the way."

I smiled at the comment. "You taking them both, or do I need to wait for Suzi to wake up?"

"Well, she seems alright, but we might as well take her with us to make sure."

"Ok. Need me along, or can I head out to start letting people know what's up?"

"Looks like my partner is almost done, you take off, as there won't really be enough room as it is."

I waved as the two of them got Jake and a still unconscious Susanne onto the helicopter and took off.

As soon as I was back in cell coverage I began calling people. "Hello? Jake is on his way to the hospital. . .yes, he tried to kill himself. I hope we found him in time."

"Hello? Buffy? Yeah, you are sounding better. Suzi is on the way to the hospital. What? No, she should be ok. She fainted. Jake tried to kill himself. Yeah, I hope he's okay as well. Ok. Thanks."

I walked out of the desert, praying to my God for their safety, hoping for some change in my life. It seemed to be one crisis after another. I really didn't know how much more of being the adult I could handle.

I broke down completely when I saw Gretchen's house, and I stumbled the last steps, barely registering what was going on around me. I sat down on one of the chairs by the pool and just wept. I couldn't handle this anymore. I wanted to retreat from the world.

I cried to God in my anguish, asking him why he had created a people so weak and imperfect. I railed against a God who would allow the pain I had seen so much of recently.

After I calmed a bit, I realized my own error, and apologized for my pride.

People were allowed the right to choose. If God were to impinge upon that right, in any way, it would destroy Him as a perfect being.

I knew this logically, but at that moment it was emotionally that I wanted to know it, and emotion doesn't bow down to logical argument.

I felt arms encircle me, and by scent I knew it was Gretchen. I let her hold me. When I was ready I pulled her around beside me and just sat there next to her looking up at the stars. I hadn't done that enough recently.

It was the canvas of the night. . .

"Gretchen, I need some paper."

"Hmm? Oh, sorry, I was a bit asleep there."

I went inside with her, already pacing with the words that needed to get out.

I started with the music. It would borrow heavily from Mozart this time, but I wouldn't be the first rock musician to do borrow from the classics.

In fact, the title I was thinking of would be an homage to the originating song. I felt oh so very Trans-Siberian Orchestra. . .at least until I got to the words. Then the music diverged, keeping some of the same chord progression, but following the soul of the song.

The words flowed as easily as the music. I got done and realized I had a serious piece of fluff, and decided to change the name slightly from what I'd originally thought to cal it.

The words were wistful, melancholy. A dream for a better tomorrow. It talked about the future dreams of the 50s unrealized even today. It was more specifically the story of a girl out of time. Lost in the stream of life and not quite connected to anyone else.

There was a sort of lurking darkness in the music that was never realized in the words. As I played through it on my 12-String, I could feel the sense of impending doom. As if I knew something the girl didn't. It made me want to reach out to her. To stop her. But the girl was me, and I was singing. Trapped on my way to a doom of my own creation, blithely, happily, skipping. Looking more over my shoulder than in front of me.

"Something about that song gives me the chills."

"I know. Cool isn't it."

Gretchen nodded at me with a huge smile.

"Have a name for it?"

"Eine Kleine Popmusik."

"The bass harmony on that is really chilling. It is like something submerged under the water and you just want to yell at the singer to look below her."

"That is so close to what I was thinking myself."

"It is so. . .sweet that it makes my teeth hurt." she said with a huge smile.

"I know. That is why I went with pop instead of rock."

"Good choice. So, just wanted to let you know, it is early in the morning, and you probably want to get some sleep before the rest of your day."

I looked at the clock on my cell. It was almost two in the morning.

"Crap."

"Yep."

I walked inside with Gretchen, and we lay down on my bed. We talked about the new song, and about our planned life together. We even began talking about where our lives were going after we got married. I could tell that something was bothering her about it.

"Gretchen? Something bothering you?"

"No, it's nothing."

"What is it. Something worrying you about the wedding?"

"No. . ."

"There's something."

"Well, what if I don't compare?"

"To what?"

"Well, Emily said that. . ."

"Wait, what? You think that I would. . .with Emily. . .and not with you?"

Gretchen nodded, there were some tears in her eyes.

"And that's part of why you've been so insistent?"

She nodded silently and started to cry.

"Etch? Look at me please. I want you to see my eyes. I've never had sex with anyone."

"But. . ."

"I told Emily that there was no way in hell I would ever go out with her."

"Why did you do that?"

"Well, we went on a date. It was pretty okay. We went to my house and you'd just broken up with the last jerk, and you needed some comfort."

"Oh. . ."

"Yeah, you know, the night I sat with you until dawn because you wouldn't let me leave? Well, the next morning at school, Emily told me that if I wanted to have a relationship with her that I had to cease all ties with you."

Gretchen had grown silent as she listened.

"I told her that I was a packaged deal. I came with my friends, my problems, and my history. I wasn't going to change overnight, and I wasn't going to abandon people I'd known for longer than I'd been going to high school. Implied was longer than I knew Emily."

"Go on."

"She told me that if I wanted her, I would change because she was that good."

"She what?"

"Well, she did this. Exact words as close as I can remember."

I got out of bed, and I struck an Emily pose.

"Look, Keith," I said, "I am the hottest girl in this school." Gretchen began giggling at my impersonation.

"It's not every day that a guy like you gets chosen by a girl like me." I first gestured toward Gretchen and then myself. It was a really girly gesture.

"If you want to open this package," I slid both hands down my sides as I did a slight sideways hip shift, "Then there are a few ground rules. You do want to open this, don't you?" I leaned forward and used my hands to more emphasize than cover an imaginary décolletage.

Gretchen nodded while still giggling at me.

"Then I need you to realize that I am all the woman you need. Friends are great and all, but a girlfriend? Well, that's something special. You do want a girlfriend don't you?"

I gave a little pout and pulled some puppy dog eyes. I even looked a bit over my shoulder at her as if I were getting ready to walk away.

When I began batting my eyelashes Gretchen burst out laughing.

"What did you say to that?"

"I told her that if she had to advertise that aggressively then the product must be subpar or over used, and that I don't betray my friends for used goods."

Gretchen's jaw dropped.

"You didn't."

"I'm sorry to say I did. And she looked just about like you did. . .for long enough to get really pissed off."

"And then?"

"Oh, well, she said that just because she'd given a test drive or two to past boyfriends didn't make her a slut. I said that I wasn't calling her a slut, just sloppy seconds."

"Keith!"

"Sorry, I'd expected a more. . .demure? . .girl when I started dating her. She basically told me that I could jump her bones as long as I said goodbye to my relationship with you. In my book, at that moment, it made her into a prostitute haggling over price."

"Keith!"

"Well, it did."

"You didn't have to tell her that's what she was acting like."

"I tried to apologize at that point, but she was already too pissed. She told me that she'd virtually take what she'd been willing to take physically: My virginity."

"Yeah, a lot of people were shocked that the boy virgin gave it up to Emily."

"I actually liked that name."

"Well, it's good to know. I'm sorry Keith. I really am. I thought I'd lost any possibility with you when that happened. That's the main reason I dated Mr. Football at the beginning of the year."

"Shh. It's okay. Don't worry about it. If you can forgive me for having virtual sex with Emily, I can forgive you for dating the jock-strap."

She nodded and I wrapped my arms around her.

When I woke up the next morning, my arm was asleep, and I really had to use the restroom, but as far as I could tell, Gretchen was still asleep.

I began to try to extract myself without waking her when she started giggling at me.

"Good morning, Lover."

"Morning, Etch, but technically I don't think that applies."

"Sure it does. If Emily can claim she had sex with you, and you never saw her naked or vice versa, then I, who have seen you naked, and a mighty good naked it was, have all the right in the world."

"Okay. . ."

"Besides, we just had sex. . .in my dreams."

"You. . .I'm going to the bathroom."

She laughed at me as I left, but I could tell that a tension which had been in our relationship had released. I hadn't realized it was even there before it was gone.

I called Buffy. "Any word on Suzi or Jake?"

"Suzi is home, but frantic. Jake is still listed in critical condition. He's regained consciousness, briefly, but nothing since then. His vitals seem to be stable, however, so there's hope he will make a full recovery."

"I really want to stop finding my friends almost dead in the desert."

"Well, it would be better than not finding your friends and they become absolutely dead in the desert."

"I know, but I guess I more meant I wish that something in my life could change so that my friends weren't in so much danger, from themselves and otherwise."

"Keith. It's life. It's dangerous and messy and wonderful and scary. It's not supposed to bring us through the other end alive."

"Thank you, Buffy. I need to go."

"Say hi to Gretchen for me."

I passed the message along to Gretchen, who was chatting in the kitchen with Rachel, and headed out to the garage to begin really practicing 'Eine Kleine Popmusik.'

The guys, with their girls this time, showed up around noon.

"Hey guys. Former bassist is in the hospital and may never play again. I wrote a new song we should practice."

"Wait, what?" Guthrie was a bit shocked.

"Yea, you can't just drop this one on us, Keith. I'm not sure we were even aware he was back."

"He got back a week ago, right before I had to really practice for my Juilliard audition. He had planned to commit suicide, and I thought I talked him out of it. He attempted to kill himself last night."

"Wow. That's sucks."

"Yeah, Guthrie, especially since I was the one who found him."

"So sorry to hear that, boss-lady. If you want to cancel. . . "

"What? I need to work right now. Besides, new song. . ."

"Oh, I got so caught up in the first part, I missed the second,"

I handed them their copies of the sheet music I'd printed out.

"Snazzy. Printed and everything."

"Way to go boss-lady."

"I had to snag a program I used to use for sheet music so I could get my audition piece done in time. Figured I could use it instead of my chicken scratch I normally hand out."

"Boss-lady? No offense, but you have the prettiest handwriting I've ever seen from a guy."

"Davey, do you realize how weird that statement sounds?"

"Yes, I do. Doesn't make the sentiment any less true."

We played through the music a couple of times then I began to sing. We were about halfway through when Guthrie stopped playing.

"What's wrong?"

"That is the freakiest damn song I have ever heard, and I thought that 'What You See' was disturbing."

"What, Guthrie, couldn't handle being the monster in the closet?"

"More like the thing from outer space based on the lyrics."

"It's okay, wittow Guthrie. The big bad monster isn't real," I said.

"Thanks. . .Mom."

We all had a laugh at this and got back to practicing. We were taking a water break when I broke the news to them.

"We have a gig at a little bar in Denver."

"When?"

"Later this week. Think we can have 'Eine Kleine. . . ' done by then?"

"Boss-lady, 'Eine Kleine. . .' is done now. Truly scary song in my opinion. Not because of the words it uses, but because of the tools it uses. It treats it like a movie. Without the proper musical tone, a scene means nothing to you. With the proper tone?"

"Yeah. The words aren't scary at all. It's the undertone that gets to you," Guthrie added.

"Ok, then we debut 'Eine Kleine. . .' in Denver." I said.

My phone rang, and Susanne's number was on the caller ID.

"Hello, Keith?"

"What's up, Sooz?"

"Wanted to let you know that you saved Jake last night."

"It was a joint effort."

"He'd been out there for a couple of hours, Keith. Even though he only got the one wrist, it just meant that he was dying more slowly than he could have. They don't know what he used, but he cut himself deeply enough that he nicked the bone. They're afraid that he might never use that hand again."

A sense of loss overcame me, and the other guys went in to give me a moment.

"Thanks for the information, Sooz."

"Thank you again for helping me find him."

Jake, Bobby and I had spent years in Jake's garage. We'd practiced there a lot, hoping that we'd be able to make it to the top someday. Music was a huge part of all of our lives. I felt like I was in one of those cautionary tales. The ones where they try to scare young children out of doing something.

You don't want to be a rock star kiddies because your friends will wind up in jail or attempt suicide. Stalkers will come out of the woodwork to make your life miserable.

Jake had always loved the bass guitar. We would smile and joke about everything, and then push our pain into our music. I could see him on stage with me at Gothpolosion again.

It had been our one and only concert together. Bobby, he'd always been in the background to a certain extent. Always behind the two of us. Jake? He was in the spotlight with me. We were the band, and then Jake quit me.

Logically I understood that. Logically I knew that Guthrie and Davey were much better musicians than Jake or Bobby, and probably even better than I was in most regards.

Logic didn't matter to me right now.

I wanted Jake up there with me. He was my best friend. Well, second best. I would die without Gretchen. Without Jake it just wasn't as much fun as I'd hoped it would be.

Yes, I loved being on stage and the sound of the crowd cheering. I loved being loved.

But it seemed hollow without someone who had worked just as hard as I had to get there. Bobby I could do without. He'd broken not only my trust, but the law as well.

Jake on the other hand?

I felt arms gather me into a hug from behind, and a cheek pressed against my back. I put my hand on hers and felt the ring.

"Does my girlfriend know you're out here?"

"I certainly hope not. It could be awkward for you since I'm your fiancée."

"Well, that's good then. Hey, Etch."

"Hey, Keith. You okay?"

"As okay as can be expected."

"That's not sounding too good. What is it?"

"I never really thought I would be famous, Etch. It was all Jake and Bobby. Jake mostly. He pushed and pulled and dragged us to demo recordings and contests and whatnot. He is the reason that I'm somebody and he'll likely never play again."

I cried silently as Gretchen held me. The pain overwhelmed me. I've heard somewhere that boys shouldn't cry. That it's not manly.

Well, screw manly. Sometimes crying helps. When there is no other way to get the emotion out, then it is perfectly okay for boys to cry.

I cried for a while, and eventually I was well and truly cried out.

"Thank you, Etch."

"For what?" She asked, her face still buried in my now wet back.

"For being you. I love you."

"I love you too, Keith."

"Can you head in and tell the guys I'm done being a girl for the moment and we need some serious practice before our gig."

Gretchen giggled at me and left.

I quickly called Richard.

"Hello, Desi."

"Hey, Richard. When, exactly, is our concert?"

"We've finalized it for Wednesday."

"Tomorrow! I thought you meant 'LATER' later in the week."

"Well, I did. Unfortunately they've had bands booked for Thursday and Friday of this week for the past month or so."

"Anyone I know?"

"Thursday is Meaningless Death Imagery, corporate tools."

No, this wasn't a mental replacement. He'd actually said this one.

"So, I've never thought to look. How good are they really?"

"Well, apparently they're about to lose their contract."

"What? Why?"

"They only sold three hundred thousand copies of their first album."

"Isn't that pretty good for a first album?"

"Sure, but here's the thing. That is only the first half of the equation. They've had people requesting refunds on their concert tickets."

"Can they do that?"

"Normally? No. They like to have all sales of concert tickets final. Thing is, when you have over fifty percent of the people who bought tickets trying to return them. . .it's getting a little ugly."

"Why are they returning tickets though?"

"Well, it's rumored that you're going to be playing every one of the cities where MDI is scheduled to play, except a month later."

I heard the smile in his voice and the barely contained laughter.

"You didn't," I said a little shocked.

"Well. . .yes, I had to. After how you were treated in the press after Gothplosion, I began working on a plot to destroy MDI. I know. It's not anything you would have asked me to do. It's also the reason I started working with the bar to get you out there for real. MDI is trying to use your famous non-appearance there to one up you."

"Famous non-appearance?"

"Have you been to your fan site recently?"

"No. . .been sort of busy being a rock star."

He snorted at this, "Well, most people have decided that the information from Hole in the Wall was an elaborate publicity stunt to get people interested in Desdemona before Gothplosion. The fact that it had that effect doesn't hurt either. You literally came out of nowhere. If it wasn't for Sarah Carerra you'd own the market right now."

"We're not even going for the same audience."

"You weren't going for the same audience. After 'Daddy's Little Girl'? Especially the version on YouTube where you and Carrie Underwood are singing it? You two are sort of head-to-head right now."

"Richard, I don't need this sort of thing."

"Probably not, but it is up to the public to really decide what they want. There are even some stories set to go out when 'Daddy's Little Girl' hits the top of the charts about a grudge between you and Sarah."

"But they won't be true."

"It doesn't matter if they're true or not. It will give both of you publicity and that's usually good. Catfight of the century and all that."

"Richard, if you even think about pursuing this further, I'll out myself."

"You wouldn't."

"Watch me. Also, I've been thinking about something. Not all the time. Just when I have nothing else to worry about. I'm thinking that if no one has clued into the fact that I'm a guy by the time 'When you love somebody' goes to theaters, then I will be letting everyone know. I remember why I originally decided to pretend to be a girl, and it doesn't matter anymore. It hasn't really mattered since we signed with Spotlight and my own fears have kept me back."

"Why wait that long?"

"Because letting people know scares me. It scares me a lot."

"But a lot of people already know."

"That's what scares me."

"There are simply some things I'll never understand about you."

"Mostly, I'm scared for the people I care about when this comes out. What will happen to Gretchen when people start really digging into her life."

"Ok, here's what I think. Let's give it a couple of more weeks. We'll have the tickets for your concert tour go on sale. See how things are going. Then, on the second of August, we hold a press conference and out you to the world. We let everyone know that you, Keith Robison are the same person as Desdemona."

I felt the bottom go out of my stomach, but I knew this was the right thing.

"Make sure that something is printed on the tickets to the effect that exchanges or refunds will be accepted. Even if I have to pay for it out of my own pocket, I don't want my fans to be betrayed by me in any way."

"I'll contact Mr. Praetor and we'll get this hammered out. And hopefully we can get this sorted so you don't have to pay out of pocket for those tickets."

"Thanks, Richard. Kisses."

"Good luck, Keith. You're going to need it."

The boys had come in while I was speaking, and we got back to work practicing our songs. We were about to completely lose track of time.

"You know, we need a love song." Guthrie said out of the blue.

"What?"

"Yeah, we need a love song. Even if it's a Goth one like 'Bring Me to Life'," Guthrie replied.

"That's not a love song."

"Not a traditional one, no, but Guthrie's right about it being a love song."

I thought about the lyrics, and realized they might have a point. I wasn't granting it out of hand, but they might have a point.

"So, we going to sing a duet onstage, Guthrie?" I said as I batted my eyes.

"Hell no. I heard what you were talking to Richard about, and there's no way I'm going to have people thinking I'm gay. . .no offense, Keith."

I chuckled at this.

"I understand your position, Guthrie. I was joking anyway. Look, I've written most of our songs. Don't you guys have anything?"

"You're the composer, boss-lady."

"I don't do words, but. . ."

He handed some tabs to me, and some sheet music to Davey. I looked at the song and he had titled it 'Unconventional Love'.

I picked out the song from the tabs and it sounded so sickly sweet all the way through. Well, my portion of it did. When we added in the drums and bass, I saw where he was going with it.

The guitar, and whatever melody I added, were supposed to be pop. They were girl-next-door. They even seemed to be at a different tempo than the bass and drums.

Those two parts really seemed to be all rock. Much like 'Daddy's Little Princess,' this song began pop and went rock.

That was the only real similarity I could see.

The bass and drums were pounding, rushing, pulling the girl in a direction she didn't want to go. I began a little smile. The title helped me into it.

This wasn't a girl's song at all. This was my song. This would be me. A boy with the voice of a girl. Trying to show the world his love for music in this unconventional way.

The words came to me one after the other. I'd never felt this strongly about any of my music, as I'd always been writing for someone else, even if that someone was Desdemona. This song was Keith.

I adjusted the tempo a bit, and used the girl-next-door guitar harmony as a counterpoint for my I'm-a-guy melody.

When I began to sing the words I was feeling, Guthrie stopped playing and began to write them out.

Without specifying my gender, I sang about how I wasn't accepted by society. I sang about how I struggled for a place amidst stereotypes and labels. I spoke of my girlfriend.

I called her my girlfriend.

As clearly as I could, without saying I was a boy, I let my fans know in that song that I wasn't what I appeared to be. It could be written off as just another song, should people want to do that, but it was so much more than simply that to me.

I bared myself to my audience, and it truly left me naked for everyone to see.

It was after ten o'clock when we finished.

"So, see you guys for the plane flight out tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"I forgot, sorry. We play Hole in the Wall tomorrow."

"Okay, good to know. Night, boss-lady."

"Night, Keith."

"Night guys."

I read through the words and realized that everyone was going to believe I was a lesbian after this. And unless I really looked, most of my references to being a boy were obscured behind the love story.

Well, time would tell if my fans hated me for this. Time would tell if I had any fans after I released it.

I went upstairs to go to sleep. Gretchen was in my bed again.

"Etch?"

"Keith. I know. I really do. I understand why you are so hesitant to move forward."

"Etch. . .I'm not ready for this."

"I know." She had tears in her eyes.

"Etch? What's wrong?"

"Keith? I am so worried that you don't see me as a woman. I've talked to Dr. Allen about it, but I am so scared. What if. . ."

"Shh. Etch. Stop. I think of you as a woman."

"Really? Have you even looked at me naked since I had my surgery? I mean really looked at me?"

Before I could say anything she threw back the covers and I saw her. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. She climbed out of my bed and walked over to me.

"Am I the woman you've dreamed of?"

I took her into my arms, if only to stop seeing her. I had no idea what to do, so I lead her to the bead and lay down next to her.

"Etch, we can't do this."

"Yes we can. I want you, Keith. I need you."

I couldn't say anything to that. I had no idea anymore what exactly I'd been holding out for, but I was still holding out for it.

"Etch, I love you."

She began to cry, and I just held her.

"Why won't you just have sex with me you idiot?"

"Etch?"

"I ache. I've been so good for you. I just want you to jump me and get it over with. Then we can get to the part where you realize this was all a mistake and leave me like everyone else."

"Gretchen, I don't plan on leaving you."

"That's what they've all said. I begin to get comfortable and bam, they're gone. I know you'll leave me too, I'm okay with it. I at least want to know that you were the one who made me really feel like a woman, though. Can you give that one thing to me?"

"Etch, where is this coming from?"

"I'm not real, Keith," she was sobbing and barely understandable. "I'm just a facade. I'm not a real woman, and I never will be. Someone else will give you children. I can't. You'll love someone else enough to make love to them every moment you're together. You'll have sex with her when she throws herself at you."

"Stop, it, Etch. Please? I'm just not like that."

"You could be. I want you to be."

"Why?"

"I need to feel that I did all of this for a reason."

"Gretchen, I want our first time to be. . ."

"Cut the crap, Keith. There is no such thing as special where sex is concerned. I was five years old my first time and it hurt like hell. There is what feels right, in that moment, and there's nothing else."

"Gretchen, leave my room, please."

"Oh come on. I know you want me."

She reached her hand down and grabbed hold of my erect symbol of manhood.

"GET OUT!"

She was shocked, but so was I. I never knew I had this much rage in me. She fled from my room, almost in tears. I didn't know what to do, but I was so pissed, and afraid of what I could do to her that I locked my door and did nothing. I knew that Gretchen had serious issues where sex was concerned.

I was so far out of my depth and sinking fast.

I spent a fitful night sleeping, or at least trying to sleep. My alarm on my phone told me that the night was wasted and I needed to start getting ready. We would be arriving in Denver at around noon.

As I was beginning to move around, trying to remember what Linda had told me about my look when there was a knock on my door.

"Yes?"

"It's Linda. I hear you have a concert to prepare for."

I opened the door with a smile on my face. "I need you. Get in here."

"What would your fiancée say about that?"

At seeing my change in expression, she looked a little uncomfortable.

"Bad time?"

"I guess. What have you got for me today?"

"Well, I really like the black and pink motif, so I thought. . ."

She hung a garment bag on the back of the door and opened it up for me. Inside there was a black cotton dress with a pink sequined hear just above where my left breast would be, and another on the right hip.

"It seems a little small."

"It's supposed to be a little small."

"Well, give me a moment to get changed."

I slipped it on like a tee shirt, since that's the only way it seemed to work and pulled it into place. It had a tight collar and was sleeveless. It hugged my body in a way I wasn't entirely sure I was comfortable with, and it was short. Very short. Almost, but not quite, short enough that I was afraid I would be showing panty to people closest the stage.

I tugged at it, trying to make it stretch just a bit longer.

It made me feel really vulnerable for some reason.

"Ok, have a look."

Linda came in and looked me over.

"Ok, just get your maroon leggings on and you'll be complete.

I let out a sigh of relief. "I was feeling a bit exposed."

"You thought. . ? Oh, that's rich. That wouldn't really have been Goth-next-door. More Goth-on-the-corner."

I stuck my tongue out at her.

I got myself situated in some almost flats, pink with an inch heel, and put on some makeup. We actually went porcelain doll with the makeup and it didn't look too bad. I paid attention to instructions so I could reapply it before the show, and then removed it and put something a little more normal for traveling.

We drove to the airport in Davey's van. The three of us would be going out alone. We waited in the lounge, like normal, and then found our seats for the flight. My pink hair and shoes caught people's attention, and so I signed a number of autographs. Mostly of people walking past us to get to business class or coach or whatever they offered on this flight.

By 'a number' I mean I hit #102 before the flight attendants got a little fed up over the delay.

"We understand that you're some sort of celebrity, but could you please not block the aisle with your fans?"

"Look. . .Monica? I really am sorry that I'm causing such a big nuisance, would it be better if I waited till we were in the air and signed autographs then? Moved about on my own?"

"Well, we normally don't like. . ."

"What would you suggest, then, Monica? Haven't you ever had someone that you really wanted to see, and then there he or she was? I mean, you're on a lot of flights."

"Well, okay. I can see where you're coming from."

"Then what do you suggest."

"How about we let people who want an autograph come visit you one at a time?"

"That would be great. Thank you so much, Monica."

The rest of the boarding went much more smoothly, and I even told people I'd be able to get them an autograph later when they paused for a moment.

We got everyone aboard, finally, and then they closed the door. We taxied and were on our way.

Just a side note, my favorite part of any flight is when the airplane begins acceleration for takeoff. The entire cabin seems to tilt with the force we are being pushed back into the seats. Looking out the window, it seems like the whole world is tilted a bit.

So, we got into the air, and the captain came over the intercom.

"We are now at our cruising altitude, and will be descending into Denver in a little over an hour. If any of you were not able to get an autograph from the lovely Desdemona, let one of our Flight attendants know and we will get you up to see her one at a time."

As I was signing autographs, I wondered idly if I was setting a record for number of autographs signed while in mid air.

I wondered if there was even a Guinness world record for that at all.

I was avoiding the subject that really bothered me. I had never had a real fight with Gretchen. Sure, we'd squabbled and had psychotic episodes, but we'd never actually had a fight. I finished with, ^#127A mile high heading toward Mile High City, and looked at my watch.

I still had another twenty minutes.

I picked up the in air courtesy phone, slotted in my credit card, and made a call to Gretchen.

"Hello?"

"Etch, can I apologize?"

There was no answer over the phone, but it still seemed to be connected so I continued.

"This is as touchy a subject for me as it is for you, Etch, and I should have been more careful about how I dealt with it. I know you've had your share of horrible experiences. I know this.

"Look, I can't make any promises, and I would love to be able to. I will at least try to. . .see your side of this when I get home, okay? I would prefer to go out first, but that's up to you. You make the plans and I'll try to be receptive."

"Keith, did you just say that you'll have sex with me if I ask you?"

"I told you I would do my best. I'm preemptively not turning you down. If you want it, I will be there with you. If it's a choice between getting everything I want, and losing you, then I don't lose you. Life without you would be a little less."

"A little less?"

"Less colorful. Less happy. Less enjoyable. Yes, less."

"Oh. Wow. I was really pissed at you last night for rejecting me so completely. And truth be told I'm still mad at you. But. . .I need to think about this, Keith. Okay? When are you getting home?"

"Sometime tonight. Or tomorrow morning actually," I was looking at the return flight information, and it had us getting in to SLC at 1:25 am.

"I should be home by about three-thirty or four o'clock."

"Okay. I'll definitely let you sleep, then. I'll figure out what we're doing tomorrow and get back to you. Chances are you're taking me to the Mikado."

I winced but admitted I probably deserved that. Gretchen and I had a thing for sushi, and the Mikado was rumored to be the best sushi in Utah. It was supposed to have prices to match.

"Whatever you decide, Etch. This is your night from beginning to end."

"I love you, Keith. I really do."

"I love you too, Etch. Kisses."

I hung up the phone and we descended into the airport. By the time we had our rental and were out of the airport on our way to the bar, it was already one-thirty. A combination of a headwind and long lines for car rentals had put us an hour and a half behind schedule.

We arrived at the bar and went inside. Contrary to the images the name conjured, the Hole in the Wall was quite a large place, at least without anyone there. The stage was a foot high riser along the wall furthest from the door. Everything was low ceilings and dark wood until about twenty feet from the stage. It opened up a bit there and the ceiling went up to about fifteen feet off the floor.

"You must be Desdemona. I'm Brice, but a lot of my friends just all me Canyon."

I looked at him a little blankly, and he shrugged, "well, I thought it was funny. So, I need you out here at 6 to do a couple of sets. I hear your instruments should be here shortly? Here's a key to the green room so you can lock them up 'til the show. Good luck. The crowd can be a little rough."

We collected our instruments from the private courier when he arrived, and got them properly tuned. Davey had to leave his drums on the stage.

"Brice. Davey will leave his drums on stage. Can you keep an eye on them."

"Sure thing. Thanks for doing this."

"No problem."

We hung around a city that didn't seem to offer much in the way of tourist attractions, and made our way back to the bar about four o'clock.

I got on my game face, and we were onstage by quarter to five. We did some final tuning, and then promptly at six we started in on 'Bodies'.

We were only halfway through the first verse when things just started going horribly wrong.

"You suck!"

"Get off the stage so a real band can play!"

We pushed through, but when we started playing 'My Life With You is Hell' they began to throw things onstage.

We continued to play, hoping that the bouncer or something would actually step in. We continued, that is, until a beer bottle struck me in the head.

I stopped playing, and Guthrie and Davey came to a ragged stop.

"So, is this what we can expect coming to Denver? A rude welcome, punctuated by insults and thrown bottles?"

"Go back to Utah you little t$%#. You should make babies, since you suck as a musician."

"Well, that's fine with me. You guys fine with never playing in Denver again?" I asked of my band mates. They were pissed and nodded to me.

"Ok, see you in hell, Denver since it's going to freeze over before we come back."

We walked off the stage and right out the door. "We going to need to replace your drums, Davey?"

"Nah. That was my backup set. I'm good until the next time I need a backup set."

We chuckled at this, and called for a cab. While we waited I called Richard. "Richard, I made a promise to the crowd that I would not play in Denver. Make sure that we never do."

"What happened? Other than splitting my eye open with a beer bottle? I'm heading to an emergency room and getting it cleaned up, then we're on a plane back home."

"I'm so sorry about this, Desi."

"Don't be, Richard. Looks like we're going to make the famous Utah rumor true for Denver."

"What Utah rumor?"

"Oh come on, even I heard about how supposedly U2 was booed off stage in '83, which is why they didn't do a concert in Utah until '97. Well, I'm sorry, but if Denver is going to be that rude, they deserve not to get a concert."

"Desi, think about this."

'No, Richard. I will not subject my band to this kind of behavior. I need a courier service to meet me at the hospital to get our instruments back. Just the bass and my 12-string. Davey decided to leave his drums."

"You're serious. You got booed off the stage."

"Yes, cut over my eye from a beer bottle."

"Ok, you win. No concerts in Denver."

"Thought you'd see it my way. Get the service there, and can you see if you can get us an earlier flight back?"

"It might be coach."

"I'll survive. The sooner I can shake the dust of this city from my shoes, the better I'll feel."

"Ok, Desi. See you."

"Kisses, Richard."

The cab arrived and we piled in. "Nearest hospital, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

We were dropped off at the emergency entrance, and made our way inside. I got to tell my story about a hundred times, and I'm still pretty sure that half the people were assuming a domestic disturbance was what actually caused the cut.

Wasn't it obvious to these people I was in stage makeup?"

It took two stitches to close the gash, so nothing too severe, and we were on our way to the airport.

Our flight would get us to Salt Lake by ten, and I hoped to be home by midnight. Maybe I'd be able to surprise Gretchen when I got home. Seeing her would be enough to fix a lot of what ailed me.

Edited by the ever patient Julia Phillips.