"I am a failure on so many levels. I've failed at life, basically. But I am NOT a man. I AM A WOMAN"

---

 
I can’t do this anymore. I’m dying slowly here, and they’re stealing me blind. I’ve got to stop before I’m bled dry. It ends tonight. No — it ends RIGHT NOW.

Bambi Johnson argued with her thoughts as she paced in her one bedroom apartment. Really, it was just one room with a tiny bathroom housing a mini sink, toilet, and stand up shower. The bed area was separated from the kitchenette by a ledge that really couldn’t be called a bar. It was close to her work; in fact, downstairs was the phone bank where Fish ran the escort service.

“But if I quit, where will I live? Fish and Mamie will kick me out. Go back home? HA. ‘Hi Mom and Dad, guess what? No, no, I still want to be a girl. Yes, I still have my penis and testicles. Still can’t figure out the surprise? I’ve been a whore for the last two years! Yep, slept with over four hundred men — and at least twenty women — since I last saw you guys! By the way, is my old bedroom still available?’ … THAT ought to win them over.”

I could go solo.

“Not without a place to live. And a pimp. That would be like going from the frying pan to the fire.”

Then I’ll go legit. Get a regular job. Get two. I know how to work my tail off. I’ll bring in enough to get by.

“Yeah — and where will I live until the first month’s paycheck comes?”

Then … then … then I’m screwed.

“Yeah. Some nights, multiple times. I’m trapped here. I literally have no way out. Unless …”

She thought of the revolver in Fish’s desk drawer.

“No. NO! Never. Never.”

Well … not yet, anyway. But if things can’t get any better ...

Bambi shook to realize she was actually considering it.

~o~O~o~

Levi “Fish” Morgenstern was apoplectic. If verbally abusing a cell phone were a crime, what he was doing would get him locked up for months.

“You WHAT? How did … HOW DID YOU FUCKIN’ BREAK YOUR FUCKIN’ LEG? Put the fuckin’ doctor on the phone!!”

Bambi plodded down the stairs into the phone bank room. “Fish … you really have to expand your vocabulary.”

He looked up at his boarder. “Fuck you, Bamb.”

“See what I mean, Boss?” She then walked outside to check the mail.

“Don’t screw with me right now, Dickgirl. I gotta crisis here.”

A voice came through the cell phone. “This is Julie, ER Charge Nurse. Doctor Rajesh is in an emergency right now. How can I help you?”

“Yeah, Levi Morgenstern here. You got one of my esco —er, extremely good friends in there right now, Sherryl Phlost. I understand her leg is broke?”

Julie’s voice was distant, talking to someone else; then she came back on. “Okay, sorry, I just had to confirm with the patient that she allows me to give you medical information. Yes, her femur — her thigh bone — was broken in an automobile accident.”

“Okay. So, how long will it take to get a cast on and get her out of there? Will she have to be on crutches? Can she still … um … be sexually active?”

There was a long pause. “You said … you’re her friend? As in boyfriend?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. That’s me. So?”

“Sir … she’s going to be in surgery in an hour. This is not a simple fracture. The bone was crushed into multiple shards. This is serious, even potentially life threatening; she won’t be leaving the hospital this week.”

“FUCK! I need to fuckin’ find somebody else then…”

“Wha — Excuse me, sir? You need to get here and be with your girlfriend!”

Bambi walked back in with the mail, filing through the bills.

“Later, Nursie. G’bye.”

He pushed the end call button and looked up at Bambi with panicked eyes. “We are so fucked.”

~o~O~o~

The view from the executive suite at The Venetian was one of the better ones on the Las Vegas strip. But Grant wasn’t enjoying it. The spectacular perks of being well off did little to fill the void in his heart. Was this endeavor going to help?

I desperately hope so. But I can’t get my hopes up too high. That will almost guarantee disappointment. I’ve tried most everything else I can think of; I might as well try this. If it doesn’t help, there’s always booze. Or a bullet.

The bedside phone buzzing broke his sad mulling.

“Hello?”

~o~O~o~

Bambi watched Levi’s legs shake and fingers tap nervously as he attempted to be a cool cucumber on the phone. At least this little drama was taking her mind off her troubles temporarily.

“Ah, yes. Mr. B? Grant B, at the Venetian? We have had a slight hiccup in trying to fill your request. You called last week to book Cherry for tonight - yes, sir, she does have very high ratings on our online site … yes sir, she is our top requested escort, but - sir, I hate to interrupt, but there has been a terrible automobile accident, and she is in surgery as we speak.”

Bambi’s jaw dropped. That’s who had the broken leg? Sherryl? In the hospital? In surgery?

“Yes sir. I will let her know you are praying for her. Will you be in town tomorrow, sir? I know I could find you an excellent replacement … oh. Just tonight? No, sir, I’m sorry.”

A handwritten note was dropped on the desk in front of Levi — “WHICH HOSPITAL??” He looked up at Bambi’s face. Her brow was knit in worry. “Valley,” he mouthed at her. She ran out the door as he concentrated back on the phone.

“I’m sorry sir; it’s Valentine’s Day, and on top of that there are three huge conventions in town. I’m afraid all of the she-male escorts that fit the requirements you are looking for are already on assignment. I’ll bet you’ll find that is true with all the other services around.” Levi said that last part with his fingers crossed.

“Yes, sir.” Now Fish looked like he was about to cry. “We will refund your two thousand dollar deposit, first thing Monday. Monday, yes. What? Tonight? But, sir … sir. Look. Let me see if I can pull another of our stars off of assignment. If I can’t have one over there in an hour, I’ll get your deposit to you in hopes that you will consider us in the future.”

~o~O~o~

Bambi got off of her scooter in the Valley Hospital Medical Center parking lot and ran in. Arriving in the surgery waiting area, she went to the candy striper at the desk.

“Actually, Ms. Phlost is still in the pre-surgical holding area, waiting for the next operating room to open up. Would you like to stay with her until it’s time? And oh - are you part of her family?”

“For all intents and purposes, yes.”

~o~O~o~

Sherryl Phlost — Cherry Popp, professionally — lay on her gurney, still grimacing in spite of the pain shot she’d gotten. The curtain shielding her from the other patients opened.

“Hey — Bamb! You came to see me! How sweet.”

“Oh, Sherryl. Are you all right? What happened?”

“I pissed myself up royally this time. I’m gonna be here for a week, then in rehab for at least three more. That’s if everything goes smoothly! And I won’t be off of crutches for a while longer. But knowing Vegas, there’s probably a John out there who gets off on that.”

“How have they handled your gender issue? Everyone here seems to be referring to you as a woman.”

“Well they sure as hell ought to. All my records now say ‘female’. But it’s amazing; they must run into trannies all the time. In the ER, the nurse went to put a catheter in me, took my panties down, and without batting an eye grabbed my prick and shoved the tube in!”

“Sherryl — I know you and I aren’t the best of friends. But I want you to know; I care about you, as a fellow trans-woman, and as a coworker. I pray this goes smoothly and that you get well quick.”

“Yeah, I guess I haven’t treated you very humanely at work. I just want you to know, it’s not because I see you as competition for my clients.”

“Okay …”

“Because you aren’t. You aren’t competitive compared to me. In looks, in online reviews —“

“How do you know? Nobody ever gives me reviews on our website.”

“Honey. That’s because your reviews suck. That’s the only reason Fish won’t put them up.”

Bambi teared up angrily. “Blast it, Sherryl! I came over to help! Be nice to me for once, huh?”

The injured T-girl shook her head. “I could be nice, but that wouldn’t help you. Honey, get out of the escort business. You’re no good at it. And it’s eating you up. You’ve changed in the last two years; I’m worried I’m gonna see you hanging from a rope one morning. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about ending it all. I see it in your face.”

“I’ve never thought about anything like that,” Bambi lied. “You’re delirious.”

“Yeah, well, they aren’t giving me near enough pain medicine to make me loopy, much less get me out of pain. Dammit,” Sherryl flopped her head back on the small pillow, “I had a whale lined up for tonight, too.”

“That’s what I’m here to talk to you two about,” whispered a mouth and big nose pushing through the gap in the curtain.

“Ah, Fishy,” sighed Sherryl with a roll of her eyes. “How nice to know you care about me.”

“Hey, I had to come; SEEING AS I’M YOUR BOYFRIEND, AND ALL,” Fish emphasized for anyone around to hear. “Besides, I knew Bamb had come here, and I need to talk to her about being ‘Jonah’ for said whale.”

Sherryl gave him a smirk. “Wonder what your wife will think about you sayin’ you’re my boyfriend.”

“Fu … funny girl,” he caught himself. “Mamie knows I pose as a John for you guys at times to do things — like getting me allowed back here to talk to you two.”

“Boss — what about the whale guy?” Bambi queried.

Fish eyed her. “This John is disappointed. He reserved Cherry tonight, for the whole night. Called a few weeks ago to set it up; was very exact. He wanted a T-girl, pretty with a nice body, who was empathetic and a good listener. Those four things specifically. Now I need a replacement, and every tranny I got is already out on assignment. Except you, Bambs.”

“Fish. Is it really wise to send her out to a guy with such high expectations?” muttered Sherryl under her breath.

Bambi was feeling even more unappreciated than usual. “You don’t think I meet those requirements, ‘Cherry’? Well, Fish must, if he’s asking me. You think I’ve got a pretty body, right, Boss?”

Fish looked her up and down. He sighed. “I hope you’re a good listener.”

Maybe at a younger age — say, even six months ago — Bambi would have flashed with anger at this treatment. But her battered ego could not muster the strength tonight. With hollow eyes streaming tears, she whispered, “Where’s the address?”

Once she had all necessary information, she readied to leave. “Sherryl, have a good operation. See you back at the place, Fish.” As she left the pre-op holding area, she breathed “And may you both rot in hell.”

~o~O~o~

Bambi got back to the two-story building she called home and work. Mamie was at the phone bank. As the young escort climbed the stairs, her female boss yelled out to her.

“Fish called me about what’s happening. Bam-Bam, this is a super high roller — and we want his return business. Be classy. Don’t screw this up for us.”

“I won’t let you down, Mamie.” And thanks, I love you too.

She picked out her classiest duds — thank heaven I haven’t gained weight since I bought this; I finally get to use it — and put them on. A pink and black accented business outfit that had a generous neckline plunge and a skirt that came to the knees but had a high cut on the side. After getting that on, she completed her look with a layer that would help her go more “incognito”.

Her boss had called a cab for her, and it had already honked. The meter was now running, and any further delay would cause Mamie’s shrill voice to start honking, too. Bambi ran down the stairs and out the door, into the back seat of the yellow Lincoln.

On the way over, Bambi considered the words spoken to her today. She would like to write them off to just pure meanness by a competitive Cherry and a loutish Fish, but she knew better. She did a rapid self-evaluation.

Five foot ten inches — not too tall, but I could be shorter. My biggest problem is my shape. I have a straight tube for a torso; hormones haven’t done a thing for my hips or butt, not noticeably anyway. My two breast implants look like alien tumors — thanks for nothing, Dr. Wells — protruding out of my barrel chest — thank you, Dad’s genes. My face is a lump of dough with a masculine jaw. What was really depressing was the FFS consultation with Doc Wells. When he showed me the computer model of what my best result could be, even with multiple surgeries — God, what a letdown. I know I’ll never be Elle MacPherson, but I’d at least take looking like Ricki Lake; what he showed me looked like Al Franken in drag. Let’s face it: I’ll always be ugly, and I’ll never be a great passer.

The hormones have made it difficult to use my penis; I can’t get it hard enough anymore, even with high dose Viagra. Kind of limits my usefulness as a she-male whore. I can do a great blowjob, though. Ah, the blowjob. Where would ugly chicks be without it? Guys can just close their eyes and dream of Kim K. while the crypt keeper could be down below, and it works.

~o~O~o~

The entrance to the Venetian was massive; the lobby itself seemed at least thirty feet tall. The influx of traffic from the airport had slowed down, as it was 10 p.m. Bambi’s cab was able to pull up to the lane closest to the entrance.

Her heart was beating faster than George Kollias’ drum kit when she got out of the cab. She rarely got sent to the five star resorts, and this was her first time to step foot in this one.

God … I’m usually lucky to rate the Riviera or Circus Circus. I’ve spent so many hours at Motel 6 I should get a frequent flyer discount. What the hell am I doing here? Sherryl was right; on our menu, I’m the liver with onions, not the prime rib. What if this guy is, like, a kinky foreign billionaire who wants me to mate with his Great Dane? Or some guy attached to the Mob? I should no-show.

Right. Riiiiight. And then guarantee that I’ll be homeless by midnight once Mamie hears. Okay. Time to “suck it up” and go in to “suck it down”. Crap. Fish’s pistol is sounding more attractive by the minute.

It was mid-February; winter was still not completely gone, weather-wise. The air was cool tonight, at least for Vegas. That gave her a good reason to wear a full-length black trench coat, which in the summer would scream “hooker”. She probably still would get “read” as such by the hotel staff, just not as obvious to out-of-towners. She had worn understated makeup, big sunglasses, gloves, black hose and heels. Originally she’d put her blonde hair back in a conservative bun, then thought better of it and let it down; full exposure of her neck and jawline could enable her to be more easily “read” as a transsexual, which would be potentially worse than the hooker label.

She walked up to the registration desk as instructed. This would be the first time she would have to use her “first class” fake ID.

“I’m Lenorah Scott,” said Bambi, showing the card to the clerk. “Mr. Brisbane in the Executive Suites is expecting me.”

“Yes, Ms. Scott. Mr. Brisbane called us regarding you. We just were notified about Ms. Phlost’s cancellation.” The clerk was so casual. He obviously knew what was going on, but treated it as business as usual. Hotels want to keep their whales happy, too. “Here’s a key card; you’ll need it to activate the elevator to gain access to the top floors, as well as to get in the room. Will you be going directly to the suite, I assume?”

“Yes.” I realize you’ve got to ask me that question, but we both know I’m not here to visit your Starbucks.

“Elevators are through the casino, in that far hallway. I’ll call ahead to inform Mr. Brisbane of your impending arrival. Enjoy your stay.”

Bambi walked through the casino area as sophisticated as she could. Since she was a bundle of nerves in this place, she was sure that she stuck out like a sore thumb, though no one shot her an apparent frown or sneer. It’s probably so obvious that I’m out of my element here.

She arrived at the top floor. The hallways were elegant. Good Lord, this is even fancier than the lobby — and the lobby looked like Windsor Castle on steroids. The suite she arrived at was the corner one. Of course. Okay, final instructions were to knock five times and let myself in. Here I go.

As she opened the door, she saw a tall, broad, rugged man standing just on the other side. He was dressed formally in a three piece suit with a thin black tie. His mustachioed face wore a scowl that belied his happy curly hair, and his arms were crossed. Bambi swallowed hard.

“Uh … Mr. Brisbane? I’m — “

“Not what he was expecting,” he interrupted. “I’m Jace Carter, Mr. Brisbane’s personal assistant / bodyguard. You can’t see him until I clear you. Take off the coat and give it to me.”

Bambi was mute and open-mouthed, still unsure as whether to comply or to turn and run from this hulking, malevolent figure.

“Jace!” A hoarse voice barked from beyond the small atrium they were standing in.

The curly coiffed man jumped slightly at the rebuke, and his countenance immediately changed. As if someone had pushed a button at the back of his skull labeled “ACTIVATE HUMAN PERSONALITY”, he now spoke in velvet tones. “Forgive me, madam. I just need to screen you for weapons; can’t be too careful these days, you know.”

Bambi took off her coat and held it out to Mr. Curlyhead. He took out an electric wand — one she’d seen used before by airport screeners — and “wanded” the coat up and down. It squawked, but closer inspection revealed only pocket change as the offending substance. He then had Bambi hold her arms straight out to her side and he “wanded” her, too. She passed.

He leaned forward, placing his mouth near Bambi’s ear. “I’m not a fan of hookers, much less tranny ones,” he whispered. “I don’t like what’s going down here. But he’s the boss. And if you so much as leave a scratch on him, or steal from him, I’ll make it my life’s aim to inflict suffering and pain on your hide. Is that clear?”

“Crystal clear,” quivered the young blonde.

“Here’s your coat back,” he said back in his normal volume. “Mr. B, I’m going to be in the bedroom at the far side of the suite, as you instructed. I’ll have the hot box on; if you need me, just press the button, sir. Goodnight.” With that, he turned and walked briskly to the left. With his huge mass no longer obstructing her view, Bambi beheld the presidential suite.

“Mr. Brisbane? Lenorah Scott. I …”

She was once again made speechless, this time by the glory of the setting. The whole opposite wall was floor to ceiling glass panels, with a postcard nighttime view of the strip. The lights were off except for some moody glow from selected lamps. A fire was burning in the fireplace — this has a fireplace!? — and soft jazzy music was playing in the ceiling speakers.

My God. I have never seen a room like this. Wait, yes I have. “Pretty Woman”. Now, if I only looked like Julia Roberts. Maybe he’ll look like Richard Gere? Hope not, or they’ll be calling 911 to revive me.

“Mr. Brisbane? Ah … I … I believe you’re expecting me?” Where is he? Good grief, how many rooms are in this hotel room?

“In here, Ms. Scott. The bar area, to your right. I took the liberty of pouring some wine for us. Come, please, have a seat.”

Sitting on the couch by the wet bar, fully clothed in an immaculate grey wool suit and blue silk tie, was a middle-aged man. He was thin and extremely well groomed, as if ready for a board of directors meeting. Shined leather shoes and a gold watch completed his look — at least from the neck down. A pleasant but tired smile creased his face, and eyes with bags that seemed older than the rest of his features scanned Bambi up and down.

“Forgive me for not rising to meet you. I’m starting to feel particularly tired tonight. Please, come over here into the light where I can see you. Take a seat, and have some wine.”

Bambi took her coat off and came to sit. “I’m just twenty. I’m going to decline the wine. We probably should break as few laws as possible, for both our sakes.”

Brisbane’s smile had vanished. He was getting a good look at Bambi.

“Mr. Morgenstern told me he was getting another one of their ‘stars’… I don’t recognize you from the website.”

“I’m … not one of the featured escorts. But I have been with them for two years.”

He remained unsmiling. He sighed, and looked more and more disgruntled each second.

Bambi’s ego was getting flatter and flatter. “You look disappointed.”

“Forgive me. I just was expecting … hoping for … someone who appeared, well, more truly female.”

She gazed at the floor in hot embarrassment. “I know you said you were looking for someone pretty, a good body, empathetic, and a good listener. I can meet some of those requirements. I’m not the best. I’m what was left. And tonight, I’m pretty much what you’ve got available, if you still want someone all night. If that is unacceptable, then I can leave, and I’m told you can get a partial refund. Since Mr. Morgenstern did make an honest attempt at a replacement, he’s told me to tell you that it would only be a 50% return.”

The suited man became suddenly angry. “That … that snake! That lying, cheating, unprofessional … I knew it. I’ve never done anything like this before, and I was too embarrassed to have someone else with more experience arrange it for me. So I spend all this money and get not a transsexual, but an obvious gay drag queen! What an idiot I’ve been. Just leave, please, sir. And tell Morgenstern that I’m coming after him with lawyers.”

Bambi got up, crying, crushed. The words he said bounced over and over in her ears.

“Gay drag queen … hoping for someone more female … sir.”

Sir. Sir! SIR.

Something then snapped in Bambi’s soul. Her ego, shredded to bits, started oozing pure fire.

“Okay, Mr. Brisbane. Just realize that what you’re doing there affects more than just you and him. I’m probably going to be fired and then homeless because of my failure here tonight. But that’s no consequence to you; I’m just a slutty whore, right? Well, just know this: I may be as ugly as sin, but in my heart, I am a woman. Not a gay drag queen. A woman! I have done this shit for two years to try to complete my journey to womanhood, and I have nothing to show for it except an asshole with 100,000 miles on it, and a body that has all the sexiness of a tube of toothpaste. I am a failure on so many levels. I’ve failed at life, basically. But I am NOT a man. I AM A WOMAN — in here,” pointing to her heart, “and in here!” — pointing to her head.

“A transsexual woman, but a woman nonetheless. NOT a gay male. No matter what you or anyone else says. I have nothing else in life, but dammit, I have that truth. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Brisbane sat silent, staring intently at her.

Bambi was now in a flood of tears. “Answer me, dammit! Yes or no? DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

“Yes. Yes, madam. I understand, and I believe you,” he said in a low, steady tone.

“Peachy.” She grabbed her coat and stepped towards the door. Fish’s pistol, here I come.

“Madam? Lenorah! Please — wait.”

She turned to him one last time. “As dear ‘Mr. Morgenstern’ says to me daily: fuck you.”

“BAMBI — please don’t leave!”

She froze. Then without moving a muscle to even look his direction, she choked out a question.

“Who — How do you know my name?”

~o~O~o~

“Please, please don’t leave. I apologize. I’ve been a monster — I was so wrapped up in my own feelings that I’ve hurt you. Please forgive me, and please come sit back down,” Grant Brisbane pled.

The woman with her hand on the doorknob and ready to leave refused to meet his eyes, instead staring straight at the door. “Why? I obviously disgust you. And you referring to me as a man disgusts me right back. So I think I should leave. But before I do, I repeat my question. The agency told you to expect me as Lenorah Scott. How do you know my other name - Bambi?”

“If you just come sit back down, I’ll tell you all you want to know. I’ll make it worth your while. But please do not leave — for my sake.”

That made her spin back around. Her mascara was a mess, dripping down her cheeks from her angry, hurt eyes. “For your sake? My God, what are you, bipolar? You just got through telling me to leave! For your sake? Look at this place! You’re obviously loaded. Just buy ten hot girls to spend the whole night pleasuring you — or each other, while you watch. What could I ever do ‘for your sake’ that couldn’t be done a hundred times better by some other hooker, straight or tranny?

“Unless …” she mumbled with a look of discovery, “unless this is part of what you like to do! Are you a kink? The kind that gets off on humiliation of his women, breaking them down? If so, you should know: I’m not into that BDSM stuff, even verbally. So. I’m still looking for a good reason why I should stay.”

Grant was now leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands cradling his tired head. “Because … I’m dying. I don’t know how much longer I’ve got to live. And I need someone like you. I misjudged you before, and jumped to conclusions. Again, I am so sorry. Please don’t leave. Please stay and help me.”

The room fell silent. While Grant wearily held his head, eyes gazing at his feet, Bambi pondered this revelation.

“Like, are you dying right now? Do I need to call 911?”

“No. I’m not about to die right this second — at least, I don’t think so. I’ve been getting sicker over the last few years; the last 3 months, much more noticeably so. And before we leave the subject; what you just said a minute ago, about you being a woman … I see that I was horribly wrong to call you a drag queen, and sir instead of madam. You indeed have the soul of a woman, and that’s the most important thing I was looking for in my companion tonight.”

Bambi was no longer so angry, but was definitely confused. “Ah … okay. You know, most people call an escort for — ”

“Sex. Yes. I’m quite aware of that,” he said. “But that’s not what I am wanting. Well actually, I would love to have sex, but my heart is too weak for that; the strain could damage it further, and shorten my life. That doesn’t mean I don’t wish I could, though.”

“What were you wanting tonight, then? Perhaps, a striptease?”

“No. Nothing stimulating. I need … touch. Companionship. Someone to listen to me as I talk, and at least show a modicum of interest. A woman to sleep next to me, press her warm body next to mine, and stay there.”

“A woman with a penis?”

“No. Not necessarily. In fact, I prefer my women to have vaginas.”

“So. You wanted a feminine presence, someone to talk to, someone to listen, and lie with you all night, and you don’t necessarily want her to have a penis, and you’re not planning on intercourse. Not even a blowjob or hand job. Is there a reason you called a she-male escort service instead of a regular one?”

“Yes, madam. Empathy.”

“You wanted a transsexual … to feel sorry for you?”

Grant looked a little irritated at that. “Not sympathy; empathy. The capacity to understand another person’s feelings. Gracious, just explaining all this is tiring me out. I’m having a bad night with my heart failure; I’m getting weaker with just talking, and in dealing with the emotion of the last fifteen minutes.”

“You called a tranny escort service … looking for empathy … ‘cause they’d understand how you feel,” - Bambi was mumbling, trying to figure out what he was hinting at.

Her eyes widened as the truth became slowly but definitely obvious.

“Mr. Brisbane — have you ever wished you were born female?”

He smiled a tired smile. “Many times, my dear.”

~o~O~o~

“So … you will stay?”

Bambi actually smiled a little. He wants someone to connect to, someone who knows the hell of growing up in a body you grow to hate; who knows the potential for shame and rejection; someone to commiserate with.

I think I’m better suited for this assignment than any I’ve ever been on.

“Yes, I will, Mr. Brisbane.”

“Please, call me Grant.” He was breathing was a little labored. “Excuse me, but I must take at least a short nap, on my oxygen. I am almost totally worn out. Can you help me to the bedroom?”

Good God - he's looking paler and weaker by the second, she thought.

She took his hands and aided him in getting to a standing position, then walked beside him, supporting his back as they stepped. When they got to the bed, he sat down on the side, then tried to pivot so as to lay down on the pillow; being so weak, he ended up with his torso on the mattress and his legs (all of the right, and part of the left) still hanging off the side. She grabbed his legs and gently lifted them onto the mattress, then took his Oxford wingtip shoes off and put them against the wall.

He looked exhausted, and was really breathing hard now. Bambi’s gut was tied in twenty knots. She had handled so many freaky situations — young studs, fat sweaty slobs, and perverts with custom made “toys” — but she’d never dealt with someone who looked so … frail. If he starts looking any worse, then I’m calling 911, lost fee or not.

“I’ll be … fine; just … hand me my oxygen tube,” he said as if sensing her thoughts.

There was a green metal cylinder next to the bed, with some sort of meter device attached on top and clear tubing wound around it. She unwound the tube and handed it to him.

“Thank you … please … turn it on … to level 2.”

Oh God. Great. How do I do that? She looked at the tank. There was a gauge on top; no buttons … to the side and under the gauge there was a green cap — wait, it was a knob! She carefully twisted it — lefty, loosey — and heard a hiss of air flowing as it activated. The gauge had numbers ranging from 0 to 6, and the needle was sitting just below 1, so she kept twisting until it reached 2.

“There! Is that helping? I think I did it right,” she hoped; but upon looking at him again, he was weakly — and unsuccessfully — trying to attach the tube to his face.

“Grant, let me try to get it on you.” She picked up the end of the tube. It was a loop, about a foot in diameter, with two tiny prongs sticking out at the farthest point. Now how the heck does this go? She felt the oxygen coming out of the ends of the prongs. “Do these little things go …?”

“In … my nose,” he croaked.

She took them and put them to where one was blowing in each of his nostrils. But how do I get them to stay there? After looking at it, she thought she might have figured it out. She spread the loop into an oblong shape and hooked it around the backs of his ears; then fit the bottom under his chin.

“That’s … correct … Thank you.”

His shoulders slumped and his head tilted slightly to the side as he went limp except for the movement of labored breathing. Bambi thought she had never seen someone look so overwhelmingly exhausted.

“Hey, Mr. Brisbane,” she whispered, “you doing any better?”

This time, he gave no response; just continued breathing heavily.

“Mr. B? Grant? Can you hear me? Are you OK?” Oh no — he’s not responding! Where’s the phone —

Then she noticed a little metal chain around his collar — not jewelry, but more like a military dog tag chain. She tugged on it, and sure enough — there was one of those “emergency alert” boxes with a button on it. It emerged from its hiding place behind his vest, outside of his shirt. She pressed the button. Now, aren’t the ambulances supposed to come?

Instead within 30 seconds curly-haired Jace came bounding into the room, in a T-shirt, sweat pants, and sandals. He was holding a huge handgun.

“Okay, Missy. Back away from him, and get against the wall.” He then looked at his boss in the bed. “My God — what the hell happened? What did you do? I told you, if you’ve hurt him —”

“I haven’t done anything but walk him to the bed and help him in! He said he’s having a bad spell, or something. Please point that thing somewhere else,” she said while motioning to Jace’s pistol.

The bodyguard was now down on his knees with an ear to Grant’s chest. Then he stood up. “So — he didn’t exert himself? You didn’t stimulate him at all? Did he get emotional?”

“Just barely, but really he started looking more and more tired from the first minute I saw him. Where the hell are the EMT’s? I pushed his button!”

“That’s the button he uses to call me,” Jace said. “And he doesn’t want EMT’s. No ambulances, no emergency room trips. Unless they finally find a matching heart donor. But if they don’t — and they probably won’t, not in time, anyway — then my instructions are to allow him to die in peace, with medicine to dull the pain and the shortness of breath. He’s made me his medical power of attorney, and I will follow his wishes.”

“Wait — you aren’t going to help him?”

Jace snarled back at her. “There’s nothing more we can do to help! He’s already on the maximum medicine dosages, had all the available procedures, and seen the best specialists. They say his prognosis is supposed to be less than six months. We just got him signed up on hospice. He’s told me that if he does die, he wants no CPR, no chest shocks, and definitely no machines to artificially keep him alive. He’s had these bad spells before. So far, he’s always come through them eventually, but one of these days he’s not going to.

“About all I can do now is wait here with him through the night, and hope he once more will recover with rest and oxygen. I’ll take care of it from here. You go back to your red light district.”

Jace pulled up a chair and sat down next to the bed. He mumbled a quick prayer under his breath, all the while never taking his eyes off the heaving chest and tired face of the man lying there. He listened for Bambi’s leaving footsteps, but heard none. Glancing to the side, he saw her still there.

“Hey, hooker — your pimp has been pre-paid for your ‘services’. And I’m not giving you a tip. So leave already — don’t force me to drag you to the door and throw you out.”

She ignored the threat. “Hey, Curly-top. All you’re going to do is just sit there beside him? And if he dies, all you’ll do is keep him comfortable?”

“His wishes, not mine. And I intend to honor them.”

“Well, heck! If that’s all he wants, then I can do that. And I can give him some of what he asked me for, too — contact, companionship, someone to empathize with him — and do it with a woman’s touch. I understand him in a way I’ll bet you don’t.”

Jace looked at her with irritation on his face. “I’m his caregiver. I know he likes to dress up in ladies’ things now and then; I don’t get it, but I don’t judge him for it either. His secrets will remain secret with me. You’re just someone who’s pretending to care so you can get your money.”

Bambi persisted. “And you’re telling me you don’t get a salary, Mr. Bodyguard? Listen, I could just leave now and claim my share of the fee he’s paid. But like you said, when it comes to wanting to be like a woman, you don’t get it. And I do. Let me give him the gift of camaraderie, of someone who knows how he’s felt. Even if — especially if — it’s his last hours. I promise I won’t hurt him.”

Jace stood to face her. “The only way I’d allow that is if I heard from his lips that it was what he wanted,” he growled. “And I’m not going to wake —”

“It’s what … I want,” came a weak but firm voice from the bed.

The bodyguard and the call girl abruptly stopped and looked at their employer. Grant was still lying limp, but his breathing seemed a little more even and less strained. He looked at both of them through partially open eyes.

With perplexion wrinkling his brow, Jace once again spoke in his submissive, velvet servant’s voice. “Yes, sir. Madam, if he needs any medicine for pain or problems breathing, press the alert button once more. I give you my leave.” He walked away briskly back to his room, pistol in hand.

Grant spoke again, this time to Bambi. “You’re more intelligent … than you let on, my dear … ‘camaraderie’ is a quite … sophisticated word; ... I’m starting … to feel a little better.”

She sighed in relief and sat down on the chair next to the bed, as he shut his lids and relaxed. He then opened one eye, and winked at her before closing it again.

“Are you going to be okay?” — she whispered with concern, and put her fingertips to his.

“Give me … thirty minutes … I should be fine … as long as … you hold on to my hand.”

Bambi sat and stroked his hand and arm as he fell into exhausted sleep.

~o~O~o~

To be continued this evening.
 
 
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Thanks to Cassie Nicol for a first look!

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment. Don't make me reach through the screen and give you a tweak on the nose!

**Sigh**

"Bambi, why would you say that? You're 'living the dream', so to speak."
She looked up at him with tear-striped cheeks. "I'm living a nightmare!

Grant Brisbane opened his eyes to see Bambi Johnson looking at him, at first with worry but then transforming into relief.

“You’re awake! Finally — that was no thirty minutes, buster. You slept for two hours. Are you feeling any better?”

“Much, actually. No longer short of breath. Still very tired though.”

“Boy, did you have me worried. I’ve never been around a dying man before. That is what you said is happening to you, right?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

She continued to stroke his right hand with both her hands. “I know you paid to have me with you all night. But I’m worried about you; you look so weak, still. I feel like I’m cheating you by not doing more, but you don’t look up to it.”

“Remember, I said I wanted no sex.”

“Right. So, then … what specifically do you want me to do for you?”

“Just be with me, and talk to me. And when I get energy to talk, then listen, please.”

“Can do, and will. What do you want me to talk about? And more to the point, are you in any condition to even do that? Would it be better if you got some more sleep?”

“Probably, but … then I’ll miss out completely on what I came for.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “This really stinks to high heaven. Not you, my dear; my condition. Some days and nights I have so much more energy; then occasionally a bad spell comes along where I just feel washed out. Just my continued poor luck to have a bad spell tonight, of all nights.”

“Tell you what, Grant. Technically, I’m supposed to leave at or before 6 AM, unless you pay more. But I’m not due back to formally be available for work tomorrow until 6 pm. Just sleep now, and I’ll catch some Z’s too. When you wake up, I can hang around until check out time; I’ll just phone Fish and tell him that I’m out shopping with some mad money you gave me as a tip. So we can do all this ‘talking and listening’ in the morning if need be. Without you having to pay more. My treat. How does that sound?”

“Madam … I’m nearly speechless. That’s going above and beyond what you’re obligated. I would feel that I’m taking advantage of you.”

Bambi put the back of her hand to her forehead, feigning distress. “Oh dear! Forced to stay in the presidential suite of a five star resort for a few hours more! The horror!” — she then laughed.

“Bambi - who is this ‘Fish’, by the way?”

“Oh. That’s what all of us escorts call Mr. Morgenstern.”

“Why the name ‘Fish’?”

“Trust me. You really, really don’t want to know. It’s twisted and perverted. And hey — you never told me — how did you learn my name was Bambi? Did Fish tell you?”

“I made an assumption, madam, after seeing that,” - Grant pointed towards the high slit in her skirt. Just at the top, on her thigh, a tattoo of Walt Disney’s cartoon Bambi peeked through the gap in the clothing.

“What?! I thought this skirt covered that totally. That was a pretty good guess, smart guy. So — what do you say to my offer?”

“I graciously accept it. I still feel exhausted, and going back to sleep sounds wonderful, if you can meet two conditions.”

“Oh?”

“One: please help me get this suit off. Two: lie beside me, and hold me. Let me feel your body touching mine, your breasts against my back. Can you do that, please?”

“I will if you say you’ll be my Valentine tonight.”

“Of course, you romantic fool.”

“Then your wish is my command … baby,” she whispered close to his face, and then kissed him lightly on the forehead.

~o~O~o~

Bambi and Grant slept on their sides, with her spooning into his back. She wore only her panties — she had remembered his comment about preferring vaginas — and she was pressed up against him. Suddenly, a sound woke her.

It was Grant — moaning. At first she wondered: is he getting sicker? Is he in pain? Then she heard him speak.

“No … no! Please! Just … just leave me be! Let me alone!”

“Are you tired of me being this close?” she said.

He ignored the question. “Stop it! Stop saying that! I am not!”

Oh! He's having a bad dream.

Hugging him closer, she stroked his chest. “I’ve got you, baby. It’s okay,” she said, but it had no effect; he still cried out. I could wake him up, but would he be able to get back to his rest? Yet I can’t leave him like this — emotions affect his heart, he said.

She decided to try something. Projecting her head forward and resting her chin on his shoulder, she firmly said “Leave Grant alone! You have no business being here! Be silent, and go away — now!”

With that, her bed partner quieted. His tensed muscles relaxed, and his breathing became even and unstrained, as he remained asleep. Bambi noted that his body seemed much cooler than other men she’d been with. Must be the heart failure, she thought.

Usually when the “John” is asleep, it’s time for an escort to take a break from the false intimacy. Yet Bambi found herself snuggling closer to - and kissing the neck of - this poor, needy, rich man.

~o~O~o~

Bambi woke up very gradually; her eyes were still closed as she realized she was awakening.

Wow, this is nice. My bed feels great. Did I get a new mattress?

Then her eyes opened.

Suddenly she remembered where she was. She’d just slept in the prettiest, classiest place she had ever been in. With a rich, older, sickly man lying right in front —

No. He wasn’t there. He was … gone. The oxygen tank was turned off — there was no air hissing sound — and the tubing lay on his pillow. He was too weak to get himself out of bed; so where is he? Oh, my God — did he crawl off into the bathroom to die? Did Curly-head come pick him up and take him away, and I slept through it?

“Grant? Mr. Brisbane?” She warily called his name out as she ran to the master bath, her heart in her throat. He wasn’t there. She scurried over to the closet — not there — then out of the bedroom …

“Ah, you’re awake at last. Good morning, Bambi.” He had on pajamas now, with a brown masculine silk robe, and men’s lounging slippers adorning his feet. He looked like he was feeling better — a lot better. At the small dining table where he was seated, there were cereals, plates of eggs and bacon, breads and butter, along with milk, coffee, and orange juice.

“I took the liberty of ordering us some room service for breakfast. They just delivered it. It will be just us two; I had Jace’s delivered to his bedroom. Join me, won’t you? After you put something on to warm yourself up, that is,” he said with a broad smile.

Bambi was suddenly aware of her mostly naked state, wearing nothing but the panties from last night. And her nipples were indeed broadcasting that they were slightly chilled from being so exposed.

As she turned back towards the bedroom, she heard him call “There is a white terry cloth robe hanging in the bathroom, if that will do for you.”

She walked back in to the dining area, wrapped in the large hotel robe with a large golden embroidered “V” on the pocket. “Wow, you look like a new man this morning, Mr. B.” she said.

“Call me Grant, madam. Yes. I told you, I have good times and bad times. And especially in the last year, the bad times are getting more severe when they do happen; I just seem to lose all energy. And then, I get better eventually. The good times do seem to be coming less often, and are less ‘good’ when they do come. Would you like some jelly on your toast?”

“Why yes, thank you. Strawberry jam, if you have it, please. Such a gentleman!”

“You deserve it, my goddess.”

Bambi raised an eyebrow. “Goddess? Laying it on a little thick there, aren’t we? I mean with the compliments, not the jam.” What’s his angle? There’s a catch here, somewhere. We both know I’m not pretty, much less a ‘goddess’.

Grant responded, looking at the toast he was spreading strawberries on. “Oh, I beg to differ. You see, I had a most dreadful vision early this morning. My adversaries from all of my lifetime surrounded me — bullies from junior high, preening athletes from high school, the stuck-up cliques from college, and my hateful in-laws. Forgive me — ex in-laws, now. Anyway, they were hurling all of their horrible epithets at me. I told them to stop, but of course they wouldn’t. Suddenly a voice — authoritative, yet soft and feminine — rebuked them to silence. It came from an invisible presence just behind my left shoulder.”

He smiled at Bambi, passing her the jammed toast. “I recognized it instantly. It was your voice, my dear. You were watching over me like a guardian angel, a protective goddess. And when I awoke this morn and glanced back to my left, there was your face. It felt so nice to be held in your embrace, to feel you pressed into my back. I lay there and cherished the moment for a good thirty minutes before arising.”

Bambi could feel her face flushing. No one had ever used the word “cherish” when describing how he or she felt about her. She didn’t feel she had done anything that special; she’d just tried to take care of someone in trouble. “So; you really needed me, huh?”

Grant smiled and nodded.

She sensed a slight tightness forming in the back of her throat. “Thanks. It’s nice to be needed — for something besides sex. Nice to be appreciated for it, too.” Water began welling up in her eyelids. Then without warning, she began to sob, shaking, her hands still grasping her toast and coffee.

Grant stood slowly and walked to her side, putting an arm around her shoulder. “My dear, what’s wrong?”

“Hg … hgg,” she struggled to form words. “It’s … hgg … been so long since I felt like … hgg hgg … I was worth … hgg … anything … anything as a human being,” she blubbered.

“Bambi, why on earth would you say that? Look at you; you have the courage to pursue your goal of transitioning. Many before you have had to resort to the skin trade to get the money to do so. You’re ‘living the dream’, so to speak.”

She looked up at him with tear-striped cheeks. “I’m living a nightmare!” The anguish in her now broke forth like a tidal wave as she bawled, sinking her face into his robe-covered belly.

~o~O~o~

Grant stood still, stroking the back of Bambi’s head as she cried. The pain inside came bubbling out and over her whole being like an overfull pot of oatmeal left on the fire too long. He made no attempt to stop her; just continuing to hold her at the shoulder, silently absorbing her sorrow and tears.

She eventually calmed some, and pulled back. The first thing she saw was his robe drenched with tears and mascara stains.

“OMIGOD!” —she covered her mouth.

“Tut tut, my dear. Think nothing of it. I have a most miraculous dry cleaning service at home.”

“I’m sorry, Grant. For the robe, and especially for breaking down like this. After all, I’m supposed to be here serving you, not the other way around.”

He pulled his chair around and sat down just next to her. “To paraphrase you, milady: It’s nice to be needed — for something besides my money or my lawyering skills. By allowing me to comfort you as one would a friend or a lover, you have given me a rare gift. So, I will accept no apologies for that. And if you want to serve me more, I kindly request that you talk to me about it.”

“About what?”

“About your feelings as a transgendered female. What you had to endure for it. How you decided to transition. And why you consider your current life a nightmare. I need to know. Hearing it from you — it may help me.”

“Boy, diving into the deep end, aren’t we? Find me some tissues, please — unless you want to sacrifice the rest of that silk robe to the Gods of Running Makeup.

~o~O~o~

“Okay,” Bambi began. “I first began to dress up at age nine. My folks had left me with the babysitter, and she put me to bed early at 8 pm, which meant she wanted to spend the rest of the night on the couch with her boyfriend downstairs. All of our bedrooms were upstairs, so I felt pretty safe. I got into Mom’s drawers and began to put stuff on like I had seen her do through the years. I then pranced in front of the mirror and pretended like I was walking down the catwalk on those modeling shows. God, I looked so girly then, before puberty hit. If only …”

“Go on,” Grant encouraged. “If only … what?”

“Mom found out, and confronted me. Stupid me, I didn’t know she’d be able to tell that a boy had put on her clean clothes. Well, I had been searching on the internet to see if anyone else felt the way I did — and discovered the terms transvestite and transsexual. After reading, I realized that I was the latter. I had, from as early as I can recall, wished I had been born a girl. Then I read that I could actually become one! So when Mom talked to me, I told her I was a transsexual, and what I needed to do to become truly female.”

“Oh! So brave. And did she accept this revelation?”

Bambi sighed, and began to tear up. “Unfortunately, no. Absolutely not. She said that I had been warped by the ‘perversion of the modern day’ and that I needed to be turned around. They got me into a counselor who was more a religious scripture-spouter than a true mental therapist. He basically tried to get me to see the error of my ways. Meanwhile, I could see puberty coming like a freight train, threatening to turn me manly and hairy. God, how I pleaded for estrogen — or if nothing else, at least spiro.

“But no one listened. And as I watched in horror, I developed a deeper voice, facial and body hair, big hands, a thick chest and shoulders, and a square jaw. I lost my one chance at ever being beautiful because I was a coward.”

“Dear — you were just a child.”

“A child who should have known better! If I had really been courageous, I would have run away, at least to my Aunt Millie’s; she and Uncle Oliver were more open minded, and I’ll bet they would have taken me in. If only I could go back in time.”

“There are surgeries that can help —”

“Nope. Not really. Number 1, I don’t near have the money to have even one surgery, much less twenty. Number 2, I’ve been to a plastic surgeon. He showed me the best my surgical results could be — and it was pretty depressing.”

“Who sent you to this surgeon?”

“Fish. He paid for it, since I don’t have the funds. The doc’s one who does body work for a lot of our escorts.”

She looked at her rich date. “I know how ugly I am. You’ve been super nice to me since I threatened to walk out — and just you listening to my story helps me feel valued — but I still recall the disappointment in your face when you got your first good look at me. I’m ruined beyond repair. Sometimes it takes all I’ve got to not consider ending it all.”

They sat in silence for a minute, neither knowing exactly what to say after that.

He cleared his throat. “I’m so sorry I acted that way.”

“Don’t apologize for an honest reaction. It’s not like I haven’t seen that look a hundred times before. God, this is so depressing — let’s change the subject. Tell me about yourself, Grant. When did you realize you were different?”

“Oh, my dear. I’ve been ‘different’ since I was born. My parents were well off, and I went only to private schools. I learned the violin rather than electric guitar, and I played lacrosse instead of tackle football. I loved to read, and loved classical music as well as progressive rock - many of those groups, such as Yes and Gentle Giant, had many classical elements. So, even without my gender issues, I would still have been an odd duck. I never really got into heavy metal rock, getting drunk or stoned, or bedding as many girls as I could. And I was smart; valedictorian of the class with a perfect 4.0. My last “B” grade was in Physical Education at age 8; I have loathed dodge-ball ever since.”

“Dodge-ball! Aaack! I HATED dodge-ball,” Bambi laughed.

“Anyway, you can see why I was considered a ‘nerd’. However, my family accepted me — until they found out about my secret urges to cross-dress.”

“Did your mom find you out?”

“Oh, I wish it had been so. No, I had an older sister who had outfits that fit me quite well, and they were of the modern style; I could look like a fashionable teen girl in them, not an adult woman. I was so careful, but one day she caught me. She confronted me with a pair of her panties that had a pubic hair in them — a black one, and she was naturally blonde. It was a horrible outing, done in the living room with my parents and a visitor — the president of the local Junior League — present.”

“Oh no,” gasped Bambi.

“Well, from that point on, I was kept out of the public eye for fear of shaming the family. I too was sent to a psychologist to try to get me to be a ‘normal’ boy. I submerged my desires and studied even harder; graduated from law school Magna Cum Laude; and established my own law firm. I now have grown our family fortune larger than it was when I was a child. I even got married to a beautiful raven-haired trophy wife and had a son. He’s now 18 and a freshman at Yale.”

“Wow. What a charmed life. Yet you sounded so … unfulfilled when we talked last night.”

“Yes. I have battled depression my whole adult life. I’ve never considered suicide seriously enough to attempt it — yet. I finally opened up with my psychiatrist about my gender confusion, and after testing he said he felt I had transgender attributes. As my wife has divorced me a year ago, I knew I had to take the opportunity to talk to someone who had these same issues. I don’t trust chat rooms; I still have a business that would likely collapse if I were found to be in a major scandal. I shudder at the likely headlines: ‘Respected Tax Attorney is a Sexual Pervert.’ So, I came to Vegas, where ‘what happens here, stays here.’ And here you and I are.”

“Did your wife leave you because of the trans issues?”

“No; she didn’t know. She enjoyed my money, but when my heart became damaged, she found she didn’t like being tied down to a near invalid. She cited ‘loss of consortium’ — the fact I could no longer satisfy her sexually — as the main reason for the divorce. And sex was the only thing that she and I seemed to ever connect with; I would never classify her as a great friend or confidante. So the split was for the best, really. Especially since we had a prenuptial agreement that the court honored. One benefit of her leaving — after decades of abstinence, I was able to start dressing in women’s clothing again.”

Sheesh! The poor guy was hitched to a shallow bitch, thought Bambi. She looked at the clock. “Grant, is this conversation giving you what you came for? How am I doing?”

“Just fine, Bambi my dear. I wish we had more time to talk, and to cuddle. I feel such a bond with you; sisterly, and possibly even romantically. I think it’s because you are the first person in my life who hasn’t acted with disgust over what I’ve told you.” He looked at her with true appreciation, and gave her hand a squeeze.

“Well, sir, we have still two hours left. Why don’t you keep on talking to me while I minister to your body as you lie in bed? Not sex; no exertion. Let me show you what I mean.”

~o~O~o~

Grant was lying on the bed in just his boxers, with a blanket covering him. Underneath him was a panel of towels laid out to separate him from the bed sheets. He wondered what Bambi was up to. She had put his oxygen tube back in his nostrils, and he had to admit that he felt better while wearing it, even if he wasn’t currently in a “bad spell”.

Bambi walked in from the bathroom with a stack of steaming washcloths. “There’s a trick to getting these this hot in the bathroom sink without getting burned. You haven’t showered, so I figured you would like a washing with some warm cotton.”

She uncovered his feet, and began to scrub them gently with a steamy damp cloth. Working in the soles, between the toes. Grant found the sensation wonderful. Then, before the feet could get chilly, she dried them with a towel.
Then she repeated the process working up his legs, using a new fresh hot washcloth for each individual body part she went over.

“While I’m doing this, talk to me. What kind of a lawyer are you?” she queried with a kind smile.

“A very good one. Ohhh … that feels divine.”

“Ha ha ha ha! That was funny. Come on, you know what I mean.”

“I do tax law. Basically, people in deep trouble with the IRS come to me for help.”

“Yeah — you’re like those guys in the TV ads? ‘Don’t fight the IRS on your own.’ That kind?”

“Actually, those lawyers mostly deal with private individuals with less than a million dollars of back taxes or penalties owed. I deal with corporations and individuals who owe multiple millions of dollars.”

“Soooo … you let rich fat cats get out of paying taxes?”

“No. I help rich fat cats keep themselves from going bankrupt over their tax debt. That way they can stay in business to pay more taxes, year after year. They may get off a little easier one time with my help … but they never do again. Uncle Sam has a permanent evil eye on them from that point on.”

“Okay, that sounds better. Hey, may I clean you in your private areas? It’ll feel great. I promise I won’t get ‘freaky’ there, but I’ll only do it with your permission.”

“Ah … all right; if I say stop, please do so.”

She pulled down his boxers and went to work, quickly but gently. She even had him roll to his side as she discreetly cleaned in his butt crease. Then covering him up, she quickly washed her hands in the bathroom sink and came back to finish with the rest of his body.

As she did, Grant explained his health condition. He did not have regular heart disease from artery blockages and high cholesterol; rather, he contracted a virus that settled in his heart muscles, mostly destroying the organ. “Viral myocarditis”, his doctors called it. The only effective cure for him would be a transplant; however, he had so many antibodies in his blood, finding a good match was like finding a needle in a five-story haystack. His body would likely reject a usual heart available for transplant within the first year after he received it. The odds were that he would die long before any appropriate donor match could be found. As Bambi listened, her own heart began to ache for this unfortunate man.

When she finished cleaning the grooves of his ears, her final hot cloth was folded and placed on his forehead. “There you go. I’m not done yet; I’ll be right back.”

She returned with a bottle of hotel lotion — presidential suite quality — that she had left submerged in a sink full of hot water. With the exception of his groin and butt, she lotioned him with the warm cream from toes to neck, rubbing it in with the effect of a massage. Afterwards, she helped him back into the silk robe.

“Wonderful, milady, wondrous. Oh how I needed that, and I didn’t even realize it. What a pleasure that was; about as close to intimacy as I can get these days.”

“We still have 75 minutes left. Why don’t you continue resting before you have to pack up and go? I figure we can talk until the last half hour, then get you dressed and ready to go.”

Mr. Brisbane nodded. “That sounds like a good plan. Why don’t we get back to the nightmare you said you were living? Were you talking about not being as physically feminine as you wanted?”

Bambi sighed. “That’s not the nightmare. It’s the situation I’m living in; I’m trapped into this job, this lifestyle, and I can’t break free. I feel trapped, like I’m suffocating. One of my coworkers says she’s worried I’ll commit suicide … and she may be right.”

“Bambi — have you actually been considering ending your life?”

She looked straight into his eyes with a piercing blue gaze. “Grant. Haven’t you ever considered it?”

“Why, I …” his words stopped in his throat. He considered his thoughts from yesterday afternoon: There’s always booze. Or a bullet.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes I have. But I no longer feel that way — not after being able to open up to you.”

She shook her head. “After we leave, I’ll go back to the 400 square foot room I rent from Fish, and do more tricks. And have nothing to show for it. I had been trying to squirrel away some savings under my mattress, but when I checked yesterday, it’s all gone. Everyone there swears they knew nothing of it. Any money I make, Fish skims the rent, my hormone costs, and my share of the food and utilities from it. At least that’s what he says; I’ve never seen a sheet showing how much I made and how much I owe. He’ll hand me a couple of twenties every other week, and claim that’s all I have left after bills.

“I’d leave, but I don’t have any money to do that. I have no friends, not even with the other escorts; we see each other as competition. Who’s going to take in a poorly passing tranny whore they don’t know? And I wouldn’t be accepted back home, I’m pretty sure. I just can’t see a way out … except maybe the final way.”

“Bambi — how did you come to be in this situation?”

She was crying once more. “Can — can we change the subject please?”

“All right. How about your name: ‘Bambi’. Surely that’s just your working moniker. What is your legal name?”

“My legal name is still David … David Johnson,” she said with a mix of contempt and despair. “My true name was to be Aubrey, but I don’t have the cash to get it changed. And everyone where I work always calls me Bambi. Fish christened me with that. God, how I’ve grown weary of that name. It makes me sound like a bimbo — ‘Bambi the bimbo’. But I live at work, and only interact with others from the agency, so I’m stuck with it for now.

“I’m changing for the worse. Did you know I used to play the viola, and loved classical music, fusion jazz, Shakespeare and musicals? The past two years all I’ve been exposed to is hip-hop and the Kardashians, with liberal doses of Jerry Springer. I used to speak with intelligence and refinement; now I’m deteriorating to ‘Hey, buddy, ya wanna get sucked or pulled, or poke my butt?’ Maybe it would be worth it, if I was any closer to paying for transition, but I’m further away it seems.” She groaned and covered her face with her palms. “I thought you were going to change the subject. Tell me what you want to do. Now that you’re divorced, are you wanting to transition?”

He shook his head. “No. I do have things I like about being male; I just would like to express my female side at times. Even if I felt compelled to transition, there’s no way my heart could even tolerate hormone therapy, much less a major surgery — unless the surgery was to get a heart transplant.”

She dabbed her eyes. “Well, transition is never a piece of cake; in my case, it’s been a piece of moldy bread. I did it because I had to. My mistake was in how I chose to pursue it. Dammit! We’re back to me again. Why do I keep doing that?”

“Because you needed someone away from work to talk to, Aubrey.”

She picked up her head. “Say that again, please?”

“Because you nee —”

“No — the name.”

“Aubrey. Hello, Aubrey. It’s a pleasure to say that name; a beautiful, haunting song by the 70’s group Bread, if I recall.”

“Really?” She began to choke up. “I want to be Aubrey so badly.”

“You have a beautiful name, Aubrey. Almost as beautiful as your soul, and your smile. You’re beautiful, Aubrey — no matter what you think about your looks. My ex-wife is proof that exterior beauty doesn’t necessarily count for anything. I’d take your soul, your smile, your tenderness, and your caring heart — yes, I would take them any day over some gorgeous body. You are wonderful and beautiful, and don’t you ever forget that … Aubrey.”

Aubrey didn’t respond. She was too busy baptizing Grant’s robe with more tears and the last hints of her mascara. They held on to each other as if for dear life.

~o~O~o~

Aubrey sat in the back of Grant’s limousine, with Jace at the wheel, driving. She had changed into a white T-shirt with “I (heart) Vegas” writing, a denim jacket and skirt set with pink highlights, pink tights, and her everyday pink and white tennis shoes.

“You really didn’t have to do this, Grant. I was prepared to have a cab take me back to Fish and Mamie’s place. But it’ll be so cool to be dropped off there by a stretch limo. All the girls will be jealous.”

Grant looked out the window. He responded as if he hadn’t heard her. “Do you really wish you could leave from there?”

“Oh God, yes. But like I said, I have nowh —”

“How desperate is your desire to leave? Enough to work harder than you have ever worked before? Enough to give up prostitution and porn?”

“Yes … what are you talking about?”

“If you want, I can give you a fresh start. I can get you out of there.”

“Grant … are you asking me to … move in with you??” Aubrey was numb.

“No, Aubrey. Not that. You’d be living alone; but with a new start. Just a start; you’d have to take control of your life and make it work after the first three months. But I need to know, do you really want it? I will not throw money at you for you to waste it. Do not misunderstand me: I meant everything I said about your soul and inner beauty. But to make this work for you, it will take more than beauty. You will need courage, persistence, blood, sweat, and tears. If I make this investment in you, will you be willing to do that?”

Aubrey remained stunned. But she knew opportunity — and maybe her salvation — was presenting itself, and unless she acted, it would be gone.

“Yes, Grant. Please give me a new start. I will succeed with it, or die trying.”

The lawyer looked up at his driver’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “Jace?”

“Yes sir, Mr. Brisbane. I heard. We’ll do as we planned.”

The limo stopped at the two-story building in a run-down part of town.

“This is the place?” Jace yelled.

“Yes. Wh — what do I need to do?” stammered Aubrey.

Grant spoke with hushed speed. “Go inside to your room, and take this box and these trash bags with you. Put all of your essentials and regular clothes in them, and come back out to the limousine. Just do that, and we will be on our way.”

“Fish won’t allow me to leave with anything. I know him.”

“Jace will take care of Mr. Morgenstern. You just be fast about getting packed and back here. Go quickly, or the element of surprise will be lost.”

Aubrey ran in to whoops of approval by two escorts sitting downstairs. She waved to them but kept moving, up the stairs past the phone bank where Fish sat. He looked up and yelled after her.

“Hey, Bambs! Get your fuckin’ ass back down here! I need your tip money to pay for all the food you eat here, Miss Piggy!”

He heard the sound of drawers opening and closing, and hangars being taken out of a closet. “Ah, sounds like our ugly duckling is tryin’ to run.” He glanced out and noticed the limo was still parked outside. “Don’t tell me that whale fell for her! What, is the world going psycho? Well, I think she — or sugar daddy — owes me some ‘severance pay’.” He opened the drawer where he kept his pistol.

“I’ll bet there’s a gun in that drawer,” said a growling voice. “Mine’s bigger.” Jace stood at Fish’s desk, pulling back his coat lapel to display his Magnum hand cannon.

Fish swallowed hard, and bristled at the same time. “She owes me money!”

“I doubt it.”

“You know, fucker, if you shoot me in my place with that, you’re going to jail.”

“Correction. If I shoot you in your place with this, you’re going to die.”

“I’ve already got my hand on my piece. I bet I could plug you before you get yours out of the shoulder holster, you fuckin’ fucker.”

“You need to expand your vocabulary, pea-brain. And as for who will win a quick draw? Who knows? You might. I might. But seeing as this is a .44 Magnum — one of the most powerful handguns ever made, and could blow your head clean off — you’ve got to ask yourself one question: do I feel lucky? Well? Do you, punk?”

Fish looked at Jace as if he’d gone completely loony. But he let go of his pistol and closed the drawer up.

Aubrey came back down the stairs holding on to a box and two large trash bags. “Got what I needed, Jace. I’m ready to go.” She ran out the door to the limo.

“The fuckin’ … bitch … owes … me … money!” Fish howled in protest.

Jace reached in his pocket and threw four $100 dollar bills at Fish. “Will that cover it?”

Fish sniffed. “Naw. Double it.”

Suddenly he was nose to nose with the barrel of Jace’s Magnum. “I can add .44 if you want.”

“This’ll do fine,” said Fish in a quivery, meek voice.

Jace hopped in the limo just as Aubrey finished shoving her moped in the back. The black stretch car briskly took off and headed out of town.

Aubrey was shaking and leaking a few tears, but smiling. “Thank you, Grant, thank you. Thank you so much.” Then yelling to the driver, “Thank you, Jace.”

“WOOOO!” Jace screamed, causing his female passenger to jump. “The Dirty Harry speech! I’ve always wanted to use that!”

~o~O~o~

The limo raced down highway 93, passing signs indicating a tourist/historical site ahead.

Aubrey sat up. “Hey! We’ll be passing beside that?”

“Yes. We’re going to my estate in Flagstaff, and this way takes us by Hoover Dam,” said Grant.

“I’ve never seen it, and I’ve lived in Vegas for two years! Can we stop there and look around just for a second, please?”

“Jace …”

“We’ll take the exit, sir,” grumbled the chauffeur. “We shouldn’t dawdle there too long, Boss.”

When they parked, Aubrey jumped out of the limousine and ran to the lookout areas. She liked the massive Lake Mead, but she really fawned over the grandeur of the views over the Black Canyon. As she drank in the beauty, she felt as she might as well be drinking soul ambrosia. These beautiful vistas — I can’t remember ever being this exhilarated. Even today’s wispy vapors in the stratosphere beam with a majesty I’ve rarely beheld.

She stopped with amazement at her thoughts. My - my sophisticated, poetic voice! Lord, it’s been so long since I’ve thought that way — it’s like I’m finding my true self again!

It’s all due to my liberation — my rescue from the hell I fell into back in Vegas. Lord in heaven, I feel so vibrant — so vitally alive!

She felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned around to see a fidgety Jace.

“Sorry, Miss Aubrey, but we really need toOOOULPH,” he heaved as she jumped into his chest and hugged him tight. She kissed him on the cheek and ran back to hop into the limo.

“When the hell did she decide that I was huggable instead of intimidating? I must be losing my touch, dammit,” Jace grumbled and scratched his curly head as he loped back to the vehicle.

When the giddy young trans-girl climbed in the door of the elongated Lincoln, she fully intended to give Grant an equally vigorous squeeze, hug and kiss. But her mood sobered instantly when she saw him lying down on the seat, wearing his oxygen tube attached to another tank; she heard a faint hiss, and knew it was turned on. He was talking on his cell phone.

“Yes, Carlotta. I realize I’ve given you special projects before. I think this one will put even your considerable skills to the test. But it’s quite important to me. So, are you available and willing?”

Aubrey sat on the floor in front of Grant’s seat and stroked his arm. He turned his eyes her direction and gave her a wink as he continued his conversation.

“Yes, dear. I know you’re not exactly Henry Higgins, but she’s not Eliza Doolittle either. She likes Shakespeare, and plays the viola. She just made a bad choice two years ago, and needs a little help. Well, yes, maybe more than a little.”

A psychic lightning bolt hit Aubrey’s chest as she realized that she was the “special project” Grant was giving to this Carlotta person.

“Wonderful, darling. Get to work, and Jace will call you with the flight arrival time.” He hung up the phone and turned his eyes to his young charge. If he was expecting gratitude, he was sorely mistaken.

The blonde girl’s eyes were wide with shock and fear. “What the hell is this?” she whispered in new desperation while edging away from the reclining man. Her query was clarified in a near-scream. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU PLANNING TO DO TO ME?”

She grabbed for the rear door handle of the limo only to have it open just as her fingers swiped for it. A hulking presence filled the doorway, and a mustachioed face framed by curly ringlets poked in. “Boss? Aubrey? What’s the yelling —”

Jace gave an almost inaudible grunt as a pink sole struck his groin. Aubrey tried to use full advantage of her surprise kick by squeezing by him in an attempt to escape, but the bodyguard’s mass still blocked her way. She landed a punch into the big man’s jaw and threw her shoulders and head into his chest. For all of her moxie, she might as well have tried to push through a cinderblock wall.

Big paws grabbed her shoulders and shoved her back into the rear limo seat. “You hit like a girl,” Jace grumbled. “Nice nut shot, though. Someone wanna tell me what the crap is going on?”

Both men looked at Aubrey. She was trembling as she shrunk back from them, her hands pressed together covering her nose and mouth. Her tear-laden eyes darted to and fro, as if looking for better shelter than under her knitted brow.

“Oh, my goodness — I’m afraid this is my fault. Aubrey, dear, please don’t be afraid. Everything you just heard is something I was hoping to set up to help you, not ‘planning to do’ to you. And you will not be forced to do any of it — you may opt in or out freely. Please allow me to explain.”

Grant continued to lie on the side bench, but had a look of genuine concern and regret to accompany his soothing voice. Jace, hunching in the doorway, looked befuddled still. Aubrey took deep breaths, gradually realizing that she may have misinterpreted her benefactor’s intentions.

“Okay … I’ll listen. But first: Grant … are you all right, or are you starting to have another ‘bad spell’ with your heart?”

“I’m just fine, madam. The oxygen and reclining are more to help prevent a potential spell than in reaction to one. I do this when I’m still, such as riding in the car or listening to Beethoven at home.” The tired gentleman’s face twinkled with a fresh smile. “See, Jace? Even when scared to death, one of her first concerns is another’s welfare. I knew she would prove well worth the effort.”

“The effort to do what?” said the young woman dabbing her eyes with a tissue. Her emotions were awhirl, and alarm bells were ringing in her head. She felt on one hand that she could trust these men; on the other hand, she remembered feeling the same about Fish when she first met him two years prior.

*To be continued tomorrow*

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any situation or person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Thanks to Cassie Nicol for a first read!

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and painfully pluck one of your eyebrow hairs!

Thanks for reading ... **Sigh**

"Fish! God, no! Not that, not again! Please don't! What will your wife think?"
"Hell, Honey. I'm filming this. This gets my own rocks off," laughed Mamie.

Aubrey tried in vain to mash out some of the worst lumps in her old mattress. She heard a familiar clomping sound coming up the stairs; she rushed to lock the door. Futile. There was sound of a key on the other side unlocking it again. Fish opened the door and walked in with his greasy leer. “I own the place, remember? I got keys for every door in here, ‘specially yours, Bambs.”

“What’s up, boss,” Bambi nervously asked. Wait! Wasn’t she Aubrey now?

“That whale was mad, mad, mad. He said you refused to lay him!”

“B — boss, he had a bad heart! He said he couldn’t have sex!”

“Are you lubed up, Bambs?”

“Oh no, Fish. Please. Please don’t. If he wants, I’ll let him screw me now. Where is he?”

“Sounds like I need to give you another one of my personal lessons on how to properly fuck a john. Today’s lesson: always be lubed. If not, it feels like this. TURN AROUND, AND BEND OVER.”

“Fish! God, no! Not that, not again! Please don’t! What will your wife think?”

“Hell, Honey. I’m filming this. This gets my own rocks off,” laughed Mamie with her smartphone aimed at Bambi’s butt.

She tried to struggle but her arms were made of lead. Fish shoved her by the shoulder blades into a bent over position. Bambi could see out the window, and there was Francine, with some rich movie star in a Lamborghini. As they drove by, she heard Francine say, “my roomie was such a loser”. Then suddenly she felt a hairy hand pull her panties down.

“FishfishfishfishnononononoNONONOAAAAAAHH!

Aubrey jerked awake.

Her face bloomed bright red even through her makeup as she realized many of her co-passengers were staring at her. The flight attendant walked up.

“Are you okay, ma’am?”

“Bad dream. Sorry. Um … what exactly did people hear me saying?”

The concerned old man sitting next to her smiled. “It sounded like someone was trying to force you to eat fish, and you didn’t want to.”

“That’s actually a fairly close interpretation of my dream,” she laughed nervously.

“It’s good for you, you know. What don’t you like about fish?”

“The smell. He — ah, it … stinks.”

What a whirlwind of a day. Her ride in Grant’s limo had ended at the Flagstaff airport, where a last minute ticket for a flight to Phoenix had been purchased. Two cheap zip up bags were bought along the way, and all of her essentials were placed in them. Jace had indicated that the moped would be shipped to her new temporary address there. Twenty-eight hours ago she had been in her dumpy room contemplating the possibility of suicide. So much had happened since. Aubrey closed her eyes, but did not want to return to her nightmare. Instead, she recalled how life had started to go wrong.

As a teenager named David Johnson, desperation and frustration seemed to build daily. With every deepening vocal tone, every new whisker popping up on his face, he was becoming something he didn’t want to be: a man. A big, husky, manly man. At least in body. His parents loved and supported him fantastically in every way, except for the desire that he needed to be a girl. And that desire, blocked and countermanded, made him more miserable each day.

The religious “counselor” kept refusing to write him a recommendation or even a referral to get hormones, and his parents wouldn’t send him to anyone else. “Just wait — you’re going to love being a man. That testosterone will kick in, and those girls will start to look irresistible. Then you’ll look back and be so glad you didn’t follow this childish whim. Lots of kids experiment with gender and grow out of it; you will too, just give it time.” Like a good boy, he obeyed and gave it time. And the advice betrayed him.

He met Frank — whose femme name was “Francine” — online in a support group chat room. She was in the same position, and lived in Boise just like him! They were the same age — 16 — and went to different high schools. They hit it off and became friends, finally meeting in front of the JC Penney’s entrance at the mall. David was sure that God must have been involved in them finding each other.

The plan they came up with was to leave just after graduation and go to a big city. To find doctors, get on hormones, and transition. They were a team. They could do this, together. They chose Las Vegas.

It went as they had hoped for the first 6 months. Both had jobs in the food service industry; both took on second jobs, David (now calling herself Aubrey) delivering pizzas, Francine delivering papers. The hormones started to work. Francine’s body seemed to soak them up and she became gorgeous in short order. She applied for and got a job in a drag show on the strip; it was there that she met her boyfriend. She moved in with him without telling Aubrey, who found herself now responsible for all the rent and bills of their lease. The sudden burden was so great that she had no more money to pay for hormones or doctor visits.

Frustrated, she decided to get money the quick way: prostitution. She was introduced to Levi by a street hooker. His offer sounded like a fair deal. She’d live upstairs in a room in his house; he would take care of building up her bank account. She figured 2-3 years tops, and she’d have the money for SRS and new breasts, then get a real job — as a woman.

She sighed as she looked at the night sky from the plane window. Levi had seemed like a stand up guy — until she took the deal. Then she found that her bank account never got over $200 total, there were lots of “hidden” fees, and sleeping with strangers — god, what soul draining work. Levi did send her to his plastic surgeon, but it seemed that even with surgery Aubrey — now “Bambi” — would never be a beauty. Levi — now known as “Fish” — did pay for a quick breast enhancement; but it was a bad piece of work, leaving her with unnatural, alien baseballs that protruded strangely from her manly chest.

And there were Fish’s occasional “lessons”. He said they were for instruction, but Bambi knew they were just his sick abuses inflicted on a trapped transgirl.

Aubrey realized she was weeping. The poor old man next to her was going to think she was traumatizing over tilapia if she didn’t start thinking happy thoughts. Picking up the airline magazine in front of her, she ended her sad remembrances with one caution: her bad choices, and trusting the wrong people, had ruined her life. She hoped beyond hope that she wasn’t now making those same mistakes again.

~o~O~o~

Disembarking from the plane, she walked through the terminal and down to the luggage area. Going down the escalator, she saw a short, middle-aged woman in a pinstriped power blazer and skirt with high black pumps waiting at the exit. In her hands, she held a small sign that spelled “Aubrey from Las Vegas”.

She walked up to the woman. “Carlotta?”

Carlotta smiled. “Aubrey! How so very nice to meet you. Come along, dear; did you check a bag?”

“No, I don’t have much — just these carry ons.”

“Excellent. Follow me.” Carlotta began walking towards the parking garage. “How was your flight?”

“Smooth.” Except for the bumpy turbulence of my memories, she added silently. “Uh, where are we going — and exactly what are we doing?”

“All will be explained, dear, but it’s going to take some time. It’s nearly midnight, and I don’t know about you, but I’m about to turn into a pumpkin. That’s why I’m dropping you off at the Hyatt for tonight. Get some good sleep and meet me for a late breakfast at 10 am in the lobby restaurant, the Terrace Café. Then we’ll figure out the next 3 months. Is that acceptable for you?”

“It sounds fabulous! Wow — last night the Venetian, tonight the Hyatt! I could get used to this treatment!”

“Enjoy it fully, but don’t get ‘used’ to it,” said the older woman with a wry look. “For this next chapter in your life to be a success, you’ll likely need to work harder than you ever have before.” With that, she turned on the car stereo, and a playlist of fusion jazz began to trickle through the speakers. “I’m not a huge fan of this music, but I know you are. Realize that successful people are great listeners. Mr. Brisbane heard you mention that you loved this style, and asked that I procure some for your enjoyment on the drive.”

Aubrey was impressed. She had only mentioned the jazz in the middle of a grand emotive statement. Grant didn’t miss a thing. Successful people are great listeners. She wrote that fact down in her mental tablet.

~o~O~o~

8:30 am. Aubrey viewed the clock wishing that she could stop time for a full day — this bed was so glorious. At least another hour in it couldn’t hurt. She could do a rush job and still not get to breakfast too much after ten —

She sat bolt upright. No. No more sloppy living. Time to prove to Grant that his investment in her — whatever the heck it consisted of — was not going to waste. She hopped out of bed and headed towards the shower.

At 9:54, Aubrey got off the elevator at the atrium level. As she passed by a mirror she checked out her outfit; a purple long sleeved shirt with butterflies outlined in rhinestones, hip hugger blue jeans with a gold belt with matching sandals. Walking into the restaurant, she saw a smiling Carlotta in a smart business outfit.

“Oh, no. I was hoping I wouldn’t keep you waiting —“

“You didn’t, sweetie. I just walked in myself.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have something more formal to wear. You dress so classy.”

“I can define ‘class’ in a number of ways. Nothing is classier than arriving on time,” she beamed. “It makes a great first impression.”

~o~O~o~

“So, you obviously have talked to Grant. How much do you know about me?” Aubrey took a bite of waffle.

“Everything he knows, plus a little more. I ‘googled’ yesterday to learn more about transgenderism, et cetera. By the way, you should call him Mr. Brisbane.”

“He told me to call him Grant …”

“That was when you were his date. Now he is your benefactor, and unless that status changes, out of respect you should address him formally. That’s my advice, by the way — not his demand.”

Carlotta sipped her hot tea. “Before we go further, I have some questions for you,” she said, pulling out a notepad computer.

Twenty minutes of interrogation later, Aubrey whistled. “Wow. That was thorough. I felt like I was being screened as if I were applying for the Secret Service.”

“Let’s see …” the businesswoman muttered as she moved some data around on her pad. “I’m going to sum up my impression of you. Be prepared, as much of the news is not good. But I’m sure you want me to be honest with you.”

“Just don’t be mean,” said a worried girl in a purple shirt.

“The truth may be mean, but I myself intend not to be,” Carlotta reassured.

“First, the raw data. You are a transgendered female. You have gone through male puberty and therefore have many male attributes physically. Hormones have been given to you, but not closely monitored by a physician. You’ve spent the last two years in prostitution, and during that time have suffered verbal and sexual abuse. You have had some love and cultural training in your life, but have abandoned both since high school to try to complete your physical transition to womanhood.”

“Now the bad. Little experience with budgeting, saving, and bank accounts; you deferred those tasks to others. Your views and experiences with romantic love and intimacy have been horribly warped by your sex work and the abuse. No marketable skills; your dream was to become a concert violist, and that died when you ‘ran away’ from home. By my BMI calculations, you’re overweight by probably 35 pounds. You are ‘read’ as a male rather easily. The breast augmentation … well, it did you no favors, I agree. Likely clinically depressed, and have been suicidal. You’ve burned all your bridges with your loved ones and friends, in your view. So, in short, you are in dire straits, sister.”

Aubrey had the fine cloth napkin to her eyes as she silently nodded her head. Carlotta paused to let her young charge finish crying.

Finally the young transgirl looked up. “I’m hopeless, aren’t I?”

“I saved the best for last, dear.” The older woman gave an empathetic look and squeezed Aubrey’s shaking hand. “Here’s what you have going for you. You have a knack for caring for people, and possess a gentle touch. Yes, Mr. Brisbane told me about how you ministered to him with hot cloths. You have courage to stand up for what is right; I heard how you confronted Jace to allow you to stay and be with Mr. B. Although you’ve been around cultural crudeness the last 24 months, there is still the spark of a refined soul in you, one who wants to engage her mind before her mouth, who is meek and humble. That’s what I see in you worth salvaging, and developing.”

“In ninety days?” Aubrey was skeptical.

“As I have told you, you’ll have to work harder than you ever have. But yes. I believe it can be done.”

~o~O~o~

Carlotta dropped off Aubrey at an apartment complex.

“You’ll be in unit 1213. Go into the office and introduce yourself, dear. When you show them ID, they’ll give you the key.”

“That may be a problem. Legally, I’m still — ”

“David Johnson. Yes, I know, dear. And so do they. I’ve been assured by the management that they will be respectful of your transitioning status. You do have your male ID, don’t you?”

Aubrey nodded her head, her mouth agape. This woman knows — and has thought of — everything!

“Wow, Carlotta. Furniture? Electricity? Phone?”

“Yes, dear. Adequately furnished and power’s on. There is a prepaid cell phone in there — use your minutes wisely. You also have a computer, internet access and a stereo — but no television.”

“Huh? Why?”

“All will be explained, child. Please count your blessings before you complain about it, though. I shall return tonight at 7, and then I will answer the mysteries of your new universe. I’ll bring supper, too. See you then,” as she took off in her BMW.

~o~O~o~

The two women ate a supper of romaine salad with chicken breast and raspberry vinaigrette dressing.

“This stuff tastes great, Carlotta!”

“Thank you. I know it’s not the most filling of meals, but we both need to be mindful of our figures, dear.”

“I just wish I had a figure.”

“Hmm. You never know; some eventual weight loss might disclose the semblance of curves on you. So, is this apartment sufficient? It’s just a small one-bedroom, but it should be livable.”

“You should have seen where I was living before. This is definitely an upgrade.”

“One skill that we may need to work on is eating gently with good manners rather than inhaling the meal.” Aubrey flushed with embarrassment to see that her plate was cleaned while her dinner companion was barely half way through her food.

Carlotta wiped her mouth after her eventual last bite. She then put her plate aside and placed a stack of forms and papers on the table. Her eyes suddenly took on a serious tone as she looked intently at Aubrey.

“All right. I’ve had the afternoon to work on searching out resources for you. Let’s call this project Fresh Start 2.0.

“First: Employable skill. Your care of Mr. Brisbane on Valentine’s Day shows an aptitude for handling frail, sickly bodies. In his opinion — and mine — you would make a fantastic personal care attendant, also known as a nurses’ aide or home health care aide. It is a job that will make you some basic money, as well as give you a foundation for continuing an education towards nursing if you so desire. There is a nurses’ aide training program here, and it just happens to be twelve weeks long. Classes begin Monday. Here’s the application form and information packet. I called, and they do have an opening for another trainee. If you apply and are accepted, Mr. B. will pay your tuition.

“Second: Money savvy. You may have heard of a “Financial Peace University” course that is being taught once a week at many churches and civic centers. They will talk about budgeting, basic money habits, and progress to investing. Classes are once a week. There’s one starting in two weeks at the nearby city library branch.” She passed a flyer to Aubrey. “Again, your fee will be covered.

“Third: Exercise. Taking care of your body is part of being successful. There is a park with lit walking/jogging trails just next to the complex. You should start with walking, at least 20 minutes a day. I have a handout here on how to safely begin a physical activity regimen. Please read it tonight.

“Fourth: Medical Care. I have you set up with appointments with an endocrinologist and a general internal medicine specialist for this week. Tomorrow you start your first session with a gender therapist, 10 am. You’ll need all of these if you are to have a successful transition.

“Fifth: Recovery from abuse, and sexual addiction.”

Aubrey’s neck bristled. “Sex addiction? I did sex as a job, not out of pleasure. I wasn’t a nymphomaniac.”

“Can you say that your experiences with sex have set you up for a healthy, romantic sexual relationship whenever you do meet that ‘special someone’?”

The young blonde sighed. “No.”

“Two groups: SARP — Sexual Abuse Recovery Program, and Sexaholics Anonymous. There are meetings of both, multiple times a week; usually in the evenings. I will require you attend one of each weekly.

“Sixth: Cooking. You told me you only know how to make pop tarts and hot dogs. You must expand your skills in this, or losing weight — and keeping on a budget — will be impossible. I’ve stocked your refrigerator with food to tide you through this week, but on Saturdays I will personally come over and we will focus on preparing meals that you can refrigerate, then grab and reheat throughout the week. This will be in addition to our thrice-weekly face to face meetings and daily phone contact regarding how things are going with this whole program.

“Seventh — ”

“Seventh?! How many more points to this project are there?” Aubrey held her spinning head.

“This is the last one, dear,” Carlotta said with a slight grin. “R and R. Rest and Relaxation. Do try to get at least 8 hours of sleep nightly. And you may use the Internet to watch an occasional Hulu program, or play a game or two. You’ll need the ‘net to complete your nurse aide training, anyway. No TV set or cable, though; in my view, that tends to cause insomnia and waste time. Doing without the boob tube for three months shouldn’t kill you. If you find yourself bored, you may listen to the stereo, radio, or play the viola that I tucked away in your coat closet.”

“There’s a viola in the coat closet?!”

“I thought that would bring a smile to you … and I can see it has. I found it at a pawnshop yesterday after Mr. Brisbane first called me. It’s not in the best shape, and it may need new strings, but it should be playable.

“And that, Ms. Johnson, is your proposed life for the next three months.”

Aubrey was without words. Her brain was trying to process the huge agenda laid before her. Finally questions started to form in her head, and she allowed them escape through her mouth.

“I’ll need clothes … and gas money for my scooter … I have no cash on me.”

“Oh! I knew I forgot some details. You will have an allowance to be able to buy the needed scrubs and school attire, as well as food, gas, et cetera. It won’t be a huge amount, ergo the need to know how to budget. I’ll help you get an initial budget down tonight until you learn how to do your own.”

“Carlotta … you said my ‘proposed’ life? What does that mean?”

The older woman folded her hands. “It means that this plan is voluntary, Aubrey. You will not be forced to follow it; frankly, you can walk away from it all now. The apartment has been leased on a month-to-month basis, so you could refuse this offer and still have the place to live in for the next few weeks, and you have all the food in the ‘fridge. But Mr. B. and I would not give you additional funding. The rest of your future would be in your hands. If you agree to the plan though, you get all the benefits. But you would be required to do all of the seven points I outlined to continue to get them.”

“Understood. Why is he doing this for me? Why are you?”

“Honey … I get paid for this. I am a life coach, among other things. You aren’t the first ‘project’ that he’s had me assigned to. See, Mr. B. is a rich man, and a very charitable one. He loves giving money to help people — but he wants to make sure he’s truly making a difference. That’s why he doesn’t donate to any but the most effective charities, the ones who operate with integrity and can show that they really are producing results.

“You, my girl, are someone who needed help that no available organization could provide. So when he learned of your predicament, he decided to do your rescuing personally. He only does something like this when no other help is available, and when he thinks the person he’s investing in will not just take the money and use it to buy drugs, or alcohol, or a big screen TV. He obviously saw something in you that said you were worth the risk.”

What the hell did he see in me? I’m a living screw-up, thought Aubrey. “Carlotta, do you see something in me worth saving?”

“Absolutely, my dear. The first sign of it was you showing up to our breakfast meeting on time — a few minutes early, even.”

“Okay … this is going to take a lot of money. How much is this costing Gra- uh, Mr. Brisbane?”

“The three month total, including my substantial fee, will be somewhere around twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND!” Aubrey stood up so rapidly from the table that it knocked her chair over. “Twenty-five thousand …” She covered her face with her hands and ran to the bedroom.

“Hm?” Carlotta had not expected this exact reaction. She rose and straightened her skirt, then followed her protégé’s path.

Aubrey was on her knees in front of the furnished queen bed. Her face lay weeping on top of her crossed arms so as not to drip mascara directly onto the comforter. A visible tremor encompassed her whole body, even making her sobs quiver.

Carlotta gently knelt by the girl and stroked her back lightly with her hand. Aubrey felt her presence, but was not consoled.

“Twenty-five…! There’s … there’s no way I can even begin to pay him back! Not while he’s still alive! ‘Cause he said he’s only got (sob) months until his heart …” She continued to weep face down.

The businesswoman smiled and felt her own eyes moistening. Grant’s instincts about this one had been spot on; her soul was indeed golden. “He’s not expecting a monetary return, honey,” she whispered. “You, living a good successful life — saving yourself, in other words — will be his reward, whether he sees it in person or from heaven’s grandstands.”

“I’m scared, Carlotta. I’m scared I’ll fail — fail myself, and him. There’s so much to do. I’m overwhelmed.”

“There is quite a lot to do, yes. A daunting task. But you will not be alone; I’ll be with you every step of the way. My phone will be on 24/7 if you need to talk urgently, and you’ll be seeing me often. And I am encouraged that you’re scared to fail.”

“You are?”

“So long as it doesn’t paralyze you from attempting to succeed, that fear can be a tool. We will use it to spur you on, to keep trying even when you don’t feel like it.” She then squeezed the trans-girl in a full embrace.

Aubrey was still trembling, but was fully aware of the grace of her situation. And on top of it, Carlotta had referred to her as a female throughout — unconditional acceptance into the sorority of womanhood. She could not refuse this offer.

“Okay. I’m all in. Just hold me a minute more, please?”

“Of course.”

The young one cleared her throat. “Louie,” she said in a low drawl.

Carlotta raised an eyebrow. “Louie …?”

“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Aubrey stated in a faux Bogart impression.

*To be continued tomorrow*

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual situation or person is purely coincidental.

Thanks to Cassie Nicol for a first look!

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and drop an ice cube down the front of your blouse!

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

The nurse took the CNA’s hand. “It’s basically a big, strong magnet,” she said. “It will stop the defibrillator from shocking him and restarting his heart.”
Aubrey felt her chest grow numb, and her arms and legs suddenly chilled. “Why the hell does he need something like that?” she whispered almost inaudibly.

(Author's note: Chapter 3 was posted last night near midnight. I'm posting Chapter 4 now, about 5pm. Be sure you've read chapter 3 first; because when I post this one [Chap. 4] then Chap. 3 will disappear from the front page. Sorry for any confusion! **Sigh**)

Wow. I’m far from the biggest built girl here — and I wasn’t even born a girl.

Aubrey looked around the room. She and the others were waiting to be introduced to their course administrator. All of them were there to become CNA’s, certified nurse’s aides. Two of the others present were male, but the other thirty or so were female. They were women of all sizes, but the majority (it seemed) were tall and big framed. Not illogical, since much of the work they were applying for would involve lifting and turning other human beings. Some of the patients were bound to be big and heavy, so the work might come easier for a “Helga” than a “Twiggy”. Still, it relieved Aubrey to see that she might actually pass for a woman a little easier than expected in this crowd.

One of Grant’s unexpected gifts to her was her impending official name change to Aubrey Johnson. She’d still be listed as male until she got approval from her therapy, but at least she could use her female name and not be accused of misrepresenting herself. He had called in a favor owed by one of his lawyer friends, and the papers were expected within weeks. In time for her CNA certificate to read “Aubrey”.

In walked an older lady with an authoritative air. “Hello, students. My name is Mrs. Stoltz.”

~o~O~o~

“Hello. My name is Sharon, and I am a compulsive sex addict.”

It was a statement that would have sounded comical to Aubrey even a week ago. She was listening to the meeting leader at the SA — “Sexaholics Anonymous” — gathering. This was the one part of her three-month project that she felt was humiliating and unnecessary. At least, she felt that way until last night.

Cloud nine. That’s how high Aubrey’s spirits were on a date with Mike, one of the two men in her CNA class. His invitation to go for a coffee after training that day was unexpected and flattering; as far as she knew, he was unaware of her “trans” status. Their time together was perfect, until he drove her home and said he wanted to get to know her better.

Why had she taken that as a cue that he wanted sex? Before she knew it, she was going down on him in the car. She could still see his face afterwards — more embarrassed awkwardness than enjoyment. “Wow … I really wasn’t expecting that,” was all he said. No “thanks,” or “that was great,” or “when can I see you again.” Not even a goodbye. He just drove off slowly as she ran red-faced to her apartment door.

Once inside, she reviewed what happened. She realized with disdain that during their date she’d been fantasizing more about his possible penis size than his engaging personality. I guess I really am screwed up when it comes to sex. So she looked through Carlotta’s handouts and found the one for SA.

After the meeting adjourned, Aubrey approached Sharon. “Out of all the folks who spoke tonight, you’re the one whose past I identify with the most — and whose present I want to have in my future. How do I get what you’ve got, and can you help me get it?”

Sharon sighed. “I don’t know that I have time to ‘sponsor’ another person in our program right now —” Then she saw the pleading earnestness, the desperate need in Aubrey’s eyes. She could not turn away someone who was so willing to fight to get better. “Okay, kid. Here’s my phone number. Buy the two big books on the table, and call me tonight with a pen and paper at the ready. I’ll hold out 9 to 9:30 for you; ring me promptly at 9.” We’ll find out how serious she is; let’s see if she can follow that basic instruction.

Aubrey didn’t disappoint.

~o~O~o~

Two women, one middle-aged and one young transitioning girl, sat at a Starbucks.

“Well, my little sponsee. You’ve made quite a lot of progress in working through the assignments I’ve given you. Journalling, reading, phone calls, meeting attendance — I saw that you were serious about recovery from that first night we met. And now you have your 30 day abstinence button.”

“Thank you so much, Sharon. I’ve loved being your ‘sponsee’ — is that even a word? You’ve taught me so much. I was pretty relieved to hear that being “abstinent” doesn’t mean being a nun the rest of my life; just abstaining from casual sex. Do you think I’ve recovered enough that I can start accepting dates now?”

Sharon didn’t answer, but rather perked her head up with wide eyes. “Oh … my … god. That guy who just came in. What a hottie-hot! Behind you to your right, girlfriend.”

Aubrey turned discreetly. Yes indeed, that boy was a stud. His six pack could be seen through his tight t-shirt, and he had nice bulging arm muscles with just enough face stubble to look cute. Scratch that, smoking hot. I’ll bet he could go for hours in the sack. I wonder how big…

“Are you thinking about his penis about now, honey?” Sharon’s low voice broke up the young one’s fantasizing.

“Oh, God,” blushed Aubrey. “And I went there so quickly. I — I haven’t made a bit of progress, have I? Am I ever going to get beyond throwing myself at every guy who takes me out for a coffee?”

“Thirty days is a good start, but remember you had two years of loveless physical intimacy with hundreds of different partners. ‘Aubrey’ is surfacing, but you’ve still just barely stopped being ‘Bambi’. It’s going to take time, not to mention a lot more work, to stop thinking that way. But don’t worry — you’ve been very committed so far. Just don’t slack up, and I see you having healthy love in your life as a definite possibility for the future.”

“I hate my ‘Bambi’ persona. Being horny is not a huge problem yet, as I’ve been avoiding dating; my life is so full of other things at the moment,” said Aubrey, remembering all the things she yet had to do today to fulfill Carlotta’s requirements of her. “I’m a little worried of how I’m going to react when I do start dating again, though.”

Sharon nodded. “A relationship built on friendship that builds into commitment is then ready for sex, in my opinion — at least for addicts like us. But you have to care for and nurture the relationship carefully to bring it to that point. Kind of like caring for a plant. So that’s my gift to you for your 30 day point. A plant. Take care of the plant like you would a relationship, say for about 6 months. You keep this plant alive for that long, and I’ll know you have the discipline to do that with a loving relationship. As your sponsor, I’m requesting you remain abstinent and continue working this program full swing until you prove that, by showing this plant to me healthy and intact, in September.”

Okay. I can do six months of abstinence; she’s right, I’ve had enough cheap sex to cover a hundred lifetimes. And I’ve heard of sponsors giving their charges ivy plants for this purpose. An ivy plant shouldn’t be too hard to keep alive, right? I see those everywhere, Aubrey mused.

Then her jaw went slack as Sharon unboxed a small tree onto the table.

A bonsai tree.

“These suckers are super sensitive. Can’t overwater or underwater them, or they’ll die. Gotta get the right amount of sunlight. Feed, but don’t dare overfeed. Bonsais don’t usually do well in the dry Phoenix climate. This will be a challenge for you, girl. Let’s see how nurturing you really are.”

“You’re sadistic,” replied a narrow-eyed Aubrey.

“Don’cha know,” chortled Sharon.

~o~O~o~

Mrs. Stoltz made it a point to personally observe all of the CNA students in the program multiple times during their training. As usual, a few were bad apples; she tossed them from the basket within the first month. Most of the rest were competent, and a few were outstanding. One in particular seemed to rise above the rest: Aubrey Johnson.

That girl — well, transitioning girl; she was aware of Aubrey’s status — had everything a great aide needed, and more. She soaked up knowledge and instruction, and asked intelligent questions. If it was taught once, Aubrey had it down. Her technique with patients was flawless, and she had a natural way of putting them at ease — crucial, for someone who was going to see them naked. But Aubrey treated the elderly and infirm as real people with real feelings, not as old farts with body odor and bad memory. Patient Hastings wasn’t a crotchety oldster; he was a Korean War hero, and Purple Heart recipient. Aubrey treated and addressed him as such.

Patient Maya Gutierrez was demented to the point where she could not speak or even move her twisted, contracted limbs; yet Aubrey recognized her as a mother to eleven, grandmother to twenty, great-grandmother to thirty-seven. She even called Maya “Mi Mamacita” as she carefully washed her personal areas. The pattern was repeated with each patient, from the loveable to the spiteful. As a result, many patients were clamoring for this girl to be their main aide as soon as she graduated.

However, Mrs. Stoltz had another idea for her superstar pupil, if Aubrey was willing. And now, with one week until certificates, it was time to disclose it. That’s why the student was now sitting in her office at her personal request.

“Aubrey Johnson. An aide-in-training like you comes along only once every couple of years. You are a plum of a student … and you deserve a plum of a job.” She punched on her desk computer. “This is a position that has opened up for a full time, live-in aide. This request has been sent discreetly to only the top CNA employers in the state. They have not asked any of the training programs; I found out about the request through my friend who operates her agency here in Phoenix.

“They are looking for the whole package: Smart, caring, energetic, discreet, and trustworthy. That is you in a nutshell, student. Your lack of work experience is trumped by your other qualities, and I would be happy to vouch for that fact in a letter. To have one of our graduates working for one of the most prestigious lawyers in the state would be quite a feather in our cap.”

“Lawyer?” That word grabbed Aubrey’s attention.

“Oops; speaking of discrete, I think that bit of information was to be kept private, unless you applied for the job.”

“Does he by any chance live in Flagstaff?” she whispered, wide-eyed.

Mrs. Stoltz’s eyes narrowed. “Did you get wind of this offer already? How?”

“Oh, my God,” said Aubrey, hand covering her mouth. “Grant Brisbane!”

~o~O~o~

Carlotta Brando was concerned. “I don’t like it. If you want the job, just fax the application in. This ‘showing up at the door’ business is too brazen, if you ask me.”

“Think about it,” replied Aubrey. “Once they read my name on the application, they will throw it in the trash. They won’t read any further. This way, I get an audience with him — or at least with Jace.”

“Hm. I suppose. You’ll still need a lot of pluck to pull this off. And Jace can be quite intimidating.”

“Carlotta — can’t you come with me? It would help.”

“Conflict of interest, child. You indeed are my protégé, but he is my employer, at least where you’re concerned. No, I think this is your time to fly, baby eagle. I just worry you’ve chosen to fly into a mighty gale.”

Aubrey straightened her blouse and slacks. “How do I look?”

“You’re starting to show some curves,” Carlotta smiled. “Losing fifteen pounds has really helped. My, how far you’ve come in 3 short months. You’ve fulfilled every point of the project I’ve set before you. I’m so proud of you. If they say no to your proposal, you have multiple job offers waiting for you back here in Phoenix, and I’ll help you with turning the lease and utilities over to your name.”

“And my bonsai? I have to keep it healthy.”

“As soon as you call me that you’ve truly got the job, I’ll ship it to you overnight. I know an exotic plant nursery here who assured me they could accomplish that safely.”

“Thank you, Carlotta. You’ve been more than a mentor — you’ve been a true friend, the first one I’ve had since high school. Thank you for cheering me on.”

“Ah-ah, I’m your life coach, not cheerleader.”

“Okay, coach. How about a pep talk before I jump into the game?”

Carlotta came close and whispered some words into Aubrey’s ear. The young girl nodded her head vigorously. “Right. Great advice! Goodbye, my mentor/friend/coach! I love you!”

The businesswoman misted in her eyes as her disciple snapped on her helmet, hopped on her scooter and rode away. “Goodbye, my most rewarding pupil. Despite my attempts to remain purely professional, I love you too.” She rounded and walked toward her BMW. Stopping just short of the door, she turned back to look wistfully at Aubrey puttering into the distance. Her fists were clenched, and she was shaking.

“Oh, fiddlesticks. I can cheer if I want to. GIVE ‘EM HELL, AUBREY!”

~o~O~o~

A tall, walking brick of a man knocked on a bedroom door.

“Boss? It’s me, Jace. I’m coming in.”

The bodyguard walked over to his employer’s bed. The figure in it looked weak. He seemed to be weakening every day, except for an occasional good one. His wan face forced a smile. “How are you, my friend?”

“I’m fine. Jeez, boss, I’m supposed to be asking you that question. How’s the breathing? Any angina spells?”

“I’m having a so-so day, Jace. What brings you here right now?”

“Just letting you know I’ve narrowed down the applicants for the live-in aide. There are three outstanding candidates — and a fourth that sounds terrific, if I knew who she was. She wants to apply ‘in person’ with an interview, and her fax says she’ll be arriving at 3. That’s kind of a grandstand play, if you ask me. I plan to refuse her.”

“So — of the three remaining, have you chosen?”

“They all sound great. I think the clincher will be whoever can start soonest — like, today, even. We need someone here ASAP, especially since you nearly fell trying to just get in your wheelchair when I wasn’t around.”

“I trust your judgment, Jace. I’m going to go back to sleep, if I can.”

I wish I trusted my judgment as much as he does. He’s always been the expert at making decisions; I just carry them out, Jace thought as he trotted down the stairs. A ring at the door interrupted his mulling. Who’s that? We aren’t expecting anyone. It can’t be the applicant; it’s only 2 pm.

He opened the door to a young girl with a somewhat familiar face. “Hello, Jace. Can I come in?”

Jace’s furrowed brow finally relaxed in recognition. “Las Vegas! Lenor- no, BAMBI — wait, AUBREY! What the hell are you doin’ here? You look good!” Then he soured a little. “Wait. What the hell ARE you doin’ here?”

“I’m that applicant,” she said pointing to the fax he still grasped in his left hand.

“You? You’re the superstar aide that just graduated from Phoenix? Aw, hell.”

“What’s wrong?” Aubrey asked.

“Aubrey,” whined Jace, “Mr. B gave you a lot of money to turn things around. That was all he was gonna give you. If you’re here looking for more, you’re gonna be disappointed. The best thing you can do for him is to go make something of yourself. But not here. It’s against his policy. I know you and he had a ‘connection’ back in Vegas, but it’s over. I’m not going to let anyone take advantage of him — and there’s no way I can be sure that’s not what you’re here to do.”

“I understand, Jace, I really do. I expected this to be your response to me. Just please, read these, and then hear me out for five minutes. After that, if you want, you’ll never see me again.”

She handed some papers to Jace and he read over them. Sparkling letters of recommendation, multiple urine screens showing her free of illicit drugs, teacher evaluations littered with praise.

“Yeah. I believe you; this all sounds legit. But Aubrey, he was fond of you. And in his weakened state, he can be manipulated. So, the answer is no.”

“Read this; it’s a rider that I would demand added to the contract, should I be hired.”

Jace grumbled as he took the legal appearing form and scanned over it. Gradually his mouth went agape. “This says … that if you are employed by him, it would be on the condition that he never be allowed to give you any extra benefits or money, via bonuses, will, gifts, etc. etc.?”

“Right. So according to that, if I get — or even ask for — more money, or any favors, or anything that’s not outlined in the basic employment contract — it’s prohibited, and I’m fired.”

“It sounds like you’ve covered all the bases, but I dunno …”

“Jace. I need to be able to give something back to him, something more than just me living a good life. He’s dying, and I know how to take care of him — I’m one of the best there is. The best in my class, and according to my administrator, better than most working aides already out there. If you don’t like my work for any reason, fire me. You’ve got others you can replace me with. But he needs me, and I need to do this for him. And - I’m here ready to start right now. He saved my life. Let me make his more comfortable.”

Jace stared at her for an uncomfortable minute. “Let me talk with Mr. B,” he finally said, and headed up the stairs.

He came back down. “You’re hired, on a probationary basis. But I’ll be watching you. Let me show you to your quarters.”

“He’s agreed to let me be his CNA?” she squeaked with excitement.

“No, he’s still asleep. I’m hiring you. God help me if I’ve chosen wrong. God help you, too,” Jace muttered as he led her down the hall.

~o~O~o~

Grant Brisbane felt tired. And greasy. He was used to bathing every day, but it had been 48 hours since his in-bed bath by the visiting aide. This was one reason he wanted a live-in aide — daily bathing. Also helping with dressing, toileting … and maybe having someone nice to talk to. Jace was fine, but not the greatest conversationalist.

As he lay there with his eyes closed, he remembered his favorite “bath” ever. It was a hot washcloth washing from head to toe, administered by a transsexual named Bambi. Well, really Aubrey, but she was Bambi to him at that moment. If he concentrated enough, he could almost recall the hot moist towelettes wrapping around his feet, his ankles …

Goodness, my memory is really vivid today. It's almost as if I actually feel her bathing me again. Wait. That feels too real. It ... it IS real?

He opened his eyes. There was a blonde woman down at his feet, working his limbs in a familiar way with hot, steamy white washcloths.

“Madam? Are you my new aide?”

The blonde head turned, and he saw her face. “Hello, Mr. Brisbane. I remembered how much you liked this.”

“Aubrey! What … How?”

“I’m the aide that Jace hired. Top of my class, the best there is. And it’s all happened because of you, and your generous gift you sowed into my life. I thank God that I get to show you my gratitude in person. Just lay back, close your eyes, and let me minister to your body.”

“Madam — gladly. And please, call me Grant.”

“Sorry, sir. I am now your employee, and I should address you with respect, as the rest of your hires do.”

He felt gradually, gloriously fresh as she worked her way up his body. As she got to his chest, she stopped. “Mr. Brisbane — what is this lump here? I don’t remember seeing that on Valentine’s Day.”

“My combination pacemaker / defibrillator. It was implanted in early March. If my heart beats too slowly, the pacemaker speeds it up. If my heart stops — or goes into fibrillation — the defibrillator shocks me, just like those electric paddles that you see used in CPR.”

“Wow. That sounds painful, sir.”

“It hurts. But it keeps me alive. If you can call my current existence ‘living’, that is. Sometimes I’ll go days without a shock; on a really bad day, I’ll have multiple shocks.”

“Sir … is there any chance they could find a matching heart in time?”

“Oh, I suppose there’s always hope, theoretically,” Brisbane sighed. “But realistically, a heart like the one I would need may come along once every ten years or so. It’s not going to happen, Aubrey; I’ve had to accept that.”

Grant looked up to see his aide’s head turned away from him; she had a tissue and was obviously dabbing her eyes. She took a minute to compose herself, then she turned to him again, her eyes red but with a forced smile on her lips.

“Well, then. Whatever time you have, let’s make it as comfortable, and relaxing, and enjoyable as possible for you.” She resumed the washing with the cloths while they still were somewhat warm.

~o~O~o~

“Boss, I’m turning in for the night. Anything I can get you?” Jace stated with a stifled yawn.

“How about a live in-person performance by the Phoenix Symphony? I do so miss good, live music,” Grant sighed.

The big bodyguard’s voice actually started to crack a little. “Boss … I’m sorry. I … I don’t know what to do to help. I feel so useless to you.”

“Please, Jace. You are the best employee I’ve ever had. Where would I be without your help? I’m … I’m just feeling a little lonely is all. Go to bed, my friend. I’ll be fine.”

“Um … Mr. Brisbane? Can I come in? I have something for you.” It was Aubrey’s voice speaking through the slightly cracked bedroom door. She opened it, and stuck her head in timidly.

“Hey, Aub. You’re off duty, aren’t you?” said Jace.

“You know I am, Jace — you wrote up my contract.” Aubrey was to work tending personally to Mr. Brisbane’s personal needs for four hours in the morning and four more in the afternoon, as well as being “on call” for any emergencies that might arise after hours. For that, she got a modest salary, room and board, and medical insurance. Her evenings were free for the most part, though it was recommended she stay available in the estate unless she was at one of her SA or SARP meetings. “I’m here on my own time. I thought Mr. Brisbane would enjoy some music.”

Grant saw a blonde thick chested girl in a black satin blouse and black dress slacks with matching pumps walk in. She carried a music stand and a case with a handle. Sitting down, she placed some sheet music on the stand, lifted her viola to her neck and began playing an easy but beautiful piece, Bach’s Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring. She followed that with a selection from Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik.

Jace watched, impressed. She was no virtuoso, but she wasn’t bad. How did she know that the boss had wanted something like this tonight?

Grant clapped as she finished, blushing. “I’m sorry I don’t have more for you — these are the two that I started practicing down in Phoenix. They’ve always made me feel relaxed. And as I cleaned the room today, I saw you wistfully watching the Mahler concert on PBS, and say that you wished you weren’t just listening to a recorded show.”

“Wow, Aub. You picked that up from just a random wish Mr. B made?” Jace said.

“Successful people are great listeners,” smiled Aubrey.

~o~O~o~

Two days later, as Aubrey was in her lavender scrubs giving Mr. Brisbane a pedicure, a strange woman walked in. Strange, because she wore a stethoscope around her neck indicating she was a healthcare worker, but yet she had on a tie-dye T-shirt and some jeans with peace symbol patterns “bedazzled” onto them.

“Hello, Grant!” Her eyes beamed through her auburn bangs, and her straightened red hair tickled her shoulder tops.

Aubrey sat up. “Hello … who are you?”

“I’m Jeannette Baumgartner, Grant’s hospice nurse. And I’ll bet you are his new live-in aide! Good to meet you!”

“Yes. I’m Aubrey.”

“Hello, Jeannette,” croaked a weak patient from his bed. “Sorry that I didn’t introduce you two.”

“We’re two grown women, Grant. We know how to meet each other, and you sound like you need to save your breath anyway.”

“You should address him as Mr. Brisbane,” Aubrey whispered to her.

Grant caught that. “Jeannette is not my direct employee, my dear. And I have requested that she call me by my first name. I still wish you would, too; at the very least, in the evenings. I consider you a friend who is also my hired CNA; so when the CNA is ‘off duty’, just address me as Grant, friend.”

“Jace never calls you that.”

“The stick-in-the-mud,” Grant sighed.

“Okay, my turn,” crooned Jeannette. “I’m going to call your doc with an update after I leave here, so dish. Any worsening of the chest pains or shortness of breath in the last few days? Are you being ‘zapped’ more by your defibrillator?”

Jeannette worked smoothly and quickly, taking a listen to his heart and lungs and feeling his limbs for swelling. As she did, she was cheerful and joking, and Grant responded to her attitude with a huge smile and even a laugh or two.

Aubrey was impressed. I guess I thought a ‘hospice’ nurse would be somber and depressed, like a funeral director in scrubs. But she’s lifting his spirits and making him feel better — which I guess would mean she’s doing her job well.

As if on cue, though, Jeannette’s demeanor suddenly became more serious. “I brought what you asked for, sir.” From her nurses’ bag she pulled out what appeared to be a large plastic “O” — about the size of a donut — and laid it on the bedside table with a heavy “CLUNK”.

“Ah — the deactivator.” Grant sighed again, and looked away.

“The what?” Aubrey didn’t like the sound of that.

The nurse took the CNA’s hand. “It’s basically a big, strong magnet,” she said. “It will stop the defibrillator from shocking him and restarting his heart.”

Aubrey felt her chest grow numb, and her arms and legs suddenly chilled. “Why the hell does he need something like that?” she whispered almost inaudibly.

“Dear. Don’t curse at Jeannette,” chided Grant weakly.

“It’s okay, Grant. I think she was saying it to the situation, not to me,” intervened the red haired woman. “It’s only to be used at the very end. When his heart is irreversibly stopping, then his defibrillator will shock him repeatedly to try to start it up again. If the heart still won’t respond — and when it’s really the end, it won’t — then he’ll be shocked over and over until the battery runs out, and that will be the last sensation he feels in life: shocks. This magnet will prevent that; all that has to be done is to lay it over the pacer / defibrillator and keep it there. It has to be placed directly over that lump on his left chest to work; and if it’s taken off, then the defibrillator re-activates and the shocks start again.”

“The jolts are quite unpleasant,” remarked Grant. “If they start to happen more frequently, I may apply it early.”

Jeannette looked so sad now. “That’s … that’s up to you, sir.”

Aubrey was shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks. She opened her mouth as if to interject her opinion, but only jerking sobs came out. Covering her face with her hands, she ran from the room.

“Jeannette — go catch her, please, and explain. I’m not trying to kill myself. I’m just so tired of the shocks,” moaned Mr. Brisbane.

The nurse took off to find the distraught aide.

Aubrey ran outside the front door of the estate and sprinted to the garage. As she approached the open bay, she choked out a “hello”; when no one answered, she let loose. Loud wails, that bent her body and threatened to tip her over into a fall, tore loose from her throat.

An agony unlike she had ever known had gripped her; not worse than the hell of the abuse in Vegas, just different. All she knew was that her savior was dying. He was suffering so badly that he didn’t want to live anymore, and she was helpless to stop it. “I’m useless! Worthless! A cheap, lousy whore-”

“No, you’re not,” said a firm but gentle voice, accompanied by a soft hand on Aubrey’s shoulder. “You’ve made a difference in his life. A huge difference. HUU-UUGE. You’ve brought a joy to him like none of the rest of us have been able to. What a wonderful gift to give to a man in his position, his condition.” Jeannette’s voice was reassuring, if a little breathy from running in pursuit of the girl.

The young girl shook her head as she continued to shed tears. “You don’t even know me — we just met. You’re telling pretty lies to make me feel better.”

“Yeah, I just met you face-to-face. But I contact Jace daily about Grant, and I’ve been nosy enough to inquire about the new aide taking care of him. You’re getting rave reviews, and all who know Mr. B have said he’s actually brightened since you came on. The mini-concert with the viola really touched him. There’s obviously some kind of connection you two have — not necessarily infatuation, but you seem to ‘get’ each other in some way. I could see that from the little bit I saw today.”

“Even if you’re right, Jeannette, it’s not enough. It tears me apart to hear him say that he’s suffering. And what are you doing? Giving him something so he can commit suicide? I thought euthanasia was illegal in Arizona!”

“Like I said, I brought it at his request, and it’s only to be used at the end, when the repeated shocks are doing nothing but torturing him. Used that way, it’s not even close to being euthanasia. I didn’t expect him to suggest he would use it before that point, though.”

“We need to hide it, then, so he won’t be tempted to use it too early.” Aubrey sniffed loud and wet. “Dammit. DAMMIT! It’s just so wrong. He’s only … only,” —she paused, realizing that she didn’t know Grant’s age.

“Forty-two,” Jeannette finished.

“My god. He looks at least ten years older!”

“That’s what a bad heart can make you look like. It’s aged his face as much as anything else.”

“Poor Grant. I feel so helpless. SHIT! … Sorry. Don’t you ever want to cuss over this situation?”

Jeannette smiled. “I don’t curse, sweetie. I pray, I cry, I punch my pillow, I moan, but I don’t curse. The closest I come is “darn”. If you EVER heard me curse, it would be as a last resort to get someone’s attention in an emergency. It’s just a personal conviction; I don’t judge you for doing so, though.”

Aubrey was red cheeked. “Sorry for cussing around you, anyway. I didn’t know.”

“Pshaw! Think nothing of it, sweetheart. Tell you what: let’s exchange cell phone numbers. That way I have another contact here, and you can call me if you have any questions or concerns — about anything, hear me? And now — if you’re ready, let’s go back and show Grant that you’re going to be okay.”

The two walked back to the house, holding onto — and leaning into — each other.

To be continued tomorrow

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to a real situation or person is purely coincidental.

Thanks to Cassie Nicol for a quick first look!

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and drop an ice cube down your blouse!

Thanks for reading ... **Sigh**

Oh, my God - I'm in love with him! I - I can't be in love with him!

Aubrey was determined to make the best of her remaining time with Grant. She even temporarily put on hold her attendance at SARS and SA meetings so that she could spend each evening with him. More and more nights he had no energy to do anything but to lie in bed. At those times, Aubrey would just sit at his side and hold his hand, or read to him poems from his favorite poets, like Shelley and Yeats. But when Grant had an occasional time where he had more energy, Aubrey would engage him in conversation.

They talked about many things, but transgender feelings and fears were frequently discussed. Grant felt finally safe opening up about these things because he knew she had experienced the same.

“Ah, my dear. When I hear about what an awful time you have had transitioning, especially earlier, it makes me a little less regretful that I didn’t pursue it. After all, for all the difficulty in ‘taking the plunge’ that there is today, it’s nothing like the anathema that existed when I was young. I do not regret missing out on that.”

“Grant, if there had been a guy like yourself around to accept and help you, I’ll bet that you could have made a go of it. You have blessed my life so much; did you know that? I’m still nowhere near repaying you for your kindness.”

“You, being happy and successful, are my reward.” He looked melancholy. “One of the most frustrating things about my cross-dressing was the privacy I had to do it in. I mean, Jace knew, and he is nothing if not discreet and loyal, but I knew he didn’t like me doing it. It would have been fun having a girl like you to do dress up with during those days.”

“Grant … why couldn’t we still do it? Look, it’s late tonight, but if you have another ‘good day’ … watch out, sister!”

“Nooo. It’s very impractical. Wouldn’t work.”

“Yes it cooo — ould,” Aubrey cooed with a musical flirt.

“I ‘purged’ 4 months ago. I have nothing to wear.”

“Give me a clothing allowance for you; I’ll get you something nice.”

“If anyone found out…”

“We could have ‘Jace The Discreet and Loyal’ guard the room for 3 hours while we play dress up. Give me $400 to buy you some outfits, and I’ll be ready the next time your heart is.”

Grant sighed, and closed his eyes without responding for a whole minute more. Then he opened them with an intense stare. “NO.”

“Aw, Grant. No? Really?”

“No — to the suggestion of $400. Take $1000.”

Aubrey jumped up and down on her toes as she squealed.

~o~O~o~

“Hello. My name is Aubrey, and I have a compulsive sex problem.”

As she spoke into the screen on her computer, the others on the group Skype video call replied “Hello, Aubrey,” and nodded their heads. Video meetings of my support groups sure are a lifesaver, she thought. I can still deal with and work through my issues without having to be physically away from the estate, and Grant. Still not quite as good as being face to face — it’s harder to comfort or hug through the computer screen — but much better than nothing.

“I’m almost to 100 days since my last compulsive sexual act. I have still been working with my sponsor from Phoenix, calling her at least 3 times a week and emailing her on the days in between. I’m still journaling, and working the steps; I try to skype individually with one of my Sexaholics Anonymous friends every day.

“You guys can also see my bonsai tree sitting behind me. It’s still alive, thank God! I’ve had to care for this plant so meticulously; every day I have to “mist” the leaves with water multiple times, because Arizona is so dry. I’ve pruned it by pinching off much of the new growth; girl, that was actually painful, because I felt like I was hurting it. But having seen pictures of Bonsai that are never pruned, I’m glad I did it. When it grows unfettered in every which direction, it can outgrow it’s root structure, and get unhealthy.

“And I have had to apply that principle to my life as well. If I indulge in every longing or whim, I end up doing multiple things and finishing few of them. I’d rather do a few things in my life with high quality than do a ton of things in a mediocre way. So I play the viola, read, do my support group work and my job, exercise, and interact with … a friend, after hours. I don’t have room right now for reality TV, or clubbing, or much shopping. Some might call me too sheltered; but I call it living in balance, for now.”

After multiple other people took turns sharing their experience, strength, and hope, the meeting was over. Aubrey was about to turn off the computer when she noticed her SA sponsor, Sharon, was trying to call her back via Skype.

“Hey there, sponsee. You had some good stuff to share at the meeting tonight. And that tree does look healthy. I’m impressed. Usually by this point, half of my sponsees tend to have to buy a new ivy plant.”

“IVY plant? You don’t mean I’m the only one who had to take care of a bonsai, do you?”

“Honey, you’re the only one who slept with nearly five hundred different partners in two years. You had the most crap to overcome, and therefore I gave you the hardest work to do. But — you’re doing it!”

“Thanks, Sharon. It means a lot that you’d call me to encourage me like this.”

“Uh — uh, girl. That’s not the main reason I called. During the meeting you talked about interacting with a friend in the evenings. You want to tell me about it?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s really nothing, definitely not a romance. It’s my boss, the one who’s dying … I try to spend time with him so he’s not lonely. It’s my small way of trying to pay him back for what he’s done for me.”

“Sounds like quite a sacrifice you’re making.”

“It’s not a sacrifice at all. I enjoy our time together. He and I … well, we understand each other.”

“So … he’s transgendered?”

“NO! I mean, he’d never … all he did was just …”

“Sounds like he is, then.”

“No! No, he, um ... Blast it! No one’s supposed to know that he deals with that issue. God, Sharon — you can’t tell anybody!”

“Remember, honey, what’s said here, stays here. I’m not trying to ‘out’ anybody. I’m just seeing what kind of a relationship you have. So, is he a good friend?”

“Oh, Sharon. He’s the best. So kind, and sweet, and intelligent. He loves music — good music — and gracious to a fault. I laugh so much when we’re together; and I cry so much when I think about what’s about to happen to him.”

“Uhhhh, hon? That sounds a lot more serious than just being buddies.”

“Sharon, that’s crazy. He’s old enough to be my dad.”

“Hmm. I see. So, when he finally dies, it will hurt, but you’ll carry on, right?”

Aubrey didn’t answer right away, as she had begun weeping suddenly. She tried to pull it together a few times, but when she then tried to talk she just started to cry again. After a few minutes, she had gained a little more control, though she still leaked at the corners of her eyes. Those eyes grew wider and wider as an unexpected revelation hit her.

“Oh my God. I’m in love with him!”

This caused more sobbing, with Sharon waiting patiently on the screen.

Finally, with red eyes and more tissues at the ready, Aubrey voiced her newfound fears. “I — I can’t be in love with him! He’s my boss, for Pete’s sake! I made a vow to you to not be in a relationship until after September! He’s a famous, successful lawyer, and I’m just a nurses’ aide who four months ago was a whore. And he’s going to die soon. And I don’t want to live without him! I wish I could take his place, and die instead of him! … Sharon, I — I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you tomor-”

“Don’t you dare turn this session off, Aubrey! Just cry, hon. I’m right here.”

Sharon hummed lullabies and other comforting tunes as her young sponsee fell apart.

~o~O~o~

Aubrey had her head resting on it’s side on the desk in front of her computer. Sharon was still onscreen, whispering affirming phrases to her. The young girl finally looked up towards her sponsor’s face in the monitor.

“I wish you were here, Sharon. I could really use a thirty minute hug right now.”

“I’m huggin’ you in my heart. I asked Scotty to beam me over but he says the transistors are down ‘cause the dilibrium crystals are cracked.”

“Ha ha ha! Said like a true faux-trekkie.”

“Hey, hon. Have you had sex with him? Or, do you find yourself wanting to?”

“No. The thought of even just stimulating him turns me off — way off. Because his heart would give out, and I’d have killed him. You know, if we were officially boyfriend and girlfriend, it would be perfect for me right now — because sex would be out of the picture. I’d be forced, essentially, to develop a relationship with him as purely a friend first, before we got physical. If it were ever possible.”

“You use the words ‘if’ and ‘would’ like this relationship wasn’t already happenin’. It really sounds like you two are already dating, in a way. Does he love you? And whether he does or not, should he go to his grave not knowing how you feel about him?”

“I don’t know. God help me, I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, let me straighten you out. I didn’t ask you to not get into a relationship before September; just no casual sex before then. If your positions were changed and it was you on the deathbed, would you want him to tell you if he carried a torch for you?”

“His ex-wife just wanted him for sex, Sharon. And because he’s rich, so many others have wanted him just to eventually get something from him. I don’t want him thinking that I’m like that. I have no idea how to tell him … that I love him.”

“Actions still speak louder than words, grasshopper. These activities in the evenings that you’re doing with him? They’ll do the talking for you. That’s probably the best way to show him your love now. In my humble opinion, at least.”

~o~O~o~

Grant Brisbane had not had a ‘good’ day in over a week, but thankfully today was an exception. He even had Jace roll him in a wheelchair out to the garden in the back, and he read the paper and had some herbal tea. Now he was back in his bedroom, and he had put on his oxygen and tried to get a nap so he could be rested up to talk with Aubrey tonight.

Before he fell asleep, he thought about how essential the young transgirl’s nightly visits had become to him. She and he shared confidences, laughs, and occasionally tears; they confided in each other their hopes, fears, frustrations, and dreams. His daydreams lately consisted of him running into her when he was twenty-two, entering law school; she was magically his age, and they would fall in love and marry. That’s the fantasy he was entertaining when he went to sleep for his nap just now.

He gradually awoke to his body being moved. He recognized Aubrey’s style and touch as she gave him a change in underwear; that meant (he realized embarrassedly) that he likely had soiled the pair he had on earlier.

“Hello, Aubrey. I hope we can talk tonight,” he said as he opened his eyes.

“Not talk — gossip, girlfriend. And honey, do I have some juicy slices of secrets to share with you!”

Grant’s jaw went slack as he saw Aubrey in a see-through negligee’ with sexy lingerie — a lacy black bra and panties — and a fully made up face with false eyelashes, glossy red lips, and sultry eyeshade. Her hair was in pigtails, and she continued to speak.

“I’m soooo happy we’re having this slumber party, Gracie! I’ve needed some girl time with someone — y’know, so we can talk about makeup, clothes, periods, and growing up. And B-O-Y-S! And stupid parents, and — ”

Grant chuckled at her silliness while raising his hand to show he wanted to interrupt, to find out what the heck she was doing. But as he did so, he noticed that his nails were painted — a rose coating with sparkles!

“SURPRISE! I did your fingernails while you slept. I shaved your legs, and did your toes, too. You’re a really sound sleeper, girl. While doing your legs, I got to see your new satin panties — OH, you look so hot in them!”

Aubrey held up a hand mirror, and he got a good look at the underwear that had just been put on him. Yes indeed, they were gorgeous red satin panties with a lace border. His legs were hairless, and as he pulled one out from under the covers, he noticed his toenails matched his fingers.

“And now for the piece de resistance — this goes with your panties.” Aubrey pulled out a flowing, shimmering red satin nightgown from a shopping bag. “We girls can go topless around each other, but you need this on just in case your nosy butler walks in.”

Grant raised an eyebrow. “So, Jace …?”

“Is outside the door, standing guard for the rest of the evening,” Aubrey whispered with a wink. She then temporarily took the oxygen off of Grant’s nose while quickly slipping the gown over his head, and then she put the tube back on his face immediately. Grant knew he was relatively light because of so much weight loss from being sickly; still, he was amazed at how quickly yet gently his live-in CNA moved his body around to let the gown flow all the way down to his knees.

“Let me fix your hair real quick, girlfriend.” Aubrey produced a black bob wig and deftly placed it on his head. She then sat back on her heels, next to Grant in the bed.

“So, Gracie, I’m still waiting for someone to invite me to the senior prom. I heard a rumor that hunky Jack Greenfield wanted to ask you! OOOoooohh … wouldn’t that be so dreamy?”

Grant didn’t answer; he was looking at himself with the large hand mirror. The bob wig actually framed his face very well; if he was less gaunt in his cheeks and had less of a worn, wrinkled look, he thought he would have appeared quite fetching. The gown was stunning; the satin felt like melted butter on his skin, and a heretofore-unnoticed pattern of roses emerged through the light reflecting off of it as he slightly moved around. His nails and legs — he had never gone this far before, at least not as an adult.

Aubrey’s heart rate was increasing, due to nervousness. Grant still had not responded to her last question, and now he looked at her with a raised eyebrow and … suspicion? Fear? Anger or hesitancy? She couldn’t get a good read on his reaction. I really swung for the fences here; I just hope I didn’t strike out. This all may be too much for him to take in. I should have gotten his permission to do this instead of surprising him. He’s probably embarrassed and uncomfortable; I’d better break “out of character” and call this off.

He put the mirror down, and a look of disgust came on his face. Tossing his nose into the air, he finally replied in a falsetto.

“Jack Greenfield? He eats like a pig, and all he ever does with me is try to look down my blouse or up my skirt. I’d rather go to the prom with a pimply-faced freshman!”

Aubrey laughed and clapped with glee.

~o~O~o~

Gracie and Aubrey were now in matching cheerleader uniforms. Aubrey made sure she got cell phone pictures of each of them in all of their different modes of dress, both separately and together. As Gracie reclined propped up by pillows, Aubrey laid on her stomach next to her on the king size bed.

“Sooo, Grace,” said the blonde as she clacked her tennis shoes together in the air. “Don’t you just love being a girl? I sure do. What do you like most about it?”

“Aubrey, It just feels so natural, so fulfilling. You know, I really feel like I could live life as a guy — as long as I got to experience being a girl, too.”

“Be a GUY? BLEECCHHH! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love guys — I just never want to be one. Speaking of guys, you know your brother, Grant? He’s kinda cute. I think I might be crushing on him. Don’t you dare tell him!”

“Really? But he’s so much older than you. And, don’t you work for him? How would that work, you dating your boss? Many would think it’s a horrible idea; you don’t work together as equals, but then have an ‘equal’ relationship as soon as it hits five o’clock?”

“I haven’t figured any of that stuff out. Love is foolish and unreasonable, silly! Okay, changing the subject. Time for our last outfits of the day … prom dresses!”

“Oh … my … god … no … way,” gasped Gracie.

~o~O~o~

The gowns were a dream of taffeta and satin. Aubrey’s was a mint green number with spaghetti straps; Gracie, out of bed for the first time all night, was in a peach shimmer with a matching boa.

“Look at you. You’re going to melt every boy’s head when you walk into the ballroom. Natural beauty — you have it,” said Aubrey with a whistle. She clicked more pictures.

“You’re not too shabby yourself, Miss Mint Julep,” replied Gracie. “I’m so lucky to have a BFF like you, did you realize that?”

Aubrey stopped clicking pictures, and gave a wobbly smile with misty eyes. “I’m way more lucky than you. NYAAAH,” she stuck out her tongue. “Oh, wait! I thought I heard truck tires in the front — that’s my prom date. Yours will be here in five minutes. Let me help you into bed, and you can wait for him.”

“The prom’s tonight?” The older girl looked surprised at this, as Aubrey eased her on top of the covers.

“Yes, dodo-brain! Where would you be without me to remind you of these things? Now just wait patiently, and David will be right up to get you.”

Gracie was left in bed, baffled, as Aubrey hopped off into the master bath.

~o~O~o~

Aubrey did the most rapid quick change she could muster. She was sure that Grant was getting fatigued by now, and there was no telling how much more he could endure before needing to call it a night.

As she wiped the makeup off her face and readied the false facial hair, she was surprised. I thought I’d feel much more disgust with this part. But doing it to help Grant experience Gracie — it doesn’t bother me much at all.

Gracie was sitting in bed, looking at her nails, half wishing that she could have applied a peach coat to go with her dress. They were still so pretty, though.

The door to the master bath opened with a click, and she looked up. “So, Aubrey! How was the prom? Did he kiss you goodni-”

It wasn’t Aubrey who walked through the door. Well, it was, but in a male persona. A man with a blonde beard and mustache, and his hair pulled back in a low ponytail. He wore a black and grey tux with peach accents to match his date’s gown, and a fedora hat tilted slightly to one side. A strained lower voice emanated from his lips.

“Hey there, baby. Are you ready to go cut a rug?”

Gracie was speechless with an open mouth that slowly transformed into the widest smile.

“On the other hand, you look too delicious for me to share you with anyone else tonight. My sister Aubrey warned me to treat you like a lady or else she’d get even with me the way only a sibling can. Why don’t we sit and talk in the candlelight?” With that, "David" produced a match and candles in candlesticks. Lighting them and putting them on the bedside table, he turned the other room lights off. Then he slowly slid beside Gracie and put his arm around her.

“You are so gorgeous, my sweet. A rare combination of outer hotness and inner beauty. I’m so honored to be your prom date. Mike and the guys couldn’t believe it when I told them you said “yes”. They said I must have hypnotized you or something, ‘cause the only boy worthy of taking you anywhere is, like, a prince or an emperor’s kid.” Dang it! Blew it at the end; that was supposed to be “an angel from heaven.”

Gracie was still impressed. “Oh David,” she cooed. “You’re such a smooth talker. I’ll bet you are just trying to win me over so you can have your way with me.”

“Hey babe — you’re the one who looks like an overdue library book.”

“Huh?”

“Because you’ve got ‘fine’ written aaaall over you.”

“HA HA HA HA,” guffawed Gracie. “That — HA, HA — was sooo cheesy!”

“David” was gratified. That was the heartiest “he” had ever seen “Gracie” laugh.

“Oh, HA HA — oh my goodness — hee, hee! Ohh, David. Do you want to hear a secret about your sister?”

“Huh? What secret?” David had not expected for Gracie to take the reigns with this role play.

“The secret is,” Gracie said in a suddenly hushed tone, “my brother Grant. He’s in love with her. Madly. She is his reason for wanting to hang on one more day, every day. He doesn’t know what he would do without her in his life. I know — bosses shouldn’t fall in love with their employees. But as a wise girl once said, love is foolish and unreasonable.”

David looked at Gracie. His heart was bursting, and a huge lump in his throat had muted him. As they grasped each other’s hands, their eyes locked. In each other’s gaze, the play-roles fell away and they were Aubrey and Grant, sharing and baring their souls. Grant, head resting back on his pillow, eked out a whisper.

“Kiss me, you unreasonable fool.”

Aubrey moved her face slowly towards his. Their lips, then their tongues, met. They didn’t move for what felt to her like sixteen hours.

Finally, Aubrey pulled back. “Grant — your heart! Is it okay? Any trouble breathing?”

Grant was visibly breathing harder, but smiling. He touched one of his pretty nails to Aubrey’s lips, and then pointed to his.

Aubrey’s heart broke. “Grant — my love — God, I want to, but you must rest now. Rest, and I’ll carefully get you out of this gown.”

All at once, there was a shrill woman’s voice outside the bedroom door. The voice was yelling, and was opposed by the low growl of Jace’s unique speech.

Grant’s eyes opened wide with fear. “Oh no — not her, not with me like this! Aubrey — get me back to maleness,” he was huffing and puffing hard, suddenly, “-NOW!”

Aubrey went to work double time. She wiped the makeup off his face, deftly moved him around to remove the gown, and grabbed the wig. With her free hand, she turned the oxygen level to 6, as Jeannette had told her could be done when Grant was in major distress.

Jace stuck his head in. “You guys, she’s throwing a major hissy fit. Threatened to call the police. I can turn ‘em away, but it’ll be easier for all of us if I can let her in. I’ll hold her off as long as you need me to, but she’s about to pop.” He pulled his head back and closed the door.

As Aubrey cleaned the nail polish off his hands furtively, her mood blackened. This had to be his ex-wife. Just what right does she have to be here, anyway? Jace should give her a big shoe print on her backside and launch her out of the second story window!

No time to do the toenails, and no quick way to hide the legs. Aubrey pulled the panties off and replaced them with boxers, slipped a loose men’s pajama top on him, then threw the comforter over him and pulled it up to his chest. He looked like he was calming some; thank God.

She grabbed every possible insinuating item and ran full tilt to the closet, throwing them in and shutting the door. Flying then into the bathroom, she did a quick Houdini out of the tux and faux beard and ‘stache. Grabbing a pair of work scrubs, she donned them and did a quick look in the mirror. No makeup, but not too bad for a nurse’s aide.

She trotted back into the bedroom. Grant looked exhausted, but not as severe as five minutes ago. Then walking to the door and mentally composing herself, she opened it. “I’ve was bathing him, but I’m finished. He’s decent now. Who are —”

A blonde, long-haired woman shoved Aubrey aside with surprising ease. As she walked towards the bed, Aubrey recovered and stomped towards her enemy, rage in her eyes. The aide was stopped by a big paw on her shoulder; looking back, she saw Jace shaking his head and wagging his finger. Then she looked back to the woman approaching Grant’s bed.

The woman had stopped, four feet from the bed, and had a shocked look on her face. The cause was the comforter; it had partially slid off of Grant, exposing a shaved leg and painted toenails.

“Oh, Grant. No. Not this again. Not now. My God, how do you live with yourself knowing how you embarrass all of us with this crap? Didn’t you learn your lesson when we were teenagers?”

A sad Grant looked past the woman to Aubrey. “Gail, this is Aubrey, my in-house personal care aide. Aubrey, this is Gail …

"... my sister."

~o~O~o~

To be continued tomorrow

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual situation or person is purely coincidental.

If you've gotten this far, please leave a comment! Don't make me reach through the screen and tweak your nose!

Thanks for reading! **Sigh**

"Forget your contract. You're fired. I'm firing you for cause. You have betrayed me - and him, in my opinion."

Gail Murphree, Grant’s sister, had decided to pay him a visit. She didn’t visit too often; after all, she had her husband Grayson and her kids to take care of. They lived in a 5 bedroom, 6-bath mini-castle in the posh part of Phoenix. She did keep an eye on Grant’s condition by calling Jeannette, his hospice nurse. Upon hearing how debilitated he’d become — enough to hire a live in aide — she’d driven up to check on him, and make sure he wasn’t doing anything foolish, like donating the estate to some charity or similar thing. After all, it was partly her inheritance, too.

“Grant. Grant, Grant, Grant.” Gail shook her head as she took his hand and found a telltale trace of polish on one nail. “No wonder Vanessa wanted to divorce you. Have you been doing this all your adult life under our noses? I thought exposing you to Mom and Dad almost thirty years ago would have made you swear off this queer habit for good.”

Aubrey’s memory kicked in then. His sister — the one who had outed him publicly! Well, in front of his parents and the junior league president. Oh God. I was thinking this was his ex-wife. In fact, maybe his ex visiting would be less traumatic than this witch.

Grant’s sibling continued. “Please, brother … please don’t do things like this. If you keep it up, somehow it will become public knowledge — and will defile the Brisbane name that our parents worked so hard to establish. Don’t dishonor their memory.”

Jace was watching his boss for any hint, any signal, that would allow him to remove this woman. Just a nod of the head, or even a sign of distress. But Grant just lay there with his sad face looking off to the side, as if he was trying to tune out of this harsh moment.

Gail turned to the aide and the bodyguard. “And you two-! You are complicit in this shameful behavior! Jace, I know you had to be aware of this. And you-”

She looked at Aubrey with eyes that at first just showed anger, but then morphed into realization and shock also. “You’re a man, aren’t you? Oh, my God. The aide is a transvestite! Or transsexual, or whatever you’re calling yourself. I can tell by your big ugly shoulders, your hideous jaw. You’re the cause of this, I’ll wager! How did you find out about my brother, you freakish excuse for protoplasm?”

With that comment, three sets of eyes came alive.

Aubrey’s eyes were filled with anger and verging tears. She wanted to rip into this woman, but held back because of her relation to Grant.

Grant’s eyes, hazy and dull just a second ago, now flashed with fire and ire. He looked at Jace and gave a nod as he clenched his teeth.

Jace’s eyes now narrowed with the focus and intensity of a pit bull finally set free from its leash. He grabbed Gail’s upper arm with gentleness, then gave it a moderate squeeze to let her know he meant business. His velvet servant’s voice had an undercurrent of steel to it.

“You’re leaving the room, Miss Gail.”

“You can’t ask me to leave my br-“

“I’m not asking. I’m telling. So, madam, will you be walking out the door, or should I carry you there?”

Gail was inwardly furious at being told to leave — by a servant! Yet her common sense knew not to mess with an angry man-mountain. She walked in a huff, stamping down her high heels as she headed to the bedroom door. She heard Jace shut it firmly and lock it behind her the split-second she exited. She stopped, turned, and yelled at the door. “I am not leaving this house until I get to talk more with Grant!”

Jace and Aubrey ran to gasping, sweating lawyer.

“Boss, you okay? Breathing? Angina?”

Jace saw him nod, and got the nitroglycerine and morphine out. Approaching his employer’s mouth, he popped the first in (a pill), then dropped the second in (a liquid) with an eye dropper.

Aubrey had her lips to Grant’s ear, and gently stroked his chest with her hand. “It’s okay, Grant,” she breathed. “She can’t hurt me. Don’t be upset about it, please. Just calm yourself. I’ve heard tons worse. Think happy thoughts.” She then hummed the tune to the second movement of Beethoven’s ‘Pathetique’ sonata.

Grant, breathing heavy still, somehow mustered up the energy to turn his head to the side and brush his lips against Aubrey’s. “I’m happy … anytime you’re … by my side … my love.”

Jace’s eyebrows reared back like two bucking broncos. “Anything happen in here I should know about?” he mumbled.

~o~O~o~

Grant was finally breathing easier, but the emotion and the activity of the evening had exhausted him. Now he was sleeping with the oxygen still turned on to the max of 6, and Aubrey and Jace stepped out of his room to let him snooze.

They walked down the hall and the stairs together, silently. “I think we’re out of range from the bedroom now. Let’s talk,” Jace said in his calm voice.

It suddenly turned raging. “Aubrey! What the hell? I thought you told me you weren’t going to take advantage of him! And now he says that you two love each other?

“I — I didn’t plan it. It just happened,” said the aide.

“I’d like to believe that, I really would. But it’s just too convenient. You’re here for two weeks, and suddenly you’re not just his personal care aide, you’re his lover. Those nights I allowed you in to read to him — what was really going on? You know physical activity and emotions make his heart more strained!”

“I know, I know. I never should have allowed it to get this far. But it only happened tonight.”

“What happened? Did you use one of your old hooker tricks? Did you take him with your hand, or did he come in your mouth?”

“Jace! No! It never went more than a kiss, and just tonight!” Aubrey was tearing up. “I’d never do anything that would hurt him,” then remembering how exhausted Grant looked after the kiss, “I — I mean, not on purpose …”

Jace’s face was a snarl. “Did you get him to give you money? Or put you in his will?”

“No, Jace. I know that would break my contract.”

“Forget your contract. You’re fired. I’m firing you for cause. You have betrayed me — and him, in my opinion. I’ll call an emergency service to get me an aide for tomorrow, and call one of the other applicants for the future — as much future as he has left, that is.

“I want you packed and out of here by 12 noon tomorrow. Since it’s almost midnight tonight, I’ll allow you to sleep in your room, provided you stay there. Don’t come anywhere near Mr. Brisbane’s room, or I’ll call the cops. You’ll need them, to protect you from me.”

“J — Jace,” Aubrey sobbed, “I deserve to be fired. I’ll not work a day more. But please let me still visit him. Please, Jace. Please.”

The big man turned around. For the first time Aubrey could remember, he actually had tears in his eyes. “You come near him again,” he said through gritted teeth, “and I’ll break your neck.”

He walked away, as Aubrey collapsed on the floor in a heap.

~o~O~o~

Aubrey sobbed uncontrollably. She felt emotionally like she was falling into a bottomless pit. Her pain encompassed her whole existence, and nothing could break through — except, a faint clapping noise.

A slow clap, and it grew louder, but not faster. Then a voice spoke with the clapping.

“Bravo, bravo,” Gail sneered with dripping sarcasm. “An Oscar worthy performance. Where did you learn your method acting? Julliard? Carnegie Mellon? Sunset Boulevard?”

Aubrey tried to look for a spark, adrenaline to fight her with. She could find none. She slowly picked herself up, still dripping pain and despair from her face. Turning to Gail, she at last replied with a hoarse wisp of a voice. “Not acting. You don’t know the situation.”

“Oh, I know this situation inside and out,” Gail spat. “When you’re well off, everybody wants a piece of you. Everyone has an angle, and all they want is the green. Almost everyone Grant meets wants him for his influence or his money. Even Vanessa, that vain bitch he was married to — she loved the prestige more than anything. She was a fool to leave him; if she’d stayed, she’d be rich beyond her wildest dreams when he died. But she wanted sex, so she left — thank heaven for that.

“You are obviously a little — punk? Slut? Hell, what are you? — who somehow found out about my brother’s old ‘compulsion’ and schemed your way in here to take full advantage of it. Lunk-head Jace finally saw through it, no doubt due to my intervention. God, people are vultures — trying to take advantage of his giving spirit right up to the last breath!”

The newly fired girl aide was too defeated to raise her gaze from the floor. “I care for him. But Jace is right … I screwed up. And now I’m paying the price. All I ask of you is, don’t let him be alone. He gets so … so lonely, especially at night. And please don’t yell at him, or make fun of him. I haven’t seen you once in the last 2 weeks, and he looks like he’s got days left, if that.”

“I’m not the best sister. Screw that — I’ve been a lousy sister. But I’m not going to let parasites attach themselves to him at his weakest. You’d better go now, and get packing.”

Aubrey looked up. “Promise me you won’t leave him alone to die in the dark.”

“I don’t have to promise YOU anyth-”

“I’m not leaving ‘till you promise me,” Aubrey trembled with new tears rolling down her chin. “I don’t care if Jace breaks my neck.”

Gail looked at this broken thing in front of her with suspicion, and a little confusion. Could he/she have really developed true feelings for her brother?

“I won’t leave him. Yes, I’ll promise. But you will leave at or before noon, just like Jace said.”

Aubrey nodded her head and walked off to her room, her arms wrapped around her weeping head.

~o~O~o~

Gail knocked on Grant’s bedroom door.

The knob turned, and a big curly head popped out. “Oh, it’s you,” Jace said, sighing.

“I come in peace, big fellow. And I sincerely apologize for my part in making the situation so stressful earlier. No matter what was and wasn’t right to say, I shouldn’t have done it in front of my brother. Is he feeling better?”

Jace looked at her with red, sad eyes. “No. He’s worse.”

~o~O~o~

Aubrey took stock of her life as she packed what she could fit on her moped.

Fired, from my first job, within 2 weeks of starting. For crossing professional lines and falling in love with the patient. No matter how good my school evaluations were, that’s a fatal blow to my career as an aide.

Now I’m homeless, and have very little saved up with just 13 days of work. Wasn’t I just in this position on Valentine’s Day? No — I still had that stinking room at Fish’s. And I was able at least to TALK to Grant that night in the Venetian — now I can’t. That means I’ve officially dropped to the lowest point I’ve ever been in my life. And no access to Fish’s pistol to take the easy way out. Maybe I can just swerve in front of an oncoming semi truck on the highway — that should do it.

But before that, I have one phone call to make.

~o~O~o~

A redheaded nurse who looked a little like a refugee from Woodstock grunted to reach her cell phone. Of course, someone would call just when she’s cutting strips of tape for a dressing change on Mr. Syed.

“Hello, Jeannette, Desert Hospice. How can I — Aubrey! Sorry, I didn’t look at caller ID — kinda got my hands full. What’s up, sweet one?”

Her face fell. “WHAT? Why? How — okay, okay, I won’t push you to tell me.” My God, she sounds devastated!

“He was looking that bad when you left? Okay, soon as I’m done here, I’ll be right over to check him.

“Of course, honey. I will give you a call when it happens. Look … I don’t know what went on down there, but I’m so sorry it ended like this for you. I’m going to get this done quick and get to the estate. Yes, I love you too. Goodbye.”

She ended the call. Whatever happened, darn it? For once, Jeannette felt like breaking her rule and cursing in frustration and sorrow. No. Not going to compromise my integrity. Only in true emergencies, as a last resort, will I swear.

She looked up at the clock. One minute after noon. She could be there in — Darn it! I forgot, I'm at Syed's ranch, 45 miles east of town - it'll be 35 - 45 minutes to drive to the estate. I'd better call them.

~o~O~o~

Jace hung up the phone. “That was the hospice nurse. She’s on her way, but may not be here for 45 minutes. That’s okay — I’ve got the nitro and the morphine.” He was standing by Grant’s bed along with Gail. “Look!” said Gail in horror, “his eyes!”

Grant’s pupils had rolled back under his eyelids, which were fluttering. His whole body got limp — then jerked mightily.

“Ooooohhh dear heaven,” Grant, suddenly conscious again, moaned. “That was a bad one.”

“What just happened?” fretted Gail.

Jace shook his head. “His heart has stopped 4 times in the last hour; each time, the defib-whatever shocks him to get it started again. Jeannette told us that at the very end, the shocks would start to get almost constant; when that happens, we’re to consider that big deactivator — the ‘O’ looking thing — and, if we decide to, put it on his chest so he can die out of pain.”

Gail took Jace to the side and whispered, “Has that horrid aide tried to call you?”

“No. And if she knows what’s good for her, she’ll not call.”

“Shouldn’t you ‘block’ her number, just in case?”

“My phone’s over by you on the bedside table. Be my guest.”

Gail picked Jace’s phone up. It was a model she hadn’t seen. Now how do I block a number … oh, forget it. I’m pushing the “off” switch. That will do the trick. The nurse is already on her way, anyway, so I don’t know who else we’d need a call from. Gail turned Jace’s phone off, and hers too, for good measure. Then to make triple sure they wouldn’t be disturbed at this sensitive time, she discreetly unplugged the bedside phone from it’s cord.

To further keep the room calm and sedate, she pulled all the curtains together and turned off the lights save for two small table lamps.

~o~O~o~

Aubrey had put six miles between her and the estate when her phone rang. She looked at the display. It was from Jeannette. She pulled over, but didn’t answer the call. She knew the only reason for it.

“Oh God. He’s gone. No. NOOOooooo…” she wailed long and loud. Her shoulders shook in big heaving jerks as sorrow became her.

Passing motorists wondered what kind of distress or bad trip the girl on the scooter was having, but then drove on. Nobody cared. Not anymore; the one man who had cared for her above all others was dead. And she felt like this would be a perfect time for her to die, too. She raised her head to look across to the other side of the highway. There — a fast moving cement truck about a half-mile away. Perfect.

Her phone buzzed again, this time with a reveille horn blast. That meant a text. Aubrey glanced halfheartedly at the display.

Jeannette?

Yes, the display said “from: Jeannette.” Then below, it read:

DAMNHELLSHITFUCK!!!! EMERGENCY!!!
WHERE IS EVERYBODY???? CALLME NOW NOW

Aubrey’s brain woke up, just a little. Jeannette never curses — unless …

She punched the Call Back button.

~o~O~o~

Grant had just had another shock; that made six today.

“Goodness, I loathe these … I want to put that deactivator on, but I’m going to wait for Aubrey to get back and hold my hand … where is she?”

“She left. She’s not coming back. But we’ll never leave you, Grant,” Gail said.

Jace frowned at her. “Boss, the truth is, I had to fire her. She broke the rules; she was unprofessional. I couldn’t trust her anymore. I’m sorry.”

“She … she’s never coming back?” Grant was crying. “No. Nooo.”

Jace couldn’t watch his boss cry. This was the most horrible time he’d ever experienced. He loped into the master bath, sat down on the toilet, and bawled.

Gail was crying, holding on to her brother’s hand.

“Please … put the deactivator on me. I have nothing left to live for,” Grant cried.

She reached for the big blue plastic-covered magnet. “This? Wh-what will it do?”

“Put it right here.” Grant’s weak hand reached up and tapped the lump where his pacemaker / defibrillator was.

She placed the magnet over the lump. “What happens now?”

“Now,” Grant said with hollow eyes, “the next time my heart stops, no shock will be there to bring me back.”

~o~O~o~

The stoplight turned green, finally, for east-west traffic to flow across Callaway Boulevard. As the idling cars started to breach the gap, a little moped zipped late through the intersection going north, running the red light. “Crap!” said a bearded man in his jeep, hitting his brakes to keep from flattening the two-wheeler. “Stupid girl! Where ‘r the cops when ya need ‘em?”

Aubrey was taking risks in traffic she’d never ever taken before. She didn’t care. She had a life-or-death mission; if she slowed at all from full throttle, she knew she’d fail. And if she failed, she’d rather be dead anyway.

She turned down the driveway to the estate, finally. The six mile backtrack had been covered in record time, but it felt to her like it was taking a year. She “floored it” in a beeline for the front door. Thirty feet away, she dismounted while still in motion, slowing enough only to make sure she wouldn’t fall as she hit the ground running.

The scooter veered off and smashed into the side fountain as the young girl flew up the steps, desperately praying that Jace had not changed the code on the entry keypad by the doorway.

~o~O~o~

Jace had composed himself a little and walked up to his boss lying in bed. He immediately noticed the deactivator lying on the heaving chest.

“He told me to put it on,” Gail said through sniffs. “The next time his heart stops, that will be it.”

At that moment, Grant’s eyes rolled back in his head, and his shoulders went limp.

“Boss,” Jace choked.

Suddenly sunlight flooded the room as both double doors to the bedroom flew open. Aubrey exploded through, and ran towards the bed.

Jace stepped forward to stop her, but was squinting due the brightness coming in. She made a rush straight towards him; he went to grab her, but she suddenly made a head first dive-and-slide through his wide stance legs. Jumping to her feet before he could turn around, she found herself right at Grant’s bedside. Seeing the deactivator, she grabbed it and flung it quickly to the opposite side of the room; it hit the floor on its side and continued to roll to some unseen destination inside the master bath.

Aubrey looked at Grant, limp and lifeless. “Come on — reactivate. REACTIVATE! SHOCK HIM!”

A familiar big hand grabbed her shoulder; she wrapped her arms around the bedpost, never taking her eyes off of her love. “SHOCK HIM, DAMMIT!”

Grant’s shoulders jerked slightly, but he gave no response. Then another shoulder jerk, this time with his head jerking too. His eyes opened slightly, with a moan — “Ohhh God.”

Jace pried Aubrey’s arms off of the bedpost, with Gail gone to look for the deactivator. The big bodyguard flopped the young aide over his shoulder and walked briskly towards the door.

“Jace — his heart —” Aubrey yelled.

“His heart was finally at rest, until you showed up,” said the giant man as he prepared to throw her out.

But she clung tightly to his neck now, resisting his efforts to eject her.

“JACELISTENTOME! FIVESECONDS!”

In almost any other circumstance, Jace would have been deaf to the cries of an opponent. But something inside him now told him to hesitate. “Five seconds. Go.”

“Jace! Jeannette’s been trying to call you! They found a match! They found his heart!”

~o~O~o~

Four people sat in the surgery waiting room at the Mayo Clinic Transplant Center in Phoenix. Grant had been given a Lifestar helicopter ride directly from his estate — they landed in the huge back lawn — to here. The donor heart was from Tucson, so it was virtually there by the time Grant got prepped for surgery. Now the long wait for some kind of news was afoot.

They weren’t given a good prognosis. Grant’s condition was extremely poor, and the surgeons would have liked to have time to stabilize him, but upon hearing how often the shocks were coming, they felt they had little choice but immediate surgery. It would be hours before they would know if they were successful — unless he died quickly on the table.

Jace looked around. Gail was quiet, finally. Despite her objections, there was no way he was going to ask Aubrey to leave the waiting room. Not after she had possibly saved Mr. Brisbane’s life. Jeannette had arranged for another nurse to cover her patients, and had taken off in her car to cover the 150 miles from Flagstaff to Phoenix as quick as possible.

He got up from his chair and went to sit by Aubrey. She looked up.

“What’s going on, Big J? Have you heard anything?”

“Nope. I know as much as you. Uh … you called me what?”

“Come on. Now that you no longer employ me, I can call you an affectionate nickname, right?”

“Okay. Just don’t shorten it to BJ.”

“My old name was Bambi Johnson, remember? I know what BJ means, unfortunately.”

“Yeah. I forgot that. I remember Bambi, now. I thought she was another cheap floozy out to scam my boss. It appears that I’m not the best judge of character.” Jace frowned. “Aubrey … I’m so sorry. Sorry about the firing, about the threat to physically hurt you, about-”

“Jace — you were right to fire me. I crossed a professional line; I got romantically involved with a patient. It was unethical behavior — I learned that the first week of classes. I’m sorry I betrayed your trust in me. I really don’t deserve to ever work there again.” Aubrey scanned the room, and focused on Gail. “How’s Grant’s sister doing?”

“A mix of emotions. Happy that they found a heart. Not happy that her bone-headed move of turning off all the phones almost killed her brother. She really doesn’t know what to think about you; she appreciates what you did, saving his life, but she still sees you-”

“As a perverted freak; yeah, I get that from her face when she looks at me.” Aubrey laughed lightly. I've already cried a lifetime over how people treat me. Laughing about it is all that's left to do.

Jace put his hand on her shoulder. “Aub, I need to tell you-”

He stopped talking, and stood up. The transplant surgeon, Dr. Hinkle, had just walked into the room. The four gathered around him like steel filings to a magnet.

“Well, he made it through the operation. He’s still critically ill; the next 48 hours are going to be ‘touch and go’. There’s about a one in three chance that he’ll make it, to eventually leave the hospital — in my opinion. So don’t stop praying. The great news is that the donor heart is working fantastically — pumping like a little locomotive. He was just so ill by the time he got here — I’m worried his kidneys or his liver or brain might sustain some damage.”

“Oh God, no,” gasped Aubrey as she closed her eyes. Jeannette put her arm around her.

“I said I’m worried about it happening, not that it has happened. We won’t really know until he fully recovers — if he does, that is. I give you my word; we’ll do everything we can to give him the best chance of making it.

“He’ll be in ‘reverse isolation’ in the surgical ICU. Only one or two of you will be allowed in at one time, and you’ll have to wear masks and gloves; he’s on anti-rejection drugs now, and they suppress the immune system, so it’s critical that he avoids an infection. We’ll let you know as soon as we have him in the room.” The doctor stayed to answer questions; then having done so, walked back into the surgery area.

Aubrey turned to Jace. “When they allow him visitors, can I see him?”

Gail whipped her head around. “You’re not family.”

Jace’s voice boomed with authority. “I’m making her an honorary family member. I’m his medical power of attorney. In this situation, that puts me in charge. The matter is now closed.”

~o~O~o~

Three days later, Aubrey stood at Grant’s bedside, in full isolation gear. She grasped his hand with her gloved hand. All Grant could see above her mask was her eyes. Even with just that view of her, he had the biggest smile on his face she had ever seen. The sedatives had finally been weaned down; this was the first day he had his full mental faculties available.

Her trembling voice spoke. “Hello, stranger. Long time no see.”

“Too long, my dear. Last I remember, I was told I’d never see you again.”

“Tough luck. We bad pennies keep on rolling back.”

“Jace has informed me of all the goings-on the day I almost died. You at one time called me your ‘savior’, and said that you could never pay me back. How the tables have turned; you truly saved my life, in the most literal sense. So, you have paid me back … almost. There are still a few things I would ask of you, if I may.”

Aubrey’s eyebrows knitted together in mild confusion. “Mr. Brisbane … I can’t go back to work for you. Even if you forgave my lapse in professionalism, I’m still …” she choked for a minute, “… I’m still in love. With you. I can’t put those feelings back in the box. And that means I can’t objectively be your aide.”

“Oh no, my dear. I quite agree. I will not employ you again. I am generous to my employees, and in return I require the highest standards of ethics. No, that is not what I will require of you.”

Aubrey cocked her head. “Then, what …?”

“Two things. Firstly, I want you to do what Jace tells you to do when you end this visit. I’ve talked to him. He will explain in detail.

“Secondly. I require your solemn promise — promise me — that you will never, ever leave me again. I never want to experience the emptiness of soul I had when I thought you were gone forever. Legal papers ensuring your promise are being drawn up as we speak. Do not refuse me, dear. I’m a cutthroat lawyer, after all — I can make your life very uncomfortable if you do.” Grant said the last part with a wink towards her, ensuring that he meant no true malevolence.

She was still in a fog. “You want me to sign a legal contract?”

“Forgive my obtuseness. Aubrey — I’m asking you to marry me, please.”

The question hit her like a wrecking ball. She felt as if she was going to pass out, and her heart was beating faster than it had when she walked through the lobby at the Venetian months ago. Shaking tremendously, unable to speak, she nodded her head vigorously and squeezed his hand tight.

“Thank you, my dear,” Grant said with his face still enveloped in that big smile. “Do that, and your debt to me will be considered paid in full.”

~o~O~o~

“Where are we going, Jace? What’s this big thing you’re supposed to tell me about?” Aubrey sat in the front seat of the limo the bodyguard/chauffeur was driving.

“Well, Aub, it’s this. You have spoken to the Boss and others about how disappointed you are in your looks. Seeing as you are so beautiful on the inside, it’s a shame you aren’t more happy with your outside. So, we’re going to go and see if something can be done about that.”

“I already consulted with a surgeon in Vegas, Jace. There wasn’t much he could offer me.”

“Aub, plastic surgeons are like steakhouses. There are lousy ones, and great ones. I checked into this “Dr. Wells” guy through my contacts.”

Wells. The one who did my lousy breast job, and gave me that disappointing opinion of facial feminization, she thought.

Jace continued. “There’s a reason Fish uses that guy. He’s cheap. And he’s cheap because he’s lousy. At least in online patient reviews. And we know some other plastic surgeons; they don’t hold him in high opinion.”

Aubrey was in thought. “How do you know any plastic surgeons?”

“Docs amaze me. They are so brilliant when it comes to medicine, yet many don’t know beans about money,” Jace laughed. “At least not when they first get out of training. So a lot of ‘em get in debt, and a few get in trouble with the IRS. Then they come to Boss, pleading for help. That’s what happened to Doc Kriker.”

“Dr. Allen Kriker? Jeannette told me about him. She said he did a good nose job on her. Her nose is really pretty.”

“Yeah. She’s just pretty all over,” Jace sighed.

Ooh! Is that infatuation I pick up in his voice? Sounds like a job for Aubrey Johnson, matchmaker extraordinaire, she silently tittered.

“Anyway, Aub, this guy is a supposed miracle worker with a scalpel. Just four years out of training, and already a world-class rep. But last year the feds were ready to take him to jail, his taxes were so screwed up. We got them to back off, and he ended up paying a fraction of what they were coming after him for.”

“I’ll bet they keep him under their thumb from now on,” she said.

“You better believe it. He still hasn’t paid his bill with us, and it’s a big one. He’s barely gotten through paying off the IRS, and he still has most of his student loans to deal with. He offered to do Mr. Brisbane some free surgery, but the Boss needed a heart, not a facelift. But, if he can help you like what you see in the mirror more, then he can pay his debt off that way.”

“Jace,” Aubrey whispered, “I can’t take advantage of Grant like that!”

“Ahem,” he replied, “I do believe you entered into a verbal contract with Mr. Brisbane to do what I tell you in this matter. At least the initial consultation. It’s part of the repayment of the debt you owe him, I understand.”

“O — Okay,” she said with a spinning head.

~o~O~o~

Aubrey went through surgery while Grant was doing inpatient cardiac rehabilitation. They Skyped together for the week that she couldn’t get out of bed to go to him. She had a lot of pain recovering from the huge all-in-one operation; FFS, with breast implant revision, shaving of her Adam’s apple, rhinoplasty and some liposuction for body sculpting. But within three months, she looked like a new person.

Still big shoulders, large hands, and a big head, she thought as she looked in the mirror, but my face looks so much better. The shape and size of the breasts actually draw attention away from my big chest. And now that I’m down to my goal weight, the curves I got with lipo are even more accentuated. I’m still no Naomi Campbell, but I’m NOT Al Franken in drag. I think I’m actually prettier than Ricki Lake! I’m sure I’ll still get ‘read’, but for the most part, I’m so much more confident in my femininity. Just one more surgery to get, she said as she patted her groin.

~o~O~o~

It was Valentine’s day of the next year. Aubrey was now fully female, both legally and gynecologically, save for uterus and ovaries. Grant had strengthened to where he could walk and be active; he likely would never be an extreme hiker or skier, but could do many things a normal adult could do. Including sexual relations, as long as he used Viagra and had Aubrey on top doing most of the work. She had insisted on living in her old aide’s quarters rather than moving in to Grant’s bedroom — at least until September, when Sharon gave her the go-ahead to start having sex.

Aubrey now stood at the wedding altar alongside Grant, making it official. Sharon, Jeannette and even Carlotta Brando, Aubrey’s old mentor, were part of the procession. Jace was there, but doing his official bodyguard duties, standing to the side watching over the crowd for any suspicious characters or goof-offs.

Gail was present; ever since Grant had officially sold off half of the family’s assets and deeded them to her, she had become much easier to live with. “Money issues tend to cause strife even in close familes; so I’m going to settle it with her now” Grant had said.

Even Aubrey’s parents were here. Although they were still coming to terms with her gender, both were glad that she had decided to renew relations with them. The PI they had hired was able to trace their son to Las Vegas, but then the trail had gone cold. Aubrey had not yet told them about the two years of prostitution. At least they were accepting of her and Grant. She wondered how much him being rich eased that process.

As they pledged their love that day, both recited their custom made vow simultaneously. They faced each other, both holding Aubrey’s bonsai tree between them. “I vow to cherish you and care for you as I would this tree,” they said, “for you are indeed as beautiful, unique, precious and tender to me, as this tree is to all who see it.”

The reception was customized to their story. The ice sculpture of a bonsai was amazing, although it melted a little too quickly in the central heating. A huge heart shaped cake was nothing you’d see on Cake Wars, but it represented their story.

The bouquet toss and garter throw seemed rigged. At least the bouquet; when Aubrey threw it backwards, she did so with a mighty heave so that it flew over the heads of the crowd of women reaching for it. It landed towards the back wall, into the hands of a bridesmaid standing all alone — Jeannette. “Well, lookee here,” she beamed. By contrast, when Grant flung the garter back, the crowd of men parted like the Red Sea to make room for a snarling Goliath — Jace — who stomped forward and plucked it out of the air. He held it over his head like he’d caught the last out of the World Series, turning and smiling at Jeannette, who was laughing and waving back.

As the festivities continued, Aubrey was sitting — finally — watching Grant dance with his sister. She was so happy with the sight that she didn’t notice the sexy woman in a revealing dress come and sit down by her.

“Hey there, Bambs.”

Aubrey turned, and her eyes immediately narrowed. “Sherryl Phlost. ‘Cherry Pop’. What the hell are you doing here? And my name is not, and never will be again, ‘Bambs’ or ‘Bambi’. How did you crash my wedding?”

“Wasn’t easy, with King Kong over there scanning everybody,” Sherryl pointed to Jace.

“If you came for money, forget it. Tell me why I shouldn’t throw you out right now.”

“Peace, baby, time out,” the glam she-male said with her hands up, palms bent back in a show of submission. “You don’t owe me nothin’, except maybe a kick in the nuts for being blind to what Fish was doin’ to you. Come to find out, he employs all of us, but there’s always one escort that he’ll keep under his control, and that’s who he puts in that upstairs bedroom. Since you left, he’s found another pigeon to cage up there; he’s takin’ her money, and her cherry. That’s what he was doin’ to you, wasn’t it?”

Aubrey nodded, her eyes wet with the horrible memory.

“I’m so sorry, Ba- uh, Aubrey. He was killin’ you slowly, and I was a putz for not seeing it. I just thought you were an escort who couldn’t make the grade. Please, you gotta forgive me,” Sherryl said. Aubrey was surprised; she’d never seen her cry before. But her interest now was in Fish’s new captive.

“Tell me who he’s got in that room now.”

“THAT’S why I’m here. I wanna take that scumball down, and save Trixie at the same time. But I can’t do it alone. I’m gonna need help. The cops look at me and just think I’m a lousy hooker who wants to screw her pimp.”

~o~O~o~

Trixie Dicksy — god, how she hated that name Fish had given her — was nervous. She’d never had an assignment at Caesar’s Palace before — she was used to being sent to the local Econo-Lodge. And this john had requested her specifically. Something’s up. On our menu, I’m the burnt toast, not the Eggs Hollandaise. Maybe this guy wants something kinky, like animalism. I should no-show. Except then I’d be out on the street, and I’d survive maybe thirty minutes.

She knocked on the suite door. A huge truck of a man opened the door. After he wanded her to make sure she had no weapons, she walked in to see a genteel man in a classy suit, and a woman dressed smartly in a red dress.

“Oh, God. I — I’m not very experienced at three-ways,” Trixie stammered.

“We’re not interested in sex, or in using you in any way,” the woman in red replied. “My name is Aubrey — but it used to be Bambi. I was the girl who lived the nightmare you’re living. Fish abused me the way he’s abusing you. We’re here to help.”

“The famous Bambi? Who actually got rescued like Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman’? God, yes. My life is a nightmare. I’ve been real close to ending it. Fish has a gun-”

“In his drawer,” said the man-truck. “Yeah, we know.”

“My dear,” said the man in the suit, “how desperate is your desire to escape? Enough to work harder than you ever have before? Enough to give up prostitution and porn?”

Trixie’s heart pounded like a triphammer. It was illogical, unbelievable, but she was apparently being offered a way out. She had to chance it. “Yes. Please help me. I need a new start. I’ll work as hard as I can, or die trying.”

“Will you help us help the police in catching Fish? It will require you wearing a wire, and going back to that stinky room. But the law will be right outside in a van.”

“And I’ll be right inside, down the hall. Cherry Pop’s gonna smuggle me in when Fish is on the phone,” man-truck said. “Me and my trusty .44 have won a stare-down with him before.”

Trixie’s eyes lit up. A chance to put her abuser behind bars. With the ones who had thwarted him before. “Let’s do it,” she smiled.

Aubrey came and put her arm around Trixie, patting her on the shoulder. “Louie,” she said in a low voice.

“Louie …?”

“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to an actual situation or person is purely coincidental

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